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

poets.

In conclusion of all that has been delivered on the subject of these _satyrs_, it may be amusing to the learned reader to hear a celebrated French critic express himself in the following manner: “_Les Romains donnoient_ encore le nom de Satyre à une espece de _Piece Pastorale_; qui tenoit, _dit on_ le milieu entre la Tragedie et la Comedie. _C’est tout ce que nous en sçavons._” [_Mem. de l’Hist. des Belles Lett._ tom. xvii. p. 211.]

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264. ET DATA ROMANIS VENIA EST INDIGNA POETIS.] It appears certainly, that what is said here concerning the metre of dramatic poems, was peculiarly calculated for the correction of the Roman negligence, and inaccuracy in this respect. This, if it had not been so expresly told us, would have been seen from the few remaining fragments of the old Latin plays, in which a remarkable carelessness of numbers is observed. This gives a presumption, that, with the like advantage of consulting them, it would also appear, that the rest of the poet’s rules were directed to the same end, and that even such, as are delivered in the most absolute and general form, had a peculiar reference, agreeably to what is here taught of the plan of this poem, to the corresponding defects in the state of the Roman stage.

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270. AT VESTRI PROAVI PLAUTINOS ET NUMEROS ET LAUDAVERE SALES; NIMIUM PATIENTER UTRUMQUE, NE DICAM STULTE, MIRATI;] It hath been thought strange, that Horace should pass so severe a censure on the _wit_ of Plautus, which yet appeared to Cicero so admirable, that he speaks of it as _elegans, urbanum, ingeniosum, facetum_. [De Off. i. 29.] Nor can it be said, that this difference of judgment was owing to the improved delicacy of taste for wit, in the Augustan age, since it doth not appear, that Horace’s own jokes, when he attempts to divert us in this way, are at all better than Cicero’s.

The common answer, so far as it respects the poet, is, I believe, the true one: “that endeavouring to beat down the excessive veneration of the elder Roman poets, and, among the rest (as appears from 2 Ep. i. and A. P. 54.) of Plautus, he censures, without reserve, every the least defect in his writings; though, in general, he agreed with Cicero in admiring him.” But then this was all. For that he was not so over-nice as to dislike Plautus’ wit in the main, and, but in this view, probably had not criticized him at all, I collect from his express approbation of the wit of the old _comedy_; which certainly was not more delicate, than that of _Plautus_.

_ridiculum acri Fortius et melius magnas plerumque secat res. Illi, scripta quibus comœdia prisca viris est, Hoc stabant_, HOC SUNT IMITANDI. I S. x. 15.

I know, it hath been thought, that, even in this very place, where he censures the wit of Plautus, he directs us _ad Græca exemplaria_, i. e. as his critics understand him, to Aristophanes, and the other writers of the old Comedy; but such a direction in this place, were altogether improper, and the supposition is, besides, a palpable mistake. For the _Græca exemplaria_ are referred to _only_, as models in exact versification, as the tenor of the place fully shews. And what Horace afterwards remarks on the wit of Plautus, in addition to the observations on metre, is a new and distinct criticism, and hath no kind of reference to the preceding direction. But still, as I said, Horace appears no such enemy to the old comic wit, as, without the particular reason assigned, to have so severely condemned it. The difficulty is to account for Cicero’s so peculiar admiration of it, and that a taste, otherwise so exact, as his, should delight in the coarse humour of Plautus, and the old comedy. The case, I believe, was this:

Cicero had imbibed a strong relish of the frank and libertine wit of the old comedy, as best suited to the genius of popular eloquence; which, though it demands to be tempered with some urbanity, yet never attains its end so effectually, as when let down and accommodated, in some certain degree, to the general taste and manners of the people. This Cicero in effect owns, when he tells us, the main end of jesting at the bar [De Orat. ccxl.] is, not to acquire the credit of consummate humour, but to carry the cause, _ut proficiamus aliquid_: that is, _to make an impression on the people_; which is generally, we know, better done by a coarser joke, than by the elegance of refined raillery. And that this was the real ground of Cicero’s preference of the old comedy to the new, may be concluded, not only from the nature of the thing, and his own example (for he was ever reckoned intemperate in his jests, which by no means answer to the elegance of his character) but is certainly collected from what Quintilian, in his account of it, expresly observes of the old comedy, _Nescio an ulla poesis (post Homerum) aut similior sit oratoribus, aut ad oratores faciendos aptior_. The reason, doubtless, was, that _strength_, and _prompt and eloquent freedom_, _Vires et facundissima libertas_, which he had before observed, so peculiarly belonged to it.

And this, I think, will go some way towards clearing an embarrassing circumstance in the history of the Roman learning, which I know not, if any writer hath yet taken notice of. It is, that though Menander and the authors of the new comedy were afterwards admired, as the only masters of the comic drama, yet this does not appear to have been seen, or, at least, so fully acknowledged, by the Roman writers, till after the Augustan age; notwithstanding that the Roman taste was, from that time, visibly declining. The reason, I doubt not, was, that the popular eloquence, which continued, in a good degree of vigour, to that time, participating more of the freedom of the _old_ comic banter, and rejecting, as improper to its end, the refinements of the _new_, insensibly depraved the public taste; which, by degrees only, and not till a studied and cautious declamation had, by the necessary influence of absolute power, succeeded to the liberty of their old oratory, was fully reconciled to the delicacy and strict decorum of Menander’s wit. Even the case of Terence, which, at first sight, might seem to bear hard against it, confirms this account. This poet, struck with the supreme elegance of Menander’s manner, and attempting too soon, before the public taste was sufficiently formed for it, to bring it on the stage, had occasion for all the credit, his noble patrons could give him, to support himself against the popular clamour. What was the object of that _clamour_, we learn from a curious passage in one of his prologues, where his adversary is made to object,

_Quas—fecit—fabulas Tenui esse oratione et scriptura levi_. Prol. ad Phorm.

The sense of which is not, as his commentators have idly thought, _that his style was low and trifling_, for this could never be pretended, but _that his dialogue was insipid, and his characters, and, in general, his whole composition, without that comic heightening, which their vitiated tastes required_. This further appears from those common verses of Cæsar, where, characterizing the genius of Terence’s plays, as devoid of this comic spirit, he calls them _lenia scripta_:

LENIBUS _atque utinam_ SCRIPTIS _adjuncta foret vis_ COMICA:

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

But this famous judgment of Cæsar deserves to be scrutinized more narrowly. For it may be said “that by _vis comica_ I suppose him to mean the comic drollery of the _old_ and _middle_ comedy; whereas it is more probable he meant the elegant but high humour of the best writers of the _new_, particularly of Menander; why else doth he call Terence, “_Dimidiate Menander_?” There is the more force in this objection, because _the elegant but high humour_, here mentioned, is of the truest merit in comedy; and because Menander, of whom the ancients speak so honourably, and whom we only know by their encomiums, may be reasonably thought to have excelled in it. What occurs in answer to it, is this.

1. The Ancients are generally allowed to have had very little of what we now understand by _comic humour_. Lucian is the _first_, indeed the only one, who hath properly left us any considerable specimens of it. And he is almost modern with regard to the writers under consideration. But,

2. That _Menander and the writers of the new comedy did not excel in it_, is probable for these reasons.

1. The most judicious critic of antiquity, when he is purposely considering the excellencies of the Greek comedians, and, what is more, exposing the comparative deficiencies of the Roman, says not a word of it. He thinks, indeed, that _Terence’s_, which yet he pronounces to be most elegant, is but the faintest shadow of the Greek, comedy. But then his reason is, _quod sermo ipse Romanus non recipere videatur illam solis concessam Atticis venerem_. [L. x. 1.] It seems then as if the main defect, which this critic observed in Terence’s comedy, was a want of that inexplicable grace of language, which so peculiarly belonged to the Greeks; a grace of so subtle a nature that even they could only catch it in one dialect—_quando eam ne Græci quidem in alio genere linguæ non obtinuerint_. [Ib.]”

2. Some of Terence’s plays may be almost said to be direct translations from Menander. And the comic humour, supposed in the objection, being of the truest taste, no reason can be imagined why the poet should so industriously avoid to transfuse this last and highest grace into his comedy. Especially since the popular cry against him proceeded from hence, that he was wanting in comic pleasantry; a _want_, which by a stricter attention to this virtue of his great original, supposing Menander to have been possessed of it, he might so easily have supplied. And lest it should be thought he omitted to do this, as not conceiving any thing of this _virtue_, or as not approving it, we find in him, but rarely indeed, some delicate touches, which approach as nearly as any thing in antiquity to this genuine comic humour. Of which kind is that in the _Hecyra_:

_Tum tu igitur nihil adtulisti huc plus unâ sententiâ?_

For these reasons I should suppose that _Menander_ and the writers of the new comedy, from whom Terence copied, had little of this beauty.

But what shall we say then to Cæsar’s _dimidiate Menander_? It refers, I believe, solely to what Quintilian, as we have seen, observed, that, with all his emulation of Attic elegance, he was unable, through the native stubbornness of the Latin tongue, to come up to the Greek comedy. The very text of Cæsar leads to this meaning.

_Tu quoque, tu in summis, ô dimidiate Menander, Poneris, et merito_, PURI SERMONIS AMATOR.

His excellence consisted in the _purity and urbanity of his expression_, in which praise if he still fell short of his master, the fault was not in him, but the intractability of his language. And in this view Cæsar’s address carries with it the highest _compliment_. Quintilian had said in relation to this point, _Vix levem consequimur umbram_. But Cæsar, in a fond admiration of his merit, cries out,

_Tu quoque_, TU _in summis_, Ô DIMIDIATE MENANDER.

His _censure_ of him is delivered in the following lines:

_Lenibus atque utinam scriptis adjuncta foret vis Comica, ut æquato virtus polleret honore Cum Græcis, neque in hâc despectus parte jaceres; Unum hoc maceror et doleo tibi deesse, Terenti._

Which, again, gives no countenance to the supposition of Menander’s excelling in _comic humour_. For he does not say, that with the addition of this talent he had equalled _Menander_, but in general, the GREEKS—_æquato virtus polleret honore cum_ GRÆCIS. And this was what occasioned Cæsar’s regret. He wished to see him unite all the merits of the Greek comedy. As far as the Latin tongue would permit, he had shewn himself a master of the elegance of the _new_. What he further required in him was the strong wit and satyr of the _old_. His favourite had then rivalled, in every praise, the Greek writers.

And, if this be admitted, nothing hinders but that by _vis comica_ Cæsar may be understood to mean (how consistently with the admired urbanity of Terence is not the question) the comic pleasantry of the middle or old comedy.

The thing indeed could hardly be otherwise. For Plautus, who chiefly copied, from the _middle_ comedy, had, by the drollery of his wit, and the buffoon pleasantry of his scenes, so enchanted the people as to continue the reigning favourite of the stage, even long after Afranius and Terence had appeared on it. Nay the humour continued through the Augustan age[25], when, as we learn from Horace, in many parts of his writings, the public applause still followed Plautus; in whom though himself could see many faults, yet he does not appear to have gone so far, as, upon the whole, to give the preference to Terence. Afterwards indeed the case altered. Paterculus admires; and Plutarch and Quintilian are perfectly charmed: _ita omnem vitæ imaginem expressit, ita est omnibus rebus, personis, affectibus accommodatus_. This character, one would think, should have fitted him also for a complete model to the orator. And this, as might be expected, was Quintilian’s opinion. For, though he saw, as appears from the passage already quoted, that the writers of the old comedy were, in fact, _the likest to orators, and the most proper to form them to the practice of the Forum_, yet, in admiration of the absolute perfection of Menander’s manner, and criticising him by the rules of a just and accurate rhetoric, and not at all in the views of a practical orator, he pronounces him to be a complete pattern of oratorial excellence: _vel unus, diligenter lectus, ad cuncta efficienda sufficiat_, l. x. c. 1. Yet Cicero, it seems, thought otherwise; for he scarcely, as I remember, mentions the name of Menander in his rhetorical books, though he is very large in commending the authors of the old Greek comedy. The reason was unquestionably that we have been explaining: The delicate observance of decorum, for which this poet was so famous, _in omnibus mire custoditur ab hoc poeta decorum_, rendered him an unfit model for a popular speaker, especially in Rome, where an orator was much more likely to carry his point by the _vis comica_, the _broader mirth_ of Aristophanes, or Plautus, than by the delicate railleries, and exquisite paintings of Menander, or Terence.

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273. SI MODO EGO ET VOS SCIMUS INURBANUM LEPIDO SEPONERE DICTO.] It was very late ere the ancients became acquainted with this distinction. Indeed it does not appear, they ever possessed it in that supreme degree, which might have been expected from their exquisite discernment in other instances. Even Horace himself, though his pictures of life are commonly the most delicate, and wrought up in the highest beauty of humour, yet, when he affects the _plaisant_, and purposely aims at the comic style and manner, is observed to sink beneath himself extremely. The truth is, there is something low, and what the French call _grossier_, in the whole cast of ancient wit; which is rather a kind of rude, illiberal satire, than a just and temperate ridicule, restrained by the exact rules of civility and good sense. This a celebrated writer, who seems willing to think the most favourably of the ancient wits, in effect owns, when, after quoting certain instances of their raillery, he says, _Ces exemples, quoique vifs et bons en leur genre, ont quëlque chose de trop dur, qui ne s’accommoderoit pas à nôtre maniere de vivre; et ce seroit ce que nous appellons rompre en visiers, que de dire en face des veritez aussi forts que celles-là_. [Rec. de bons Contes et de bons Mots, p. 89.] This rudeness, complained of, appears in nothing more evident, than in their perpetual banter on corporal infirmities, which runs through all the wits both of Greece and Rome. And to shew us, that this was not a practice, they allowed themselves in against rule, Cicero mentions corporal infirmities [De Or. l. ii. c. 59.] as one of the most legitimate sources of the RIDICULOUS. _Est deformitatis et corporis vitiorum satis bella materies._ And in another place, _Valde ridentur etiam imagines, quæ fere in deformitatem, aut in aliquod vitium corporis ducuntur cum similitudine turpioris_, &c. [ib. c. 66.] And this, which is very remarkable, though they saw the absurdity of it, as appears from the answer of Lamia, recorded by Cicero, to a joke of this kind, _Non potui mihi formam ipse fingere_, [ib. c. 65.] The universal prevalence of a practice so absurd in itself, and seen by themselves to be so, in the two politest states of the old world, must needs have sprung from some very _general_, and _powerful_ cause; which, because it hath not, that I know of, been considered by any writer, I shall here attempt to open and explane. The subject is curious, and would require a volume to do it justice. I can only hint at the principal reasons, which appear to me to have been these.

I. _The free and popular government of those states._ This, preserving an equality of condition, and thereby spreading a fearlessness and independency through all ranks and orders of men, of course produced and indulged the utmost freedom of expression, uninfluenced by hopes of favour, and unawed by fear of personal offence; the two sources, from whence the civility of a more cautious ridicule is derived. Now of all the species of raillery, the most natural and _obvious_ to a people unrestrained by these causes, is ever the _coarsest_, such as that on corporal deformities; as appears from its prevailing every where, in all forms of government, among the lowest of the people, betwixt whom those causes never subsist. But this reason involves in it some particulars, which deserve to be considered. 1. The _orators_, who catched it from the constitution themselves, contributed in their turn to forward and help on this disposition to uncivilized mirth. For, the form of their government requiring immediate, and almost continual, applications to the people; and the nature of such applications giving frequent exercise to their wit, it was natural for them to suit it to the capacities of their auditory; if indeed they had seen better themselves. Thus we find the orators in the Forum, even in the later times of the Roman republic, exposing their adversary to the broad mirth of the populace, by enlarging on his _low stature_, _ugly face_, or _distorted chin_. Instances of which may be met with in Cicero’s treatise De oratore; and even, as hath been observed, in some orations and other pieces of Cicero himself. 2. From the _Forum_ the humour insensibly spread amongst all orders, and particularly, amongst the writers for the stage, where it was kept up in its full vigour, or rather heightened to a further extravagance, the laughter of the people being its more immediate and direct aim. But, the stage not only conformed, as of course it would, to the spirit of the times (which, for the reason already given, were none of the most observant of decorum) but, as we shall also find, it had perhaps the greatest influence in _producing and forming that spirit itself_. This will appear, if we recollect, in few words, _the rise, progress, and character of the ancient stage_.

The Greek drama, we know, had its origin from the loose, licentious raillery of the rout of Bacchus, indulging to themselves the freest sallies of taunt and invective, as would best suit to lawless natures, inspirited by festal mirth, and made extravagant by wine. Hence arose, and with a character answering to this original, the _satyric drama_; the spirit of which was afterwards, in good measure, revived and continued in the old comedy, and itself preserved, though with considerable alteration in the form, through all the several periods of the Greek stage; even when tragedy, which arose out of it, was brought to its last perfection. Much the same may be observed of the _Roman_ drama, which, we are told, had its rise in the unrestrained festivity of the rustic youth. This gave occasion to their _Satyræ_, that is, medleys of an irregular form, acted for the diversion of the people. And, when afterwards Livius Andronicus had, by a further reform, reduced these _Satyræ_ into regular tragedies, another species of buffoon ridicule was cultivated, under the name of _Atellanæ fabulæ_; which, according to Diomedes’ character of them, _were replete with jocular witticisms, and very much resembled the Greek satyrs_. _Dictis jocularibus refertæ, similes fere sunt satyricis fabulis Græcorum._ These were ever after retained, and annexed to their most regular dramatic entertainments in Rome, just as the _satyrs_ were in Greece; and this (as was seen in its place) though much pains was taken to reform, if not wholly remove, them. But to shew how strong the passion of the Romans was for this rude illiberal banter, even the licentious character of the _Atellanes_ did not fully satisfy them; but, as if they were determined to stick to their genuine rusticity, they continued the _Satyræ_ themselves, under the name of _Exodia_, that is farces of the grossest and most absurd composition; which, to heighten the mirth of the day, were commonly interwoven with the Atellane pieces. The reason of the continuance of such ribaldry in the politest ages of Greece and Rome hath been inquired into. At present it appears, what effect it must necessarily have upon the public taste.

II. Another cause connected with the foregoing, and rising out of it, seems to have been the festal licence of particular seasons, such as the _Dionysia_ and _Panathenæa_, amongst the Greeks; and the _Bacchanalia_ and _Saturnalia_, at Rome. These latter, it is observable, were continued to the latest period of the Roman empire, preserving in them an image, as well of the frank and libertine wit of their old stage, as of the original equality and independency of their old times. Quintilian thinks, that, with some regulation, good use might have been made of these seasons of licence, for the cultivating a just spirit of raillery in the orators of his time. As it was, there is no doubt, they helped much to vitiate and deprave it. His words are these: _Quin illæ ipsæ, quæ_ DICTA _sunt ac vocantur, quas certis diebus festæ licentiæ dicere solebamus, si paulum adhibita ratione fingerentur, aut aliquid in his serium quoque esset admixtum, plurimum poterunt utilitatis afferre: quæ nunc juvenum, aut sibi ludentium exercitatio est._ [Quint. l. iv. c. 3.] Besides, in Greece, the jester was a character by profession, necessary to the pleasantry of private feasts, and, as we learn from the fine satyr in Xenophon’s _Symposium_, even in that polite age, welcome to all companies[26].

