Part 10

A defect of _natural ability_ is not that, which the critics have been most forward to charge upon _Statius_. A person of true taste, who, in a fanciful way, hath contrived to give us the just character of the Latin poets, in assigning to this poet the topmost station on Parnassus, sufficiently acknowledges the vigour and activity of his genius. Yet, in composing his _Thebaid_ (an old story taken from the heroic ages, which obliged him to the celebration of _funeral obsequies_ with the attending solemnities of _public games_) to avoid the dishonour of following too closely on the heels of Homer and Virgil, who had not only taken the same _route_, but pursued it in the most direct and natural course, he resolved, at all adventures, to keep at due distance from them, and to make his way, as well as he could, more _obliquely_ to the same end. To accomplish this project, he was forced, though in the description of the same individual _games_, to look out for different _circumstances and events_ in them; that so the identity of his _subject_, which he could not avoid, might, in some degree, be atoned for by the diversity of his _manner_ in treating it. It must be owned, that great ingenuity as well as industry hath been used, in executing this design. Had it been practicable, the character, just given of this poet, makes it credible, he must have succeeded in it. Yet, so impossible it is, without deserting nature herself, to dissent from her faithful copiers, that the main objection to the sixth book of the _Thebaid_ hath arisen from this fruitless endeavour of being _original_, where common sense and the reason of the thing would not permit it. “In the particular descriptions of each of these games (says the great writer before quoted, and from whose sentence in matters of taste, there lies no appeal) _Statius_ hath not borrowed from either of his predecessors, _and his poem is so much the worse for it_.”

2. The case of DESCRIPTION is still clearer, and, after what has been so largely discoursed on the _subjects_ of it, will require but few words. For it must have appeared, in considering them, that not only the _objects_ themselves are necessarily obtruded on the poet, but that the _occasions_ of introducing them are also restrained by many limitations. If we reflect a little, we shall find, that they grow out of the _action_ represented, which, in the greater poetry, implies a great _similarity_, even when most _different_. What, for instance, is the purpose of _the epic poet_, but to shew his hero under the most awful and interesting circumstances of human life? To this end some general design is formed. He must _war_ with Achilles, or _voyage_ with Ulysses. And, to work up his _fable_ to that _magnificence_, ΜΕΓΑΛΟΠΡΕΠΕΙΑΝ, which Aristotle rightly observes to be the characteristic of this poem, _heaven_ and _hell_ must also be interested in the success of his enterprise. And what is this, in _effect_, but to own, that the pomp of _epic description_, in its draught of _battles_, with its several _accidents_; of _storms_, _shipwrecks_, &c. _of the intervention of gods_, or _machination of devils_, is, in great measure, determined, not only as to the _choice_, but _application_ of it, to the poet’s hands? And the like conclusion extends to still minuter particularities.

What concerns the delineation of _characters_ may seem to carry with it more difficulty. Yet, though these are infinitely diversified by distinct peculiar lineaments, poetry cannot help falling into the same _general_ representation. For it is conversant about the _greater characters_; such as demand the imputation of like _manners_, and who are actuated by the same governing _passions_. To set off these, _the same combination of circumstances_ must frequently be imagined; at least so _similar_, as to bring on the same series of representation. The _piety_ of _one_ hero, and the _love of his country_, which characterizes _another_, can only be shewn by the influence of the _ruling principle_ in each, constraining them to neglect inferior considerations, and to give up all subordinate affections to it. The more prevalent the _affection_, the greater the _sacrifice_, and the more strongly is the _character_ marked. Hence, without doubt, the _Calypso_ of Homer. And need we look farther than the instructions of _common nature_ for a similar contrivance in a _later_ poet? Not to be tedious on a matter, which admits no dispute, the dramatic writings of all times may convince us of _two things_, 1. “_that the actuating passions of men are universally and invariably the same_;” and 2. “_that they express themselves constantly in similar effects_.” Or, one single small volume, _the characters of Theophrastus_, will sufficiently do it. And what more is required to justify this consequence, “that _the descriptions of characters_, even in the most original _designers_, will resemble each other;” and “that the very _contexture_ of a work, designed to evidence them in _action_, will, under the management of different writers, be, frequently, much the same?” A _conclusion_, which indeed is neither mine nor any novel one, but was long ago insisted on by a discerning ancient, and applied to the comic drama, in these words,

—_Si personis isdem uti aliis non licet, Qui magis licet currentis servos scribere, Bonas matronas facere, meretrices malas, Parasitum edacem, gloriosum militem, Puerum supponi, falli per servum senem_, AMARE, ODISSE, SUSPICARI?

