What is usually complimented with the high and reverend appellation

of _public judgment_ is, in any single instance, but the repetition

or echo, for the most part eagerly catched and strongly reverberated

on all sides, of a few leading voices, which have happened to gain

the confidence, and so direct the _cry_ of the public. But (as, in

fact, it too often falls out) this prerogative of the _few_ may be

abused to the prejudice of the _many_. The partialities of friendship,

the fashionableness of the writer, his compliance with the reigning

taste, the lucky concurrence of time and opportunity, the cabal of

a party, nay, the very freaks of whim and caprice, these, or any of

them, as occasion serves, can support the dullest, as the opposite

disadvantages can depress the noblest performance; and give the

currency or neglect to _either_, far beyond what the genuin character

of each demands. Hence the _public voice_, which is but the aggregate

of these corrupt judgments, infinitely multiplied, is, with the wise,

at such a juncture, deservedly of little esteem. Yet, in a succession

of such _judgments_, delivered at different times and by different

sets or juntos of these sovereign arbiters of the fate of authors, the

public opinion naturally gets clear of these accidental corruptions.

Every fresh succession shakes off some; till, by degrees, the work is

seen in its proper form, unsupported of every other recommendation,

than what its native inherent excellence bestows upon it. Then, and not

till then, _the voice of the people_ becomes sacred; after which it

soon advances into _divinity_, before which all ages must fall down and

worship. For now Reason alone, without her corrupt assessors, takes the

chair. And her sentence, when once promulgated and authorized by the

general voice, fixes the unalterable doom of authors. ΟΛΩΣ ΚΑΛΑ ΝΟΜΙΖΕ

ΥΨΗ ΚΑΙ ΑΛΗΘΙΝΑ, ΤΑ ΔΙΑΠΑΝΤΟΣ ΑΡΕΣΚΟΝΤΑ ΚΑΙ ΠΑΣΙΝ [Longinus, § vii.]

And the reason follows, agreeably to the account here given. Ὅταν γὰρ

τοῖς ἀπὸ διαφόρων ΕΠΙΤΗΔΕΥΜΑΤΩΝ, ΒΙΩΝ, ΖΗΛΩΝ, ΗΛΙΚΙΩΝ, λόγων, ἕν τι καὶ

ταὐτὸν ἅμα περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν ἅπασι δοκῇ, τόθ’ ἡ ἐξ ἀσυμφώνων ὡς κρίσις

καὶ συγκατάθεσις τὴν ἐπὶ τῷ θαυμαζομένῳ ΠΙΣΤΙΝ ΙΣΧΥΡΑΝ ΛΑΜΒΑΝΕΙ ΚΑΙ

ΑΝΑΜΦΙΛΕΚΤΟΝ. [Ibid.]

This is the true account of _popular fame_, which, while it well

explains the ground of the poet’s aphorism, suggests an obvious remark,

but very mortifying to every candidate of literary glory. It is, that,

whether he succeeds in his endeavours after public applause, or not,

_fame_ is equally out of his reach, and, as the moral poet teaches, _a

thing beyond him, before his death_, on either supposition. For at the

very time, that this bewitching music is sounding in his ears, he can

never be sure, if, instead of the divine consentient harmony of a just

praise, it be not only the discordant din and clamour of ignorance or

prepossession.

If there be any exception to this melancholy truth, it must be in the

case of some uncommon genius, whose superior power breaks through all

impediments in his road to fame, and forces applause even from those

very prejudices, that would obstruct his career to it. It was the rare

felicity of the poet, just mentioned, to receive, in his life-time,

this sure and pleasing augury of immortality.

* * * * *

88. INGENIIS NON ILLE FAVET, &c.] MALHERBE was to the French, pretty

much what HORACE had been to the Latin, poetry. These great writers

had, each of them, rescued the lyric muse of their country out of the

rude, ungracious hands of their old poets. And, as their talents of

a _good ear_, _elegant judgment_, and _correct expression_, were the

same, they presented her to the public in all the air and grace, and

yet _severity_, of beauty, of which her form was susceptible. Their

merits and pretensions being thus far resembling, the reader may not

be incurious to know the fate and fortune of _each_. _Horace_ hath

very frankly told us, what befel himself from the malevolent and low

passions of his countrymen. _Malherbe_ did not come off, with the

wits and critics of his time, much better; as we learn from a learned

person, who hath very warmly recommended his writings to the public.

Speaking of the envy, which pursued him in his _prose-works_, but,

says he, “Comme il faisoit une particuliere profession de la _poesie_,

c’est en cette qualité qu’il a de plus severes censeurs, et receu des

injustices plus signalées. Mais il me semble que je fermerai la bouche

à ceux, que le blament, quand je leur aurai monstré, que sa façon

d’escrire est excellente, quoiqu’elle s’eloigne un peu de celle des

NOS ANCIENS POETES, QU’ILS LOUENT PLUSTOT PAR UN DEGOUST DES CHOSES

PRESENTES, QUE PAR LES SENTIMENTS D’UNE VERITABLE ESTIME.” [DISC. DE M.

GODEAU SUR LES OEUVRES DE M. MALHERBE.]

* * * * *

97. SUSPENDIT MENTEM VULTUMQUE.] The expression hath great elegance,

and is not liable to the imputation of _harsh, or improper

construction_. For _suspendit_ is not taken, with regard either

to _mentem_ or _vultum_, in its _literal_, but _figurative_,

signification; and, thus, it becomes, in one and the _same_ sense,

applicable to _both_.

Otherwise, this way of coupling _two substantives_ to a _verb_, which

does not, in strict grammatical usage, _govern_ both; or, if it doth,

must needs be construed in different senses; hath given just offence to

the best critics.

Mr. Pope censures a passage of this kind, in the _Iliad_, with

severity; and thinks _the taste of the ancients was, in general, too

good for those fooleries_[38].

Mr. Addison is perfectly of the same mind, as appears from his

criticism on that line in Ovid, _Consiliis, non curribus utere

nostris_, “This way of joining, says he, two such different ideas as

chariot and counsel to the same verb, is mightily used by _Ovid_, but

is a very low kind of wit, and has always in it a mixture of _pun_;

because the verb must be taken in a different sense, when it is

joined with one of the things, from what it has in conjunction with

the other. Thus in the end of this story he tells you, that Jupiter

flung a thunderbolt at Phaëton; _pariterque animaque rotisque expulit

aurigam_: where he makes a forced piece of _Latin_ (_animâ expulit

aurigam_) that he may couple the soul and the wheels to the same

verb[39].”

These, the reader will think, are pretty good authorities. For, in

matters of _taste_, I know of none, that more deserve to be regarded.

The _mere verbal critic_, one would think, should be cautious, how

he opposed himself to them. And yet a very learned Dutchman, who has

taken great pains in _elucidating_ an old Greek love-story, which, with

its more passionate admirers, may, perhaps, pass for the MARIANNE of

antiquity, hath not scrupled to censure this decision of their’s very

sharply[40].

Having transcribed the censure of Mr. Pope, who, indeed, somewhat too

hastily, suspects the line in Homer for an Interpolation, our critic

fastens upon him directly. EN COR ZENODOTI, EN JECUR CRATETIS! But foul

language and fair criticism are different things; and what he offers of

the _latter_ rather accounts for than justifies the _former_. All he

says on the subject, is in the good old way of _authorities_, which,

he diligently rakes together out of every corner of Greek and Roman

antiquity. From all these he concludes, as he thinks, irresistibly, not

that the passage in question _might_ be _genuin_ (for that few would

dispute with him) but that the kind of expression itself is a _real

beauty_. _Bona elocutio est: honesta figura._ Though, to the praise

of his discretion be it remembered, he does not even venture on this

assertion, without his usual support of _precedent_. And, for want

of a better, he takes up with old _Servius_. For so, it seems, this

grammarian hath declared himself, with respect to some expressions of

the same kind in _Virgil_.

But let him make the best of his authorities. And, when he has done

that, I shall take the liberty to assure him, that the persons, he

contends against, do not think themselves, in the least, concerned with

them. For, though he believes it an undeniable maxim, _Critici non

esse inquirere, utrum recte autor quid scripserit, sed an omnino sic

scripserit_[41]: yet, in the case before us, he must not be surprized,

if others do not so conceive of it.

Indeed, where the critic would defend the _authenticity_ of a word or

expression, the way of _precedent_ is, doubtless, the very best, that

common sense allows to be taken. For the evidence of _fact_, at once,

bears down all suspicion of _corruption_ or _interpolation_. Again;

if the _elegance_ of single words (or of intire phrases, where the

suspicion turns on the _oddity or uncommoness of the construction_,

only) be the matter in dispute, full and precise authorities must

decide it. For _elegance_, here, means nothing else but the practice

of the best writers. And thus far I would join issue with the learned

censurer; and should think he did well in prescribing this rule to

himself in the correction of _approved ancient authors_.

But what have these cases to do with the point in question? The

objection is made, not to _words_, which alone are capable of being

justified by authority, but to _things_, which must ever be what they

are, in spite of it. This mode of writing is shewn to be abundantly

defective, for reasons taken from _the nature of our ideas, and the end

and genius of the nobler forms of composition_. And what is it to tell

us, that great writers have overlooked or neglected them?

1. In our customary train of _thinking_, the mind is carried along,

_in succession_, from _one_ clear and distinct idea to _another_.

Or, if the attention be _at once_ employed on _two senses_, there is

ever such a close and near analogy betwixt them, that the perceptive

faculty, easily and almost instantaneously passing from the one to

the other, is not divided in its regards betwixt them, but even seems

to itself to consider them, as _one_: as is the case with _metaphor_:

and, universally, with all the just forms of _allusion_. The union

between the _literal_ and _figurative_ sense is so strict, that they

run together in the imagination; and the effect of the _figure_ is only

to let in fresh light and lustre on the _literal_ meaning. But now,

when _two different, unconnected ideas_ are obtruded, at the same time

upon us, the mind suffers a kind of violence and distraction, and is

thereby put out of that natural state, in which it so much delights.

To take the learned writer’s instance from Polybius: ΕΛΠΙΔΑ καὶ ΧΕΙΡΑ

ΠΡΟΣΛΑΜΒΑΝΕΙΝ. How different is the idea of _collecting forces_, and

of that _act_ of the mind, which we call _taking courage_! These two

_perceptions_ are not only distinct from each other, but totally

unconnected by any _natural_ bond of relationship betwixt them. And yet

the word ΠΡΟΣΛΑΜΒΑΝΕΙΝ must be seen in this double view, before we can

take the full meaning of the historian.

2. This conjunction of _unrelated_ ideas, by the means of a _common

term_, agrees as ill to the _end and genius of the writer’s

composition_, as _the natural bent and constitution of the mind_. For

the question is only about the _greater poetry_, which addresses itself

to the PASSIONS, or IMAGINATION. And, in either case, this play of

words which Mr. Pope condemns, must be highly out of season.

When we are necessitated, as it were, to look different ways, and

actually to contemplate two unconnected significations of the same

word, before we can thoroughly comprehend its purpose, the mind is

more amused by this fanciful conjunction of ideas, than is consistent

with the artless, undesigning simplicity of _passion_. It disturbs and

interrupts the flow of _affection_, by presenting this disparted image

to the _fancy_. Again; where _fancy_ itself is solely addressed, as in

the _nobler descriptive species_, this arbitrary assemblage of ideas

is not less improper. For the poet’s business is now, to astonish or

entertain the mind with a succession of _great_ or _beautiful_ images.

