Part 14

Nothing is better known than the easy, elegant, agreeable vein of VOITURE. Yet you have read his famous Letter to BALZAC, and have been surprized, no doubt, at the forced, quaint, and puffy manner, in which it is written. The secret is, Voiture is aping Balzac from one end of this letter to the other. Whether to pay his court to him, or to laugh at him, or that perhaps, in the instant of writing, he really fancied an excellence in the style of that great man, is not easy to determine. An eminent French critic, I remember, is inclined to take it for a piece of mockery. At all events, we must needs esteem it an _imitation_.

3. This remark on the turn of a writer’s _genius_ may be further applied to that of his _temper or disposition_.

The natural misanthropy of Swift may account for his thinking and speaking very often in the spirit of ROCHEFOUCAULT, without any thought of taking from his _Maxims_, though he was an admirer of them. But if at any time we observe so humane and benevolent a man as Mr. Pope giving into this language, we say of course, “This is not his own, but an assumed manner.”

Or what say you to an instance that exemplifies both these observations together? The natural unaffected turn of Mr. Cowley’s manner, and the tender sensibility of his mind, are equally seen and loved in his prose-works, and in such of his poems as were written after a good model, or came from the heart. A clear sparkling fancy, softened with a shade of melancholy, made him, perhaps, of all our poets the most capable of excelling in the elegiac way, or of touching us in any way where a vein of easy language and moral sentiment is required. Who but laments then to see this fine genius perverted by the prevailing pedantry of his age, and carried away, against the bias of his nature, to an emulation of the rapturous, high-spirited Pindar?

I might give many more examples. But you will observe them in your own reading. I take the first that come to hand only to explain my meaning, which is, “That if you find a course of sentiments or cast of composition different from that, to which the writer’s _situation_, _genius_, or _complexion_ would naturally lead him, you may well suspect him of imitation.”

Still it may be, these considerations are rather too general. I come to others more particular and decisive.

VI. It may be difficult sometimes to determine whether a single sentiment or image be derived or not. But when we see a cluster of them in two writers, applied to the same subject, one can hardly doubt that one of them has copied from the other.

A celebrated French moralist makes the following reflexions. “Quelle chimere est-ce donc que l’homme? Quelle nouveautè, quel chaos, quel sujet de contradiction? Juge de toutes choses, imbecile ver de terre; depositaire du vrai, amas d’incertitude; gloire, et rebut de l’univers.”

Turn now to the _Essay on Man_, and tell me if Mr. Pope did not work up the following lines out of these reflexions.

“Chaos of thought and passion, all confus’d; Still by himself abus’d or disabus’d; Created half to rise, and half to fall, Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all; Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl’d: The glory, jest, and riddle of the world.”

2. This conclusion is still more certain, when, together with a general likeness of sentiments, we find the same _disposition_ of the parts, especially if that disposition be in no common form.

“Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet With charm of earliest birds: pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flow’r, Glist’ring with dew”——

and the rest of that fine speech in the IVth Book of _Paradise Lost_, which you remember so perfectly that I need not transcribe more of it.

Milton’s fancy, as usual, is rich and exuberant; but the conduct and application of his imagery shews, that the whole passage was shadowed out of those charming but simpler lines in the DANAE of Euripides.

——φίλον μὲν φέγγος ἡλίου τόδε. Καλὸν δὲ πόντου χεῦμ’ ἰδεῖν εὐήνεμον, Γῆ τ’ ἠρινὸν θάλλουσα, πλούσιόν θ’ ὕδωρ, Πολλῶν τ’ ἔπαινόν ἐστί μοι λέξαι καλῶν. Ἀλλ’ οὐδὲν οὕτω λαμπρὸν, οὐδ’ ἰδεῖν, καλὸν, Ὡς τοῖς ἄπαισι, καὶ πόθῳ δεδηγμένοις, Παίδων νεογνῶν ἐν δόμοις ἰδεῖν φάος.

VII. There is little doubt in such cases as these. There needs not perhaps be much in the case, sometimes, of _single_ sentiments or images. As where we find “a sentiment or image in two writers precisely the same, yet new and unusual.”

