Part 9

The description of the groom is less lively than of the others; plainly because the expression, being vague and general, tends not to form any image. “Dives opum variarum[41],” is an expression still more vague; and so are the following.

Mæcenas, mearum Grande decus, columenque rerum. _Horat. Carm. l. 2. ode 17._

et fide Teia Dices laborantes in uno Penelopen, vitreamque Circen. _Horat. Carm. l. 1. ode 17._

In the fine arts, it is a rule, to put the capital objects in the strongest point of view; and even to present them oftener than once, where it can be done. In history-painting, the principal figure is placed in the front, and in the best light: an equestrian statue is placed in a centre of streets, that it may be seen from many places at once. In no composition is there a greater opportunity for this rule than in writing:

Sequitur pulcherrimus Astur, Astur equo fidens et versicoloribus armis. _Æneid._ x. 180.

Full many a lady I’ve ey’d with best regard, and many a time Th’ harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear, for several virtues Have I lik’d several women, never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow’d, And put it to the foil. But you, O you, So perfect, and so peerless, are created Of every creature’s best. _The Tempest, act 3. sc. 1._

With thee conversing I forget all time; All seasons and their change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flow’r, Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertil earth After soft showers; and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening mild, the silent night With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, And these the gems of heav’n, her starry train: But neither breath of morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower, Glistering with dew, nor fragrance after showers, Nor grateful evening mild, nor silent night, With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon, Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet. _Paradise Lost, book_ 4. l. 634.

What mean ye, that ye use this proverb, The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge? As I live, saith the Lord God, ye shall not have occasion to use this proverb in Israel. If a man keep my judgements to deal truly, he is just, he shall surely live. But if he be a robber, a shedder of blood; if he have eaten upon the mountains, and defiled his neighbour’s wife; if he have oppressed the poor and needy, have spoiled by violence, have not restored the pledge, have lift up his eyes to idols, have given forth upon usury, and have taken increase: shall he live? he shall not live: he shall surely die; and his blood shall be upon him. Now, lo, if he beget a son, that seeth all his father’s sins, and considereth, and doth not such like; that hath not eaten upon the mountains, hath not lift up his eyes to idols, nor defiled his neighbour’s wife, hath not oppressed any nor with held the pledge, neither hath spoiled by violence, but hath given his bread to the hungry, and covered the naked with a garment; that hath not received usury nor increase, that hath executed my judgments, and walked in my statutes; he shall not die for the iniquity of his father; he shall surely live. The soul that sinneth, it shall die: the son shall not bear the iniquity of the father; neither shall the father bear the iniquity of the son; the righteousness of the righteous shall be upon him, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon him. Have I any pleasure that the wicked should die? saith the Lord God; and not that he should return from his ways and live.

_Ezekiel_ xviii.

The repetitions in Homer, which are frequent, have been the occasion of much criticism. Suppose we were at a loss about the reason, might not taste be sufficient to justify them? At the same time, one must be devoid of understanding not to be sensible, that they make the narration dramatic; and give an air of truth, by making things appear as passing in our sight.

A concise comprehensive style is a great ornament in narration; and a superfluity of unnecessary words, not less than of circumstances, a great nuisance. A judicious selection of the striking circumstances, cloathed in a nervous style, is delightful. In this style, Tacitus excels all writers, ancient and modern. Instances are numberless: take the following specimen.

Crebra hinc prælia, et sæpius in modum latrocinii: per saltus, per paludes; ut cuique sors aut virtus: temere, proviso, ob iram, ob prædam, jussu, et aliquando ignaris ducibus.

_Annal. lib._ 12. § 39.

If a concise or nervous style be a beauty, tautology must be a blemish. And yet writers, fettered by verse, are not sufficiently careful to avoid this slovenly practice: they may be pitied, but they cannot be justified. Take for a specimen the following instances, from the best poet, for versification at least, that England has to boast of:

High on his helm celestial lightnings play, His beamy shield emits a living ray, Th’ unweary’d blaze incessant streams supplies, Like the red star that fires th’ autumnal skies. _Iliad_ v. 5.

Strength and omnipotence invest thy throne. _Iliad_ viii. 576.

So silent fountains, from a rock’s tall head, In sable streams soft-trickling waters shed. _Iliad_ ix. 19.

His clanging armour rung. _Iliad_ xii. 94.

Fear on their cheek, and horror in their eye. _Iliad_ xv. 4.

The blaze of armour flash’d against the day. _Iliad_ xvii. 736.

As when the piercing blasts of Boreas blow. _Iliad_ xix. 380.