From these reasons I think it not difficult to account for the coarseness of ancient wit. The free genius of the Greek and Roman constitution was unquestionably its main spring and support. But, when this character of their government was seconded by the freedom of their demagogues, the petulance of the stage, and the uncontrouled licence of recurring festival solemnities, it was no wonder, the illiberal manner so thoroughly infected all ranks and degrees of the people, as by no after diligence and refinement wholly to be removed. And this theory is indeed confirmed by _fact_. For, when now the tyranny of one man had ingrossed the power, and oppressed the liberties, of Greece, their stage refined, their wit polished, and Menander wrote. And though a thorough reform was never made in the Roman stage, partly, as Quintilian thinks, from the intractability of their language, but chiefly, it may be, as to the point in question, from the long continuance of their rude farcical shews, yet something like this appears to have followed upon the loss of their freedom; as is plain from the improved delicacy of their later critics; who, as Quintilian and Plutarch, are very profuse in their encomiums on Menander, and the _new_ comedy; whereas we find little said of it by the Augustan writers, who seem generally to have preferred the coarser wit and pleasantry of the _old_. The state of modern wit too confirms this account. For it has grown up, for the most part, under limited monarchies, in which their scenical entertainments were more moderate, or for plain reasons must less affect the public taste. Whenever therefore a turn for letters has prevailed, a poignant, but liberal kind of wit hath generally sprung up with it. Where it is worth observing, the growing tyranny in some states hath either extinguished it intirely, or refined it into an effeminate and timid delicacy, as the growing licentiousness in others hath sunk it into a rude and brutal coarseness; whilst by a due mixture of liberty and letters, we have seen it acquire a proper temperament at home, and, as managed by our best writers, exhibit a specimen of that strong, yet elegant ridicule, which hath never yet been equalled by any other nation in the world.

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275. IGNOTUM TRAGICAE GENUS INVENISSE CAMENAE, &c.] The poet, having just remarked the negligence of the Roman writers, in two or three instances, and, at the same time recommended to them the superior care and accuracy of the Greeks (all which is elegantly preparatory to the last division of the epistle) proceeds in a short view of the Greek drama, to insinuate, as well the successful pains of the Greek writers, as the real state of the Roman stage; the complete glory of which could only be expected, as immediately follows, from a spirit of diligence and correctness. As this whole connexion is clear and easy, so is the peculiar method, in which it is conducted, extremely proper. 1. To shew, how great the advantage of their situation was over that of the Greeks, he observes, that the latter had the whole constitution of the drama to invent and regulate; which yet, by the application and growing experience of their poets, was soon effected; their tragedy, all rude and shapeless, as it was, in the cart of Thespis, appearing in its just form and proportion on the stage of Æschylus; and their comedy also (which, from that time, began to be cultivated) asserting its proper character, and, but for the culpable omission of a chorus, reaching the full extent and perfection of its kind.

2. To shew, what still remained to them, he brings down the history of tragedy no lower than Æschylus; under whom it received its due form and all the essentials of its nature, yet still wanted, to its absolute perfection, the further accuracy and correctness of a Sophocles. And, for their comedy, he hints the principal defect of that; its omission, after the manner of the new comedy, of the chorus. There is great address in this conduct. The censure also implied in it, is perfectly just. For, 1. the character of the Roman tragedy, in the times of Horace, was exactly that of Æschylus. Æschylus, says Quintilian, was the first, “_qui protulit tragœdias_,” i. e. who composed true legitimate tragedies, _sublimis et gravis et grandiloquus sæpe usque ad vitium; sed rudis in plerisque et incompositus_ [L. x. c. i.] the very description, which Horace gives [2 Ep. i. 165.] of the Roman tragedy.

_natura sublimis et acer, Nam spirat tragicum satis et feliciter audet; Sed turpem putat inscitus metuitque lituram._

2. The state of their comedy, as managed by their best writers, Afranius and Terence, was, indeed, much more complete; yet wanted the chorus, which, in the judgment of the poet, it seems, was equally necessary to the perfection of this, as of the other drama.

3. But the application is made in express terms.

_Nil intentatum nostri liquere poetæ_, &c.

_i. e._ our poets, as well as the Greek, have, in some degree, applied themselves to improve and regulate the stage. In particular, a late innovation, in taking their subjects, both of tragedy and comedy, from domestic facts, is highly to be applauded. Their sole disadvantage is, _a neglect or contempt of that labour and accuracy, which gave the last perfection to the Greek scene_.

After this clear and natural exposition of the connexion of these lines, all the difficulties, that have been found in them by certain great critics, vanish of themselves. And the reader now sees (what the sagacious Heinsius thought impossible to be shewn) an ἀκολουθίαν, or consistent, natural order in this part of the epistle; which was in imminent danger of losing all its grace and beauty, by the wild transpositions of that critic.

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278. POST HUNC PERSONAE PALLAEQUE, &c.] M. _Dacier_ hath here puzzled himself with a difficulty of his own raising. He wonders, that Horace should omit, in this history, the other improvements of Æschylus, mentioned by Aristotle, and that Aristotle, in his turn, should omit those, mentioned by Horace. The truth is, neither of them intended a complete account of the improvements of the Greek stage; but only so much of them, as was necessary to the views of each. Aristotle, treating of the _internal_ constitution of the drama, speaks of such changes, made in it by Æschylus, as respected that end. Horace, treating in general of its _form_, as perfected by the pains and application of the same poet, selects those improvements only, which contrast best to the rude essays of Thespis, and, while they imply the rest, exhibit tragedy, as it were, in her proper person, on the stage. The reader feels the effect of this in the poetry.

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288. VEL QUI PRAETEXTAS, VEL QUI DOCUERE TOGATAS.] There hath been much difficulty here in settling a very plain point. The question is, whether _prætextas_ means _tragedy_, or a species of _comedy_? The answer is very clear from Diomedes, whose account is, in short, this. “^{1}_Togatæ_ is a general term for all sorts of Latin plays, adopting the Roman customs and dresses; as _Palliatæ_ is, for all, adopting the Græcian. Of the _Togatæ_, the several ^{2}species are, 1. _Prætexta_, or _Prætextata_, in which Roman kings and generals were introduced, and is so called, because the _prætexta_ was the distinguishing habit of such persons. 2. _Tabernaria_, frequently called ^{3}_Togata_, though that word, as we have seen, had properly a larger sense. 3. _Atellana._ 4. _Planipedis._” He next marks the difference of these several sorts of _Togatæ_, from the similar, corresponding ones of the _Palliatæ_, which are these: “1. ^{4}Tragœdia, absolutely so styled. 2. ^{5}Comœdia, 3. ^{6}Satyri. 4. ^{7}Μῖμος.” [These four sorts of the _palliatæ_ were also probably in use at Rome; certainly, at least, the two former.] It appears then from hence, that _prætextata_ was properly the Roman tragedy. But he adds, “_Togata prætextata à tragœdia differt_, and it is also said, _to be only like tragedy_, _tragœdiæ similis_.” What is this difference and this likeness? The explanation follows. “^{8}Heroes are introduced in _tragedy_, such as Orestes, Chryses, and the like. In the _prætextata_, Brutus, Decius, or Marcellus.” So then we see, when Græcian characters were introduced, it was called simply _tragœdia_; when Roman, _prætextata_; yet both, tragedies. The sole difference lay in the persons being foreign or domestic. The correspondence in every other respect was exact. The same is observed of the Roman comedy; when it adopted ^{9}Greek characters, it was called _comœdia_: when Roman, ^{20}_Togata Tabernaria_, or ^{3}_Togata_, simply. That the reader may assure himself of the fidelity of this account, let him take it at large, in the Grammarian’s own words. “^{1}Togatæ fabulæ dicuntur, quæ scriptæ sunt secundum ritus et habitus hominum togatorum, id est, Romanorum (Toga namque Romana est), sicut Græcas fabulas ab habitu æque palliatas Varro ait nominari. ^{3}Togatas autem cum sit generale nomen, specialiter tamen pro tabernariis, non modo communis error usurpat, sed et poetæ.—Togatarum fabularum ^{2}species tot fere sunt, quot et palliatarum. Nam prima species est togatarum, quæ prætextatæ dicuntur, in quibus imperatorum negotia agebantur et publica, et reges Romani vel duces inducuntur, personarum et argumentorum sublimitate ^{4}tragœdiis similes: Prætextatæ autem dicuntur, quia fere regum vel magistratuum, qui prætexta utuntur, in hujusmodi fabulis acta comprehenduntur. Secunda species togatarum, quæ tabernariæ dicuntur, humilitate personarum et argumentorum similitudine ^{5}comœdiis pares—Tertia species est fabularum latinarum, quæ—Atellanæ dictæ sunt, similes ^{6}satyricis fabulis, Græcis. Quarta species est planipedis, Græce dicitur ^{7}Μῖμος.—Togata prætextata, à ^{4}tragœdia differt. In tragœdia ^{8}heroes introducuntur. Pacuvius tragœdias nominibus heroicis scripsit Oresten, Chrysen, et his similia. Item Accius. In prætextata autem scribitur, Brutus, vel Decius, vel Marcellus. ^{19}Togata tabernaria à ^{5}comœdia differt, quod in ^{9}comœdia Græci ritus inducuntur, personæque Græcæ, Laches, Sostrata. In illa vero Latinæ.” [L. iii. c. de Com. et Trag. diff.] With this account of Diomedes agrees perfectly that of _Festus_; from which, however, M. Dacier draws a very different conclusion. “Togatarum duplex est genus: prætextarum—et tabernariarum.” His inference is, that prætextatæ, as being a species of the togatæ, must needs be comedies; not considering that togata is here a generic term, comprehending under it all the several species both of the Roman tragedy and comedy. After what hath been said, and especially, after the full and decisive testimony of Diomedes, there can no longer be any doubt about the meaning of _prætextas_; and one must be surprized to find M. Dacier prefacing his long note on this place in the following important manner: _C’est un des plus difficiles passages d’Horace, et peutêtre celui qu’il est le plus mal aisé d’eclaircir à cause du peu de lumiere que nous donnent les auteurs Latins sur tout ce qui regarde leurs pieces de theatre_.

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281. SUCCESSIT VETUS HIS COMOEDIA, &c.] _i. e._ Comedy began to be cultivated and improved from the time that tragedy had obtained its end, ἔσχε τὴν ἑαυτῆς φύσιν, under Æschylus. There is no reason to suppose, with some critics, that Horace meant to date its origin from hence. The supposition is, in truth, contradicted by _experience_ and the _order of things_. For, as a celebrated French writer observes, “_Le talent d’imiter, qui nous est naturel, nous porte plutôt à la comedie qui roule sur des choses de nôtre connoissance qu’à la Tragedie, qui prend des sujets plus èloignés de l’usage commun; et en effet, en Gréce aussi bien qu’en France, la Comedie est l’aînée de la tragedie_.” [Hist. du Theat. Franc. par M. de Fontenelle.] The _latter_ part of this assertion is clear from the piece referred to; and the _other_, which respects Greece, seems countenanced by Aristotle himself [περ. ποιητ. κ. ε.] ’Tis true, Comedy, though its rise be every where, at least, as early as that of tragedy, is perfected much later. Menander, we know, appeared long after Æschylus. And, though the French tragedy, to speak with Aristotle, ἔσχε τὴν ἑαυτῆς φύσιν in the hands of Corneille, this cannot be said of their comedy, which was forced to wait for a Moliere, before it arrived at that pitch of perfection. But then this is owing to the superior difficulty of the comic drama. Nor is it any objection that the contrary of this happened at Rome. For the Romans, when they applied themselves in earnest to the stage, had not to invent, but to imitate or rather _translate_, the perfect models of Greece. And it chanced, for reasons which I shall not stay to deduce, that their poets had better success in copying their _comedy_, than _tragedy_.

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284. TURPITER OBTICUIT—] Evidently because, though the _jus nocendi_ was taken away, yet that was no good reason, why the chorus should entirely cease. M. Dacier mistakes the matter. _Le chœur se tût ignominieusement, parceque la loi reprima sa licence, et que ce fut, à proprement parler, la loi qui le bannit; ce qu’ Horace regarde comme une espece de flétrissure. Properly speaking_, the law only abolished the _abuse_ of the chorus. The ignominy lay in dropping the entire use of it, on account of this restraint. Horace was of opinion, that the chorus ought to have been retained, though the state had abridged it of the licence, it so much delighted in, of an illimited, and intemperate satyr. _Sublatus chorus fuit_, says Scaliger, _cujus illæ videntur esse præcipuæ partes, ut potissimum quos liberet, læderent_.

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286. NEC MINIMUM MERUERE DECUS VESTIGIA GRÆCA AUSI DESERERE ET CELEBRARE DOMESTICA FACTA.] This judgment of the poet, recommending domestic subjects, as fittest for the stage, may be inforced from many obvious reasons. As I. that it renders the drama infinitely more _affecting_: and this on many accounts. 1. As a subject, taken from our own annals, must of course carry with it an air of greater probability, at least to the generality of the people, than one borrowed from those of any other nation. 2. As we all find a personal interest in the subject. 3. As it of course affords the best and easiest opportunities of catching our minds, by frequent references to our manners, prejudices, and customs. And of how great importance this is, may be learned from hence, that, even in the exhibition of foreign characters, dramatic writers have found themselves obliged to sacrifice truth and probability to the humour of the people, and to dress up their personages, contrary to their own better judgment, in some degree according to the mode and manners of their respective countries[27]. And 4. as the writer himself, from an intimate acquaintance with the character and genius of his own nation, will be more likely to draw the manners with life and spirit.

II. Next, which should ever be one great point in view, it renders the drama more generally useful in its moral destination. For, it being conversant about domestic acts, the great instruction of the fable more sensibly affects us; and the characters exhibited, from the part we take in their good or ill qualities, will more probably influence our conduct.

III. Lastly, this judgment will deserve the greater regard, as the conduct recommended was, in fact, the practice of our great models, the Greek writers; in whose plays, it is observable, there is scarcely a single scene, which lies out of the confines of Greece.

But, notwithstanding these reasons, the practice hath, in all times, been but little followed. The Romans, after some few attempts in this way (from whence the poet took the occasion of delivering it as a dramatic precept), soon relapsed into their old use; as appears from Seneca’s, and the titles of other plays, written in, or after the Augustan age. Succeeding times continued the same attachment to Grecian, with the addition of an equal fondness for Roman, subjects. The reason in both instances hath been ever the same: that strong and early prejudice, approaching somewhat to adoration, in favour of the illustrious names of those two great states. The account of this matter is very easy; for their writings, as they furnish the business of our younger, and the amusement of our riper, years, and more especially make the study of all those, who devote themselves to poetry and the stage, insensibly infix in us an excessive veneration for all affairs in which they were concerned; insomuch that no other subjects or events seem considerable enough, or rise, in any proportion, to our ideas of the dignity of the tragic scene, but such as time and long admiration have consecrated in the annals of their story. Our Shakespeare was, I think, the first that broke through this bondage of classical superstition. And he owed this felicity, as he did some others, to his want of what is called the advantage of a learned education. Thus uninfluenced by the weight of early prepossession, he struck at once into the road of nature and common sense: and without designing, without knowing it, hath left us in his historical plays, with all their anomalies, an exacter resemblance of the Athenian stage, than is any where to be found in its most professed admirers and copyists.

I will only add, that, for the more successful execution of this rule of celebrating domestic acts, much will depend on the æra, from whence the subject is taken. Times too remote have almost the same inconveniences, and none of the advantages, which attend the ages of Greece and Rome. And, for those of later date, they are too much familiarized to us, and have not as yet acquired that venerable cast and air, which tragedy demands, and age only can give. There is no fixing this point with precision. In the general, that æra is the fittest for the poet’s purpose, which, though fresh enough in our minds to warm and interest us in the event of the action, is yet at so great a distance from the present times, as to have lost all those mean and disparaging circumstances, which unavoidably adhere to recent deeds, and, in some measure, sink the noblest modern transactions to the level of ordinary life.

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295. INGENIUM MISERA, &c.] _Sæpe audivi poetam bonum neminem (id quod à Democrito et Platone in scriptis relictum esse dicunt) sine inflammatione animorum existere posse et sine quodam afflatu quasi furoris._ [Cic. De orat. l. ii. c. xlvi.] And so Petronius, _præcipitandus liber spiritus, ut furentis animi vaticinatio appareat_. [c. cxviii.] And to the same purpose every good critic, ancient or modern. But who can endure the grimace of those minute _genii_, who, because the truly inspired, in the ravings of the fit, are _touched_ with the flame and fury of enthusiasm, must, therefore, with a tame, frigid fancy, be laying claim to the same fervent and fiery raptures? The fate of these _aspirants_ to divinity is that ἐνθουσιᾷν ἑαυτοῖς δοκοῦντες, οὐ βακχεύουσιν, ἀλλὰ παίζουσιν [Longin. περ. ὕψ. τμημ. χ.] And Quintilian opens the mystery of the whole matter: _Quo quisque ingenio minus valet, hoc se magis attollere et dilatare conatur: ut statura breves in digitos eriguntur et plura infirmi minantur. Nam tumidos et corruptos et tinnulos et quocunque alio cacozeliæ genere peccantes, certum habeo, non virium, sed infirmitatis vitio laborare: ut corpora non robore, sed valetudine inflantur: et recto itinere lapsi plerumque divertunt._ [L. ii. c. 3.]

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298. BONA PARS NON UNGUES, &c.] The constant and pitiful affectation of the race before spoken of, who, with the modesty of laying claim to the _thing_, will be sure not to omit the _sign_, and so, from fancying an inspiration, they have _not_ come to adopt every foppery, that has ever disgraced it in those who _have_.

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308. QUID DECEAT, QUID NON:] _Nihil est difficilius quam_, quid deceat, _videre._ Πρέπον _appellant hoc Græci: nos dicamus sane_ Decorum. _De quo præclare et multa præcipiuntur, et res est cognitione dignissima. Hujus ignoratione non modo in vitâ, sed sæpissime in_ POEMATIS _et in oratione peccatur._ [Orator. xxi.]

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309. SCRIBENDI RECTE, SAPERE EST ET PRINCIPIUM ET FONS.] The Orator was of the same mind, when he sent his pupil to the academy for instruction. _Quis nescit maximam vim existere oratoris in hominum mentibus vel ad iram, aut dolorem incitandis, vel ab hisce iisdem permotionibus ad lenitatem misericordiamque revocandis? quæ, nisi qui naturas hominum, vimque omnem humanitatis, causasque eas quibus mentes aut incitantur aut reflectuntur, penitus perspexerit, dicendo, quod volet, perficere non poterit. Atqui_ TOTUS HIC LOCUS PHILOSOPHORUM PROPRIUS VIDETUR. [De Orat. l. i. c. xii.] And he spoke, we know, from his own experience, _having acquired his oratorial skill not in the schools of the rhetoricians, but the walks of the academy_: _fateor me oratorem, si modo sim, aut etiam quicunque sim, non ex rhetorum officinis, sed ex Academiæ spatiis extitisse_. [Orat. p. 622. Elz. ed.] But the reason he gives for this advice, though common to the poet; whose character, as well as the orator’s, it is, _posse voluntates impellere, quo velis, unde velis, deducere_, is yet, not the only one, which respects the poet. For his business is to _paint_, and that not only, as the orator does, in order to move, but for the sole end of _pleasing_: _solam petit voluptatem_. [Quinct. l. x. c. i.] The boast of his art is to catch every different aspect of nature, and more especially to exhibit the human character in every varying light and form, under which it presents itself. But this is not to be done without an exquisite study, and philosophical knowledge of man; to which end, as is remarked in _n._ on v. 317. the Socratic philosophy is more peculiarly adapted. Add to this, that it is the genius of true poetry, not only to animate, but to _personalize_ every thing, _omnia debent esse morata_. Hence the indispensable necessity of moral science: all poetry being, in effect, what Mr. Dryden somewhere calls comedy, THE THEFT OF POETS FROM MANKIND.

