_Ingeniis non ille favet plauditque sepultis,

Nostra sed impugnat, nos nostraque lividus odit_.

THE END OF THE NOTES ON THE ART OF POETRY.

Q. HORATII FLACCI

EPISTOLA AD AUGUSTUM.

TO THE REVEREND

MR. WARBURTON.

REVEREND SIR,

Give me leave to present to you the following Essay on the _Epistle

to Augustus_; which, whatever other merit it may want, is secure of

this, that it hath been planned upon the best model. For I know not

what should hinder me from declaring to you in this public manner,

that it was the early pleasure I received from what you had written of

this sort, which _first_ engaged me in the province of criticism. And,

if I have taken upon me to illustrate _another_ of the finest pieces

of antiquity after the _same method_, it is because I find myself

encouraged to do so by higher considerations, than even the Authority

of your example.

CRITICISM, considered in its ancient and noblest office of doing

justice to the merits of great writers, more especially in works

of poetry and invention, demands, to its perfect execution, these

two qualities: _a philosophic spirit_, capable of penetrating the

fundamental reasons of excellence in every different species of

composition; and _a strong imagination_, the parent of what we call

_true taste_, enabling the critic to feel the full force of his

author’s excellence himself, and to impress a lively sense of it

upon others. Each of these abilities is necessary. For by means of

philosophy, criticism, which were otherwise a vague and superficial

thing, acquires the soundness and solidity of science. And from the

_power of fancy_, it derives that light and energy and spirit, which

are wanting to provoke the public emulation and carry the general

conclusions of reason into practice.

Of these talents (to regard them in their separate state) that of a

_strong imagination_, as being the commoner of the two, one would

naturally suppose should be the first to exert itself in the service of

criticism. And thus it seems, in fact, to have happened. For there were

very early in Greece a sort of men, who, under the name of RHAPSODISTS,

made it their business to illustrate the beauties of their favourite

writers. Though their art, indeed, was very simple; for it consisted

only in _acting_ the finest passages of their works, and in _repeating_

them, with a rapturous kind of vehemence, to an ecstatic auditory.

Whence it appears, that criticism, as being yet in its infancy, was

wholly turned to _admiration_; a passion which true _judgment_ as

little indulges in the schools of _Art_, as sound philosophy in those

of _Nature_. Accordingly these enraptured declaimers, though they

travelled down to the politer ages, could not subsist in them. The

fine ridicule of Plato, in one of his Dialogues[31], and the growing

taste for just thinking, seem perfectly to have discredited this folly.

And it was presently seen and acknowledged even by the Rhapsodist

himself, that, how _divinely_ soever he might feel himself affected by

the magnetic virtue of the muse, yet, as he could give no intelligible

account of its subtle operations, he was assuredly no _Artist_; ΘΕΙΟΝ

εἶναι καὶ μὴ ΤΕΧΝΙΚΟΝ ἐπαινέτην.

From this time they, who took upon themselves the office of commenting

and recommending the great writers of Greece, discharged it in a very

different manner. Their researches grew severe, inquisitive, and

rational. And no wonder; for the person, who now took the lead in these

studies, and set the fashion of them, was a _philosopher_, and, which

was happy for the advancement of this art, the justest philosopher of

antiquity. Hence _scientific_ or speculative criticism attained to

perfection, at once; and appeared in all that severity of reason and

accuracy of method, which Aristotle himself could bestow upon it.

But now this might almost seem as violent an extreme as the other.

For though to _understand_ be better than to _admire_, yet the

generality of readers _cannot_, or _will not_, understand, where there

is _nothing_ for them to admire. So that _reason_, for her own sake,

is obliged to borrow something of the dress, and to mimic the airs,

of _fancy_: And Aristotle’s _reason_ was too proud to submit to this

management.

Hence, the critical plan, which the Stagirite had formed with such

rigour of science, however it might satisfy the curious speculatist,

wanted to be _relieved_ and set off to the common eye by the

heightenings of eloquence. This, I observed, was the easier task of the

two; and yet it was very long before it was _successfully_ attempted.

Amongst other reasons of this delay, the principal, as you observe,

might be the fall of the public freedom of Greece, which soon after

followed. For then, instead of the free and manly efforts of genius,

which alone could accomplish such a reformation, the trifling spirit of

the times declined into mere verbal amusements: “whence,” as you say,

“so great a cloud of scholiasts and grammarians so soon over-spread

the learning of Greece, when once that famous community had lost its

liberty[32].”

And what Greece was thus unable, of a long time, to furnish, we shall

in vain seek in another great community, which soon after flourished,

in all liberal studies. The genius of Rome was bold and elevated enough

for this task. But Criticism, of any kind, was little cultivated, never

professed as an _art_, by this people. The specimens we have of their

ability in this way (of which the most elegant, beyond dispute, are

the two epistles to _Augustus_, and the _Pisos_) are slight occasional

attempts; made in the negligence of common sense, and adapted to the

peculiar exigencies of their own taste and learning: and not by any

means the regular productions of _art_, professedly bending itself to

this work, and ambitious to give the last finishing to the critical

system.

For so great an effort as this we are to look back to the confines

of Greece. And there at length, and even from beneath the depression

of slavery (but with a spirit that might have done honour to its

age of greatest liberty) a CRITIC arose, singularly qualified for

so generous an undertaking. His profession, which was that of a

_rhetorical sophist_, required him to be fully instructed in the graces

and embellishments of eloquence; and these, the vigour of his genius

enabled him to comprehend in their utmost force and beauty. In a word,

LONGINUS was the person, whom, of all the critics of antiquity, nature

seems to have formed with the proper talents to give the last honour to

his profession, and penetrate the very soul of fine writing.

Yet so bounded is human _wit_, and with such difficulty is human _art_

compleated, that even here the advantage, which had been so fortunately

gained on the one hand, was, in great measure, lost and forfeited on

the other. He had softened indeed the severity of Aristotle’s plan;

but, in doing this, had gone back again too far into the manner of

the admiring Rhapsodist. In short, with the brightest views of nature

and true beauty, which the finest imagination could afford to the best

critic, he now wanted, in a good degree, that precision, and depth of

thought, which had so eminently distinguished his predecessor. For, as

Plotinus long ago observed of him, _though he had approved himself a

master of polite literature, he was_ NO _Philosopher_; ΦΙΛΟΛΟΓΟΣ ΜΕΝ,

ΦΙΛΟΣΟΦΟΣ ΔΕ ΟΥΔΑΜΩΣ.

Thus the art had been shifting reciprocally into two extremes. And in

one or other of these extremes, it was likely to continue. For the fame

and eminent ability of their great founders had made them considered

as _models_, in their different ways, of perfect criticism. Only it

was easy to foresee which of them the humour of succeeding times would

be most disposed to emulate. The catching enthusiasm and picturesque

fancy of the _one_ would be sure to prevail over the coolness and

austerity of the _other_. Accordingly in the last and present century,

when now the diligence of learned men had, by restoring the purity,

opened an easy way to the study, of the old classics, a numberless

tribe of commentators have attempted, after the manner of Longinus,

to _flourish_ on the excellencies of their composition. And some of

them, indeed, succeeded so well in this method, that one is not to

wonder it soon became the popular and only authorized form of what was

reputed _just Criticism_. Yet, as nothing but superior genius could

make it tolerable even in the best of these, it was to be expected

(what experience hath now fully shewn), that it would at length, and

in ordinary hands, degenerate into the most unmeaning, frivolous, and

disgustful jargon, that ever discredited polite letters.

This, Sir, was the state in which you received _modern Criticism_: a

state, which could only shew you, that, of the two models, antiquity

had furnished to our use, we had learned, by an awkward imitation of

it, to abuse the _worst_. But it did not content your zeal for the

service of letters barely to remedy this _abuse_. It was not enough,

in your enlarged view of things, to restore either of these models to

its ancient splendour. They were both to be revived; or rather a new

original plan of criticism was to be struck out, which should unite the

virtues of each of them. The experiment was made on the TWO greatest

of our own poets; and, by reflecting all the lights of the imagination

on the severest reason, every thing was effected, which the warmest

admirer of ancient art could promise to himself from such an union.

But you went farther. By joining to these powers a perfect insight

into human nature, and so ennobling the exercise of _literary_, by

the addition of the justest moral, censure, you have now, at length,

advanced CRITICISM to its full glory.

Not but, considering the inveterate foible of mankind, which the poet

so justly satirizes in the following work, I mean that, which disposes

them to malign and depreciate all the efforts of wit and virtue,

—nisi quae terris semota suisque

Temporibus defuncta videt—

Considering, I say, this temper of mankind, you may sooner, perhaps,

expect the censures of the dull and envious of all denominations, than

the candid applause of the public, even for this service.

I apprehend this consequence the rather, because criticism, though it

be _the last fruit of literary experience_, is more exposed to the

cavils of ignorance and vanity, than, perhaps, any other species of

learned application: all men being forward to judge, and few men giving

themselves leave to doubt of their being able to judge, of the merits

of well-known and popular writers.

Nor is this all: When writers of a certain rank condescend to this work

of criticism, the innovation excites a very natural ferment in the _men

of the profession_.

Their JEALOUSY is alarmed, as if there was a design to strip them of

the only honour they can reasonably pretend to, that of sitting in

judgment on the _inventions_ of their betters. But to JUDGE, he well

as to INVENT, is thought a violent encroachment in the republic of

Letters; not unlike the ambition of the Roman emperors, who would

be consuls, and censors too, that is, would have the privilege of

excluding from the senate, as well as of presiding in it.

But if jealousy were out of the case, their MALIGNITY would be much

inflamed by this intrusion. For who can bear to see his own weak

endeavours in any art, disgraced by a consummate model?

Besides, to say the truth, the conceptions of such writers, as I before

spoke of, lie so remote from vulgar apprehension, that, without either

_jealousy_ or _malignity_, DULLNESS itself will be sure to create them

many peevish detractors. For an ordinary critic can scarce help finding

fault with what he does not understand, or being angry where he has no

ideas.

On all these accounts it may possibly happen, as I said, that your

critical labours will draw upon you much popular resentment and

invective.

But if such should be the _present_ effect of your endeavours to

cultivate and complete this elegant part of literature, you, who know

the temper of the learned world, and, by your eminent merits, have

so oft provoked its injustice, will not be disturbed or surprized at

it: much less should it discourage those who are disposed to do you

more right, from celebrating, and, as they find themselves able, from

copying your example;

For USE will father what’s begot by SENSE, as well in this, as in other

instances.

You see, Sir, what there is of encomium in the turn of this Letter,

was intended not so much for your sake, as my own. Had my purpose been

any other, I must have chosen very ill among the various parts of your

character to take _this_ for the subject of an address to you. For,

after all I have said and think of your critical abilities, it might

seem almost as strange in a panegyrist on Mr. Warburton to tell of his

admirable criticisms on POPE and SHAKESPEAR, as it would be in him,

who should design an encomium on Socrates, to insist on his excellent

sculpture of MERCURY and the GRACES. Yet there is a time, when it may

be allowed to lay a stress on the amusements of such men. It is, when

an adventurer in either _art_ would do an honour to his profession.

I am, with the truest esteem,

Reverend Sir,

Your most obedient

and most humble servant,

R. HURD.

CAMBRIDGE,

_March 29, 1753_.