And the intervention of this juggler’s trick diverts the thought from

contemplating its proper scenery. We should be admiring some glorious

representation of _nature_, and are stopped, on a sudden, to observe

the writer’s _art_, whose ingenuity can fetch, out of one word, two

such foreign and discrepant meanings.

In the lighter forms of poetry indeed, and more especially in the

_burlesque epic_, this affectation has its _place_; as in that line of

Mr. Pope, quoted by this critic;

_sometimes counsel_ takes, _and sometimes tea_.

For 1. The writer’s intention is here, not to _affect the passions_,

or _transport the fancy_, but solely to _divert and amuse_. And to

such _end_ this species of trifling is very apposite. 2. The _manner_,

which the burlesque epic takes to divert, is by confounding _great

things with small_. A _mode of speech_ then, which favours such

_confusion_, is directly to its purpose. 3. This poem is, by its

nature, _satyrical_, and, like the _old comedy_, delights in exposing

the faults and vices of _composition_. So that the _expression_ is

here properly employed (and this was, perhaps, the _first_ view of the

writer) to ridicule the use of it in _grave works_. If M. _D’Orville_

then could seriously design to confute Mr. Pope’s criticism by his own

practice in that line of the _Rape of the Lock_, he has only shewn,

that he does not, in the least, comprehend the real genius of this

poem. But to return:

There is, as appears to me, but one case, in which this _double sense_

of words can be admitted in the more solemn forms of poetry. It is,

when, besides the plain literal meaning, which the context demands, the

mind is carried forward to some more illustrious and important object.

We have an instance in the famous line of Virgil,

_Attollens humeris famamque et fata nepotum_.

But this is so far from contradicting, that it furthers the writer’s

proper intention. We are not called off from the _subject matter_ to

the observation of a _conceit_, but to the admiration of _kindred_

sublime conceptions. For even here, it is to be observed, there is

always required some previous dependency and relationship, though not

extremely obvious, in the natures of the things themselves, whereon to

ground and justify the analogy. Otherwise, the intention of the _double

sense_ is perfectly inexcusable.

But the instance from Virgil, as we have seen it explained (and for

the first time) by a great critic[42], is so curious, that I shall

be allowed to enlarge a little upon it: and the rather as Virgil’s

practice in this instance will let us into the true secret of

conducting these _double senses_.

The comment of _Servius_ on this line is remarkable. “Hunc versum

notant Critici, quasi superfluè et inutiliter additum, nec

convenientem _gravitati_ ejus, namque est magis _neotericus_.” Mr.

Addison conceived of it in the same manner when he said, “_This was the

only witty line in the Æneis_;” meaning such a line as _Ovid_ would

have written. We see the opinion which these Critics entertained of the

_double sense_, in _general_, in the greater Poetry. They esteemed it

a wanton play of fancy, misbecoming the dignity of the writer’s work,

and the gravity of his character. They took it, in short, for a mere

_modern_ flourish, totally different from the pure unaffected manner of

genuin antiquity. And thus far they unquestionably judged right. Their

defect was in not seeing that the _use_ of it, as here employed by the

Poet, was an exception to the _general rule_. But to have seen this was

not, perhaps, to be expected even from these Critics.

However, from this want of penetration arose a difficulty in

determining whether to read, _Facta_ or _Fata_ Nepotum. And, as we

now understand that _Servius_ and his Critics were utter strangers to

Virgil’s noble idea, it is no wonder they could not resolve it. But the

_latter_ is the Poet’s own word. He considered this shield of celestial

make as a kind of Palladium, like the ANCILE, which fell from Heaven,

and used to be carried in procession on the shoulders of the SALII.

“Quid de scutis,” says Lactantius, “jam vetustate putridis dicam? Quae

cum portant, _Deos ipsos se gestare_ HUMERIS SUIS _arbitrantur_.” [Div.

Inst. l. i. c. 21.]

Virgil, in a fine flight of imagination, alludes to this venerable

ceremony, comparing, as it were, the shield of his Hero to the sacred

ANCILE; and in conformity to the practice in that sacred procession

represents his Hero in the priestly office of Religion,

_Attollens_ HUMERO _famamque et_ FATA _Nepotum._

This idea then of the sacred shield, the guard and glory of Rome, and

on which, in this advanced situation, depended the fame and fortune of

his country, the poet, with extreme elegance and sublimity, transfers

to the shield which guarded their great progenitor, while he was laying

the first foundations of the Roman Empire.

But to return to the subject before us. What has been said of the

impropriety of _double senses_, holds of _the construction of a single

term in two senses_, even though its authorized usage may equally admit

_both_. So that I cannot be of a mind with the learned critic’s _wise

men_[43]; _who acknowledge an extreme elegance in this form, when the

governing verb equally corresponds to the two substantives_. But when

it properly can be applied but to _one_ of them, and with some force

and straining only, to the _second_, as commonly happens with the

application of _one verb_ to _two substantives_, it then degenerates,

as Mr. Addison observes, into a mere _quibble_, and is utterly

incompatible with the graver form of composition. And for this we have

the concurrent authority of the _cordati_ themselves, who readily

admit, _durum admodum et_ καταχρηστικωτέραν _fieri orationem, si verbum

hoc ab alterutro abhorreat_[44]. Without softening matters, besides the

former absurdity of _a second sense_, we are now indebted to a forced

and barbarous construction for _any_ second sense _at all_.

But surely this venerable bench of critics, to whom our censurer thinks

fit to make his solemn appeal, were not aware of the imprudence of this

concession. For why, if one may presume to ask, is the _latter_ use

of this _figure_ condemned, but for reasons, which shew the manifest

absurdity of the thing, however countenanced by authorities? And is not

this the case of the _former_? Or, is the transgression of the standing

rules of _good sense_, in the judgment of these _censors_, a more

pardonable crime in a writer, than of _common usage or grammar_?

After all, since he lays so great stress on his _authorities_, it may

not be amiss to consider the proper force of them.

The form of speaking under consideration has been censured as a

_trifling, affected witticism_. This _censure_ he hopes entirely to

elude by shewing it was in use, more especially among two sorts of

persons, the least likely to be infected with _wrong taste_, the

_oldest_, that is to say, the _simplest_; and the most _refined_

writers. In short, he thinks to stop all mouths by alledging instances

from _Homer_ and _Virgil_.

But what if Homer and Virgil in the few examples of this kind to be met

with in their writings have _erred_? And, which is more, what if that

very _simplicity_ on the one hand, and _refinement_ on the other, which

he builds so much upon, can be shewn to be the _natural_ and almost

necessary _occasions_ of their falling into such _errors_? This, I am

persuaded, was the truth of the case. For,

1. In the _simpler ages of learning_, when, as yet, composition is

not turned into an _art_, but every writer, especially of vehement

and impetuous genius, is contented to put down his _first thoughts_,

and, for their _expression_, takes up with the most obvious words and

phrases, that present themselves to him, this improper construction

will not be unfrequent. For the writer, who is not knowing enough to

take offence at these niceties, having an immediate occasion to express

_two things_, and finding _one word_, which, in common usage, at least

with a little straining, extends to _both_, he looks no further, but,

as suspecting no fault, employs it without scruple. And I am the more

confirmed in this account, from observing, that sometimes, where the

governing _verb_ cannot be made to bear this double sense, and yet the

meaning of the writer is clear enough from the context, the proper

word is altogether omitted. Of this kind are several of the _modes

of speaking_, alledged by the writer as instances of the _double

sense_. As in that of Sophocles[45], where Electra, giving orders to

Chrysothemis, about the disposal of the libations, destined for the

tomb of her father, delivers herself thus,

ΑΛΛ’ ἢ ΠΝΟΑΙΣΙΝ, ἢ βαθυσκαφεῖ ΚΟΝΕΙ ΚΡΥΨΟΝ νιν.

The writer’s first intention was to look out for some such _verb_, as

would equally correspond to πνοαῖς and κόνει, but this not occurring,

he sets down one, that only agrees to the last, and leaves the other to

be understood or supplied by the reader; as it easily might, the scope

of the place necessarily directing him to it. It cannot be supposed,

that Sophocles designed to say, κρύψον πνοαῖς. There is no affinity

of _sense_ or _sound_ to lead him to such construction. Again: in that

verse of Homer[46], ἽΠΠΟΙ ἀερσίποδες, καὶ ποικίλα ΤΕΥΧΕ’ ΕΚΕΙΤΟ, the

poet never meant to say ἵπποι ἔκειντο, but neglectingly left it thus,

as trusting the nature of the thing would instruct the reader to supply

ἔστασαν, or some such word, expressive of the _posture_ required.

Nay, writers of more exactness than these simple Greek poets have

occasionally overlooked such inaccuracies: as Cicero[47], who, when

more intent on his _argument_, than _expression_, lets fall this

impropriety; _Nec vero_ SUPRA TERRAM, _sed etiam_ IN INTIMIS EJUS

TENEBRIS _plurimarum rerum_ LATET _utilitas_. ’Tis plain, the writer,

conceiving _extat_, _patet_, or some such word, to be necessarily

suggested by the tenor of his sentence, never troubled himself to go

back to insert it. Yet these are brought as examples of the _double

application of single words_. The truth is, they are examples of

_indiligence_ in the writers, and as such, may shew us, how easily

they might fall, for the same reason, into the impropriety of _double

senses_. In those of this class then the impropriety, complained of, is

the effect of mere _inattention or carelessness_.

2. On the other hand, when this negligent simplicity of _thinking and

speaking_ gives way to the utmost polish and refinement in _both_, we

are then to expect it, for the contrary reason. For the more obvious

and natural forms of writing being, now, grown common, are held

insipid, and the public taste demands to be gratified by the seasoning

of a more studied and artificial expression. It is not enough to

_please_, the writer must find means to _strike_ and _surprize_. And

hence the _antithesis_, the _remote allusion_, and every other mode

of _affected eloquence_. But of these the _first_ that prevails, is

the application of the _double sense_. For the general use justifying

it, it easily passes with the reader and writer too, for _natural_

expression; and yet as splitting the attention suddenly, and at once,

on two different views, carries with it all the novelty and surprize,

that are wanted. When the public taste is not, yet, far gone in this

refinement, and the writer hath himself the truest taste (which was

VIRGIL’S case) such affectations will not be very common; or, when

they do occur, will, for the most part, be agreeably softened. As in

the instance of _retroque pedem cum voce repressit_; where, by making

_voce_ immediately dependent on the _preposition_, and remotely on the

_verb_, he softens the harshness of the expression, which seems much

more tolerable in this form, than if he had put it, _pedem vocemque

repressit_. So again in the line,

_Crudeles aras trajectaque pectora ferro

Nudavit,_

the incongruity of _the two senses_ in _nudavit_, is the less perceived

from its _metaphorical application_ to _one_ of them.

But the desire of _pleasing continually_, which, in the circumstance

supposed, insensibly grows into a _habit_, must, of necessity, betray

writers of less taste and exactness into the frequent commission of

this fault. Which, as Mr. Addison takes notice, was remarkably the case

with OVID.

