inquisitive mind of man had succeeded in the discovery or improvement
of the numberless arts of life. These, for the convenience of method,
are considered as making a large part of those sensible external
_effects_, which spring from our internal _sentiments_ or _reasonings_.
But, though they ultimately respect those _reasonings_, as their
source, yet they, in no degree, depend on the actual exertion of them
in the breast of the poet. He copies only the customs of the times,
of which he writes, that is, the sensible _effects_ themselves. These
are permanent objects, and may, nay _must_ be the _same_, whatever
be the ability or genius of the _copier_. In short, taken together,
they make up what, in the largest sense of the word, we may call,
with the painters, _il costumè_; which though it be a real excellence
scrupulously to observe, yet it requires nothing more than exact
observation and historical knowledge of _facts_ to do it.
And now having the various objects of _poetical imitation_ before us
(the greatest part of which, as appears, _must_, and the rest _may_,
occur to the observation of the poet) we come to this _conclusion_,
which, though it may startle the _parallelist_, there seems no method
of eluding, “that of any single _image_ or _sentiment_, considered
separately and by itself, it can never be affirmed certainly, hardly
with any shew of reason, merely on account of its agreement in
_subject-matter_ with any other, that it was copied from it.” If there
be any foundation of this inference, it must, then be laid, not on
the _matter_, but MANNER of imitation. But here, again, the subject
branches out into various particulars; which, to be seen distinctly,
will demand a new division, and require us to proceed with leisure and
attention through it.
II.
The sum of the foregoing _article_ is this. The _objects_ of imitation,
like the _materials_ of human knowledge, are a common stock, which
experience furnishes to all men. And it is in the _operations_ of the
mind upon them, that the glory of _poetry_, as of _science_, consists.
Here the genius of the _poet_ hath room to shew itself; and from hence
alone is the praise of _originality_ to be ascertained. The fondest
admirer of ancient art would never pretend that _Palladio_ had copied
_Vitruvius_; merely from his working with the same materials of _wood_,
_stone_, or _marble_, which this great master had employed before him.
But were the general _design_ of these two architects the _same_ in any
buildings; were their choice and arrangement of the smaller _members_
remarkably similar; were their works conducted in the same _style_,
and their ornaments finished in the same _taste_; every one would be
apt to pronounce on first sight, that the one was _borrowed_ from
the other. Even a correspondency in any _one_ of these points might
create a suspicion. For what likelihood, amidst an infinite variety of
_methods_, which offer themselves, as to _each_ of these particulars,
that there should be found, without _design_, a signal concurrence in
_any one_? ’Tis then in the _usage and disposition_ of the objects of
poetry, that we are to seek for proofs and evidences of plagiarism.
And yet it may not be every instance of similarity, that will satisfy
here. For the question recurs, “whether of the several _forms_, of
which his materials are susceptible, there be nothing in the nature
of things, which determines the artist to prefer a _particular_ one
to all others.” For it is possible, that _general principles_ may
as well account for a _conformity in the manner_, as we have seen
them do for an _identity of matter_, in works of imitation. And to
this question nothing can be replied, till we have taken an accurate
survey of this _second division_ of our subject. Luckily, the allusion
to architecture, just touched upon, points to the very method, in
which it may be most distinctly pursued. For here too, the MANNER _of
imitation_, if considered in its full extent, takes in 1. _The general
plan or disposition of a poem._ 2. _The choice and application of
particular subjects: and_ 3. _The expression._
I. _All poetry_, as lord Bacon admirably observes, “_nihil
aliud est quam_ HISTORIAE IMITATIO AD PLACITUM.” By which is not meant,
that the poet is at liberty to conduct his _imitation_ absolutely
in any manner he pleases, but with such deviations from the rule of
history, as the _end_ of poetry prescribes. This end is, universally,
PLEASURE; as _that_ of simple history is, INFORMATION. And from a
respect to this _end_, together with some proper allowance for the
diversity of the _subject-matter_, and the _mode of imitation_ (I mean
whether it be in the way of _recital_, or of action) are the essential
differences of poetry from mere history, and the _form or disposition_
of its several _species_, derived. What these _differences_ are, and
what the _general plan_ in the composition of _each species_, will
appear from considering the _defects_ of simple history in reference to
the _main end_, which poetry designs.