1. Thus we are told very reasonably, that _Milton’s clust’ring locks_ is the copy of Apollonius’ ΠΛΟΚΑΜΟΙ ΒΟΤΡΥΟΕΝΤΕΣ. _Obs. on Spenser_, p. 80. For though the metaphor be a just one and very natural, yet there is perhaps no other authority for the use of it, but in these two poets. And Milton had certainly read Apollonius.

2. What the same critic observes of Milton’s

——“And _curl_ the grove In ringlets _quaint_”—

being taken from Jonson’s

When was old Sherwood’s head more _quaintly curl’d_?

is still more unquestionable. For here is a combination of signs to convict the former of imitation: Not only the _singularity of the image_, but the _identity of expression_, and, what I lay the most stress upon, the _boldness of the figure_, as employed by Milton. Jonson speaks of old Sherwood’s _head_, as curl’d. Milton, as conscious of his authority, drops the preparatory idea, and says at once, The _grove_ curl’d.

Let me add to these, two more instances from the same poet.

3. _Spenser_ tells us of

A little _glooming light_, much like a shade. F. Q. c. II., s. 14.

Can you imagine that Milton did not take his idea from hence, when he said, in his _Penseroso_,

—glowing embers thro’ the room Teach _light_ to counterfeit a _gloom_?

4. Again, in his description of Paradise,

Flow’rs of all hues, and without thorn the rose.

Every poet of every time is lavish of his flowers on such occasions. But _the rose without thorn_ is a rarity. And, though it was fine to imagine such an one in Paradise, could only be an Italian refinement. Tasso, you will think, is the original, when you have read the following lines;

Senza quei suoi pungenti ispidi dumi Spiegò le foglie la purpurea Rosa.

5. Another instance, still more remarkable, may be taken from Mr. Pope. One of the most striking passages in the _Essay on Man_ is the following,

Superior Beings, when of late they saw A mortal man unfold all nature’s law, Admir’d such wisdom in an earthly shape, And shew’d a NEWTON, as we shew an ape. Ep. ii. v. 31.

Can you doubt, from the _singularity_ of this sentiment, that the great poet had his eye on Plato? who makes Socrates say, in allusion to a remark of Heraclitus, Ὅτι ἀνθρώπων ὁ σοφώτατος πρὸς θεὸν πίθηκος φανεῖται. _Hipp. Major._

The application indeed is different. And it could not be otherwise. For the observation, which the Philosopher refers πρὸς θεὸν, is in the Poet given to _superior Beings_ only. The consequence is, that the _Ape_ is an object of _derision_ in the former case, of _admiration_, in the latter.

To conclude this head, I will just observe to you, that, though the _same uncommon sentiment_ in two _writers_ be usually the effect of imitation, yet we cannot affirm this of _Actors_ in real life. The reason is, when the situation of two men is the same, _Nature_ will dictate the same sentiments more invariably than _Genius_. To give a remarkable instance of what I mean.

Tacitus relates, in the _first_ book of his _Annals_, what passed in the senate on its first meeting after the death of Augustus. His politic successor carried it, for some time, with much apparent moderation. He wished, besides other reasons, to get himself solemnly recognized for Emperor by that Body, before he entered on the exercise of his new dignity. _Dabat famæ_, says the historian, _ut vocatus electusque potiùs à Republicâ videretur, quàm per uxorium ambitum et senili adoptione irrepsisse_. One of his courtiers would not be wanting to himself on such an occasion. When therefore several motions had been made in the Senate, concerning the honours to be paid to the memory of their late Prince, VALERIUS MESSALLA moved RENOVANDUM PER ANNOS SACRAMENTUM IN NOMEN TIBERII; in other words, that the oath of allegiance should be taken to Tiberius. This was the very point that Tiberius drove at. And the consciousness of it made him suspect that this motion might be thought to proceed from himself. He therefore asked Messalla, “_Num, se mandante, eam sententiam promsisset?_” His answer is in the following words. “Spontè _dixisse, respondit; neque in iis, quæ ad rempublicam pertinerent_, consilio nisi suo usurum, vel cum periculo offensionis.” _Ea_, concludes the historian, _sola species adulandi supererat_.

Now it is very remarkable, that we find in Ludlow’s memoirs, one of Cromwell’s officers, on the very same occasion, answering the Protector in the very same species of flattery.