The purpose of all this is to shew, that the use of this _form of

speaking_ arose from _negligence_, or _affectation_, never from

_judgment_. And such being the obvious, and, it is presumed, true

account of the matter, the learned _Animadvertor_ on CHARITON is left,

as I said, to make the best of his _authorities_; or, even to enlarge

his list of them with the _Centuries_[48] of his good friends, at

his leisure. For till he can tell us of a writer, who, neither in

_careless_, nor _ambitious_ humours, is capable of this folly, his

accumulated citations, were they more to his purpose, than many of

them are, will do him little service. Unless perhaps we are to give up

common sense to authority, and pride ourselves on mimicking the very

defects of our _betters_. And even here he need not be at a loss for

_precedents_. For so the disciples of Plato, we are told, in former

times, affected to be _round-shouldered_, in compliment to their

master; and Aristotle’s worshipers, because of a natural impediment

in this philosopher’s speech, thought it to their credit to turn

_Stammerers_. And without doubt, while this fashion prevailed, there

were critics, who found out a _Je ne sçai quoi_ in the _air_ of the one

party, and in the _eloquence_ of the other.

* * * * *

97. SUSPENDIT PICTA VULTUM MENTEMQUE TABELLA;] Horace judiciously

describes _painting_ by that peculiar circumstance, which does most

honour to this fine art. It is, that, in the hands of a master,

it attaches, not the _eyes_ only, but the very _soul_, to its

representation of the _human affections and manners_. For it is in

contemplating _subjects_ of this kind, that the mind, with a fond and

eager attention, _hangs_ on the picture. Other imitations may _please_,

but this warms and transports with _passion_. And, because whatever

addresses itself immediately to the _eye_, affects us most; hence it

is, that painting, so employed, becomes more efficacious to express

the _manners_ and imprint _characters_, than poetry itself: or rather,

hath the advantages of the best and usefullest species of poetry, the

_dramatic_, when enforced by just action on the stage.

Quintilian gives it the like preference to _Oratory_. Speaking of the

use of _action_ in an orator, he observes, “Is [gestus] quantum habeat

in oratore, momenti; satis vel ex eo patet, quod pleraque, etiam citra

verba, significat. Quippe non manus solum, sed nutus etiam declarant

nostram voluntatem, et in mutis pro sermone sunt: et salutatio

frequenter sine voce intelligitur atque afficit, et ex ingressu

vultuque perspicitur habitus animorum: et animantium quoque, sermone

carentium, ira, laetitia, adulatio, et oculis et quibusdam aliis

corporis signis deprehenditur. Nec mirum, si ista, quae tamen aliquo

sunt posita motu, tantum in animis valent: quum _pictura, tacens opus,

et habitûs semper ejusdem, sic intimos penetret affectus, ut ipsam vim

dicendi nonnunquam superare videatur_[49].”

We see then of what importance it is, since _affections_ of every kind

are equally within his power, that the painter apply himself to excite

only _those_, which are subservient to good morals. An importance,

of which Aristotle himself (who was no enthusiast in the fine arts)

was so sensible, that he gives it in charge, amongst other political

instructions, to the governors of youth, “that they allow them to

see no other pictures, than such as have this moral aim and tendency;

of which kind were more especially those of POLYGNOTUS.” [POLIT. lib.

viii. c. 5.]

For the _manner_, in which this moral efficacy of picture is brought

about, we find it agreeably explained in that conversation of

_Socrates_ with _Parrhasius_ in the _Memorabilia_ of Xenophon. The

whole may be worth considering.

“PAINTING, said Socrates, one day, in a conversation with the painter

Parrhasius, is, I think, the resemblance or imitation of sensible

objects. For you represent in colours, bodies of all sorts, _hollow and

projecting, bright and obscure, hard and soft, old and new_. “We do.”

And, when you would draw beautiful pourtraits, since it is not possible

to find any _single figure_ of a man, faultless in all its parts and of

exact proportion; your way is to collect, from _several_, those members

or features, which are most perfect in each, and so, by joining them

together, to compound one whole body, completely beautiful. “That is

our method.” What then, continued Socrates, and are you not able, also,

to imitate in colours, the MANNERS; those tendencies and dispositions

of the soul, which are benevolent, friendly, and amiable; such as

inspire love and affection into the heart, and whose soft insinuations

carry with them the power of persuasion?

“How, replied Parrhasius, can the pencil imitate _that_, which hath no

proportion, colour, or any other of those properties, you have been

just now enumerating, as the objects of sight?” Why, is it not true,

returned Socrates, that a man sometimes casts a _kind_, sometimes, an

_angry_, look on others? “It is.” There must then be something in the

eyes capable of expressing those passions. “There must.” And is there

not a wide difference between the look of him, who takes part in the

prosperity of a friend, and another, who sympathizes with him in his

sorrows? “Undoubtedly, there is the widest. The countenance, in the one

case, expresses joy, in the other, concern.” These affections may then

be represented in picture. “They may so.” In like manner, all other

dispositions of our nature, _the lofty and the liberal, the abject

and ungenerous, the temperate and the prudent, the petulant and

profligate_, these are severally discernible by the _look or attitude_:

and that, whether we observe men in _action_, or at _rest_. “They are.”

And these, therefore, come within the power of graphical imitation?

“They do.” Which then, concluded Socrates, do you believe, men take

the greatest pleasure in contemplating; such imitations, as set before

them the GOOD, the LOVELY, and the FAIR, of those, which represent the

BAD, the HATEFUL, and the UGLY, _qualities and affections of humanity_?

There can be no doubt, said Parrhasius, of their giving the preference

to the former.” [Lib. iii.]

The conclusion, the _philosopher_ drives at in this conversation, and

which the _painter_ readily concedes to him, is what, I am persuaded,

every master of the art would be willing to act upon, were he at

liberty to pursue the bent of his natural genius and inclination. But

it unfortunately happens, to the infinite prejudice of this _mode of

imitation_, above all others, that the artist _designs_ not so much

what the dignity of his profession requires of him, or the general

taste of those, he would most wish for his judges, approves; as

what the rich or noble _Connoisseur_, who _bespeaks_ his work, and

prescribes the subject, demands. What this has usually been, let the

history of ancient and modern painting declare[50]. Yet, considering

its vast power in MORALS, as explained above, one cannot enough lament

the ill destiny of this divine ART; which, from the chaste hand-maid

of _virtue_, hath been debauched, in violence to her nature, to a

shameless prostitute of _vice_, and procuress of _pleasure_.

* * * * *

117. SCRIBIMUS INDOCTI DOCTIQUE POEMATA PASSIM.] The DOCTI POETAE have

at all times been esteemed by the wise and good, or, rather, have been

reverenced, as Plato speaks, ὥσπερ πατέρες τῆς σοφίας καὶ ἡγεμόνες.

As for the INDOCTI, we may take their character as drawn by the severe,

but just pen of our great Milton—“Poetas equidem verè doctos et diligo

et colo et audiendo saepissimè delector—istos verò versiculorum

nugivendos quis non oderit? quo genere nihil stultius aut vanius

aut corruptius, aut mendacius. Laudant, vituperant, sine delectu,

sine discrimine, judicio aut modo, nunc principes, nunc plebeios,

doctos juxta atque indoctos, probos an improbos perindè habent; prout

cantharus, aut spes nummuli, aut fatuus ille furor inflat ac rapit;

congestis undique et verborum et rerum tot discoloribus ineptiis tamque

putidis, ut laudatum longè praestet sileri, et pravo, quod aiunt,

vivere naso, quàm sic laudari: vituperatus verò qui sit, haud mediocri

sanè honori sibi ducat, se tam absurdis, tam stolidis nebulonibus

displicere.” DEF. SECUND. PRO POP. ANG. p. 337. 4^{to} Lond. 1753.

* * * * *

118. HIC ERROR TAMEN, &c.] What follows from hence to v. 136,

containing an encomium on _the office of poets_, is one of the leading

beauties in the epistle. Its artifice consists in this, that, under the

cover of a negligent commendation, interspersed with even some _traits_

of pleasantry upon them, it insinuates to the emperor, in the manner

the least offensive and ostentatious, the genuin merits, and even

_sacredness_ of their character. The whole is a fine instance of that

address, which, in delivering rules for this kind of writing, the poet

prescribes elsewhere.

_Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe jocoso,

Defendente vicem modo Rhetoris atque Poetae;

Interdum_ URBANI PARCENTIS VIRIBUS ATQUE

EXTENUANTIS EAS CONSULTO.

[1 S. x. 14.]

This conduct, in the place before us, shews the poet’s exquisite

knowledge of _human nature_. For there is no surer method of removing

prejudices, and gaining over _others_ to an esteem of any thing we

would recommend, than by not appearing to lay too great a stress on

it _ourselves_. It is, further, a proof of his intimate acquaintance

with the peculiar turn of the _great_; who, not being forward to think

highly of any thing but themselves and their own dignities, are, with

difficulty, brought to conceive of other accomplishments, as of much

value; and can only be won by the fair and candid address of their

apologist, who must be sure not to carry his praises and pretensions

too high. It is this art of entering into the _characters, prejudices,

and expectations_ of others, and of knowing to suit our application,

prudently, but with innocence, to them, which constitutes what we

call A KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD. An art, of which the great poet was a

consummate master, and than which there cannot be a more useful or

amiable quality. Only we must take care not to confound it with that

supple, versatile, and intriguing genius, which, taking all shapes,

and reflecting all characters, generally passes for it in the commerce

of the world, or rather is prized much above it; but, as requiring

no other talents in the possessor than those of a _low cunning_ and

_corrupt design_, is of all others the most mischievous, worthless, and

contemptible character, that infests human life.

* * * * *

118. HIC ERROR TAMEN ET LEVIS HAEC INSANIA QUANTAS VIRTUTES HABEAT, SIC

COLLIGE:] This apology for _poets_, and, in them, for _poetry_ itself,

though delivered with much apparent negligence and unconcern, yet, if

considered, will be found to comprize in it every thing, that any, or

all, of its most zealous advocates have ever pretended in its behalf.

For it comprehends,

I. [From v. 118 to 124,] THE PERSONAL GOOD QUALITIES OF THE POET.

Nothing is more insisted on by those, who take upon themselves the

patronage and recommendation of any _art_, than that it tends to

raise in the professor of it all those _virtues_, which contribute

most to his _own_ proper enjoyment, and render him most agreeable to

_others_. Now this, it seems, may be urged, on the side of _poetry_,

with a peculiar force. For not only the _study_ of this art hath

a _direct_ tendency to produce a neglect or disregard of _worldly

honours and emoluments_ (from the too eager appetite of which almost

all the _calamities_, as well as the more unfriendly _vices_, of men

arise) but he, whom the benign aspect of the muse hath glanced upon

and destined for her peculiar service, is, by _constitution_, which is

ever the best security, fortified against the attacks of them. Thus his

RAPTURES in the enjoyment of his muse make him overlook _the common

accidents of life_ [v. 121]; _he is generous, open, and undesigning,

by_ NATURE [v. 122]; to which we must not forget to add, that he is

_temperate_, that is to say, _poor_, by PROFESSION.

VIVIT SILIQUIS ET PANE SECUNDO.

