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Commentary on Chapter 26

26.6

TRAGEDY ALSO AS WELL AS THE EPOPEE MAY ATTAIN ITS END WITHOUT REPRESENTATION, FOR WE CAN JUDGE OF ITS MERIT BY READING ONLY.

THIS is strictly true; and perhaps there are few good tragedies in which the effect is not in general, at least as forcible in the closet as on the stage, even in the modern theatre. In the strongly impaffioned parts, where every other confideration of effect is lost in feeling, we are wonderfully moved by the natural efforts of a Garrick and a Siddons; but this is independent of the stage effect, and would be as strong in a room as on the stage. But the appearance of scene-shifters, the panting [M] dead bodies, and other circumstances of the same nature that must necessarily attend the representation, rather weaken than encrease the force of the illufion; and the exception just made can extend only to few performers. There are not many actors who are able to give us in the representation, the ideas we form of the characters of Shakespear from reading his plays. Mr. Jackson, who to the highest merit in one, adds an accurate and elegant taste in all the polite arts, says, 'I have seldom any pleasure from the representation of Shakespear's plays, unless it be • from some scenes of conversation merely without paffion. The speeches [M] Note II. Chap. xx. 3 Y 2 ' which

' which have any thing affecting in the expression are generally so overacted as to cease to be " the mirror of nature [в]." There is in fact always fomething wanting in the apparatus of the drama, I mean especially in tragedy[c], to keep up the delusion. Here the painter has the advantage; he has only, it is true, a point of time to imitate, but this point he can imitate accurately. He can paint the horse starting at the dead bodies in the field of Bofworth or Agincourt; he has no need of rofin for the artificial and almost ridiculous flash of lightning which precedes the thunder of the scene-shifter; his imitative corruscations seem really to divide the clouds and threaten the wretched head of the night-wandering monarch. He can also stain the bosom of Juliet with blood without exciting our disgust, and shew us the bleeding rings from which the eyes of Glofter have been torn without raising too violent and offenfive a sensation of horror. If fuch is the effect of the modern theatrical apparatus on the interest of the drama, what must have been that of the ancient with all its exaggerated and unnatural appendages? Increasing the improbability in the strongest degree, and robbing the representation of its chief effect, the natural expression of the paffions, by the display of their operation on the human form and countenance through the exertions of a good actor. If however there are few actors who are able to do justice to the characters of Shakespear, there are also few other dramatic characters who [B] Letter XIV. [c] This is not fo much the cafe with comedy. A handsome room, a street, or even a view of St. James's Park, may be represented accurately enough. If the apparatus fails in comedy, it is generally not from deficiency but the contrary. See Note VIII. Chap. xv. do

POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. do not owe much of their merit to the exertion of the performers in general. It is not every play that justifies the observation which is the subject of this note. Dr. Francklin, in the preface to his excellent tranflation of Sophocles, observes in commendation of the ancient mask, 'That the actor was not, as on our stage, left at liberty to murder fine language and sentiment by wrong accent and false pronunciation, by hurrying over some parts with precipitancy and drawling out others into a tedious monotony, a good voice and a tolerable ear were all that the poet required of him.' Dr.Francklin forgets that this argument proves too much; since applied to a good actor the reverse is equally true. Would it be no disadvantage to dramatic effect to hide the speaking features of a Garrick behind a deformed vizor; or distort the pathetic tones of Mrs. Siddons by a speaking trumpet? Indeed the effect was tried on Mr. Garrick. The only character of Shakespear in which he could not fucceed was Othello. What must have been loft from his not being able to mark by his expreffive countenance, the conflict of the various passions in his bosom while Iago was working on his jealoufy! I will conclude this note with the opinion of an eminent critic on the subject. A fluctuation of passion and refined sentiments would have ' made no figure on the Grecian stage. Imagine the discording scene between Brutus and Caffius in Julius Cæfar to be there exhibited, or the ' handkerchief in the Moor of Venice; how flight would be their effect, when pronounced in a mask and through a pipe! The workings of nature upon the countenance, and the inflexions of voice so deeply ، ' affecting in modern representation, would have been entirely loft. If a great

A COMMENTARY ON THE CHAP. XXVI. ، a great genius had arifen with talents for composing a pathetic tragedy ' in perfection, he would have made no figure in Greece. HOME'S Sketches of the History of Man, Book 1. Sk. v. 2.

26.7

TRAGEDY THEN HAS EVERY REQUISITE IN COMMON WITH THE EPOPEE SINCE IT MAY EQUALLY USE VERSE.

THE more I have confidered this paffage, the more I am confirmed in my opinion, that τὸ μέτρον means here iambic verse unassisted by mufic and reprefentation [D], and not hexameter verse in opposition to it [E]. I do not think an instance can be found in the treatife, of μέτρον being ufed in this appropriated senfe. In the first chapter Aristotle says, fome are called iambic and some elegiac poets from their metre, τὸ μέτρον ; and again he speaks foon after of a poem composed in all forts of meafure (ἅπανθα τὰ μέτρα). And just before this, in the fame chapter, he says the epopee imitates, either ufing (χρώμενη) plain words or verse of different kinds (τοῖς μέτροις) comprehending every fort of verfe; or one only, ἐνί τινι τῶν μέτρων, by which he signifies hexameters, as diftinguished from dithyrambics, mimes, comedy, and tragedy, who use (χρῶνται) rhythm, melody and measure. Here is exactly the fame oppofition marked between the means, (for μεσική in the passage before us includes both rythm and melody); why then should not τὸ μέτρον equally fignify verse in general in both passages? Aristotle in the first chapter employs χρῶνται to express the use that dithyrambics, mimes, tragedy, and comedy, make [D] See this Chapter, Note [G] on the tranflation. [E] See Note [A) on the tranflation, Chap. xxXIII. of

POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. of their whole powers, rhythm, melody and measure. Surely then, when he chose afterwards to thew what one of these species of imitative poetry could effect when shorn of half its rays,' when making itself equal to the epopee by laying afide the music and the scenery and appраratus of the theatre, which, as well here as in the fixth chapter he allows to be the most affecting part of the drama: surely if, in the first place, he employs χρῶνται to express the use these compositions Do make of all their powers: by what words could he so well express the power tragedy MIGHT have of attaining its end contrary to the general practice by ufing one only, aς ἔξεςι χρῆσθαι [F]? It is true Ariftotle does, in the first chapter, hypothetically put the cafe of an epopee in trimeter or elegiac verse, but with apparent disapprobation on the fame principle as he undoubtedly would a tragedy in hexameters had he taken occasion to suppose one, from nature herself having pointed out the metre congenial with each. If therefore the critic means to say, we will give up the advantage the more simple cadence of iambics affords us in affecting the passions, and attack the epopee in the more ornamented and less natural language of hexameters; surely the advocate for the epopee in return might say, we will lay aside what advantage we derive from the richer cadence of hexameter verse, and contend with tragedy in iambics. Let us revert to the context and examine the drift of Aristotle's whole reasoning on the subject taken together. He first says, if acting is a [F] If it had been the usual custom in Greece to recite tragedy as the French drama is now recited by Teffier, then, and then only would the word χρῆται (as suggested by Mr. Winstanley,) have been the proper word to express this sense of the paffage. disadvantage

disadvantage to tragedy it is equally so to the epopee, which may also be accompanied (and he produces instances) by gesture, and even singing. If the action of tragedy may be rendered ridiculous by exaggerated gefture, so he says may the epopee; if the epopee has the advantage of working its effect by reading or recitation only, and is therefore more perfect in itself and less dependent on adventitious ornament, tragedy pofsesses the fame power and can also manifest its own intrinfic merit by perusal alone. Tragedy therefore has not only every advantage in comimon with the epopee, for it may be capable of producing its intended effect by using its own ornamented language only, independent of representation, scenery and mufic; but it has the additional advantage of all these embellishments in contradistinction, I suppose, to the fimple recitative to which the epopee was fet when it happened to be sung. With thefe superior powers, its effect in producing the paffions of pity and terror was rendered stronger, or, to use the words of Mr. Twining, 'The illu- ◄ fion was heightened.' Therefore tragedy was in every respect equal and in many fuperior to epic poetry. This appears to be the general sense and connection of the whole argument. All the examples are drawn from what was, not from what might BE. The decifion here does not rest on the powers that both the drama and the epopee really possess, or on any license they can have of exchanging their natural and essential requifites (one (G) of which their respective verse is said to be) but on the mode of exhibition. Had any fuperiority been suggested which the epopee might be supposed to derive from the gravity and magnificence of its measure, and it had been answered in the words of the passage in question, the sense contended for might [G] See the beginning of Chap. xxiv. have

POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. have been allowed. Though even then τὸ μέτρον would have been a very improper term to signify a particular kind of verse in oppofition to any other, it having been so very often used for verse in general in this treatife. Befides, if it had this meaning, (H) it MIGHT, not, it MAY use, seems to be the proper phrafe. Indeed if Aristotle had once proceeded to give the preference to tragedy from what it might be made, the objector to Ariftotle's decifion in favour of tragedy, might have answered, that there was an equal pofsibility of giving the advantage of music and representation to the epopee. It would certainly have been very possible to act the dialogues of Homer, omitting the other parts, or throwing them into a chorus, in which the Coryphœus might repeat all that the poet says in his own person. In short, if we come to judge of what a thing is, from what it may possibly be made, by changing its essential properties, we may prove any thing. As I differ here with Mr. Winstanley, neither can I agree with what Mr. Twining says on this subject in a note [1] on a passage in chap. iv. (which I quote in the words of his own translation). 'The iambic • is of all metres the most colloquial, as appears evidently from this ، fact, that our common conversation frequently falls into iambic verse, * seldom into hexameter, and only when we depart from the usual melody of speech [k].' [H] Ἐξῆ, not ἔξεσι, χρῆσθαι. Liceat, not licet, uti. [1] Note 36. Of [K] Mr. Twining cites a passage in his note from the Treatise on Rhetoric, L. 111. Chap. VIII. as corroborating this, which I certainly must think it does, if pointed properly; but as it is now generally pointed and translated it directly contradicts it, as well as itself. 3 Z Τῶν

CHAP. XXVr. ، Of this Mr. Twining observes, in his note (36), ' It has been thought strange that Aristotle should introduce here the mention of ⚫ hexameters when he has been speaking only of trochaic and iambic verse, and is accounting for the adoption of the latter in preference, not to the hexameter but to the trochaic tetrameter, and it has there- • fore been doubted whether we should not read [1] τετράμετρα. But ، • the established reading I believe is right. The trochaic tetrameter Ariftotle has both here and in his Rhetoric characterized as σατυρικὸν, ἀρχηςικώτερον, τροχερὸν, and even κορδακικώτερον. He did not, I believe, ⚫ confider it as being in any degree λεκτικόν. It was therefore entirely • out of the question, when a metre proper for the general dialogue of tragedy was to be fought for, but the hexameter was not fo; and it Τῶν δὲ ῥυθμῶν ὁ μὲν ἡρωος σεμνὸς καὶ λεκτικὸς καὶ ἁρμονίας δεόμενος· ὁ δὲ ἴαμβος αυτὰ ἔσιν ἡ λέξις ἡ τῶν πολλῶν, διὸ μάλιςα πάντων τῶν μετρῶν ἰαμβεια φθέίγονται λέγοντες δεῖ δὲ σεμνότητα γενέσθαι καὶ ἐκεῆσαι. In the Poetic we are told hexameter verse seldom is spoken accidentally, unless we depart from the natural harmony of discourse, ἐκβαίνοτες τῆς λεκτικῆς ἀρμονίας, and just before, that the iambic is of all verse the most colloquial, μάλισα γὰρ. λεκτικὸν τῶν μέτρων. This, the passage in the rhetoric, as it is now pointed and read, directly contradicts, but all will be consistent if the stop is placed after σεμνός, and none after δεόμενος, rendering it thus. Of all metres the heroic is the most grave, but the • iambic is both colloquial and deficient in harmony, and is indeed the language of the vulgar, ⚫ on which account, of all measures, it is chiefly spoken in-common conversation, but here, (in * rhetoric,) it ought to be made grave and be elevated.' Meaning, that oratory should have more dignity, and be raifed above the level of common speech; and clearly I think of the two, preferring the hexameter to the iambic cadence for that purpose. Cum fint numeri plures, iambum et trochæum frequentem segregat ab oratore Ariftoteles, qui naturâ tamen incurrunt • ipfi in orationem fermonemque noftrum : fed funt infignes percussiones eorum numerorum, et ⚫ minuti pedes. Quare primum ad heroum nos dactyli et anapæsti & spondæi pedem invitat. CICERO DE ORAT. L. 111. [L] Note on Winstanley's edition, page 277. ⚫ might,

POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. * might, without absurdity, be asked by an objector, as Castlevetro and • Piccoluomini have observed, why that species of verse was not ، adopted, especially as the tragic poets were the successors of the epic or heroic; and Homer, according to Plato, was the first of tragic poets. As its character was grave and stately, it might feem on that account well adapted to tragedy, where indeed we actually find it occafionally introduced. But Aristotle objects to it as less proper, be- • cause though σεμνὸν, it was at the same time, & λεκτικόν. He allows, • however, that it was not so remote from the rhythm of common * speech, but that it MIGHT be casually produced like the iambic, though it rarely happened. He even goes so far as to allow, in his • concluding chapter, that tragedy " might adopt the epic metre." This last sentence is Mr. Twining's tranflation of the passage in question. The whole drift of the part of Aristotle, in the fourth chapter, which I have quoted from Mr. Twining, and on which the above is his note, appears to me exactly this. In the rude state of the drama the trochaic tetrameter was used as the measure. When tragedy was more cultivated, and assumed a more serious and dignified tone, this metre was found improper, and another was to be adopted, when nature herself pointed out the iambic as most proper, from its being most congenial with common difcourse, which the dialogue of tragedy was to resemble as nearly as poffible consistently with its dignity [M], since the mode of its imitation was by persons acting, and the objects of its imitation the actions of persons, of superior situation indeed, but in those particular circumstances which are incident to perfons of all ranks, on which alone [M] See Chapters II. III. and XIIL 3 Z2 the

A COMMENTARY ON THE CHAP. XXVI, the interest of the action can be founded. Whereas hexameter verse, though the proper language of the epopee, which had greater dignity and variety, and was not intended or calculated to awaken so strong an interest, could not be adapted to the drama as being too much at variance with common discourse to fall casually into it, except when the language was elevated above the usual cadence of conversation, which I conceive the dialogue of tragedy, and efpecially the interesting parts of it, should never be. If, as Mr. Twining seems to suppose, Aristotle, when he fays, speech never falls into hexameters but when it exceeds its usual harmony, means, by its usual harmony, (τῆς λεκτικῆς ἁρμονίας) [N] ‘not that • lax and general sense in which we commonly apply it to the rhythm of speech when we talk of the harmony of a verse or period. But that melody and rhythm which speech poffefses, as well as music, and which in ، speech, animated by passion, are so modified as to approach more or less perceptibly to musical melody and rhythm;' and that the Greeks • seldom or never departed so far from the usual rhythm of speech as to ، run into hexameter verse, except when they were led by the fame ' cause,' (the fuperior animation of the language by paffion) to depart ، equally from its usual melody and tones.' If this be Aristotle's meaning; if empassioned language is most liable of all other to fall naturally into hexameter verse, then hexameter verse must be pointed out by nature for the verse best adapted to it by nature, and especially for those parts of it from which its end, the exciting pity and terror are chiefly if not folely derived. I own I am inclined to think that by exceeding the harmony of common speech, Aristotle means quitting the usual level of discourse for [N] Continuation of the above quoted note of Mr. Twining. the

POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. the more elevated style of oratory, which might more naturally fall into the cadence of hexameters [o].

26.9

AND TRAGEDY POSSESSES ANOTHER ADVANTAGE IN CONFINING THE ACTION BY WHICH THE END OF THE IMITATION IS ATTAINED WITHIN A NARROWER COMPASS. FOR BEING AS IT WERE CONDENSED, IT BECOMES MORE INTERESTING THAN IF IT WERE PROTRACTED THROUGH A LONGER PERIOD OF TIME.