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310. SOCRATICAE CHARTAE.] An admired writer, in many respects deservedly so, thus comments on these words: “The philosophical writings, to which our poet refers, were in themselves a kind of poetry, like the _mimes_, or personated pieces of early times, before philosophy was in vogue, and when as yet _Dramatical imitation_ was scarce formed: or at least, in many parts, not brought to due perfection. They were pieces, which, besides their force of style, and hidden numbers, carried a sort of _action_ and _imitation_, the same as the _Epic_ and _Dramatic_ kinds. They were either real dialogues, or recitals of such personated discourses; where the persons themselves had their characters preserved throughout; their manners, humours, and distinct turns of temper and understanding maintained, according to the most exact poetical truth. ’Twas not enough, that these pieces treated fundamentally of morals, and, in consequence, pointed out real characters and manners: They exhibited them alive, and set the countenances and complexions of men plainly in view. And by this means they not only taught us to know others; but, what was principal and of highest virtue in them, they taught us to know ourselves.” Thus far then these models are of unquestioned use to writers of every denomination. I forbear to mention, what this noble author finds occasion frequently to insinuate, and, by his own practice, labours to recommend, the superior excellency of the _manner_, as well as _matter_, of these highly-rated originals. Not that I presume to think it unworthy of imitation. But the public taste, as appears, is running full fast that way, insomuch that some may even doubt, if the state of literary composition be more endangered by the neglect, or vicious imitation, of the Platonic manner. Its graces, when sparingly employed by a real genius, for the embellishment of strong sense, have, it must be owned, great beauty. But when this humour of _platonizing_ seizes on some minuter spirit, bent on ennobling a trivial matter, and all over-run with academic delicacy and affectation, nothing, to a just and manly relish, can be more disgusting. One must wink hard not to see frequent examples of this, in the master Platonist himself. But his mimics, of late, have gone much farther. There is no need, in such a croud of instances, to point to particulars. What I would rather observe is, that this folly, offensive as it is, may perhaps admit of some excuse from the _present state of our literature_, and _the character of the great original himself_, whom these writers aspire to imitate. When a language, as ours at this time, hath been much polished and enriched with perfect models of style in almost every way, it is in the order of things, that the next step should be to a _vicious affectation_. For the simplicity of true taste, under these circumstances, grows insipid. Something _better than the best_ must be aimed at; and the reader’s languid appetite raised by the provocatives of an ambitious refinement. And this in _sentiment_, as well as _language_. Whence we see how it happened, that even in _Greece_ itself, where composition was studied with a more than common accuracy, _Philosophy_, when it passed out of the hands of its great masters, degenerated by degrees into the subtilties of sophistry, as did _Eloquence_, likewise, into the tricks of rhetoric.

But there was something, as I hinted, too, in the _character of the writer imitated_, of a very ticklish and dangerous nature; and of which our tribe of imitators were not sufficiently aware. A very exact critic of antiquity hath told us what it was. It lay in Plato’s _bringing the tumor of poetic composition into discourses of philosophy_, ΟΤΙ ΤΟΝ ΟΓΚΟΝ ΤΗΣ ΠΟΙΗΤΙΚΗΣ ΚΑΤΑΣΚΕΥΗΣ ΕΠΙ ΛΟΓΟΥΣ ΗΓΑΓΕ ΦΙΛΟΣΟΦΟΥΣ[28]. And though the experiment, for the most part, succeeded not amiss (as what contradiction is there which superior genius cannot reconcile?) yet it sometimes failed even in his hands. And as a French writer well expresses it, Le DIVIN _Plato, pour avoir voulu s’elever trop au dessus des hommes, est souvent tombè dans un_ GALIMATIAS _pompeux que quelques uns confondent avec le_ SUBLIME. The PHAEDRUS, though the most remarkable, is not the only example of such mischance in the writings of this great man.

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317. VERAS HINC DUCERE VOCES.] _Truth_, in poetry, means such an expression, as conforms to the general nature of things; _falsehood_, that, which, however suitable to the particular instance in view doth yet not correspond to such _general nature_. To attain to this _truth_ of expression in dramatic poetry two things are prescribed: 1. A diligent study of the Socratic philosophy; and 2. A masterly knowledge and comprehension of human life. The _first_, because it is the peculiar distinction of this school _ad veritatem vitæ propius accedere_. [Cic. de Or. i. 51.] And the _latter_, as rendering the imitation more universally striking. This will be understood by reflecting that _truth_ may be followed too closely in works of imitation, as is evident in two respects. For, 1. the artist, when he would give a Copy of nature, may confine himself too scrupulously to the exhibition of _particulars_, and so fail of representing the general idea of the _kind_. Or, 2. in applying himself to give the _general_ idea, he may collect it from an enlarged view of _real_ life, whereas it were still better taken from the nobler conception of it as subsisting only in the _mind_. This last is the kind of censure we pass upon the _Flemish_ school of painting, which takes its model from real nature, and not, as the _Italian_, from the contemplative idea of beauty[29]. The _former_ corresponds to that other fault objected also to the Flemish masters, which consists in their copying from particular odd and grotesque nature in contradistinction to general and graceful nature.

We see then that in deviating from particular and partial, the poet more faithfully imitates _universal_, truth. And thus an answer occurs to that refined argument, which Plato invented and urged, with much seeming complacency, against poetry. It is, that _poetical imitation is at a great distance from truth_. “Poetical expression, says the Philosopher, is the copy of the poet’s own conceptions; the poet’s conception, of things, and things, of the standing archetype, as existing in the divine mind. Thus the poet’s expression, is a copy at third hand, from the primary, original truth.” [Plat. De rep. l. x.] Now the diligent study of this rule of the poet obviates this reasoning at once. For, by abstracting from existences all that peculiarly respects and discriminates the _individual_, the poet’s conception, as it were neglecting the intermediate particular objects, catches, as far as may be, and reflects the divine archetypal idea, and so becomes itself the copy or image of truth. Hence too we are taught the force of that unusual encomium on poetry by the great critic, _that it is something more severe and philosophical than history_, φιλοσοφώτερον καὶ σπουδαιότερον ποίησις ἱστορίας ἐστίν. The reason follows, which is now very intelligible; ἡ μὲν γὰρ ποίησις μᾶλλον τὰ καθόλου, ἡ δ’ ἱστορία τὰ καθ’ ἕκαστον λέγει. [Περ. ποιητ. κ. θ.] And this will further explain an essential difference, as we are told, between the two great rivals of the Greek stage. Sophocles, in return to such as objected a want of truth in his characters, used to plead, _that he drew men such as they ought to be, Euripides such as they were_. Σοφοκλῆς ἔφη, αὐτὸς μὲν οἵους δεῖ ποιεῖν, Εὐριπίδης δὲ οἷοί εἰσι. [Περ. ποιητ. κ. κε.] The meaning of which is, Sophocles, from his more extended commerce with mankind, had enlarged and widened the narrow, partial conception, arising from the contemplation of _particular_ characters, into a complete comprehension of the _kind_. Whereas the philosophic Euripides, having been mostly conversant in the academy, when he came to look into life, keeping his eye too intent on single, really existing personages, sunk the _kind_ in the _individual_; and so painted his characters naturally indeed, and _truly_, with regard to the objects in view, but sometimes without that general and universally striking likeness, which is demanded to the full exhibition of poetical truth.

But here an objection meets us, which must not be overlooked. It will be said, “that philosophic speculations are more likely to render men’s views _abstract_ and _general_ than to confine them to _individuals_. This latter is a fault arising from the _small number_ of objects men happen to contemplate: and may be removed not only by taking a view of many _particulars_, which is knowledge of the world; but also by reflecting on the _general nature_ of men, as it appears in good books of morality. For the writers of such books form their _general_ notion of human nature from an extensive experience (either their own, or that of others) without which their writings are of no value.” The answer, I think, is this. _By reflecting on the general nature of man_ the philosopher learns, what is the tenor of action arising from the predominancy of certain qualities or properties; _i. e._ in general, what that conduct is, which the imputed character requires. But to perceive clearly and certainly, how far, and with what degree of strength this or that character will, on particular occasions, most probably shew itself, this is the fruit only of a knowledge of the world. Instances of a want of this knowledge cannot be supposed frequent in such a writer, as Euripides; nor, when they occur, so glaring as to strike a common reader. They are niceties, which can only be discerned by the true critic; and even to _him_, at this distance of time, from an ignorance of the Greek manners, that may possibly appear a fault, which is a real beauty. It would therefore be dangerous to think of pointing out the places, which Aristotle might believe liable to this censure in Euripides. I will however presume to mention one, which, if not justly criticized, will, at least, serve to illustrate my meaning.

The story of his _Electra_ is well known. The poet had to paint, in the character of this princess, a virtuous, but fierce, resentful woman; stung by a sense of personal ill treatment; and instigated to the revenge of a father’s death, by still stronger motives. A disposition of this warm temperament, it might be concluded by the philosopher in his closet, would be prompt to shew itself. _Electra_ would, on any proper occasion, be ready to avow her resentment, as well as to forward the execution of her purpose. But to what lengths would this _resentment_ go? _i. e._ what degree of fierceness might _Electra_ express, without affording occasion to a person widely skilled in mankind, and the operation of the passions, to say, “this is improbable?” Here abstract theories will be of little service. Even a moderate acquaintance with real life will be unable to direct us. Many individuals may have fallen under observation, that will justify the poet in carrying the expression of such a _resentment_ to any extreme. History would, perhaps, furnish examples, in which a virtuous resentment hath been carried even farther than is here represented by the poet. What way then of determining the precise bounds and limits of it? Only by observing in numerous instances, _i. e._ from a large extensive knowledge of practical life, how far it usually, in such characters, and under such circumstances, prevails. Hence a difference of representation will arise in proportion to the extent of that _knowledge_. Let us now see, how the character before us, hath, in fact, been managed by Euripides.

In that fine scene, which passes between Electra and Orestes, whom as yet she suspects not to be her brother, the conversation very naturally turns upon Electra’s distresses, and the author of them, Clytæmnestra, as well as on her hopes of deliverance from them by the means of Orestes. The dialogue upon this proceeds:

_Or._ What then of Orestes, were he to return to this Argos?

_El._ Ah! wherefore that question, when there is no prospect of his return at all?

_Or._ But supposing he should return, how would he go about to revenge the death of his father?

_El._ In the same way, in which that father suffered from the daring attempts of his enemies.

_Or._ And could you then dare to undertake with him the murder of your mother?

_El._ Yes, with that very steel, with which she murdered my father.

_Or._ And am I at liberty to relate this to your brother, as your fixed resolution?

_El._ I desire only to live, till I have murdered my mother. The Greek is still stronger:

_May I die, as soon as I have murdered my mother!_

Now that this last sentence is absolutely unnatural, will not be pretended. There have been doubtless many examples, under the like circumstances, of an expression of revenge carried thus far. Yet, I think, we can hardly help being a little shocked at the fierceness of _this_ expression. At least _Sophocles_ has not thought fit to carry it to that extreme. In him, _Electra_ contents herself with saying to _Orestes_, on a similar occasion:

“The conduct of this affair now rests upon you. Only let me observe this to you, that, had I been left alone, I would not have failed in one of these two purposes, either to deliver myself gloriously, or to perish gloriously.”

Whether this representation of Sophocles be not more agreeable to _truth_, as collected from wide observation, i. e. from human nature at large, than that of Euripides, the capable reader will judge. If it be, the reason I suppose to have been, _that Sophocles painted his characters, such, as, from attending to numerous instances of the same kind, he would conclude they ought to be; Euripides, such, as a narrower sphere of observation had persuaded him they were_.

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319. INTERDUM SPECIOSA LOCIS, &c.] The poet’s science in _ethics_ will principally shew itself in these two ways, 1. in furnishing proper matter for general reflexion on human life and conduct; and, 2. in a due adjustment of the manners. By the former of these two applications of moral knowledge a play becomes, what the poet calls, _speciosa locis_, i. e. (for the term is borrowed from the rhetoricians) _striking in its moral topics_: a merit of the highest importance on the ancient stage, and which, if prudently employed in subserviency to the _latter_ more essential requisite of the drama, _a just expression of the manners_, will deserve to be so reputed at all times and on every theatre. The danger is, lest a studied, declamatory _moral_, affectedly introduced, or indulged to excess, should prejudice the natural exhibition of the _characters_, and so convert _the image of human life_ into an unaffecting, philosophical dialogue.

* * * * *

319. MORATAQUE RECTE FABULA, &c.] This judgment of the poet, in regard of the superior efficacy of _manners_, is generally thought to be contradicted by Aristotle; who in treating this subject, observes, “that let a piece be never so perfect in the _manners_, _sentiments_, and _style_, it will not so well answer the end and purpose of tragedy, as if defective in these, and finished only in the fable and composition.” Ἐάν τις ἐφεξῆς θῇ ῥήσεις ἠθικὰς καὶ λέξεις καὶ διανοίας εὖ πεποιημένας, οὐ ποιήσει ὃ ἦν τῆς τραγῳδίας ἔργον, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον ἡ καταδεεστέροις τούτοις κεχρημένη τραγῳδία, ἔχουσα δὲ μῦθον καὶ σύστασιν πραγμάτων. Κεφ. ϛʹ. M. Dacier thinks to clear this matter by saying, “that what Aristotle remarks holds true of tragedy, but not of comedy, of which alone Horace is here speaking.” But granting that the artificial contexture of the fable is less necessary to the perfection of comedy, than of tragedy (as it certainly is), yet the tenor of this whole division, exhorting to correctness in general, makes it unquestionable, that Horace must intend to include _both_. The case, as it seems to me, is this. The poet is not comparing the respective importance of the _fable_ and _manners_, but of the _manners_ and _diction_, under this word including also _numbers_. He gives them the preference _not_ to a _good plot_, nor even to _fine sentiments_, but to _versus inopes rerum nugæque canoræ_. The _art_ he speaks of, is the art of _expressing_ the thoughts properly, gracefully, and harmoniously: the _pondus_ is the force and energy of good _versification_. _Venus_ is a general term including both kinds of beauty. _Fabula_ does not mean the _fable_ (in distinction from the rest) but simply _a play_.

* * * * *

323. GRAIIS INGENIUM, &c.] The Greeks being eminent for _philosophy_, especially _morals_; the last observation naturally gives rise to this. For the transition is easy from their superiority, as philosophers, to their superiority as poets; and the more easy, as the latter is shewn to be, in part, the effect of the former. Now this superiority of the Greeks in genius and eloquence (which would immediately occur, on mentioning the _Socraticæ chartæ_) being seen and confessed, we are led to ask, “whence this arises.” The answer is, from their making _glory_, not _gain_, the object of their wishes.

* * * * *

330. AERUGO ET CURA PECULI CUM SEMEL IMBUERIT, &c.] This _love of gain_, to which Horace imputes the imperfect state of the Roman poetry, hath been uniformly assigned, by the wisdom of ancient times, as the specific bane of arts and letters. _Longinus_ and _Quintilian_ account, from hence, for the decay of eloquence, _Galen_ of physic, _Petronius_ of painting, and _Pliny_, of the whole circle of the liberal arts. An ingenious modern is indeed for carrying his views much further. He, it seems, would account [Refl. sur la Poes. et sur la Peint. v. ii. § xiv.] for this _public degeneracy_ of taste and literature, not from the malignity of the selfish passions, but the baleful influences of the air, emulating, I suppose, herein, the wisdom of that philosophy, which teaches to lay the _private degeneracy_ of individuals on the stars. Thus much however may be true, that other causes have generally co-operated with it. Some of these, as might be shewn, did not escape the attention of these wise ancients. Yet they did right to insist chiefly on _this_, which is every way equal to the effect ascribed to it. It is so in its _nature_: For being, as Longinus calls it, νόσημα μικροποιὸν, _a disease which narrows and contracts the soul_, it must, of course, restrain the generous efforts and expansions of genius; cramp the free powers and energies of the mind, and render it unapt to open itself to wide views, and to the projection of great, extensive designs. It is so in its _consequences_. For, as one says elegantly, _when the passion of avarice grows general in a country, the temples of Honour are soon pulled down, and all men’s sacrifices are made to Fortune_[30]. Thus extinguishing the sense of honour, that divinest movement in our frame, and the only one, which can invigorate the mind under the long labours of invention, it must needs be, that the fire and high spirit of genius go out with it; and dragging in its train the _love of pleasure_, that unmanliest of all the passions, it diffuses such a languor and impotency over the mind, as must leave it at length a prey to a supine wasting indolence; till, as Longinus observes of his own age (and let every friend to letters deprecate the omen), Πάντες ἐγκαταβιοῦμεν, οὐκ ἄλλως πονοῦντες, ἢ ἀναλαμβάνοντες, εἰ μὴ ἐπαίνου καὶ ἡδονῆς ἕνεκα, ἀλλὰ μὴ τῆς ζήλου καὶ τιμῆς ἀξίας ποτὲ ὠφελείας.

* * * * *

333. AUT PRODESSE VOLUNT, AUT DELECTARE POETAE, &c.] Though these lines have the appearance of general criticism, yet do they more especially respect the dramatic poesy. This will be evident from attending to the context. The full boast and glory of the drama is to _delight_ and _instruct_ mankind. 1. The latter praise was more especially due to the ancient tragic muse, who did not think it sufficient to paint lovely pourtraitures of _public_ and _social_ virtue, and to call in the moralizing chorus to her assistance, but, which was one of her discriminating characters, she was perpetually inculcating every branch of true moral in those brief sententious precepts, which inform and solemnize her page. To these precepts then the poet manifestly refers in those lines,

_Quicquid præcipies, esto brevis; ut cito dicta Percipiant animi dociles, teneantque fideles_.

But what follows is still clearer, [2.] The other end of the drama is to _entertain_, and this by the means of _probable fiction_.

_Ficta, voluptatis causa, sint proxima veris._

And the poet applies this to the case of the drama in express words:

_Ne quodcunque volet, poscat sibi fabula credi: Neu pransæ Lamiæ vivum puerum extrahat alvo_.

The instance of _Lamia_, as Mr. Dacier observes, is certainly taken from some poet of that time, who had been guilty of this misconduct. The reader may learn from hence, how intently Horace pursues his design of criticizing the _Roman_ stage, when, in treating a subject, from its nature, the most general of any in the epistle, _viz. critical correctness_, we yet find him so industriously recurring to this point.

* * * * *

343. MISCUIT UTILE DULCI.] The unnatural separation of the DULCE ET UTILE hath done almost as much hurt in _letters_ as that of the HONESTUM ET UTILE, which Tully somewhere complains of, hath done in _morals_. For while the polite writer, as he is called, contents himself with the _former_ of these qualities, and the man of erudition with the _latter_, it comes to pass, as the same writer expresses it, that ET DOCTIS ELOQUENTIA POPULARIS, ET DISERTIS ELEGANS DOCTRINA DESIT [Orat. iii.]

* * * * *

363. HAEC AMAT OBSCURUM, VOLET HAEC SUB LUCE VIDERI.] Cicero hath given the same precept in relation to oratory, _habeat illa in dicendo admiratio ac summa laus umbram aliquam et recessum, quo magis id, quod erit illuminatum, extare atque eminere videatur_. [De orat. l. iii. c. xxvi.]

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373. MEDIOCRIBUS ESSE POETIS NON HOMINES, &c.] This judgment, however severe it may seem, is according to the practice of the best critics. We have a remarkable instance in the case of _Apollonius Rhodius_, who, though, in the judgment of Quintilian, the author of no contemptible poem, yet on account of that _equal mediocrity_, which every where prevails in him, was struck out of the list of good writers by such sovereign judges of poetical merit, as Aristophanes and Aristarchus. [Quint. l. x. c. i.]