Q. HORATII FLACCI

EPISTOLA AD AUGUSTUM.

Cum tot sustineas et tanta negotia solus,

Res Italas armis tuteris, moribus ornes,

Legibus emendes; in publica commoda peccem,

Si longo sermone morer tua tempora, Caesar.

Romulus, et Liber pater, et cum Castore Pollux, 5

Post ingentia fata, Deorum in templa recepti,

Dum terras hominumque colunt genus, aspera bella

Conponunt, agros adsignant, oppida condunt;

Ploravere suis non respondere favorem

Speratum meritis. diram qui contudit Hydram, 10

Notaque fatali portenta labore subegit,

Comperit invidiam supremo fine domari.

Urit enim fulgore suo, qui praegravat artis

Infra se positas: extinctus amabitur idem.

Praesenti tibi maturos largimur honores, 15

Jurandasque tuum per numen ponimus aras,

Nil oriturum alias, nil ortum tale fatentes.

Sed tuus hoc populus sapiens et justus in uno,

Te nostris ducibus, te Graiis anteferendo,

Cetera nequaquam simili ratione modoque 20

Aestimat; et, nisi quae terris semota suisque

Temporibus defuncta videt, fastidit et odit:

Sic fautor veterum, ut Tabulas peccare vetantis,

Quas bis quinque viri sanxerunt, Foedera regum

Vel Gabiis vel cum rigidis aequata Sabinis, 25

Pontificum libros, annosa volumina Vatum,

Dictitet Albano Musas in monte locutas.

Si, quia Graiorum sunt antiquissima quaeque

Scripta vel optima, Romani pensantur eadem

Scriptores trutina; non est quod multa loquamur: 30

Nil intra est olea, nil extra est in nuce duri:

Venimus ad summum fortunae: pingimus, atque

Psallimus, et luctamur Achivis doctius unctis.

Si meliora dies, ut vina, poemata reddit;

Scire velim, chartis pretium quotus arroget annus, 35

Scriptor ab hinc annos centum qui decidit, inter

Perfectos veteresque referri debet, an inter

Vilis atque novos? excludat jurgia finis.

Est vetus atque probus centum qui perficit annos.

Quid? qui deperiit minor uno mense vel anno, 40

Inter quos referendus erit? veteresne poetas,

An quos et praesens et postera respuat aetas?

Iste quidem veteres inter ponetur honeste,

Qui vel mense brevi, vel toto est junior anno.

Utor permisso, caudaeque pilos ut equinae 45

Paullatim vello; et demo unum, demo et item unum;

Dum cadat elusus ratione ruentis acervi,

Qui redit in fastos, et virtutem aestimat annis,

Miraturque nihil, nisi quod Libitina sacravit.

Ennius et sapiens, et fortis, et alter Homerus, 50

Ut critici dicunt, leviter curare videtur

Quo promissa cadant, et somnia Pythagorea.

Naevius in manibus non est, et mentibus haeret

Pene recens? adeo sanctum est vetus omne poema.

Ambigitur quotiens, uter utro sit prior; aufert 55

Pacuvius docti famam senis, Accius alti:

Dicitur Afranî toga convenisse Menandro:

Plautus ad exemplar Siculi properare Epicharmi;

Vincere Caecilius gravitate, Terentius arte.

Hos ediscit, et hos arto stipata theatro 60

Spectat Roma potens; habet hos numeratque poetas

Ad nostrum tempus, Livî Scriptoris ab aevo.

Interdum volgus rectum videt: est ubi peccat.

Si veteres ita miratur laudatque poetas,

Ut nihil anteferat, nihil illis comparet; errat: 65

Si quaedam nimis antique, si pleraque dure

Dicere cedit eos, ignave multa fatetur;

Et sapit, et mecum facit, et Jove judicat aequo.

Non equidem insector, delendave carmina Laevî

Esse reor, memini quae plagosum mihi parvo 70

Orbilium dictare; sed emendata videri

Pulchraque, et exactis minimum distantia, miror:

Inter quae verbum emicuit si forte decorum,

Si versus paulo concinnior unus et alter;

Injuste totum ducit venitque poema. 75

Indignor quicquam reprehendi, non quia crasse

Compositum, inlepideve putetur, sed quia nuper:

Nec veniam antiquis, sed honorem et praemia posci.

Recte necne crocum floresque perambulet Attae

Fabula, si dubitem; clament periisse pudorem 80

Cuncti pene patres: ea cum reprehendere coner,

Quae gravis Aesopus, quae doctus Roscius egit.

Vel quia nil rectum, nisi quod placuit sibi, ducunt;

Vel quia turpe putant parere minoribus, et, quae

Inberbi didicere, senes perdenda fateri. 85

Jam Saliare Numae carmen qui laudat, et illud

Quod mecum ignorat, solus volt scire videri;

Ingeniis non ille favet plauditque sepultis,

Nostra sed inpugnat, nos nostraque lividus odit.

Quod si tam Graiis novitas invisa fuisset, 90

Quam nobis; quid nunc esset vetus? aut quid haberet,

Quod legeret tereretque viritim publicus usus?

Ut primum positis nugari Graecia bellis

Coepit, et in vitium fortuna labier aequa;

Nunc athletarum studiis, nunc arsit equorum: 95

Marmoris, aut eboris fabros, aut aeris amavit;

Suspendit picta vultum mentemque tabella;

Nunc tibicinibus, nunc est gavisa tragoedis:

Sub nutrice puella velut si luderet infans,

Quod cupide petiit, mature plena reliquit. 100

Quid placet, aut odio est, quod non mutabile credas?

Hoc paces habuere bonae, ventique secundi.

Romae dulce diu fuit et sollenne, reclusa

Mane domo vigilare, clienti promere jura:

Scriptos nominibus rectis expendere nummos: 105

Majores audire, minori dicere, per quae

Crescere res posset, minui damnosa libido.

Mutavit mentem populus levis, et calet uno

Scribendi studio: puerique patresque severi

Fronde comas vincti coenant, et carmina dictant. 110

Ipse ego, qui nullos me adfirmo scribere versus,

Invenior Parthis mendacior; et prius orto

Sole vigil, calamum et chartas et scrinia posco.

Navem agere ignarus navis timet: abrotonum aegro

Non audet, nisi qui didicit, dare: quod medicorum est, 115

Promittunt medici: tractant fabrilia fabri:

Scribimus indocti doctique poemata passim.

Hic error tamen et levis haec insania quantas

Virtutes habeat, sic collige: vatis avarus

Non temere est animus: versus amat, hoc studet unum; 120

Detrimenta, fugas servorum, incendia ridet:

Non fraudem socio, puerove incogitat ullam

Pupillo: vivit siliquis, et pane secundo:

Militiae quanquam piger et malus, utilis urbi;

Si das hoc, parvis quoque rebus magna juvari; 125

Os tenerum pueri balbumque poëta figurat:

Torquet ab obscoenis jam nunc sermonibus aurem;

Mox etiam pectus praeceptis format amicis,

Asperitatis et invidiae corrector et irae:

Recte facta refert; orientia tempora notis 130

Instruit exemplis; inopem solatur et aegrum.

Castis cum pueris ignara puella mariti

Disceret unde preces, vatem ni Musa dedisset?

Poscit opem chorus, et praesentia numina sentit;

Coelestis implorat aquas, docta prece blandus; 135

Avertit morbos, metuenda pericula pellit;

Inpetrat et pacem, et locupletem frugibus annum:

Carmine Dî superi placantur, carmine Manes.

Agricolae prisci, fortes, parvoque beati,

Condita post frumenta, levantes tempore festo 140

Corpus et ipsum animum spe finis dura ferentem,

Cum sociis operum pueris et conjuge fida,

Tellurem porco, Silvanum lacte piabant,

Floribus et vino Genium memorem brevis aevi.

Fescennina per hunc invecta licentia morem 145

Versibus alternis opprobria rustica fudit;

Libertasque recurrentis accepta per annos

Lusit amabiliter: donec jam saevus apertam

In rabiem coepit verti jocus, et per honestas

Ire domos impune minax. doluere cruento 150

Dente lacessiti: fuit intactis quoque cura

Conditione super communi: quin etiam lex

Poenaque lata, malo quae nollet carmine quemquam

Describi. vertere modum, formidine fustis

Ad bene dicendum delectandumque redacti. 155

Graecia capta ferum victorem cepit, et artis

Intulit agresti Latio. sic horridus ille

Defluxit numerus Saturnius, et grave virus

Munditiae pepulere: sed in longum tamen aevum

Manserunt, hodieque manent, vestigia ruris. 160

Serus enim Graecis admovit acumina chartis;

Et post Punica bella quietus quaerere coepit,

Quid Sophocles et Thespis et Aeschylos utile ferrent:

Tentavit quoque rem, si digne vertere posset:

Et placuit sibi, natura sublimis et acer. 165

Nam spirat tragicum satis, et feliciter audet;

Sed turpem putat inscitus metuitque lituram.

Creditur, ex medio quia res arcessit, habere

Sudoris minimum; sed habet Comoedia tanto

Plus oneris, quanto veniae minus. aspice, Plautus 170

Quo pacto partis tutetur amantis ephebi;

Ut patris attenti, lenonis ut insidiosi:

Quantus sit Dossennus edacibus in parasitis:

Quam non adstricto percurrat pulpita socco.

Gestit enim nummum in loculos demittere; post hoc 175

Securus, cadat an recto stet fabula talo.

Quem tulit ad scenam ventoso gloria curru,

Exanimat lentus spectator, sedulus inflat.

Sic leve, sic parvum est, animum quod laudis avarum

Subruit ac reficit. valeat res ludicra, si me 180

Palma negata macrum, donata reducit opimum.

Saepe, etiam audacem, fugat hoc terretque poetam;

Quod numero plures, virtute et honore minores,

Indocti, stolidique, et depugnare parati

Si discordet eques, media inter carmina poscunt 185

Aut ursum aut pugiles: his nam plebecula gaudet.

Verum equiti quoque jam migravit ab aure voluptas

Omnis, ad ingratos oculos, et gaudia vana.

Quatuor aut pluris aulaea premuntur in horas;

Dum fugiunt equitum turmae, peditumque catervae: 190

Mox trahitur manibus regum fortuna retortis:

Esseda festinant, pilenta, petorrita, naves:

Captivum portatur ebur, captiva Corinthus.

Si foret in terris, rideret Democritus; seu

Diversum confusa genus panthera camelo, 195

Sive elephas albus volgi converterit ora:

Spectaret populum ludis attentius ipsis,

Ut sibi praebentem mimo spectacula plura:

Scriptores autem narrare putaret asello

Fabellam surdo. nam quae pervincere voces 200

Evaluere sonum, referunt quem nostra theatra?

Garganum mugire putes nemus, aut mare Tuscum.

Tanto cum strepitu ludi spectantur, et artes,

Divitiaeque peregrinae: quibus oblitus actor

Cum stetit in scena, concurrit dextera laevae: 205

Dixit adhuc aliquid? nil sane. quid placet ergo?

Lana Tarentino violas imitata veneno.

Ac ne forte putes me, quae facere ipse recusem,

Cum recte tractent alii, laudare maligne:

Ille per extentum funem mihi posse videtur 210

Ire poeta; meum qui pectus inaniter angit,

Inritat, mulcet, falsis terroribus inplet,

Ut magus; et modo me Thebis, modo ponit Athenis.