IN the course of these notes I have more than once had occafion to remark how much, in all works of imitation, interest depends on detail, and here the fuperiority of the drama is eminently apparent. Chusing only a small, and that the most affecting part of a tale, it is at full liberty to bring even the most minute circumstance from which interest may arife, into full view, without at all injuring the natural unity of time, or the proportional length of the other parts. Besides, the events and their causes are never fo far removed from each other as to lose one link of connexion; nor are the passions allowed to cool from being interrupted by intervening incidents. It also derives another great advantage from the shortness of the composition. A tragedy may be read, and always is represented, without [o] See the above quotation from Arift. Rhet. and Cic. de Orat. any

any interruption, a thing impoffible in the epopee, by which the impression is made much stronger; and the connexion of the events, the dependence of the parts on each other, and the result of the catastrophe from the whole, is much more readily comprehended, and more eafily remembered. The shortest novel is feldom read but at intervals. haps it is to avoid, or at least lessen this disadvantage, that Aristotle proposes reducing the length of the epopee [P] to that of the number of tragedies usually performed without intermission. But I imagine it would not have effected the end. However an Athenian audience might have been fafcinated by the music, the acting, the scenery, and the company [2], to fit so many hours during the representation of a favorite spectacle, I much doubt if they would have listened so long to the recitation of an epic poem, or have perused it so long with attention. Per- [P] See Note II. Chap. xiv. [Q] The convenience of the ancient theatre for conversation, and the portico allotted for the purpose of walking and converfing (between the intervals of the different pieces I presume,) is explained at large by M. Boindin, in his Differtation on the Ancient Theatres, in les Memoires de l'Academi des Inscriptions, Tom. I. p. 136. In the modern theatre the spectators are nailed to their seats during the whole performance, if the house is full; and a single spectator, seated among strangers, is in this country at least, engaged in almost as folitary an amusement as reading in his closet. NOTE

26.11

THE ILIAD AND ODYSSEY ARE AS MUCH THE IMITATION OF ONE ACTION AS THE NATURE OF THE COMPOSITION WOULD ADMIT

THE action of the Iliad has been blamed as defective in point of unity; a cenfure, I confefs, that does not seem eafily answered. The anger of Achilles, which is the avowed subject of the poem, is transferred from Agamemnon to Hector, producing two different actions, one of which terminates with the reconciliation of Achilles and Agamemnon, the other with the death of Hector. The unity of the poem cannot arise from the anger only, which is a quality, and which can only be confidered as the cause of the action to which unity is necessary. If the character of Achilles which is anger, be uniformly kept up through ten different actions, will it follow that fuch uniformity will be sufficient to give the proper epic unity to them all? If so, the authors of the Theseid and the Heracleid were right, who thought a poem possessed a proper degree of unity if it related to one person [R]: Bossu tries to answer the objection in this manner. • These two * parts of the Iliad are joined very regularly. If Achilles had not been [R] See Chap. VIII.. ! • incenfed

، incenfed against Agamemnon, he would have fought himself, and not • have expofed his friend alone against Hector in his armour, which was ' the cause of the rashness and death of that friend; and further, to ، ⚫ blend the two parts better with each other, the second begins a long time before we fee what will be the end of the first. All the conditions of reconciliation are proposed on the part of Agamemnon, before • the death of Patroclus, and even before he thinks of engaging in the ، battle. The consent of Achilles is wanted alone, and his not giving • it till after the death of Patroclus connects it with that of Hector; and we may truly say, that the rage and vengeance of Achilles against Hector, which is the second part of the poem, is the only cause of the reconciliation which finishes the first part.' TREATISE ON THE EPIC POEM, Part 1. Book 11. Chap. VII. ، I own the force of this reasoning does not strike me. If any event connected even intimately with the catastrophe, which is the foundation of a new action, however congenial with the former, is sufficient to unite the two actions so as to produce the epic unity, with a very little management the Iliad and Odyssey might have been so united. And on this principle the Fairy Queen may be called a regular epopee. I cannot but think the reconciliation of Achilles and Agamemnon, however brought about, is the solution of the plot of the Iliad as the death of Turnus is of the Æneid. But we have before [s] observed, that every catastrophe must be defective which leaves us in doubt as to the fate of the principal characters, as far as it is connected, or arifes from the action; in which respect the catastrophe of the Eneid is [s] Note 1. Chap. vII. faulty.

POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. faulty. This error Homer, who judged better of human feelings, avoided. In the words of Mr. Hume, 'Though it is evident that in ' the course of his narrative he exceeds the first propofition of his fubject, and that the anger of Achilles, which caused the death of Hector, ' is not the same with that which produced so many ills to the Greeks. • Yet the strong connexion between these two movements, the quick • tranflation from one to another, the contrast between the effects of • concord and discord among the princes, and the natural curiofity we • have to fee Achilles in action after such long repose, all these causes carry on the reader, and produce a sufficient unity in the subject.' HUME'S ESSAY ON THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS, Sect. III. After what I have said on this matter, I must add, that though I cannot possibly agree with the Stagirite, in thinking that the Iliad is as much the imitation of one action as the nature of the epopee will admit; yet I by no means wish it other than it is, or would facrifice the seven laft books of it to the observation of any critical rule whatever.

26.12

IF TRAGEDY THEN EXCELS IN ALL THESE CIRCUMSTANCES, AS WELL AS IN THE EFFECT WHICH IT IS THE PECULIAR END OF THE POETIC ART TO ATTAIN-IT WILL CERTAINLY BE MORE EXCELLENT THAN THE EPOPEE FROM ATTAINING THE END OF THE ART ITSELF MORE EFFECTUALLY.

VOLTAIRE, who is never so happy as when he can with any plausibility of argument oppose any opinion that is generally received by 4 A the

A COMMENTARY ON THE CHAP. XXVI. ، ، the literary world, and especially if it has the sanction of antiquity, has chofen to attack the position laid down here by Aristotle, that the attaining a proposed end effectually, is any fource of beauty or excellence. " “

“ He says, • I was present one day with a philosopher at the performance of a tragedy. "How fine this is!" said he. I replied, " What strikes you as being so fine?" He answered, The author has attained his end." The next day he took phyfic, which did him good. Well," faid I, "it has attained its end. What a beautiful “ dose of phyfic!" He found from this that we could not call a dose of physic beautiful, and that to give the name of beautiful to a thing, it is necessary that it should excite admiration and pleasure. He agreed that the tragedy had infpired him with both those sensations, and that in this confifted τὸ καλὸν, THE BEAUTIFUL. “Ο • We took a voyage to England. We there saw the same piece performed, perfectly translated. It fet all the spectators a yawning. ho," said he, “ I see the τὸ καλὸν is not the same for the English as for the French." After many reflections, he concluded that THE BEAUTIFUL is sometimes very relative, as what is decent at Japan may be indecent at Rome, and what is fashionable at Paris may be un-- fashionable at Pekin. And he saved himself the trouble of writing a long treatise on THE BEAUTIFUL. QUESTIONS SUR L'ENCYCLO- PEDIE, Art. BEAU.. Voltaire then proceeds, that actions and sentiments in themselves apparently virtuous, will meet with universal approbation, but that the beautiful and the excellent, in matters of taste, are merely arbitrary, depending entirely on local manners, habits, and prejudices. Le

POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. Le Pere Brumoy has examined this subject in the preface to his Théatre des Grecs, where this reasoning of Voltaire may be fairly faid to be answered, and in great measure confuted, though the publication of Brumoy's work was anterior in point of time to this of Voltaire. As the passage of Brumoy is drawn to some length, I shall just state the heads of it, leaving those who wish to fee the whole of the argument to recur to the work itself. He first defines truth and beauty, as far as regards works of genius, like tragedy, to be such an imitation of nature, as shall affect the minds of a polished people so that they may from their natural feelings say of it, This is confonant with truth; this is fine.' He says a polished people, because in fact education varies the interest and objects of the passions. And in this he is certainly right, though Mr. Voltaire chuses to say an action really and eminently virtuous will equally be applauded by a Savage, a Frenchman, and a Chinese. Of the feelings of the first and last I can fay nothing. As to the second, I confefs I entertain no very high opinion of their taste for the fimple and natural truth and beauty of compofition, though I do not say with Voltaire that they are a nation of monkeys and tigers [T]. But if I take the educated and uneducated of my own country, (and the distinction is necessary in all countries, for no man who can read a tragedy will keep sheep upon Salisbury plain,) the first will sympathize with scenes that paint to him events of real exquisite distress, of which the other, however good and honest he may be in his fituation of life, [T] Ne pourrais je sortir au plus vite de ce pays, ou les finges, agacent les tigres.' 4 A 2 CANDIDE, Chap. xxII. can