Colonel WILLIAM JEPHSON moved in the House that Cromwell might be made King. Cromwell took occasion, soon after, to reprove the Colonel for this proposition, telling him, that he wondered what he could mean by it. To which the other replied, “_That while he was permitted the honour of sitting in that House, he must desire the liberty to discharge his conscience, though his opinion should happen to displease_.”

Here we have a very striking coincidence of _sentiment_, without the least probability of imitation. For no body, I dare say, suspects Colonel William Jephson of stealing this refined stroke of adulation from Valerius Messalla. The truth is, the same situation, concurring with the same corrupt disposition, dictated this peculiar sentiment to the two courtiers. Yet, had these similar thoughts been found in two dramatic poets of the Augustan and Oliverian ages, we should probably have cried out, “An Imitation.” And with good reason. For, besides the possibility of an Oliverian poet’s knowing something of Tacitus, the speakers had then been _feigned_, not real personages. And it is not so likely that two such should agree in this sentiment: I mean, considering how new and particular it is. For, as to the more common and obvious sentiments, even dramatic speakers will very frequently employ the _same_, without affording any just reason to conclude that their prompters had turned plagiaries.

VIII. If to this singularity of a sentiment, you add the _apparent harshness_ of it, especially when not gradually _prepared_ (as such sentiments always will be by exact writers, when of their own proper invention), the suspicion grows still stronger. I just glanced at an instance of this sort in Milton’s _curl’d_ grove. But there are others still more remarkable. Shall I presume for once to take an instance from yourself?

Your fine Ode to Memory begins with these very lyrical verses:

Mother of Wisdom! Thou whose sway The throng’d ideal hosts obey; Who bidst their ranks now vanish, now appear, Flame in the van, and darken in the rear.

This sublime imagery has a very original air. Yet I, who know how familiar the best ancient and modern critics are to you, have no doubt that it is taken from STRADA.

“Quid accommodatius, says he, speaking of your subject, Memory, quàm _simulachrorum ingentes copias_, tanquàm _addictam ubique tibi sacramento militiam_, eo inter se nexu ac fide conjunctam cohærentemque habere; ut sive unumquodque separatim, sive confertim universa, sive singula ordinatim _in aciem proferre_ velis; nihil planè in tantâ rerum herbâ turbetur, sed alia _procul atque in recessu_ sita prodeuntibus locum cedant; alia, se tota confestim promant atque in medium _certò evocata prosiliant_? Hoc tam magno, tam fido domesticorum _agmine_ instructus animus, &c.” _Prol. Acad._ I.

Common writers know little of the art of _preparing_ their ideas, or believe the very name of an Ode absolves them from the care of art. But, if this uncommon sentiment had been intirely your own, you, I imagine, would have dropped some _leading_ idea to introduce it.

IX. You see with what a suspicious eye, we who aspire to the name of critics, examine your writings. But every poet will not endure to be scrutinized so narrowly.

1. B. Jonson, in his Prologue to the _Sad Shepherd_, is opening the subject of that poem. The _sadness_ of his shepherd is

For his lost Love, who in the TRENT is said To have miscarried; _’las! what knows the head Of a calm river, whom the feet have drown’d!_

The reflexion in this place is unnecessary and even impertinent. Who besides ever heard of the _feet_ of a river? Of _arms_, we have. And so it stood in Jonson’s original.

Greatest and fairest Empress, know you this, Alas! no more than Thames’ calm head doth know Whose meads his arms drown, or whose corn o’erflow. Dr. DONNE.

The poet is speaking of the corruption of the courts of justice, and the allusion is perfectly fine and natural. Jonson was tempted to bring it into his prologue by the mere beauty of the sentiment. He had a river at his disposal, and would not let slip the opportunity. But “his unnatural use” of it detects his “imitation.”

2. I don’t know whether you have taken notice of a miscarriage, something like this, in the most judicious of all the poets.

Theocritus makes Polypheme say,

Καὶ γὰρ θὴν οὐδ’ εἶδος ἔχω κακὸν, ὥς με λέγοντι, Ἦ γὰρ πρὰν ἐς Πόντον ἐσέβλεπον· ἦν δὲ γαλάνα.

Nothing could be better fancied than to make this enormous son of Neptune use the sea for his looking-glass. But is Virgil so happy when his little land-man says,

Nec sum adeò informis: nuper me in littore vidi, Cùm placidum ventis staret _mare_——

His wonderful judgment for once deserted him, or he might have retained the sentiment with a slight change in the application. For instance, what if he had said,

Certè ego me novi, liquidæque in imagine vidi Nuper aquæ, placuitque mihi mea forma videnti.

