24.2.
mvp-aristotle-comment-102
24.4
THE PROPER LENGTH OF THE EPOPEE HAS BEEN ALREADY MENTIONED; THERE SHOULD BE A POSSIBILITY OF COMPRE- HENDING THE BEGINNING AND END IN ONE VIEW, WHICH WOULD BE ATTAINED IF IT WERE A LITTLE SHORTER THAN THE COMPOSITIONS OF THE EARLIER POETS, AND REDUCED TO THE SAME LENGTH WITH THE NUMBER OF TRAGEDIES THAT ARE PERFORMED AT ONE TIME.
I CONFESS that, in the first edition of my translation, I followed the opinion of Dacier in understanding this passage as censuring other epic poets for the too great length of their poems, and recommending Homer's epopees as the standard in this respect. But Mr. Twining's arguments in favor of the contrary opinion are so conclusive to me, that I have, without any hesitation, abandoned my former hypothefis to adopt his. It appears clearly, both from the authorities he cites and his own reasoning, that four tragedies were the most that could be fupposed to be performed at one fitting, and which would certainly be now more than sufficient to wear out the patience of the most unwearied admirer of the drama [Q]. And to read a poem of that length without intermiffion, though it would not take up fo much time as the repre- [Q] Mr. Twining has shewn that the spectators took refreshment during this long re-- presentation. It appears that this practice, which is still continued at Sadler's Wells, was the general custom of the old English theatre, where the audience were regaled with tobacco, wine and beer. See a passage from PRYNNE'S HISTRIOMASTRIA, page 322, cited by Mr. Stevens, in his ESSAY ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH. STAGE. fentation
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. sentation of a drama, would I believe, however interesting, never be performed for pleasure only [R], and yet this continued attention must be the point of coincidence to which Aristotle would bring the drama and the epopee [s]. Mr. Twining has also confuted me on my own principles. I have supposed it improbable that Aristotle, who has been in this chapter so lavish of his praises of that poet in express terms, should here censure a part of his conduct by a kind of indirect implication. But Mr. Twining very properly asks, ' Had Aristotle meant to except Homer, why not expressly name him? Gladly as he appears to seize every opportunity of giving the poet his just praise, would he not here also ⚫ have opposed his conduct to that of other poets as he has done in so many other instances? Or why indeed refer us to the number of tragedies successively performed in one day, when he might as well have ' referred at once to the Iliad or the Odyffey.' ، ، This fame reasoning may be applied to all works of narrative imitation. Richardson's Grandifon and Clarissa are much too long. Perhaps Tom Jones falls a little under this predicament. What shall we fay then of the Clelias and Parthenissas, those voluminous romances of the last age, whose perusal would furnish fix months employment to the application of the reader? The epopee from the nature of its mode of imitation, as is well shewn by the Stagirite in this chapter, independent of any rules of art, has a [R] Dacier says, that fometimes fixteen tragedies were performed in fucceffion, which would have taken up thirty-two hours, allowing only two hours for each tragedy. He fays alfo the Iliad might be read through in a day. So it might for a wager. See Mr. Twining's note. [s] See Note III. Chap. xxvi. 3 N 2 much
A COMMENTARY ON THE CHAP. XXIV. much larger scope and richer materials for extending its bulk than can with the greatest indulgence be poffibly allowed to the drama. • The epopee,' (to use the words of Metaftafio, which are a fort of paraphrafe of those of Ariftotle) ' has as it were the whole world for its theatre, and is enabled by narration to avail itself as its material of what different people do at the fame time in different places.' With the drama it is far otherwise. The latter advantage it is impossible it can attempt without utter absurdity; and a plan equally extensive with the epopee is beyond its powers. (T) I have in another place vindicated Shakespear for his deviation from the local laws of the Greek drama; but though I acknowledge myself an admirer almost to idolatry of his excellencies, I cannot bring myself to idolize his faults. That he errs frequently against the general rules on which dramatic probability can alone be founded, it is impoffible to deny, and we can only fay in his justification what Aristotle said of the improbabilities in the Odyssey, Though such faults would be intolerable in an inferior ، writer, they are here almost lost amidst the luftre of furrounding beau- ⚫ ties.' Yet nevertheless they are faults, and as fuch should, if poffible, be avoided. But the epic plan has its boundaries, as well as the actual length of the poem itself. Interest can only be excited by entering into detail. It is not fufficient to mention only, an affecting incident; the poet, if he would influence the paffions of his readers, must describe the circumftances particularly; he must not only, to use the words of Aristotle in another part of this work [u], conduct his imitation well, but dramatically. The natural boundaries of the real length of the poem, and length of plan are mutually dependant on each other. If the poem is itself too long, the story, however drawn out in detail, will [T] See Note III. Chap. v.. [U] Chapter Iv.. certainly
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. certainly incur the fault of not having the beginning, the middle, and the end, the necessary connexion of one part on the other, easily comprehended by the memory; and if a proper length as to the real bulk of the poem is chosen, and a plan is formed of too great an extent, one of two defects must arise from it. Either the events and situations must be so slightly touched on, as to lose their interest, or if the most interesting parts are sufficiently detailed, there will be a want of uniformity that will disgust, the story will be broken into parts, and the idea of the length of time will be confused in the mind of the reader. It must be remembered, that the real natural unity of time, as well as that of place depending upon it, are equally limited by natural probability in the epopee and the drama. If the precise time of an event in the epopee is marked by any circumstance of the action, probability is essentially violated, if more events are crouded into that time than could really happen in it. And if in a comedy that takes up only four hours the fame person should not be in London and Bath, or in a tragedy, the action of which takes up twenty-four hours, he should not be seen at Rome and at Athens; so in an epopee, which takes up forty days, he should not in the course [x] of the action be in England and the East-Indies. To this circumstance being strongly pointed out by nature, we must impute that general regard paid to it, even by indifferent novel writers, which has been noticed in the first note on the preceding chapter: and which has been made still more necessary by the mode, now [x] In the Odyssey the narrative of Ulyffes to Alcinous, and that of Æneas to Dido, are out of the action. See Bossu, L. III. Chap. xi. almost