* * * * *

403. DICTAE PER CARMINA SORTES,] The oracles here spoken of, are such as respect not _private persons_ (whom a natural curiosity, quickened by anxious superstition, has ever prompted to pry into their future fortunes) but _entire communities_; and for these there was little place, till Ambition had inspired great and eventful designs, and by involving the fate of nations, had rendered the knowledge of futurity _important_. Hence, in marking the progress of ancient poesy, Horace judiciously postpones _oracles_, to the _celebration_ of martial _prowess_, as being that, which gave the principal _eclat_ to them. This species of poetry then is rightly placed, though it be true, as the commentators have objected, that oracles were much ancienter than Homer, and the Trojan war.

* * * * *

404. ET VITAE MONSTRATA VIA EST;] Meaning the writings of _Theognis_, _Phocylides_, _Hesiod_, and others, which, consisting wholly of moral precepts, are elegantly said to lay open, or discover _the road of life_. Mr. Dacier’s interpretation, which makes the poet mean _physics_ by _viam vitæ_, is supported by no reason. _Il ne faut pas_, says he, _entendre ceci de la philosophie et des mœurs_; CAR _Horace se contrediroit, puisque il a dit que ce fut le premier soin de la poesie_. The learned critic did not consider, that the first care of poesy, as explained above, and as employed by _Orpheus_ and _Amphion_, was to inculcate _policy_, not _moral_.

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404. ET GRATIA REGUM, PIERIIS TENTATA MODIS, LUDUSQUE REPERTUS, ET LONGORUM OPERUM FINIS: NE FORTE PUDORI SIT TIBI MUSA LYRAE SOLERS, ET CANTOR APOLLO.] This is one of those master-strokes, which make the sovereign charm of this poet. But the way in which it hath been understood, extinguishes all its grace and beauty. _On les vers employa_, says an interpreter, who speaks the sense of the rest, _à gagner la faveur des rois, et on les mit de tous les jeux et de tous les spectacles, qu’on inventa pour se delasser de ses longs travaux et de toutes ses fatigues. Je vous dis cela afin que vous n’ayez point de honte de faire la cour aux Muses et à Apollon._ And, lest this should not seem explicit enough, he adds in a couple of notes, that by _ludus repertus_, &c. _il_ [le poete] _veut parler des tragedies et des comedies que l’on faisoit jour dans les fêtes solemnelles_. And then, as to the _ne forte pudori_, _Cela prouve qu’ Horace ne fait cet eloge de la poesie que pour empecher que Pison n’en fût degouté_. Can any thing be more insipid? For could the poet think so meanly of his art, as to believe it wanted an apology? Or had the _courtier_ so little address, as to direct that apology immediately to the Pisos? Besides, what species of poesy is it that he labours to excuse? Why, according to this interpretation, the _dramatic_: the supreme boast of his art, and the main subject of the epistle. And in what _manner_ does he excuse it? Why, in recommending it, as an agreeable amusement. But his master, Aristotle, would have furnished him with a nobler plea: and ’tis certain, the ancients talked at another rate of the use and end of the drama. Let us see then, if the sense, given in the commentary, will bring any relief to the poet. In fact, this whole passage [from _et vitæ_, &c. to _cantor Apollo_] obliquely glances at the two sorts of poetry peculiarly cultivated by himself, and is an indirect apology for his own choice of them. For 1. _vitæ monstrata via est_ is the character of his _sermones_. And 2. all the rest, of his _Odes_. These are recommended, agreeably to their nature, 1. as of use to _conciliate the favour of princes_; hereby glancing at the success of his own odes, and, with the happiest address, insinuating the regard, which Augustus paid to letters. 2. As contributing to the mirth and entertainment of feasts, and especially as holding a principal place in the celebration of those more sacred, secular festivities (_longorum operum finem_) which could not be duly solemnized, without the ministration of the lyric muse.

_Castis cum pueris ignara puella mariti, Disceret unde preces, vatem ni musa dedisset?_ 2 Ep. i. 132.

And again:

_ego Diis amicum, Sæculo festas referente luces, Reddidi carmen docilis modorum Vatis Horatî_. Carm. Sec.

In another place both ends are expressed:

_testudo Divitum_ MENSIS _et amica_ TEMPLIS. 3 Od. xi.

Where it may be observed, this double character of lyric poetry exactly corresponds to that, which the poet had before expressly given of it in this very epistle: the _gratia regum_ being the same as

_Musa dedit fidibus Divos puerosque Deorum Et pugilem victorem et equum certamine primum_. v. 83.

And _ludusque repertus_, describing its other office,

_Et juvenum curas et libera vina referre_. ib.

In this view the following line, which apologizes, not for poesy in general, or its noblest species, the drama, but for his own lyrics only, hath, as the reader perceives, infinite grace; and is peculiarly marked with that vein of exquisite humour, so suited to the genius of the epistle, and which makes one of the distinguishing beauties of the poet. It hath also an extreme _propriety_; the levity of the ode admitting, or rather requiring some apology to the Pisos; who would be naturally led to think but meanly of it, in comparison of the sublimer dramatic poetry. I must add, the very terms of the apology so expresly define and characterize lyric poetry, that it is something strange, it should have escaped vulgar notice: _musa lyræ solers_ being evidently explained by _Romanæ fidicen lyræ_ [4 Od. iii. 23.] and the epithet _cantor_, describing Apollo, as clearly as words can do it, in the peculiar character of _Lyric_.

* * * * *

407. CANTOR APOLLO. NATURA FIERET, &c.] The transition is delicate, and a fine instance of that kind of method, which the Epistle demands. The poet had just been speaking of the ode, and its inspirer, _cantor Apollo_; and this, in the natural train of his ideas, suggested that enthusiasm, and stretch of genius, which is at once the characteristic and glory of the lyric composition. And this was ground enough, in an Epistle, to pass on to say something concerning the power and influence of genius in poetry in general. It was for want of attending to so plain a reflexion as this, that the excellent Heinsius trifled so egregiously, in his transpositions of the Epistles, and in particular of this very place. And the hasty censures, which M. Dacier passed on the poet’s method, are apparently owing to no other cause. [See his introduct. remarks.] But to declare my sense at parting, of the _latter_ of these critics, I would say, as he himself does of the former, _C’est assez parlé contre M._ DACIER, _dont j’estime et admire autant la profonde érudition, que je condamne la mauvais usage qu’il en a fait en quelques rencontres_.

* * * * *

410. ALTERIUS SIC ALTERA POSCIT OPEM RES, ET CONJURAT AMICE.] This conclusion, “that art and nature must conspire to the production of a perfect piece,” is, in the general, unquestionably just. If we would know the distinct powers and provinces of each, a fine passage in Longinus will inform us. For, of the five sources of the sublime, enumerated by that critic, two only, “a grandeur of conception, and the pathetic,” come from _nature_: the rest, “a just arrangement of figures,” “a splendid diction,” and “dignity of composition,” are of the province of _art_. Yet, though their powers are thus distinct, each, in order to attain its due perfection, must conspire, and be consociated, with the other. For that “sublime of conception” and “pathetic enthusiasm” never make a more sure and lasting impression, than when cloathed in the graces, and moderated by the sober sense of _art_: as, on the contrary, the milder beauties of “language” and “artificial composition” are never so secure of seizing the attention, as when raised and inspirited by the _pathos_, or _sublime_. So that the nature of the union, here recommended, is such, as makes it not only necessary to the completion of that great end, _viz._ the glory of perfect composition; but that either part, in the alliance, may fully effect its own. All which is but the larger explication of another passage in Longinus, who teaches, that ΤΟΤΕ Η ΤΕΧΝΗ ΤΕΛΕΙΟΣ, ΗΝΙΚ’ ΑΝ ΦΥΣΙΣ ΕΙΝΑΙ ΔΟΚΗΙ· Η Δ’ ΑΥ ΦΥΣΙΣ ΕΠΙΤΥΧΗΣ, ΟΤΑΝ ΛΑΝΘΑΝΟΥΣΑ ΠΕΡΙΕΧΗΙ ΤΗΝ ΤΕΧΝΗΝ. [περ. ὑψ. τμη. κβʹ.]

But here, in parting, it will be amusing, perhaps, to the curious reader to observe, what perpetual matter of debate this question hath furnished to the ancient learned.

It seems first to have taken its rise from the high pretension of poets to inspiration [see Pind. Od. iii. Nem.], which was afterwards understood in too literal a sense, and in time extended to all works of genius or imitation. The orator, who, as Cicero tells us, is _near a-kin to the poet_, set up the same claim; principally, as it should seem, on the authority of Socrates, who, taking occasion from the ill use that had been made of _rhetoric_, to decry it as an _art_, was herein followed by the most illustrious of his scholars; amongst whom was Aristotle, [Quinct. l. ii. c. 17.] who had written a set treatise professedly with this view, though his books of rhetoric proceed on very different principles. The question afterwards appeared of so much moment to Cicero, that he discussed it in form, in one of his dialogues De Oratore. And Quinctilian, in still later times, found himself obliged to resume the same debate, and hath accordingly considered it in an entire chapter.

The long continuance of so frivolous a dispute, and which admits so easy a decision, would go near to persuade one, if, as Shakespeare speaks, _they had not the privilege of antiquity upon them_, that the pens of the ancient _literati_ were not always more wisely employed, than those of modern controversialists. If we ask the reason, it would seem to be owing to that ambitious spirit of subtlety and refinement, which, as Quintilian observes, _puts men upon teaching not what they believe to be true, but what, from the falsehood or apparent strangeness of the matter, they expect the praise of ingenuity from being able to maintain_. This, I say, might seem to be the cause of so much perversity, on the first view, and unquestionably it had its influence. But the truth is, the real cause was something more general and extensive. It was, in fact, that _natural proneness_, so Longinus terms it, _in mankind, to censure and degrade things present_, ἴδιον ἀνθρώπου καταμέμφεσθαι τὰ παρόντα. This in nothing holds truer, than in what concerns the state of literature; as may be seen from that unwearied industry of the learned to decry whatever appears to be the prevailing taste of the times; whether it be in suggesting some defect to be made good by future improvements; or, as is more common, because the easier and less invidious task, in setting up, and magnifying some former examples of a different cast and merit. Thus, in the case before us, exquisite art and commanding genius, being the two only means of rising to superior literary excellence, in proportion as any age became noted for the one, it was constantly defamed, and the preference given to the other. So, during the growth of letters in any state, when a sublimity of sentiment and strength of expression make, as under those circumstances they always will, the characteristic of the times, the critic, disgusted with the rude workings of nature, affects to admire only the nicer finishings and proportions of art. When, let but the growing experience of a few years refine and perfect the public taste, and what was before traduced as roughness and barbarity, becomes at once nerves, dignity, and force. Then art is effeminacy; and judgment want of spirit. All now is rapture and inspiration. The exactest modern compositions are unmanly and unnatural, _et solos veteres legendos putant, neque in ullis aliis esse naturalem eloquentiam et robur viris dignum arbitrantur_. [Quinct. l. x. c. i.] The truth of this observation might he justified from many examples. The learning and art of _Pacuvius_ (for so I understand the epithet _doctus_) carried it before the sublime of _Accius_; just as in elder Greece the smooth and correct _Simonides_, _tenuis Simonides_, as Quinctilian characterizes him, bore away the prize from the lofty and high-spirited _Æschylus_. Afterwards indeed the case was altered. The Athenians, grown exact in the rules of good writing, became so enamoured of the bold flights of Æschylus, as with a little correction to admit him on the stage, who, by this means, frequently gained the prize from a polite and knowing people, for what had certainly lost it him in the simpler, and less informed theatre of his own times. Thus too it fared with the elder Latin poets, who, though admired indeed in their own age, but with considerable abatement from the reason before assigned, were perfectly idolized in that of Augustus; so as to require the sharpest satire of our poet, to correct the malevolent principle from whence the affectation arose. But the observation holds of our own writers. There was a time, when the art of JONSON was set above the divinest raptures of SHAKESPEARE. The present age is well convinced of the mistake. And now the genius of SHAKESPEARE is idolized in its turn. Happily for the public taste, it can scarcely be too much so. Yet, should any, in the rage of erecting trophies to the genius of ancient poesy, presume to violate the recent honours of more correct poets, the cause of such critical perversity will be ever the same. For all admiration of past times, when excessive, is still to be accounted for the same way,

_Ingeniis non ille favet plauditque sepultis, Nostra sed impugnat, nos nostraque lividus odit_.

THE END OF THE NOTES ON THE ART OF POETRY.

Q. HORATII FLACCI

EPISTOLA AD AUGUSTUM.

TO THE REVEREND

MR. WARBURTON.

REVEREND SIR,

Give me leave to present to you the following Essay on the _Epistle to Augustus_; which, whatever other merit it may want, is secure of this, that it hath been planned upon the best model. For I know not what should hinder me from declaring to you in this public manner, that it was the early pleasure I received from what you had written of this sort, which _first_ engaged me in the province of criticism. And, if I have taken upon me to illustrate _another_ of the finest pieces of antiquity after the _same method_, it is because I find myself encouraged to do so by higher considerations, than even the Authority of your example.

CRITICISM, considered in its ancient and noblest office of doing justice to the merits of great writers, more especially in works of poetry and invention, demands, to its perfect execution, these two qualities: _a philosophic spirit_, capable of penetrating the fundamental reasons of excellence in every different species of composition; and _a strong imagination_, the parent of what we call _true taste_, enabling the critic to feel the full force of his author’s excellence himself, and to impress a lively sense of it upon others. Each of these abilities is necessary. For by means of philosophy, criticism, which were otherwise a vague and superficial thing, acquires the soundness and solidity of science. And from the _power of fancy_, it derives that light and energy and spirit, which are wanting to provoke the public emulation and carry the general conclusions of reason into practice.

Of these talents (to regard them in their separate state) that of a _strong imagination_, as being the commoner of the two, one would naturally suppose should be the first to exert itself in the service of criticism. And thus it seems, in fact, to have happened. For there were very early in Greece a sort of men, who, under the name of RHAPSODISTS, made it their business to illustrate the beauties of their favourite writers. Though their art, indeed, was very simple; for it consisted only in _acting_ the finest passages of their works, and in _repeating_ them, with a rapturous kind of vehemence, to an ecstatic auditory. Whence it appears, that criticism, as being yet in its infancy, was wholly turned to _admiration_; a passion which true _judgment_ as little indulges in the schools of _Art_, as sound philosophy in those of _Nature_. Accordingly these enraptured declaimers, though they travelled down to the politer ages, could not subsist in them. The fine ridicule of Plato, in one of his Dialogues[31], and the growing taste for just thinking, seem perfectly to have discredited this folly. And it was presently seen and acknowledged even by the Rhapsodist himself, that, how _divinely_ soever he might feel himself affected by the magnetic virtue of the muse, yet, as he could give no intelligible account of its subtle operations, he was assuredly no _Artist_; ΘΕΙΟΝ εἶναι καὶ μὴ ΤΕΧΝΙΚΟΝ ἐπαινέτην.

From this time they, who took upon themselves the office of commenting and recommending the great writers of Greece, discharged it in a very different manner. Their researches grew severe, inquisitive, and rational. And no wonder; for the person, who now took the lead in these studies, and set the fashion of them, was a _philosopher_, and, which was happy for the advancement of this art, the justest philosopher of antiquity. Hence _scientific_ or speculative criticism attained to perfection, at once; and appeared in all that severity of reason and accuracy of method, which Aristotle himself could bestow upon it.

But now this might almost seem as violent an extreme as the other. For though to _understand_ be better than to _admire_, yet the generality of readers _cannot_, or _will not_, understand, where there is _nothing_ for them to admire. So that _reason_, for her own sake, is obliged to borrow something of the dress, and to mimic the airs, of _fancy_: And Aristotle’s _reason_ was too proud to submit to this management.

Hence, the critical plan, which the Stagirite had formed with such rigour of science, however it might satisfy the curious speculatist, wanted to be _relieved_ and set off to the common eye by the heightenings of eloquence. This, I observed, was the easier task of the two; and yet it was very long before it was _successfully_ attempted. Amongst other reasons of this delay, the principal, as you observe, might be the fall of the public freedom of Greece, which soon after followed. For then, instead of the free and manly efforts of genius, which alone could accomplish such a reformation, the trifling spirit of the times declined into mere verbal amusements: “whence,” as you say, “so great a cloud of scholiasts and grammarians so soon over-spread the learning of Greece, when once that famous community had lost its liberty[32].”

And what Greece was thus unable, of a long time, to furnish, we shall in vain seek in another great community, which soon after flourished, in all liberal studies. The genius of Rome was bold and elevated enough for this task. But Criticism, of any kind, was little cultivated, never professed as an _art_, by this people. The specimens we have of their ability in this way (of which the most elegant, beyond dispute, are the two epistles to _Augustus_, and the _Pisos_) are slight occasional attempts; made in the negligence of common sense, and adapted to the peculiar exigencies of their own taste and learning: and not by any means the regular productions of _art_, professedly bending itself to this work, and ambitious to give the last finishing to the critical system.

For so great an effort as this we are to look back to the confines of Greece. And there at length, and even from beneath the depression of slavery (but with a spirit that might have done honour to its age of greatest liberty) a CRITIC arose, singularly qualified for so generous an undertaking. His profession, which was that of a _rhetorical sophist_, required him to be fully instructed in the graces and embellishments of eloquence; and these, the vigour of his genius enabled him to comprehend in their utmost force and beauty. In a word, LONGINUS was the person, whom, of all the critics of antiquity, nature seems to have formed with the proper talents to give the last honour to his profession, and penetrate the very soul of fine writing.

Yet so bounded is human _wit_, and with such difficulty is human _art_ compleated, that even here the advantage, which had been so fortunately gained on the one hand, was, in great measure, lost and forfeited on the other. He had softened indeed the severity of Aristotle’s plan; but, in doing this, had gone back again too far into the manner of the admiring Rhapsodist. In short, with the brightest views of nature and true beauty, which the finest imagination could afford to the best critic, he now wanted, in a good degree, that precision, and depth of thought, which had so eminently distinguished his predecessor. For, as Plotinus long ago observed of him, _though he had approved himself a master of polite literature, he was_ NO _Philosopher_; ΦΙΛΟΛΟΓΟΣ ΜΕΝ, ΦΙΛΟΣΟΦΟΣ ΔΕ ΟΥΔΑΜΩΣ.

Thus the art had been shifting reciprocally into two extremes. And in one or other of these extremes, it was likely to continue. For the fame and eminent ability of their great founders had made them considered as _models_, in their different ways, of perfect criticism. Only it was easy to foresee which of them the humour of succeeding times would be most disposed to emulate. The catching enthusiasm and picturesque fancy of the _one_ would be sure to prevail over the coolness and austerity of the _other_. Accordingly in the last and present century, when now the diligence of learned men had, by restoring the purity, opened an easy way to the study, of the old classics, a numberless tribe of commentators have attempted, after the manner of Longinus, to _flourish_ on the excellencies of their composition. And some of them, indeed, succeeded so well in this method, that one is not to wonder it soon became the popular and only authorized form of what was reputed _just Criticism_. Yet, as nothing but superior genius could make it tolerable even in the best of these, it was to be expected (what experience hath now fully shewn), that it would at length, and in ordinary hands, degenerate into the most unmeaning, frivolous, and disgustful jargon, that ever discredited polite letters.