II. [From v. 124 to 132.] THE UTILITY OF THE POET TO THE STATE: and

this both on a _civil_ and _moral_ account. For, 1. the poets, whom we

read in our younger years, and from whom we learn the _power of words_,

and _hidden harmony of numbers_, that is, as a profound Scotchman

teaches, the _first and most essential principles_ of eloquence[51],

enable, by degrees, and instruct their pupil to appear with advantage,

in that extensively useful capacity of a public speaker. And, indeed,

graver writers, than our poet, have sent the orator to this school. But

the pretensions of poetry go much farther. It delights [from v. 130

to 132] to immortalize the triumphs of virtue: to _record_ or _feign_

illustrious examples of heroic worth, for the service of the _rising

age_: and, which is the last and best fruit of philosophy itself, it

can relieve even the languor of _ill-health_, and sustain _poverty_

herself under the scorn and insult of contumelious opulence. 2. In a

_moral_ view its services are not less considerable. (For it may be

observed the _poet_ was so far of a mind with the _philosopher_, to

give no quarter to _immoral_ poets). And to this end it serves, 1.

[v. 127] _in turning the ear of youth_ from that early corruptor of

its innocence, the seducement of a _loose and impure communication_.

2. Next [v. 128] in forming our riper age (which it does with all the

address and tenderness of _friendship_: AMICIS _praeceptis_) _by the

sanctity and wisdom of its precepts_. And, 3. which is the proper

office of _tragedy, in correcting the excesses of the natural passions_

[v. 122]. The reader who doth not turn himself to the original, will be

apt to mistake this detail of the virtues of poetry, for an account of

the Policy and Legislation of ancient and modern times; whose proudest

boast, when the philanthropy of their enthusiastic projectors ran at

the highest, was but to _prevent the impressions of vice_: to _form the

mind to habits of virtue_: and _to curb and regulate the passions_.

III. HIS SERVICES TO RELIGION. This might well enough be said, whether

by _religion_ we understand an _internal reverence_ of the Gods, which

poetry first and principally intended; or their _popular adoration

and worship_, which, by its _fictions_, as of necessity conforming to

the received fancies of superstition, it must greatly tend to promote

and establish. But the poet, artfully seizing a circumstance, which

supposes and includes in it both these respects, renders his defence

vastly interesting.

All the customary _addresses_ of Heathenism to its gods, more

especially on any great and solemn emergency, were the work of the

poet. For _nature_, it seems, had taught the pagan world, what the

Hebrew Prophets themselves did not disdain to practice, that, to

lift the imagination, and, with it, the sluggish affections of human

nature, to Heaven, it was expedient to lay hold on every assistance

of art. They therefore presented their supplications to the Divinity

in the richest and brightest dress of eloquence, which is poetry. Not

to insist, that _devotion_, when sincere and ardent, from its very

_nature_, enkindles a glow of thought, which communicates strongly

with the transports of poetry. Hence _the language of the Gods_ (for

so was poetry accounted, as well from its being the divinest species

of communication, our rude conceptions can well frame even for

superior intelligencies, as for that it was the fittest vehicle of our

applications to them) became not the ornament only, but an _essential_

in the ceremonial, of paganism. And this, together with an allusion to

_a form of public prayer_ (for such was his _secular ode_) composed

by himself, gives, at once, a grace and sublimity to this part of the

apology, which are perfectly inimitable.

Thus hath the great poet, in the compass of a few lines, drawn together

a complete defence of his _art_. For what more could the warmest

admirer of poetry, or, because zeal is quickened by opposition, what

more could the vehement declaimer against Plato (who proscribed it),

urge in its behalf, than that it furnishes, to the poet himself, the

surest means of _solitary and social_ enjoyment: and further serves to

the most important CIVIL, MORAL, and RELIGIOUS purposes?

* * * * *

119.—VATIS AVARUS NON TEMERE EST ANIMUS:] There is an unlucky Italian

proverb, which says, _Chi ben scrive, non sara mai ricco_.—The true

reason, without doubt, is here given by the poet.

* * * * *

124. MILITIAE QUAMQUAM PIGER ET MALUS,] The observation has much grace,

as referring to himself, who had acquired no credit, as a soldier, in

the civil wars of his country.—We have an example of this misalliance

between the _poetic_ and _military_ character, recorded in the history

of our own civil wars, which may be just worth mentioning. Sir P.

Warwick, speaking of the famous Earl of _Newcastle_, observes—“his

edge had too much of the razor in it, for he had a tincture of a

romantic spirit, and had the misfortune to have somewhat of the Poet

in him; so as he chose Sir William Davenant, an eminent good poet,

and loyal gentleman, to be lieutenant-general of his ordnance. This

inclination of his own, and such kind of witty society (to be modest

in the expressions of it) diverted many councils, and lost many

opportunities, which the nature of that affair, this great man had now

entered into, required.” MEMOIRS, p. 235.

* * * * *

132. CASTIS CUM PUERIS, &c.] We have, before, taken notice, how

properly the poet, for the easier and more successful introduction of

his apology, assumed the person _urbani, parcentis viribus_. We see

him here, in _that_ of _Rhetoris atque Poetae_. For admonished, as it

were, by the rising dignity of his subject, which led him from the

_moral_, to speak of the _religious_ uses of poetry, he insensibly

drops the _badineur_, and takes an air, not of seriousness only, but

of solemnity. This change is made with _art_. For the attention is

carried from the uses of poetry, in _consoling the unhappy_, by the

easiest transition imaginable, to the still more solemn application of

it to the _offices of piety_. And its _use_ is, to impress on the mind

a stronger sense of the weight of the poet’s plea, than could have been

expected from a more direct and continued declamation. For this is the

constant and natural effect of knowing to pass from _gay_ to _severe_,

with grace and dignity.

* * * * *

169. SED HABET COMOEDIA TANTO PLUS ONERIS, QUANTO VENIAR MINUS.]

Tragedy, whose intention is to _affect_, may secure what is most

essential to its _kind_, though it fail in some minuter resemblances

of _nature_: Comedy, proposing for its main end _exact representation_,

is fundamentally defective, if it do not perfectly succeed in it. And

this explains the ground of the poet’s observation, that Comedy hath

_veniae minus_; for he is speaking of the draught of the _manners_

only, in which respect a greater _indulgence_ is very deservedly

shewn to the tragic than comic writer. But though Tragedy hath thus

far the advantage, yet in another respect its laws are more severe

than those of Comedy; and that is in the conduct of the _fable_. It

may be asked then, which of the two dramas is, on the whole, most

difficult. To which the answer is decisive. For Tragedy, whose end is

the _Pathos_, produces it by _action_, while Comedy produces its end,

the _Humourous_, by _Character_. Now it is much more difficult to paint

manners, than to plan action; because _that_ requires the philosopher’s

knowledge of human nature; _this_, only the historian’s knowledge of

human events.

It is true, in one sense, the _tragic_ muse has _veniae minus_; for

though grave and pleasant scenes may be indifferently represented,

or even mixed together, in comedy, yet, in tragedy, the serious and

solemn air must prevail throughout. Indeed, our Shakespear has violated

this rule, as he hath, upon occasion, almost every other rule, of just

criticism: Whence, some writers, taking advantage of that idolatrous

admiration which is generally professed for this great poet, and

nauseating, I suppose, the more common, though juster, forms of

literary composition, have been for turning his very transgression

of the principles of common sense, into a standing precept for the

stage. “It is said, that, if comedy may be wholly _serious_, why may

not tragedy now and then be indulged in being _gay_?” If these critics

be in earnest in putting this question, they need not wait long for

an answer. The _end_ of comedy being _to paint the manners_, nothing

hinders (as I have shewn at large in the dissertation _on the provinces

of the drama_) but “that it may take either character of _pleasant_

or _serious_, as it chances, or even unite them both in one piece:”

But the end of tragedy being _to excite the stronger passions_, this

discordancy in the subject breaks the flow of those passions, and

so prevents, or lessens at least, the very effect which this drama

primarily intends. “It is said, indeed, that this contrast of _grave_

and _pleasant_ scenes, heightens the _passion_:” if it had been said

that it heightens the _surprize_, the observation had been more just.

Lastly, “we are told, that this is nature, which generally blends

together the _ludicrous_, and the _sublime_.” But who does not know

_That art is nature to advantage dress’d_;

and that to dress out nature to _advantage_ in the present instance,

that is, in a composition whose laws are to be deduced from the

consideration of its _end_, these characters are to be kept by an

artist, perfectly distinct?

However this restraint upon tragedy does not prove that, upon the

whole, it has _plus oneris_. All I can allow, is, that either drama has

_weight_ enough in all reason, for the ablest _shoulders_ to sustain.

* * * * *

177. QUEM TULIT AD SCENAM VENTOSO GLORIA CURRU, EXANIMAT LENTUS

SPECTATOR, &c. to v. 182.] There is an exquisite spirit of pleasantry

in these lines, which hath quite evaporated in the hands of the

critics. These have gravely supposed them to come from the _person_

of the _poet_, and to contain his serious censure of the vanity of

poetic fame. Whereas, besides the manifest absurdity of the thing, its

inconsistency with what is delivered elsewhere on this subject [A.

P. v. 324.] where the Greeks are commended as being _praeter laudem

nullius avari_, absolutely requires us to understand them as proceeding

from an _objector_; who, as the poet hath very satirically contrived,

is left to expose himself in the very terms of his _objection_. He had

just been blaming the venality of the Roman dramatic writers. They

had shewn themselves more sollicitous about _filling their pockets_,

than deserving the reputation of good poets. And, instead of insisting

further on the excellency of this _latter_ motive, he stops short, and

brings in a bad poet himself to laugh at it.

“And what then, says he, you would have us yield ourselves to the very

wind and gust of praise; and, dropping all inferior considerations,

drive away to the expecting stage in the _puffed car of vain-glory_?

For what? To be _dispirited_, or blown up with air, as the capricious

spectator shall think fit to enforce, or withhold, his _inspirations_.

And is this the mighty benefit of your vaunted passion for fame? No;

farewel the stage, if the breath of others is _that_, on which the

silly bard is to depend for the contraction or enlargement of his

dimensions.” To all which convincing rhetoric the poet condescends to

say nothing; as well knowing, that no truer service is, oftentimes,

done to virtue or good sense, than when a knave or fool is left to

himself, to employ his idle raillery against either.

These interlocutory passages, laying open the sentiments of those

against whom the poet is disputing, are very frequent in the _critical

and moral_ writings of Horace, and are well suited to their dramatic

genius and original.

* * * * *

210. ILLE PER EXTENTUM FUNEM, &c.] The Romans, who were immoderately

addicted to spectacles of every kind, had in particular esteem the

_funambuli_, or _rope-dancers_;

_Ita populus studio stupidus in_ FUNAMBULO

_Animum occuparat._

PROL. in HECYR.

From the admiration of whose tricks the expression, _ire per extentum

funem_, came to denote, proverbially, _an uncommon degree of excellence

and perfection in any thing_. The allusion is, here, made with much

pleasantry, as the poet had just been rallying their fondness for these

_extraordinary atchievements_.

* * * * *

Ibid. ILLE PER EXTENTUM FUNEM, &c. to v. 214.] It is observable, that

Horace, here, makes his own _feeling_ the test of poetical merit.

