or, as SALVUS is used still more remarkably in Martial [10. l. v.]

_Ennius est lectus_ SALVO _tibi, Roma, Marone:

Et sua riserunt secula Mæonidem._

_Farewell, all gravity_, is as remote from the original sense of the

words _fare well_, as _incolumi gravitate_ from that of _incolumis_, or

_salvo Marone_ from that of _salvus_.

* * * * *

223. INLECEBRIS ERAT ET GRATA NOVITATE MORANDUS SPECTATOR—] The poet

gives us in these words the reason, why such gross Ribaldry, as we know

the Atellanes consisted of, was endured by the politest age of Rome.

Scenical representations, being then intended, not, as in our days, for

the entertainment of the better sort, but on certain great solemnities,

indifferently for the diversion of the whole city, it became necessary

to consult the taste of the multitude, as well as of those, _quibus est

equus, et pater et res_.

And this reason is surely sufficient to vindicate the poet from the

censure of a late critic, who has fallen upon this part of the epistle

with no mercy. “The poet, says he, spends a great number of verses

about these satyrs; but the subject itself is unworthy his pen. He,

who could not bear the elegant mimes of Laberius, that he should think

this farcical and obscene trash, worth his peculiar notice, is somewhat

strange.” I doubt not, it appeared so to this writer, who neither

considered the peculiar necessity of the satyric piece, nor attended to

the poet’s purpose and drift in this epistle. The former is the more

extraordinary, because he hath told us, and rightly too, “that, to

content the people, the satyric was superadded to the tragic drama.”

And he quotes a passage from Diomedes, which gives the same account,

_Satyros induxerunt ludendi causa jocandique, simul ut spectator inter

res tragicas seriasque satyrorum quoque jocis et ludis delectaretur_.

Should not this have taught him, that what was so requisite to content

the people, might deserve some notice from the poet? This _farcical

trash_ was chiefly calculated for those, who without the _enticement

of so agreeable a change_ in the entertainment of the day, would not

have had patience to sit out the tragedy; which being intended for

the gratification of the better sort, _urbani et honesti_, they, in

their turn, required to be diverted in the only way, which was to the

level of their taste, that of farce and pleasantry. And this I dare be

confident, so great a patron of liberty, as this writer, will agree

with me in thinking to be but reasonable in a free state; which ought

to make some provision for the _few_, that may chance, even under

such advantages, to want a truly critical spirit. I hold then, that

Horace acted, not only in the character of a good critic, but of a

prudent man, and good citizen, in attempting to refine, what it had

not been equitable, or was not in his power, wholly to remove. But 2.

the learned critic as little attended to the drift of the epistle,

as to the important use and necessity of the satyric drama. He must

otherwise have seen, that, in an essay to improve and regulate the

Roman theatre (which is the sole purpose of it) the poet’s business was

to take it, as it then stood, and to confine himself to such defects

and abuses, as he found most likely to admit a correction, and not, as

visionary projectors use, to propose a thorough reform of the public

taste in every instance. The _Atellanes_ had actual possession of

the stage, and, from their antiquity, and other prejudices in their

favour, as well as from the very design and end of their theatrical

entertainments, would be sure to keep it. What had the poet then, in

these circumstances, to do but, in pursuance of his main design, to

encourage a reformation of that entertainment, which he was not at

liberty absolutely, and under every shape, to reject. This he judged

might most conveniently be done by adopting the Greek _Satyrs_ instead

of their own _Oscan_ characters. With this change, though the Atellanes

might not, perhaps, be altogether to his own taste, yet he hoped to

render it a tolerable entertainment to the better sort. And this, in

fact, it might have been by following the directions here given; part

of which were intended to free it from that _obscene and farcical

trash_, which appears to have been no less offensive to the poet, than

to this critic.

As for the so much applauded _mimes_, they had not, it is probable, at

this time gained a footing on the stage, sufficient to entitle them to

so much consideration. This was a new upstart species of the drama,

which, though it had the common good-fortune of absurd novelties, to

take with the great; yet was generally disapproved by men of better

taste, and better morals. Cicero had passed a severe censure upon it

in one of his epistles, [Ad famil. ix. 16.] which intimates, that it

was of a more buffoon and ridiculous composition, than their Atellanes;

whose place it began to be the fashion to supply with this ribaldry.

And we collect the same thing from what Ovid observes of it in apology

for the looseness of his own verses,

_Quid si scripsissem_ MIMOS _obscœna jocantes,

Qui semper vetiti crimen amoris habent?_

_Nec satis incestis temerari vocibus_ aures,

_Assuescunt_ oculi _multa pudenda pati_.

Trist. l. ii. v. 497.

Horace, with this writer’s leave, might therefore judge it better to

retain the Atellanes under some restrictions, than adopt what was much

worse. But the mimes of Laberius were quite another thing. They were

all elegance. So J. Scaliger [Comment, de Comœd. et Tragœd. c. vi.]

and, after him, this writer, tells us; but on no better grounds, than

that he wrote good Latin (though not always that, as may be seen in

A. Gellius, l. xvi. c. 7.) and hath left a few elegant, moral scraps

behind him. But what then? the kind of composition was ridiculous and

absurd, and, in every view, far less tolerable, than the _satyrs_ under

the regulation of Horace. The latter was a regular drama, consisting

of an intire fable, conducted according to the rules of probability

and good sense, only dashed with a little extravagance for the sake

of the mob. The character of the former hath been given above from

unquestionable authorities. Accordingly Diomedes [iii. p. 488. ed.

Putsch.] defines it to be _an irreverent and lascivious imitation of

obscene acts_—_mimus est sermonis cujuslibet motus sine reverentia,

vel factorum et turpium cum lascivia imitatio_. And Scaliger himself

owns _veri mimi proprium esse quædam sordida ut affectet_, loc. cit.

It seems, in short, to have been a confused medley of comic drollery

on a variety of subjects, without any consistent order or design;

delivered by one actor, and heightened with all the licence of obscene

gesticulation. Its best character, as practised by its greatest master,

Laberius, was that of being witty in a very bad way [Sen. Controv. l.

iii. c. 18.] and its sole end and boast, _risu diducere rictum_ [Hor.

i. S. x. 7.] which, whatever virtue it may be, is not always a proof of

much elegance. But I have spent too many words on a criticism, which

the ingenious author, I am persuaded, let fall unawares, and did not

mean to give us as the result of a mature and well-weighed deliberation

on this subject.

* * * * *

225. VERUM ITA RISORES, &c.] The connecting particle, _verum_,

expresses the opposition intended between the original satyr and that

which the poet approves. For having insinuated the propriety of the

satyric shews, as well from the practice of Greece, as the nature of

festival solemnities, the poet goes on to animadvert on their defects,

and to prescribe such rules, in the conduct of them, as might render

them a tolerable diversion, even to the better sort. This introduction

of the subject hath no small art. For, there being at this time (as

hath been shewn) an attempt to bring in the Greek satyrs, while the

Atellane plays (as was likely) still held the affections of the people,

the poet was not openly to reproach and discredit these; but, by a

tacit preference, to support and justify the other. This is done with

address. For, instead of criticising the Atellanes, which came directly

in his way, after having closed his account of the Roman tragedy, he

relates, as it were, incidentally, the practice of ancient Greece in

exhibiting satyrs, and thence immediately passes on, without so much as

touching on the other favourite entertainment, to offer some directions

concerning the satyric drama.

* * * * *

227. NE QUICUNQUE DEUS, QUICUNQUE ADHIBEBITUR HEROS, &c.] Gods and

Heroes were introduced as well into the satyric as tragic drama, and

often the very same Gods and Heroes, which had born a part in the

preceding tragedy: a practice, which Horace, I suppose, intended, by

this hint, to recommend as most regular. This gave the serious, tragic

air to the satyr. The comic arose from the _risor_ and _dicax_, who was

either a satyr himself, or some character of an extravagant, ridiculous

cast, like a satyr. Of this kind, says Diomedes, from whom I take this

account, are Autolychus and Burris: which last particular I mention

for the sake of justifying a correction of the learned Casaubon. This

great critic conjectured, that, instead of _Burris_, in this place, it

should be read _Busiris_. His reason is “_nam Burris iste ex Græcorum

poetis mihi non notus_:” which reason hath more force, than appears at

first sight. For the very nature of this diversion required, that the

principal character of it should be well known, which it was scarce

likely to be, if not taken from a common story in their poets. But

Vossius objects, “_sed non ea fuerit persona ridicula_:” contrary to

what the grammarian represents it. But how so? Busiris was a savage,

inhospitable tyrant, who sacrificed strangers. And what should hinder

this character from being made ridiculous, as well as Polypheme in the

Cyclops? Their characters were not unlike. And, as is seen in that

case, the ancients knew to set forth such monsters of cruelty in a

light, that rendered them equally absurd and detestable. This was

agreeable to their humanity, which, by such representations, loved to

cultivate a spirit of benevolence in the spectators; and shews the

moral tendency of even the absurdest of the ancient dramatic shews. The

objection of Vossius is then of no weight. But what further confirms

the emendation of the excellent Casaubon, is a manuscript note on the

margin of a printed copy of this book[23], which I have now by me, as

it should seem, from his own hand, “_lectionem vero quam restituimus

etiam in optimo codice Puteano postea invenimus_.” The learned reader

will therefore, henceforth, look upon the text of _Diomedes_, in this

place, as fully settled.

* * * * *

229. MIGRET IN OBSCURAS &c.—AUT, DUM VITAT &c.] The two faults,

cautioned against, are 1. a too low, or vulgar expression, in the comic

parts; and 2. a too sublime one, in the tragic. The _former_ of these

faults would almost naturally adhere to the first essays of the Roman

satyrs, from the buffoon genius of the old Atellane: and the _latter_,

from not apprehending the true measure and degree of the tragic

mixture. To correct both these, the poet gives the exactest idea of

the satyrs, in the image of a Roman matron, sharing in the mirth of a

religious festival. The occasion obliged to some freedoms: and yet the

dignity of her character demanded a decent reserve.

* * * * *

234. NON EGO INORNATA &c.] The scope of these lines may be to regulate

the satyric style, by the idea of its character, before given, in

the allusion to a Roman matron. Conformably to that idea, a plain,

unornamented expression [from v. 234 to 236.] must not always be used.

The three following lines inforce this general application by example.

If the exact reader find himself dissatisfied with this gloss, which

seems the only one, the words, as they now stand, will bear, he may,

perhaps, incline to admit the following conjecture, which proposes

to read, instead of _inornata_, _honorata_. I. The context, I think,

requires this change. For the two faults observed above [v. 229, 30.]

were, 1. a too low expression, and, 2. a too lofty. Corresponding to

this double charge, the poet having fixed the idea of this species of

composition [v. 231, 2, 3.] should naturally be led to apply it to both

points in questions: 1. to the comic part, in prescribing the true

measure of its condescension, and, 2. to the tragic, in settling the

true bounds of its elevation. And this, according to the reading here

offered, the poet doth, only in an inverted order. The sense of the

whole would be this,

1. _Non ego_ HONORATA _et dominantia nomina solum

Verbaque, Pisones, satyrorum scriptor amabo_:

_i. e._ in the tragic scenes, I would not confine myself to such words

only, as are in honour, and bear rule in tragic, and the most serious

subjects; this stateliness not agreeing to the condescending levity of

the satyr.

2. _Nec sic enitar tragico differre colori,

Ut nihil intersit Davusne loquatur, et audax

Pythias, emuncto lucrata Simone talentum,

An custos famulusque Dei Silenus alumni._

_i. e._ nor, on the contrary, in the comic scenes, would I incur the

other extreme of a too plain, and vulgar expression, this as little

suiting its inherent matronlike dignity. But, II. this correction

improves the _expression_ as well as the _sense_. For besides the

opposition, implied in the disjunctive, _nec_, which is this way

restored, _dominantia_ hath now its genuine sense, and not that strange

and foreign one forced upon it out of the Greek language. As connected

with _honorata_, it becomes a metaphor, elegantly pursued; and hath too

a singular propriety, the poet here speaking of figurative terms. And

then, for _honorata_ itself, it seems to have been a familiar mode of

expression with Horace. Thus [2 Ep. ii. 112.] _honore indigna vocabula_

are such words as have _parum splendoris_ and are _sine pondere_. And

“_quæ sunt in honore vocabula_” is spoken of the contrary ones, such

as are fit to enter into a serious tragic composition, in this very

epistle, v. 71.