This, Sir, was the state in which you received _modern Criticism_: a state, which could only shew you, that, of the two models, antiquity had furnished to our use, we had learned, by an awkward imitation of it, to abuse the _worst_. But it did not content your zeal for the service of letters barely to remedy this _abuse_. It was not enough, in your enlarged view of things, to restore either of these models to its ancient splendour. They were both to be revived; or rather a new original plan of criticism was to be struck out, which should unite the virtues of each of them. The experiment was made on the TWO greatest of our own poets; and, by reflecting all the lights of the imagination on the severest reason, every thing was effected, which the warmest admirer of ancient art could promise to himself from such an union. But you went farther. By joining to these powers a perfect insight into human nature, and so ennobling the exercise of _literary_, by the addition of the justest moral, censure, you have now, at length, advanced CRITICISM to its full glory.

Not but, considering the inveterate foible of mankind, which the poet so justly satirizes in the following work, I mean that, which disposes them to malign and depreciate all the efforts of wit and virtue,

—nisi quae terris semota suisque Temporibus defuncta videt—

Considering, I say, this temper of mankind, you may sooner, perhaps, expect the censures of the dull and envious of all denominations, than the candid applause of the public, even for this service.

I apprehend this consequence the rather, because criticism, though it be _the last fruit of literary experience_, is more exposed to the cavils of ignorance and vanity, than, perhaps, any other species of learned application: all men being forward to judge, and few men giving themselves leave to doubt of their being able to judge, of the merits of well-known and popular writers.

Nor is this all: When writers of a certain rank condescend to this work of criticism, the innovation excites a very natural ferment in the _men of the profession_.

Their JEALOUSY is alarmed, as if there was a design to strip them of the only honour they can reasonably pretend to, that of sitting in judgment on the _inventions_ of their betters. But to JUDGE, he well as to INVENT, is thought a violent encroachment in the republic of Letters; not unlike the ambition of the Roman emperors, who would be consuls, and censors too, that is, would have the privilege of excluding from the senate, as well as of presiding in it.

But if jealousy were out of the case, their MALIGNITY would be much inflamed by this intrusion. For who can bear to see his own weak endeavours in any art, disgraced by a consummate model?

Besides, to say the truth, the conceptions of such writers, as I before spoke of, lie so remote from vulgar apprehension, that, without either _jealousy_ or _malignity_, DULLNESS itself will be sure to create them many peevish detractors. For an ordinary critic can scarce help finding fault with what he does not understand, or being angry where he has no ideas.

On all these accounts it may possibly happen, as I said, that your critical labours will draw upon you much popular resentment and invective.

But if such should be the _present_ effect of your endeavours to cultivate and complete this elegant part of literature, you, who know the temper of the learned world, and, by your eminent merits, have so oft provoked its injustice, will not be disturbed or surprized at it: much less should it discourage those who are disposed to do you more right, from celebrating, and, as they find themselves able, from copying your example;

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

You see, Sir, what there is of encomium in the turn of this Letter, was intended not so much for your sake, as my own. Had my purpose been any other, I must have chosen very ill among the various parts of your character to take _this_ for the subject of an address to you. For, after all I have said and think of your critical abilities, it might seem almost as strange in a panegyrist on Mr. Warburton to tell of his admirable criticisms on POPE and SHAKESPEAR, as it would be in him, who should design an encomium on Socrates, to insist on his excellent sculpture of MERCURY and the GRACES. Yet there is a time, when it may be allowed to lay a stress on the amusements of such men. It is, when an adventurer in either _art_ would do an honour to his profession.

I am, with the truest esteem,

Reverend Sir,

Your most obedient

and most humble servant,

R. HURD.

CAMBRIDGE, _March 29, 1753_.

Q. HORATII FLACCI

EPISTOLA AD AUGUSTUM.

Cum tot sustineas et tanta negotia solus, Res Italas armis tuteris, moribus ornes, Legibus emendes; in publica commoda peccem, Si longo sermone morer tua tempora, Caesar. Romulus, et Liber pater, et cum Castore Pollux, 5 Post ingentia fata, Deorum in templa recepti, Dum terras hominumque colunt genus, aspera bella Conponunt, agros adsignant, oppida condunt; Ploravere suis non respondere favorem Speratum meritis. diram qui contudit Hydram, 10 Notaque fatali portenta labore subegit, Comperit invidiam supremo fine domari. Urit enim fulgore suo, qui praegravat artis Infra se positas: extinctus amabitur idem. Praesenti tibi maturos largimur honores, 15 Jurandasque tuum per numen ponimus aras, Nil oriturum alias, nil ortum tale fatentes. Sed tuus hoc populus sapiens et justus in uno, Te nostris ducibus, te Graiis anteferendo, Cetera nequaquam simili ratione modoque 20 Aestimat; et, nisi quae terris semota suisque Temporibus defuncta videt, fastidit et odit: Sic fautor veterum, ut Tabulas peccare vetantis, Quas bis quinque viri sanxerunt, Foedera regum Vel Gabiis vel cum rigidis aequata Sabinis, 25 Pontificum libros, annosa volumina Vatum, Dictitet Albano Musas in monte locutas. Si, quia Graiorum sunt antiquissima quaeque Scripta vel optima, Romani pensantur eadem Scriptores trutina; non est quod multa loquamur: 30 Nil intra est olea, nil extra est in nuce duri: Venimus ad summum fortunae: pingimus, atque Psallimus, et luctamur Achivis doctius unctis. Si meliora dies, ut vina, poemata reddit; Scire velim, chartis pretium quotus arroget annus, 35 Scriptor ab hinc annos centum qui decidit, inter Perfectos veteresque referri debet, an inter Vilis atque novos? excludat jurgia finis. Est vetus atque probus centum qui perficit annos. Quid? qui deperiit minor uno mense vel anno, 40 Inter quos referendus erit? veteresne poetas, An quos et praesens et postera respuat aetas? Iste quidem veteres inter ponetur honeste, Qui vel mense brevi, vel toto est junior anno. Utor permisso, caudaeque pilos ut equinae 45 Paullatim vello; et demo unum, demo et item unum; Dum cadat elusus ratione ruentis acervi, Qui redit in fastos, et virtutem aestimat annis, Miraturque nihil, nisi quod Libitina sacravit. Ennius et sapiens, et fortis, et alter Homerus, 50 Ut critici dicunt, leviter curare videtur Quo promissa cadant, et somnia Pythagorea. Naevius in manibus non est, et mentibus haeret Pene recens? adeo sanctum est vetus omne poema. Ambigitur quotiens, uter utro sit prior; aufert 55 Pacuvius docti famam senis, Accius alti: Dicitur Afranî toga convenisse Menandro: Plautus ad exemplar Siculi properare Epicharmi; Vincere Caecilius gravitate, Terentius arte. Hos ediscit, et hos arto stipata theatro 60 Spectat Roma potens; habet hos numeratque poetas Ad nostrum tempus, Livî Scriptoris ab aevo. Interdum volgus rectum videt: est ubi peccat. Si veteres ita miratur laudatque poetas, Ut nihil anteferat, nihil illis comparet; errat: 65 Si quaedam nimis antique, si pleraque dure Dicere cedit eos, ignave multa fatetur; Et sapit, et mecum facit, et Jove judicat aequo. Non equidem insector, delendave carmina Laevî Esse reor, memini quae plagosum mihi parvo 70 Orbilium dictare; sed emendata videri Pulchraque, et exactis minimum distantia, miror: Inter quae verbum emicuit si forte decorum, Si versus paulo concinnior unus et alter; Injuste totum ducit venitque poema. 75 Indignor quicquam reprehendi, non quia crasse Compositum, inlepideve putetur, sed quia nuper: Nec veniam antiquis, sed honorem et praemia posci. Recte necne crocum floresque perambulet Attae Fabula, si dubitem; clament periisse pudorem 80 Cuncti pene patres: ea cum reprehendere coner, Quae gravis Aesopus, quae doctus Roscius egit. Vel quia nil rectum, nisi quod placuit sibi, ducunt; Vel quia turpe putant parere minoribus, et, quae Inberbi didicere, senes perdenda fateri. 85 Jam Saliare Numae carmen qui laudat, et illud Quod mecum ignorat, solus volt scire videri; Ingeniis non ille favet plauditque sepultis, Nostra sed inpugnat, nos nostraque lividus odit. Quod si tam Graiis novitas invisa fuisset, 90 Quam nobis; quid nunc esset vetus? aut quid haberet, Quod legeret tereretque viritim publicus usus? Ut primum positis nugari Graecia bellis Coepit, et in vitium fortuna labier aequa; Nunc athletarum studiis, nunc arsit equorum: 95 Marmoris, aut eboris fabros, aut aeris amavit; Suspendit picta vultum mentemque tabella; Nunc tibicinibus, nunc est gavisa tragoedis: Sub nutrice puella velut si luderet infans, Quod cupide petiit, mature plena reliquit. 100 Quid placet, aut odio est, quod non mutabile credas? Hoc paces habuere bonae, ventique secundi. Romae dulce diu fuit et sollenne, reclusa Mane domo vigilare, clienti promere jura: Scriptos nominibus rectis expendere nummos: 105 Majores audire, minori dicere, per quae Crescere res posset, minui damnosa libido. Mutavit mentem populus levis, et calet uno Scribendi studio: puerique patresque severi Fronde comas vincti coenant, et carmina dictant. 110 Ipse ego, qui nullos me adfirmo scribere versus, Invenior Parthis mendacior; et prius orto Sole vigil, calamum et chartas et scrinia posco. Navem agere ignarus navis timet: abrotonum aegro Non audet, nisi qui didicit, dare: quod medicorum est, 115 Promittunt medici: tractant fabrilia fabri: Scribimus indocti doctique poemata passim. Hic error tamen et levis haec insania quantas Virtutes habeat, sic collige: vatis avarus Non temere est animus: versus amat, hoc studet unum; 120 Detrimenta, fugas servorum, incendia ridet: Non fraudem socio, puerove incogitat ullam Pupillo: vivit siliquis, et pane secundo: Militiae quanquam piger et malus, utilis urbi; Si das hoc, parvis quoque rebus magna juvari; 125 Os tenerum pueri balbumque poëta figurat: Torquet ab obscoenis jam nunc sermonibus aurem; Mox etiam pectus praeceptis format amicis, Asperitatis et invidiae corrector et irae: Recte facta refert; orientia tempora notis 130 Instruit exemplis; inopem solatur et aegrum. Castis cum pueris ignara puella mariti Disceret unde preces, vatem ni Musa dedisset? Poscit opem chorus, et praesentia numina sentit; Coelestis implorat aquas, docta prece blandus; 135 Avertit morbos, metuenda pericula pellit; Inpetrat et pacem, et locupletem frugibus annum: Carmine Dî superi placantur, carmine Manes. Agricolae prisci, fortes, parvoque beati, Condita post frumenta, levantes tempore festo 140 Corpus et ipsum animum spe finis dura ferentem, Cum sociis operum pueris et conjuge fida, Tellurem porco, Silvanum lacte piabant, Floribus et vino Genium memorem brevis aevi. Fescennina per hunc invecta licentia morem 145 Versibus alternis opprobria rustica fudit; Libertasque recurrentis accepta per annos Lusit amabiliter: donec jam saevus apertam In rabiem coepit verti jocus, et per honestas Ire domos impune minax. doluere cruento 150 Dente lacessiti: fuit intactis quoque cura Conditione super communi: quin etiam lex Poenaque lata, malo quae nollet carmine quemquam Describi. vertere modum, formidine fustis Ad bene dicendum delectandumque redacti. 155 Graecia capta ferum victorem cepit, et artis Intulit agresti Latio. sic horridus ille Defluxit numerus Saturnius, et grave virus Munditiae pepulere: sed in longum tamen aevum Manserunt, hodieque manent, vestigia ruris. 160 Serus enim Graecis admovit acumina chartis; Et post Punica bella quietus quaerere coepit, Quid Sophocles et Thespis et Aeschylos utile ferrent: Tentavit quoque rem, si digne vertere posset: Et placuit sibi, natura sublimis et acer. 165 Nam spirat tragicum satis, et feliciter audet; Sed turpem putat inscitus metuitque lituram. Creditur, ex medio quia res arcessit, habere Sudoris minimum; sed habet Comoedia tanto Plus oneris, quanto veniae minus. aspice, Plautus 170 Quo pacto partis tutetur amantis ephebi; Ut patris attenti, lenonis ut insidiosi: Quantus sit Dossennus edacibus in parasitis: Quam non adstricto percurrat pulpita socco. Gestit enim nummum in loculos demittere; post hoc 175 Securus, cadat an recto stet fabula talo. Quem tulit ad scenam ventoso gloria curru, Exanimat lentus spectator, sedulus inflat. Sic leve, sic parvum est, animum quod laudis avarum Subruit ac reficit. valeat res ludicra, si me 180 Palma negata macrum, donata reducit opimum. Saepe, etiam audacem, fugat hoc terretque poetam; Quod numero plures, virtute et honore minores, Indocti, stolidique, et depugnare parati Si discordet eques, media inter carmina poscunt 185 Aut ursum aut pugiles: his nam plebecula gaudet. Verum equiti quoque jam migravit ab aure voluptas Omnis, ad ingratos oculos, et gaudia vana. Quatuor aut pluris aulaea premuntur in horas; Dum fugiunt equitum turmae, peditumque catervae: 190 Mox trahitur manibus regum fortuna retortis: Esseda festinant, pilenta, petorrita, naves: Captivum portatur ebur, captiva Corinthus. Si foret in terris, rideret Democritus; seu Diversum confusa genus panthera camelo, 195 Sive elephas albus volgi converterit ora: Spectaret populum ludis attentius ipsis, Ut sibi praebentem mimo spectacula plura: Scriptores autem narrare putaret asello Fabellam surdo. nam quae pervincere voces 200 Evaluere sonum, referunt quem nostra theatra? Garganum mugire putes nemus, aut mare Tuscum. Tanto cum strepitu ludi spectantur, et artes, Divitiaeque peregrinae: quibus oblitus actor Cum stetit in scena, concurrit dextera laevae: 205 Dixit adhuc aliquid? nil sane. quid placet ergo? Lana Tarentino violas imitata veneno. Ac ne forte putes me, quae facere ipse recusem, Cum recte tractent alii, laudare maligne: Ille per extentum funem mihi posse videtur 210 Ire poeta; meum qui pectus inaniter angit, Inritat, mulcet, falsis terroribus inplet, Ut magus; et modo me Thebis, modo ponit Athenis. Verum age, et his, qui se lectori credere malunt, Quam spectatoris fastidia ferre superbi, 215 Curam impende brevem: si munus Apolline dignum Vis complere libris; et vatibus addere calcar, Ut studio majore petant Helicona virentem. Multa quidem nobis facimus mala saepe poëtae, (Ut vineta egomet caedam mea) cum tibi librum 220 Sollicito damus, aut fesso: cum laedimur, unum Si quis amicorum est ausus reprendere versum: Cum loca jam recitata revolvimus inrevocati: Cum lamentamur non adparere labores Nostros, et tenui deducta poemata filo: 225 Cum speramus eo rem venturam, ut, simul atque Carmina rescieris nos fingere, commodus ultro Arcessas, et egere vetes, et scribere cogas. Sed tamen est operae pretium cognoscere, qualis Aedituos habeat belli spectata domique 230 Virtus, indigno non committenda poetae. Gratus Alexandro regi Magno fuit ille Choerilos, incultis qui versibus et male natis Rettulit acceptos, regale nomisma, Philippos. Sed veluti tractata notam labemque remittunt 235 Atramenta, fere scriptores carmine foedo Splendida facta linunt. idem rex ille, poëma Qui tam ridiculum tam care prodigus emit, Edicto vetuit; ne quis se, praeter Apellen Pingeret, aut alius Lysippo cuderet aera 240 Fortis Alexandri voltum simulantia. quod si Judicium subtile videndis artibus illud Ad libros et ad haec Musarum dona vocares; Boeotum in crasso jurares aëre natum. At neque dedecorant tua de se judicia, atque 245 Munera, quae multa dantis cum laude tulerunt, Dilecti tibi Virgilius Variusque poetae: Nec magis expressi voltus per aënea signa, Quam per vatis opus mores animique virorum Clarorum adparent. nec sermones ego mallem 250 Repentis per humum, quam res componere gestas, Terrarumque situs, et flumina dicere, et arcis Montibus impositas, et barbara regna, tuisque Auspiciis totum confecta duella per orbem, Claustraque custodem pacis cohibentia Janum, 255 Et formidatam Parthis, te principe, Romam: Si quantum cuperem, possem quoque. sed neque parvum Carmen majestas recipit tua; nec meus audet Rem tentare pudor, quam vires ferre recusent. Sedulitas autem stulte, quem diligit, urguet; 260 Praecipue cum se numeris commendat et arte. Discit enim citius, meminitque libentius illud Quod quis deridet, quam quod probat et veneratur. Nil moror officium, quod me gravat: ac neque ficto In pejus voltu proponi cereus usquam, 265 Nec prave factis decorari versibus opto: Ne rubeam pingui donatus munere, et una Cum scriptore meo capsa porrectus operta, Deferar in vicum vendentem tus et odores, Et piper, et quicquid chartis amicitur ineptis. 270

COMMENTARY.

EPISTOLA AD AUGUSTUM.] In conducting this work, which is _an apology for the poets of his own time_, the method of the writer is no other, than that which plain sense, and the subject itself, required of him. For, as the main dislike to the Augustan poets had arisen from an _excessive reverence_ paid to their elder brethren, the _first_ part of the epistle [from v. 1 to 118] is very naturally laid out in the ridicule and confutation of so absurd a prejudice. And having, by this preparation, obtained a candid hearing for his defence, he then proceeds [in what follows, to the _end_] to vindicate their real _merits_; setting in view the excellencies of the _Latin poetry_, as cultivated by the great modern masters; and throwing the blame of their ill success, and of the contempt in which they had lain, not so much on themselves, or their _profession_ (the dignity of _which_, in particular, he insists highly upon, and asserts with spirit) as on the vicious taste of the age, and certain unfavouring circumstances, which had accidentally concurred to dishonour _both_.

This idea of the _general_ plan being comprehended, the reader will find it no difficulty to perceive the order and arrangement of _particular_ parts, which the natural transition of the poet’s thought insensibly drew along with it.

5-118. ROMULUS, ET LIBER PATER, &c.] The subject commences from v. 5, where, by a contrivance of great beauty, a pertinent _illustration_ of the poet’s argument becomes an offering of the happiest _address_ to the emperor. Its _double_ purpose may be seen thus. His primary intention was to take off the force of prejudice against _modern_ poets, arising from the superior veneration of the _ancients_. To this end the first thing wanting was to demonstrate by some striking instance, that it was, indeed, nothing but _prejudice_; which he does effectually in taking that instance from the _heroic_, that is, the most revered, ages. For if such, whose acknowledged virtues and eminent services had raised them to the rank of _heroes_, that is, in the pagan conception of things, to the honours of _divinity_, could not secure their fame, in their own times, against the malevolence of slander, what wonder that the race of _wits_, whose obscurer merit is less likely to dazzle the public eye, and yet, by a peculiar fatality, is more apt to awaken its jealousy, should find themselves oppressed by its rudest censure? In the _former_ case the honours, which equal posterity paid to excelling worth, declare all _such_ censure to have been the calumny of malice only. What reason then to conclude, it had any other original in the _latter_? This is the poet’s _argument_.

But now, of these worthies themselves, whom the justice of grateful posterity had snatched out of the hands of detraction, there were some, it seems, whose illustrious services the virtue or vain-glory of the emperor most affected to emulate; and these, therefore, the poet, by an ingenious flattery, selects for examples to his general _observation_,

_Romulus, et Liber pater, et cum Castore Pollux Post ingentia fata_, &c.