And like the moon, the broad refulgent shield Blaz’d with long rays, and gleam’d athwart the field. _Iliad_ xix. 402.

No--could our swiftness o’er the winds prevail, Or beat the pinions of the western gale, All were in vain---- _Iliad_ xix. 460.

The humid sweat from ev’ry pore descends. _Iliad_ xxiii. 829.

Redundant epithets, such as _humid_, in the last citation, are by Quintilian disallowed to orators, but indulged to poets[42]; because his favourite poets, in a few instances, are reduced to such epithets for the sake of versification. For instance, _Prata canis albicant pruinis_, of Horace, and _liquidos fontes_, of Virgil.

As an apology for such careless expressions, it may well suffice, that Pope, in submitting to be a translator, acts below his genius. In a translation, it is hard to require the same spirit or accuracy, that is chearfully bestowed on an original work. And to support the reputation of this author, I shall give some instances from Virgil and Horace, more faulty by redundancy than any of those above mentioned:

Sæpe etiam immensum cœlo venit agmen aquarum, Et fœdam glomerant tempestatem imbribus atris Collectæ ex alto nubes: ruit arduus æther, Et pluviâ ingenti sata læta, boumque labores Diluit. _Georg. lib._ i. 322.

Postquam altum tenuere rates, nec jam amplius ullæ Apparent terræ; cœlum undique et undique pontus: Tum mihi cœruleus supra caput astitit imber, Noctem hyememque ferens: et inhorruit unda tenebris. _Æneid. lib._ iii. 191.

Hinc tibi copia Manabit ad plenum benigno Ruris honorum opulenta cornu. _Horat. Carm. lib. 1. ode 17._

Videre fessos vomerem inversum boves Collo trahentes languido. _Horat. Epod._ ii. 63.

Here I can luckily apply Horace’s rule against himself:

Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures. _Serm. lib. 1. sat. x. 9._

I close this chapter with a curious inquiry. An object, however ugly to the sight, is far from being so when represented by colours or by words. What is the cause of this difference? The cause with respect to painting is obvious. A good picture, whatever the subject be, is agreeable, because of the pleasure we take in imitation: the agreeableness of imitation overbalances the disagreeableness of the subject; and the picture upon the whole is agreeable. It requires a greater compass to explain the cause with respect to the description of an ugly object. To connect individuals in the social state, no one particular contributes more than language, by the power it possesses of an expeditious communication of thought and a lively representation of transactions. But nature hath not been satisfied to recommend language by its utility merely: it is made susceptible of many beauties that have no relation to utility, which are directly felt without the intervention of any reflection[43]. And this unfolds the mystery; for the pleasure of language is so great, as in a lively description to overbalance the disagreeableness of the image raised by it[44]. This however is no encouragement to deal in disagreeable subjects; for the pleasure is out of sight greater where the subject and the description are both of them agreeable.

The following description is upon the whole agreeable, though the subject described is in itself dismal.

Nine times the space that measures day and night To mortal men, he with his horrid crew Lay vanquish’d, rowling in the fiery gulf Confounded though immortal: but his doom Reserv’d him to more wrath; for now the thought Both of lost happiness and lasting pain Torments him; round he throws his baleful eyes That witness’d huge affliction and dismay, Mix’d with obdurate pride and stedfast hate: At once as far as angels ken he views The dismal situation waste and wild: A dungeon horrible, on all sides round As one great furnace flam’d; yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible Serv’d only to discover sights of wo, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all; but torture without end Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed With ever burning sulphur unconsum’d: Such place eternal justice had prepar’d For those rebellious. _Paradise Lost, book 1. l. 50_.

An unmanly depression of spirits in time of danger is not an agreeable sight; and yet a fine description or representation of it will be relished:

_K. Richard_. What must the King do now? must he submit? The King shall do it: must he be depos’d? The King shall be contented: must he lose The name of King? O’ God’s name, let it go: I’ll give my jewels for a set of beads; My gorgeous palace, for a hermitage; My gay apparel, for an almsman’s gown; My figur’d goblets, for a dish of wood; My sceptre, for a palmer’s walking staff; My subjects, for a pair of carved saints; And my large kingdom, for a little grave; A little, little grave;---- an obscure grave. Or I’ll be bury’d in the King’s highway; Some way of common tread, where subjects feet May hourly trample on their sovereign’s head: For on my heart they tread now, whilst I live; And, bury’d once, why not upon my head? _Richard II. act 3. sc. 6._

Objects that strike terror in a spectator, have in poetry and painting a fine effect. The picture, by raising a slight emotion of terror, agitates the mind; and in that condition every beauty makes a deep impression. May not contrast heighten the pleasure, by opposing our present security to the danger we would be in by encountering the object represented?