Verum age, et his, qui se lectori credere malunt,

Quam spectatoris fastidia ferre superbi, 215

Curam impende brevem: si munus Apolline dignum

Vis complere libris; et vatibus addere calcar,

Ut studio majore petant Helicona virentem.

Multa quidem nobis facimus mala saepe poëtae,

(Ut vineta egomet caedam mea) cum tibi librum 220

Sollicito damus, aut fesso: cum laedimur, unum

Si quis amicorum est ausus reprendere versum:

Cum loca jam recitata revolvimus inrevocati:

Cum lamentamur non adparere labores

Nostros, et tenui deducta poemata filo: 225

Cum speramus eo rem venturam, ut, simul atque

Carmina rescieris nos fingere, commodus ultro

Arcessas, et egere vetes, et scribere cogas.

Sed tamen est operae pretium cognoscere, qualis

Aedituos habeat belli spectata domique 230

Virtus, indigno non committenda poetae.

Gratus Alexandro regi Magno fuit ille

Choerilos, incultis qui versibus et male natis

Rettulit acceptos, regale nomisma, Philippos.

Sed veluti tractata notam labemque remittunt 235

Atramenta, fere scriptores carmine foedo

Splendida facta linunt. idem rex ille, poëma

Qui tam ridiculum tam care prodigus emit,

Edicto vetuit; ne quis se, praeter Apellen

Pingeret, aut alius Lysippo cuderet aera 240

Fortis Alexandri voltum simulantia. quod si

Judicium subtile videndis artibus illud

Ad libros et ad haec Musarum dona vocares;

Boeotum in crasso jurares aëre natum.

At neque dedecorant tua de se judicia, atque 245

Munera, quae multa dantis cum laude tulerunt,

Dilecti tibi Virgilius Variusque poetae:

Nec magis expressi voltus per aënea signa,

Quam per vatis opus mores animique virorum

Clarorum adparent. nec sermones ego mallem 250

Repentis per humum, quam res componere gestas,

Terrarumque situs, et flumina dicere, et arcis

Montibus impositas, et barbara regna, tuisque

Auspiciis totum confecta duella per orbem,

Claustraque custodem pacis cohibentia Janum, 255

Et formidatam Parthis, te principe, Romam:

Si quantum cuperem, possem quoque. sed neque parvum

Carmen majestas recipit tua; nec meus audet

Rem tentare pudor, quam vires ferre recusent.

Sedulitas autem stulte, quem diligit, urguet; 260

Praecipue cum se numeris commendat et arte.

Discit enim citius, meminitque libentius illud

Quod quis deridet, quam quod probat et veneratur.

Nil moror officium, quod me gravat: ac neque ficto

In pejus voltu proponi cereus usquam, 265

Nec prave factis decorari versibus opto:

Ne rubeam pingui donatus munere, et una

Cum scriptore meo capsa porrectus operta,

Deferar in vicum vendentem tus et odores,

Et piper, et quicquid chartis amicitur ineptis. 270

COMMENTARY.

EPISTOLA AD AUGUSTUM.] In conducting this work, which is _an apology

for the poets of his own time_, the method of the writer is no other,

than that which plain sense, and the subject itself, required of

him. For, as the main dislike to the Augustan poets had arisen from

an _excessive reverence_ paid to their elder brethren, the _first_

part of the epistle [from v. 1 to 118] is very naturally laid out in

the ridicule and confutation of so absurd a prejudice. And having,

by this preparation, obtained a candid hearing for his defence, he

then proceeds [in what follows, to the _end_] to vindicate their real

_merits_; setting in view the excellencies of the _Latin poetry_, as

cultivated by the great modern masters; and throwing the blame of

their ill success, and of the contempt in which they had lain, not so

much on themselves, or their _profession_ (the dignity of _which_, in

particular, he insists highly upon, and asserts with spirit) as on the

vicious taste of the age, and certain unfavouring circumstances, which

had accidentally concurred to dishonour _both_.

This idea of the _general_ plan being comprehended, the reader will

find it no difficulty to perceive the order and arrangement of

_particular_ parts, which the natural transition of the poet’s thought

insensibly drew along with it.

5-118. ROMULUS, ET LIBER PATER, &c.] The subject commences from v. 5,

where, by a contrivance of great beauty, a pertinent _illustration_

of the poet’s argument becomes an offering of the happiest _address_

to the emperor. Its _double_ purpose may be seen thus. His primary

intention was to take off the force of prejudice against _modern_

poets, arising from the superior veneration of the _ancients_. To

this end the first thing wanting was to demonstrate by some striking

instance, that it was, indeed, nothing but _prejudice_; which he

does effectually in taking that instance from the _heroic_, that is,

the most revered, ages. For if such, whose acknowledged virtues and

eminent services had raised them to the rank of _heroes_, that is, in

the pagan conception of things, to the honours of _divinity_, could

not secure their fame, in their own times, against the malevolence of

slander, what wonder that the race of _wits_, whose obscurer merit is

less likely to dazzle the public eye, and yet, by a peculiar fatality,

is more apt to awaken its jealousy, should find themselves oppressed

by its rudest censure? In the _former_ case the honours, which equal

posterity paid to excelling worth, declare all _such_ censure to have

been the calumny of malice only. What reason then to conclude, it had

any other original in the _latter_? This is the poet’s _argument_.

But now, of these worthies themselves, whom the justice of grateful

posterity had snatched out of the hands of detraction, there were some,

it seems, whose illustrious services the virtue or vain-glory of the

emperor most affected to emulate; and these, therefore, the poet, by an

ingenious flattery, selects for examples to his general _observation_,

_Romulus, et Liber pater, et cum Castore Pollux

Post ingentia fata_, &c.

Further, as the good fortune of Augustus, though adorned with the

_same_ enviable qualities, had exempted _him_ from the injuries which

had constantly befallen _those admired characters_, this peculiar

circumstance in the history of his prince affords him the happiest

occasion, flattery could desire, of paying distinguished honours to his

glory.

_Praesenti tibi maturos largimur honores._

And this constitutes the fine _address and compliment of his

Application_.

But this justice, which Augustus had exacted, as it were, by the very

authority of his virtue, from his applauding people, was but ill

discharged in other instances.

_Sed tuus hoc populus sapiens et justus in uno,

Te nostris ducibus, te Graiis anteferendo,

Cetera nequaquam simili ratione modoque

Aestimat_, &c.

And thus the very _exception_ to the general rule, which forms the

encomium, leads him with advantage into his _argument_; which was

to observe and expose “the malignant influence of prepossession in

obstructing the proper glories of living merit.” So that, as good sense

demands in every reasonable panegyric, the praise results from the

nature and foundation of the subject-matter, and is not violently and

reluctantly dragged into it.

His general charge against his countrymen “of their bigotted attachment

to those, dignified by the name of _ancients_, in prejudice to the just

deserts of the moderns,” being thus delivered; and the folly of such

conduct, with some agreeable exaggeration, exposed; he sets himself

with a happy mixture of irony and argument, as well becomes the genius

and character of the _epistle_, to confute the pretences, and overturn

the very _foundations_, on which it rested.

One main support of their folly was taken from an allowed fact, viz.

“That the oldest _Greek_ writers were incontestably superior to the

modern ones.” From whence they inferred, that it was but according to

nature and the course of experience, to give the like preference to the

oldest _Roman_ masters.

His confutation of this sophism consists of two parts. _First_, [from

v. 28 to 32] he insists on the _evident_ absurdity of the opinion he

is confuting. There was no reasoning with persons, capable of such

_extravagant positions_. But, _secondly_, the pretended fact itself,

with regard to the Greek learning, was _grossly misunderstood, or

perversely applied_. For [from v. 32 to 34] it was not true, nor

could it be admitted, that the very _oldest_ of the _Greek_ writers

were the best, but those only, which were old, in comparison of the

mere modern Greeks. The so much applauded models of Grecian antiquity

were themselves _modern_, in respect of the still _older_ and ruder

essays of their first writers. It was long discipline and cultivation,

the same which had given the Greek _artists_ in the Augustan reign a

superiority over the Roman, that by degrees established the good taste,

and fixed the authority of the Greek _poets_; from which point it was

natural and even necessary for succeeding, _i. e._ the modern Greeks

to decline. But no consequence lay from hence to the advantage of the

Latin poets, in question; who were wholly unfurnished with any previous

study of the arts of verse; and whose works could only be compared with

the very _oldest_, that is, the rude forgotten essays of the Greek

poetry. So that the fine sense, so closely shut up in this concise

couplet, comes out thus: “The modern Greek masters of the _fine arts_

are confessedly superior to the modern Roman. The reason is, they have

practised them longer, and with more diligence. Just so, the modern

Roman writers must needs have the advantage of their _old_ ones: who

had no knowledge of writing, as an _art_, or, if they had, took but

small care to put it in practice.”

Further, this plea of antiquity is as uncertain in its _application_,

as it was destitute of all truth and reason in its original

_foundation_. For if age only must bear away the palm, what way is

there of determining, which writers are _modern_, and which _ancient_?

The impossibility of fixing this to the satisfaction of an objector,

which is pursued [to v. 50] with much agreeable raillery, makes it

evident, that the circumstance of antiquity is absolutely nothing;

and that in _estimating the merit_ of writers, the real, intrinsic

excellence of their writings _themselves_ is alone to be regarded.

Thus far the poet’s intent was to combat the _general_ prejudice of the

critic,

_Qui redit in fastos et virtutem aestimat annis._

Taking the fact for granted “of his strong prepossession for antiquity,

_as such_” he would discredit, both by raillery and argument, so

absurd a conduct. What he gains, by this disposition, is to come to

the _particulars_ of his charge with more advantage. For the popular

contempt of modern composition, sheltering itself under a shew of

learned admiration of the _ancients_, whose age and reputation had

made them truly venerable, and whose genuine merits, in the main,

could not be disputed, a direct attack upon their fame, at setting

out, without any softening, had disgusted the most _moderate_; whereas

this prefatory appeal to common sense, under the cover of general

criticism, would even dispose bigotry itself to afford the poet a

candid hearing. His accusation then of the public taste comes in, here,

very pertinently; and is delivered, with address [from v. 50 to 63] in

a particular detail of the judgements passed upon the most celebrated

of the old Roman poets, by the generality of the modern critics; where,

to win upon their prejudices still further by his generosity and good

faith, he scruples not to recount such of their determinations on the

merit of ancient writers, as were reasonable and well founded, as

well as others, that he deemed less just, and as such intended more

immediately to expose.

We see then with what art the poet conducts himself in this attack on

the _ancients_, and how it served his purpose, by turns, to soften and

aggravate the _charge_. _First_, “he wanted to lower the reputation

of the old poets.” This was not to be done by general invective or an

affected dissimulation of their just praise. He admits then [from v. 63

to 66] their reasonable pretensions to _admiration_. ’Tis the _degree_

of it alone, to which he objects.

_Si veteres_ ITA _miratur laudatque_, &c.