3. In truth, so far as _direct and immediate description_ is concerned, the matter is so plain, that it will hardly be called into question. The difficulty is to account for the similarity of _metaphor and_ COMPARISON (that is, of _imagery_, which comes in obliquely, and for the purpose of illustrating some other, and, frequently, very remote and distinct subject) observable in all writers. Here it may not seem quite so easy to make out an original claim; for, though descriptions of the _same object_, when it occurs, must needs be similar, yet it remains to shew how the same object comes, in this case, to occur at all. Before an answer can be given to this question, it must be observed 1. that there is in the mind of man, not only a strong natural love of _imitation_, but of _comparison_. We are not only fond of _copying_ single objects, as they present themselves, but we delight to set two objects together, and contemplate their mutual aspects and appearances. The _pleasure_ we find in this exercise of the imagination is the main source of that perpetual usage of _indirect and allusive imagery_ in the writings of the poets; for I need not here consider the _necessity_ of the thing, and the unavoidable introduction of sensible images into all language. 2. This work of _comparison_ is not gone about by the mind _causelessly and capriciously_. There are certain obvious and striking resemblances in nature, which the poet is carried necessarily to observe, and which offer themselves to him on the slightest exercise and exertion of his _comparing_ powers. It may be difficult to explain the causes of this established relationship in all cases; or to shew distinctly, what these secret ties and connexions are, which link the objects of sense together, and draw the imagination thus insensibly from one subject to another. The most obvious and natural is that of _actual similitude_, whether in _shape_, _attitude_, _colour_, or _aspect_. As when _heroes_ are compared to _gods_,—_a hero in act to strike at his foe_, to _a faulcon stooping at a dove_,—_blood running down the skin_, to _the staining of ivory_,—_corn waving with the wind_, to _water in motion_. Sometimes the associating cause lies in the _effect_. As when the _return of a good prince to his country_ is compared _to the sun_—a _fresh gale to mariners_, to _the timely coming of a general to his troops_, &c. more commonly, in some _property_, _attribute_, or _circumstance_. Thus an _intrepid_ hero suggests the idea of a _rock_, on account of _its firmness and stability_;—of _a lion_, for his _fierceness_,—_of a deer encompassed_ with wolves, for his _situation when surrounded with enemies_. In short, for I pretend not to make a complete enumeration of the _grounds_ of connexion, whatever the mind observes in any object, that bears an analogy to something in any other, becomes the _occasion_ of comparison betwixt them; and the fancy, which is ever, in a great genius, quick at espying these _traits_ of resemblance, and delights to survey them, lets dip no opportunity of setting them over against each other, and producing them to observation.

But whatever be the _causes_, which associate the ideas of the poet, and how fantastic soever or even casual, may sometimes appear to be the _ground_ of such association, yet, in respect of the greater works of genius, there will still be found the most exact _uniformity_ of allusion, the same ideas and aspects of things constantly admonishing the poet of the same _resemblances and relations_. I say, in _the greater works of genius_, which must be attended to; for the folly of taking _resemblances_ for _imitations_, in this province of _allusion_, hath arisen from hence; that the poet is believed to have all art and nature before him, and to be at liberty to fetch his _hints_ of similitude and correspondence from every distant and obscure corner of the universe. That is, the genius of the epic, dramatic, and universally, of the greater, poetry hath not been comprehended, nor their distinct laws and characters distinguished from those of an inferior species.

The _mutual habitudes and relations_ (at least what the mind is capable of regarding as _such_), subsisting between those innumerable objects of thought and sense, which make up the entire natural and intellectual world, are indeed infinite; and if the poet be allowed to associate and bring together all those ideas, wherein the ingenuity of the mind can perceive any remote sign or glimpse of _resemblance_, it were truly wonderful, that, in any number of images and allusions, there should be found a close conformity of them with those of any other writer. But this is far from being the case. For 1. the more august poetry disclaims, as unsuited to its state and dignity, that inquisitive and anxious diligence, which pries into nature’s retirements; and searches through all her secret and hidden haunts, to detect a forbidden commerce, and expose to light some strange unexpected conjunction of ideas. This quaint combination of remote, unallied imagery, constitutes a species of entertainment, which, for its _novelty_, may amuse and divert the mind in other compositions; but is wholly inconsistent with the reserve and solemnity of the _graver_ forms. There is too much curiosity of art, too solicitous an affectation of _pleasing_, in these ingenious exercises of the fancy, to suit with the simple majesty of the _epos_ or _drama_; which disclaims to cast about for forced and tortured allusions, and aims only to expose, in the fairest light, such as are most obvious and natural. And here, by the way, it may be worth observing, in honour of a great Poet of the last century, I mean Dr. DONNE, that, though agreeably to the turn of his genius, and taste of his age, he was fonder, than ever poet was, of these _secret and hidden ways_ in his lesser poetry; yet when he had projected his great work “_On the progress of the soul_” (of which we have only the beginning) his good sense brought him out into the freer _spaces_ of nature and open day-light.