It is a sort of curiosity, you say, to find Ovid reading a lesson to Virgil. I will dissemble nothing. The lines are, as I have cited them, in the 13th book of the Metamorphosis. But unluckily they are put into the mouth of Polypheme. So that instead of instructing one poet by the other, I only propose that they should make an exchange; Ovid take Virgil’s _sea_, and Virgil be contented with Ovid’s _water_. However this be, you may be sure the authority of the Prince of the Latin poets will carry it with admiring posterity above all such scruples of decorum. Nobody wonders therefore to read in Tasso,

————————————————————————Non son’ io Da disprezzar, se ben me stesso vidi Nel liquido del mar, quando l’altr’ hieri Taceano i venti, et ei giacea senz’ onda.

But of all the misappliers of this fine original sentiment, commend me to that _other_ Italian, who made his shepherd survey himself, in a _fountain_ indeed, but a fountain of his own weeping.

3. You will forgive my adding one other instance “of this vicious application of a fine thought.”

You remember those agreeable verses of Sir _John Suckling_,

“Tempests of winds thus (as my storms of grief Carry my tears which should relieve my heart) Have hurried to the thankless ocean clouds And show’rs, that needed not at all the courtesy. When the poor plains have languish’d for the want, And almost burnt asunder.”—— _Brennoralt._ A. III. S. 1.

I don’t stay to examine how far the fancy of _tears relieving the heart_ is allowable. But admitting the propriety of the observation, in the sense the poet intended it, the simile is applied and expressed with the utmost beauty. It accordingly struck the best writers of that time. SPRAT, in his history of the _Royal Society_, is taking notice of the misapplication of philosophy to subjects of Religion. “That shower, says he, has done very much injury by falling on the sea, for which the shepherd, and the ploughman, called in vain: The wit of men has been profusely poured out on _Religion_, which needed not its help, and which was only thereby made more tempestuous: while it might have been more fruitfully spent, on some parts of _philosophy_, which have been hitherto barren, and might soon have been made fertile.” _p. 25._

You see what wire-drawing here is to make the comparison, so proper in its original use, just and pertinent to a subject to which it had naturally no relation. Besides, there is an absurdity in speaking of a shower’s doing _injury_ to the sea by falling into it. But the thing illustrated by this comparison requiring the idea of _injury_, he transfers the idea to the comparing thing. He would soften the absurdity, by running the comparison into metaphorical expression, but, I think, it does not remove it. In short, for these reasons, one might easily have inferred an Imitation, without that parenthesis to apologize for it—“To use that metaphor which an excellent poet of our nation turns to _another_ purpose—”

But a poet of that time has no better success in the management of this metaphor, than the Historian.

LOVE makes so many hearts the prize Of the bright CARLISLE’S conqu’ring eyes; Which she regards no more, than they The tears of lesser beauties weigh. So have I seen the lost clouds pour Into the Sea an useless show’r; And the vex’d Sailors curse the rain, For which poor Shepherds pray’d in vain. WALLER’S Poems, p. 25.

The Sentiment stands thus: “She regards the captive _hearts_ of others no more than those others—the _tears_ of lesser beauties.” Thus, with much difficulty, we get to _tears_. And when we have them, the allusion to _lost clouds_ is so strained (besides that he makes his shower both _useless_ and _injurious_), that one readily perceives the poet’s thought was distorted by _imitation_.

X. The charge of Plagiarism is so disreputable to a great writer that one is not surprized to find him anxious to avoid the imputation of it. Yet “this very anxiety serves, sometimes, to fix it upon him.”

Mr. Dryden, in the Preface to his translation of Fresnoy’s Art of Painting, makes the following observation on Virgil: “He pretends sometimes to trip, but ’tis only to make you think him in danger of a fall when he is most secure. Like a skilful dancer on the Rope (if you will pardon the meanness of the similitude) who slips willingly and makes a seeming stumble, that you may think him in great hazard of breaking his neck; while at the same time he is only giving you a proof of his dexterity. My late Lord Roscommon was often pleased with this reflexion, &c.” p. 50.