* * * * *

240. EX NOTO FICTUM &c.] This precept [from v. 240 to 244] is analogous

to that, before given [v. 129] concerning tragedy. It directs to

form the satyrs out of a known subject. The reasons are, in general,

the same for both. Only one seems peculiar to the satyrs. For the

cast of them being necessarily romantic, and the persons, those

fantastic beings, called satyrs, the τὸ ὅμοιον, or probable, will

require the subject to have gained a popular belief, without which the

representation must appear unnatural. Now these subjects, which have

gained a popular belief, in consequence of old tradition, and their

frequent celebration in the poets, are what Horace calls _nota_; just

as newly invented subjects, or, which comes to the same thing, such

as had not been employed by other writers, _indicta_, he, on a like

occasion, terms _ignota_. The connexion lies thus. Having mentioned

_Silenus_ in v. 239, one of the commonest characters in this drama, an

objection immediately offers itself; “but what good poet will engage

in subjects and characters so trite and hackney’d?” The answer is, _ex

noto fictum carmen sequar_, i. e. however trite and well known this and

some other characters, essential to the satyr, are, and must be; yet

will there be still room for fiction and genius to shew itself. The

conduct and disposition of the play may be wholly new, and above the

ability of common writers, _tantum series juncturaque pollet_.

* * * * *

244. SYLVIS DEDUCTI CAVEANT &c.] Having before [v. 232] settled the

true idea of the satyric style in general, he now treats of the

peculiar language of the satyrs themselves. This common sense demands

to be in conformity with their sylvan character, neither affectedly

tender and gallant, on the one hand; nor grossly and offensively

obscene, on the other. The _first_ of these cautions seems leveled at

a false improvement, which, on the introduction of the Roman satyr,

was probably attempted on the simple, rude plan of the Greek, without

considering the rustic extraction and manners of the fauns and satyrs.

The _latter_, obliquely glances at the impurities of the Atellane,

whose licentious ribaldry, as hath been observed, would, of course,

infect the first essays of the Roman satyr.

But these rules so necessary to be followed in the _satyric_, are (to

observe it by the way) still more essential to the PASTORAL poem: the

fortunes and character of which (though numberless volumes have been

written upon it) may be given in few words.

The prodigious number of writings, called Pastoral, which have been

current in all times, and in all languages, shews there is something

very taking in this poem. And no wonder, since it addresses itself to

THREE leading principles in human nature, THE LOVE OF EASE, THE LOVE

OF BEAUTY, and THE MORAL SENSE: such pieces as these being employed

in representing to us the TRANQUILLITY, the INNOCENCE, and the

SCENERY, of the rural life. But though these ideas are of themselves

agreeable, good sense will not be satisfied unless they appear to have

some foundation in truth and nature. And even, then, their impression

will be but faint, if they are not, further, employed to _convey

instruction_, or _interest the heart_.

Hence the different _forms_, under which this poem hath appeared.

THEOCRITUS thought it sufficient to give a _reality_ to his pictures of

the rural manners. But in so doing it was too apparent that his draught

would often be coarse and unpleasing. And, in fact, we find that his

shepherds, contrary to the poet’s rule,

——_immunda crepent ignominiosaque dicta_.

VIRGIL avoided this extreme. Without departing very widely from the

simplicity of rustic nature, his shepherds are more decent, their

lives more serene, and, in general, the scene more inviting. But the

refinements of his age not well agreeing to these simple delineations,

and his views in writing not being merely to _entertain_, he saw fit

to allegorize these agreeable fancies, and make them the vehicles of

_historical_, and sometimes even of _philosophic_, information.

Our SPENSER wanted to engross all the beauties of his masters: and so,

to the artless and too natural drawing of the _Greek_, added the deep

allegoric design of the _Latin_, poet.

One easily sees that this ænigmatic cast of the pastoral was meant

to give it an air of instruction, and to make it a reasonable

entertainment to such as would nauseate a sort of writing,

“Where pure description held the place of sense.”

But this refinement was out of place, as not only inconsistent with

the simplicity of the pastoral character, but as tending to rob us in

a good degree of the _pleasure_, which these amusing and picturesque

poems are intended to give.

Others therefore took another route. The famous TASSO, by an effort

of genius which hath done him more honour than even his epic talents,

produced a new kind of pastoral, by engrafting it on the drama. And

under this form, pastoral poetry became all the vogue. The charming

AMINTAS was even commented by the greatest scholars and critics. It was

read, admired, and imitated by all the world.

There is no need to depreciate the fine copies that were taken of

it, in Italy. But those by our own poets were, by far, the best.

SHAKESPEARE had, indeed, set the example of something like pastoral

dramas, in our language; and in his _Winter’s Tale_, _As ye like

it_, and some other of his pieces, has enchanted every body with his

natural sylvan manners, and sylvan scenes. But FLETCHER set himself,

in earnest, to emulate the Italian, yet still with an eye of reverence

towards the English, poet. In his _faithful shepherdess_ he surpasses

the _former_, in the variety of his paintings and the beauty of his

scene; and only falls short of the _latter_, in the truth of manners,

and a certain original grace of invention which no imitation can reach.

The fashion was now so far established, that every poet of the time

would try his hand at a pastoral. Even surly BEN, though he found no

precedent for it among his ancients, was caught with the beauty of this

novel drama, and, it must be owned, has written above himself in the

fragment of his _sad shepherd_.—The scene, at length, was closed with

the _Comus_ of MILTON, who, in his rural paintings, almost equalled the

simplicity and nature of Shakespeare and Fletcher, and, in the purity

and splendor of his expression, outdid TASSO.

In this new form of the pastoral, what was childish before, is readily

admitted and excused. A simple _moral_ tale being the groundwork of

the piece, the charms of description and all the embellishments of

the scene are only subservient to the higher purpose of picturing the

manners, or touching the heart.

But the good sense of Shakespeare, or perhaps the felicity of his

genius, was admirable. Instead of the deep tragic air of Tasso (which

has been generally followed) and his continuance of the pastoral

strain, even to satiety, through _five_ acts, he only made use of these

playful images to enrich his comic scenes. He saw, I suppose, that

pastoral subjects were unfit to bear a tragic distress. And besides,

when the distress rises to any height, the wantonness of pastoral

imagery grows distasteful. Where as the genius of comedy admits of

humbler distresses; and leaves us at leisure to recreate ourselves with

these images, as no way interfering with the draught of characters, or

the management of a comic tale. But to make up in _surprize_ what was

wanting in _passion_, Shakespeare hath, with great judgment, adopted

the popular system of Faeries; which, while it so naturally supplies

the place of the old sylvan theology, gives a wildness to this sort of

pastoral painting which is perfectly inimitable.

In a word; if Tasso had the honour of inventing the _pastoral drama_,

properly so called, Shakespeare has shewn us the just application of

_pastoral poetry_; which, however amusing to the imagination, good

sense will hardly endure, except in a short dialogue, or in some

occasional dramatic scenes; and in _these_ only, as it serves to the

display of characters and the conduct of the poet’s plot.

And to confirm these observations on pastoral poetry, which may

be thought too severe, one may observe that such, in effect, was

the judgment passed upon it by that great critic, as well as wit,

CERVANTES. He concludes his famous adventures, with a kind of project

for his knight and squire _to turn shepherds_: an evident ridicule

on the turn of that time for pastoral poems and romances, that were

beginning to succeed to their books of heroic knight-errantry. Not, but

it contains, also, a fine stroke of _moral criticism_, as implying,

what is seen from experience to be too true, that men capable of

running into one enthusiasm are seldom cured of it but by some sudden

diversion of the imagination, which drives them into another.

In conclusion, the reader will scarcely ask me, why, in this deduction

of the history and genius of pastoral poetry, I have taken no notice of

what has been written of this kind, in France; which, if it be not the

most _unpoetical_ nation in Europe, is at least the most _unpastoral_.

Nor is their _criticism_ of this poem much better than their execution.

A late writer[24] indeed pronounces M. de Fontenelle’s discourse on

pastoral poetry _to be one of the finest pieces of criticism in the

world_. For my part, I can only say it is rather more tolerable than

his pastorals.

* * * * *

248. OFFENDENTUR ENIM QUIBUS EST EQUUS ET PATER ET RES.] The poet, in

his endeavour to reclaim his countrymen from the _taste obscene_, very

politely, by a common figure, represents that as being the _fact_,

which he wished to be so. For what reception the rankest obscenities

met with on the Roman stage we learn from Ovid’s account of the success

of the MIMI:

_Nobilis hos virgo matronaque, virque puerque,

Spectat: et è magnâ parte_ senatus _adest_.

Trist. ii. v. 501.

This, indeed, was not till some time after the date of this epistle.

But we may guess from hence what must have been the tendency of the

general disposition, and may see to how little effect the poet had

laboured to divert the public attention from the _Mimes_ to his

reformed _Atellanes_.

* * * * *

251. SYLLABA LONGA BREVI, &c.] This whole critique on the satyrs

concludes with some directions about the Iambic verse. When the

commentary asserts, that this metre was common to tragedy and the

satyrs, this is not to be taken strictly; the satyrs, in this respect,

as in every other, sustaining a sort of intermediate character betwixt

tragedy and comedy. For, accurately speaking, their proper measure, as

the Grammarians teach, was the Iambic enlivened with the tribrachys.

“_Gaudent_ [Victor. l. ii. c. met. Iamb.] _trisyllabo pede et maxime

tribrache_.” Yet there was likeness enough to consider this whole

affair of the metre under the same head. The Roman dramatic writers

were very careless in their versification, which arose, as is hinted,

v. 259, from an immoderate and undistinguishing veneration of their old

poets.

In conclusion of all that has been delivered on the subject of these

_satyrs_, it may be amusing to the learned reader to hear a celebrated

French critic express himself in the following manner: “_Les Romains

donnoient_ encore le nom de Satyre à une espece de _Piece Pastorale_;

qui tenoit, _dit on_ le milieu entre la Tragedie et la Comedie. _C’est

tout ce que nous en sçavons._” [_Mem. de l’Hist. des Belles Lett._ tom.

xvii. p. 211.]

* * * * *

264. ET DATA ROMANIS VENIA EST INDIGNA POETIS.] It appears certainly,

that what is said here concerning the metre of dramatic poems, was

peculiarly calculated for the correction of the Roman negligence, and

inaccuracy in this respect. This, if it had not been so expresly told

us, would have been seen from the few remaining fragments of the old

Latin plays, in which a remarkable carelessness of numbers is observed.

This gives a presumption, that, with the like advantage of consulting

them, it would also appear, that the rest of the poet’s rules were

directed to the same end, and that even such, as are delivered in the

most absolute and general form, had a peculiar reference, agreeably

to what is here taught of the plan of this poem, to the corresponding

defects in the state of the Roman stage.

* * * * *

270. AT VESTRI PROAVI PLAUTINOS ET NUMEROS ET LAUDAVERE SALES; NIMIUM

PATIENTER UTRUMQUE, NE DICAM STULTE, MIRATI;] It hath been thought

strange, that Horace should pass so severe a censure on the _wit_ of

Plautus, which yet appeared to Cicero so admirable, that he speaks of

it as _elegans, urbanum, ingeniosum, facetum_. [De Off. i. 29.] Nor can

it be said, that this difference of judgment was owing to the improved

delicacy of taste for wit, in the Augustan age, since it doth not

appear, that Horace’s own jokes, when he attempts to divert us in this

way, are at all better than Cicero’s.

The common answer, so far as it respects the poet, is, I believe, the

true one: “that endeavouring to beat down the excessive veneration

of the elder Roman poets, and, among the rest (as appears from 2 Ep.

i. and A. P. 54.) of Plautus, he censures, without reserve, every

the least defect in his writings; though, in general, he agreed with

Cicero in admiring him.” But then this was all. For that he was not

so over-nice as to dislike Plautus’ wit in the main, and, but in this

view, probably had not criticized him at all, I collect from his

express approbation of the wit of the old _comedy_; which certainly was

not more delicate, than that of _Plautus_.