Some of these are observed by the great person before-mentioned, which
I shall want no excuse for giving in his own words.
“1. Cum res gestae et eventus, qui verae historiae subjiciuntur, non
sint ejus amplitudinis, in quâ anima humana sibi satisfaciat, praesto
est _poësis_, quae facta magis heroica confingat. 2. Cum historia
vera successus rerum minime pro meritis virtutum & scelerum, narret;
corrigit eam _poësis_, & exitus & fortunas, secundum merita, & ex
lege Nemeseos, exhibet. 3. Cum historia vera, obviâ rerum satietate
& similitudine, animae humanae fastidio sit; reficit eam poësis,
inexpectata, & varia & vicissitudinum plena canens.—Quare & merito
etiam divinitatis cujuspiam particeps videri possit; quia animum
erigit & in sublime rapit; _rerum simulachra ad animi desideria
accommodando, non animum rebus (quod ratio facit, & historia)
submittendo_[31].”
These _advantages_ chiefly respect the _narrative_ poetry, and above
all, the _Epos_. There are others, still more _general_, and more
directly to the purpose of this inquiry. For 4. The _historian_ is
bound to record _a series of independent events and actions_; and
so, at once, falls into two _defects_, which make him incapable of
affording perfect _pleasure_ to the mind. For 1. The flow of passion,
produced in us by contemplating _any signal event_, is greatly
checked and disturbed amidst a _variety and succession of actions_.
And 2. being obliged to pass with celerity over _each_ transaction
(for otherwise history would be too tedious for the purpose of
_information_) he has not time to draw out _single circumstances_ in
full light and impress them with all their force on the imagination.
_Poetry_ remedies these two defects. By confining the attention to
_one_ object only, it gives the fancy and affections fair play: and
by bringing forth to view and even magnifying all the _circumstances_
of that _one_, it gives to every subject its proper dignity and
importance. 5. Lastly, to satisfy the human mind, there must not only
be an _unity and integrity_, but a strict _connexion and continuity_
of the fable or action represented. Otherwise the mind languishes,
and the transition of the passions, which gives the chief pleasure,
is broken and interrupted. The _historian_ fails, also, in this. By
proceeding in the gradual and orderly succession of _time_, the several
incidents, which compose the story, are not laid close enough together
to content the natural avidity of our expectations. Whilst _poetry_,
neglecting this regularity of succession, and setting out in the midst
of the story, gratifies our instinctive impatience, and carries the
_affections_ along, with the utmost rapidity, towards the _event_.
These _advantages_ are common both to _narrative_ and _dramatic_
poetry. But the _drama_, as professing to copy _real life_, contents
itself with these. The rest belong entirely to the province of
_narration_.
Now the _general forms_ of poetical method, as distinct from _that_
of history, are the pure result of our conclusions concerning the
expediency and fitness of these _means_, as conducive to the proper
_end_ of poetry. Which, without more words, will inform us, how it came
to pass, that the _true plan or disposition of poetical_ works, was so
early hit upon in _practice_, and established by exact _theories_; and
may therefore satisfy us of the _necessary_ resemblance and uniformity
of all productions of this kind, whether their authors had, or had not,
been guided by the pole-star of _example_.
So much for the _general forms_ of the two greater _kinds_ of poetry.
If a proper allowance be made for a diversity of _subject-matter_, in
either _mode_ of composition, it will be easy, as I said, to account
for the _particular forms_ of the several subordinate species. And
I the rather choose to do it in this way, and not from the peculiar
_end_ of each, which indeed were more philosophical, because the
business is to make appear, how nature leads to the same general plan
of composition in _practice_, not to establish the laws of each in the
exact way of _theory_. Now in considering the matter _historically_,
the diversity of _subject-matter_ was doubtless _that_ which first
determined the writer to a different _form_ of composition, tho’
afterwards, a consideration of the _end_, accomplished by _each_, be
requisite to deduce, with more precision of method, its distinct laws.
