7.1.
mvp-aristotle-comment-19
7.2
WHAT I MEAN BY ENTIRE IS, COMPREHENDING IN ITSELF A BEGINNING, A MIDDLE, AND AN END.
INNUMERABLE are the instances of errors as to all these points, in our dramatic writers. We have beginnings that require something to precede them, endings that do not conclude the story, and middles neither connected with one or the other. As to the beginning of a dramatic fable, it is almost impoffible that it can be included within the drama itself: as an event fufficiently great and interesting [A] to form a proper dramatic fable, can hardly be supposed to begin, and be completely finished, in the largest space of time allowed for the length of a tragic action. The greatest difficulty, therefore, that the poet labors under in this cafe, is to [B] open the fable to the audience by probable means; indeed [A] See note II, chap. VI. [B] I hear a sudden noife in the street, and run to fee what is the matter. An infurrec- ⚫tion has happened; a great multitude is brought together, and something very important is < going forward. The scene before me is the first thing that engages my attention, and is, in • itself, so interesting, that, for a moment or two, I look at it in filence and wonder. By and • by, when I get time for reflection, I begin to enquire into the cause of all this tumult, and ، what
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. deed I hardly know of any circumstance in which dramatic writers are so generally blameable. The (c) mode usually adopted by the ancients was very little better than the scheme of Bayes, to infinuate his plot into the boxes. The modern fashion is, either for the hero or heroine, to tell a long story to a confidential friend, which we can only be furprized was never done before, or else a company of statesmen, or officers, are difcovered as astonished at some particular event, or unusual order, which they are utterly unable to account for, till one of them, better informed and more communicative than the rest, discloses the whole fecret for the common edification of his friends and the audience. The advantage tragedy is supposed to have, and, indeed, certainly had among the ancients, over comedy, in this respect, is humorously defcribed in a fragment, either of Ariftophanes or Ariphanes, preserved by Athenæus, and quoted both by Mr. Twining and Mr. Winstanley, of which the following paraphraftic translation is attempted : [D] Happy the tragic bard, whose graver muse, Cautious, some tale of ancient fame pursues; Whofe < what it is the people would be at; and one, who is better informed than I, explains the af- < fair from the beginning, or, perhaps, I make this out for myself from the words and actions ' of the perfons concerned. This is a fort of picture of poetical arrangement both in epic and • dramatic compofition.' BEATTIE ON POETRY AND MUSIC, Part 1. Chap. v. [C] See note L. chapter XII. [D] -Μακάριον ἐσιν ἡ τραγωδιά Πόιημα καλὰ πανί. ἔιγε πρῶτον δι λόγοι Ὑπὸ τῶν θεαζῶν ἐίσιν ἐγνωρισμένοι Πρὶν καὶ τιν᾿ ἐιπῖιν, ὡς ὑπομνῆσαι μόνον Z2
。 Whose conduct to the listening audience known, Demands the aid of memory alone. Name Edipus, no farther we enquire; We know his crime, his offspring, and his fire. Pronounce Alcmæon, boys can tell the rest, How the fad maniac pierc'd a mother's breast. Not so, the vot'ries of the comic stage, New names, new facts, the wond'ring ear engage. All that precedes the opening of the scene, The various incidents that intervene The bard's creative fancy must supply, And clearly picture to the public eye.- His own the action, persons, manners, all, From the first opening, to the curtain's fall. In this, if Chremes, or if Pheido fail, A hiss of scorn rewards th' imperfect tale. Δει τὸν ποιηλὴν. Οιδίπεν γὰρ ἂν γε φῶ Τὰ δ᾽ ἄλλα παν᾽ ἴσασιν. ὁ παλὴρ Λάϊος, Μήτηρ Ἰοκάση, θυγατέρες, πᾶιδες, τίνες, Τὶ πείσεθ᾽ δυλος, τὶ πεποίηκεν· ἂν πάλικ Ἔιπη τις Αλκμαίωνα, καὶ τὰ παιδία Παλ᾽ ἐυθὺς ἕυρηκεν, ὅτι μανῖις ἀπέκζονε Τὴν μητέρα. Ἡμῖν δὲ ταῦτ᾽ ἐκ ἕσιν, ἀλλὰ πάντα δεῖ Ευρεῖν ὀνόμαζα καινα, τὰ διωκημένα, Πρότερον, τὰ νῦν παρόνια, τὴν καζασροφῆν Τῆν ἐσβολήν. ἂν ἕν τι τέτων παραλίπη, Χρέμης τις, ἤ Φείδων τις ἐκσυρίτζεται, Πηλει δὲ ταῦτ᾽ ἔξεςι κς Τεύκρῳ ποιεῖν. While