_ridiculum acri

Fortius et melius magnas plerumque secat res.

Illi, scripta quibus comœdia prisca viris est,

Hoc stabant_, HOC SUNT IMITANDI.

I S. x. 15.

I know, it hath been thought, that, even in this very place, where

he censures the wit of Plautus, he directs us _ad Græca exemplaria_,

i. e. as his critics understand him, to Aristophanes, and the other

writers of the old Comedy; but such a direction in this place, were

altogether improper, and the supposition is, besides, a palpable

mistake. For the _Græca exemplaria_ are referred to _only_, as models

in exact versification, as the tenor of the place fully shews. And

what Horace afterwards remarks on the wit of Plautus, in addition

to the observations on metre, is a new and distinct criticism, and

hath no kind of reference to the preceding direction. But still, as I

said, Horace appears no such enemy to the old comic wit, as, without

the particular reason assigned, to have so severely condemned it. The

difficulty is to account for Cicero’s so peculiar admiration of it, and

that a taste, otherwise so exact, as his, should delight in the coarse

humour of Plautus, and the old comedy. The case, I believe, was this:

Cicero had imbibed a strong relish of the frank and libertine wit of

the old comedy, as best suited to the genius of popular eloquence;

which, though it demands to be tempered with some urbanity, yet never

attains its end so effectually, as when let down and accommodated, in

some certain degree, to the general taste and manners of the people.

This Cicero in effect owns, when he tells us, the main end of jesting

at the bar [De Orat. ccxl.] is, not to acquire the credit of consummate

humour, but to carry the cause, _ut proficiamus aliquid_: that is, _to

make an impression on the people_; which is generally, we know, better

done by a coarser joke, than by the elegance of refined raillery.

And that this was the real ground of Cicero’s preference of the old

comedy to the new, may be concluded, not only from the nature of the

thing, and his own example (for he was ever reckoned intemperate in

his jests, which by no means answer to the elegance of his character)

but is certainly collected from what Quintilian, in his account of

it, expresly observes of the old comedy, _Nescio an ulla poesis (post

Homerum) aut similior sit oratoribus, aut ad oratores faciendos

aptior_. The reason, doubtless, was, that _strength_, and _prompt and

eloquent freedom_, _Vires et facundissima libertas_, which he had

before observed, so peculiarly belonged to it.

And this, I think, will go some way towards clearing an embarrassing

circumstance in the history of the Roman learning, which I know not,

if any writer hath yet taken notice of. It is, that though Menander

and the authors of the new comedy were afterwards admired, as the only

masters of the comic drama, yet this does not appear to have been

seen, or, at least, so fully acknowledged, by the Roman writers, till

after the Augustan age; notwithstanding that the Roman taste was, from

that time, visibly declining. The reason, I doubt not, was, that the

popular eloquence, which continued, in a good degree of vigour, to that

time, participating more of the freedom of the _old_ comic banter,

and rejecting, as improper to its end, the refinements of the _new_,

insensibly depraved the public taste; which, by degrees only, and not

till a studied and cautious declamation had, by the necessary influence

of absolute power, succeeded to the liberty of their old oratory,

was fully reconciled to the delicacy and strict decorum of Menander’s

wit. Even the case of Terence, which, at first sight, might seem to

bear hard against it, confirms this account. This poet, struck with

the supreme elegance of Menander’s manner, and attempting too soon,

before the public taste was sufficiently formed for it, to bring it on

the stage, had occasion for all the credit, his noble patrons could

give him, to support himself against the popular clamour. What was the

object of that _clamour_, we learn from a curious passage in one of his

prologues, where his adversary is made to object,

_Quas—fecit—fabulas

Tenui esse oratione et scriptura levi_.

Prol. ad Phorm.

The sense of which is not, as his commentators have idly thought, _that

his style was low and trifling_, for this could never be pretended, but

_that his dialogue was insipid, and his characters, and, in general,

his whole composition, without that comic heightening, which their

vitiated tastes required_. This further appears from those common

verses of Cæsar, where, characterizing the genius of Terence’s plays,

as devoid of this comic spirit, he calls them _lenia scripta_:

LENIBUS _atque utinam_ SCRIPTIS _adjuncta foret vis_

COMICA:

words, which are the clearest comment on the lines in question.

But this famous judgment of Cæsar deserves to be scrutinized more

narrowly. For it may be said “that by _vis comica_ I suppose him to

mean the comic drollery of the _old_ and _middle_ comedy; whereas it is

more probable he meant the elegant but high humour of the best writers

of the _new_, particularly of Menander; why else doth he call Terence,

“_Dimidiate Menander_?” There is the more force in this objection,

because _the elegant but high humour_, here mentioned, is of the truest

merit in comedy; and because Menander, of whom the ancients speak so

honourably, and whom we only know by their encomiums, may be reasonably

thought to have excelled in it. What occurs in answer to it, is this.

1. The Ancients are generally allowed to have had very little of what

we now understand by _comic humour_. Lucian is the _first_, indeed the

only one, who hath properly left us any considerable specimens of it.

And he is almost modern with regard to the writers under consideration.

But,

2. That _Menander and the writers of the new comedy did not excel in

it_, is probable for these reasons.

1. The most judicious critic of antiquity, when he is purposely

considering the excellencies of the Greek comedians, and, what is more,

exposing the comparative deficiencies of the Roman, says not a word

of it. He thinks, indeed, that _Terence’s_, which yet he pronounces

to be most elegant, is but the faintest shadow of the Greek, comedy.

But then his reason is, _quod sermo ipse Romanus non recipere videatur

illam solis concessam Atticis venerem_. [L. x. 1.] It seems then as

if the main defect, which this critic observed in Terence’s comedy,

was a want of that inexplicable grace of language, which so peculiarly

belonged to the Greeks; a grace of so subtle a nature that even they

could only catch it in one dialect—_quando eam ne Græci quidem in alio

genere linguæ non obtinuerint_. [Ib.]”

2. Some of Terence’s plays may be almost said to be direct translations

from Menander. And the comic humour, supposed in the objection, being

of the truest taste, no reason can be imagined why the poet should so

industriously avoid to transfuse this last and highest grace into his

comedy. Especially since the popular cry against him proceeded from

hence, that he was wanting in comic pleasantry; a _want_, which by a

stricter attention to this virtue of his great original, supposing

Menander to have been possessed of it, he might so easily have

supplied. And lest it should be thought he omitted to do this, as not

conceiving any thing of this _virtue_, or as not approving it, we find

in him, but rarely indeed, some delicate touches, which approach as

nearly as any thing in antiquity to this genuine comic humour. Of which

kind is that in the _Hecyra_:

_Tum tu igitur nihil adtulisti huc plus unâ sententiâ?_

For these reasons I should suppose that _Menander_ and the writers of

the new comedy, from whom Terence copied, had little of this beauty.

But what shall we say then to Cæsar’s _dimidiate Menander_? It refers,

I believe, solely to what Quintilian, as we have seen, observed, that,

with all his emulation of Attic elegance, he was unable, through the

native stubbornness of the Latin tongue, to come up to the Greek

comedy. The very text of Cæsar leads to this meaning.

_Tu quoque, tu in summis, ô dimidiate Menander,

Poneris, et merito_, PURI SERMONIS AMATOR.

His excellence consisted in the _purity and urbanity of his

expression_, in which praise if he still fell short of his master, the

fault was not in him, but the intractability of his language. And in

this view Cæsar’s address carries with it the highest _compliment_.

Quintilian had said in relation to this point, _Vix levem consequimur

umbram_. But Cæsar, in a fond admiration of his merit, cries out,

_Tu quoque_, TU _in summis_, Ô DIMIDIATE MENANDER.

His _censure_ of him is delivered in the following lines:

_Lenibus atque utinam scriptis adjuncta foret vis

Comica, ut æquato virtus polleret honore

Cum Græcis, neque in hâc despectus parte jaceres;

Unum hoc maceror et doleo tibi deesse, Terenti._

Which, again, gives no countenance to the supposition of Menander’s

excelling in _comic humour_. For he does not say, that with the

addition of this talent he had equalled _Menander_, but in general, the

GREEKS—_æquato virtus polleret honore cum_ GRÆCIS. And this was what

occasioned Cæsar’s regret. He wished to see him unite all the merits of

the Greek comedy. As far as the Latin tongue would permit, he had shewn

himself a master of the elegance of the _new_. What he further required

in him was the strong wit and satyr of the _old_. His favourite had

then rivalled, in every praise, the Greek writers.

And, if this be admitted, nothing hinders but that by _vis comica_

Cæsar may be understood to mean (how consistently with the admired

urbanity of Terence is not the question) the comic pleasantry of the

middle or old comedy.

The thing indeed could hardly be otherwise. For Plautus, who chiefly

copied, from the _middle_ comedy, had, by the drollery of his wit,

and the buffoon pleasantry of his scenes, so enchanted the people

as to continue the reigning favourite of the stage, even long after

Afranius and Terence had appeared on it. Nay the humour continued

through the Augustan age[25], when, as we learn from Horace, in many

parts of his writings, the public applause still followed Plautus; in

whom though himself could see many faults, yet he does not appear

to have gone so far, as, upon the whole, to give the preference to

Terence. Afterwards indeed the case altered. Paterculus admires; and

Plutarch and Quintilian are perfectly charmed: _ita omnem vitæ imaginem

expressit, ita est omnibus rebus, personis, affectibus accommodatus_.

This character, one would think, should have fitted him also for a

complete model to the orator. And this, as might be expected, was

Quintilian’s opinion. For, though he saw, as appears from the passage

already quoted, that the writers of the old comedy were, in fact,

_the likest to orators, and the most proper to form them to the

practice of the Forum_, yet, in admiration of the absolute perfection

of Menander’s manner, and criticising him by the rules of a just and

accurate rhetoric, and not at all in the views of a practical orator,

he pronounces him to be a complete pattern of oratorial excellence:

_vel unus, diligenter lectus, ad cuncta efficienda sufficiat_, l. x.

c. 1. Yet Cicero, it seems, thought otherwise; for he scarcely, as I

remember, mentions the name of Menander in his rhetorical books, though

he is very large in commending the authors of the old Greek comedy. The

reason was unquestionably that we have been explaining: The delicate

observance of decorum, for which this poet was so famous, _in omnibus

mire custoditur ab hoc poeta decorum_, rendered him an unfit model for

a popular speaker, especially in Rome, where an orator was much more

likely to carry his point by the _vis comica_, the _broader mirth_

of Aristophanes, or Plautus, than by the delicate railleries, and

exquisite paintings of Menander, or Terence.

* * * * *

273. SI MODO EGO ET VOS SCIMUS INURBANUM LEPIDO SEPONERE DICTO.] It was

very late ere the ancients became acquainted with this distinction.

Indeed it does not appear, they ever possessed it in that supreme

degree, which might have been expected from their exquisite discernment

in other instances. Even Horace himself, though his pictures of life

are commonly the most delicate, and wrought up in the highest beauty

of humour, yet, when he affects the _plaisant_, and purposely aims

at the comic style and manner, is observed to sink beneath himself

extremely. The truth is, there is something low, and what the French

call _grossier_, in the whole cast of ancient wit; which is rather a

kind of rude, illiberal satire, than a just and temperate ridicule,

restrained by the exact rules of civility and good sense. This a

celebrated writer, who seems willing to think the most favourably of

the ancient wits, in effect owns, when, after quoting certain instances

of their raillery, he says, _Ces exemples, quoique vifs et bons en

leur genre, ont quëlque chose de trop dur, qui ne s’accommoderoit pas

à nôtre maniere de vivre; et ce seroit ce que nous appellons rompre en

visiers, que de dire en face des veritez aussi forts que celles-là_.