_Secondly_, “he wanted to draw off their applauses from “the ancient

to the modern poets.” This required the _advantages_ of those

moderns to be distinctly shewn, or, which comes to the same, the

_comparative deficiencies_ of the ancients to be pointed out. These

were not to be dissembled, and are, as he openly insists [to v. 69]

_obsolete language_, _rude and barbarous construction_, and _slovenly

composition_,

_Si quaedam nimis_ ANTIQUE, _si pleraque_ DURE,

_Dicere cedit eos_, IGNAVE _multa_.

But what then? an objector replies, these were venial faults, surely;

the _deficiencies_ of the times, and not of the men; who, with such

incorrectnesses as are here noted, might still possess the greatest

_talents_, and produce the noblest _designs_. This [from v. 69 to 79]

is readily admitted. But, in the mean time, one thing was clear, that

they were not _finished models_—_exactis minimum distantia_. Which was

the main point in dispute. For the bigot’s absurdity lay in this,

_Non veniam antiquis, sed honorem et praemia posci._

Nay, his folly is shewn to have gone still greater lengths. These

boasted models of antiquity, with all their imperfections, had

occasionally [v. 73, 74] though the instances were indeed rare and

thinly scattered, _striking beauties_. These, under the recommendation

of _age_, which, of course, commands our reverence, might well

impose on the judgements of the _generality_, and standing forth

with advantage, as from a shaded and dark _ground_, would naturally

catch the eye and admiration of the more _learned_. Thus much the

poet candidly insinuates in excuse of the bigot’s _ill judgment_.

But, unluckily, he had cut himself off from the benefit of this plea,

by avowedly grounding his _admiration_, not merely on the intrinsic

excellence, so far as it went, of the ancient poetry itself; but on the

advantage of any extraneous circumstance, which but casually stuck to

it. The accident of a play’s having passed though the mouth, and been

graced by the action, of a just speaker, was sufficient [from v. 79 to

83] (so inexcusable were his prejudices) to attract his wonder, and

justify his esteem. In so much that it became an insolence, generally

cried out upon, for any one to censure such pieces of the theatre,

_Quae gravis Æsopus, quae doctus Roscius egit._

This being the case, it was no longer a doubt, whether the affected

admiration of antiquity proceeded from a deluded judgment only, or a

much worse cause. It could plainly be resolved into no other, than

the willful agency of the malignant affections; which, wherever they

prevail, corrupt the simple and ingenuous sense of the mind, either

1. [v. 83] _in engendring high conceits of self_, and referring all

degrees of excellence to the supposed infallible standard of every

man’s own judgment; or 2. [to v. 86] _in creating a false shame_, and

reluctancy in us to be directed by the judgments of others, though

_seen_ to be more equitable, whenever they are found in opposition to

our own rooted and preconceived opinions. The bigotry of _old Men_ is,

especially, for this reason, invincible. They hold themselves upbraided

by the sharper sight of their juniors; and regard the adoption of new

sentiments, at their years, as so much absolute loss on the side of the

dead stock of their old literary possessions. These considerations are

generally of such prevalency in great veteran critics, that [from v.

86 to 90] whenever, as in the case before us, they pretend an uncommon

zeal for antiquity, and their sagacity piques itself on detecting the

superior value of obscure rhapsodists whom no body else reads, or is

able to understand, we may be sure the secret view of such, is, not the

generous defence and patronage of _ancient_ wit, but a low malevolent

pleasure in decrying the just pretensions of the _modern_.

_Ingeniis non ille favet plauditque sepultis,

Nostra sed impugnat, nos nostraque lividus odit._

The poet had, now, made appear the unreasonable attachment of his

countrymen to the fame of their old writers. He had thoroughly

unravelled the sophistical pretences, on which it affected to justify

itself; and had even dared to unveil the _secret iniquitous principle_,

from which it arose. It was now time to look forward to the _effects_

of it; which were, in truth, very baleful; its poisonous influences

being of force to corrupt and wither, as it were, in the bud, every

rising species of excellence, and fatally to check the very hopes and

tendencies of true genius. Nothing can be truer, than this remark;

which he further enforces, and brings home to his adversaries, by

asking a pertinent question, to which it concerned them to make a

serious reply. They had magnified v. 28 the perfection of the Greek

models. But what [to v. 93] if the Greeks had conceived the same

aversion to _novelties_, as the Romans? How then could _those_ models

have ever been furnished to the public use? The question, we see,

insinuates what was before affirmed to be the truth of the case; that

the unrivalled excellence of the Greek poets proceeded only from

long and vigorous exercise, and a painful uninterrupted application

to the arts of verse. The liberal spirit of that people led them to

countenance every new attempt towards superior literary excellence;

and so, by the public favour, their writings, from rude essays, became

at length the standard and admiration of succeeding wits. The Romans

had treated their adventurers quite otherwise, and the effect was

answerable. This is the purport of what to a common eye may look like

a _digression_ [from v. 93 to 108], in which is delineated the very

different genius and practice of the two nations. For the _Greeks_ [to

v. 102] had applied themselves, in the intervals of their leisure from

the toils of war, to the cultivation of every species of elegance,

whether in _arts_, or _letters_; and loved to cherish the public

emulation, by affording a free indulgence to the various and volatile

disposition of the times. The activity of these restless spirits, was

incessantly attempting some new and untryed _form_ of composition; and,

when _that_ was brought to a due degree of perfection, it turned, _in

good time_, to the cultivation of some _other_.

_Quod cupide petiit, mature plena reliquit._

So that the very caprice of _humour_ [v. 101] assisted, in this

libertine country, to advance and help forward the public taste. Such

was the effect of _peace and opportunity_ with them.

_Hoc paces habuere bonae ventique secundi._

Whereas the _Romans_ [to v. 108] by a more composed temperament and

saturnine complexion had devoted their pains to the pursuit of domestic

utilities, and a more dexterous management of the _arts of gain_. The

consequence of which was, that when [to v. 117] by the decay of the

old frugal spirit, the necessary effect of overflowing plenty and

ease, they began, at length, to seek out for the elegancies of life;

and _a fit of versifying_, the first of all liberal amusements, that

usually seizes an idle people, had come upon them; their ignorance of

rules, and want of exercise in the art of writing, rendered them wholly

unfit to succeed in it. So that their awkward attempts in poetry were

now as disgraceful to their _taste_, as their total disregard of it,

before, had been to their _civility_. The root of this mischief was the

idolatrous regard paid to their ancient poets: which unluckily, when

the public emulation was set a going, not only checked its progress,

but gave it a wrong bias; and, instead of helping true genius to

outstrip the lame and tardy endeavours of ancient wit, drew it aside

into a vicious and unprofitable mimicry of its very imperfections.

Whence it had come to pass, that, whereas in other _arts_, the previous

knowledge of rules is required to the practice of them, in this of

_versifying_, no such qualification was deemed necessary.

_Scribimus indocti doctique poemata passim._

This mischance was _doubly_ fatal to the Latin poetry. For the ill

success of these blind adventurers had increased the original mischief,

by confirming, as it needs must, the superstitious reverence of the

old writers; and insensibly brought, as well the art itself, as the

modern professors of it, into disrepute with the discerning public.

The vindication of _both_, then, at this critical juncture, was become

highly seasonable; and to this, which was the poet’s main purpose, he

addresses himself through the remainder of the epistle.

118 to the end. HIC ERROR TAMEN, &c.] Having sufficiently obviated

the popular and reigning prejudices against the modern poets, his

office of _advocate_ for their fame, which he had undertaken, and was

now to discharge, in form, required him to set their real merits and

pretensions in a just light. He enters therefore immediately on this

task. And, in drawing the character of the _true poet_, endeavours to

impress the Emperor with as advantageous an idea as possible, of the

worth and dignity of his calling. And this, not in the fierce insulting

tone of a zealot for the _honour of his order_, which to the _great_

is always disgusting, and where the occasion is, confessedly, not of

the last importance, plainly absurd; but with that unpretending air

of insinuation, which good sense, improved by a thorough knowledge

of the world, teaches: with that seeming indifference which disarms

prejudice: in a word, with that gracious _smile in his aspect_, which

his strong admirer and faint copyer, Persius, so justly noted in him,

and which convinces almost without the help of argument; or to say it

more truly, _persuades_ where it doth not properly _convince_. In this

disposition he sets out on his defence; and yet omits no _particular_,

which could any way serve to the real recommendation of _poets_, or

which indeed, the gravest or warmest of their friends have ever pleaded

in their behalf. This defence consists [from v. 118 to 139] in bringing

into view their many _civil_, _moral_, and _religious_ virtues. For

the muse, as the poet contends (and nothing could be more likely to

conciliate the esteem of the politic emperor) administers, in this

threefold capacity, to the service of the state.

But _Religion_, which was its _noblest end_, was, besides, the _first

object_ of poetry. The dramatic muse, in particular, had her birth,

and derived her very character, from it. This circumstance then leads

him with advantage, to give an historical deduction of the rise and

progress of the Latin poesy, from its first rude workings in the days

of barbarous superstition, through every successive period of its

improvement, down to his own times. Such a view of its descent and

gradual reformation was directly to the poet’s purpose. For having

magnified the virtues of his order, as of such importance to society,

the question naturally occurred, by what unhappy means it had fallen

out, that it was, nevertheless, in such low estimation with the public.

The answer is, that the state of the Latin poetry, as yet, was very

rude and imperfect: and so the public disregard was occasioned, only,

by its not having attained to that degree of perfection, of which its

_nature_ was capable. Many reasons had concurred to keep the Latin

poetry in this state, which he proceeds to enumerate. The _first and

principal_ was [from v. 139 to 164] the little attention paid _to

critical learning, and the cultivation of a correct and just spirit

of composition_. Which, again, had arisen from the coarse illiberal

disposition of the Latin muse, who had been nurtured and brought up

under the roof of rural superstition; and this, by an impure mixture of

licentious jollity, had so corrupted her very nature, that it was only

by slow degrees, and not till the conquest of Greece had imported arts

and learning into Italy, that she began to chastise her manners, and

assume a juster and more becoming deportment. And still she was but in

the condition of a rustic _beauty_, when, practising her aukward airs,

and making her first ungracious essays towards a _manner_.

_in longum tamen aevum

Manserunt, hodieque manent_ vestigia ruris.

Her late acquaintance with the Greek models had, indeed, improved her

air, and inspired an inclination to emulate their noblest graces. But

how successfully, we are given to understand from her unequal attempts

in the two sublimer species of their poetry, the TRAGIC, AND COMIC

DRAMAS.

1. [from v. 160 to 168] The _study of the Greek tragedians_ had very

naturally, and to good purpose, in the infancy of their taste, disposed

the Latin writers to _translation_. Here they stuck long; for their

tragedy, even in the Augustan age, was little else; and yet they

succeeded but indifferently in it. The bold and animated genius of

Rome was, it is readily owned, well suited to this work. And for force

of colouring, and a truly tragic elevation, the Roman poets came not

behind their great originals. But unfortunately their judgment was

unformed, and they were too soon satisfied with their own productions.

Strength and fire was all they endeavoured after. And with this praise

they sate down perfectly contented. The discipline of correction, the

curious polishing of art, which had given such a lustre to the Greek

tragedians, they knew nothing of; or, to speak their case more truly,

they held disgraceful to the high spirit and energy of the Roman genius:

TURPEM PUTAT IN SCRIPTIS METUITQUE LITURAM.