almost universally adopted, of throwing the narrative into correspondence, which enforces a continuity of action, with more than dramatic precifion. We are less disgusted at the interval of fixteen years that elapses between the third and fourth acts of the Winter's Tale than we should at a twelfth part of that time interrupting an epistolary novel. The Winter's Tale is in fact composed of two distinct dramas, one the sequel of the other; and in the last there are several new characters [Y]. But the correspondents of the novel have the property of the ancient chorus, in keeping the action always before our eyes. For we can never suppose all the persons to drop their correfpondence while one of the principal characters acquires a fortune in the East Indies, however rapidly it may occafionally have been done there. The only resource the author has in this cafe is to step forth in propria persona, and tell his readers that as nothing very interesting happened in that time he has fuppressed the correspondence [z]. Though the epopee, from the action not being immediately before the eyes, has in most respects a greater latitude of indulgence than the drama [A], yet in point of detail it must be much inferior. By detail the events of two hours may be drawn out into a hundred pages, nay a thousand when the actual length of the work is unlimited; and as we always calculate time by the succession of ideas, what is minutely described will naturally appear long. However tedious one may be, and [Y] It is the custom of the Spanish drama, (at least the comedies of Cervantes are fo printed,) to prefix to each act the names of the characters that appear in it. [z] I recollect an instance of this fort in a novel called Clara and Emmeline. [A] See Note III. Chap. xxvi. however
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. however agreeable the other, a month spent in a uniform way, where the transactions of one day exactly correspond with those of the fucceeding ones, will on retrospection appear to have passed more rapidly than the same space of time in which we have been engaged in a variety of transactions. Or, still more applicably to this case, let any person compare different parts of the English history [B], whose comparative chronology he has never before examined, and he will be surprised to find the different impreffion detail of event has made on his imagination as to duration of time. If much (c) of this detail intervenes between any two interesting events, without that detail being very minutely connected with both, the effect of their dependence on each other will be greatly weakened. This is, to my own feelings, strongly exemplified in Tom Jones. A very short period of time intervenes between the fup- [B] For the first clear notion I had of this I must acknowledge my obligation to Dr.. Priestley's Charts of History and Biography, where the time is marked by equi-distant lines, and the comparative chronology seen by one comprehensive view. See his Preliminary Description. [c] In the Iliad, Achilles kills Hector at his first appearance in the field after the death of his friend, but from the intervening detail that behaviour impresses us a little with the idea. of deliberate cruelty, which might have seemed only excusable indignation if the events had been more obviously connected. In this instance Virgil has been superior to his master;
Pallas te hoc vulnere! Pallas • Immolat!' Is an imitable instance of poetical art.. This in real events is evident, as in the execution of criminals. Many an atrocious offender, whose death immediately succeeding his offence would have been looked upon with fatisfaction, becomes, from the interval between them, an object of univerfal pity. Our legislature has seen this, and in the most atrocious of all offences, MURDER, execution follows closely after conviction. posed
posed final parting of Jones and Sophia; yet so long a detail of events, in which, though Sophia appears, her character, as to her paffion for Jones, is so little affecting, and Jones is involved in so many adventures in which she is unconcerned, or rather worse than unconcerned, that their re-union does not give us that lively fatisfaction we should expect from it, when we feel ourselves so strongly affected by their separation. This however may be partly imputed to the conduct of the poet in the catastrophe, where I own the behaviour of Sophia on her meeting with Jones, her obstinate refusal of him, and her extraordinary mode of afterwards consenting to an immediate marriage with him, seem to me perfectly unnatural. (D) Now in the drama the contracted period of the performance will not fuffer an interest once warmly excited ever to cool unless from very ill conduct in the poet. I would not be supposed to censure the body of this inimitable composition on any other ground than its effect on part of the catastrophe. Of the conduct of the work in general I have before given my opinion in the strongest terms of approbation, and the detail is in itself interefting in the highest degree, directly the reverse of Richardson, which is often trifling and tedious in the extreme. In Mrs. Smith's novel of Ethelinde, though the time of the abfence of Montgomery takes up but a short part of the bulk of the work, it must occupy at least as much of the poetical time as all the other incidents; yet as the detail of the intervening events is abridged, (contrary indeed to the uniformity of the tale, but which in such a case is more honored in the breach than the observance,) and in that detail the paf- [D] See Note III. Chap. xxvI. fion
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. sion of Ethelinde for Montgomery is a prominent feature, our interest for the lovers, as such, is never relaxed. In the next chapter Ariftotle allows a deviation from the rules of art if that deviation conduces to the end of poetical imitation; that is, if it makes the effect of the incidents more striking. Having mentioned Mrs. Smith, I cannot avoid paying the tribute due to her extraordinary talents, which excel in two species of composition so different as the novel and the fonnet, and whose powers are so equally capable of charming the imagination, and awakening the passions. I feel a strong wish to see both these exerted in the highest degree in one work; and that she would clothe some pathetic tale, in the conception of which she could not be excelled, with that garb of luxuriant fancy and melodious versification, in which she cannot be equalled.