Largior hic compos æther, et lumine vestit Purpureo: solemque suum, sua sidera norunt.

In this, the author of GONDIBERT, and another writer of credit, a contemporary of DONNE, Sir FULK GREVIL, were not so happy. 2. This work of _indirect imagery_ is intended, not so much to illustrate and enforce the original thought, to which it is applied, as to amuse and entertain the fancy, by holding up to view, in these occasional digressive representations, the pictures of pleasing scenes and objects. But this _end_ of allusion (which is principal in the sublimer works of genius) restrains the poet to the use of a few select images, for the most part taken from obvious common nature; these being always most illustrious in themselves, and therefore most apt to seize and captivate the imagination of the reader. Thus is the poet confined, by the very nature of his work, to a very moderate compass of allusion, on both these accounts; _first_, as he must employ the easiest and most apparent resemblances: and _secondly_, of _these_, such as impress the most delightful images on the fancy.

This being the case, it cannot but happen, that the allusions of different poets, of the higher class, though writing without any communication with each other, will, of course, be much the same on similar occasions. There are fixed and real analogies between different _material objects_; between these objects, and the _inward workings_ of the mind; and, again, between these, and the _external signs_ of them. Such, on every occasion, do not so properly offer themselves to the searching eye of the poet, as force themselves upon him; so that, if he submit to be guided by the most natural views of things, he cannot avoid a very remarkable correspondence of imagery with his predecessors. And we find this conclusion verified in fact; as appears not only from comparing together the great ancient and modern writers, who are known to have held an intimate correspondence with each other, but those, who cannot be suspected of this commerce. Several critics, I observed, have taken great pains to illustrate the sentiments of Homer from similar instances in the sacred writers. The same design might easily be carried on, in respect of _allusive imagery_; it being obvious to common observation, that numberless of the most beautiful _comparisons_ in the Greek poet are to be met with in the Hebrew prophets. Nay, the remark may be extended to the undisciplined writers and speakers of the farthest _west_ and _east_, whom nature instructs to beautify and adorn their conceptions with the same imagery. So little doth it argue an inferiority of genius in Virgil, if it be true, as the excellent translator of Homer says, “that he has scarcely any _comparisons_, which are not drawn from his master.”

The truth is, the _nature_ of the two subjects, which the Greek poet had taken upon himself to adorn, was such, that it led him through every circumstance and situation of human life; which his quick attentive observation readily found the means of shewing to advantage under the cover of the most fit and proper imagery. Succeeding writers, who had _not_ contemplated his pictures, yet, drawing from one common original, have unknowingly hit upon the very same. And those, who _had_, with all their endeavours after _novelty_, and the utmost efforts of genius to strike out original lights, have never been able to succeed in their attempts. Our _Milton_, who was most ambitious of this fame of _invention_, and whose vast and universal genius could not have missed of new _analogies_, had nature’s self been able to furnish them, is a glaring instance to our purpose. He was so averse from resting in the old imagery of Homer, and the other epic poets, that he appears to have taken infinite pains in the investigation of new _allusions_, which he picked up out of the rubbish of every silly legend or romance, that had come to his knowledge, or extracted from the dry and rugged materials of the sciences, and even the mechanic arts. Yet, in comparison of the genuine treasures of nature, which he found himself obliged to make use of, in common with other writers, his own proper stock of _images_, imported from the regions of _art_, is very poor and scanty; and, as might be expected, makes the least agreeable part of his divine work.

What is here said of the epic holds, as I hinted, of all the more serious kinds of poetry. In works of a lighter cast, there is greater liberty and a larger field of allusion permitted to the poet. All the appearances in _art_ and _nature_, betwixt which there is any resemblance, may be employed here to surprize and divert the fancy. The further and more remote from vulgar apprehension these analogies lie, so much the fitter for his purpose, which is not so much to illustrate his ideas, as to place them in new and uncommon lights, and entertain the mind by that odd fantastic conjunction, or opposition of ideas, which we know by the name of _wit_. Nay, the _lowest_, as well as the least obvious imagery will be, oftentimes, the most proper; his view being not to ennoble and raise his subject by the means of _allusion_, but to sink and debase it by every art, that hath a tendency to excite the mirth and provoke the ridicule of the reader. Here then we may expect a much more original air, than in the higher designs of invention. When all nature is before the poet, and the genius of his work allows him to seize her, as the shepherd did Proteus, in every dirty form, into which she can possibly twist herself, it were, indeed, a wonder, if he should _chance_ to coincide, in his imagery, with any other, from whom he had not expressly copied. They who are conversant in works of _wit and humour_, more especially of these later times, will know this to be the case, in _fact_. There is not perhaps a single comparison in the inimitable TELEMAQUE, which had not, before, been employed by some or other of the poets. Can any thing, like this, be said of RABELAIS, BUTLER, MARVEL, SWIFT, &c.?