The other shape, If shape it might be call’d, that shape had none Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb; Or substance might be call’d that shadow seem’d, For each seem’d either; black it stood as night, Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell, And shook a dreadful dart. _Paradise Lost, book 2. l. 666._

Now storming fury rose, And clamour such as heard in heav’n till now Was never, arms on armour clashing bray’d Horrible discord, and the madding wheels Of brazen chariots rag’d; dire was the noise Of conflict; over-head the dismal hiss Of fiery darts in flaming vollies flew, And flying vaulted either host with fire. So under fiery cope together rush’d Both battles main, with ruinous assault And inextinguishable rage; all heav’n Resounded, and had earth been then, all earth Had to her centre shook. _Paradise Lost, book 6. l. 207._

_Ghost._-------- But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotty and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful porcupine: But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood. _Hamlet, act 1. sc. 8._

_Gratiano._ Poor Desdemona! I’m glad thy father’s dead: Thy match was mortal to him; and pure grief Shore his old thread in twain. Did he live now, This sight would make him do a desp’rate turn: Yea, curse his better angel from his side, And fall to reprobation. _Othello, act 5. sc. 8._

Objects of horror must be excepted from the foregoing theory; for no description, however masterly, is sufficient to overbalance the disgust raised even by the idea of such an object. Every thing horrible ought therefore to be avoided in a description. Nor is this a severe law: the poet will avoid such scenes for his own sake, as well as for that of his reader; and to vary his descriptions, nature affords plenty of objects that disgust us in some degree without raising horror. I am obliged therefore to condemn the picture of sin in the second book of _Paradise Lost_, though drawn with a masterly hand. The original would be a horrible spectacle; and the horror is not much softened in the copy.

Pensive here I sat Alone, but long I sat not, till my womb Pregnant by thee, and now excessive grown Prodigious motion felt and rueful throes. At last this odious offspring whom thou seest, Thine own begotten, breaking violent way, Tore through my intrails, that with fear and pain Distorted, all my nether shape thus grew Transform’d; but he my inbred enemy Forth issu’d, brandishing his fatal dart, Made to destroy: I fled, and cry’d out Death; Hell trembl’d at the hideous name, and sigh’d From all her caves, and back resounded Death. I fled, but he pursu’d, (though more, it seems, Inflam’d with lust than rage), and swifter far, Me overtook, his mother all dismay’d, And in embraces forcible and foul Ingendring with me, of that rape begot These yelling monsters that with ceaseless cry Surround me, as thou saw’st, hourly conceiv’d And hourly born, with sorrow infinite To me; for when they list, into the womb That bred them they return, and howl and gnaw My bowels, their repast; then bursting forth A fresh with conscious terrors vex me round, That rest or intermission none I find. Before mine eyes in opposition sits Grim Death, my son and foe, who sets them on, And me his parent would full soon devour For want of other prey, but that he knows His end with mine involv’d; and knows that I Should prove a bitter morsel, and his bane, Whenever that shall be. _Book 2. l. 777._

Iago’s character in the tragedy of _Othello_, is so monstrous and satanical, as not to be sufferable in a representation: not even Shakespear’s masterly hand can make the picture agreeable.

* * * * *

Though the objects introduced in the following scenes, are not altogether so horrible as Sin is in Milton’s picture; yet with every person of taste, disgust will be the prevailing emotion.

---- Strophades Graio stant nomine dictæ Insulæ Ionio in magno: quas dira Celæno, Harpyiæque colunt aliæ: Phineia postquam Clausa domus, mensasque metu liquere priores. Tristius haud illis monstrum, nec sævior ulla Pestis et ira Deûm Stygiis sese extulit undis. Virginei volucrum vultus, fœdissima ventris Proluvies, uncæque manus, et pallida semper. Ora fame. Huc ubi delati portus intravimus: ecce Læta boum passim campis armenta videmus, Caprigenumque pecus, nullo custode, per herbas. Irruimus ferro, et Divos ipsumque vocamus In prædam partemque Jovem: tunc littore curvo Extruimusque toros, dapibusque epulamur opimis. At subitæ horrifico lapsu de montibus adsunt Harpyiæ: et magnis quatiunt clangoribus alas: Diripiuntque dapes, contactuque omnia fœdant Immundo: tum vox tetrum dira inter odorem.

_Æneid. lib_. iii. 210.