The _latter_ is that from whence the _speculative critic_ rightly
estimates the character of every species; but the inventor had his
direction principally from the _former_.
Let me exemplify the observation in an instance under either _mode_ of
imitation, and leave the rest to the reader.
1. The GEORGIC is a species of _narration_. But, as _things_, not
_persons_, are its subject (from which last alone the _unity of
design_ and _continuity of action_ arise) this circumstance absolves
it from the necessity of observing any other laws, than those of clear
and perspicuous disposition, and of enlivening a matter, naturally
uninteresting, by _exquisite expression_ and _pleasing digressions_.
2. The PASTORAL poem may be considered as a lower species of the
_Drama_. But, its subject being the _humble concerns_ of Shepherds,
there seems no room for a tragic _Plot_; and their characters are
too simple to afford materials for comic _drawing_. Their _scene_ is
indeed inchanting to the imagination. And, together with this, their
little distresses may sooth us in a short song; or their fancies and
humours may entertain us in a short Dialogue. And that this is the
proper province of the Pastoral Muse, we may see by the ill success of
those who have laboured to extend it. Tasso’s project was admired for
a time. But we, now, understand that pastoral affairs will not admit
a tragic pathos. And the continuance of the pastoral vein, through
five long acts, is found insipid, or even distasteful. This poem then
has returned to that form which its inventors gave it, and which the
_subject_ so naturally prescribes to it.
II. But, though the _common end_ of poetry, which is to _please by
imitation_, together with the subjects of its several species, may
determine the _general plan_, yet is there nothing, it may be said,
in the nature of things to fix _the order and connexion of single
parts_. And here, it will be owned, is great room for _invention_
to shew itself. The materials of poetry may be put together in so
many different manners, consistently with the _form_ which governs
each species, that nothing but the power of _imitation_ can be
reasonably thought to produce _a close and perpetual similarity_ in
the composition of two works. I have said _a close and perpetual
similarity_; for it is not every degree of resemblance, that will do
here.
The _general plan itself_ of any poem will occasion some unavoidable
conformities in the disposition of its component parts. The _identity_
or _similarity_ of the subject may create others. Or, if no other
assimilating cause intervene, the very uniformity of common nature,
will, of necessity, introduce some. To explain myself as to the last of
these _causes_.
The principal constituent members of any work, next to the essential
parts of the _fable_, are EPISODES, DESCRIPTIONS, SIMILES. By
_descriptions_ I understand as well the delineation of _characters_
in their _speeches and imputed sentiments_, as of _places or things_
in the draught of their attending circumstances. Now not only the
materials of these are common to all poets, but the same identical
manner of assemblage in application of _each_ in any poem will, in
numberless cases, appear necessary.
1. The _episode_ belongs, principally, to the epic muse; and the design
of it is to diversify and ennoble the narration by _digressive_, yet
not _unrelated_, ornaments; the _former_ circumstance relieving the
_simplicity_ of the epic fable, while the _other_ prevents its _unity_
from being violated. Now these episodical narrations must either
proceed from the poet himself, or be imputed to some other who is
engaged in the course of the fable; and in either case, must help,
indirectly at least, to forward it.
If of the _latter_ kind, a probable pretext must be contrived for
their introduction; which can be no other than that of satisfying the
_curiosity_, or of serving to the necessary _information_ of some
other. And in either of these ways a striking conformity in the mode of
conducting the work is unavoidable.
If the _episode_ be referred to the _former_ class, its _manner_ of
introduction will admit a greater latitude. For it will vary with the
subject, or occasions of relating it. Yet we shall mistake, if we
believe these subjects, and consequently the occasions, connected with
them, very numerous. 1. They must be of uncommon dignity and splendor;
otherwise nothing can excuse the going out of the way to insert them.