Which is said with a philosophical exactness. For the _pathos_ in

tragic, _humour_ in comic, and the same holds of the _sublime_ in the

narrative, and of every other _species_ of excellence in universal

poetry, is the object, not of _reason_, but _sentiment_; and can

be estimated only from its _impression_ on the mind, not by any

speculative or general _rules_. Rules themselves are indeed nothing

else but an appeal to _experience_; conclusions drawn from wide and

general observation of the aptness and efficacy of certain _means_ to

produce those _impressions_. So that feeling or sentiment itself is not

only the surest, but the sole _ultimate_ arbiter of works of genius.

Yet, though this be true, the _invention_ of _general rules_ is not

without its merit, nor the _application_ of them without its _use_, as

may appear from the following considerations.

It may be affirmed, universally, of all _didactic writing_, that it is

employed in _referring particular facts to general principles_. General

principles themselves can often be referred to others more general; and

these again carried still higher, till we come to a _single_ principle,

in which all the rest are involved. When this is done, science of

every kind hath attained its highest perfection.

The account, here given, might be illustrated from various instances.

But it will be sufficient to confine ourselves to the single one of

_criticism_; by which I understand that _species_ of didactic writing,

which _refers to general rules the virtues and faults of composition_.

And the perfection of this _art_ would consist in an ability to refer

_every_ beauty and blemish to a separate class; and _every_ class, by

a gradual progression, to some _one_ single principle. But the _art_

is, as yet, far short of perfection. For many of these beauties and

blemishes can be referred to no general rule at all; and the rules,

which have been discovered, seem many of them unconnected, and not

reducible to a common principle. It must be admitted however that such

critics are employed in their proper office, as contribute to the

_confirmation_ of rules already established, or the _invention_ of new

ones.

Rules already established are then _confirmed_, when more _particulars_

are referred to them. The invention of _new_ rules implies, 1.

A _collection_ of various particulars, not yet regulated. 2. A

_discovery_ of those circumstances of _resemblance_ or _agreement_,

whereby they become capable of being regulated. And 3. A subsequent

_regulation_ of them, or arrangement into _one_ class according to

_such_ circumstances of _agreement_. When this is done, the rule is

completed. But if the critic is not able to observe any _common_

circumstance of resemblance in the several particulars he hath

collected, by which they may, all of them, be referred to one general

class, he hath then made no advancement in the _art of criticism_. Yet

the collection of his particular observations may be of use to other

critics; just as collections of natural history, though no part of

philosophy, may yet assist philosophical inquirers.

We see then from this general view of the matter, that the _merit_ of

inventing _general rules_ consists in reducing criticism to an _art_;

and that the _use_ of applying them, in practice, when the art is thus

formed, is, to direct the caprices of _taste_ by the authority of rule,

which we call _reason_.

And, thus much being premised, we shall now be able to form a proper

judgment of the _method_, which some of the most admired of the

ancients, as well as moderns, have taken in this _work of criticizing_.

The most eminent, at least the most popular, are, perhaps, Longinus,

of the Greeks; P. Bouhours, of the French; and Mr. Addison, with us in

England.

1. _All_ the beautiful passages, which LONGINUS cites, are referred by

him to _five_ general classes. And 2dly, These general classes belong

all to the _common_ principle of _sublimity_. He does not say this

passage is _excellent_, but assigns the _kind_ of excellence, _viz._

_sublimity_. Neither does he content himself with the general notion of

_sublimity_, but names the _species_, viz. _Grandeur_ of _sentiment_,

power of moving the _passions_, &c. His work therefore enables us to

_class_ our perceptions of excellence, and consequently is formed on

the _true plan_ of criticism.

2. The same may be observed of P. BOUHOURS. The passages, cited by him,

are never mentioned in _general_ terms as _good_ or _bad_: but are

instances of good or bad _sentiment_. This is the _genus_, in which

_all_ his instances are comprehended: but of this genus he marks also

the distinct _species_. He does not say, this sentiment is _good_;

but it is _sublime_, or _natural_, or _beautiful_, or _delicate_: or,

that another sentiment is _bad_; but that it is _mean_, or _false_,

or _deformed_, or _affected_. To these several classes he refers his

particular instances: and these classes themselves are referred to the

more comprehensive principles of the excellence or fault of _single

sentiment_, as opposed to the various _other_ excellencies and faults,

which are observed in composition.

3. Mr. ADDISON, in his _criticism on Milton_, proceeded in like manner.

For, _first_, these remarks are evidently applicable to the general

observations on the poem; in which every thing is referred to the

common heads of _fable_, _morals_, _sentiments_, and _language_; and

even the _specific_ excellencies and faults considered under each head

distinctly marked out. _Secondly_, The same is true concerning _many_

of the observations on particular passages. The reader is not only

told, that a passage _has_ merit; but is informed what _sort_ of merit

belongs to it.

Neither are the remaining observations wholly without use. For such

particular beauties and blemishes, as are barely _collected_, may

yet serve as a foundation to future inquirers for making further

discoveries. They may be considered as so many _single_ facts, an

_attention_ to which is excited by the authority of the critic; and

when these are considered jointly with such as _others_ may have

observed, those general principles of _similitude_ may at length be

found, which shall enable us to constitute _new_ classes of poetical

merit or blame.

Thus far the candid reader may go in apologizing for the _merits_

of these writers. But, as, in sound criticism, candour must not be

indulged at the expence of _justice_, I think myself obliged to add

an observation concerning their _defects_; and _that_, on what I must

think the just principles here delivered.

Though the method, taken by these writers, be _scientifical_, the real

service they have done to criticism, is not very considerable. And the

reason is, they dwell too much in _generals_: that is, not only the

_genus_ to which they refer their _species_ is too large, but those very

subordinate species themselves are too comprehensive.

Of the _three_ critics, under consideration, the most instructive is,

unquestionably, _Longinus_. The _genus_ itself, under which he ranks

his several _classes_, is as _particular_ as the species of the other

two. Yet even _his_ classes are much too general to convey my very

distinct and useful information. It had been still better, if this fine

critic had descended to lower and more minute _particularities_, as

subordinate to _each class_. For to observe of any _sentiment_, that it

is _grand_, or _pathetic_, and so of the other _species_, of sublime,

is saying very little. Few readers want to be informed of this. It had

been sufficient, if any notice was to be taken at all of so _general_

beauties, to have done it in the way, which some of the best critics

have taken, of merely pointing to them. But could he have discovered

and produced to observation those _peculiar_ qualities in _sentiment_,

which occasion the impression of _grandeur, pathos, &c._ this had

been advancing the science of criticism very much, as tending to lay

open the more secret and hidden springs of that _pleasure_, which

results from poetical composition.

_P. Bouhours_, as I observed, is still more faulty. His very _species_

are so large, as make his criticism almost wholly useless and

insignificant.

It gives one pain to refuse to such a writer as Mr. _Addison_ any

_kind_ of merit, which he appears to have valued himself upon, and

which the generality of his readers have seemed willing to allow him.

Yet it must not be dissembled, that _criticism_ was by no means his

talent. His taste was truly elegant; but he had neither that vigour

of understanding, nor chastised, philosophical spirit, which are so

essential to this character, and which we find in hardly any of the

ancients besides Aristotle, and but in a very few of the moderns. For

what concerns his _criticism on Milton_ in particular, there was this

accidental benefit arising from it, that it occasioned an admirable

poet to be read, and his excellencies to be observed. But for the merit

of the work itself, if there be any thing just in the _plan_, it was,

because Aristotle and Bossu had taken the same route before him. And

as to his _own_ proper observations, they are for the most part, so

general and indeterminate, as to afford but little instruction to the

reader, and are, not unfrequently, altogether frivolous. They are of a

kind with those, in which the French critics (for I had rather instance

in the defects of _foreign_ writers than of our _own_) so much abound;

and which good judges agree to rank in the worst sort of criticism. To

give one example for all.

Cardinal PERRON, taking occasion to commend certain pieces of the poet

RONSARD, chuses to deliver himself in the following manner: “Prenez de

lui quelque poëme que ce soit, il paye toujours son lecteur, et quand

la verve le prend, il se guinde en haut, il vous porte jusques dans les

nuës, il vous fait voir mille belles choses.

“Que ses _saisons_ sont _bien-faites_! Que la description de la lyre a

Bertaut est _admirable_! Que le discours au ministre, _excellent_! Tous

ses hymnes sont _beaux_. Celui de l’eternité est _admirable_; ceux des

saisons _marveilleux_.” [Perroniana.]

What now has the reader learned from this varied criticism, but

that his _Eminence_ was indeed very fond of his poet; and that he

esteemed these several pieces to be (what with less expence of words

he might, in one breath, have called them) _well-turned_, _beautiful_,

_excellent_, _admirable_, _marvellous_, poems? To have given us the

true character of _each_, and to have marked the precise _degree_, as

well as _kind_, of merit in these works, had been a task of another

nature.

* * * * *

211.—QUI PECTUS INANITER ANGIT,] The word _inaniter_ as well as

_falsi_, applied in the following line to _terrores_, would express

that wondrous force of _dramatic representation_, which compels us

to take part in _feigned_ adventures and situations, as if they were

_real_; and exercises the passions with the same violence, in _remote

fancied scenes_, as in the _present distresses of real life_.

And this is that sovereign quality in poetry, which, as an old writer

of our own naturally expresses it, is of force _to hold children from

play, and old men from the chimney corner_[52]. The poet, in the place

before us, considers it as a kind of _magic virtue_, which transports

the spectator into all _places_, and makes him, occasionally, assume

all _persons_. The resemblance holds, also, in this, that its effects

are instantaneous and irresistible. _Rules_, _art_, _decorum_, all fall

before it. It goes directly to the _heart_, and gains all purposes at

once. Hence it is, that, speaking of a real genius, possessed of this

commanding power, Horace pronounces him, emphatically, THE POET,

_Ille per extentum funem mihi posse

videtur Ire_ POETA:

it being more especially this property, which, of itself, discovers

the _true dramatist_, and secures the success of his performance, not

only without the assistance of _art_, but in direct opposition to its

clearest dictates.

This power has been felt on a thousand other occasions. But its

triumphs were never more conspicuous, than in the famous instance of

the CID of P. Corneille; which, by the sole means of this enchanting

quality, drew along with it the affections and applauses of a whole

people: notwithstanding the manifest transgression of some essential

rules, the utmost tyranny of jealous power, and, what is more, in

defiance of all the authority and good sense of one of the justest

pieces of criticism in the French language, written purposely to

discredit and expose it.

* * * * *

224. CUM LAMENTAMUR NON ADPARERE LABORES NOSTROS, &c.] It was remarked

upon verse 211, that the beauties of a poem can only _appear_ by being

felt. And _they_, to whom they do not appear in this instance, are the

writer’s own _friends_, who, it is not to be supposed, would disguise

their _feelings_. So that the _lamentation_, here spoken of, is at once

a proof of _impertinence_ in the poet, and of the _badness_ of his

poetry, which sets the complainant in a very ridiculous light.

* * * * *

228. EGERE VETES.] The poet intended, in these words, a very just

satire on those presuming _wits and scholars_, who, under the pretence

of getting above distressful _want_, in reality aspire to public

honours and preferments; though this be the most inexcusable of all

follies (to give it the softest name), which can infest a man of

letters: Both, because experience, on which a wise man would chuse to

regulate himself, is contrary to these hopes; and, because if literary

merit could succeed in them, the _Reward_, as the poet speaks,

_would either bring

No joy, or be destructive of the thing_:

That is, the learned would either have no relish for the delights of

so widely different a situation; or, which hath oftener been the case,

would lose the learning itself, or the _love_ of it at least, on which

their pretensions to this _reward_ are founded.