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. While unreftrain'd by fuch coercive laws, Peleus and Teucer, win at once applaufe. The English reader, if he pleases, may substitute Richard and Henry, for Peleus and Teucer; and Belcour and Surface, for Chremes and Pheido. It must be acknowledged, there is not the same difference between tragedy and comedy on the modern stage, as few of our tragedies are now founded on known stories; and where the action and characters are the invention of the poet, they are exactly in the fame predicament with comedy. Even in those that are drawn, either from our own annals, or from popular tales, it is a very inartificial conduct in the poet to truft to the previous information of the spectators for their understanding the piece, fince every fable that is not perfect in itself must be faulty. Befides, it is very possible, as Ariftotle observes elfewhere, (ch. 1x.) that the most popular tale may not be familiar to all the audience. A defective middle, which requires nothing else either to precede or follow it, can only be applicable to fuch pieces, if any fuch there are, where the body of the incidents are episodic, and are not either the consequences of the opening, or the causes of the catastrophe of the fable. Perhaps, however, in those plays that are spun out after the solution of the plot is complete, such solution may properly be called a middle, that requires nothing to follow it. I must own, Edipus, notwithstanding the ingenious defence of [E] M. D'Aubignac, feems, to me, faulty in this respect. For if Aristotle's definition of an end, that, it requires nothing to follow it, be understood strictly, and not with relation to [E] See Mr. Twining's note. the
the particular fable only, there can be no such thing as a complete catastrophe, fince the completion [F] of one action may be a very proper and necessary beginning of another: and which is, indeed, the cafe of the Edipus Tyrannus, and Edipus Coloneus of Sophocles. But of this more presently. I think we find this premature catastrophe in the Merchant of Venice. The delivery of Antonio, and the punishment of Shylock, in the fourth act, completely end the interest of the play; and the last act can be confidered only as a kind of after-piece. Of abrupt conclusions, or catastrophes that require other subsequent circumstances to render them complete, Shakespear, like most of his contemporaries, can furnish several instances. For, as Dr. Johnfon remarks, in many of his plays, ' the latter part is evidently neglected. He remits his efforts where he should most vigorously exert them; ' and his catastrophe is improbably introduced, or imperfectly repre- ' fented.' I cannot, however, agree with the doctor, in imputing the fuppreffion of the dialogue between the ufurping duke and the hermit, in As You Like It, to any defire of the poet, to bring his piece to a hasty conclufion. Shakespear was too good a judge of human nature, to exert < his highest powers in exhibiting a moral lesson,' when his audience were in anxious expectation of an interesting catastrophe; and if he chose to bring this about by a circumstance so little probable as the conversion of a tyrant, we furely cannot blame him for throwing it as much as possible into the shade. I must, however, with Mr. Twining and Mr. Stevens, regret his forgetfulness of poor old Adam. I think [P] See Note IV. Chap. xxvi. the
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. i the fame thing has happened with regard to Poins, in the conclusion of the second part of Henry the Fourth. I shall not defend his moral character against the ingenious author of the Essay on the Dramatic Character of Falstaff; but he is certainly drawn as more of a gentleman than any of the other companions of the prince, with whom he is apparently a particular favorite, as well as I think he is with the poet. In [G] The Merry Wives of Windfor, the chief objection stated by Page to Fenton, (the fine gentleman of the play, and a man of honor,) is his having kept company with the wild prince and Poins, who does not appear in the play, though the other loofe companions of the prince are introduced, with ridicule and difgrace. The Iliad may be faid to fall under the error abovementioned, of being spun out after the catastrophe is compleated (H). Perhaps the Æneid, on the other hand, should have included the marriage of Æneas and Lavinia; for as it is now, it has all the appearance of being unfinished. No ending can be complete that does not entirely fatisfy us as to the final fituation of the principal characters, as far as it arifes from, or is connected with the incidents of the action. The Odyssey would be perfect in this respect if it ended with the twenty-third book. The last book seems superfluous; [G] I am furprized, that in the essay abovementioned, no notice is taken of this comedy. I allow the character of Falstaff is there greatly inferior to the original draught, in the two parts of Henry IV. but though it is a copy, it is still a copy done by the hand of the master himself, and from which his own opinion, as to the character he himself defigned, might be best afcertained; and I think that opinion would be in favor of the hypothefis there supported. In the important business of intriguing, many a brave man has taken a drubbing in disguife. See Note 1. Chap. xv. [H] See Note 1V. Chap. xxvI.