[Rec. de bons Contes et de bons Mots, p. 89.] This rudeness,

complained of, appears in nothing more evident, than in their perpetual

banter on corporal infirmities, which runs through all the wits both

of Greece and Rome. And to shew us, that this was not a practice,

they allowed themselves in against rule, Cicero mentions corporal

infirmities [De Or. l. ii. c. 59.] as one of the most legitimate

sources of the RIDICULOUS. _Est deformitatis et corporis vitiorum satis

bella materies._ And in another place, _Valde ridentur etiam imagines,

quæ fere in deformitatem, aut in aliquod vitium corporis ducuntur cum

similitudine turpioris_, &c. [ib. c. 66.] And this, which is very

remarkable, though they saw the absurdity of it, as appears from the

answer of Lamia, recorded by Cicero, to a joke of this kind, _Non potui

mihi formam ipse fingere_, [ib. c. 65.] The universal prevalence of a

practice so absurd in itself, and seen by themselves to be so, in the

two politest states of the old world, must needs have sprung from some

very _general_, and _powerful_ cause; which, because it hath not, that

I know of, been considered by any writer, I shall here attempt to open

and explane. The subject is curious, and would require a volume to do

it justice. I can only hint at the principal reasons, which appear to

me to have been these.

I. _The free and popular government of those states._ This, preserving

an equality of condition, and thereby spreading a fearlessness and

independency through all ranks and orders of men, of course produced

and indulged the utmost freedom of expression, uninfluenced by hopes

of favour, and unawed by fear of personal offence; the two sources,

from whence the civility of a more cautious ridicule is derived. Now

of all the species of raillery, the most natural and _obvious_ to a

people unrestrained by these causes, is ever the _coarsest_, such as

that on corporal deformities; as appears from its prevailing every

where, in all forms of government, among the lowest of the people,

betwixt whom those causes never subsist. But this reason involves in

it some particulars, which deserve to be considered. 1. The _orators_,

who catched it from the constitution themselves, contributed in

their turn to forward and help on this disposition to uncivilized

mirth. For, the form of their government requiring immediate, and

almost continual, applications to the people; and the nature of such

applications giving frequent exercise to their wit, it was natural for

them to suit it to the capacities of their auditory; if indeed they had

seen better themselves. Thus we find the orators in the Forum, even

in the later times of the Roman republic, exposing their adversary to

the broad mirth of the populace, by enlarging on his _low stature_,

_ugly face_, or _distorted chin_. Instances of which may be met with

in Cicero’s treatise De oratore; and even, as hath been observed, in

some orations and other pieces of Cicero himself. 2. From the _Forum_

the humour insensibly spread amongst all orders, and particularly,

amongst the writers for the stage, where it was kept up in its full

vigour, or rather heightened to a further extravagance, the laughter

of the people being its more immediate and direct aim. But, the stage

not only conformed, as of course it would, to the spirit of the times

(which, for the reason already given, were none of the most observant

of decorum) but, as we shall also find, it had perhaps the greatest

influence in _producing and forming that spirit itself_. This will

appear, if we recollect, in few words, _the rise, progress, and

character of the ancient stage_.

The Greek drama, we know, had its origin from the loose, licentious

raillery of the rout of Bacchus, indulging to themselves the freest

sallies of taunt and invective, as would best suit to lawless natures,

inspirited by festal mirth, and made extravagant by wine. Hence

arose, and with a character answering to this original, the _satyric

drama_; the spirit of which was afterwards, in good measure, revived

and continued in the old comedy, and itself preserved, though with

considerable alteration in the form, through all the several periods of

the Greek stage; even when tragedy, which arose out of it, was brought

to its last perfection. Much the same may be observed of the _Roman_

drama, which, we are told, had its rise in the unrestrained festivity

of the rustic youth. This gave occasion to their _Satyræ_, that is,

medleys of an irregular form, acted for the diversion of the people.

And, when afterwards Livius Andronicus had, by a further reform,

reduced these _Satyræ_ into regular tragedies, another species of

buffoon ridicule was cultivated, under the name of _Atellanæ fabulæ_;

which, according to Diomedes’ character of them, _were replete with

jocular witticisms, and very much resembled the Greek satyrs_. _Dictis

jocularibus refertæ, similes fere sunt satyricis fabulis Græcorum._

These were ever after retained, and annexed to their most regular

dramatic entertainments in Rome, just as the _satyrs_ were in Greece;

and this (as was seen in its place) though much pains was taken to

reform, if not wholly remove, them. But to shew how strong the passion

of the Romans was for this rude illiberal banter, even the licentious

character of the _Atellanes_ did not fully satisfy them; but, as

if they were determined to stick to their genuine rusticity, they

continued the _Satyræ_ themselves, under the name of _Exodia_, that is

farces of the grossest and most absurd composition; which, to heighten

the mirth of the day, were commonly interwoven with the Atellane

pieces. The reason of the continuance of such ribaldry in the politest

ages of Greece and Rome hath been inquired into. At present it appears,

what effect it must necessarily have upon the public taste.

II. Another cause connected with the foregoing, and rising out of

it, seems to have been the festal licence of particular seasons,

such as the _Dionysia_ and _Panathenæa_, amongst the Greeks; and

the _Bacchanalia_ and _Saturnalia_, at Rome. These latter, it is

observable, were continued to the latest period of the Roman empire,

preserving in them an image, as well of the frank and libertine wit of

their old stage, as of the original equality and independency of their

old times. Quintilian thinks, that, with some regulation, good use

might have been made of these seasons of licence, for the cultivating

a just spirit of raillery in the orators of his time. As it was, there

is no doubt, they helped much to vitiate and deprave it. His words

are these: _Quin illæ ipsæ, quæ_ DICTA _sunt ac vocantur, quas certis

diebus festæ licentiæ dicere solebamus, si paulum adhibita ratione

fingerentur, aut aliquid in his serium quoque esset admixtum, plurimum

poterunt utilitatis afferre: quæ nunc juvenum, aut sibi ludentium

exercitatio est._ [Quint. l. iv. c. 3.] Besides, in Greece, the jester

was a character by profession, necessary to the pleasantry of private

feasts, and, as we learn from the fine satyr in Xenophon’s _Symposium_,

even in that polite age, welcome to all companies[26].

From these reasons I think it not difficult to account for the

coarseness of ancient wit. The free genius of the Greek and Roman

constitution was unquestionably its main spring and support. But,

when this character of their government was seconded by the freedom

of their demagogues, the petulance of the stage, and the uncontrouled

licence of recurring festival solemnities, it was no wonder, the

illiberal manner so thoroughly infected all ranks and degrees of

the people, as by no after diligence and refinement wholly to be

removed. And this theory is indeed confirmed by _fact_. For, when now

the tyranny of one man had ingrossed the power, and oppressed the

liberties, of Greece, their stage refined, their wit polished, and

Menander wrote. And though a thorough reform was never made in the

Roman stage, partly, as Quintilian thinks, from the intractability of

their language, but chiefly, it may be, as to the point in question,

from the long continuance of their rude farcical shews, yet something

like this appears to have followed upon the loss of their freedom;

as is plain from the improved delicacy of their later critics; who,

as Quintilian and Plutarch, are very profuse in their encomiums on

Menander, and the _new_ comedy; whereas we find little said of it

by the Augustan writers, who seem generally to have preferred the

coarser wit and pleasantry of the _old_. The state of modern wit too

confirms this account. For it has grown up, for the most part, under

limited monarchies, in which their scenical entertainments were more

moderate, or for plain reasons must less affect the public taste.

Whenever therefore a turn for letters has prevailed, a poignant, but

liberal kind of wit hath generally sprung up with it. Where it is worth

observing, the growing tyranny in some states hath either extinguished

it intirely, or refined it into an effeminate and timid delicacy, as

the growing licentiousness in others hath sunk it into a rude and

brutal coarseness; whilst by a due mixture of liberty and letters, we

have seen it acquire a proper temperament at home, and, as managed

by our best writers, exhibit a specimen of that strong, yet elegant

ridicule, which hath never yet been equalled by any other nation in the

world.

* * * * *

275. IGNOTUM TRAGICAE GENUS INVENISSE CAMENAE, &c.] The poet, having

just remarked the negligence of the Roman writers, in two or three

instances, and, at the same time recommended to them the superior care

and accuracy of the Greeks (all which is elegantly preparatory to the

last division of the epistle) proceeds in a short view of the Greek

drama, to insinuate, as well the successful pains of the Greek writers,

as the real state of the Roman stage; the complete glory of which could

only be expected, as immediately follows, from a spirit of diligence

and correctness. As this whole connexion is clear and easy, so is the

peculiar method, in which it is conducted, extremely proper. 1. To

shew, how great the advantage of their situation was over that of the

Greeks, he observes, that the latter had the whole constitution of the

drama to invent and regulate; which yet, by the application and growing

experience of their poets, was soon effected; their tragedy, all rude

and shapeless, as it was, in the cart of Thespis, appearing in its just

form and proportion on the stage of Æschylus; and their comedy also

(which, from that time, began to be cultivated) asserting its proper

character, and, but for the culpable omission of a chorus, reaching the

full extent and perfection of its kind.

2. To shew, what still remained to them, he brings down the history of

tragedy no lower than Æschylus; under whom it received its due form and

all the essentials of its nature, yet still wanted, to its absolute

perfection, the further accuracy and correctness of a Sophocles. And,

for their comedy, he hints the principal defect of that; its omission,

after the manner of the new comedy, of the chorus. There is great

address in this conduct. The censure also implied in it, is perfectly

just. For, 1. the character of the Roman tragedy, in the times of

Horace, was exactly that of Æschylus. Æschylus, says Quintilian,

was the first, “_qui protulit tragœdias_,” i. e. who composed true

legitimate tragedies, _sublimis et gravis et grandiloquus sæpe usque ad

vitium; sed rudis in plerisque et incompositus_ [L. x. c. i.] the very

description, which Horace gives [2 Ep. i. 165.] of the Roman tragedy.

_natura sublimis et acer,

Nam spirat tragicum satis et feliciter audet;

Sed turpem putat inscitus metuitque lituram._

2. The state of their comedy, as managed by their best writers,

Afranius and Terence, was, indeed, much more complete; yet wanted the

chorus, which, in the judgment of the poet, it seems, was equally

necessary to the perfection of this, as of the other drama.

3. But the application is made in express terms.

_Nil intentatum nostri liquere poetæ_, &c.

_i. e._ our poets, as well as the Greek, have, in some degree, applied

themselves to improve and regulate the stage. In particular, a late

innovation, in taking their subjects, both of tragedy and comedy, from

domestic facts, is highly to be applauded. Their sole disadvantage is,

_a neglect or contempt of that labour and accuracy, which gave the last

perfection to the Greek scene_.

After this clear and natural exposition of the connexion of these

lines, all the difficulties, that have been found in them by certain

great critics, vanish of themselves. And the reader now sees (what

the sagacious Heinsius thought impossible to be shewn) an ἀκολουθίαν,

or consistent, natural order in this part of the epistle; which was

in imminent danger of losing all its grace and beauty, by the wild

transpositions of that critic.

* * * * *

278. POST HUNC PERSONAE PALLAEQUE, &c.] M. _Dacier_ hath here puzzled

himself with a difficulty of his own raising. He wonders, that Horace

should omit, in this history, the other improvements of Æschylus,

mentioned by Aristotle, and that Aristotle, in his turn, should omit

those, mentioned by Horace. The truth is, neither of them intended

a complete account of the improvements of the Greek stage; but only

so much of them, as was necessary to the views of each. Aristotle,

treating of the _internal_ constitution of the drama, speaks of such

changes, made in it by Æschylus, as respected that end. Horace,

treating in general of its _form_, as perfected by the pains and

application of the same poet, selects those improvements only, which

contrast best to the rude essays of Thespis, and, while they imply the

rest, exhibit tragedy, as it were, in her proper person, on the stage.

The reader feels the effect of this in the poetry.

* * * * *

288. VEL QUI PRAETEXTAS, VEL QUI DOCUERE TOGATAS.] There hath been

much difficulty here in settling a very plain point. The question is,

whether _prætextas_ means _tragedy_, or a species of _comedy_? The

answer is very clear from Diomedes, whose account is, in short, this.