can no more form an idea, than a critic whose opinions are sophisticated. by false notions of refinement can form of the truth, the beauty, and the fimplicity of natural pictures, of human actions and paffions, unadorned by meretricious ornament. But to return to Brumoy. He exemplifies the difference between natural and local feelings, by an analysis of the tragedy of Alceftes. ، If Euripides,' he says, ' has drawn in that work a true picture of * human nature; if he awakens our sensibility for the tenderness of a • woman, who voluntarily facrifices her own life to prolong that of her ' husband; if my senses are deluded by the most studied exertion of art, • without that art being apparent; if he offers to my view an action at • the same time simple, connected, and probable; if he leads me insen- • sibly, by the clue of my feelings, through a maze of passion, that • continues gradually increasing till the impression is perfect, and I en- ، ، ، tirely deliver up my sensations to the illusion of the scene, I become myfelf an Athenian; I cannot refrain, in spite of a few defects in the piece, which strike me as well as the rest of the spectators, from joining my own applause to those of Greece, since being a man like • the Greeks, I must be necessarily affected by the same truths, and the • same beauties, which have made so lively an impression on them.' ، He then adds, ' If without confidering the general beauties in the piece, which must affect us as men, we look only to the parts which are contrary to our habits and manners as Frenchmen, we may in- • deed exclaim, What can be the propriety of this god, who is the flave • of a man; this infernal deity who seizes his prize; this law autho- • rized by Apollo, that the old should die for the young, the father for • the fon? What, shall a son lose his respect for a father, because he ' refuses

POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. • refuses to submit to such a law [u]? What shall we say of Hercules getting drunk while the funeral rites of Alcestes are performing? Is • there any sense in the combat between Hercules and Death, and his • recovering Alcestes from him, and her continuing dumb for three days ' afterwards? All this will, undoubtedly, appear ridiculous and abfurd. But what would Euripides say, were he to be present at the reprefen- • tation of Racine's Iphigenia. He would be charmed with the copy • of what Greece had admired in the original. But what would he • have faid of the episode of Eriphyle; of the French gallantry of • Achilles; of the threatened duel; of the tête-a-tête between a prince • and princess; and Clytemnestra falling at the feet of Achilles?' He concludes the argument by saying, 'that we have no more real reason to be shocked at the painting of Grecian manners as they were, however strange they may feem to us, than succeeding times will have to ⚫ think our customs extravagant, because they may become obsolete. • The decision of justice, by the fword, was once as prevalent in Europe ، as the decifion of honor. Why may they not in succeeding times be confidered as equally absurd?' In all probability the passages in the French writers, which occur so frequently in deification of monarchy, will be as disgusting to a French audience as the extraordinary effusions of a blind loyalty, expressed in the Maid's Tragedy, the Loyal Subject, and Valentinian of Beaumont and Fletcher are now to an English one. To the honor of Shakespear and his royal patroness, few fuch degrading fentiments occur in his works. He makes a virtuous prince hefitate even to extend mercy to one he thinks an object of it, [u] The scene alluded to here certainly can never fall under the circumstance of local impropriety only. The perusal of it must equally shock the feelings of all mankind, whatever their country or education. It is a gross and radical defect, in a tragedy which on the whole I prefer to every other production of the Greek drama. Because

• Because it is against his laws, Against his crown, his oath, his dignity, 'Which princes, would they, may not difannul.' COMEDY OF ERRORS. ، I As le Pere Brumoy has not chosen to give the decifion of Euripides as to Iphigenia of Racine, I will take the liberty of doing it for him. confefs,' we may suppose him to say, that fome of your customs and manners seem strange to me, as I have no doubt some of ours do to you : and had you laid the scene at Paris, as I did in Greece, adopting ، ، the radical manners of the persons and the essential parts of the fable, • but changing the names and local customs, as an English poet did in ، regard to my Alcestes [u], I could have found no fault; but as you have ⚫ chosen to keep the same story and names, you ought to have given the piece also Greek manners. The customs of Greece are too well known ⚫ in modern Europe, and especially in a neighbouring island, a formidable • rival to you in arts as well as in arms, not to make this conduct in ge- • neral ridiculous, though your extreme partiality for your own manners ، may blind you to it [x]. You have broken one of the rules of Ari- • stotle, to which you affect to pay so much deference, and which deserve • it when they are, as in this instance, drawn from truth and nature, exemplified in the works of the best poets. You have committed an T [U] Thomson's Edward and Eleonora. [x] Those who will be more inclined to believe the character of his countrymen given by a Frenchman, as to this particular, than by Euripedes, may turn to the eleventh letter of M. Guy's VOYAGE LITTERAIRE DE LA GRECE. Speaking of Tournefort's attempt to teach a Greek, chief interpreter to the Sultan, the true pronunciation of his own language, he fays, • I here see a Frenchman, who would give the TON to a stranger in every thing.' ' effential

POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. • essential error in point of manners; you have not made them [v] like; 'you might with as much propriety have dressed Achilles like a captain ' of grenadiers, and armed his Myrmidons with firelocks.' To return to the position of Voltaire, that the fitness of a thing to fulfil its end effectually has no influence on its beauty; I shall oppose to it an opinion from the writings of a man, which perhaps may have as much weight with some of my readers as those of the philosopher of Ferney, though they may not be in general quite so popular at present. Cicero, in his third book de Oratore, fays, [z] ' In most things it is wonderfully contrived by nature, that those objects which are of the ، greatest utility, should possess also, not only the greatesst dignity but often • also the greatest beauty and elegance.' And again speaking of art [A], • What are so necessary in navigation as the fides of the vessel, the keel, • the prow, the stern, the yards, the fails, the masts, &c.? And yet all . these have fo much beauty and elegance in their form, that they seem. as much invented for pleasure as for utility.' To leave authority let us confult our own observation. What is it that pleases us in the Farnese Hercules, or the Apollo Belvidere, but the appearance of strength in the one, and dignity of expreffion with symmetry I [Υ] Τὸ ὅμοιον. Famam fequere.' See Chap. xv. [z] In plerifque rebus incredibiliter hoc natura est ipfa fabricata-ut ea quæ maximum • utilitatem in se continerent, eadem haberent plurimum vel dignitatis vel fæpe etiam venuf-

of forın indicating activity in the other? The same may be applied to animals. When we admire the hunter, the charger, and the racehorse, the greyhound and the mastiff, do we not confider their fitness to excel in the several exercises to which they are appropriated, as the principal fource of their beauty? When we speak of a fine regiment do we consider the rapidity yet regularity of its movement, the steadiness of its position, the closeness of the fire, and the exactness of the aim as beautiful only in themselves, or do we not take into our ideas at the fame time their use, and confider them as carrying destruction and terror into the ranks of the enemies of their country? Perhaps this is no where more evident than in the judgement we pass on female beauty. It has been already flightly alluded [B] to. It is a delicate fubject to investigate; and I shall rather chuse to rest my argument again in great measure on authority, than entirely hazard my own opinion. The elegant author of the Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful [c] has partly adopted the same notion with Voltaire. He says our notion • of fitness has nothing to do with beauty. But I think, on examining what he says of female beauty, it will be found that fitness has more connection with our conceptions of it, even on Mr. Burke's own principles, than he chuses to allow. • If beauty (he says) in our own species was annexed to use, men would be much more lovely than ، [B] Note II. Chap. VII. [C] THE BEAUTIFUL, LE BEAU, τὸ καλὸν, taken in the general sense in which the exprefsion is usually employed in speaking of poetry and the other congenial arts, comprehends both the SUBLIME and BEAUTIFUL, as diftinguished by Mr. Burke. women;

POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. women; and strength and agility would be confidered as the only • beauties. ESSAY ON THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL, Part III. Sect. IV. I do not think the author has exactly confidered the different lights in which we see male and female beauty; if he had, perhaps he would not have been so decided in this opinion. I conceive a young officer sees his company and his mistress exactly as to beauty according to their fitness, as far as he is concerned with it. Strength, activity, and height are the chief beauties that he admires in the men whom he is to lead on to danger, and on whose exertions he must depend for fafety, honor and victory: delicacy, softness, in a word, beauty, as applied by way of eminence to perfection in the female form, in the woman who is the object of that passion which is stronger and dearer than safety, honor, or victory. Mr. Burke proceeds. * I appeal to the first and most natural feelings * of mankind, whether on beholding a beautiful eye, or a well-fashioned * mouth, or a well-turned leg, any ideas of their being well fitted for • seeing, eating, or running ever present themselves. Certainly no. But if I have not sufficiently explained myself in the observation immediately preceding this quotation, Dryden shall do it for me. Celadon in the Maiden Queen, after kissing a lady, says, ' Ay, marry! this was the • original use of lips; talking, eating, and drinking came in by the bye.' Mr. Burke says again, Part III. Sect. xv. * Observe that part of a • beautiful woman where perhaps she is most beautiful, about her neck • and breasts: the smoothness, the softness, the easy and insensible swell, ⚫ the variety of the surface which is never for the smallest space the fame, • the deceitful maze through which the unsteady eye flides giddily with- • out knowing where to fix, or whither it is carried!' 4 B This

This is warm painting, and speaks to the feelings, I believe, both of reader and writer. But Ovid I think has clearly shewn its end by this verse, Forma papillarum quam fuit apta premi.' If the beauty of this enchanting object depended on the circumstances of its form only, as described in the glowing colors of the writer, independent of any other sensation, it would in every cafe be equally pleasing. But I conceive it will be sufficiently obvious to every man who will ask himself the question, that this form lovely and enchanting as it is where nature has placed it, would have no fuch extraordinary and self-evident beauty as the critic has ascribed to it, in any other situation. ، ، The subject is refumed in Part 111. Sect. xvI. • The beauty of women is [D] confiderably owing to their weakness and delicacy, and is ever enhanced by their timidity, a quality of mind analogous to it. I ⚫ would not here be understood, that weakness betraying very bad health ⚫ has any share in beauty; but the ill effect of this is not because it is ، weakness, but because the ill state of health which produces such weakness alters the other conditions of beauty. The parts in such a state collapse, the bright color, the lumen purpureum juventæ, is gone, and • the fine variation is lost in wrinkles, fudden breaks, and right lines.' I think if Mr. Burke had not been led away by hypothesis he would not have ended his argument by that figure which is now called a trueism. If ill health produces the consequences of old age, the effects will be the fame on the beauty of a female form. But I contend, that without [D] See Note 11. Chap. VII. this

POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. this effect languor produced by sickness will destroy female beauty. [E] Delicacy, foftness, effeminacy, are great and effential beauties in a woman, both in her form and manners; even languor has its enchantments: but the instant we know, or fancy even, that these proceed from ill health, the charm is broken; the perfon may be an object of our pity, our esteem, or even our love, taken in its cooler sense, but ceases to be the object of our paffion. Shenstone justly observes, ‘Health is beauty, * and the most perfect health the most perfect beauty. A florid look to appear beautiful must be the bloom of health and not the glow of a • fever.' Whence arises it, that the fame appearance should be either beautiful or disgusting according to the causes from which it arises? The answer I think compleatly establishes, in this case at least, the position of Aristotle. For fickness must always be attended with circumstances very unfavourable to the ideas of a lover. The ladies are sometimes apt to

[E] Voici une consequence de la constitution des sexes; c'est que le plus fort soit le maitre 'en apparence, et dépende en effet du plus foible, et cela, non par un frivole usage de galan- ' terie, ni par une orgueilleuse générofité, de protecteur, mais par une invariable loi de la nature qui donnant a la femme plus de facilité d'exciter les desirs qu'à l'homme de les satisfaire, fait dependre celui ci malgré qu'il en ait, du bon plaifir de l'autre, et le contraint de chercher ' a fon tour a lui plaire, pour obtenir qu'elle consente a le laisser être le plus fort. Alors ce < qu'il y a de plus doux pour l'homme dans sa victoire, est de douter si c'est la foiblesse qui • cede á la force, ou si c'est la volonté qui se rende; et la ruse ordinaire de la femme est de • laiffer toujours ce doute entre elle et lui. L'esprit des femmes réponde en ceci parfaitement < a leur constitution: loin de rougir de leur foiblesse, elles en font gloire; leurs tendres muscles ' sont sans resistance; elles affectent de ne pouvoir foulever les plus legers fardeaux; elles au- ' roient honte d'étre fortes; pourquoi cela? ce n'est pas seulement pour paroitre délicates, • c'est par une precaution plus adroite; elles se ménagent de loin des excuses, et le droit d'étre ' foibles au besoin.' EMILE, Tome II. Partie II. 4 B2 mistake

mistake this in regard to themselves, but I believe it never escapes their observation with respect to our sex [F]. After all, there is something so problematical in this subject, and fo many circumstances occur that militate against the hypothefis I have advanced, that I by no means hazard what I have faid as a decided opinion. That all utility is not beauty will be obvious from many circumstances. That sometimes even it is in direct opposition to it is equally obvious. There is perhaps no prospect so displeasing as that of a newly enclosed country, especially if enclosed by stone walls, which are particularly calculated to answer their purpose. Every man of taste will exclaim with the poet, • What joy the country's native form to fee, • From ploughs, and aught of human culture free [G]." Enclosures have their beauties, but it is when the scene of cultivation is concealed by the luxuriant foliage of the irregular hedges, and the trees whose shade injures the growth of the fences, but gives to the whole country an appearance of forest. I a [F] We must however here take into our account the disgust we receive from weakness and delicacy in men from whatever cause it arises; but this is because, like rough manners in a woman, they are out of character. Effeminacy in the form of a man can only be fully obviated by behaviour perfectly manly, and a profession of danger and fatigue, the merit of which may then even be heightened by the contrast. We view with particular complacency the conduct of a youth, who, When he might act the woman in the scene, - Has proved best man i' the field.' [G]

، Juvat arva videre CORIOLANUS.. 'Non raftris, hominum non ulli obnoxia curæ. VIRGIL. The intended alteration of New Forest may add to its utility, but it certainly will be at the expence of its beauty. In

POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. In this concluding passage Aristotle fairly avows that predilection for tragedy, which he partly opened very early in this treatise [H], and which he has been gradually preparing us for, throughout the whole course of the work. Nevertheless, the decided superiority over the epopee which Aristotle has here given to tragedy, has not been confirmed by the general fuffrage of mankind. But then it must be allowed, they have not judged it on the same principles. General criticism has pronounced (and I think very justly) that a good epopee is the highest effort of human genius. It is certain that an epic poem affords room for the exertion of every power of the mind; and, as Johnson observes in his life of Milton, 'The first praise ، • of genius is due to the writer of an epic poem, as it requires an assemblage of all the powers which are fingly sufficient for other composition.' To account for Aristotle's decision, I imagine he confidered the comparative merit of the epopee in a different light; that, I mean, of its ability to attain effectually its purposed end. What this end is, has no where been mentioned. Mr. Twining supposes it to be the production of admiration by a grandeur of design, and variety of important • incidents sustained by all the energy and minute particularity of description' (note 277). I readily agree that these are the means of adorning the parts which, taken together, conduce to the end, and which may be compared with the mufic and the [1] scenery of tragedy. But [H] See the conclufion of the fifth chapter. on [1] Fielding puts this analogy into the mouth of Parfon Adams. • I shall mention but one ⚫ thing more which that great critic (Ariftotle, Ch. vI.) in his division of tragedy, called the ' opfis

on examining the words of Aristotle, we can I think by no means consider them in his idea, as being the end of the epopee in the fame manner that the exciting pity and terror is the end of tragedy (K). If the end to be attained by each poem were to be distinct, how could we possibly judge of their comparative merit, unless he had shewn us particularly what was the distinct end of the epopee? In which cafe their excellence must have been determined by one of these circumstances. Either the epopee must have been shewn not to have powers so adequate to execute its own peculiar design, as those of tragedy were to excite pity and terror: or else fome reason must be given, why the end of one was in itself superior to the other. But the argument all along rests on the deficiency of the means; and this deficiency of the means is expreffly said to arife from the epopee not being so compressed as tragedy; on which account tragedy becomes more interesting [L] than if it were extended through a longer space of time. This manifeftly proves a great similarity, if not an absolute identity in the end of both. And if grandeur of design, variety of incidents, and minuteness of description were confidered as the destined object of the epopee, there could have been no opposition between their • opfis or scenery, and which is as proper to the epic as to the drama with this difference, that in • the former it falls to the share of the poet, and in the latter to that of the painter.' JOSEPH ANDREWS, Book 111. Chap. II. In the same speech he says, 'neither Aristotle nor Horace ' give it (the Iliad) any preference, as I remember, to the Odyssey.' See Note 1. on Chap. XXIV. [K] Ariftotle expressly says in the beginning of the twenty-fourth chapter, that except the music and scenery, the parts of the epopee and tragedy are the fame; and that they both should possess peripetía, discovery and pathos: now it is obvious that pity and terror, the production of which is declared to be the design and end of tragedy, must be derived from these three circumstances. [L] ἥδιον. See Note III. Chap. xix. merits

POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. merits in this case, since dilation would be as absolutely and indispenfibly necessary to produce the pleasure which [M] ought to rise from one species of imitation, as compreffion would to that of the other. I think the last paragraph of what may be called the work itself, establishes, almost beyond a doubt, that Aristotle confidered the end of both kinds of compofition as the fame. This I will quote in the words of Mr. Twining's tranflation, as it not only gives a stronger support to this opinion than mine, but must be entirely free from any supposed bias towards an hypothesis which he himself oppofes. • If then tragedy be superior to the epic in all these respects, and also ⚫ in the peculiar end at which it aims [N] (for each species ought to af- • ford, not any kind of pleasure indiscriminately, but fuch only as has • been pointed out) it evidently follows, that tragedy, as it attains more • effectually the end of the art itself, must deserve the preference.' As we are referred here to what has been before pointed out, what can this be, except that mentioned in Mr. Twining's note ? or how can it EVIDENTLY FOLLOW, that tragedy deserves the preference from attaining the end of the [0] ART ITSELF more effectually, if Aristotle has not [Μ] Δεῖ γὰρ ἐ τὴν τυχᾶσαν ἡδονὴν ποιεῖν αὐτὰς, ἀλλὰ τὴν ἐιρημενὴν. [N] That is, 'according to Aristotle's principles, to give "THAT PLEASURE WHICH ARISES " FROM PITY AND TERROR THROUGH IMITATION." ' See p. 90. (Ch. xIv, of the original ، and my tranflation). This is MR. TWINING'S NOTE. [o] Either of the poetic art in general, or of tragedy alone, Mr. Twining I imagine understands it here in the last senfe.

informed

informed us of what he esteems to be the peculiar end of the epic imitation? This ultimate decision of Aristotle in favor of tragedy, does not however fatisfy Metastasio, who certainly ranks very high among the dramatic writers of the present age. He says, 'I do not know why Ari- < ، stotle has been here filent on the greatest merit of the tragic poet: I mean that of fulfilling while he is writing, the indispensible duty of • divesting himself entirely of his own ideas, and never speaking from • his own heart, but always from that of another: an art which implies a knowledge very difficult to acquire, and an uncommon activity of powers to assume at pleasure the character, that is to say, the dispo- • sition of mind of the perfon introduced: an art that produces the most e ' exquisite of all pleasures, while it renders visible the different internal changes of the affections of the human foul in different individuals, • with which the poet, being himself thoroughly possessed accordingly as the particular case happens to require, has the power also of possessing • the minds of his spectators, and drawing them with him, by a kind of • pleasing enchantment, wherever he chuses: an art taught us in a • masterly manner by Horace, in his Art of Poetry. [P] " Non fatis pulchra esse poemata dulcia funto, "Et quocunque volent animum auditoris agunto." < An [P] See Note III. Chap. XIX. It is something whimsical that the Roman poet should include this precept in a rhymed couplet; and an Italian, a professed enemy to blank verse, should have adopted that verse in his translation. Is not this a strong instance of possible improbability? Metastasio's tranflation is • Che la sola beltà pregio bastante • D'un Poema non è, senza quel dolce ، In

POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. • An art indeed so necessary to the tragic poet, that its being neglected • himself in his Torismond, as in his immortal Godfrey he is fuperior ، by the great Torquato Tasso, has rendered him as much inferior to ، to every other poet.' ESTRATTO DELLA POETICA, page 361. But though Aristotle has omitted to mention this requisite in his concluding comparison, he has not forgot it in the course of the Poetic. In Chap. XVII. he insists strongly on this essential duty of the tragic poet, but the reason why he does not mention it here may be his esteeming it equally essential to, and equally attainable by, the epic poet: fince in Chap. xxiv. he particularly commends Homer for divesting himself of his own character in his poems. And his words [P], taken by themselves in their obvious and literal sense, give him the preference in this respect to all poets whatever, whether epic, or dramatic, though the context I think confines it to the former. Experience however seems to confirm, in some degree, the distinction of Metastafio. We have no opportunity of judging how Homer would have fucceeded in the drama, as that species of imitation was not invented when he lived; but undoubtedly we may pronounce from our own feelings that the most pathetic parts of his epopees, beautiful as

• Incanto seduttor, che in mille affetti • A voglio fuo lo spettator trasporta.' This tranflation affords a strong proof of the power the Italian language possesses beyond our own in inverting the order of the words: a great advantage in versification, and especially in blank verse. See Note vI. Chap. xxır. [P] μόνος τῶν ποιητῶν, ἐκ αγνοῖι ὁ δεῖ ποιῖιν αυτόν.

4 C they

they are, can by no means bear any comparison as to their effect on the passions with the tragedies of Sophocles and Euripides, however superior we must allow them to be in every other respect. Metastasio has just shewn the inferiority of Tasso to himself in his attempt at the drama. Milton seems strongly to suggest the same idea as well in Sampson Agonistes as in the mode he recommends to be pursued in the arrangement of fome of those stories which he has selected from our own annals as proper subjects for tragedy [2]. And as to the comic epopee, and comedy, we have such an instance of this deficiency in one composition with the highest degree of excellence in the other, in one of our own writers, as to be quite wonderful. I mean Fielding. Who to read his novels would suppose him not capable of entering enough into the characters of the persons he delineates for the purpose of the drama? Yet that it is so, seems absolutely certain from his dramatic attempts, Since therefore nothing but experience could have shewn us the inability of Fielding to produce dramatic effect (R), it is impossible for us to infer what might have been the success of Homer or Virgil had they attempted tragedy; for who could have believed, had not the proof been before our eyes, that the author of Joseph Andrews and Tom Jones was incapable of writing a tolerable comedy? [Q] Of all these, he enters most in detail on the story of Alfred, which he observes with a natural bias to his own peculiar excellence, would be a proper subject for an heroic poem. [R] See Beattie on Music and Poetry, Part 1. Chap. v. p. III, note. A French critic has made the fame observation on Voltaire. M. Linguet, in his Critical Analysis of his Works, says, speaking of his comedies, ' In his romances, in his tales, in his discussions, ' apparently of the most serious nature, we meet with sallies which excite bursts of laughter, • or fly strokes of wit which afford a more refined, though a less sensible gratification. But ' his comedies are very far from possessing either of these excellencies.' Yet

POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. Yet though the drama has the superiority in point of interest, perhaps the epopee has it in many other instances. And certainly it requires greater skill in the poet to excite the necessary interest, however inferior, in so long and various a composition as the epopee, than the strongest degree of it in the shorter and simpler form of the drama. Besides, the epopee depends more on itself; the poet is at the same time poet, actor, and manager. He not only furnishes the piece, but the theatrical apparatus. If the dramatic poet attains his end more effectually, he also attains it more easily. It undoubtedly requires a greater genius to write a good epic poem than a good tragedy. The examples of one are beyond comparison more frequent than those of the other. A drama may be very affecting and very ill written. As Eschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, are never mentioned in competition with Homer, or Seneca with Virgil, so neither are Southern, Otway, or Rowe with Milton, with Dryden, (who could not, or at least did not, write a good play) or with Pope. Shakespear is indeed almost an exception to this rule as he is to every other. Like the phenix he is himself a species and not an individual. To compare him, in point of general merit, with any of our other dramatic writers, would be absurdity in the highest degree. Yet if merit is to be decided even in one drama compared with another, solely on its producing its destined end by exciting the passions in the strongest degree, I believe Mrs. Siddons has affected the feelings of the audience in a much higher degree in the Isabella of Southern, and the Belvidera of Otway, than Garrick ever could in the Lear, or Mrs. Siddons in the Constance, or the Desdemona of Shakespear. Of the other writings of Shakespear we can only say they are in no degree to be mentioned with his dramatic writings. But his dramatic writings, if they do not come up to that point of pathetic intereft, which inferior writers are sometimes able to attain, and in which Aristotle gives the preference 4 C2

A COMMENTARY, &c. preference to Euripides over all the other dramatic writers of Greece, (though strongly as he insists on this particular species of excellence, he seems in general to esteem him inferior to Sophocles,) they possess excellence of another kind in a very superior degree. The dramatic writings of Shakespear contain all the variety, the minute description, and the scenery, independent of representation, which we find in the epopee, both ferious and comic united. And to this is joined the interesting detail, and exact delineation of the drama, as well as that compression both of composition and incident, by which the connexion of the events is so much more clearly comprehended, and their effect so much less divided in the drama than the epopee. And possessing in a high degree the qualities of the epic poet, he has been able to exhibit models to future dramatic poets both in comedy and tragedy, without having read the Iliad or the Odyssey, or heard of the Margites.