His apology for the use of this simile, and his concluding with Lord Roscommon’s satisfaction at his remark, betray, I think, an anxiety to pass for original, under the consciousness of being but an imitator. So that if we were to meet with a passage, very like this, in a celebrated ancient, we could hardly doubt of its being copied by Mr. Dryden. What think you then of this observation in one of Pliny’s Letters, “Ut quasdam artes, ità eloquentiam nihil magis quàm ancipitia commendant. Vides qui fune in summa nituntur, quantos soleant excitare clamores, cùm jam jamque casuri videntur.” L. ix. Ep. 26.

PRIOR, one may observe, has acted more naturally in his _Alma_, and by so doing, though the resemblance be full as great, one is not so certain of his being an Imitator. The verses are, of BUTLER:

He perfect Dancer climbs the Rope, And balances your fear and hope: If after some distinguish’d leap, He drops his Pole and seems to slip; Strait gath’ring all his active strength He rises higher half his length. With _wonder_ you approve his slight, And owe your pleasure to your _fright_. C. II.

Though the two last lines seem taken from the application of this similitude in Pliny, “Sunt enim maximè _mirabilia_, quæ maximè inexpectata, et maximè _periculosa_.”

XI. Writers are, sometimes, sollicitous to conceal themselves: At others, they are fond to proclaim their Imitation. “It is when they have a mind to shew their dexterity in contending with a great original.”

You remember these lines of Milton in his Comus,

Wisdom’s self Oft seeks to sweet retired Solitude, Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation, She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings, That in the various bustle of resort Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impair’d.

On which Dr. Warburton has the following note. “Mr. Pope has imitated this thought and (as was always his way when he imitated) improved it.

“Bear me, some Gods! oh, quickly bear me hence To wholesome Solitude, the nurse of Sense; Where Contemplation prunes her ruffled wings, And the free Soul looks down to pity Kings.

“Mr. Pope has not only improved the harmony, but the sense. In Milton, _Contemplation_ is called the _Nurse_; in Pope, more properly _Solitude_: In Milton, _Wisdom_ is said to _prune_ her wings; in Pope, _Contemplation_ is said to do it, and with much greater propriety, as she is of a _soaring_ nature, and on that account is called by Milton himself, the _Cherub Contemplation_.”

One sees that Mr. Pope’s view was to surpass his original; “which, it is said, was always his way when he imitated.” The meaning is, when he purposely and professedly bent himself to Imitation; for then his fine genius taught him to seize every beauty, and his wonderful judgment, to avoid every defect or impropriety, in his author. And this distinction is very material to our passing a right judgment on the merit of Imitation. It is commonly said, that their imitations fall short of their originals. And they will do so, whatever the Genius of the Imitator be, if they are formed only on a _general_ resemblance of the thought imitated. For an Inventor comprehends his own ideas more distinctly and fully, and of course expresses his purpose better, than a casual Imitator. But the case is different, when a good writer _studies_ the passage from which he borrows. For then he not only copies, but improves on the first idea; and thus there will frequently (as in the case of Pope) be greater merit in the Copyist, than the original.

XII. We sometimes catch an Imitation lurking “in a licentious Paraphrase.” The ground of suspicion lies in the very complacency with which a writer expatiates on a borrowed sentiment. He is usually more reserved in adorning one of his own.

1. AURELIUS VICTOR observes of Fabricius, “quòd difficiliùs ab honestate, quàm Sol à suo cursu, averti posset.”

TASSO flourishes a little on this thought;

Prima dal corso distornar la Luna E le stelle potrà, che dal diritto Torcere un sol mio passo— C. x. S. 24.

Mr. Waller rises upon the Italian,

“where her love was due, So fast, so faithful, loyal, and so true, That a bold hand as soon might hope to force The rowling lights of heav’n, as change her course.” _On the Death of Lady_ RICH.

But Mr. COWLEY, knowing what authority he had for the general sentiment, gives the reins to his fancy and wantons upon it without measure.

Virtue was thy Life’s centre, and from thence Did silently and constantly dispense The gentle vigorous influence To all the wide and fair circumference: And all the parts upon it lean’d so easilie, Obey’d the mighty force so willinglie, That none could discord or disorder see In all their contrarietie. Each had his motion natural and free, And the whole no more mov’d, than the whole world could be. BRUTUS.