2. They must have some apparent connection with the fable. 3. They
must further accord to the idea and state of the times, from which
the _fable_ is taken. Put these things together, and see if they will
not, with probability, account for some coincidence _in the choice
and applications_ of the _direct_ episode. And admitting this, the
similarity of even _its_ constituent parts is, also, necessary.
The genius of Virgil never suffers more in the opinion of his
critics, than when his _book of games_ comes into consideration and
is confronted with Homer’s. It is not unpleasant to observe the
difficulties an advocate for his fame is put to in this nice point, to
secure his honour from the imputation of _plagiarism_. The descriptions
are accurately examined; and the improvement of a single circumstance,
the addition of an epithet, even the novelty of a metaphor, or varied
turn in the expression, is diligently remarked and urged, with triumph,
in favour of his invention. Yet all this goes but a little way towards
stilling the clamour. The entire design is manifestly taken; nay,
particular incidents and circumstantials are, for the most part, the
same, without variation. What shall we say, then, to this charge? Shall
we, in defiance of truth and fact, endeavour to confute it? Or, if
allowed, is there any method of supporting the reputation of the poet?
I think there is, if prejudice will but suspend its determinations a
few minutes, and afford his advocate a fair hearing.
The epic plan, more especially that of the Aeneis, naturally
comprehends whatever is most august in _civil_ and _religious_ affairs.
The solemnities of funeral rites, and the festivities of public games
(which religion had made an essential part of them) were, of necessity,
to be included in a representation of the _latter_. But what _games_?
Surely those, which ancient heroism vaunted to excell in; those, which
the usage of the times had consecrated; and which, from the opinion of
reverence and dignity entertained of them, were become most fit for the
pomp of epic description. Further, what _circumstances_ could be noted
in these sports? Certainly those, which befell most usually, and were
the aptest to alarm the spectator, and make him take an interest in
them. These, it will be said, are numerous. They are so; yet such as
are most to the poet’s purpose, are, with little or no variation, the
same. It happened luckily for him, that two of his _games_, on which
accordingly he hath exerted all the force of his genius, were entirely
new. This advantage, the circumstances of the times afforded him. The
_Naumachia_ was purely his own. Yet so liable are even the best and
most candid judges to be haunted by this spectre of _imitation_, that
_one_, whom every friend to every human excellence honours, cannot
help, on comparing it with the _chariot-race_ of Homer, exclaiming in
these words: “What is the encounter of Cloanthus and Gyas in the strait
between the rocks, but the same with that of Menelaus and Antilochus in
the hollow way? Had the galley of Serjestus been broken, if the chariot
of Eumelus had not been demolished? Or, Mnestheus been cast from the
helm, had not the other been thrown from his seat?” The plain truth is,
it was not possible, in describing an ancient _sea-fight_, for one,
who had even never seen Homer, to overlook such usual and striking
particulars, as the _justling of ships, the breaking of galleys, and
loss of pilots_.
It may appear from this instance, with what reason a similarity
of circumstance, in the other games, hath been objected. The
_subject-matter_ admitted not any material variation: I mean in the
hands of so judicious a copier of Nature as Virgil. For,
“Homer and Nature were, he found, the same.”
So that we are not to wonder he kept close to his author, though at
the expence of this false fame of _Originality_. Nay it appears
directly from a remarkable instance that in the case before us, He
unquestionably judged right.
A defect of _natural ability_ is not that, which the critics have
been most forward to charge upon _Statius_. A person of true taste,
who, in a fanciful way, hath contrived to give us the just character
of the Latin poets, in assigning to this poet the topmost station
on Parnassus, sufficiently acknowledges the vigour and activity of
his genius. Yet, in composing his _Thebaid_ (an old story taken from
the heroic ages, which obliged him to the celebration of _funeral
obsequies_ with the attending solemnities of _public games_) to avoid
the dishonour of following too closely on the heels of Homer and
Virgil, who had not only taken the same _route_, but pursued it in the
most direct and natural course, he resolved, at all adventures, to keep
at due distance from them, and to make his way, as well as he could,
more _obliquely_ to the same end. To accomplish this project, he was
forced, though in the description of the same individual _games_, to
look out for different _circumstances and events_ in them; that so the
identity of his _subject_, which he could not avoid, might, in some
degree, be atoned for by the diversity of his _manner_ in treating it.