INDEX

Poetics. Aristotle. ed. Henry James Pye. London. 1792.

Current edition Experimental

Commentary on the Poetics (Henry James Pye, 1792) (OCR draft) (English) (Henry James Pye's 1792 English commentary, aligned to the Kassel reference edition.)

Provisional text from uncorrected OCR; expect errors.

Translations (1)

La poëtique d'Aristote (André Dacier, 1692) (OCR draft) Experimental (André Dacier's French translation of Aristotle's Poetics, published in 1692.) — 26 focus

CHAPITRE VINGT-SIXIEME.

Objections qu'on fait aux Poëtes, & les réponſes à ces objections. Pourquoy il ne faut pas juger de la Poë-ſie, comme on juge de la politique, & des autres Arts. Défauts dans la Poësie ſont de deux ſortes, ceux qui peuvent, & ceux qui ne peuvent pas être excuſez. Difference des Héros de Sophocle, & de ceux d'Euripide. Comment on peut ſauver ce qu'Homere a dit des Dieux. Maxime de Xenophanes. Ce qui eſt de l'uſage & de la coûtume ne peut être condamné. Maxime de morale appliquée à la Critique. Juſtification de pluſieurs endroits d'Homere. Injuſte préoccupation de ſes Cenſeurs. Maniére de Zeuxis. Faute inexcuſable d'Euripide dans ſa Medée & dans ſon Oreſte.

1.

25.1 SI l'on veut ſçavoir, & le nombre, & la qualité des lieux communs, d'où l'on tire les objections qu'on fait aux Poëtes, & les réponſes qu'on peut faire à ces objections, on n'a qu'à lire ce Chapitre.

2.

25.2 Puiſque le Poëte eſt un imitateur, auſſi bien que le Peintre, & que le Statuaire, il faut neceſſairement qu'il imite une de ces trois choſes, car il repreſente 25.3 un ſujet tel qu'il étoit, ou tel qu'il eſt; tel qu'on le dit, ou qu'il luy paroît; ou tel qu'il doit être, & pour cela il ſe ſert, ou des mots propres, ou des mots étrangers, ou des metaphores, & de tous les autres changemens de la diction, dont les Poëtes ont la liberté de ſe ſervir.

3.

25.4 D'ailleurs il faut bien ſe ſouvenir qu'on ne doit pas juger de l'excellence de la Poëſie, comme de celle de la Politique, ni même, comme de celle de tous les autres Arts.

4.

25.5 Il y a deux défauts dans la Poëſie, l'un qui vient d'elle, & l'autre qui ne vient que par accident. 25.6 Quand elle choiſit des ſujets au deſſus de ſes forces & de ſa portée, voilà celui qui vient d'elle; & quand elle choiſit des ſujets qui ne ſont pas au deſſus de ſes forces, mais qui ſont vicieux, voilà celuy que j'appelle par accident, elle repreſente, par exemple, un Cheval qui remüe en même temps les deux pieds droits. Elle peut pecher de même contre les regles de tous les autres Arts, comme contre la Medecine, la Geographie, &c. ou traiter des choſes impoſſibles; mais tous ces défauts, quels qu'ils ſoient, ne viennent point d'elle.

5.

25.7 Il faut donc tirer de ces lieux là les réponſes qu'on doit oppoſer aux reproches qu'on fait aux Poëtes. 25.8 Premierement ſi le Poëte avance des choſes impoſſibles dans les regles mêmes de ſon Art, il commet une faute ſans contredit. Mais elle ceſſe d'être faute, lorſque par ce moyen il arrive à la fin qu'il ſe ſe propoſée; car il a trouvé ce qu'il cher-choit. Par exemple, ſi par là il rend cet endroit, ou quelqu'autre partie de ſon Poëme, plus étonnant & plus admirable, & tel eſt cet endroit de l'Iliade, où Achille pourſuit Hector.

6.

25.9 Que ſi le Poëte a pû parvenir à la même fin, & faire à peu prés le même effet, ſans violer les regles de ſon Art, alors ſa faute n'eſt plus pardonnable; car il faut ſi il eſt poſſible s'empêcher de tomber dans aucun défaut.

7.

25.10 Il faut encore bien examiner ſi la faute, dont il eſt queſtion, eſt faite contre l'art du Poëte, ou ſi c'eſt une faute par quelqu'autre accident que ce ſoit. Car la derniere eſt bien plus legere, & on excuſera bien plus volontiers un Poëte qui aura ignoré que les biches n'ont point de cornes, que celuy qui aura fait une méchante imitation.

8.

25.11 De plus on reproche ſouvent aux Poëtes qu'ils ne ſuivent pas la verité dans les caractéres qu'ils forment; mais on fait voir, qu'ils les forment comme ils devroient être, ou comme ils ſont. Et c'eſt ainſi que Sophocle & Euripide répondirent à leurs Cenſeurs; Sophocle en diſant, qu'il faiſoit ſes heros comme ils devoient être; & Euripide, qu'il les faiſoit comme ils étoient. Et c'eſt ainſi qu'on doit répondre à ces fortes d'objections.

9.

25.12 Que ſi on ne peut ſe ſervir d'aucune de ces deux maniéres pour les réfuter, il faut avoir recours à la renommée, & faire voir qu'on l'a dit ainſi. C'eſt par-là qu'on ſauve ce qu'Homere a dit des Dieux; 25.13 car il peut bien être que ce qu'il en dit n'eſt, ny vray, ny meilleur de cette maniére; mais il a ſuivi ce qu'on en a publié, & d'ailleurs, comme Xenophanes l'a fort bien dit, qui eſt aſſuré de connoître ſur cela la verité?

10.

25.14 Il arrive quelquefois que la choſe n'eſt pas mieux, comme le Poëte la dit; mais il la raporte, comme elle eſt, & c'eſt ainſi qu'on répond à la Critique qu'on fait à Homere ſur cet endroit, où il dit que les Troupes de Diomede dormoient prés de leurs piques toutes droites, qu'ils avoient fichées en terre; car c'étoit alors la coûtume de ces peuples, comme cela paroît encore par ce que font aujourd'huy les Illyriens.

11.

25.15 Pour bien connoître ſi une choſe eſt bien ou mal dite, ou bien, ou mal faite, il ne faut pas ſe contenter d'examiner la choſe même, & de voir ſi elle eſt bonne ou mauvaiſe, il faut encore avoir égard à celuy qui parle, ou qui agit, & à celuy à qui il s'adreſſe, & bien peſer le temps, le moyen, & la fin; car certaines choſes, qui paroiſſent mauvaiſes, peuvent être faites pour procurer un plus grand bien, ou pour éviter un plus grand mal.

12.

25.16 On peut encore rendre beaucoup de Critiques inutiles par le moyen de l'expreſſion, en faiſant voir, par exemple, que ce, qu'on prend pour un mot propre, peut être un mot étranger qui a une ſignification toute differente. Ainſi quand on reproche à Homere d'avoir dit mal à propos, que la peſte s'atta-cha premierement aux mulets, on peut répondre que dans ce paſſage le mot qu'on explique mulets, ſignifie des gardes, des ſentinelles, & qu'Homere a pû le prendre dans ce ſens-là. Quand il a dit de Dolon, qu'il étoit mal fait, il a voulu parler du viſage, & non pas du corps, car les Candiots, pour dire un homme qui eſt beau de viſage, ſe ſervent d'un mot qui eſt compoſé de celuy, dont Homere ſe ſert. Quand on accuſe le mème Poëte d'avoir fait donner du vin pur aux Ambaſſadeurs qu'Agamemnon envoyoit à Achille, on le juſtifie en faiſant voir que le mot Grec ne ſignifie pas du vin pur, comme on en donne aux yvrognes, mais qu'il ſignifie promptement.