and has been, by many critics, supposed not genuine, but an addition by fome other hand, to make the number of books equal to those of the Iliad. An historical fable has, in this respect, a disadvantage, which is not incident to one entirely invented by the poet. For we are acquainted with fucceeding incidents which may counteract the pleasure we receive from the winding up of the action. This is not found in the unhappy catastrophe, which is generally fatal to the principal characters; but in an action which ends happily, our pleasure must be greatly abated when we know fome terrible disaster is to fucceed the temporary good fortune of the perfons, in whose actions we have been strongly interested. The catastrophe of the battle of Hexham has this defect; and I much doubt if an Athenian, that had just come from the representation of the Ulyffes wounded [1], would receive the fame pleasure that another perfon would, from the conclufion of the Odyffey. M. Leffing, in his Dramaturgie, makes a distinction between the apologue and the epic or dramatic fable, as to the conclufion. In the first, he says, the end is attained as foon as fome moral is enforced, and we trouble ourselves little about the characters afterwards. He applies this to the conclufion of one of Marmontel's tales, and a comedy taken from it, where he mentions the absurdity of calling those compofitions moral tales, and adds, ' unhappily I have never been able to discover their morality. But Les Contes Moreaux have no such pretenfion. They are not meant for tales, illustrating some moral truth, but tales, defcrip- [1] A tragedy, mentioned by Ariftotle, in Chap. XIV. founded, I imagine, on the story of his death from an accidental wound given him by his fon Telegonus. tive
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. tive of manners; and (K) are very improperly translated moral tales. Unluckily we have no adjective equivalent with the French word moral, unless we use [L] ethic; and I suppose the German has the fame deficiency; but, surely, the mistake might have been noticed in the French tranflation of M. Leffing, through the medium of which alone I am acquainted with that original and penetrating critic. What should we say of the absurdity of a poet, who, after finishing a fable completely, were to add a supplement, destroying the effect of the whole; and yet this M. Rousseau has done, in the sequel to Emilius, published among his posthumous works. As the Emilius is a kind of apologue, to inculcate a peculiar mode of education, such a conduct is like a child's taking great pains to build a house with cards, and then throwing it down again.
7.2.
mvp-aristotle-comment-20
7.7
BEAUTY DEPENDS ON SIZE AS WELL AS SYMMETRY.