* * * * *

232. GRATUS ALEXANDRO REGI MAGNO &c.] This praise of Augustus,

arising from the comparison of his character with that of Alexander,

is extremely fine. It had been observed of the Macedonian by his

historians and panegyrists, that, to the stern virtues of the

_conqueror_, he had joined the softer accomplishments of the

_virtuoso_, in a just discernment and love of _poetry_, and of the

_elegant arts_. The one was thought clear from his admiration and

study of Homer: And the _other_, from his famous edict concerning

Apelles and Lysippus, could not be denied. Horace finds means to turn

both these circumstances in his story to the advantage of his prince.

From his extravagant pay of such a wretched versifier, as _Choerilus_,

he would insinuate, that Alexander’s love of the muse was, in fact, but

a blind unintelligent impulse towards _glory_. And from his greater

skill in the arts of _sculpture_ and _painting_, than of _verse_, he

represents him as more concerned about the _drawing_ of his figure,

than the pourtraiture of his _manners_ and _mind_. Whereas Augustus,

by his liberalities to _Varius_ and _Virgil_, had discovered the

truest taste in the _art_, from which he expected immortality: and,

in trusting to _that_, as the _chief_ instrument of his fame, had

confessed a prior regard to those _mental virtues_, which are the

real ornament of humanity, before that _look of terror_, and _air and

attitude of victory_, in which the brute violence of Alexander most

delighted to be shewn.

* * * * *

243. MUSARUM DONA] The expression is happy; as implying, that these

_images_ of virtue, which are represented as of such importance to the

glory of princes, are not the mere _offerings_ of poetry to greatness,

but the _free-gifts_ of the muse to the poet. For it is only to such

_works_, as these, that Horace attributes the wondrous efficacy of

expressing the _manners and mind_ in fuller and more durable relief,

than _sculpture_ gives to the _exterior figure_.

_Non magis expressi vultus per aënea signa,

Quam per vatis opus mores animique virorum

Clarorum adparent._

* * * * *

247.—VIRGILIUS.] Virgil is mentioned, in this place, simply as a

_Poet_. The precise idea of his _poetry_ is given us elsewhere.

_molle atque facetum

Virgilio annuerunt gaudentes rure Camoenae._

1 Sat. x. 44.

But this may appear a strange praise of the sweet and polished Virgil.

It appeared so to Quinctilian, who cites this passage, and explains it,

without doubt, very justly, yet in such a way as shews that he was not

quite certain of the truth of his explanation.

The case, I believe, was this. The word _facetum_, which makes

the difficulty, had acquired, in Quinctilian’s days, the sense of

_pleasant_, _witty_, or _facetious_, _in exclusion_ to every other

idea, which had formerly belonged to it. It is true that, in the

Augustan age, and still earlier, _facetum_ was sometimes used in this

sense. But its proper and original meaning was no more than _exact_,

_factitatum, benè factum_. And in this strict sense, I believe, it is

always used by Horace.

_Malthinus tunicis demissis ambulat: est qui

Inguen ad obscoenum subductis usque facetus._

1 S. ii. 25.

i. e. _tucked up, trim, expedite_.

_Mutatis tantùm pedibus numerisque facetus._

1 S. iv. 7.

i. e. he [Lucilius] adopted a _stricter_ measure, than the writers

of the old comedy; or, by changing the loose iambic to the Hexameter

verse, he gave a proof of his _art_, _skill_, and _improved judgment_.

_frater, pater, adde;

Ut cuique est aetas, ita quemque facetus adopta._

1. Ep. vi. 55.

i. e. _nicely_ and _accurately_ adapt your address to the age and

condition of each.

I do not recollect any other place where _facetus_ is used by Horace;

and in all these it seems probable to me that the principal idea,

conveyed by it, is that of _care_, _art_, _skill_, only differently

modified according to the subject to which it is applied: a gown tucked

up _with care_—a measure _studiously_ affected—an address _nicely_

accommodated—No thought of _ridicule_ or _pleasantry_ intended.

It is the same in the present instance—

MOLLE ATQUE FACETUM

i. e. _a soft flowing versification_, and _an exquisitely finished

expression_: the two precise, characteristic merits of Virgil’s _rural_

poetry.

This change, in the sense of words, is common in all languages, and

creeps in so gradually and imperceptibly as to elude the notice,

sometimes, of the best critics, even in their own language. The

transition of ideas, in the present instance, may be traced thus.

As what was _wittily_ said, was most _studied_, _artificial_, and

_exquisite_, hence in process of time _facetum_ lost its primary sense,

and came to signify merely, _witty_.

We have a like example in our own language. A _good wit_ meant formerly

a man of good natural sense and understanding: but because what we now

call _wit_ was observed to be the flower and quintessence, as it were,

of good sense, hence _a man of wit_ is now the exclusive attribute of

one who exerts his good sense in that peculiar manner.

* * * * *

247. DILECTI TIBI VIRGILIUS &c.] It does honour to the memory of

Augustus, that he bore the _affection_, here spoken of, to this amiable

poet; who was not more distinguished from his contemporary writers

by the force of an original, inventive genius, than the singular

benevolence and humanity of his character. Yet there have been critics

of so perverse a turn, as to discover an inclination, at least, of

disputing both.

1. Some have taken offence at his supposed unfriendly neglect of

Horace, who, on every occasion, shewed himself so ready to lavish all

his praises on him. But the folly of this slander is of a piece with

its malignity, as proceeding on the absurd fancy, that Virgil’s friends

might as easily have slid into such works, as the Georgics and Eneïs,

as those of Horace into the various occasional poems, which employed

his pen.

Just such another senseless suspicion hath been raised of his jealousy

of Homer’s superior glory (a vice, from which the nature of the great

poet was singularly abhorrent), only, because he did not think fit to

give him the first place among the poets in _Elysium_, several hundred

years before he had so much as made his appearance upon _earth_.

But these petty calumnies of his _moral_ character hardly deserve

a confutation. What some greater authorities have objected to his

_poetical_, may be thought more serious. For,

2. It has been given out by some of better note among the moderns, and

from thence, according to the customary influence of authority, hath

become the prevailing sentiment of the generality of the learned, that

the great poet was more indebted for his fame to the _exactness of his

judgment; to his industry, and a certain trick of imitation_, than to

the energy of natural genius; which he is thought to have possessed in

a very slender degree.

This charge is founded on the similitude, which all acknowledge,

betwixt his great work, the Aeneis, and the poems of Homer. But, “how

far such similitude infers imitation; or, how far imitation itself

infers an inferiority of natural genius in the imitator,” this hath

never been considered. In short the affair of _imitation_ in poetry,

though one of the most curious and interesting in all criticism, hath

been, hitherto, very little understood: as may appear from hence,

that there is not, as far as I can learn, one single treatise, now

extant, written purposely to explain it; the discourse, which the

learned _Menage_ intended, and which, doubtless, would have given

light to this matter, having never, as I know of, been made public.

To supply, in some measure, this loss, I have thought it not amiss to

put together and methodize a few reflexions of my own on this subject,

which (because the matter is large, and cannot easily be drawn into a

compass, that suits with the nature of these occasional remarks) the

reader will find in a distinct and separate dissertation upon it[53].

CONCLUSION.

AND, now, having explained, in the best manner I could, the two famous

Epistles of Horace to Augustus and the Pisos, it may be expected, in

conclusion, that I should say something of the rest of our poet’s

critical writings. For his _Sermones_ (under which general term I

include his _Epistles_) are of two sorts, MORAL and CRITICAL; and,

though both are exquisite, the _latter_ are perhaps, in their kind,

the more perfect of the two; his _moral_ principles being sometimes, I

believe, liable to exception, his _critical_, never.

The two pieces, illustrated in these volumes, are _strictly_ critical:

the _first_, being a professed criticism of the Roman drama; and the

_last_, in order to their vindication, of the Roman poets. The rest of

his works, which turn upon this subject of criticism, may be rather

termed _Apologetical_. They are the IV^{th} and X^{th} of the FIRST,

and I^{st} of the SECOND book of Satires; and the XIX^{th} of the

FIRST, and, in part, the II^{d} of the SECOND book of Epistles.

In _these_, the poet has THREE great objects; one or other of which he

never loses sight of, and generally he prosecutes them all together,

in the same piece. These objects are, 1. to vindicate the way of

writing in satire. 2. To justify his opinion of a favourite writer of

this class, the celebrated Lucilius. And 3. to expose the careless and

incorrect composition of the Roman writers.

He was himself deeply concerned in these three articles; so that he

makes his own apology at the same time that he criticizes or censures

others. The _address_ of the poet’s manner will be seen by bearing in

mind this general purpose of his critical poetry. How he came to be

_engaged_ in this controversy, will best appear from a few observations

on the state of the Roman learning, when he undertook to contribute his

pains to the improvement of it.

I have, in the introduction to the first of these volumes, given a

slight sketch of the rise and progress of the Roman satire. This poem,

was purely of Roman invention: _first of all_, struck out of the old

fescennine farce, and rudely cultivated, by Ennius: _Next_, more

happily treated, and enriched with the best part of the old comedy,

by Lucilius: And, after some succeeding essays, taken up and finally

adorned, by Horace.

HORACE was well known to the public by his lyric compositions, and

still more perhaps by his favour at court, when he took upon him to

correct the manners and taste of his age, by his _Lucilian Satires_.

But, here, he encountered, at once, many prejudices; and all his own

credit, together with that of his court-friends, was little enough to

support him, against the torrent.

FIRST, the kind of writing itself was sure to give offence. For, though

men were well enough pleased to have their natural malignity gratified

by an old poet’s satire against a _former_ age, yet they were naturally

alarmed at the exercise of this talent upon their _own_, and, as it

might chance, upon themselves.

The poet’s eminence, and favour, would, besides, give a peculiar

force and _effect_ to his censures, so that all who found, or thought

themselves liable to them, were concerned, in interest, to discredit

the attempt, and blast his rising reputation.

_Omnes hi metuunt versus, odere_ POETAM.

Hence, he was constrained to stand upon his own defence, and to

vindicate, as well the thing itself, as his management of it, to the

tender and suspicious public.

But this was not all: For, SECONDLY, an old satirist, of high birth

and quality, LUCILIUS, was considered, not only as an able writer of

this class, but as a perfect model in it; and of course, therefore,

this new satirist would be much decried and undervalued, on the

comparison. This circumstance obliged the poet to reduce this admired

writer to his real value; which could not be done without thwarting

the general admiration, and pointing out his vices and defects in the

freest manner. This perilous task he discharged in the IV^{th} satire

of his first book, and with such rigour of criticism, that not only the

partizans of Lucilius, in the poet’s own age, but the most knowing and

candid critics of succeeding times, were disposed to complain of it.

However, the obnoxious step had been taken; and nothing remained but to

justify himself, as he hath done at large, in his X^{th} satire.

On the whole, in comparing what he has said in these two satires

with what Quinctilian long after observed on the subject of them,

there seems no reason to conclude, that the poet judged ill; though

he expressed his judgment in such terms as he would, no doubt, have

something softened (out of complaisance to the general sentiment,

and a becoming deference to the real merits of his master), if his

adversaries had been more moderate in urging their charge, or if the

occasion had not been so pressing.