It must be owned, that great ingenuity as well as industry hath been
used, in executing this design. Had it been practicable, the character,
just given of this poet, makes it credible, he must have succeeded
in it. Yet, so impossible it is, without deserting nature herself,
to dissent from her faithful copiers, that the main objection to the
sixth book of the _Thebaid_ hath arisen from this fruitless endeavour
of being _original_, where common sense and the reason of the thing
would not permit it. “In the particular descriptions of each of these
games (says the great writer before quoted, and from whose sentence in
matters of taste, there lies no appeal) _Statius_ hath not borrowed
from either of his predecessors, _and his poem is so much the worse for
it_.”
2. The case of DESCRIPTION is still clearer, and, after what has
been so largely discoursed on the _subjects_ of it, will require but
few words. For it must have appeared, in considering them, that not
only the _objects_ themselves are necessarily obtruded on the poet,
but that the _occasions_ of introducing them are also restrained
by many limitations. If we reflect a little, we shall find, that
they grow out of the _action_ represented, which, in the greater
poetry, implies a great _similarity_, even when most _different_.
What, for instance, is the purpose of _the epic poet_, but to shew
his hero under the most awful and interesting circumstances of human
life? To this end some general design is formed. He must _war_ with
Achilles, or _voyage_ with Ulysses. And, to work up his _fable_ to
that _magnificence_, ΜΕΓΑΛΟΠΡΕΠΕΙΑΝ, which Aristotle rightly observes
to be the characteristic of this poem, _heaven_ and _hell_ must also
be interested in the success of his enterprise. And what is this, in
_effect_, but to own, that the pomp of _epic description_, in its
draught of _battles_, with its several _accidents_; of _storms_,
_shipwrecks_, &c. _of the intervention of gods_, or _machination of
devils_, is, in great measure, determined, not only as to the _choice_,
but _application_ of it, to the poet’s hands? And the like conclusion
extends to still minuter particularities.
What concerns the delineation of _characters_ may seem to carry with
it more difficulty. Yet, though these are infinitely diversified by
distinct peculiar lineaments, poetry cannot help falling into the same
_general_ representation. For it is conversant about the _greater
characters_; such as demand the imputation of like _manners_, and who
are actuated by the same governing _passions_. To set off these, _the
same combination of circumstances_ must frequently be imagined; at
least so _similar_, as to bring on the same series of representation.
The _piety_ of _one_ hero, and the _love of his country_, which
characterizes _another_, can only be shewn by the influence of the
_ruling principle_ in each, constraining them to neglect inferior
considerations, and to give up all subordinate affections to it. The
more prevalent the _affection_, the greater the _sacrifice_, and the
more strongly is the _character_ marked. Hence, without doubt, the
_Calypso_ of Homer. And need we look farther than the instructions
of _common nature_ for a similar contrivance in a _later_ poet? Not
to be tedious on a matter, which admits no dispute, the dramatic
writings of all times may convince us of _two things_, 1. “_that the
actuating passions of men are universally and invariably the same_;”
and 2. “_that they express themselves constantly in similar effects_.”
Or, one single small volume, _the characters of Theophrastus_,
will sufficiently do it. And what more is required to justify this
consequence, “that _the descriptions of characters_, even in the most
original _designers_, will resemble each other;” and “that the very
_contexture_ of a work, designed to evidence them in _action_, will,
under the management of different writers, be, frequently, much the
same?” A _conclusion_, which indeed is neither mine nor any novel one,
but was long ago insisted on by a discerning ancient, and applied to
the comic drama, in these words,
—_Si personis isdem uti aliis non licet,
Qui magis licet currentis servos scribere,
Bonas matronas facere, meretrices malas,
Parasitum edacem, gloriosum militem,
Puerum supponi, falli per servum senem_,
AMARE, ODISSE, SUSPICARI?