2. It did not fare better with them [from v. 168 to 175] in their

attempts to rival _the Greek comedy_. They preposterously set out

with the notion of its being easier to execute this drama than the

tragic: whereas to hit its genuine character with exactness was, in

truth, a point of much more difficulty. As the _subject_ of comedy

was taken from common life, they supposed an ordinary degree of care

might suffice, to do it justice. No wonder then, they overlooked or

never came up to that nice adjustment of the _manners_, that truth and

decorum of _character_, wherein the glory of comic painting consists,

and which none but the quickest eye can discern, and the steadiest

hand execute; and, in the room, amused us with _high colouring_,

and _false drawing_; with _extravagant, aggravated portraitures_;

which, neglecting the modest proportion of real life, are the certain

arguments of an unpractised pencil, or vicious taste.

What contributed to this prostitution of the comic muse, was [to v.

177] the seducement of that corruptress of all virtue, _the love of

money_; which had thoroughly infected the Roman wits, and was, in fact,

the sole object of their pains. Hence, provided they could but catch

the applauses of the people, to which the pleasantry of the comic scene

more especially aspires, and so secure a good round _price_ from the

magistrates, whose office it was to furnish this kind of entertainment,

they became indifferent to every nobler view and honester purpose.

In particular [to v. 182] they so little considered _fame and the

praise of good writing_, that they made it the ordinary topic of their

ridicule; representing it as the mere illusion of vanity, and the

pitiable infirmity of _lean-witted_ minds, to be catched by the lure of

so empty and unsubstantial a benefit.

Though, were any one, in defiance of public ridicule, so _daring_

(as there is no occasion in life, which calls for, or demonstrates

a greater firmness), as frankly to avow and submit himself to this

generous _motive_, the surest inspirer of every virtuous excellence,

yet one thing remained to check and weaken the vigour of his emulation.

This [from v. 182 to 187] was the folly and ill taste of the

undiscerning multitude; who, in all countries, have a great share in

determining the fate and character of scenical representations, but,

from the popular constitution of the government, were, at Rome, of the

first consequence. These, by their rude clamours, and the authority

of their numbers, were enough to dishearten the most intrepid genius;

when, after all his endeavours to reap the glory of an absolute work,

the _action_ was almost sure to be mangled and broken in upon by the

shews of _wild beasts and gladiators_; those _dear delights_, which the

Romans, it seems, prized much above the highest pleasures of the drama.

Nay, the poet’s case was still more desperate. For it was not the

untutored rabble, as in other countries, that gave a countenance to

these illiberal sports: even _rank and quality_, at Rome, debased

itself in shewing the fiercest passion for these _shews_, and was

as ready, as abject commonalty itself, to prefer the uninstructing

pleasures of the _eye_ to those of the _ear_.

EQUITI _quoque jam migravit ab aure voluptas

Omnis ad ingratos oculos et gaudia vana._

And, because this barbarity of taste had contributed more than any

thing else to deprave the poetry of the stage, and discourage its best

masters from studying its perfection, what follows [from v. 189 to 207]

is intended, in all the keenness of raillery, to satyrize this madness.

It afforded an ample field for the poet’s ridicule. For, besides the

riotous disorders of their theatre, the senseless admiration of _pomp

and spectacle_ in their plays had so inchanted his countrymen, that

the very decorations of the scene, the tricks and trappings of the

comedians, were surer to catch the applauses of the gaping multitude,

than any regard to the justness of the poet’s design, or the beauty of

his execution.

Here the poet should naturally have concluded his _defence of the

dramatic writers_; having alledged every thing in their favour, that

could be urged, plausibly, from _the state of the Roman stage: the

genius of the people: and the several prevailing practices of ill

taste_, which had brought them into disrepute with the best judges.

But finding himself obliged, in the course of this vindication of the

modern _stage-poets_, to censure as sharply, as their very enemies, the

vices and defects of their _poetry_; and fearing lest this severity

on a sort of writing, to which himself had never pretended, might be

misinterpreted as the effect of envy only, and a malignant disposition

towards the art itself, under cover of pleading for its _professors_,

he therefore frankly avows [from v. 208 to 214] his preference of the

_dramatic_, to every other species of poetry; declaring the sovereignty

of its pathos over the _affections_, and the magic of its illusive

scenery on the _Imagination_, to be the highest argument of poetic

excellence, the last and noblest exercise of the human genius.

One thing still remained. He had taken upon himself to apologize for

the Roman poets, in _general_; as may be seen from the large terms, in

which he proposes his subject.

_Hic error tamen et levis haec insania quantas

Virtutes habeat, sic collige._

But, after a general encomium on the _office_ itself, he confines his

defence to the _writers for the stage_ only. In conclusion then, he was

constrained, by the very purpose of his address, to say a word or two

in behalf of the remainder of this neglected family; of those, who, as

the poet expresses it, had _rather trust to the equity of the closet,

than subject themselves to the caprice and insolence of the theatre_.

Now, as before, in asserting the honour of the stage-poets he every

where supposes the emperor’s _disgust_ to have sprung from the wrong

conduct of the poets themselves, and then extenuates the blame of

such _conduct_, by considering, still further, the _causes_ which

gave rise to it; so he prudently observes the like method here. The

politeness of his address concedes to Augustus, the just _offence_ he

had taken to his brother poets; whose honour, however, he contrives

to save by softening the _occasions_ of it. This is the drift of what

follows [from v. 214 to 229] where he pleasantly recounts the several

foibles and indiscretions of the muse; but in a way, that could only

dispose the emperor to smile at, or at most, to pity her infirmities,

not provoke his serious censure and disesteem. They amount, on the

whole, but to certain idlenesses of _vanity_, the almost inseparable

attendant of _wit_, as well as _beauty_; and may be forgiven in _each_,

as implying a strong _desire_ of pleasing, or rather as _qualifying_

both to please. One of the most exceptionable of these _vanities_ was a

fond persuasion, too readily taken up by men of parts and genius, that

_preferment is the constant pay of merit_; and that, from the moment

their talents become known to the public, distinction and advancement

are sure to follow. They believed, in short, they had only to convince

the world of their superior abilities, to deserve the favour and

countenance of their prince. But fond and presumptuous as these hopes

are (continues the poet [from v. 229 to 244] with all the insinuation

of a courtier, and yet with a becoming sense of the dignity of his

own character) it may deserve a serious consideration, what poets are

fit to be entrusted with the glory of princes; what _ministers_ are

worth retaining in the service of an illustrious VIRTUE, whose honours

demand to be solemnized with a religious reverence, and should not be

left to the profanation of vile, unhallowed hands. And, to support

the authority of this remonstrance, he alledges the example of a

great Monarch, who had dishonoured himself by a neglect of this care;

of ALEXANDER THE GREAT, who, when master of the world, as Augustus

now was, perceived, indeed, the importance of gaining a poet to his

service; but unluckily chose so ill, that his encomiums (as must ever

be the case with a vile panegyrist) but tarnished the native splendor

of those virtues, which his office required him to present, in their

fullest and fairest glory, to the admiration of the world. In his

appointment of _artists_, whose skill is, also, highly serviceable to

the fame of princes, he shewed a truer judgment. For he suffered none

but an APELLES and a LYSIPPUS to counterfeit the form and fashion of

his _person_. But his _taste_, which was thus exact and even _subtile_

in what concerned the mechanic execution of the _fine arts_, took up

with a CHOERILUS, to transmit an image of his _mind_ to future ages;

so grosly undiscerning was he in works of poetry, and the liberal

_offerings of the muse_!

And thus the poet makes a double use of the illjudgment of this

imperial critic. For nothing could better demonstrate the importance

of _poetry_ to the honour of _greatness_, than that this illustrious

conqueror, without any particular knowledge or discernment in the

_art_ itself, should think himself concerned to court its assistance.

And, then, what could be more likely to engage the emperor’s further

protection and love of _poetry_, than the insinuation (which is

made with infinite address) that, as he honoured it equally, so he

understood its merits much better? For [from v. 245 to 248, where, by

a beautiful concurrence, the flattery of his prince falls in with the

honester purpose of doing justice to the memory of his friends] it was

not the same unintelligent liberality, which had cherished Choerilus,

that poured the full stream of Caesar’s bounty on such persons, as

VARIUS and VIRGIL. And, as if the spirit of these inimitable poets

had, at once, seized him, he breaks away in a bolder run of verse

[from v. 248 to 250] _to sing the triumphs of an art_, which expressed

the _manners and the mind_ in fuller and more durable _relief_, than

painting or even sculpture had ever been able to give to the external

_figure_: And [from v. 250 to the end] _apologizes for himself_ in

adopting the humbler epistolary _species_, when a warmth of inclination

and the unrivaled glories of his prince were continually urging him on

to the nobler, _encomiastic_ poetry. His excuse, in brief, is taken

from the conscious inferiority of his genius, and a tenderness for

the fame of the emperor, which is never more disserved than by the

officious sedulity of bad poets to do it honour. And with this apology,

one while condescending to the unfeigned humility of a person, sensible

of the _kind and measure_ of his abilities, and then, again, sustaining

itself by a freedom and even familiarity, which real merit knows, on

certain occasions, to take without offence, the epistle concludes.

If the general opinion may be trusted, this, which was one of the

_last_, is also among the _noblest_, of the great poet’s compositions.

Perhaps, the reader, who considers it in the plain and simple order, to

which the foregoing analysis hath reduced it, may satisfy himself, that

this praise hath not been undeservedly bestowed.

NOTES

ON THE

EPISTLE TO AUGUSTUS.

EPISTOLA AD AUGUSTUM.] The epistle to AUGUSTUS is _an apology for the

Roman poets_. The epistle to the PISOS, _a criticism on their poetry_.

_This_ to Augustus may be therefore considered as a sequel of _that_ to

the Pisos; and which could not well be omitted; for the author’s design

of forwarding the study and improvement of the _art of poetry_ required

him to bespeak the public favour to its _professors_.

But as, _there_, in correcting the abuses of their poetry, he mixes,

occasionally, some encomiums on _poets_; so, _here_, in pleading the

cause of the poets, we find him interweaving instructions on _poetry_.

Which was but according to the writer’s _occasions_ in each work. For

the freedom of his censure on the _art of poetry_ was to be softened

by some expressions of his good-will towards the poets; and this

apology for their _fame_ had been too direct and unmanaged, but for

the qualifying appearance of its intending the further benefit of

the _art_. The coincidence, then, of the same general _method_, as well

as _design_, in the two epistles, made it not improper to give them

together, and on the same footing, to the public. Though both the

_subject_ and _method_ of this last are so clear as to make a continued

commentary upon it much less wanted.

* * * * *

4. SI LONGO SERMONE MORER TUA TEMPORA, CAESAR.] The poet is thought to

begin with apologizing for the _shortness of this epistle_. And yet

’tis one of the longest he ever wrote. How is this inconsistency to be

reconciled? “Horace parle pêutêtre ainsi pour ne pas rebuter Auguste,

et pour lui faire connôitre, qu’il auroit fait une lettre, beaucoup

plus longue, s’il avoit suivi son inclination.” This is the best

account of the matter we have, hitherto, been able to come at. But the

familiar civility of such a compliment, as M. Dacier supposes, though

it might be well enough to an _equal_, or, if dressed up in spruce

phrases, might make a figure in the _lettres familieres et galantes_ of

his own nation; yet is surely of a cast, entirely foreign to the Roman

gravity, more especially in an address to the emperor of the world.