Further, as the good fortune of Augustus, though adorned with the _same_ enviable qualities, had exempted _him_ from the injuries which had constantly befallen _those admired characters_, this peculiar circumstance in the history of his prince affords him the happiest occasion, flattery could desire, of paying distinguished honours to his glory.

_Praesenti tibi maturos largimur honores._

And this constitutes the fine _address and compliment of his Application_.

But this justice, which Augustus had exacted, as it were, by the very authority of his virtue, from his applauding people, was but ill discharged in other instances.

_Sed tuus hoc populus sapiens et justus in uno, Te nostris ducibus, te Graiis anteferendo, Cetera nequaquam simili ratione modoque Aestimat_, &c.

And thus the very _exception_ to the general rule, which forms the encomium, leads him with advantage into his _argument_; which was to observe and expose “the malignant influence of prepossession in obstructing the proper glories of living merit.” So that, as good sense demands in every reasonable panegyric, the praise results from the nature and foundation of the subject-matter, and is not violently and reluctantly dragged into it.

His general charge against his countrymen “of their bigotted attachment to those, dignified by the name of _ancients_, in prejudice to the just deserts of the moderns,” being thus delivered; and the folly of such conduct, with some agreeable exaggeration, exposed; he sets himself with a happy mixture of irony and argument, as well becomes the genius and character of the _epistle_, to confute the pretences, and overturn the very _foundations_, on which it rested.

One main support of their folly was taken from an allowed fact, viz. “That the oldest _Greek_ writers were incontestably superior to the modern ones.” From whence they inferred, that it was but according to nature and the course of experience, to give the like preference to the oldest _Roman_ masters.

His confutation of this sophism consists of two parts. _First_, [from v. 28 to 32] he insists on the _evident_ absurdity of the opinion he is confuting. There was no reasoning with persons, capable of such _extravagant positions_. But, _secondly_, the pretended fact itself, with regard to the Greek learning, was _grossly misunderstood, or perversely applied_. For [from v. 32 to 34] it was not true, nor could it be admitted, that the very _oldest_ of the _Greek_ writers were the best, but those only, which were old, in comparison of the mere modern Greeks. The so much applauded models of Grecian antiquity were themselves _modern_, in respect of the still _older_ and ruder essays of their first writers. It was long discipline and cultivation, the same which had given the Greek _artists_ in the Augustan reign a superiority over the Roman, that by degrees established the good taste, and fixed the authority of the Greek _poets_; from which point it was natural and even necessary for succeeding, _i. e._ the modern Greeks to decline. But no consequence lay from hence to the advantage of the Latin poets, in question; who were wholly unfurnished with any previous study of the arts of verse; and whose works could only be compared with the very _oldest_, that is, the rude forgotten essays of the Greek poetry. So that the fine sense, so closely shut up in this concise couplet, comes out thus: “The modern Greek masters of the _fine arts_ are confessedly superior to the modern Roman. The reason is, they have practised them longer, and with more diligence. Just so, the modern Roman writers must needs have the advantage of their _old_ ones: who had no knowledge of writing, as an _art_, or, if they had, took but small care to put it in practice.”

Further, this plea of antiquity is as uncertain in its _application_, as it was destitute of all truth and reason in its original _foundation_. For if age only must bear away the palm, what way is there of determining, which writers are _modern_, and which _ancient_? The impossibility of fixing this to the satisfaction of an objector, which is pursued [to v. 50] with much agreeable raillery, makes it evident, that the circumstance of antiquity is absolutely nothing; and that in _estimating the merit_ of writers, the real, intrinsic excellence of their writings _themselves_ is alone to be regarded.

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

_Qui redit in fastos et virtutem aestimat annis._

Taking the fact for granted “of his strong prepossession for antiquity, _as such_” he would discredit, both by raillery and argument, so absurd a conduct. What he gains, by this disposition, is to come to the _particulars_ of his charge with more advantage. For the popular contempt of modern composition, sheltering itself under a shew of learned admiration of the _ancients_, whose age and reputation had made them truly venerable, and whose genuine merits, in the main, could not be disputed, a direct attack upon their fame, at setting out, without any softening, had disgusted the most _moderate_; whereas this prefatory appeal to common sense, under the cover of general criticism, would even dispose bigotry itself to afford the poet a candid hearing. His accusation then of the public taste comes in, here, very pertinently; and is delivered, with address [from v. 50 to 63] in a particular detail of the judgements passed upon the most celebrated of the old Roman poets, by the generality of the modern critics; where, to win upon their prejudices still further by his generosity and good faith, he scruples not to recount such of their determinations on the merit of ancient writers, as were reasonable and well founded, as well as others, that he deemed less just, and as such intended more immediately to expose.

We see then with what art the poet conducts himself in this attack on the _ancients_, and how it served his purpose, by turns, to soften and aggravate the _charge_. _First_, “he wanted to lower the reputation of the old poets.” This was not to be done by general invective or an affected dissimulation of their just praise. He admits then [from v. 63 to 66] their reasonable pretensions to _admiration_. ’Tis the _degree_ of it alone, to which he objects.

_Si veteres_ ITA _miratur laudatque_, &c.

_Secondly_, “he wanted to draw off their applauses from “the ancient to the modern poets.” This required the _advantages_ of those moderns to be distinctly shewn, or, which comes to the same, the _comparative deficiencies_ of the ancients to be pointed out. These were not to be dissembled, and are, as he openly insists [to v. 69] _obsolete language_, _rude and barbarous construction_, and _slovenly composition_,

_Si quaedam nimis_ ANTIQUE, _si pleraque_ DURE, _Dicere cedit eos_, IGNAVE _multa_.

But what then? an objector replies, these were venial faults, surely; the _deficiencies_ of the times, and not of the men; who, with such incorrectnesses as are here noted, might still possess the greatest _talents_, and produce the noblest _designs_. This [from v. 69 to 79] is readily admitted. But, in the mean time, one thing was clear, that they were not _finished models_—_exactis minimum distantia_. Which was the main point in dispute. For the bigot’s absurdity lay in this,

_Non veniam antiquis, sed honorem et praemia posci._

Nay, his folly is shewn to have gone still greater lengths. These boasted models of antiquity, with all their imperfections, had occasionally [v. 73, 74] though the instances were indeed rare and thinly scattered, _striking beauties_. These, under the recommendation of _age_, which, of course, commands our reverence, might well impose on the judgements of the _generality_, and standing forth with advantage, as from a shaded and dark _ground_, would naturally catch the eye and admiration of the more _learned_. Thus much the poet candidly insinuates in excuse of the bigot’s _ill judgment_. But, unluckily, he had cut himself off from the benefit of this plea, by avowedly grounding his _admiration_, not merely on the intrinsic excellence, so far as it went, of the ancient poetry itself; but on the advantage of any extraneous circumstance, which but casually stuck to it. The accident of a play’s having passed though the mouth, and been graced by the action, of a just speaker, was sufficient [from v. 79 to 83] (so inexcusable were his prejudices) to attract his wonder, and justify his esteem. In so much that it became an insolence, generally cried out upon, for any one to censure such pieces of the theatre,

_Quae gravis Æsopus, quae doctus Roscius egit._

This being the case, it was no longer a doubt, whether the affected admiration of antiquity proceeded from a deluded judgment only, or a much worse cause. It could plainly be resolved into no other, than the willful agency of the malignant affections; which, wherever they prevail, corrupt the simple and ingenuous sense of the mind, either 1. [v. 83] _in engendring high conceits of self_, and referring all degrees of excellence to the supposed infallible standard of every man’s own judgment; or 2. [to v. 86] _in creating a false shame_, and reluctancy in us to be directed by the judgments of others, though _seen_ to be more equitable, whenever they are found in opposition to our own rooted and preconceived opinions. The bigotry of _old Men_ is, especially, for this reason, invincible. They hold themselves upbraided by the sharper sight of their juniors; and regard the adoption of new sentiments, at their years, as so much absolute loss on the side of the dead stock of their old literary possessions. These considerations are generally of such prevalency in great veteran critics, that [from v. 86 to 90] whenever, as in the case before us, they pretend an uncommon zeal for antiquity, and their sagacity piques itself on detecting the superior value of obscure rhapsodists whom no body else reads, or is able to understand, we may be sure the secret view of such, is, not the generous defence and patronage of _ancient_ wit, but a low malevolent pleasure in decrying the just pretensions of the _modern_.

_Ingeniis non ille favet plauditque sepultis, Nostra sed impugnat, nos nostraque lividus odit._

The poet had, now, made appear the unreasonable attachment of his countrymen to the fame of their old writers. He had thoroughly unravelled the sophistical pretences, on which it affected to justify itself; and had even dared to unveil the _secret iniquitous principle_, from which it arose. It was now time to look forward to the _effects_ of it; which were, in truth, very baleful; its poisonous influences being of force to corrupt and wither, as it were, in the bud, every rising species of excellence, and fatally to check the very hopes and tendencies of true genius. Nothing can be truer, than this remark; which he further enforces, and brings home to his adversaries, by asking a pertinent question, to which it concerned them to make a serious reply. They had magnified v. 28 the perfection of the Greek models. But what [to v. 93] if the Greeks had conceived the same aversion to _novelties_, as the Romans? How then could _those_ models have ever been furnished to the public use? The question, we see, insinuates what was before affirmed to be the truth of the case; that the unrivalled excellence of the Greek poets proceeded only from long and vigorous exercise, and a painful uninterrupted application to the arts of verse. The liberal spirit of that people led them to countenance every new attempt towards superior literary excellence; and so, by the public favour, their writings, from rude essays, became at length the standard and admiration of succeeding wits. The Romans had treated their adventurers quite otherwise, and the effect was answerable. This is the purport of what to a common eye may look like a _digression_ [from v. 93 to 108], in which is delineated the very different genius and practice of the two nations. For the _Greeks_ [to v. 102] had applied themselves, in the intervals of their leisure from the toils of war, to the cultivation of every species of elegance, whether in _arts_, or _letters_; and loved to cherish the public emulation, by affording a free indulgence to the various and volatile disposition of the times. The activity of these restless spirits, was incessantly attempting some new and untryed _form_ of composition; and, when _that_ was brought to a due degree of perfection, it turned, _in good time_, to the cultivation of some _other_.

_Quod cupide petiit, mature plena reliquit._

So that the very caprice of _humour_ [v. 101] assisted, in this libertine country, to advance and help forward the public taste. Such was the effect of _peace and opportunity_ with them.

_Hoc paces habuere bonae ventique secundi._

Whereas the _Romans_ [to v. 108] by a more composed temperament and saturnine complexion had devoted their pains to the pursuit of domestic utilities, and a more dexterous management of the _arts of gain_. The consequence of which was, that when [to v. 117] by the decay of the old frugal spirit, the necessary effect of overflowing plenty and ease, they began, at length, to seek out for the elegancies of life; and _a fit of versifying_, the first of all liberal amusements, that usually seizes an idle people, had come upon them; their ignorance of rules, and want of exercise in the art of writing, rendered them wholly unfit to succeed in it. So that their awkward attempts in poetry were now as disgraceful to their _taste_, as their total disregard of it, before, had been to their _civility_. The root of this mischief was the idolatrous regard paid to their ancient poets: which unluckily, when the public emulation was set a going, not only checked its progress, but gave it a wrong bias; and, instead of helping true genius to outstrip the lame and tardy endeavours of ancient wit, drew it aside into a vicious and unprofitable mimicry of its very imperfections. Whence it had come to pass, that, whereas in other _arts_, the previous knowledge of rules is required to the practice of them, in this of _versifying_, no such qualification was deemed necessary.

_Scribimus indocti doctique poemata passim._

This mischance was _doubly_ fatal to the Latin poetry. For the ill success of these blind adventurers had increased the original mischief, by confirming, as it needs must, the superstitious reverence of the old writers; and insensibly brought, as well the art itself, as the modern professors of it, into disrepute with the discerning public. The vindication of _both_, then, at this critical juncture, was become highly seasonable; and to this, which was the poet’s main purpose, he addresses himself through the remainder of the epistle.

118 to the end. HIC ERROR TAMEN, &c.] Having sufficiently obviated the popular and reigning prejudices against the modern poets, his office of _advocate_ for their fame, which he had undertaken, and was now to discharge, in form, required him to set their real merits and pretensions in a just light. He enters therefore immediately on this task. And, in drawing the character of the _true poet_, endeavours to impress the Emperor with as advantageous an idea as possible, of the worth and dignity of his calling. And this, not in the fierce insulting tone of a zealot for the _honour of his order_, which to the _great_ is always disgusting, and where the occasion is, confessedly, not of the last importance, plainly absurd; but with that unpretending air of insinuation, which good sense, improved by a thorough knowledge of the world, teaches: with that seeming indifference which disarms prejudice: in a word, with that gracious _smile in his aspect_, which his strong admirer and faint copyer, Persius, so justly noted in him, and which convinces almost without the help of argument; or to say it more truly, _persuades_ where it doth not properly _convince_. In this disposition he sets out on his defence; and yet omits no _particular_, which could any way serve to the real recommendation of _poets_, or which indeed, the gravest or warmest of their friends have ever pleaded in their behalf. This defence consists [from v. 118 to 139] in bringing into view their many _civil_, _moral_, and _religious_ virtues. For the muse, as the poet contends (and nothing could be more likely to conciliate the esteem of the politic emperor) administers, in this threefold capacity, to the service of the state.

But _Religion_, which was its _noblest end_, was, besides, the _first object_ of poetry. The dramatic muse, in particular, had her birth, and derived her very character, from it. This circumstance then leads him with advantage, to give an historical deduction of the rise and progress of the Latin poesy, from its first rude workings in the days of barbarous superstition, through every successive period of its improvement, down to his own times. Such a view of its descent and gradual reformation was directly to the poet’s purpose. For having magnified the virtues of his order, as of such importance to society, the question naturally occurred, by what unhappy means it had fallen out, that it was, nevertheless, in such low estimation with the public. The answer is, that the state of the Latin poetry, as yet, was very rude and imperfect: and so the public disregard was occasioned, only, by its not having attained to that degree of perfection, of which its _nature_ was capable. Many reasons had concurred to keep the Latin poetry in this state, which he proceeds to enumerate. The _first and principal_ was [from v. 139 to 164] the little attention paid _to critical learning, and the cultivation of a correct and just spirit of composition_. Which, again, had arisen from the coarse illiberal disposition of the Latin muse, who had been nurtured and brought up under the roof of rural superstition; and this, by an impure mixture of licentious jollity, had so corrupted her very nature, that it was only by slow degrees, and not till the conquest of Greece had imported arts and learning into Italy, that she began to chastise her manners, and assume a juster and more becoming deportment. And still she was but in the condition of a rustic _beauty_, when, practising her aukward airs, and making her first ungracious essays towards a _manner_.

_in longum tamen aevum Manserunt, hodieque manent_ vestigia ruris.

Her late acquaintance with the Greek models had, indeed, improved her air, and inspired an inclination to emulate their noblest graces. But how successfully, we are given to understand from her unequal attempts in the two sublimer species of their poetry, the TRAGIC, AND COMIC DRAMAS.

1. [from v. 160 to 168] The _study of the Greek tragedians_ had very naturally, and to good purpose, in the infancy of their taste, disposed the Latin writers to _translation_. Here they stuck long; for their tragedy, even in the Augustan age, was little else; and yet they succeeded but indifferently in it. The bold and animated genius of Rome was, it is readily owned, well suited to this work. And for force of colouring, and a truly tragic elevation, the Roman poets came not behind their great originals. But unfortunately their judgment was unformed, and they were too soon satisfied with their own productions. Strength and fire was all they endeavoured after. And with this praise they sate down perfectly contented. The discipline of correction, the curious polishing of art, which had given such a lustre to the Greek tragedians, they knew nothing of; or, to speak their case more truly, they held disgraceful to the high spirit and energy of the Roman genius:

TURPEM PUTAT IN SCRIPTIS METUITQUE LITURAM.

2. It did not fare better with them [from v. 168 to 175] in their attempts to rival _the Greek comedy_. They preposterously set out with the notion of its being easier to execute this drama than the tragic: whereas to hit its genuine character with exactness was, in truth, a point of much more difficulty. As the _subject_ of comedy was taken from common life, they supposed an ordinary degree of care might suffice, to do it justice. No wonder then, they overlooked or never came up to that nice adjustment of the _manners_, that truth and decorum of _character_, wherein the glory of comic painting consists, and which none but the quickest eye can discern, and the steadiest hand execute; and, in the room, amused us with _high colouring_, and _false drawing_; with _extravagant, aggravated portraitures_; which, neglecting the modest proportion of real life, are the certain arguments of an unpractised pencil, or vicious taste.

What contributed to this prostitution of the comic muse, was [to v. 177] the seducement of that corruptress of all virtue, _the love of money_; which had thoroughly infected the Roman wits, and was, in fact, the sole object of their pains. Hence, provided they could but catch the applauses of the people, to which the pleasantry of the comic scene more especially aspires, and so secure a good round _price_ from the magistrates, whose office it was to furnish this kind of entertainment, they became indifferent to every nobler view and honester purpose. In particular [to v. 182] they so little considered _fame and the praise of good writing_, that they made it the ordinary topic of their ridicule; representing it as the mere illusion of vanity, and the pitiable infirmity of _lean-witted_ minds, to be catched by the lure of so empty and unsubstantial a benefit.

Though, were any one, in defiance of public ridicule, so _daring_ (as there is no occasion in life, which calls for, or demonstrates a greater firmness), as frankly to avow and submit himself to this generous _motive_, the surest inspirer of every virtuous excellence, yet one thing remained to check and weaken the vigour of his emulation. This [from v. 182 to 187] was the folly and ill taste of the undiscerning multitude; who, in all countries, have a great share in determining the fate and character of scenical representations, but, from the popular constitution of the government, were, at Rome, of the first consequence. These, by their rude clamours, and the authority of their numbers, were enough to dishearten the most intrepid genius; when, after all his endeavours to reap the glory of an absolute work, the _action_ was almost sure to be mangled and broken in upon by the shews of _wild beasts and gladiators_; those _dear delights_, which the Romans, it seems, prized much above the highest pleasures of the drama.

Nay, the poet’s case was still more desperate. For it was not the untutored rabble, as in other countries, that gave a countenance to these illiberal sports: even _rank and quality_, at Rome, debased itself in shewing the fiercest passion for these _shews_, and was as ready, as abject commonalty itself, to prefer the uninstructing pleasures of the _eye_ to those of the _ear_.

EQUITI _quoque jam migravit ab aure voluptas Omnis ad ingratos oculos et gaudia vana._

And, because this barbarity of taste had contributed more than any thing else to deprave the poetry of the stage, and discourage its best masters from studying its perfection, what follows [from v. 189 to 207] is intended, in all the keenness of raillery, to satyrize this madness. It afforded an ample field for the poet’s ridicule. For, besides the riotous disorders of their theatre, the senseless admiration of _pomp and spectacle_ in their plays had so inchanted his countrymen, that the very decorations of the scene, the tricks and trappings of the comedians, were surer to catch the applauses of the gaping multitude, than any regard to the justness of the poet’s design, or the beauty of his execution.

Here the poet should naturally have concluded his _defence of the dramatic writers_; having alledged every thing in their favour, that could be urged, plausibly, from _the state of the Roman stage: the genius of the people: and the several prevailing practices of ill taste_, which had brought them into disrepute with the best judges. But finding himself obliged, in the course of this vindication of the modern _stage-poets_, to censure as sharply, as their very enemies, the vices and defects of their _poetry_; and fearing lest this severity on a sort of writing, to which himself had never pretended, might be misinterpreted as the effect of envy only, and a malignant disposition towards the art itself, under cover of pleading for its _professors_, he therefore frankly avows [from v. 208 to 214] his preference of the _dramatic_, to every other species of poetry; declaring the sovereignty of its pathos over the _affections_, and the magic of its illusive scenery on the _Imagination_, to be the highest argument of poetic excellence, the last and noblest exercise of the human genius.