“^{1}_Togatæ_ is a general term for all sorts of Latin plays, adopting

the Roman customs and dresses; as _Palliatæ_ is, for all, adopting the

Græcian. Of the _Togatæ_, the several ^{2}species are, 1. _Prætexta_, or

_Prætextata_, in which Roman kings and generals were introduced, and

is so called, because the _prætexta_ was the distinguishing habit of

such persons. 2. _Tabernaria_, frequently called ^{3}_Togata_, though

that word, as we have seen, had properly a larger sense. 3. _Atellana._

4. _Planipedis._” He next marks the difference of these several sorts

of _Togatæ_, from the similar, corresponding ones of the _Palliatæ_,

which are these: “1. ^{4}Tragœdia, absolutely so styled. 2. ^{5}Comœdia,

3. ^{6}Satyri. 4. ^{7}Μῖμος.” [These four sorts of the _palliatæ_ were

also probably in use at Rome; certainly, at least, the two former.]

It appears then from hence, that _prætextata_ was properly the Roman

tragedy. But he adds, “_Togata prætextata à tragœdia differt_, and it

is also said, _to be only like tragedy_, _tragœdiæ similis_.” What is

this difference and this likeness? The explanation follows. “^{8}Heroes

are introduced in _tragedy_, such as Orestes, Chryses, and the like. In

the _prætextata_, Brutus, Decius, or Marcellus.” So then we see, when

Græcian characters were introduced, it was called simply _tragœdia_;

when Roman, _prætextata_; yet both, tragedies. The sole difference lay

in the persons being foreign or domestic. The correspondence in every

other respect was exact. The same is observed of the Roman comedy; when

it adopted ^{9}Greek characters, it was called _comœdia_: when Roman,

^{20}_Togata Tabernaria_, or ^{3}_Togata_, simply. That the reader may

assure himself of the fidelity of this account, let him take it at

large, in the Grammarian’s own words. “^{1}Togatæ fabulæ dicuntur, quæ

scriptæ sunt secundum ritus et habitus hominum togatorum, id est,

Romanorum (Toga namque Romana est), sicut Græcas fabulas ab habitu æque

palliatas Varro ait nominari. ^{3}Togatas autem cum sit generale nomen,

specialiter tamen pro tabernariis, non modo communis error usurpat,

sed et poetæ.—Togatarum fabularum ^{2}species tot fere sunt, quot et

palliatarum. Nam prima species est togatarum, quæ prætextatæ dicuntur,

in quibus imperatorum negotia agebantur et publica, et reges Romani vel

duces inducuntur, personarum et argumentorum sublimitate ^{4}tragœdiis

similes: Prætextatæ autem dicuntur, quia fere regum vel magistratuum,

qui prætexta utuntur, in hujusmodi fabulis acta comprehenduntur.

Secunda species togatarum, quæ tabernariæ dicuntur, humilitate

personarum et argumentorum similitudine ^{5}comœdiis pares—Tertia

species est fabularum latinarum, quæ—Atellanæ dictæ sunt, similes

^{6}satyricis fabulis, Græcis. Quarta species est planipedis, Græce

dicitur ^{7}Μῖμος.—Togata prætextata, à ^{4}tragœdia differt. In tragœdia

^{8}heroes introducuntur. Pacuvius tragœdias nominibus heroicis scripsit

Oresten, Chrysen, et his similia. Item Accius. In prætextata autem

scribitur, Brutus, vel Decius, vel Marcellus. ^{19}Togata tabernaria

à ^{5}comœdia differt, quod in ^{9}comœdia Græci ritus inducuntur,

personæque Græcæ, Laches, Sostrata. In illa vero Latinæ.” [L. iii.

c. de Com. et Trag. diff.] With this account of Diomedes agrees

perfectly that of _Festus_; from which, however, M. Dacier draws a very

different conclusion. “Togatarum duplex est genus: prætextarum—et

tabernariarum.” His inference is, that prætextatæ, as being a species

of the togatæ, must needs be comedies; not considering that togata is

here a generic term, comprehending under it all the several species

both of the Roman tragedy and comedy. After what hath been said,

and especially, after the full and decisive testimony of Diomedes,

there can no longer be any doubt about the meaning of _prætextas_;

and one must be surprized to find M. Dacier prefacing his long note

on this place in the following important manner: _C’est un des plus

difficiles passages d’Horace, et peutêtre celui qu’il est le plus mal

aisé d’eclaircir à cause du peu de lumiere que nous donnent les auteurs

Latins sur tout ce qui regarde leurs pieces de theatre_.

* * * * *

281. SUCCESSIT VETUS HIS COMOEDIA, &c.] _i. e._ Comedy began to be

cultivated and improved from the time that tragedy had obtained its

end, ἔσχε τὴν ἑαυτῆς φύσιν, under Æschylus. There is no reason to

suppose, with some critics, that Horace meant to date its origin from

hence. The supposition is, in truth, contradicted by _experience_ and

the _order of things_. For, as a celebrated French writer observes,

“_Le talent d’imiter, qui nous est naturel, nous porte plutôt à

la comedie qui roule sur des choses de nôtre connoissance qu’à la

Tragedie, qui prend des sujets plus èloignés de l’usage commun; et

en effet, en Gréce aussi bien qu’en France, la Comedie est l’aînée

de la tragedie_.” [Hist. du Theat. Franc. par M. de Fontenelle.] The

_latter_ part of this assertion is clear from the piece referred to;

and the _other_, which respects Greece, seems countenanced by Aristotle

himself [περ. ποιητ. κ. ε.] ’Tis true, Comedy, though its rise be every

where, at least, as early as that of tragedy, is perfected much later.

Menander, we know, appeared long after Æschylus. And, though the French

tragedy, to speak with Aristotle, ἔσχε τὴν ἑαυτῆς φύσιν in the hands

of Corneille, this cannot be said of their comedy, which was forced to

wait for a Moliere, before it arrived at that pitch of perfection. But

then this is owing to the superior difficulty of the comic drama. Nor

is it any objection that the contrary of this happened at Rome. For the

Romans, when they applied themselves in earnest to the stage, had not

to invent, but to imitate or rather _translate_, the perfect models of

Greece. And it chanced, for reasons which I shall not stay to deduce,

that their poets had better success in copying their _comedy_, than

_tragedy_.

* * * * *

284. TURPITER OBTICUIT—] Evidently because, though the _jus nocendi_

was taken away, yet that was no good reason, why the chorus should

entirely cease. M. Dacier mistakes the matter. _Le chœur se tût

ignominieusement, parceque la loi reprima sa licence, et que ce fut, à

proprement parler, la loi qui le bannit; ce qu’ Horace regarde comme

une espece de flétrissure. Properly speaking_, the law only abolished

the _abuse_ of the chorus. The ignominy lay in dropping the entire use

of it, on account of this restraint. Horace was of opinion, that the

chorus ought to have been retained, though the state had abridged it of

the licence, it so much delighted in, of an illimited, and intemperate

satyr. _Sublatus chorus fuit_, says Scaliger, _cujus illæ videntur esse

præcipuæ partes, ut potissimum quos liberet, læderent_.

* * * * *

286. NEC MINIMUM MERUERE DECUS VESTIGIA GRÆCA AUSI DESERERE ET

CELEBRARE DOMESTICA FACTA.] This judgment of the poet, recommending

domestic subjects, as fittest for the stage, may be inforced from

many obvious reasons. As I. that it renders the drama infinitely

more _affecting_: and this on many accounts. 1. As a subject, taken

from our own annals, must of course carry with it an air of greater

probability, at least to the generality of the people, than one

borrowed from those of any other nation. 2. As we all find a personal

interest in the subject. 3. As it of course affords the best and

easiest opportunities of catching our minds, by frequent references to

our manners, prejudices, and customs. And of how great importance this

is, may be learned from hence, that, even in the exhibition of foreign

characters, dramatic writers have found themselves obliged to sacrifice

truth and probability to the humour of the people, and to dress up

their personages, contrary to their own better judgment, in some degree

according to the mode and manners of their respective countries[27].

And 4. as the writer himself, from an intimate acquaintance with the

character and genius of his own nation, will be more likely to draw the

manners with life and spirit.

II. Next, which should ever be one great point in view, it renders the

drama more generally useful in its moral destination. For, it being

conversant about domestic acts, the great instruction of the fable more

sensibly affects us; and the characters exhibited, from the part we

take in their good or ill qualities, will more probably influence our

conduct.

III. Lastly, this judgment will deserve the greater regard, as the

conduct recommended was, in fact, the practice of our great models, the

Greek writers; in whose plays, it is observable, there is scarcely a

single scene, which lies out of the confines of Greece.

But, notwithstanding these reasons, the practice hath, in all times,

been but little followed. The Romans, after some few attempts in

this way (from whence the poet took the occasion of delivering it as

a dramatic precept), soon relapsed into their old use; as appears

from Seneca’s, and the titles of other plays, written in, or after

the Augustan age. Succeeding times continued the same attachment to

Grecian, with the addition of an equal fondness for Roman, subjects.

The reason in both instances hath been ever the same: that strong and

early prejudice, approaching somewhat to adoration, in favour of the

illustrious names of those two great states. The account of this matter

is very easy; for their writings, as they furnish the business of our

younger, and the amusement of our riper, years, and more especially

make the study of all those, who devote themselves to poetry and the

stage, insensibly infix in us an excessive veneration for all affairs

in which they were concerned; insomuch that no other subjects or events

seem considerable enough, or rise, in any proportion, to our ideas of

the dignity of the tragic scene, but such as time and long admiration

have consecrated in the annals of their story. Our Shakespeare was,

I think, the first that broke through this bondage of classical

superstition. And he owed this felicity, as he did some others, to

his want of what is called the advantage of a learned education. Thus

uninfluenced by the weight of early prepossession, he struck at once

into the road of nature and common sense: and without designing,

without knowing it, hath left us in his historical plays, with all

their anomalies, an exacter resemblance of the Athenian stage, than is

any where to be found in its most professed admirers and copyists.

I will only add, that, for the more successful execution of this rule

of celebrating domestic acts, much will depend on the æra, from

whence the subject is taken. Times too remote have almost the same

inconveniences, and none of the advantages, which attend the ages

of Greece and Rome. And, for those of later date, they are too much

familiarized to us, and have not as yet acquired that venerable cast

and air, which tragedy demands, and age only can give. There is no

fixing this point with precision. In the general, that æra is the

fittest for the poet’s purpose, which, though fresh enough in our minds

to warm and interest us in the event of the action, is yet at so great

a distance from the present times, as to have lost all those mean and

disparaging circumstances, which unavoidably adhere to recent deeds,

and, in some measure, sink the noblest modern transactions to the level

of ordinary life.

* * * * *

295. INGENIUM MISERA, &c.] _Sæpe audivi poetam bonum neminem (id

quod à Democrito et Platone in scriptis relictum esse dicunt)

sine inflammatione animorum existere posse et sine quodam afflatu

quasi furoris._ [Cic. De orat. l. ii. c. xlvi.] And so Petronius,

_præcipitandus liber spiritus, ut furentis animi vaticinatio appareat_.

[c. cxviii.] And to the same purpose every good critic, ancient or

modern. But who can endure the grimace of those minute _genii_, who,

because the truly inspired, in the ravings of the fit, are _touched_

with the flame and fury of enthusiasm, must, therefore, with a tame,

frigid fancy, be laying claim to the same fervent and fiery raptures?

The fate of these _aspirants_ to divinity is that ἐνθουσιᾷν ἑαυτοῖς

δοκοῦντες, οὐ βακχεύουσιν, ἀλλὰ παίζουσιν [Longin. περ. ὕψ. τμημ. χ.]

And Quintilian opens the mystery of the whole matter: _Quo quisque

ingenio minus valet, hoc se magis attollere et dilatare conatur: ut

statura breves in digitos eriguntur et plura infirmi minantur. Nam

tumidos et corruptos et tinnulos et quocunque alio cacozeliæ genere

peccantes, certum habeo, non virium, sed infirmitatis vitio laborare:

ut corpora non robore, sed valetudine inflantur: et recto itinere lapsi

plerumque divertunt._ [L. ii. c. 3.]