III. It only remains to consider the EXPRESSION. And in this are to be found the surest and least equivocal marks of _imitation_. We may regard it in _two_ lights; either 1. as it respects the _general_ turn or manner of writing, which we call a _style_; or 2. the peculiarities of _phrase and diction_.

1. A _style_ in writing, if not formed in express imitation of some certain _model_, is the pure result of the disposition of the mind, and takes its character from the predominant _quality_ of the writer. Thus a _short and compact_, and a _diffused and flowing_ expression are the proper consequences of certain corresponding characters of the human genius. One has a vigorous comprehensive conception, and therefore collects his sense into few words. Another, whose imagination is more languid, contemplates his objects leisurely, and so displays their beauties in a greater compass of words, and with more circumstance and parade of language. A polite and elegant humour delights in the grace of ease and perspicuity. A severe and melancholic spirit inspires a forcible but involved expression. There are many other nicer differences and peculiarities of _manner_, which, though not reducible, perhaps, to general heads, the critic of true taste easily understands.

2. As men of different tempers and dispositions assume a different cast of expression, so may the same observation be applied, still more _generally_, to different _countries and times_. It may be difficult to explain the _efficient causes_ of this diversity, which I have no concern with at present. The _fact_ is, that the eloquence of the _eastern_ world has, at all times, been of another strain from that of the _western_. And, also, in the several provinces of _each_, there has been some peculiar _note_ of variation. The _Asiatic_, of old, had its proper stamp, which distinguished it from the _Attic_; just as the _Italian_, _French_, and _Spanish_ wits have, each, their several characteristic manners of expression.

A different state of _times_ has produced the like effect; which a late writer accounts for, not unaptly, from what he calls a _progression of life and manners_. That which cannot be disputed is, that the _modes_ of writing undergo a perpetual change or variation in every country. And it is further observable, that these _changes_ in one country, under similar circumstances, have a signal correspondence to those, which the incessant rotation of taste brings about in every other.

Of near affinity to this last consideration is _another_ arising from the _corresponding genius_ of two people, however remote from each other in time and place. And, as it happens, the application may be made directly to ourselves in a very important instance. “Languages, says one, always take their character from the genius of a people. So that two the most distant states, thinking and acting with the same generous love of mankind, must needs have very near the same combinations of ideas.—And it is our boast that in this conformity we approach the nearest to ancient Greece and Italy.” I quote these words from a tract[32], which the author perhaps may consider with the same neglect, as Cicero did his earlier compositions on _Rhetoric_; but which the curious will regard with reverence, as a fine essay of his genius, and a prelude to the great things he was afterwards seen capable of producing. But to come to the use we may make of this fine observation. The corresponding state of the English and Roman people has produced very near the same _combinations of ideas_. May we not carry the conclusion still further on the same principle, that it produced very near the same _combinations of words_? The fact is, as the same writer observes, That “we have a language that is brief, comprehensive, nervous, and majestic.” The very character which an old Roman would give us of his own language. And when the same general character of language prevails, is it any thing strange that the different modifications of it, or _peculiar styles_, arising from the various turns and dispositions of writers (which, too, in such circumstances will be corresponding) should therefore be very similar in the productions of the two states? Or, in other words, can we wonder that some of our best writers bear a nearer resemblance, I mean independently of direct imitation, to the Latin classics, than those of any other people in modern times?

But let it suffice to leave these remarks without further comment or explanation.

The use the discerning reader will make of them is, that if different writers agree in the same _general disposition_, or in the same _national character_; live together in the _same period of time_; or in corresponding periods of the _progression of manners_, or are under the influence of a corresponding genius of _policy and government_; in every of these cases, some _considerable similarity_ of expression may be occasioned by the agency of _general principles_, without any suspicion of studied or designed _imitation_.

II. An _identity of phrase and diction_, is a much surer note of _plagiarism_. For considering the vast variety of _words_, which any language, and especially the more copious ones furnish, and the infinite possible combinations of them into all the forms of _phraseology_, it would be very strange, if two persons should hit on the same identical _terms_, and much more should they agree in the same precise arrangement of them in whole sentences.

There is no defending _coincidences_ of this kind; and whatever writers themselves may pretend, or their friends for them, no one can doubt a moment of such _identity_ being a clear and decisive proof of _imitation_.

Yet this must be understood with some limitations.