One thing still remained. He had taken upon himself to apologize for the Roman poets, in _general_; as may be seen from the large terms, in which he proposes his subject.

_Hic error tamen et levis haec insania quantas Virtutes habeat, sic collige._

But, after a general encomium on the _office_ itself, he confines his defence to the _writers for the stage_ only. In conclusion then, he was constrained, by the very purpose of his address, to say a word or two in behalf of the remainder of this neglected family; of those, who, as the poet expresses it, had _rather trust to the equity of the closet, than subject themselves to the caprice and insolence of the theatre_.

Now, as before, in asserting the honour of the stage-poets he every where supposes the emperor’s _disgust_ to have sprung from the wrong conduct of the poets themselves, and then extenuates the blame of such _conduct_, by considering, still further, the _causes_ which gave rise to it; so he prudently observes the like method here. The politeness of his address concedes to Augustus, the just _offence_ he had taken to his brother poets; whose honour, however, he contrives to save by softening the _occasions_ of it. This is the drift of what follows [from v. 214 to 229] where he pleasantly recounts the several foibles and indiscretions of the muse; but in a way, that could only dispose the emperor to smile at, or at most, to pity her infirmities, not provoke his serious censure and disesteem. They amount, on the whole, but to certain idlenesses of _vanity_, the almost inseparable attendant of _wit_, as well as _beauty_; and may be forgiven in _each_, as implying a strong _desire_ of pleasing, or rather as _qualifying_ both to please. One of the most exceptionable of these _vanities_ was a fond persuasion, too readily taken up by men of parts and genius, that _preferment is the constant pay of merit_; and that, from the moment their talents become known to the public, distinction and advancement are sure to follow. They believed, in short, they had only to convince the world of their superior abilities, to deserve the favour and countenance of their prince. But fond and presumptuous as these hopes are (continues the poet [from v. 229 to 244] with all the insinuation of a courtier, and yet with a becoming sense of the dignity of his own character) it may deserve a serious consideration, what poets are fit to be entrusted with the glory of princes; what _ministers_ are worth retaining in the service of an illustrious VIRTUE, whose honours demand to be solemnized with a religious reverence, and should not be left to the profanation of vile, unhallowed hands. And, to support the authority of this remonstrance, he alledges the example of a great Monarch, who had dishonoured himself by a neglect of this care; of ALEXANDER THE GREAT, who, when master of the world, as Augustus now was, perceived, indeed, the importance of gaining a poet to his service; but unluckily chose so ill, that his encomiums (as must ever be the case with a vile panegyrist) but tarnished the native splendor of those virtues, which his office required him to present, in their fullest and fairest glory, to the admiration of the world. In his appointment of _artists_, whose skill is, also, highly serviceable to the fame of princes, he shewed a truer judgment. For he suffered none but an APELLES and a LYSIPPUS to counterfeit the form and fashion of his _person_. But his _taste_, which was thus exact and even _subtile_ in what concerned the mechanic execution of the _fine arts_, took up with a CHOERILUS, to transmit an image of his _mind_ to future ages; so grosly undiscerning was he in works of poetry, and the liberal _offerings of the muse_!

And thus the poet makes a double use of the illjudgment of this imperial critic. For nothing could better demonstrate the importance of _poetry_ to the honour of _greatness_, than that this illustrious conqueror, without any particular knowledge or discernment in the _art_ itself, should think himself concerned to court its assistance. And, then, what could be more likely to engage the emperor’s further protection and love of _poetry_, than the insinuation (which is made with infinite address) that, as he honoured it equally, so he understood its merits much better? For [from v. 245 to 248, where, by a beautiful concurrence, the flattery of his prince falls in with the honester purpose of doing justice to the memory of his friends] it was not the same unintelligent liberality, which had cherished Choerilus, that poured the full stream of Caesar’s bounty on such persons, as VARIUS and VIRGIL. And, as if the spirit of these inimitable poets had, at once, seized him, he breaks away in a bolder run of verse [from v. 248 to 250] _to sing the triumphs of an art_, which expressed the _manners and the mind_ in fuller and more durable _relief_, than painting or even sculpture had ever been able to give to the external _figure_: And [from v. 250 to the end] _apologizes for himself_ in adopting the humbler epistolary _species_, when a warmth of inclination and the unrivaled glories of his prince were continually urging him on to the nobler, _encomiastic_ poetry. His excuse, in brief, is taken from the conscious inferiority of his genius, and a tenderness for the fame of the emperor, which is never more disserved than by the officious sedulity of bad poets to do it honour. And with this apology, one while condescending to the unfeigned humility of a person, sensible of the _kind and measure_ of his abilities, and then, again, sustaining itself by a freedom and even familiarity, which real merit knows, on certain occasions, to take without offence, the epistle concludes.

If the general opinion may be trusted, this, which was one of the _last_, is also among the _noblest_, of the great poet’s compositions. Perhaps, the reader, who considers it in the plain and simple order, to which the foregoing analysis hath reduced it, may satisfy himself, that this praise hath not been undeservedly bestowed.

NOTES

ON THE

EPISTLE TO AUGUSTUS.

EPISTOLA AD AUGUSTUM.] The epistle to AUGUSTUS is _an apology for the Roman poets_. The epistle to the PISOS, _a criticism on their poetry_. _This_ to Augustus may be therefore considered as a sequel of _that_ to the Pisos; and which could not well be omitted; for the author’s design of forwarding the study and improvement of the _art of poetry_ required him to bespeak the public favour to its _professors_.

But as, _there_, in correcting the abuses of their poetry, he mixes, occasionally, some encomiums on _poets_; so, _here_, in pleading the cause of the poets, we find him interweaving instructions on _poetry_. Which was but according to the writer’s _occasions_ in each work. For the freedom of his censure on the _art of poetry_ was to be softened by some expressions of his good-will towards the poets; and this apology for their _fame_ had been too direct and unmanaged, but for the qualifying appearance of its intending the further benefit of the _art_. The coincidence, then, of the same general _method_, as well as _design_, in the two epistles, made it not improper to give them together, and on the same footing, to the public. Though both the _subject_ and _method_ of this last are so clear as to make a continued commentary upon it much less wanted.

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4. SI LONGO SERMONE MORER TUA TEMPORA, CAESAR.] The poet is thought to begin with apologizing for the _shortness of this epistle_. And yet ’tis one of the longest he ever wrote. How is this inconsistency to be reconciled? “Horace parle pêutêtre ainsi pour ne pas rebuter Auguste, et pour lui faire connôitre, qu’il auroit fait une lettre, beaucoup plus longue, s’il avoit suivi son inclination.” This is the best account of the matter we have, hitherto, been able to come at. But the familiar civility of such a compliment, as M. Dacier supposes, though it might be well enough to an _equal_, or, if dressed up in spruce phrases, might make a figure in the _lettres familieres et galantes_ of his own nation; yet is surely of a cast, entirely foreign to the Roman gravity, more especially in an address to the emperor of the world. Mr. Pope, perceiving the absurdity of the common interpretation, seems to have read the lines _interrogatively_; which though it saves the sense, and suits the purpose of the English poet very well, yet neither agrees with the language nor serious air of the original. The case, I believe, was this. The genius of epistolary writing demands, that the subject-matter be not abruptly delivered, or hastily obtruded on the person addressed; but, as the law of decorum prescribes (for the rule holds in _writing_, as in _conversation_) be gradually and respectfully introduced to him. This obtains more particularly in applications to the _great_, and on important subjects. But, now, the poet, being to address his prince on a point of no small delicacy, and on which he foresaw he should have occasion to hold him pretty long, prudently contrives to get, as soon as possible, into his subject; and, to that end, hath the art to convert the very transgression of this rule into the justest and most beautiful compliment.

That cautious preparation, which is ordinarily requisite in our approaches to _greatness_, had been, the poet observes, in the present case, highly unseasonable, as the business and interests of the empire must, in the mean time, have stood still and been suspended. By _sermone_ then we are to understand, not the _body_ of the epistle, but the proeme or _introduction_ only. The _body_, as of public concern, might be allowed to engage, at full length, the emperor’s attention. But the _introduction_, consisting of _ceremonial_ only, the _common good_ required him to shorten as much as possible. It was no time for using an insignificant preamble, or, in our English phrase, of making _long speeches_. The reason, too, is founded, not merely in the elevated rank of the emperor, but in the peculiar diligence and sollicitude, with which, history tells us, he endeavoured to promote, by various ways, the interests of his country. So that the compliment is as _just_, as it is _polite_. It may be further observed, that _sermo_ is used in Horace, to signify the ordinary style of conversation [See Sat. i. 3, 65, and iv. 42.] and therefore not improperly denotes the familiarity of the epistolary address, which, in its easy expression, so nearly approaches to it.

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13. URIT ENIM FULGORE SUO, QUI PRAEGRAVAT ARTES INFRA SE POSITAS: EXTINCTUS AMABITUR IDEM.] The poet, we may suppose, spoke this from experience. And so might _another_ of later date when he complained:

Unhappy Wit, like most mistaken things, Attones not for that envy which it brings. _Essay on Crit._ v. 494.

Unless it be thought, that, as this was said by him very early in life, it might rather pass for a prediction of his future fortunes. Be this as it will, the sufferings, which _unhappy wit_ is conceived to bring on itself from the _envy_ it excites, are, I am apt to think, somewhat aggravated; at least if one may judge from the effects it had on this _Complainant_. That which would be likely to afflict him most, was the _envy_ of his friends. But the generosity of these deserves to be recorded. The _wits_ took no offence at his fame, till they found it eclipse their _own_: And his _Philosopher and Guide_, ’tis well known, stuck close to him, till another and brighter star had gotten the ascendant. Or supposing there might be some malice in the case, it is plain there was little mischief. And for this little the poet’s creed provides an ample recompence. EXTINCTUS AMABITUR IDEM: not, we may be sure, by _those_ he most improved, enlightened, and obliged; but by late impartial posterity; and by ONE at least of his surviving friends; who generously took upon him the patronage of his fame, and who inherits his genius and his virtues.

* * * * *

14. EXTINCTUS AMABITUR IDEM.] _Envy_, says a discerning ancient, _is the vice of those, who are too weak to contend, and too proud to submit_: _vitium eorum, qui nec cedere volunt, nec possunt contendere_[33]. Which, while it sufficiently exposes the folly and malignity of this hateful passion, secures the honour of human nature; as implying at the same time, that its worst corruptions are not without a mixture of generosity in them. For this false pride in _refusing to submit_, though absurd and mischievous enough, when unsupported by all _ability to contend_, yet discovers such a sense of superior excellence, as shews, how difficult it is for human nature to divest itself of all virtue. Accordingly, when the too powerful _splendor_ is withdrawn, our natural veneration of it takes place: _Extinctus amabitur idem._ This is the true exposition of the poet’s sentiment; which therefore appears just the reverse of what his French interpreter would fix upon him. “La justice, que nous rendons aux grands hommes après leur mort, ne vient pas de l’AMOUR, que nous avons pour leur _vertu_, mais de la HAINE, dont notre cœur est rempli pour ceux, qui ont pris leur PLACE.” An observation, which only becomes the misanthropy of an old cynic virtue, or the selfishness of a modern system of ethics.

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15. PRAESENTI TIBI MATUROS, &c. to v. 18.] We are not to wonder at this and the like extravagances of adulation in the Augustan poets. They had ample authority for what they did of this sort. We know, that altars were erected to the Emperor by the command of the Senate; and that he was publicly invoked, as an established, tutelary divinity. But the seeds of the corruption had been sown much earlier. For we find it sprung up, or rather (as of all the ill weeds, which the teeming soil of human depravity throws forth, none is more thriving and grows faster than this of _flattery_) flourishing at its height, in the tyranny of J. CAESAR. Balbus, in a letter to Cicero [Ep. ad Att. l. ix.] _Swears by the health and safety of Caesar_: _ità, incolumi Caesare, moriar_. And Dio tells us [L. xliv.] that it was, by the express injunction of the Senate, decreed, even in Caesar’s life-time, that the Romans should bind themselves by this oath. The Senate also, as we learn from the same writer, [L. xliii.] upon receiving the news of his defeat of Pompey’s sons, caused his statue to be set up, in the temple of Romulus, with this inscription, DEO INVICTO[34].

’Tis true, these and still greater honours had been long paid to the Roman governors in their provinces, by the _abject, slavish Asiatics_. And this, no doubt, facilitated the admission of such idolatries into the capital[35]. But that a people, from the highest notions of an independent republican equality, could so soon be brought to this prostrate adoration of their first _Lord_, is perfectly amazing! In this, they shewed themselves ripe for servitude. Nothing could keep them out of the hands of a master. And one can scarcely read such accounts, as these, without condemning the vain efforts of dying patriotism, which laboured so fruitlesly, may one not almost say, so weakly? to protract the liberty of such a people, Who can, after this, wonder at the incense, offered up by a few court-poets? The adulation of Virgil, which has given so much offence, and of Horace, who kept pace with him, was, we see, but the authorized language of the times; presented indeed with address, but without the heightenings and privileged licence of their profession. For, to their credit, it must be owned, that, though in the office of _poets_, they were to comply with the popular voice, and echo it back to the ears of sovereignty; yet, as _men_, they had too much good sense, and too scrupulous a regard to the dignity of their characters, to exaggerate and go beyond it.

It should, in all reason, surprize and disgust us still more, that modern writers have not always shewn themselves so discrete. The grave and learned LIPSIUS was not ashamed, even without the convenient pretext of popular flattery, or poetic _coloring_, in so many words, to make a God of his patron: who though neither King, nor Pope, was yet the next best material for this manufacture, an Archbishop. For, though the critic knew, that it was _not every wood, that will make a Mercury_, yet no body would dispute the fitness of that, which grew so near the altar. In plain words, I am speaking of an Archbishop of MECHLIN, whom, after a deal of fulsome compliment (which was the vice of the man) he exalts at last, with a pagan complaisance, into the order of Deities. “Ad haec, says he, erga omnes humanitas et facilitas me faciunt, ut omnes te non tanquàm hominem aliquem de nostro coetu, sed tanquam DEUM QUENDAM DE COELO DELAPSUM INTUEANTUR ET ADMIRENTUR.”

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16. JURANDASQUE TUUM PER NUMEN PONIMUS ARAS.] On this idea of the APOTHEOSIS, which was the usual mode of flattery in the Augustan age, but, as having the countenance of public authority, sometimes inartificially enough employed, Virgil hath projected one of the noblest allegories in ancient poetry, and at the same time hath given to it all the force of _just_ compliment, the _occasion_ itself allowed. _Each_ of these excellencies was to be expected from his talents. For, as his genius led him to the _sublime_; to his exquisite judgment would instruct him to palliate this bold fiction, and qualify, as much as possible, the shocking adulation, implied in it. So singular a beauty deserves to be shewn at large.

The _third_ GEORGIC sets out with an apology for the low and simple argument of that work, which, yet, the poet esteemed, for its novelty, preferable to the sublimer, but trite, themes of the Greek writers. Not but he intended, on some future occasion, to adorn a nobler subject. This was the great plan of the Aeneïs, which he now _prefigures_ and unfolds at large. For, taking advantage of the noblest privilege of his _art_, he breaks away, in a fit of _prophetic_ enthusiasm, to foretel his successes in this projected enterprize, and, under the imagery of the ancient _triumph_, which comprehends, or suggests to the imagination, whatever is most august in human affairs, to delineate the future glories of this ambitious design. The whole conception, as we shall see, is of the utmost grandeur and magnificence; though, according to the usual management of the poet (which, as not being apprehended by his critics, hath furnished occasion, even to the best of them, to charge him with a want of the _sublime_) he hath contrived to soften and _familiarize_ its appearance to the reader, by the artful manner, in which it is introduced. It stands thus:

_tentanda via est, qua me quoque possim Tollere humo_, VICTORQUE _virûm volitare per ora_.

This idea of _victory_, thus casually dropped, he makes the basis of his imagery; which, by means of this gradual preparation, offers itself easily to the apprehension, though it thereby loses, as the poet designed it should, much of that broad _glare_, in which writers of less judgment love to shew their ideas, as tending to set the common reader to a gaze. The allegory then proceeds:

_Primus ego patriam mecum (modo vita supersit) Aonio rediens deducam vertice Musas_.

The projected conquest was no less than that of all the _Grecian Muses_ at once; whom, to carry on the decorum of the allegory, he threatens, 1. to force from their high and advantageous situation on the summit of the _Aonian mount_; and, 2. bring _captive_ with him into Italy: the _former_ circumstance intimating to us the difficulty and danger of the enterprize; and the _latter_, his complete execution of it.

The _palmy_, triumphal entry, which was usual to victors on their return from foreign successes, follows:

_Primus Idumaeas referam tibi, Mantua, palmas_.

But ancient conquerors did not hold it sufficient to reap this transient fruit of their labours. They were ambitious to consecrate their glory to immortality, by a _temple_, or other public monument, which was to be built out of the spoils of the conquered cities or countries. This the reader sees is suitable to the idea of the great work proposed; which was, out of the old remains of Grecian art, to compose a _new_ one, that should comprize the virtues of them all: as, in fact, the Aeneïd is known to unite in itself whatever is most excellent, not in Homer only, but, universally, in the wits of Greece. The everlasting monument of the _marble_ temple is then reared:

_Et viridi in campo templum de_ MARMORE _ponam_.

And, because ancient superstition usually preferred, for these purposes, the banks of _rivers_ to other situations, therefore the poet, in beautiful allusion to the site of some of the most celebrated pagan temples, builds _his_ on the MINCIUS. We see with what a scrupulous propriety the allusion is carried on.

_Propter aquam, tardis ingens ubi flexibus errat_ MINCIUS, _et tenera praetexit arundine ripas_.

Next, this temple was to be dedicated, as a monument of the victor’s _piety_, as well as glory, to some propitious, tutelary deity, under whose auspices the great adventure had been atchieved. The _dedication_ is then made to the poet’s _divinity_, Augustus:

_In medio mihi_ CAESAR _erit, templumque tenebit_.

TEMPLUM TENEBIT. The expression is emphatical; as intimating to us, and prefiguring the secret purpose of the Aeneïs, which was, in the person of Aeneas, to shadow forth and consecrate the character of Augustus. His divinity was to fill and _occupy_ that great work. And the ample circuit of the epic plan was projected only, as a more awful enclosure of that august presence, which was to _inhabit_ and solemnize the vast round of this poetic building.

And now the wonderful address of the poet’s artifice appears. The mad servility of his country had _deified_ the emperor in good earnest; and his brother poets made no scruple to _worship_ in his temples, and to come before him with handfuls of _real_ incense, smoking from the altars. But the sobriety of Virgil’s adoration was of another cast. He seizes this circumstance only to _embody_ a poetical fiction; which, on the supposition of an actual _deification_, hath all the force of compliment, which the _fact_ implies, and yet, as presented through the chast veil of allegory, eludes the offence, which the _naked_ recital must needs have given to sober and reasonable men. Had the emperor’s _popular_ divinity been flatly acknowledged, and adored, the praise, even under Virgil’s management, had been insufferable for its extravagance; and, without some support for his poetical _numen_ to rest upon, the figure had been more forced and strained, than the rules of just writing allow. As it is, the historical truth of his _apotheosis_ authorizes and supports the _fiction_, and the fiction, in its turn, serves to refine and palliate the _history_.