* * * * *

298. BONA PARS NON UNGUES, &c.] The constant and pitiful affectation of

the race before spoken of, who, with the modesty of laying claim to the

_thing_, will be sure not to omit the _sign_, and so, from fancying an

inspiration, they have _not_ come to adopt every foppery, that has ever

disgraced it in those who _have_.

* * * * *

308. QUID DECEAT, QUID NON:] _Nihil est difficilius quam_, quid deceat,

_videre._ Πρέπον _appellant hoc Græci: nos dicamus sane_ Decorum. _De

quo præclare et multa præcipiuntur, et res est cognitione dignissima.

Hujus ignoratione non modo in vitâ, sed sæpissime in_ POEMATIS _et in

oratione peccatur._ [Orator. xxi.]

* * * * *

309. SCRIBENDI RECTE, SAPERE EST ET PRINCIPIUM ET FONS.] The Orator

was of the same mind, when he sent his pupil to the academy for

instruction. _Quis nescit maximam vim existere oratoris in hominum

mentibus vel ad iram, aut dolorem incitandis, vel ab hisce iisdem

permotionibus ad lenitatem misericordiamque revocandis? quæ, nisi qui

naturas hominum, vimque omnem humanitatis, causasque eas quibus mentes

aut incitantur aut reflectuntur, penitus perspexerit, dicendo, quod

volet, perficere non poterit. Atqui_ TOTUS HIC LOCUS PHILOSOPHORUM

PROPRIUS VIDETUR. [De Orat. l. i. c. xii.] And he spoke, we know, from

his own experience, _having acquired his oratorial skill not in the

schools of the rhetoricians, but the walks of the academy_: _fateor

me oratorem, si modo sim, aut etiam quicunque sim, non ex rhetorum

officinis, sed ex Academiæ spatiis extitisse_. [Orat. p. 622. Elz. ed.]

But the reason he gives for this advice, though common to the poet;

whose character, as well as the orator’s, it is, _posse voluntates

impellere, quo velis, unde velis, deducere_, is yet, not the only one,

which respects the poet. For his business is to _paint_, and that

not only, as the orator does, in order to move, but for the sole end

of _pleasing_: _solam petit voluptatem_. [Quinct. l. x. c. i.] The

boast of his art is to catch every different aspect of nature, and

more especially to exhibit the human character in every varying light

and form, under which it presents itself. But this is not to be done

without an exquisite study, and philosophical knowledge of man; to

which end, as is remarked in _n._ on v. 317. the Socratic philosophy

is more peculiarly adapted. Add to this, that it is the genius of

true poetry, not only to animate, but to _personalize_ every thing,

_omnia debent esse morata_. Hence the indispensable necessity of moral

science: all poetry being, in effect, what Mr. Dryden somewhere calls

comedy, THE THEFT OF POETS FROM MANKIND.

* * * * *

310. SOCRATICAE CHARTAE.] An admired writer, in many respects

deservedly so, thus comments on these words: “The philosophical

writings, to which our poet refers, were in themselves a kind of

poetry, like the _mimes_, or personated pieces of early times, before

philosophy was in vogue, and when as yet _Dramatical imitation_

was scarce formed: or at least, in many parts, not brought to due

perfection. They were pieces, which, besides their force of style, and

hidden numbers, carried a sort of _action_ and _imitation_, the same as

the _Epic_ and _Dramatic_ kinds. They were either real dialogues, or

recitals of such personated discourses; where the persons themselves

had their characters preserved throughout; their manners, humours,

and distinct turns of temper and understanding maintained, according

to the most exact poetical truth. ’Twas not enough, that these pieces

treated fundamentally of morals, and, in consequence, pointed out

real characters and manners: They exhibited them alive, and set the

countenances and complexions of men plainly in view. And by this means

they not only taught us to know others; but, what was principal and

of highest virtue in them, they taught us to know ourselves.” Thus

far then these models are of unquestioned use to writers of every

denomination. I forbear to mention, what this noble author finds

occasion frequently to insinuate, and, by his own practice, labours

to recommend, the superior excellency of the _manner_, as well as

_matter_, of these highly-rated originals. Not that I presume to think

it unworthy of imitation. But the public taste, as appears, is running

full fast that way, insomuch that some may even doubt, if the state

of literary composition be more endangered by the neglect, or vicious

imitation, of the Platonic manner. Its graces, when sparingly employed

by a real genius, for the embellishment of strong sense, have, it

must be owned, great beauty. But when this humour of _platonizing_

seizes on some minuter spirit, bent on ennobling a trivial matter,

and all over-run with academic delicacy and affectation, nothing, to

a just and manly relish, can be more disgusting. One must wink hard

not to see frequent examples of this, in the master Platonist himself.

But his mimics, of late, have gone much farther. There is no need,

in such a croud of instances, to point to particulars. What I would

rather observe is, that this folly, offensive as it is, may perhaps

admit of some excuse from the _present state of our literature_, and

_the character of the great original himself_, whom these writers

aspire to imitate. When a language, as ours at this time, hath been

much polished and enriched with perfect models of style in almost

every way, it is in the order of things, that the next step should be

to a _vicious affectation_. For the simplicity of true taste, under

these circumstances, grows insipid. Something _better than the best_

must be aimed at; and the reader’s languid appetite raised by the

provocatives of an ambitious refinement. And this in _sentiment_,

as well as _language_. Whence we see how it happened, that even in

_Greece_ itself, where composition was studied with a more than common

accuracy, _Philosophy_, when it passed out of the hands of its great

masters, degenerated by degrees into the subtilties of sophistry, as

did _Eloquence_, likewise, into the tricks of rhetoric.

But there was something, as I hinted, too, in the _character of the

writer imitated_, of a very ticklish and dangerous nature; and of which

our tribe of imitators were not sufficiently aware. A very exact critic

of antiquity hath told us what it was. It lay in Plato’s _bringing

the tumor of poetic composition into discourses of philosophy_, ΟΤΙ

ΤΟΝ ΟΓΚΟΝ ΤΗΣ ΠΟΙΗΤΙΚΗΣ ΚΑΤΑΣΚΕΥΗΣ ΕΠΙ ΛΟΓΟΥΣ ΗΓΑΓΕ ΦΙΛΟΣΟΦΟΥΣ[28].

And though the experiment, for the most part, succeeded not amiss (as

what contradiction is there which superior genius cannot reconcile?)

yet it sometimes failed even in his hands. And as a French writer

well expresses it, Le DIVIN _Plato, pour avoir voulu s’elever trop au

dessus des hommes, est souvent tombè dans un_ GALIMATIAS _pompeux que

quelques uns confondent avec le_ SUBLIME. The PHAEDRUS, though the most

remarkable, is not the only example of such mischance in the writings

of this great man.

* * * * *

317. VERAS HINC DUCERE VOCES.] _Truth_, in poetry, means such an

expression, as conforms to the general nature of things; _falsehood_,

that, which, however suitable to the particular instance in view

doth yet not correspond to such _general nature_. To attain to this

_truth_ of expression in dramatic poetry two things are prescribed:

1. A diligent study of the Socratic philosophy; and 2. A masterly

knowledge and comprehension of human life. The _first_, because it is

the peculiar distinction of this school _ad veritatem vitæ propius

accedere_. [Cic. de Or. i. 51.] And the _latter_, as rendering the

imitation more universally striking. This will be understood by

reflecting that _truth_ may be followed too closely in works of

imitation, as is evident in two respects. For, 1. the artist, when

he would give a Copy of nature, may confine himself too scrupulously

to the exhibition of _particulars_, and so fail of representing the

general idea of the _kind_. Or, 2. in applying himself to give the

_general_ idea, he may collect it from an enlarged view of _real_ life,

whereas it were still better taken from the nobler conception of it

as subsisting only in the _mind_. This last is the kind of censure we

pass upon the _Flemish_ school of painting, which takes its model from

real nature, and not, as the _Italian_, from the contemplative idea of

beauty[29]. The _former_ corresponds to that other fault objected also

to the Flemish masters, which consists in their copying from particular

odd and grotesque nature in contradistinction to general and graceful

nature.

We see then that in deviating from particular and partial, the poet

more faithfully imitates _universal_, truth. And thus an answer occurs

to that refined argument, which Plato invented and urged, with much

seeming complacency, against poetry. It is, that _poetical imitation

is at a great distance from truth_. “Poetical expression, says the

Philosopher, is the copy of the poet’s own conceptions; the poet’s

conception, of things, and things, of the standing archetype, as

existing in the divine mind. Thus the poet’s expression, is a copy at

third hand, from the primary, original truth.” [Plat. De rep. l. x.]

Now the diligent study of this rule of the poet obviates this reasoning

at once. For, by abstracting from existences all that peculiarly

respects and discriminates the _individual_, the poet’s conception,

as it were neglecting the intermediate particular objects, catches, as

far as may be, and reflects the divine archetypal idea, and so becomes

itself the copy or image of truth. Hence too we are taught the force

of that unusual encomium on poetry by the great critic, _that it is

something more severe and philosophical than history_, φιλοσοφώτερον

καὶ σπουδαιότερον ποίησις ἱστορίας ἐστίν. The reason follows, which

is now very intelligible; ἡ μὲν γὰρ ποίησις μᾶλλον τὰ καθόλου, ἡ

δ’ ἱστορία τὰ καθ’ ἕκαστον λέγει. [Περ. ποιητ. κ. θ.] And this will

further explain an essential difference, as we are told, between the

two great rivals of the Greek stage. Sophocles, in return to such

as objected a want of truth in his characters, used to plead, _that

he drew men such as they ought to be, Euripides such as they were_.

Σοφοκλῆς ἔφη, αὐτὸς μὲν οἵους δεῖ ποιεῖν, Εὐριπίδης δὲ οἷοί εἰσι.

[Περ. ποιητ. κ. κε.] The meaning of which is, Sophocles, from his more

extended commerce with mankind, had enlarged and widened the narrow,

partial conception, arising from the contemplation of _particular_

characters, into a complete comprehension of the _kind_. Whereas the

philosophic Euripides, having been mostly conversant in the academy,

when he came to look into life, keeping his eye too intent on single,

really existing personages, sunk the _kind_ in the _individual_; and

so painted his characters naturally indeed, and _truly_, with regard

to the objects in view, but sometimes without that general and

universally striking likeness, which is demanded to the full exhibition

of poetical truth.

But here an objection meets us, which must not be overlooked. It will

be said, “that philosophic speculations are more likely to render men’s

views _abstract_ and _general_ than to confine them to _individuals_.

This latter is a fault arising from the _small number_ of objects

men happen to contemplate: and may be removed not only by taking a

view of many _particulars_, which is knowledge of the world; but also

by reflecting on the _general nature_ of men, as it appears in good

books of morality. For the writers of such books form their _general_

notion of human nature from an extensive experience (either their own,

or that of others) without which their writings are of no value.”

The answer, I think, is this. _By reflecting on the general nature

of man_ the philosopher learns, what is the tenor of action arising

from the predominancy of certain qualities or properties; _i. e._ in

general, what that conduct is, which the imputed character requires.

But to perceive clearly and certainly, how far, and with what degree

of strength this or that character will, on particular occasions,

most probably shew itself, this is the fruit only of a knowledge of

the world. Instances of a want of this knowledge cannot be supposed

frequent in such a writer, as Euripides; nor, when they occur, so

glaring as to strike a common reader. They are niceties, which can

only be discerned by the true critic; and even to _him_, at this

distance of time, from an ignorance of the Greek manners, that may

possibly appear a fault, which is a real beauty. It would therefore be

dangerous to think of pointing out the places, which Aristotle might

believe liable to this censure in Euripides. I will however presume to

mention one, which, if not justly criticized, will, at least, serve to

illustrate my meaning.