_Lastly_, this attack on Lucilius produced, or rather involved in

it, a THIRD quarrel. The poet’s main objection to Lucilius was his

careless, verbose, and hasty composition, which his admirers, no doubt,

called genius, grace, and strength. This being an inveterate folly

among his countrymen, he gives it no quarter. Through all his critical

works, he employs the utmost force of his wit and good sense to expose

it: And his own writings, being at the same time supremely correct,

afforded his enemies (which would provoke them still more) no advantage

against him. Yet they attempted, as they could, to repay his perpetual

reproaches on the popular writers for their neglect of _limae labor_,

by objecting to him, in their turn, that what he wrote was _sine

nervis_: and this, though they felt his _force_ themselves, and though

another set of men were complaining, at the same time, of his severity.

_Sunt quibus in satyrâ videor nimis_ ACER—

SINE NERVIS _altera quicquid

Composui pars esse putat, similesque meorum_

Mille die versus _deduci posse_—

His detractors satirically alluding, in these last words, to his charge

against Lucilius—

in horâ _saepè_ ducentos,

_Ut magnum_, versus _dictabat, stans pede in uno_.

It is not my purpose, in this place, to enlarge further on the

character of Lucilius, whose _wordy_ satires gave occasion to our

poet’s criticism. Several of the ancient writers speak of him

occasionally, in terms of the highest applause; and without doubt,

he was a poet of distinguished merit. Yet it will hardly be thought,

at this day, that it could be any discredit to him to be censured,

rivalled, and excelled by Horace.

What I have here put together is only to furnish the young reader with

the proper KEY to Horace’s critical works, which generally turn on his

own vindication, _against the enemies of satire_—_the admirers of

Lucilius_—_and the patrons of loose and incorrect composition_.

In managing these several topics, he has found means to introduce

a great deal of exquisite criticism. And though his scattered

observations go but a little way towards making up a complete critical

system, yet they are so _luminous_, as the French speak, that is, they

are so replete with good sense, and extend so much further than to the

case to which they are immediately applied, that they furnish many of

the principles on which such a system, if ever it be taken in hand,

must be constructed: And, without carrying matters too far, we may

safely affirm of these _Critical Discourses_, that, next to Aristotle’s

immortal work, they are the most valuable remains of ancient art upon

this subject.

_The End of the Notes on the Epistle to_ AUGUSTUS.

* * * * *

THE END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

J. Nichols and Son, Printers,

Red Lion Passage, Fleet Street, London.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] [A Cross with the initials on a label—I. N. R. I. a Glory above,

and the motto below ΕΚ ΠΙΣΤΕΩΣ.]

[2] “We, the Bishop and Dean and Chapter and Clergy of the Church and

Diocese of Worcester, humbly beg leave to present our dutiful respects

to your Majesty, and to express the joy we feel on your Majesty’s

arrival at this place.

“Your presence, Sir, gladdens the hearts of your faithful subjects,

wherever you go. But We, the Clergy of this place, have a peculiar

cause to rejoice in the honour vouchsafed us at this time; a time,

devoted to an excellent charity for the relief of a most deserving,

though unfortunate part of our Order. This gracious notice and

countenance of us at such a moment, shews, as your whole life has

invariably done, your zealous concern for the interests of Religion,

and the credit of its Ministers. And we trust, Sir, that we entertain a

due sense of this goodness; and that we shall never be wanting in the

most dutiful attachment to your Majesty’s sacred person, to your august

house, and to your mild and beneficent government.

“In our daily celebration of the sacred offices, committed to our

charge, we make it our fervent prayer to Almighty God, that He will

be pleased to take your Majesty into his special protection; and that

your Majesty may live long, very long, in health and honour, to be the

blessing and the delight of all your people.”

[The above is the substance, and I believe the words, of my address to

the King at Worcester, 6th August 1788.]

To this address his Majesty was pleased to return an answer, very

gracious, personally, to the Bishop himself, and expressive of the

highest regard for the Clergy of the Established Church.

R. W.

[3] [Edward Foley, Esq. Member of Parliament for the County, and

William Langford, D. D. late Prebendary of Worcester.]

[4] The Reverend Mr. BUDWORTH, Head-Master of the Grammar School at

BREWOOD, in Staffordshire. He died in 1745.

[5] Satyra hæc est in sui sæculi poetas, PRÆCIPUE vero in Romanum

drama. Baxter.

[6] Præf. in LIB. POET. et l. vi. p. 338.

[7] _Mærorem minui_, says Tully, grieving for the loss of his daughter,

_dolorem nec potui, nec, si possem_, VELLEM. [Ep. ad Att. xii. 28.] A

striking picture of real grief!

[8]

_Vel tibi composita cantetur_ EPISTOLA _voce_;

IGNOTUM HOC ALIIS ILLE NOVAVIT OPUS.

ART. AMAT. l. iii. v. 345.

[9] J. Scaliger says, _Epistolas, Græcorum more, Phocylidæ atque

Theognidis_ [Horatius] _scripsit: præceptis philosophiæ divulsis

minimeque inter se cohærentibus_. And of _this_ Epistle, in particular,

he presumes to say, _De Arte quæres quid sentiam. Quid? Equidem quod de

Arte sine arte traditâ._ And to the same purpose another great Critic;

_Non solum antiquorum ὑποθῆκαι in moralibus hoc habuere, ut ἀκολουθίαν

non servarent, sed etiam alia de quibuscunque rebus præcepta. Sic

Epistola Horatii ad Pisones de Poëticâ perpetuum ordinem seriemque_

NULLAM _habet; sed ab uno præcepto ad aliud transilit, quamvis_ NULLA

_sit materiæ affinitas ad sensum connectendum._ [Salmasii Not. in

Epictetum et Simplicium, p. 13. _Lugd. Bat._ 1640.]

[10] See _Victor. Comm. in Dem. Phaler._ p. 73. _Florent._ 1594.

[11] The reader may see a fine speech in the Cyropædia of Xenophon [l.

iv.] where not so much as this is observed.

[12] See _Robert Stephens’s Fragm. Vet. Latinorum_.

[13] Sir _Philip Sidney_.

[14] _Quel avantage ne peut il [le poëte] pas tirer d’une troupe

d’acteurs, qui remplissent sa scene, qui rendent plus sensible la

continuité de l’action, et qui la font paroitre_ VRAISEMBLABLE,

_puisqu’il n’est pas naturel qu’elle se passe sans temoins. On ne sent

que trop le vuide de notre Théatre sans chœurs, &c._ [Le Théatre des

Grecs, vol. i. p. 105.]

[15] See also to the same purpose P. Corneille’s _Exam. sur la Medée_.

If the objection, made by these critics, to the part of the chorus, be,

_the improbability_, as was explained at large in the preceding note,

_of a slave’s taking the side of virtue against the pleasure of his

tyrant_, the manifest difference of the two cases will shew it to be

without the least foundation. For 1. the chorus in the Medea consists

of women, whom compassion and a secret jealousy and indignation at so

flagrant an instance of the violated faith of marriage, attach, by

the most natural connexion of interests, to the cause and person of

the injured queen. In the Antigone, it is composed of old courtiers,

devoted, by an habitude of slavery, to the will of a master, assembled,

by his express appointment, as creatures of his tyranny, and, prompted,

by no strong movements of self-love, to take part against him. 2. In

the Antigone, the part of Creon is _principal_. Every step, in the

progress of the play, depends so immediately upon him, that he is

almost constantly upon the stage. No reflexions could therefore be made

by the chorus, nor any part against him be undertaken, but directly

in his presence, and at their own manifest hazard. The very reverse

of this is the case in the Medea. Creon is there but a subaltern

person—has a very small part assigned him in the conduct of the

play—is, in fact, introduced upon the stage but in one single scene.

The different situation of the chorus, resulting from hence, gives

occasion for the widest difference in their conduct. They may speak

their resentments freely. Unawed by the frowns and menaces of their

tyrant, they are left at liberty to follow the suggestions of virtue.

Nothing here offends against the law of probability, or, in the least,

contradicts the reasoning about the chorus in the Antigone.

[16] See note on v. 127.

[17] _For her own sake_, as is pleaded, _and in obedience to the laws_,

Σέ τ’ ὠφελεῖν θέλουσα, καὶ νόμοις βροτῶν

Ξυλλαμβάνουσα, δρᾷν σ’ ἀπεννέπω τάδε.

v. 812.

which shews, that the other murders were not against the spirit of the

laws, whatever became of the letter of them.

[18] P. Brumoy, Disc. sur le parall. des Theat. p. 165. Amst. 1732.

[19] _Imitations of Horace_ by Thomas Nevile, M. A. Fellow of Jesus

College, Cambridge, 1758.

[20] There is a considerable difference in the copies of this ode, as

given us in the best editions of Athenæus and Diogenes Laertius. But

the SIXTH verse is, in all of them, so inexplicable, in respect of the

_measure_, the _construction_, and the _sense_, that I have no doubt

of its being extremely corrupt. In such a case one may be indulged in

making conjectures. And the following one, by a learned person, exactly

skilled in the proprieties as well as elegancies of the Greek language,

is so reasonable, that I had almost ventured to give it a place in the

text.

The Poet had been celebrating v. 3. the divine _form_ of virtue; which

inspired the Grecian youth with an invincible courage and contempt of

danger. It was natural therefore to conclude his panegyric with some

such Epiphonema as this: “Such a passion do’st thou kindle up in the

minds of men!”

To justify this passion, he next turns to the _fruits_, or advantages

which virtue yields; which, he tells us, are more excellent than those

we receive from any other possession, whether of _wealth_, _nobility_,

or _ease_, the three great idols of mankind. Something like this we

collect from the obscure glimmerings of sense that occur to us from the

common reading,

Τοῖον ἐπὶ φρένα βάλλεις καρπόν τ’ εἰς ἀθάνατον,

Χρυσοῦ τε κρέσσω, &c.

But it is plain, then, that a very material word must have dropt out of

the _first_ part of the line, and that there is an evident corruption

in the _last_. In a word, the whole passage may be reformed thus,

Τοῖον ἐπὶ φρέν’ ἜΡΩΤΑ βάλλεις.

Καρπὸν ΦΕΡΕΙΣ ἀθάνατον

Χρυσοῦ τε κρέσσω καὶ γονέων,

Μαλακαυγητοῖό θ’ ὕπνου.

It need not be observed how easily καρπὸν ΤΕΕΙΣ is changed into καρπὸν

ΦΕΡΕΙΣ: And as to the restored word ἔρωτα, besides the necessity of

it to complete the sense, it exactly suits with σοῖς τε πόθοις in v.

12. Lastly, the _measure_ will now sufficiently justify itself to the

learned reader.

[21] _Agite, fugite, quatite, Satyri_: A verse cited from one of these

Latin satyrs by Marius Victorinus.

[22] This, I think, must be the interpretation of _sensibus celebrem_,

supposing it to be the true reading. But a learned critic has shewn

with great appearance of reason, that the text is corrupt and should

be reformed into _sensibus_ CELEREM. According to which reading the

encomium here past on Pomponius must be understood of his _Wit_, and

not the gravity of his moral Sentences. Either way his title to the

honour of Invention is just the same.—See a Specimen of a new Edition

of Paterculus in BIBLIOTHEQUE BRITANNIQUE, _Juillet, &c._ 1736.