Mr. Pope, perceiving the absurdity of the common interpretation, seems

to have read the lines _interrogatively_; which though it saves the

sense, and suits the purpose of the English poet very well, yet neither

agrees with the language nor serious air of the original. The case, I

believe, was this. The genius of epistolary writing demands, that the

subject-matter be not abruptly delivered, or hastily obtruded on the

person addressed; but, as the law of decorum prescribes (for the rule

holds in _writing_, as in _conversation_) be gradually and respectfully

introduced to him. This obtains more particularly in applications to

the _great_, and on important subjects. But, now, the poet, being to

address his prince on a point of no small delicacy, and on which he

foresaw he should have occasion to hold him pretty long, prudently

contrives to get, as soon as possible, into his subject; and, to that

end, hath the art to convert the very transgression of this rule into

the justest and most beautiful compliment.

That cautious preparation, which is ordinarily requisite in our

approaches to _greatness_, had been, the poet observes, in the present

case, highly unseasonable, as the business and interests of the empire

must, in the mean time, have stood still and been suspended. By

_sermone_ then we are to understand, not the _body_ of the epistle,

but the proeme or _introduction_ only. The _body_, as of public

concern, might be allowed to engage, at full length, the emperor’s

attention. But the _introduction_, consisting of _ceremonial_ only,

the _common good_ required him to shorten as much as possible. It

was no time for using an insignificant preamble, or, in our English

phrase, of making _long speeches_. The reason, too, is founded, not

merely in the elevated rank of the emperor, but in the peculiar

diligence and sollicitude, with which, history tells us, he endeavoured

to promote, by various ways, the interests of his country. So that

the compliment is as _just_, as it is _polite_. It may be further

observed, that _sermo_ is used in Horace, to signify the ordinary style

of conversation [See Sat. i. 3, 65, and iv. 42.] and therefore not

improperly denotes the familiarity of the epistolary address, which, in

its easy expression, so nearly approaches to it.

* * * * *

13. URIT ENIM FULGORE SUO, QUI PRAEGRAVAT ARTES INFRA SE POSITAS:

EXTINCTUS AMABITUR IDEM.] The poet, we may suppose, spoke this from

experience. And so might _another_ of later date when he complained:

Unhappy Wit, like most mistaken things,

Attones not for that envy which it brings.

_Essay on Crit._ v. 494.

Unless it be thought, that, as this was said by him very early in life,

it might rather pass for a prediction of his future fortunes. Be this

as it will, the sufferings, which _unhappy wit_ is conceived to bring

on itself from the _envy_ it excites, are, I am apt to think, somewhat

aggravated; at least if one may judge from the effects it had on this

_Complainant_. That which would be likely to afflict him most, was

the _envy_ of his friends. But the generosity of these deserves to be

recorded. The _wits_ took no offence at his fame, till they found

it eclipse their _own_: And his _Philosopher and Guide_, ’tis well

known, stuck close to him, till another and brighter star had gotten

the ascendant. Or supposing there might be some malice in the case,

it is plain there was little mischief. And for this little the poet’s

creed provides an ample recompence. EXTINCTUS AMABITUR IDEM: not, we

may be sure, by _those_ he most improved, enlightened, and obliged;

but by late impartial posterity; and by ONE at least of his surviving

friends; who generously took upon him the patronage of his fame, and

who inherits his genius and his virtues.

* * * * *

14. EXTINCTUS AMABITUR IDEM.] _Envy_, says a discerning ancient,

_is the vice of those, who are too weak to contend, and too proud

to submit_: _vitium eorum, qui nec cedere volunt, nec possunt

contendere_[33]. Which, while it sufficiently exposes the folly

and malignity of this hateful passion, secures the honour of human

nature; as implying at the same time, that its worst corruptions are

not without a mixture of generosity in them. For this false pride

in _refusing to submit_, though absurd and mischievous enough, when

unsupported by all _ability to contend_, yet discovers such a sense of

superior excellence, as shews, how difficult it is for human nature

to divest itself of all virtue. Accordingly, when the too powerful

_splendor_ is withdrawn, our natural veneration of it takes place:

_Extinctus amabitur idem._ This is the true exposition of the poet’s

sentiment; which therefore appears just the reverse of what his French

interpreter would fix upon him. “La justice, que nous rendons aux

grands hommes après leur mort, ne vient pas de l’AMOUR, que nous avons

pour leur _vertu_, mais de la HAINE, dont notre cœur est rempli pour

ceux, qui ont pris leur PLACE.” An observation, which only becomes the

misanthropy of an old cynic virtue, or the selfishness of a modern

system of ethics.

* * * * *

15. PRAESENTI TIBI MATUROS, &c. to v. 18.] We are not to wonder at

this and the like extravagances of adulation in the Augustan poets.

They had ample authority for what they did of this sort. We know, that

altars were erected to the Emperor by the command of the Senate; and

that he was publicly invoked, as an established, tutelary divinity. But

the seeds of the corruption had been sown much earlier. For we find it

sprung up, or rather (as of all the ill weeds, which the teeming soil

of human depravity throws forth, none is more thriving and grows faster

than this of _flattery_) flourishing at its height, in the tyranny of

J. CAESAR. Balbus, in a letter to Cicero [Ep. ad Att. l. ix.] _Swears

by the health and safety of Caesar_: _ità, incolumi Caesare, moriar_.

And Dio tells us [L. xliv.] that it was, by the express injunction

of the Senate, decreed, even in Caesar’s life-time, that the Romans

should bind themselves by this oath. The Senate also, as we learn from

the same writer, [L. xliii.] upon receiving the news of his defeat

of Pompey’s sons, caused his statue to be set up, in the temple of

Romulus, with this inscription, DEO INVICTO[34].

’Tis true, these and still greater honours had been long paid to the

Roman governors in their provinces, by the _abject, slavish Asiatics_.

And this, no doubt, facilitated the admission of such idolatries into

the capital[35]. But that a people, from the highest notions of an

independent republican equality, could so soon be brought to this

prostrate adoration of their first _Lord_, is perfectly amazing! In

this, they shewed themselves ripe for servitude. Nothing could keep

them out of the hands of a master. And one can scarcely read such

accounts, as these, without condemning the vain efforts of dying

patriotism, which laboured so fruitlesly, may one not almost say,

so weakly? to protract the liberty of such a people, Who can, after

this, wonder at the incense, offered up by a few court-poets? The

adulation of Virgil, which has given so much offence, and of Horace,

who kept pace with him, was, we see, but the authorized language of the

times; presented indeed with address, but without the heightenings and

privileged licence of their profession. For, to their credit, it must

be owned, that, though in the office of _poets_, they were to comply

with the popular voice, and echo it back to the ears of sovereignty;

yet, as _men_, they had too much good sense, and too scrupulous a

regard to the dignity of their characters, to exaggerate and go beyond

it.

It should, in all reason, surprize and disgust us still more, that

modern writers have not always shewn themselves so discrete. The grave

and learned LIPSIUS was not ashamed, even without the convenient

pretext of popular flattery, or poetic _coloring_, in so many words,

to make a God of his patron: who though neither King, nor Pope, was

yet the next best material for this manufacture, an Archbishop. For,

though the critic knew, that it was _not every wood, that will make a

Mercury_, yet no body would dispute the fitness of that, which grew

so near the altar. In plain words, I am speaking of an Archbishop of

MECHLIN, whom, after a deal of fulsome compliment (which was the vice

of the man) he exalts at last, with a pagan complaisance, into the

order of Deities. “Ad haec, says he, erga omnes humanitas et facilitas

me faciunt, ut omnes te non tanquàm hominem aliquem de nostro coetu,

sed tanquam DEUM QUENDAM DE COELO DELAPSUM INTUEANTUR ET ADMIRENTUR.”

* * * * *

16. JURANDASQUE TUUM PER NUMEN PONIMUS ARAS.] On this idea of the

APOTHEOSIS, which was the usual mode of flattery in the Augustan

age, but, as having the countenance of public authority, sometimes

inartificially enough employed, Virgil hath projected one of the

noblest allegories in ancient poetry, and at the same time hath given

to it all the force of _just_ compliment, the _occasion_ itself

allowed. _Each_ of these excellencies was to be expected from his

talents. For, as his genius led him to the _sublime_; to his exquisite

judgment would instruct him to palliate this bold fiction, and qualify,

as much as possible, the shocking adulation, implied in it. So singular

a beauty deserves to be shewn at large.

The _third_ GEORGIC sets out with an apology for the low and simple

argument of that work, which, yet, the poet esteemed, for its novelty,

preferable to the sublimer, but trite, themes of the Greek writers. Not

but he intended, on some future occasion, to adorn a nobler subject.

This was the great plan of the Aeneïs, which he now _prefigures_ and

unfolds at large. For, taking advantage of the noblest privilege of

his _art_, he breaks away, in a fit of _prophetic_ enthusiasm, to

foretel his successes in this projected enterprize, and, under the

imagery of the ancient _triumph_, which comprehends, or suggests to

the imagination, whatever is most august in human affairs, to delineate

the future glories of this ambitious design. The whole conception,

as we shall see, is of the utmost grandeur and magnificence; though,

according to the usual management of the poet (which, as not being

apprehended by his critics, hath furnished occasion, even to the best

of them, to charge him with a want of the _sublime_) he hath contrived

to soften and _familiarize_ its appearance to the reader, by the artful

manner, in which it is introduced. It stands thus:

_tentanda via est, qua me quoque possim

Tollere humo_, VICTORQUE _virûm volitare per ora_.

This idea of _victory_, thus casually dropped, he makes the basis

of his imagery; which, by means of this gradual preparation, offers

itself easily to the apprehension, though it thereby loses, as the poet

designed it should, much of that broad _glare_, in which writers of

less judgment love to shew their ideas, as tending to set the common

reader to a gaze. The allegory then proceeds:

_Primus ego patriam mecum (modo vita supersit)

Aonio rediens deducam vertice Musas_.

The projected conquest was no less than that of all the _Grecian Muses_

at once; whom, to carry on the decorum of the allegory, he threatens,

1. to force from their high and advantageous situation on the summit of

the _Aonian mount_; and, 2. bring _captive_ with him into Italy: the

_former_ circumstance intimating to us the difficulty and danger of

the enterprize; and the _latter_, his complete execution of it.

The _palmy_, triumphal entry, which was usual to victors on their

return from foreign successes, follows:

_Primus Idumaeas referam tibi, Mantua, palmas_.

But ancient conquerors did not hold it sufficient to reap this

transient fruit of their labours. They were ambitious to consecrate

their glory to immortality, by a _temple_, or other public monument,

which was to be built out of the spoils of the conquered cities or

countries. This the reader sees is suitable to the idea of the great

work proposed; which was, out of the old remains of Grecian art, to

compose a _new_ one, that should comprize the virtues of them all:

as, in fact, the Aeneïd is known to unite in itself whatever is most

excellent, not in Homer only, but, universally, in the wits of Greece.

The everlasting monument of the _marble_ temple is then reared:

_Et viridi in campo templum de_ MARMORE _ponam_.