The story of his _Electra_ is well known. The poet had to paint, in

the character of this princess, a virtuous, but fierce, resentful

woman; stung by a sense of personal ill treatment; and instigated

to the revenge of a father’s death, by still stronger motives. A

disposition of this warm temperament, it might be concluded by the

philosopher in his closet, would be prompt to shew itself. _Electra_

would, on any proper occasion, be ready to avow her resentment, as

well as to forward the execution of her purpose. But to what lengths

would this _resentment_ go? _i. e._ what degree of fierceness might

_Electra_ express, without affording occasion to a person widely

skilled in mankind, and the operation of the passions, to say, “this

is improbable?” Here abstract theories will be of little service. Even

a moderate acquaintance with real life will be unable to direct us.

Many individuals may have fallen under observation, that will justify

the poet in carrying the expression of such a _resentment_ to any

extreme. History would, perhaps, furnish examples, in which a virtuous

resentment hath been carried even farther than is here represented by

the poet. What way then of determining the precise bounds and limits

of it? Only by observing in numerous instances, _i. e._ from a large

extensive knowledge of practical life, how far it usually, in such

characters, and under such circumstances, prevails. Hence a difference

of representation will arise in proportion to the extent of that

_knowledge_. Let us now see, how the character before us, hath, in

fact, been managed by Euripides.

In that fine scene, which passes between Electra and Orestes, whom as

yet she suspects not to be her brother, the conversation very naturally

turns upon Electra’s distresses, and the author of them, Clytæmnestra,

as well as on her hopes of deliverance from them by the means of

Orestes. The dialogue upon this proceeds:

_Or._ What then of Orestes, were he to return to this Argos?

_El._ Ah! wherefore that question, when there is no prospect of his

return at all?

_Or._ But supposing he should return, how would he go about to revenge

the death of his father?

_El._ In the same way, in which that father suffered from the daring

attempts of his enemies.

_Or._ And could you then dare to undertake with him the murder of your

mother?

_El._ Yes, with that very steel, with which she murdered my father.

_Or._ And am I at liberty to relate this to your brother, as your fixed

resolution?

_El._ I desire only to live, till I have murdered my mother. The Greek

is still stronger:

_May I die, as soon as I have murdered my mother!_

Now that this last sentence is absolutely unnatural, will not be

pretended. There have been doubtless many examples, under the like

circumstances, of an expression of revenge carried thus far. Yet, I

think, we can hardly help being a little shocked at the fierceness of

_this_ expression. At least _Sophocles_ has not thought fit to carry

it to that extreme. In him, _Electra_ contents herself with saying to

_Orestes_, on a similar occasion:

“The conduct of this affair now rests upon you. Only let me observe

this to you, that, had I been left alone, I would not have failed in

one of these two purposes, either to deliver myself gloriously, or to

perish gloriously.”

Whether this representation of Sophocles be not more agreeable to

_truth_, as collected from wide observation, i. e. from human nature

at large, than that of Euripides, the capable reader will judge. If

it be, the reason I suppose to have been, _that Sophocles painted his

characters, such, as, from attending to numerous instances of the

same kind, he would conclude they ought to be; Euripides, such, as a

narrower sphere of observation had persuaded him they were_.

* * * * *

319. INTERDUM SPECIOSA LOCIS, &c.] The poet’s science in _ethics_ will

principally shew itself in these two ways, 1. in furnishing proper

matter for general reflexion on human life and conduct; and, 2. in a

due adjustment of the manners. By the former of these two applications

of moral knowledge a play becomes, what the poet calls, _speciosa

locis_, i. e. (for the term is borrowed from the rhetoricians)

_striking in its moral topics_: a merit of the highest importance on

the ancient stage, and which, if prudently employed in subserviency to

the _latter_ more essential requisite of the drama, _a just expression

of the manners_, will deserve to be so reputed at all times and on

every theatre. The danger is, lest a studied, declamatory _moral_,

affectedly introduced, or indulged to excess, should prejudice the

natural exhibition of the _characters_, and so convert _the image of

human life_ into an unaffecting, philosophical dialogue.

* * * * *

319. MORATAQUE RECTE FABULA, &c.] This judgment of the poet, in regard

of the superior efficacy of _manners_, is generally thought to be

contradicted by Aristotle; who in treating this subject, observes,

“that let a piece be never so perfect in the _manners_, _sentiments_,

and _style_, it will not so well answer the end and purpose of

tragedy, as if defective in these, and finished only in the fable and

composition.” Ἐάν τις ἐφεξῆς θῇ ῥήσεις ἠθικὰς καὶ λέξεις καὶ διανοίας

εὖ πεποιημένας, οὐ ποιήσει ὃ ἦν τῆς τραγῳδίας ἔργον, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον

ἡ καταδεεστέροις τούτοις κεχρημένη τραγῳδία, ἔχουσα δὲ μῦθον καὶ

σύστασιν πραγμάτων. Κεφ. ϛʹ. M. Dacier thinks to clear this matter

by saying, “that what Aristotle remarks holds true of tragedy, but

not of comedy, of which alone Horace is here speaking.” But granting

that the artificial contexture of the fable is less necessary to the

perfection of comedy, than of tragedy (as it certainly is), yet the

tenor of this whole division, exhorting to correctness in general,

makes it unquestionable, that Horace must intend to include _both_.

The case, as it seems to me, is this. The poet is not comparing

the respective importance of the _fable_ and _manners_, but of the

_manners_ and _diction_, under this word including also _numbers_.

He gives them the preference _not_ to a _good plot_, nor even to

_fine sentiments_, but to _versus inopes rerum nugæque canoræ_. The

_art_ he speaks of, is the art of _expressing_ the thoughts properly,

gracefully, and harmoniously: the _pondus_ is the force and energy of

good _versification_. _Venus_ is a general term including both kinds

of beauty. _Fabula_ does not mean the _fable_ (in distinction from the

rest) but simply _a play_.

* * * * *

323. GRAIIS INGENIUM, &c.] The Greeks being eminent for _philosophy_,

especially _morals_; the last observation naturally gives rise to this.

For the transition is easy from their superiority, as philosophers,

to their superiority as poets; and the more easy, as the latter is

shewn to be, in part, the effect of the former. Now this superiority of

the Greeks in genius and eloquence (which would immediately occur, on

mentioning the _Socraticæ chartæ_) being seen and confessed, we are led

to ask, “whence this arises.” The answer is, from their making _glory_,

not _gain_, the object of their wishes.

* * * * *

330. AERUGO ET CURA PECULI CUM SEMEL IMBUERIT, &c.] This _love of

gain_, to which Horace imputes the imperfect state of the Roman poetry,

hath been uniformly assigned, by the wisdom of ancient times, as the

specific bane of arts and letters. _Longinus_ and _Quintilian_ account,

from hence, for the decay of eloquence, _Galen_ of physic, _Petronius_

of painting, and _Pliny_, of the whole circle of the liberal arts. An

ingenious modern is indeed for carrying his views much further. He,

it seems, would account [Refl. sur la Poes. et sur la Peint. v. ii. §

xiv.] for this _public degeneracy_ of taste and literature, not from

the malignity of the selfish passions, but the baleful influences of

the air, emulating, I suppose, herein, the wisdom of that philosophy,

which teaches to lay the _private degeneracy_ of individuals on the

stars. Thus much however may be true, that other causes have generally

co-operated with it. Some of these, as might be shewn, did not escape

the attention of these wise ancients. Yet they did right to insist

chiefly on _this_, which is every way equal to the effect ascribed to

it. It is so in its _nature_: For being, as Longinus calls it, νόσημα

μικροποιὸν, _a disease which narrows and contracts the soul_, it must,

of course, restrain the generous efforts and expansions of genius;

cramp the free powers and energies of the mind, and render it unapt to

open itself to wide views, and to the projection of great, extensive

designs. It is so in its _consequences_. For, as one says elegantly,

_when the passion of avarice grows general in a country, the temples

of Honour are soon pulled down, and all men’s sacrifices are made to

Fortune_[30]. Thus extinguishing the sense of honour, that divinest

movement in our frame, and the only one, which can invigorate the mind

under the long labours of invention, it must needs be, that the fire

and high spirit of genius go out with it; and dragging in its train the

_love of pleasure_, that unmanliest of all the passions, it diffuses

such a languor and impotency over the mind, as must leave it at length

a prey to a supine wasting indolence; till, as Longinus observes of his

own age (and let every friend to letters deprecate the omen), Πάντες

ἐγκαταβιοῦμεν, οὐκ ἄλλως πονοῦντες, ἢ ἀναλαμβάνοντες, εἰ μὴ ἐπαίνου καὶ

ἡδονῆς ἕνεκα, ἀλλὰ μὴ τῆς ζήλου καὶ τιμῆς ἀξίας ποτὲ ὠφελείας.

* * * * *

333. AUT PRODESSE VOLUNT, AUT DELECTARE POETAE, &c.] Though these lines

have the appearance of general criticism, yet do they more especially

respect the dramatic poesy. This will be evident from attending to

the context. The full boast and glory of the drama is to _delight_

and _instruct_ mankind. 1. The latter praise was more especially due

to the ancient tragic muse, who did not think it sufficient to paint

lovely pourtraitures of _public_ and _social_ virtue, and to call in

the moralizing chorus to her assistance, but, which was one of her

discriminating characters, she was perpetually inculcating every branch

of true moral in those brief sententious precepts, which inform and

solemnize her page. To these precepts then the poet manifestly refers

in those lines,

_Quicquid præcipies, esto brevis; ut cito dicta

Percipiant animi dociles, teneantque fideles_.

But what follows is still clearer, [2.] The other end of the drama is

to _entertain_, and this by the means of _probable fiction_.

_Ficta, voluptatis causa, sint proxima veris._

And the poet applies this to the case of the drama in express words:

_Ne quodcunque volet, poscat sibi fabula credi:

Neu pransæ Lamiæ vivum puerum extrahat alvo_.

The instance of _Lamia_, as Mr. Dacier observes, is certainly taken

from some poet of that time, who had been guilty of this misconduct.

The reader may learn from hence, how intently Horace pursues his design

of criticizing the _Roman_ stage, when, in treating a subject, from

its nature, the most general of any in the epistle, _viz. critical

correctness_, we yet find him so industriously recurring to this point.

* * * * *

343. MISCUIT UTILE DULCI.] The unnatural separation of the DULCE

ET UTILE hath done almost as much hurt in _letters_ as that of the

HONESTUM ET UTILE, which Tully somewhere complains of, hath done in

_morals_. For while the polite writer, as he is called, contents

himself with the _former_ of these qualities, and the man of erudition

with the _latter_, it comes to pass, as the same writer expresses it,

that ET DOCTIS ELOQUENTIA POPULARIS, ET DISERTIS ELEGANS DOCTRINA DESIT

[Orat. iii.]

* * * * *

363. HAEC AMAT OBSCURUM, VOLET HAEC SUB LUCE VIDERI.] Cicero hath

given the same precept in relation to oratory, _habeat illa in dicendo

admiratio ac summa laus umbram aliquam et recessum, quo magis id, quod

erit illuminatum, extare atque eminere videatur_. [De orat. l. iii. c.

xxvi.]

* * * * *

373. MEDIOCRIBUS ESSE POETIS NON HOMINES, &c.] This judgment, however

severe it may seem, is according to the practice of the best critics.

We have a remarkable instance in the case of _Apollonius Rhodius_, who,

though, in the judgment of Quintilian, the author of no contemptible

poem, yet on account of that _equal mediocrity_, which every where

prevails in him, was struck out of the list of good writers by such

sovereign judges of poetical merit, as Aristophanes and Aristarchus.

[Quint. l. x. c. i.]

* * * * *

403. DICTAE PER CARMINA SORTES,] The oracles here spoken of, are such

as respect not _private persons_ (whom a natural curiosity, quickened

by anxious superstition, has ever prompted to pry into their future

fortunes) but _entire communities_; and for these there was little

place, till Ambition had inspired great and eventful designs, and by

involving the fate of nations, had rendered the knowledge of futurity

_important_. Hence, in marking the progress of ancient poesy, Horace

judiciously postpones _oracles_, to the _celebration_ of martial

_prowess_, as being that, which gave the principal _eclat_ to them.

This species of poetry then is rightly placed, though it be true, as

the commentators have objected, that oracles were much ancienter than

Homer, and the Trojan war.