Sum patria ex Ithaca, comes infelicis Ulyssei, Nomen Achemenides: Trojam, genitore Adamasto Paupere (mansissetque utinam fortuna!) profectus. Hic me, dum trepidi crudelia limina linquunt, Immemores socii vasto Cyclopis in antro Deseruere. Domus sanie dapibusque cruentis, Intus opaca, ingens: ipse arduus, altaque pulsat Sidera: (Dii, talem terris avertite pestem) Nec visu facilis, nec dictu affabilis ulli. Visceribus miserorum, et sanguine vescitur atro. Vidi egomet, duo de numero cum corpora nostro, Prensa manu magna, medio resupinus in antro, Frangeret ad saxum, sanieque aspersa natarent Limina: vidi, atro cum membra fluentia tabo Manderet, et tepidi tremerent sub dentibus artus. Haud impune quidem: nec talia passus Ulysses, Oblitusve sui est Ithacus discrimine tanto. Nam simul expletus dapibus, vinoque sepultus Cervicem inflexam posuit, jacuitque per antrum Immensus, saniem eructans, ac frusta cruento Per somnum commixta mero; nos, magna precati Numina, sortitique vices, unà undique circum Fundimur, et telo lumen terebramus acuto Ingens, quod torva solum sub fronte latebat.

_Æneid. lib._. iii 613.

CHAP. XXII.

Epic and Dramatic Compositions.

Tragedy differs from the epic more in form than in substance. The ends proposed by each are instruction and amusement; and each of them copy human actions as means to bring about these ends. They differ in the manner only of copying. Epic poetry deals in narration: Tragedy represents its facts as transacted in our sight. In the former, the poet introduces himself as an historian: in the latter he presents his actors and never himself[45].

This difference, regarding form only, may be thought slight; but the effects it occasions, are by no means so. What we see, makes a stronger impression than what we learn from others. A narrative poem is a story told by another: facts and incidents passing upon the stage, come under our own observation; and are beside much enlivened by action and gesture, expressive of many sentiments beyond the reach of language.

A dramatic composition has another property, independent altogether of action. A dialogue makes a deeper impression than a narration: because in the former persons express their own sentiments; whereas in the latter sentiments are related at second hand. For that reason, Aristotle, the father of critics, lays it down as a rule, That in an epic poem the author ought to take every opportunity to introduce his actors, and to confine the narrative part within the narrowest bounds[46]. Homer understood perfectly the advantage of this method; and his poems are both of them in a great measure dramatic. Lucan runs to the opposite extreme; and is guilty of a still greater fault: the _Pharsalia_ is stuffed with cold and languid reflections; the merit of which the author assumes to himself, and deigns not to share with his personages. Nothing can be more impertinent, than a chain of such reflections, which suspend the battle of Pharsalia after the leaders had made their speeches, and the two armies are ready to engage[47].

Aristotle, from the nature of the fable, divides tragedy into simple and complex. But it is of greater moment, with respect to dramatic as well as epic poetry, to found a distinction upon the different ends attained by such compositions. A poem, whether dramatic or epic, that hath no tendency beyond moving the passions and exhibiting pictures of virtue and vice, may be distinguished by the name of _pathetic_. But where a story is purposely contrived to illustrate some important lesson of morality, by showing the natural connection betwixt disorderly passions and external misfortunes, such composition may be denominated _moral_[48]. It indeed conveys moral instruction with a perspicuity that is not exceeded by the most accurate reasoning; and makes a deeper impression than any moral discourse can do. To be satisfied of this, we need but reflect, that a man whose affections are justly balanced, hath a better chance to escape misfortunes, than one who is a slave to every passion. Indeed, nothing is more evident, than the natural connection that vice hath with misery, and virtue with happiness; and such connection may be illustrated, by stating a fact as well as by urging an argument. Let us assume, for example, the following moral truths, That discord among the chiefs, renders ineffectual all common measures; and that the consequences of a slightly-founded quarrel, fostered by pride and arrogance, are not less fatal than those of the grossest injury. These truths may be inculcated, by the quarrel betwixt Agamemnon and Achilles at the siege of Troy. In this view, it ought to be the poet’s chief aim, to invent proper circumstances, presenting to our view the natural consequences of such discord. These circumstances must seem to arise in the common course of human affairs: no accidental or unaccountable event ought to be indulged; for the necessary or probable connection betwixt vice and misery, is learned from no events but what are governed by the characters and passions of the persons represented. A real event of which we see no cause, may be a lesson to us; because what hath happened may again happen: but this cannot be inferred from a story that is known to be fictitious.