ARISTOTLE having, in his definition of tragedy, mentioned [M] the possessing a certain degree of magnitude as one of its essential requifites, now proceeds to explain what he means by magnitude. He first [K] See Andrews's anecdotes. I must acknowledge an error in this point, in my first edition of the Poetic, and my obligation to the Critical Review for remarking it. [L] Those works of Mr. Pope, which, in the earlier editions, were styled ethic epistles, have had their titles fince changed to moral epistles, though they certainly have more relation to manners than morals. [Μ] Μεγέθος ἐχούσης. Aa informs
informs us, that not only a just proportion of parts, but fize also, sufficient to give the eye a power of readily observing that proportion, is essential to beauty: and, as an illustration of this, he mentions a very small animal, (such, I suppose, as an infect,) where the parts are too minute to be observed. After this, left the hypothefis should be carried too far, and beauty should be fuppofsed to encrease always according to fize, he shews, that the fame defect will also arife from extreme magnitude, and the proportion of the parts will equally escape our observation. He then proceeds to apply this to dramatic action, which, he says, will encrease in beauty, according to its magnitude, provided it is not so large, but that the whole may easily be comprehended by the memory; that is, I conceive, that the connexion of the beginning, the middle, and the end, with each other, may be readily perceived and retained. And, left he should be misunderstood, and supposed to be speaking of the actual bulk of the tragedy, he says, in direct terms, that it is nothing to the purpose; for if from the practice of the theatre, the time of reprefentation, and, consequently, the bulk of the piece, should be exactly limited, it has nothing to do with the length of the dramatic fable, whose excellence encreases in proportion to its magnitude, provided it is not too large to be perfpicuous. After this explicit distinction between the time of representation, and the extent of the fable, and which seems to have been made, from a notion that they might be confounded, shall we still be told that Ariftotle directs they ought to be exactly regulated by each other? The general fondness of the Greeks for magnitude in their objects of beauty, is very striking in the examples here brought by Aristotle to illustrate his position. He can find in nature objects too small, but none too large; and he is obliged to have recourse
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. to an imaginary animal, several miles in length. As for the Greeks esteeming size, and even strength, as requisites to female beauty, the cause is not of very difficult investigation. In the ancient commonwealths, where there was no distinction between the foldier and the citizen; where civil authority could not be enjoyed without military service, nor military service performed without strength of body, the having a strong and vigorous offspring was the first, and, indeed, almost the only object in marriage; for wealth and rank were feldom attainable by matrimonial connections. Among modern nations, in general, these last are the only objects confidered in marriage [N]; and even in this country, where matches of inclination are more frequent, from our great intercourse with women, and their fuperior information and accomplishments, we are attached by a thousand means, which were perfectly unknown to the secluded beauties of Greece. A very elegant critic, it is true [o], says, that beautiful objects are • small.' But though under the word beauty here, (τὸ καλὸν) Ariftotle, undoubtedly, comprehends fublimity as well as beauty, I can by no means entirely agree with the hypothefis of Mr. Burke. Surely a woman of the largest size, justly and elegantly proportioned, with softness and delicacy of countenance, mildness of manner, and eyes ' expressive,' (to use Mr. Burke's own words) ‘of fuch gentle and amiable qualities, as correspond with the softness, smoothness, and delicacy of the outward [N] Anxious to match the generous steed, ، Where strength and swiftness mark the breed, • Regardless of his heir.' Marriage an Ode, anon. [o] Mr. Burke's Enquiry into the Origin of the Sublime and Beautiful, Part 111. fect. 111. Aa 2 ' form,'
' form,' may be more strictly called beautiful, even in the sense of Mr. Burke, than a little piquante brunette, whose lively eyes partake fomething of the δεινὸν, which he confiders as a cause of the fublime [P]. I do not mean that the fize should be extraordinary, any thing unnatural, whether large or small; any tendency to the dwarf, or the giant, can have no pretenfions to the merit (Q) of female beauty. Mr. Burke, indeed, makes the exception as to the dwarf. He says, ' should a per- • fon be found not above two or three feet high, supposing such a person to have all the parts of his (her) body of a delicacy suitable to fuch a size, and otherwife endued with the common qualities of other beau- • tiful bodies, I am pretty well convinced that a person of such a stature might be confidered as beautiful, MIGHT BE THE OBJECT OF LOVE.' It is to be remarked, that the example is a male; if it had been a female, or, being a male, if Mr. Burke had confulted the ladies, perhaps his conviction might not have been quite so strong, especially as to the last position. He adds, however; 'the only thing which could inter- ، pose to check our pleasure is, that such creatures, however formed, are unusual, and are often confidered as fomething monstrous.' ESSAY ON THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL, Part IV. SECT. XXIV. [P] In this cafe, however, it would not partake of the fublime; for though beauty may be compatible with large objects, fublimity is perfectly incompatible with small ones. [Q] See Note v. Chap. xxvI. CHAP.