* * * * *

404. ET VITAE MONSTRATA VIA EST;] Meaning the writings of _Theognis_,

_Phocylides_, _Hesiod_, and others, which, consisting wholly of moral

precepts, are elegantly said to lay open, or discover _the road

of life_. Mr. Dacier’s interpretation, which makes the poet mean

_physics_ by _viam vitæ_, is supported by no reason. _Il ne faut pas_,

says he, _entendre ceci de la philosophie et des mœurs_; CAR _Horace

se contrediroit, puisque il a dit que ce fut le premier soin de la

poesie_. The learned critic did not consider, that the first care of

poesy, as explained above, and as employed by _Orpheus_ and _Amphion_,

was to inculcate _policy_, not _moral_.

* * * * *

404. ET GRATIA REGUM, PIERIIS TENTATA MODIS, LUDUSQUE REPERTUS, ET

LONGORUM OPERUM FINIS: NE FORTE PUDORI SIT TIBI MUSA LYRAE SOLERS,

ET CANTOR APOLLO.] This is one of those master-strokes, which make

the sovereign charm of this poet. But the way in which it hath been

understood, extinguishes all its grace and beauty. _On les vers

employa_, says an interpreter, who speaks the sense of the rest, _à

gagner la faveur des rois, et on les mit de tous les jeux et de tous

les spectacles, qu’on inventa pour se delasser de ses longs travaux et

de toutes ses fatigues. Je vous dis cela afin que vous n’ayez point

de honte de faire la cour aux Muses et à Apollon._ And, lest this

should not seem explicit enough, he adds in a couple of notes, that by

_ludus repertus_, &c. _il_ [le poete] _veut parler des tragedies et

des comedies que l’on faisoit jour dans les fêtes solemnelles_. And

then, as to the _ne forte pudori_, _Cela prouve qu’ Horace ne fait

cet eloge de la poesie que pour empecher que Pison n’en fût degouté_.

Can any thing be more insipid? For could the poet think so meanly of

his art, as to believe it wanted an apology? Or had the _courtier_ so

little address, as to direct that apology immediately to the Pisos?

Besides, what species of poesy is it that he labours to excuse? Why,

according to this interpretation, the _dramatic_: the supreme boast of

his art, and the main subject of the epistle. And in what _manner_ does

he excuse it? Why, in recommending it, as an agreeable amusement. But

his master, Aristotle, would have furnished him with a nobler plea: and

’tis certain, the ancients talked at another rate of the use and end

of the drama. Let us see then, if the sense, given in the commentary,

will bring any relief to the poet. In fact, this whole passage [from

_et vitæ_, &c. to _cantor Apollo_] obliquely glances at the two sorts

of poetry peculiarly cultivated by himself, and is an indirect apology

for his own choice of them. For 1. _vitæ monstrata via est_ is the

character of his _sermones_. And 2. all the rest, of his _Odes_. These

are recommended, agreeably to their nature, 1. as of use to _conciliate

the favour of princes_; hereby glancing at the success of his own odes,

and, with the happiest address, insinuating the regard, which Augustus

paid to letters. 2. As contributing to the mirth and entertainment of

feasts, and especially as holding a principal place in the celebration

of those more sacred, secular festivities (_longorum operum finem_)

which could not be duly solemnized, without the ministration of the

lyric muse.

_Castis cum pueris ignara puella mariti,

Disceret unde preces, vatem ni musa dedisset?_

2 Ep. i. 132.

And again:

_ego Diis amicum,

Sæculo festas referente luces,

Reddidi carmen docilis modorum

Vatis Horatî_.

Carm. Sec.

In another place both ends are expressed:

_testudo

Divitum_ MENSIS _et amica_ TEMPLIS.

3 Od. xi.

Where it may be observed, this double character of lyric poetry exactly

corresponds to that, which the poet had before expressly given of it in

this very epistle: the _gratia regum_ being the same as

_Musa dedit fidibus Divos puerosque Deorum

Et pugilem victorem et equum certamine primum_.

v. 83.

And _ludusque repertus_, describing its other office,

_Et juvenum curas et libera vina referre_.

ib.

In this view the following line, which apologizes, not for poesy in

general, or its noblest species, the drama, but for his own lyrics

only, hath, as the reader perceives, infinite grace; and is peculiarly

marked with that vein of exquisite humour, so suited to the genius of

the epistle, and which makes one of the distinguishing beauties of

the poet. It hath also an extreme _propriety_; the levity of the ode

admitting, or rather requiring some apology to the Pisos; who would be

naturally led to think but meanly of it, in comparison of the sublimer

dramatic poetry. I must add, the very terms of the apology so expresly

define and characterize lyric poetry, that it is something strange, it

should have escaped vulgar notice: _musa lyræ solers_ being evidently

explained by _Romanæ fidicen lyræ_ [4 Od. iii. 23.] and the epithet

_cantor_, describing Apollo, as clearly as words can do it, in the

peculiar character of _Lyric_.

* * * * *

407. CANTOR APOLLO. NATURA FIERET, &c.] The transition is delicate,

and a fine instance of that kind of method, which the Epistle demands.

The poet had just been speaking of the ode, and its inspirer, _cantor

Apollo_; and this, in the natural train of his ideas, suggested that

enthusiasm, and stretch of genius, which is at once the characteristic

and glory of the lyric composition. And this was ground enough, in an

Epistle, to pass on to say something concerning the power and influence

of genius in poetry in general. It was for want of attending to so

plain a reflexion as this, that the excellent Heinsius trifled so

egregiously, in his transpositions of the Epistles, and in particular

of this very place. And the hasty censures, which M. Dacier passed

on the poet’s method, are apparently owing to no other cause. [See

his introduct. remarks.] But to declare my sense at parting, of the

_latter_ of these critics, I would say, as he himself does of the

former, _C’est assez parlé contre M._ DACIER, _dont j’estime et admire

autant la profonde érudition, que je condamne la mauvais usage qu’il

en a fait en quelques rencontres_.

* * * * *

410. ALTERIUS SIC ALTERA POSCIT OPEM RES, ET CONJURAT AMICE.] This

conclusion, “that art and nature must conspire to the production of

a perfect piece,” is, in the general, unquestionably just. If we

would know the distinct powers and provinces of each, a fine passage

in Longinus will inform us. For, of the five sources of the sublime,

enumerated by that critic, two only, “a grandeur of conception, and

the pathetic,” come from _nature_: the rest, “a just arrangement of

figures,” “a splendid diction,” and “dignity of composition,” are of

the province of _art_. Yet, though their powers are thus distinct,

each, in order to attain its due perfection, must conspire, and be

consociated, with the other. For that “sublime of conception” and

“pathetic enthusiasm” never make a more sure and lasting impression,

than when cloathed in the graces, and moderated by the sober sense

of _art_: as, on the contrary, the milder beauties of “language” and

“artificial composition” are never so secure of seizing the attention,

as when raised and inspirited by the _pathos_, or _sublime_. So that

the nature of the union, here recommended, is such, as makes it not

only necessary to the completion of that great end, _viz._ the glory of

perfect composition; but that either part, in the alliance, may fully

effect its own. All which is but the larger explication of another

passage in Longinus, who teaches, that ΤΟΤΕ Η ΤΕΧΝΗ ΤΕΛΕΙΟΣ, ΗΝΙΚ’ ΑΝ

ΦΥΣΙΣ ΕΙΝΑΙ ΔΟΚΗΙ· Η Δ’ ΑΥ ΦΥΣΙΣ ΕΠΙΤΥΧΗΣ, ΟΤΑΝ ΛΑΝΘΑΝΟΥΣΑ ΠΕΡΙΕΧΗΙ ΤΗΝ

ΤΕΧΝΗΝ. [περ. ὑψ. τμη. κβʹ.]

But here, in parting, it will be amusing, perhaps, to the curious

reader to observe, what perpetual matter of debate this question hath

furnished to the ancient learned.

It seems first to have taken its rise from the high pretension of

poets to inspiration [see Pind. Od. iii. Nem.], which was afterwards

understood in too literal a sense, and in time extended to all works

of genius or imitation. The orator, who, as Cicero tells us, is _near

a-kin to the poet_, set up the same claim; principally, as it should

seem, on the authority of Socrates, who, taking occasion from the ill

use that had been made of _rhetoric_, to decry it as an _art_, was

herein followed by the most illustrious of his scholars; amongst whom

was Aristotle, [Quinct. l. ii. c. 17.] who had written a set treatise

professedly with this view, though his books of rhetoric proceed on

very different principles. The question afterwards appeared of so much

moment to Cicero, that he discussed it in form, in one of his dialogues

De Oratore. And Quinctilian, in still later times, found himself

obliged to resume the same debate, and hath accordingly considered it

in an entire chapter.

The long continuance of so frivolous a dispute, and which admits so

easy a decision, would go near to persuade one, if, as Shakespeare

speaks, _they had not the privilege of antiquity upon them_, that the

pens of the ancient _literati_ were not always more wisely employed,

than those of modern controversialists. If we ask the reason, it would

seem to be owing to that ambitious spirit of subtlety and refinement,

which, as Quintilian observes, _puts men upon teaching not what

they believe to be true, but what, from the falsehood or apparent

strangeness of the matter, they expect the praise of ingenuity from

being able to maintain_. This, I say, might seem to be the cause of

so much perversity, on the first view, and unquestionably it had its

influence. But the truth is, the real cause was something more general

and extensive. It was, in fact, that _natural proneness_, so Longinus

terms it, _in mankind, to censure and degrade things present_, ἴδιον

ἀνθρώπου καταμέμφεσθαι τὰ παρόντα. This in nothing holds truer,

than in what concerns the state of literature; as may be seen from

that unwearied industry of the learned to decry whatever appears to

be the prevailing taste of the times; whether it be in suggesting

some defect to be made good by future improvements; or, as is more

common, because the easier and less invidious task, in setting up,

and magnifying some former examples of a different cast and merit.

Thus, in the case before us, exquisite art and commanding genius,

being the two only means of rising to superior literary excellence,

in proportion as any age became noted for the one, it was constantly

defamed, and the preference given to the other. So, during the growth

of letters in any state, when a sublimity of sentiment and strength

of expression make, as under those circumstances they always will,

the characteristic of the times, the critic, disgusted with the rude

workings of nature, affects to admire only the nicer finishings and

proportions of art. When, let but the growing experience of a few years

refine and perfect the public taste, and what was before traduced as

roughness and barbarity, becomes at once nerves, dignity, and force.

Then art is effeminacy; and judgment want of spirit. All now is rapture

and inspiration. The exactest modern compositions are unmanly and

unnatural, _et solos veteres legendos putant, neque in ullis aliis esse

naturalem eloquentiam et robur viris dignum arbitrantur_. [Quinct. l.

x. c. i.] The truth of this observation might he justified from many

examples. The learning and art of _Pacuvius_ (for so I understand the

epithet _doctus_) carried it before the sublime of _Accius_; just as in

elder Greece the smooth and correct _Simonides_, _tenuis Simonides_,

as Quinctilian characterizes him, bore away the prize from the lofty

and high-spirited _Æschylus_. Afterwards indeed the case was altered.

The Athenians, grown exact in the rules of good writing, became so

enamoured of the bold flights of Æschylus, as with a little correction

to admit him on the stage, who, by this means, frequently gained the

prize from a polite and knowing people, for what had certainly lost it

him in the simpler, and less informed theatre of his own times. Thus

too it fared with the elder Latin poets, who, though admired indeed in

their own age, but with considerable abatement from the reason before

assigned, were perfectly idolized in that of Augustus; so as to require

the sharpest satire of our poet, to correct the malevolent principle

from whence the affectation arose. But the observation holds of our own

writers. There was a time, when the art of JONSON was set above the

divinest raptures of SHAKESPEARE. The present age is well convinced of

the mistake. And now the genius of SHAKESPEARE is idolized in its turn.

Happily for the public taste, it can scarcely be too much so. Yet,

should any, in the rage of erecting trophies to the genius of ancient

poesy, presume to violate the recent honours of more correct poets,

the cause of such critical perversity will be ever the same. For all

admiration of past times, when excessive, is still to be accounted for

the same way,