And, because ancient superstition usually preferred, for these

purposes, the banks of _rivers_ to other situations, therefore the

poet, in beautiful allusion to the site of some of the most celebrated

pagan temples, builds _his_ on the MINCIUS. We see with what a

scrupulous propriety the allusion is carried on.

_Propter aquam, tardis ingens ubi flexibus errat_

MINCIUS, _et tenera praetexit arundine ripas_.

Next, this temple was to be dedicated, as a monument of the victor’s

_piety_, as well as glory, to some propitious, tutelary deity, under

whose auspices the great adventure had been atchieved. The _dedication_

is then made to the poet’s _divinity_, Augustus:

_In medio mihi_ CAESAR _erit, templumque tenebit_.

TEMPLUM TENEBIT. The expression is emphatical; as intimating to us, and

prefiguring the secret purpose of the Aeneïs, which was, in the person

of Aeneas, to shadow forth and consecrate the character of Augustus.

His divinity was to fill and _occupy_ that great work. And the ample

circuit of the epic plan was projected only, as a more awful enclosure

of that august presence, which was to _inhabit_ and solemnize the vast

round of this poetic building.

And now the wonderful address of the poet’s artifice appears. The mad

servility of his country had _deified_ the emperor in good earnest;

and his brother poets made no scruple to _worship_ in his temples, and

to come before him with handfuls of _real_ incense, smoking from the

altars. But the sobriety of Virgil’s adoration was of another cast. He

seizes this circumstance only to _embody_ a poetical fiction; which,

on the supposition of an actual _deification_, hath all the force of

compliment, which the _fact_ implies, and yet, as presented through

the chast veil of allegory, eludes the offence, which the _naked_

recital must needs have given to sober and reasonable men. Had the

emperor’s _popular_ divinity been flatly acknowledged, and adored,

the praise, even under Virgil’s management, had been insufferable for

its extravagance; and, without some support for his poetical _numen_

to rest upon, the figure had been more forced and strained, than the

rules of just writing allow. As it is, the historical truth of his

_apotheosis_ authorizes and supports the _fiction_, and the fiction, in

its turn, serves to refine and palliate the _history_.

The Aeneïs being, by the poet’s improvement of this circumstance, thus

naturally predicted under the image of a _temple_, we may expect to

find a close and studied analogy betwixt them. The great, component

parts of the _one_ will, no doubt, be made, very faithfully, to

represent and adumbrate those of the _other_. This hath been executed

with great art and diligence.

1. The _temple_, we observed, was erected on the banks of a river. This

site was not only proper, for the reason already mentioned, but also,

for the further convenience of instituting _public games_, the ordinary

attendants of the _consecration_ of temples. These were generally,

as in the case of the Olympic and others, celebrated on the banks of

rivers.

_Illi victor ego, et Tyrio conspectus in ostro,

Centum quadrijugos agitabo ad flumina currus.

Cuncta mihi, Alpheum linquens lucosque Molorchi,

Cursibus et crudo decernet Graecia caestu._

To see the propriety of the _figure_ in this place, the reader needs

only be reminded of the _book of games_ in the Aeneïd, which was

purposely introduced in honour of the Emperor, and not, as is commonly

thought, for a mere trial of skill between the poet and his master. The

emperor was passionately fond of these sports, and was even the author,

or restorer, of _one_ of them. It is not to be doubted, that he alludes

also to the _quinquennial games_, actually celebrated, in honour of his

temples, through many parts of the empire. And this the poet undertakes

in the _civil_ office of VICTOR.

2. What follows is in the _religious_ office of PRIEST. For it is to

be noted, that, in assuming this double character, which the decorum

of the solemnities, here recounted, prescribed, the poet has an eye to

the _political_ design of the Aeneïs, which was to do honour to Caesar,

in either capacity of a _civil_ and _religious_ personage; both being

essential to the idea of the PERFECT LEGISLATOR, whose office and

character (as an eminent critic hath lately shewn us[36]) it was his

purpose, in this immortal work, to adorn and recommend. The account of

his _sacerdotal functions_ is delivered in these words:

_Ipse caput tonsae foliis ornatus olivae

Dona feram. Jam, nunc solemnes ducere pompas

Ad delubra juvat, caesosque videre juvencos;

Vel scena ut versis discedat frontibus, utque

Purpurea intexti tollant aulaea Britanni._

The imagery in this place cannot be understood, without reflecting on

the customary form and disposition of the pagan temples. DELUBRUM, or

DELUBRA, for either _number_ is used indifferently, denotes the shrine,

or sanctuary, wherein the statue of the presiding God was placed. This

was in the center of the building. Exactly before the _delubrum_, and

at no great distance from it, was the ALTAR. Further, the shrine, or

_delubrum_, was inclosed and shut up on all sides by _doors_ of curious

carved-work, and ductile _veils_, embellished by the rich embroidery

of _flowers_, _animals_, or _human figures_. This being observed, the

progress of the imagery before us will be this. The procession _ad

delubra_, or shrine: the sacrifice on the _altars_, erected before it;

and lastly, the painted, or rather wrought _scenery_ of the purple

_veils_, inclosing the image, which were ornamented, and seemed to be

sustained or held up by the figures of _inwoven Britons_. The meaning

of all which, is, that the poet would proceed to the celebration of

Caesar’s praise in all the gradual, solemn preparation of poetic pomp:

that he would render the most grateful _offerings_ to his divinity in

those occasional _episodes_, which he should consecrate to his more

immediate honour: and, finally, that he would provide the richest

texture of his fancy, for a covering to that admired _image_ of his

virtues, which was to make the sovereign pride and glory of his poem.

The choice of the _inwoven Britons_, for the support of his _veil_, is

well accounted for by those, who tell us, that Augustus was proud to

have a number of these to serve about him in quality of slaves.

The ornaments of the DOORS of this _delubrum_, on which the sculptor

used to lavish all the riches of his _art_, are next delineated.

_In foribus pugnam ex auro solidoque elephanto

Gangaridum faciam, victorisque arma Quirini;

Atque hic undantem bello, magnumque fluentem

Nilum, ac navali surgentes aere columnas.

Addam urbes Asiae domitas, pulsumque Niphatem,

Fidentemque fugâ Parthum versisque sagittis;

Et duo rapta manu diverso ex hoste trophaea,

Bisque triumphatas utroque ex littore gentes._

Here the covering of the _figure_ is too thin to hide the _literal_

meaning from the commonest reader, who sees, that the several triumphs

of Caesar, here recorded in _sculpture_, are those, which the poet

hath taken most pains to _finish_, and hath occasionally inserted, as

it were, in _miniature_, in several places of his _poem_. Let him only

turn to the prophetic speech of Anchises’ shade in the VI^{th}, and to

the description of the shield in the VIII^{th} book.

Hitherto we have contemplated the decorations of the _shrine_, i. e.

such as bear a more direct and immediate reference to the honour of

Caesar. We are now presented with a view of the remoter, surrounding

ornaments of the temple. These are the illustrious Trojan chiefs,

whose story was to furnish the materials, or, more properly, to form

the body and _case_, as it were, of his august structure. They are

also connected with the idol deity of the place by the closest ties

of relationship, the Julian family affecting to derive its pedigree

from this proud original. The poet then, in his arrangement of these

additional figures, with admirable judgment, completes and rounds the

entire fiction.

_Stabunt et Parii lapides, spirantia signa,

Assaraci proles, demissaeque ab Jove gentis

Nomina: Trosque parens et Trojae Cynthius auctor._

Nothing now remains but for _fame_ to eternize the glories of what

the great architect had, at the expence of so much art and labour,

completed; which is predicted in the highest sublime of ancient poetry,

under the idea of ENVY, whom the poet personalizes, shuddering at the

view of such transcendent perfection; and tasting, beforehand, the

pains of a remediless vexation, strongly pictured in the image of the

worst, infernal tortures.

INVIDIA _infelix furias amnemque severum

Cocyti metuet, tortosque Ixionis angues,

Immanemque rotam, et non exuperabile saxum_.

Thus have I presumed, but with a religious awe, to inspect and declare

the mysteries of this ideal temple. The attempt after all might have

been censured, as prophane, if the great _Mystagogue_ himself, or some

body for him[37], had not given us the undoubted key to it. Under this

encouragement I could not withstand the temptation of disclosing thus

much of one of the noblest fictions of antiquity; and the rather, as

the propriety of allegoric composition, which made the distinguished

pride of ancient poetry, seems but little known or attended to by the

_modern_ professors of this fine art.

* * * * *

17. NIL ORITURUM ALIAS, NIL ORTUM TALE FATENTES.] _Il n’est

impossible_, says M. DE BALZAC, in that puffed, declamatory rhapsody,

intitled, LE PRINCE, _de resister au mouvement interieur, qui me

pousse. Je ne sçaurois m’empecher de parler du_ ROY, _et de sa vertu;

de crier à tous les princes, que c’est l’exemple, qu’ils doivent

suivre_; DE DEMANDER A TOUS LES PEUPLES, ET A TOUS LES AGES, S’ILS ONT

JAMAIS RIEN VEU DE SEMBLABLE. This was spoken of a king of France,

who, it will be owned, had his virtues. But they were the virtues of

the _man_, and not of the _Prince_. This, however, was a distinction,

which the eloquent encomiast was not aware of, or, to speak more truly,

his business required him to overlook. For the whole elogy is worth

perusing, as it affords a striking proof of the uniform genius of

flattery, which, alike under all circumstances, and indifferent to all

characters, can hold the same language of the weakest, as the ablest of

princes, of LOUIS LE JUSTE, and CAESAR OCTAVIANUS AUGUSTUS.

* * * * *

23. SIC FAUTOR VETERUM, &c. to v. 28.] The folly, here satyrized,

is common enough in all countries, and extends to all arts. It was

just the same preposterous affectation of venerating antiquity, which

put the connoisseurs in _painting_, under the emperors, on crying up

the simple and rude sketches of AGLAOPHON and POLYGNOTUS, above the

exquisite and finished pictures of PARRHASIUS and ZEUXIS. The account

is given by Quintilian, who in his censure of this absurdity, points

to the undoubted source of it. His words are these: “Primi, quorum

quidem opera non vetustatis modò gratiâ visenda sunt, clari pictores

fuisse dicuntur Polygnotus et Aglaophon; quorum simplex color tam sui

studiosos adhuc habet, ut illa propè rudia ac velut futurae mox artis

primordia, maximis, qui post eos extiterunt, auctoribus praeferantur,

PROPRIO QUODAM INTELLIGENDI (ut mea fert opinio) AMBITU.” [L. xii. c.

10.] The lover of painting must be the more surprized at this strange

_preference_, when he is told, that Aglaophon, at least, had the use

of only _one single colour_: whereas Parrhasius and Zeuxis, who are

amongst the _maximi autores_, here glanced at, not only employed

_different colours_, but were exceedingly eminent, the one of them for

_correct drawing, and the delicacy of his outline_; the _other_, for

his _invention_ of that great secret of the _chiaro oscuro_. “Post

Zeuxis et Parrhasius: quorum prior LUMINUM UMBRARUMQUE INVENISSE

RATIONEM, secundus, EXAMINASSE SUBTILIUS LINEAS DICITUR.” [Ibid.]