[23] In the library of Emmanuel College, Cambridge.

[24] Mr. Hume, OF SIMPLICITY AND REFINEMENT.

[25] And no wonder, when, as Suetonius tells us, the emperor himself

was so delighted with the old comedy. [c. 89.]

[26] This is further confirmed from Lucian, who, in the description

of a splendid feast in his ΑΛΕΚΤΡΥΩΝ, and in the _Symposium of his_

ΛΑΠΙΘΑΙ, brings in the ΓΕΛΩΤΟΠΟΙΟΙ as necessary attendants on the

entertainment.—But the reader will not take what is said of the _fine

satyr_ of Xenophon’s Symposium, who hath not observed, that this

sort of compositions, which were in great credit with the ancients,

are of the nature of dramas, ΗΘΙΚΟΙ ΛΟΓΟΙ, as Aristotle would call

them. In which the dialogists, who are real personages as in the _old

comedy_, give a lively, and sometimes exaggerated expression of their

own characters. Under this _idea_ of a Symposium we are prepared to

expect _bad_ characters as well as _good_. Nothing in the _kind_

of composition itself confined the writer to the _latter_; and the

decorum of a _festal conversation_, which, in a republic especially,

would have a mixture of satyr in it, seemed to demand the _former_.

We see then the undoubted purpose of Xenophon in the persons of his

JESTER and SYRACUSIAN; and of Plato, in those of ARISTOPHANES and some

others. Where we may further take notice, that, to prevent the abuse

and misconstruction, to which these personated discourses are ever

liable, Socrates is brought in to correct the looseness of them, in

both dialogues, and in some measure doth the office of the dramatic

chorus, BONIS FAVENDI. But it is the less strange that the moderns

have not apprehended the genius of these _Symposia_, when Athenæus,

who professedly criticises them, and one would think, had a better

opportunity of knowing their real character, hath betrayed the grossest

ignorance about them.—I can but just hint these things, which might

afford curious matter for a dissertation. But enough is said to let the

intelligent reader into the true secret of these _convivial dialogues_,

and to explane the ground of the encomium here passed upon _one_ of

them.

[27] “L’étude égale des poëtes de différens tems à plaire à leurs

spectateurs, a encore influé dans la maniere de peindre les characters.

Ceux qui paroissent sur la scene Angloise, Espagnole, Françoise, sont

plus Anglois, Espagnols, ou François que Grecs ou Romains, en un mot

que ce qu’ils doivent être. Il ne faut qu’en peu discernement pour

s’appercevoir que nos Césars et nos Achilles, en gardant même une

partie de leur caractere primitif, prennent droit de naturalité dans le

païs où ils sont transplantez, semblables à ces portraits, qui sortent

de la main d’un peintre Flamand, Italien, ou François, et qui portent

l’empreinte du païs. On veut plaire à sa nation, et rien ne plait tant

que la resemblance de manieres et de genie.” [P. Brumoy, vol. i. p.

200.]

[28] DIONYS. HALICARN. EP. AD C. POMP. p. 205. _Edit. Huds._

[29] In conformity with the _Antique_. _Nec enim Phidias, cum faceret

Jovis formam aut Minervæ, contemplabatur aliquem e quo similitudinem

duceret: sed ipsius in mente incidebat_ species pulchritudinis eximia

quædam, _quam intuens in eaque defixus ad illius similitudinem artem et

manum dirigebat_ [Cic. Orat. 2.]

[30] Sir _William Temple_.

[31] ἼΩΝ.

[32] Pope’s Works, vol. V. p. 244. 8^{vo}.

[33] Quinctilian, lib. xi. c. 1.

[34] Θεῷ ἀνικήτῳ ἐπιγράψαντες. Though, to complete the farce, it was

with the greatest shyness and reluctance, that the humility of these

lords of the universe could permit itself to accept the ensigns of

deity, as the court-historians of those times are forward to inform

us. An affectation, which was thought to sit so well upon them, that

we find it afterwards practised, in the absurdest and most impudent

manner, by the worst of their successors.

[35] See a learned and accurate dissertation on the subject in HIST. DE

L’ACAD. DES INSCR. &c. tom. i.

[36] DIV. LEG. vol. i. B. ii. S. 4.

[37] In these lines,

_Mox tamen ardentes accingar dicere pugnas

Caesaris, et nomen famâ tot ferre per annos,

Tithoni primâ quot abest ab origine Caesar_.

Which I suspect not to have been from the hand of Virgil. And,

I. On account of some _peculiarities in the expression_.

1. _Accingar_ is of frequent use in the best authors, to denote _a

readiness and resolution to do any thing_; but as joined with an

_infinitive mood_, _accingar dicere_, I do not remember to have ever seen

it. ’Tis often used by Virgil, but, if the several places be consulted,

it will always be found with an _accusative_ and _preposition_,

expressed, or understood, as _magicas accingier artes_,

or with an _accusative_ and _dative_, as _accingere se praedae_, or

lastly, with an _ablative_, expressing the _instrument_, as _accingor

ferro_. LA CERDA, in his notes upon the place, seemed sensible of the

objection, and therefore wrote, _Graeca locutio_: the common, but

paltry, shift of learned critics, when they determine, at any rate, to

support an ancient reading.

2. _Ardentes pugnas_, _burning battles_, sounds well enough to a modern

ear, but I much doubt, if it would have passed in the times of Virgil.

At least, I recollect no such expression in all his works; _ardens_

being constantly joined to a word, denoting a _substance_ of apparent

_light_, _heat_, or _flame_, to which the allusion is easy, as

_ardentes gladios_, _ardentes oculos_, _campos armis sublimibus ardentes_,

and, by an easy metaphor, _ardentes hostes_, but no where, that I can

find, to so _abstract_ a notion, as that of _fight_. It seems to be to

avoid this difficulty, that some have chosen to read _ardentis_, in the

_genitive_, which yet Servius rejects as of no authority.

3. But the most glaring note of illegitimacy is in the line,

_Tithoni primâ quot abest ab origine Caesar_.

It has puzzled all the commentators from old Servius down to the

learned Mr. Martyn, to give any tolerable account of the poet’s choice

of _Tithonus_, from whom to derive the ancestry of Augustus, rather

than _Anchises_, or _Assaracus_, who were not only more famous, but

in the _direct_ line. The pretences of any or all of them are too

frivolous to make it necessary to spend a thought about them. The

instance stands single in antiquity: much less is there any thing like

it to be found in the Augustan poets.

II. But the _phraseology_ of these lines is the least of my objection.

Were it ever so accurate, there is besides, on the first view, a

manifest absurdity in the _subject-matter_ of them. For would any

writer, of but common skill in the art of composition, close a long

and elaborate allegory, the principal grace of which consists in its

very mystery, with a cold, and formal explanation of it? Or would he

pay so poor a compliment to his patron, as to suppose his sagacity

wanted the assistance of this additional triplet to lead him into the

true meaning? Nothing can be more abhorrent from the usual address and

artifice of Virgil’s manner. Or,

III. Were the _subject-matter_ itself passable, yet, how, in defiance

of all the laws of _disposition_, came it to be _forced_ in here? Let

the reader turn to the passage, and he will soon perceive, that this

could never be the _place_ for it. The allegory being concluded, the

poet returns to his subject, which is proposed in the six following

lines:

_Intereà Dryadum sylvas, saltusque sequamur

Intactos, tua, Maecenas, haud mollia jussa;

Te sine nil altum mens inchoat: en age segnes

Rumpe moras; vocat ingenti clamore Cithaeron,

Taygetique canes, domitrixque Epidaurus equorum,

Et vox assensu nemorum ingeminata remugit_.

Would now any one expect, that the poet, after having conducted the

reader, thus respectfully, to the very threshold of his subject, should

immediately run away again to the point, from which he had set out, and

this on so needless an errand, as the letting him into the secret of

his allegory?

But this inserted triplet agrees as ill with what _follows_, as with

what _precedes_ it. For how abrupt is the transition, and unlike the

delicate connexion, so studiously contrived by the Augustan poets, from

_Tithoni primâ quot abest ab origine Caesar_.

to

_Seu quis Olympiacae miratus praemia palmae_, &c.

When omit but these interpolated lines, and see how gracefully, and by

how natural a succession of ideas, the poet slides into the main of his

subject.—

_Intereà Dryadum silvas saltusque sequamur

Intactos—

Te sine nil—

Rumpe moras: vocat ingenti clamore Cithaeron

Taygetique canes, domitrixque Epidaurus_ EQUORUM,

_Et vox assensu nemorum ingeminata_ REMUGIT.

_Seu quis Olympiacae miratus praemia palmae

Pascit_ EQUOS; _seu quis fortes ad aratra_ JUVENCOS.

On the whole, I have not the least doubt, that the lines before us

are the spurious offspring of some _later poet_; if indeed the writer

of them deserve that name; for, whoever he was, he is so far from

partaking of the original spirit of Virgil, that, at most he appears

to have been but a servile and paltry mimic of Ovid; from the opening

of whose Metamorphosis the design was clearly taken. The turn of

the thought is evidently the same in both, and even the expression.

_Mutatas dicere formas_ is echoed by _ardentes dicere pugnas_: _dicere

fert animus_, is, by an affected improvement, _accingar dicere_: and

_Tithoni primâ ab origine_ is almost literally the same as _primâque

ab origine mundi_. For the _insertion_ of these lines in this place,

I leave it to the curious to conjecture of it, as they may: but in

the mean time, must esteem the office of the true _critic_ to be so

far resembling that of the _poet_ himself, as, within some proper

limitations, to justify the _honest_ liberty here taken.

_Cum tabulis animum censoris sumet honesti;

Audebit quaecunque parum splendoris habebunt

Et sine pondere erunt, et honore indigne feruntur_,

VERBA MOVERE LOCO; QUAMVIS INVITA RECEDANT,

ET VERSENTUR ADHUC INTRA PENETRALIA VESTAE.

[2 Ep. ii. 110.]

[38] [B. ix. v. 641.]

[39] _Notes on the story of Phaëton._ [v. 23.]

[40] JACOBI PHILIPPI D’ ORVILLE _Animadversiones in_ CHARIT. APHROD.

lib. iv. c. 4.

[41] Ibid. vol. ii. p. 325.

[42] D. L. vol. ii. p. 644.

[43] At inspiciamus porrò, quid alii, _quibus correctius sapit_, de hoc

loquendi modo CENSUERINT. Agnoscunt enim, etc. p. 299.

[44] Ibid.

[45] v. 437.

[46] Iliad, Γ. 327.

[47] N. D. ii. 64.

[48] Pag. 397.

[49] INST. ORAT. xi. 3.

[50] There having been such wretches, as the Painter Plutarch speaks

of—Χαιρεφάνης, ἀκολάστους ὁμιλίας γυναικῶν πρὸς ἄνδρας. De aud. Poet.

[51] See an essay on the _Composition of the Antients_, by J. GEDDES,

Esq.

[52] Sir Philip Sidney.

[53] Diss. III. vol. ii.

[Transcriber’s Note:

Poetry line numbers normalized.

All instances of a stigma (ϛ) in words have been changed to sigma tau (στ).

The original text had an alternative pi (ϖ) at the start of a word.

These have been changed to the standard pi (π).

Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.]