The Aeneïs being, by the poet’s improvement of this circumstance, thus naturally predicted under the image of a _temple_, we may expect to find a close and studied analogy betwixt them. The great, component parts of the _one_ will, no doubt, be made, very faithfully, to represent and adumbrate those of the _other_. This hath been executed with great art and diligence.

1. The _temple_, we observed, was erected on the banks of a river. This site was not only proper, for the reason already mentioned, but also, for the further convenience of instituting _public games_, the ordinary attendants of the _consecration_ of temples. These were generally, as in the case of the Olympic and others, celebrated on the banks of rivers.

_Illi victor ego, et Tyrio conspectus in ostro, Centum quadrijugos agitabo ad flumina currus. Cuncta mihi, Alpheum linquens lucosque Molorchi, Cursibus et crudo decernet Graecia caestu._

To see the propriety of the _figure_ in this place, the reader needs only be reminded of the _book of games_ in the Aeneïd, which was purposely introduced in honour of the Emperor, and not, as is commonly thought, for a mere trial of skill between the poet and his master. The emperor was passionately fond of these sports, and was even the author, or restorer, of _one_ of them. It is not to be doubted, that he alludes also to the _quinquennial games_, actually celebrated, in honour of his temples, through many parts of the empire. And this the poet undertakes in the _civil_ office of VICTOR.

2. What follows is in the _religious_ office of PRIEST. For it is to be noted, that, in assuming this double character, which the decorum of the solemnities, here recounted, prescribed, the poet has an eye to the _political_ design of the Aeneïs, which was to do honour to Caesar, in either capacity of a _civil_ and _religious_ personage; both being essential to the idea of the PERFECT LEGISLATOR, whose office and character (as an eminent critic hath lately shewn us[36]) it was his purpose, in this immortal work, to adorn and recommend. The account of his _sacerdotal functions_ is delivered in these words:

_Ipse caput tonsae foliis ornatus olivae Dona feram. Jam, nunc solemnes ducere pompas Ad delubra juvat, caesosque videre juvencos; Vel scena ut versis discedat frontibus, utque Purpurea intexti tollant aulaea Britanni._

The imagery in this place cannot be understood, without reflecting on the customary form and disposition of the pagan temples. DELUBRUM, or DELUBRA, for either _number_ is used indifferently, denotes the shrine, or sanctuary, wherein the statue of the presiding God was placed. This was in the center of the building. Exactly before the _delubrum_, and at no great distance from it, was the ALTAR. Further, the shrine, or _delubrum_, was inclosed and shut up on all sides by _doors_ of curious carved-work, and ductile _veils_, embellished by the rich embroidery of _flowers_, _animals_, or _human figures_. This being observed, the progress of the imagery before us will be this. The procession _ad delubra_, or shrine: the sacrifice on the _altars_, erected before it; and lastly, the painted, or rather wrought _scenery_ of the purple _veils_, inclosing the image, which were ornamented, and seemed to be sustained or held up by the figures of _inwoven Britons_. The meaning of all which, is, that the poet would proceed to the celebration of Caesar’s praise in all the gradual, solemn preparation of poetic pomp: that he would render the most grateful _offerings_ to his divinity in those occasional _episodes_, which he should consecrate to his more immediate honour: and, finally, that he would provide the richest texture of his fancy, for a covering to that admired _image_ of his virtues, which was to make the sovereign pride and glory of his poem. The choice of the _inwoven Britons_, for the support of his _veil_, is well accounted for by those, who tell us, that Augustus was proud to have a number of these to serve about him in quality of slaves.

The ornaments of the DOORS of this _delubrum_, on which the sculptor used to lavish all the riches of his _art_, are next delineated.

_In foribus pugnam ex auro solidoque elephanto Gangaridum faciam, victorisque arma Quirini; Atque hic undantem bello, magnumque fluentem Nilum, ac navali surgentes aere columnas. Addam urbes Asiae domitas, pulsumque Niphatem, Fidentemque fugâ Parthum versisque sagittis; Et duo rapta manu diverso ex hoste trophaea, Bisque triumphatas utroque ex littore gentes._

Here the covering of the _figure_ is too thin to hide the _literal_ meaning from the commonest reader, who sees, that the several triumphs of Caesar, here recorded in _sculpture_, are those, which the poet hath taken most pains to _finish_, and hath occasionally inserted, as it were, in _miniature_, in several places of his _poem_. Let him only turn to the prophetic speech of Anchises’ shade in the VI^{th}, and to the description of the shield in the VIII^{th} book.

Hitherto we have contemplated the decorations of the _shrine_, i. e. such as bear a more direct and immediate reference to the honour of Caesar. We are now presented with a view of the remoter, surrounding ornaments of the temple. These are the illustrious Trojan chiefs, whose story was to furnish the materials, or, more properly, to form the body and _case_, as it were, of his august structure. They are also connected with the idol deity of the place by the closest ties of relationship, the Julian family affecting to derive its pedigree from this proud original. The poet then, in his arrangement of these additional figures, with admirable judgment, completes and rounds the entire fiction.

_Stabunt et Parii lapides, spirantia signa, Assaraci proles, demissaeque ab Jove gentis Nomina: Trosque parens et Trojae Cynthius auctor._

Nothing now remains but for _fame_ to eternize the glories of what the great architect had, at the expence of so much art and labour, completed; which is predicted in the highest sublime of ancient poetry, under the idea of ENVY, whom the poet personalizes, shuddering at the view of such transcendent perfection; and tasting, beforehand, the pains of a remediless vexation, strongly pictured in the image of the worst, infernal tortures.

INVIDIA _infelix furias amnemque severum Cocyti metuet, tortosque Ixionis angues, Immanemque rotam, et non exuperabile saxum_.

Thus have I presumed, but with a religious awe, to inspect and declare the mysteries of this ideal temple. The attempt after all might have been censured, as prophane, if the great _Mystagogue_ himself, or some body for him[37], had not given us the undoubted key to it. Under this encouragement I could not withstand the temptation of disclosing thus much of one of the noblest fictions of antiquity; and the rather, as the propriety of allegoric composition, which made the distinguished pride of ancient poetry, seems but little known or attended to by the _modern_ professors of this fine art.

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17. NIL ORITURUM ALIAS, NIL ORTUM TALE FATENTES.] _Il n’est impossible_, says M. DE BALZAC, in that puffed, declamatory rhapsody, intitled, LE PRINCE, _de resister au mouvement interieur, qui me pousse. Je ne sçaurois m’empecher de parler du_ ROY, _et de sa vertu; de crier à tous les princes, que c’est l’exemple, qu’ils doivent suivre_; DE DEMANDER A TOUS LES PEUPLES, ET A TOUS LES AGES, S’ILS ONT JAMAIS RIEN VEU DE SEMBLABLE. This was spoken of a king of France, who, it will be owned, had his virtues. But they were the virtues of the _man_, and not of the _Prince_. This, however, was a distinction, which the eloquent encomiast was not aware of, or, to speak more truly, his business required him to overlook. For the whole elogy is worth perusing, as it affords a striking proof of the uniform genius of flattery, which, alike under all circumstances, and indifferent to all characters, can hold the same language of the weakest, as the ablest of princes, of LOUIS LE JUSTE, and CAESAR OCTAVIANUS AUGUSTUS.

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23. SIC FAUTOR VETERUM, &c. to v. 28.] The folly, here satyrized, is common enough in all countries, and extends to all arts. It was just the same preposterous affectation of venerating antiquity, which put the connoisseurs in _painting_, under the emperors, on crying up the simple and rude sketches of AGLAOPHON and POLYGNOTUS, above the exquisite and finished pictures of PARRHASIUS and ZEUXIS. The account is given by Quintilian, who in his censure of this absurdity, points to the undoubted source of it. His words are these: “Primi, quorum quidem opera non vetustatis modò gratiâ visenda sunt, clari pictores fuisse dicuntur Polygnotus et Aglaophon; quorum simplex color tam sui studiosos adhuc habet, ut illa propè rudia ac velut futurae mox artis primordia, maximis, qui post eos extiterunt, auctoribus praeferantur, PROPRIO QUODAM INTELLIGENDI (ut mea fert opinio) AMBITU.” [L. xii. c. 10.] The lover of painting must be the more surprized at this strange _preference_, when he is told, that Aglaophon, at least, had the use of only _one single colour_: whereas Parrhasius and Zeuxis, who are amongst the _maximi autores_, here glanced at, not only employed _different colours_, but were exceedingly eminent, the one of them for _correct drawing, and the delicacy of his outline_; the _other_, for his _invention_ of that great secret of the _chiaro oscuro_. “Post Zeuxis et Parrhasius: quorum prior LUMINUM UMBRARUMQUE INVENISSE RATIONEM, secundus, EXAMINASSE SUBTILIUS LINEAS DICITUR.” [Ibid.]

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28. SI, QUIA GRAIORUM SUNT ANTIQUISSIMA QUAEQUE SCRIPTA vel OPTIMA, &c.] The common interpretation of this place supposes the poet to admit _the most ancient of the Greek writings to be the best_. Which were even contrary to all experience and common sense, and is directly confuted by the history of the Greek learning. What he allows is, the _superiority_ of the oldest Greek writings _extant_; which is a very different thing. The turn of his argument confines us to this sense. For he would shew the folly of concluding the same of the _old Roman_ writers, on their _first_ rude attempts to copy the finished models of Greece, as of the _old Greek writers_ themselves, who were furnished with the means of producing those _models_ by long discipline and cultivation. This appears, certainly, from what follows:

_Venimus ad summum fortunae: pingimus atque Psallimus et luctamur Achivis doctius unctis_.

The design of which hath been entirely overlooked. For it hath been taken only for a _general expression_ of falsehood and absurdity, of just the same import, as the proverbial line,

_Nil intra est oleâ, nil extra est in nuce duri_.

Whereas it was _designedly_ pitched upon to convey a _particular illustration_ of the very absurdity in question, and to shew the maintainers of it, from the nature of things, how senseless their position was. It is to this purpose: “As well it may be pretended, that we _Romans_ surpass the _Greeks_ in the arts of _painting, music, and the exercises of the palaestra_, which yet it is confessed, we do not, as that our _old_ writers surpass the _modern_. The absurdity, in either case, is the same. For, as the Greeks, who had long devoted themselves, with great and continued application, to the practice of these arts (which is the force of the epithet UNCTI, here given them) must, for that reason, carry the prize from the Romans, who have taken very little pains about them; so, the modern Romans, who have for a long time been studying the _arts of poetry and composition_, must needs excel the old Roman writers, who had little or no acquaintance with those arts, and had been trained, by no previous discipline, to the exercise of them.”

The conciseness of the expression made it necessary to open the poet’s sense at large. We now see, that his intention, in these two lines, was to expose, in the way of _argumentative illustration_, the ground of that absurdity, which the preceding verses had represented as, at first sight, so shocking to _common sense_.

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33. UNCTIS.] This is by no means a general unmeaning epithet: but is beautifully chosen to express the unwearied _assiduity_ of the Greek artists. For the practice of _anointing_ being essential to their agonistic trials, the poet elegantly puts the attending _circumstance_ for the _thing_ itself. And so, in speaking of them, as UNCTI, he does the same, as if he had called them “the industrious, or _exercising_ Greeks;” which was the very idea his argument required him to suggest to us.

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43.—HONESTE.] Expressing the _credit_ such a piece was held in, as had the fortune to be ranked _inter veteres_, agreeably to what he said above—PERFECTOS _veteresque_ v. 37—and—_vetus atque_ PROBUS v. 39: which affords a fresh presumption in favour of Dr. Bentley’s conjecture on v. 41, where, instead of _veteres poetas_, he would read,

_Inter quos referendus erit? veteresne_ PROBOSQUE, _An quos &c._

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54. ADEO SANCTUM EST VETUS OMNE POEMA.] The reader is not to suppose, that Horace, in this ridicule of the foolish adorers of antiquity, intended any contempt of the old Roman poets, who, as the old writers in every country, abound in strong sense, vigorous expression, and the truest representation of life and manners. His quarrel is only with the critic:

_Qui redit in fastos et virtutem aestimat annis._

An affectation, which for its _folly_, if it had not too apparently sprung from a worse principle, deserved to be laughed at.

For the rest, he every where discovers a candid and just esteem of their earlier writers; as may be seen from many places in this very epistle; but more especially from that severe censure in 1 S. x. 17. (which hath more of acrimony in it, than he usually allows to his satyr) when, in speaking of the writers of the old comedy, he adds,

_Quos neque pulcher Hermogenes unquam legit, neque simius iste Nil praeter Calvum et doctus cantare Catullum._

With all his zeal for correct writing, he was not, we see, of the humour of that delicate sort, who are for burning their old poets; and, to be well with women and court critics, confine their reading and admiration to the innocent sing-song of some soft and fashionable rhymer, whose utter insipidity is a thousand times more insufferable, than any barbarism.

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56. PACUVIUS DOCTI FAMAM SENIS, ACCIUS ALTI:] The epithet _doctus_, here applied to the tragic poet, _Pacuvius_, is, I believe, sometimes misunderstood, though the opposition to _altus_ clearly determines the sense. For, as this last word expresses the _sublime_ of sentiment and expression, which comes from _nature_, so the former word must needs be interpreted of that _exactness_ in both, or at least of that _skill_ in the conduct of the scene (the proper _learning_ of a dramatic poet) which is the result of _art_.

The Latin word _doctus_ is indeed somewhat ambiguous: but we are chiefly misled by the English word, _learned_, by which we translate it, and by which, in general use, is meant, rather extensive reading, and what we call _erudition_, than a profound skill in the rules and principles of any art. But this last is frequently the sense of the Latin term _doctus_, as we may see from its application, in the best classic writers, to other, besides the literary professions. Thus, to omit other instances, we find it applied very often in Horace himself. It is applied to a _singing-girl_—_doctae_ psallere Chiae—in one of his Odes, l. iv. 13. It is applied to several _mechanic arts_ in this epistle—“_doctius_ Achivis pingimus atque psallimus et luctamur:” It is even applied, _absolutely_, to the player Roscius—_doctus_ Roscius, in v. 82, where his skill in _acting_ could only be intended by it. It is, also, in this sense, that he calls his imitator, _doctus_, i. e. skilled and knowing in his art, A. P. v. 319. Nay, it is precisely in this sense that Quinctilian uses the word, when he characterizes this very Pacuvius—_Pacuvium videri_ doctiorem, _qui esse docti affectant, volunt_ [l. x. c. 1.] i. e. _they, who affect to be thought knowing in the rules of dramatic writing, give this praise to Pacuvius_. The expression is so put, as if Quinctilian intended a censure of these critics; because this pretence to dramatic art, and the strict imitation of the Greek poets, was grown, in his time, and long before it, into a degree of pedantry and _affectation_; no other merit but this of _docti_, being of any significancy, in their account. There is no reason to think that Quinctilian meant to insinuate the poet’s want of this merit, or his own contempt of it: though he might think, and with reason, that too much stress had been laid upon it by some men.

It is in the same manner that one of our own poets has been characterized; and the application of this term to him will shew the force of it, still more clearly.

In Mr. Pope’s fine imitation of this epistle, are these lines—

In all debates, where critics bear a part, Not one but nods, and talks of Jonson’s _art_—

One sees, then, how Mr. Pope understood the _docti_, of Horace. But our Milton applies the word _learned_ itself, and in the Latin sense of it, to Jonson—

When Jonson’s _learned_ sock is on—

For what is this _learning_? Indisputably, his _dramatic learning_, his skill in the scene, and his observance of the ancient rules and practice. For, though Jonson was indeed _learned_, in every sense, it is the learning of his profession, as a comic artist, for which he is here celebrated.

The Latin substantive, _doctrina_, is used with the same latitude, as the adjective, _doctus_. It sometimes signifies the _peculiar sort_ of learning, under consideration; though sometimes again it signifies _learning_, or erudition, at large. It is used in the _former_ sense by Cicero, when he observes of the satires of Lucilius, that they were remarkable for their wit and pleasantry, not for their _learning_—_doctrina_ mediocris. So that there is no contradiction in this judgment, as is commonly thought, to that of Quinctilian, who declares roundly—_eruditio_ in eo mira—For, though _doctrina_ and _eruditio_ be sometimes convertible terms, they are not so here. The _learning_ Cicero speaks of in Lucilius, as being but _moderate_, is his learning, or skill in the art of writing and composition.—That this was the whole purport of Cicero’s observation, any one may see by turning to the place where it occurs, in the proeme to his first book DE FINIBUS.

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59. VINCERE CAECILIUS GRAVITATE, TERENTIUS ARTE.] It should be observed, that the judgment, here passed [from v. 55 to 60] on the most celebrated Roman writers, being only a representation of the _popular_ opinion, not of the poet’s _own_, the commendations, given to them, are deserved, or otherwise, just as it chances.

_Interdum volgus rectum videt, est ubi peccat._

To give an instance of this in the line before us.

A critic of unquestioned authority acquaints us, wherein the _real distinct merit_ of these two dramatic writers consists. “In ARGUMENTIS, Caecilius palmam poscit; in ETHESIN, TERENTIUS.” [Varro.] Now by _gravitate_, as applied to Caecilius, we may properly enough understand the _grave and affecting cast_ of his comedy; which is further confirmed by what the same critic elsewhere observes of him. “PATHE Trabea, Attilius, et CAECILIUS facile moverunt.” But Terence’s characteristic of _painting the manners_, which is, plainly, the right interpretation of Varro’s ETHESIN, is not so significantly expressed by the attribute _arte_, here given to him. The word indeed is of large and general import, and may admit of various senses; but being here applied to a _dramatic_ writer, it most naturally and properly denotes the _peculiar_ art of his profession, that is, _the artificial contexture of the plot_. And this I doubt not was the very praise, the town-critics of Horace’s time intended to bestow on this poet. The matter is easily explained.

The simplicity and exact unity of the plots in the Greek comedies would be, of course, uninteresting to a people, not thoroughly instructed in the genuin beauties of the drama. They had too thin a contexture to satisfy the gross and lumpish taste of a Roman auditory. The Latin poets, therefore, bethought themselves of combining two stories into one. And this, which is what we call the _double plot_, affording the opportunity of more incidents, and a greater variety of _action_, was perfectly suited to their apprehensions. But, of all the Latin Comedians, _Terence_ appears to have practised this secret most assiduously: at least, as may be concluded from what remains of them. _Plautus_ hath very frequently _single plots_, which he was enabled to support by, what was natural to him, a force of buffoon pleasantry. _Terence_, whose genius lay another way, or whose taste was abhorrent from such ribaldry, had recourse to the other expedient of _double plots_. And this, I suppose, is what gained him the popular reputation of being the most _artificial_ writer for the stage. The HECYRA is the only one of his comedies, of the true ancient cast. And we know how it came off in the representation. That ill-success and the simplicity of its conduct have continued to draw upon it the same unfavourable treatment from the critics, to this day; who constantly speak of it, as much inferior to the rest; whereas, for the genuin beauty of dramatic design, and the observance, after the ancient Greek manner, of the nice dependency and coherence of the _fable_, throughout, it is, indisputably, to every reader of true taste, the most masterly and exquisite of the whole collection.

* * * * *

63. INTERDUM VOLGUS RECTUM VIDET: EST UBI PECCAT.] The capricious levity of _popular opinion_ hath been noted even to a proverb. And yet it is this, which, after all, _fixes_ the fate of authors. This seemingly odd phaenomenon I would thus account for.

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.]

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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_.

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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.

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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.

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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?

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.]