* * * * *

28. SI, QUIA GRAIORUM SUNT ANTIQUISSIMA QUAEQUE SCRIPTA vel OPTIMA,

&c.] The common interpretation of this place supposes the poet to

admit _the most ancient of the Greek writings to be the best_. Which

were even contrary to all experience and common sense, and is directly

confuted by the history of the Greek learning. What he allows is, the

_superiority_ of the oldest Greek writings _extant_; which is a very

different thing. The turn of his argument confines us to this sense.

For he would shew the folly of concluding the same of the _old Roman_

writers, on their _first_ rude attempts to copy the finished models of

Greece, as of the _old Greek writers_ themselves, who were furnished

with the means of producing those _models_ by long discipline and

cultivation. This appears, certainly, from what follows:

_Venimus ad summum fortunae: pingimus atque

Psallimus et luctamur Achivis doctius unctis_.

The design of which hath been entirely overlooked. For it hath been

taken only for a _general expression_ of falsehood and absurdity, of

just the same import, as the proverbial line,

_Nil intra est oleâ, nil extra est in nuce duri_.

Whereas it was _designedly_ pitched upon to convey a _particular

illustration_ of the very absurdity in question, and to shew the

maintainers of it, from the nature of things, how senseless their

position was. It is to this purpose: “As well it may be pretended,

that we _Romans_ surpass the _Greeks_ in the arts of _painting, music,

and the exercises of the palaestra_, which yet it is confessed, we do

not, as that our _old_ writers surpass the _modern_. The absurdity,

in either case, is the same. For, as the Greeks, who had long devoted

themselves, with great and continued application, to the practice of

these arts (which is the force of the epithet UNCTI, here given them)

must, for that reason, carry the prize from the Romans, who have taken

very little pains about them; so, the modern Romans, who have for a

long time been studying the _arts of poetry and composition_, must

needs excel the old Roman writers, who had little or no acquaintance

with those arts, and had been trained, by no previous discipline, to

the exercise of them.”

The conciseness of the expression made it necessary to open the poet’s

sense at large. We now see, that his intention, in these two lines, was

to expose, in the way of _argumentative illustration_, the ground of

that absurdity, which the preceding verses had represented as, at first

sight, so shocking to _common sense_.

* * * * *

33. UNCTIS.] This is by no means a general unmeaning epithet: but is

beautifully chosen to express the unwearied _assiduity_ of the Greek

artists. For the practice of _anointing_ being essential to their

agonistic trials, the poet elegantly puts the attending _circumstance_

for the _thing_ itself. And so, in speaking of them, as UNCTI, he does

the same, as if he had called them “the industrious, or _exercising_

Greeks;” which was the very idea his argument required him to suggest

to us.

* * * * *

43.—HONESTE.] Expressing the _credit_ such a piece was held in, as had

the fortune to be ranked _inter veteres_, agreeably to what he said

above—PERFECTOS _veteresque_ v. 37—and—_vetus atque_ PROBUS v. 39:

which affords a fresh presumption in favour of Dr. Bentley’s conjecture

on v. 41, where, instead of _veteres poetas_, he would read,

_Inter quos referendus erit? veteresne_ PROBOSQUE,

_An quos &c._

* * * * *

54. ADEO SANCTUM EST VETUS OMNE POEMA.] The reader is not to suppose,

that Horace, in this ridicule of the foolish adorers of antiquity,

intended any contempt of the old Roman poets, who, as the old writers

in every country, abound in strong sense, vigorous expression, and the

truest representation of life and manners. His quarrel is only with the

critic:

_Qui redit in fastos et virtutem aestimat annis._

An affectation, which for its _folly_, if it had not too apparently

sprung from a worse principle, deserved to be laughed at.

For the rest, he every where discovers a candid and just esteem of

their earlier writers; as may be seen from many places in this very

epistle; but more especially from that severe censure in 1 S. x. 17.

(which hath more of acrimony in it, than he usually allows to his

satyr) when, in speaking of the writers of the old comedy, he adds,

_Quos neque pulcher

Hermogenes unquam legit, neque simius iste

Nil praeter Calvum et doctus cantare Catullum._

With all his zeal for correct writing, he was not, we see, of the

humour of that delicate sort, who are for burning their old poets;

and, to be well with women and court critics, confine their reading

and admiration to the innocent sing-song of some soft and fashionable

rhymer, whose utter insipidity is a thousand times more insufferable,

than any barbarism.

* * * * *

56. PACUVIUS DOCTI FAMAM SENIS, ACCIUS ALTI:] The epithet _doctus_,

here applied to the tragic poet, _Pacuvius_, is, I believe, sometimes

misunderstood, though the opposition to _altus_ clearly determines the

sense. For, as this last word expresses the _sublime_ of sentiment and

expression, which comes from _nature_, so the former word must needs be

interpreted of that _exactness_ in both, or at least of that _skill_

in the conduct of the scene (the proper _learning_ of a dramatic poet)

which is the result of _art_.

The Latin word _doctus_ is indeed somewhat ambiguous: but we are

chiefly misled by the English word, _learned_, by which we translate

it, and by which, in general use, is meant, rather extensive reading,

and what we call _erudition_, than a profound skill in the rules and

principles of any art. But this last is frequently the sense of the

Latin term _doctus_, as we may see from its application, in the best

classic writers, to other, besides the literary professions. Thus, to

omit other instances, we find it applied very often in Horace himself.

It is applied to a _singing-girl_—_doctae_ psallere Chiae—in one of

his Odes, l. iv. 13. It is applied to several _mechanic arts_ in this

epistle—“_doctius_ Achivis pingimus atque psallimus et luctamur:” It

is even applied, _absolutely_, to the player Roscius—_doctus_ Roscius,

in v. 82, where his skill in _acting_ could only be intended by it. It

is, also, in this sense, that he calls his imitator, _doctus_, i. e.

skilled and knowing in his art, A. P. v. 319. Nay, it is precisely in

this sense that Quinctilian uses the word, when he characterizes this

very Pacuvius—_Pacuvium videri_ doctiorem, _qui esse docti affectant,

volunt_ [l. x. c. 1.] i. e. _they, who affect to be thought knowing

in the rules of dramatic writing, give this praise to Pacuvius_.

The expression is so put, as if Quinctilian intended a censure of

these critics; because this pretence to dramatic art, and the strict

imitation of the Greek poets, was grown, in his time, and long before

it, into a degree of pedantry and _affectation_; no other merit but

this of _docti_, being of any significancy, in their account. There is

no reason to think that Quinctilian meant to insinuate the poet’s want

of this merit, or his own contempt of it: though he might think, and

with reason, that too much stress had been laid upon it by some men.

It is in the same manner that one of our own poets has been

characterized; and the application of this term to him will shew the

force of it, still more clearly.

In Mr. Pope’s fine imitation of this epistle, are these lines—

In all debates, where critics bear a part,

Not one but nods, and talks of Jonson’s _art_—

One sees, then, how Mr. Pope understood the _docti_, of Horace. But our

Milton applies the word _learned_ itself, and in the Latin sense of it,

to Jonson—

When Jonson’s _learned_ sock is on—

For what is this _learning_? Indisputably, his _dramatic learning_,

his skill in the scene, and his observance of the ancient rules and

practice. For, though Jonson was indeed _learned_, in every sense, it

is the learning of his profession, as a comic artist, for which he is

here celebrated.

The Latin substantive, _doctrina_, is used with the same latitude, as

the adjective, _doctus_. It sometimes signifies the _peculiar sort_

of learning, under consideration; though sometimes again it signifies

_learning_, or erudition, at large. It is used in the _former_

sense by Cicero, when he observes of the satires of Lucilius, that

they were remarkable for their wit and pleasantry, not for their

_learning_—_doctrina_ mediocris. So that there is no contradiction

in this judgment, as is commonly thought, to that of Quinctilian, who

declares roundly—_eruditio_ in eo mira—For, though _doctrina_ and

_eruditio_ be sometimes convertible terms, they are not so here. The

_learning_ Cicero speaks of in Lucilius, as being but _moderate_, is

his learning, or skill in the art of writing and composition.—That

this was the whole purport of Cicero’s observation, any one may see by

turning to the place where it occurs, in the proeme to his first book

DE FINIBUS.

* * * * *

59. VINCERE CAECILIUS GRAVITATE, TERENTIUS ARTE.] It should be

observed, that the judgment, here passed [from v. 55 to 60] on the most

celebrated Roman writers, being only a representation of the _popular_

opinion, not of the poet’s _own_, the commendations, given to them, are

deserved, or otherwise, just as it chances.

_Interdum volgus rectum videt, est ubi peccat._

To give an instance of this in the line before us.

A critic of unquestioned authority acquaints us, wherein the

_real distinct merit_ of these two dramatic writers consists. “In

ARGUMENTIS, Caecilius palmam poscit; in ETHESIN, TERENTIUS.” [Varro.]

Now by _gravitate_, as applied to Caecilius, we may properly enough

understand the _grave and affecting cast_ of his comedy; which is

further confirmed by what the same critic elsewhere observes of him.

“PATHE Trabea, Attilius, et CAECILIUS facile moverunt.” But Terence’s

characteristic of _painting the manners_, which is, plainly, the right

interpretation of Varro’s ETHESIN, is not so significantly expressed

by the attribute _arte_, here given to him. The word indeed is of

large and general import, and may admit of various senses; but being

here applied to a _dramatic_ writer, it most naturally and properly

denotes the _peculiar_ art of his profession, that is, _the artificial

contexture of the plot_. And this I doubt not was the very praise, the

town-critics of Horace’s time intended to bestow on this poet. The

matter is easily explained.

The simplicity and exact unity of the plots in the Greek comedies would

be, of course, uninteresting to a people, not thoroughly instructed

in the genuin beauties of the drama. They had too thin a contexture

to satisfy the gross and lumpish taste of a Roman auditory. The Latin

poets, therefore, bethought themselves of combining two stories into

one. And this, which is what we call the _double plot_, affording the

opportunity of more incidents, and a greater variety of _action_,

was perfectly suited to their apprehensions. But, of all the Latin

Comedians, _Terence_ appears to have practised this secret most

assiduously: at least, as may be concluded from what remains of them.

_Plautus_ hath very frequently _single plots_, which he was enabled to

support by, what was natural to him, a force of buffoon pleasantry.

_Terence_, whose genius lay another way, or whose taste was abhorrent

from such ribaldry, had recourse to the other expedient of _double

plots_. And this, I suppose, is what gained him the popular reputation

of being the most _artificial_ writer for the stage. The HECYRA is the

only one of his comedies, of the true ancient cast. And we know how it

came off in the representation. That ill-success and the simplicity

of its conduct have continued to draw upon it the same unfavourable

treatment from the critics, to this day; who constantly speak of

it, as much inferior to the rest; whereas, for the genuin beauty of

dramatic design, and the observance, after the ancient Greek manner,

of the nice dependency and coherence of the _fable_, throughout, it

is, indisputably, to every reader of true taste, the most masterly and

exquisite of the whole collection.

* * * * *

63. INTERDUM VOLGUS RECTUM VIDET: EST UBI PECCAT.] The capricious

levity of _popular opinion_ hath been noted even to a proverb. And

yet it is this, which, after all, _fixes_ the fate of authors. This

seemingly odd phaenomenon I would thus account for.