13.

25.17 On les juſtifie encore tres ſouvent, en faiſant voir, qu'ils parlent par metaphore, & c'eſt ainſi qu'on ſauve tous ces endroits d'Homere, quand il dit, que tous les Dieux & tous les hommes dormoient hors Jupiter, il met tous pour la plupart, pour beaucoup. Quand il dit d'Agamemnon enfermé dans ſa tente, au milieu de ſon camp, qu'il jettoit les yeux ſur le camp des Troyens, jetter les yeux, eſt un terme metaphorique, qui ne ſignifie là, que penser, repaſſer dans ſon esprit. Quand il dit dans le mème endroit, la voix des flutes & des chalumeaux, la voix eſt là pour le ſon. Enfin quand il dit, en parlant de l'Ourſe, qu'elle eſt la ſeule conſtellation qui ne ſe baigne pas dans l'Ocean, la ſeule, c'est-à-dire, la principale, la plus connuë, car ce qui eſt le plus connu, eſt toûjours ſeul.

14.

25.18 Il arrive auſſi quelquefois, qu'on répond ſolidement aux Cenſures des Critiques, par un ſeul changement de ton ou d'accent, & c'eſt ainſi qu'Hippias de Thaſos a ſauvé Homere ſur cet endroit, où Jupiter envoye un Songe à Agamemnon, car on l'accuſoit d'avoir fait dire un menſonge par Jupiter, & cette accuſation ſeroit tres bien fondée s'il étoit vray que Jupiter dît, nous luy accordons une grande gloire; mais en changeant l'accent on trouve qu'il commande ſeulement au Songe de luy promettre cette gloire, & cela eſt bien different.

15.

25.19 Le mème Hippias défend auſſi par ce moyen ce Poëte dans ce paſſage, où aprés avoir parlé d'un bois bien ſec, on l'accuſe de dire enſuite, qu'une partie de ce bois eſt corrompüe par la pluye; car il fait voir, que ce qu'on a pris pour un pronom eſt une particule negative, & qu'Homere dit, que la pluye ne corrompt jamais ce bois.

16.

25.20 On ſauve auſſi beaucoup d'endroits par une differente ponctuation, & c'eſt ce qui a juſtifié Empedocle, qu'on avoit accuſé de s'être contredit dans les vers, où il expliquoit les principes des choſes.

17.

25.21 Quelquefois on a recours à l'ambiguïté, comme dans ce paſſage, où Homere dit, que la nuit eſt plus des deux tiers paſſée, & qu'il en reſte encore le tiers; car on ſauve cette contradiction apparen-te, en expliquant le mot plus, qui eſt ambigu dans l'original.

18.

25.22 Pour défendre les Poëtes, on employe ſouvent auſſi l'autorité de l'uſage, qui fait, par exemple, qu'on appelle du vin, un vin qui eſt mêlé d'eau. Et c'eſt ainſi qu'on excuſe ces expreſſions d'Homere qui dit des botines d'eſtain, quoyqu'elles fuſſent de fer, & qu'il n'y eût qu'un peu d'eſtain dans la ſoudure; qui appelle Ouvriers en airain, les forgerons qui travaillent le fer, & qui dit, en parlant de Ganymede, qu'il verſe du vin aux Dieux, quoyque les Dieux ne boivent pas de vin. Mais toutes ces expreſſions peuvent être ſauvées auſſi par la metaphore.

19.

25.23 Toutes les fois qu'un mot ſemble ſignifier quelque choſe de contraire au deſſein du Poëte, il faut examiner toutes les differentes ſignifications, que ce mot peut avoir dans le paſſage en queſtion. Par exemple, dans l'endroit où Homere décrit le combat d'Enée & d'Achille, il dit que la lance du Troyen perça les deux premieres lames du bouclier de ſon ennemi, & s'arrêta à la troiſiéme; ce mot s'arrêta, qui ſemble ſignifier, qu'elle y demeurera fichée, ſignifie qu'elle ne pût paſſer plus avant, & qu'elle fût repouſſée. Et le plus court moyen de ſe tirer de ces endroits, c'eſt de prendre le mot dans un ſens tout contraire à celuy qu'on luy donne ordinairement.

20.

25.24 Il arrive tres ſouvent comme Glaucon l'a fort bien dit, que les Critiques ſe preocupent, & s'entêtent ſans raiſon de certaines choſes avant que de lire les Poëtes, & perſuadez que leur ſentiment eſt le ſeul raiſonnable, ils condamnent ſans autre examen tout ce qui ſe trouve contraire à leur opinion. 25.25 C'eſt de ce faux préjugé qu'eſt née la Critique qu'on a faite à Homere ſur le ſujet d'Icarius pere de Penelope; car ſes Cenſeurs, prévenus que cet Icarius étoit Lacedemonien, ont fort blâmé ce Poëte de ce que Telemaque arrivant à Lacedemone, va loger ailleurs que chez ſon grand pere. Mais qu'ils faſſent taire auparavant les Cephaleniens, qui ſoûtiennent qu'Ulyſſe ſe maria dans leur païs, & que ſon beau-pere s'appelloit Icadius, & non pas Icarius. Juſques-là, ce qu'ils prennent pour une Critique fort juſte, ne ſera tout au plus qu'une queſtion.

21.

25.26 En general, quand on accuſe les Poëtes d'avoir dit quelque choſe d'impoſſible, il faut examiner cette impoſſibilité, par raport à la Poeſie, ou par raport à ce qui eſt mieux, ou par raport à la renommée. 25.27 Par raport à la Poëſie, car on montre que l'impoſſible vray-ſemblable, doit être preferé au poſſible, qui n'a aucune vray-ſemblance, & qui ne ſeroit pas crû, & c'eſt ainſi que Zeuxis faiſoit ſes tableaux. 25.28 Par raport à ce qui eſt mieux, car on fait voir que la choſe eſt plus excellente & plus merveilleuſe de cette maniere, & que les originaux doivent toûjours avoir le deſſus. Enfin par raport à la renommée, car on prouve que le Poëte n'a fait que ſuivre l'opinion commune. 25.29 Tout ce qui paroît abſurde ſe peut juſtifier auſſi par ces trois moyens, ou par cette maxime qu'on a déja raportée, qu'il eſt vray-ſemblable, qu'il arrive beaucoup de choſes contre la vray-ſemblance.

22.

25.30 Pour les choſes qui ſemblent contraires à ce que l'on a déja dit, il faut les examiner, comme on examine les objections dans la dialectique. C'eſt-à-dire, qu'il faut voir ſi c'eſt la même choſe, ſi elle va à la même fin, & ſi elle eſt dite de la même maniére. Il eſt encore fort bon de conſiderer ſi celuy qui parle, parle de ſon chef, ou ſi il ne parle que ſur le rapport de quelque homme prudent & ſage.

23.

25.31 Les Critiques juſtes, & auxqueles on ne peut répondre, ſont celles, où l'on fait voir qu'un endroit eſt déraiſonnable & abſurde, & qu'un autre eſt méchant; un Poëte tombe dans le premier vice, lorſque ſans aucune neceſſité, il a recours à une choſe qui eſt ſans raiſon, & telle eſt la faute d'Euripide dans ſon Egée. Et il tombe dans le ſecond, quand il introduit, par exemple, un méchant caractére ſans neceſſité, & tel eſt le caractére de Menelas dans l'Oreſte du même Poëte.

24.

25.32 Les objections qu'on fait aux Poëtes ſe reduiſent donc à cinq Chefs; car on leur reproche, qu'ils diſent des choſes qui ſont, ou impoſſibles, ou abſurdes, ou méchantes, ou qui ſe contrediſent ou qui ſont contre les regles de l'Art. Et les réponſes qu'on y peut faire ſe tirent des lieux que nous avons marquez, & qui ſont douze en tout.

Commentary

Commentary on the Poetics (Ingram Bywater, 1909) (OCR draft) (Ingram Bywater's English commentary on Aristotle's Poetics.) focus

6. mvp-aristotle-comment-1089

1462a ὑποκριτικῆς: see on 19, 1456 b 10 .

6. mvp-aristotle-comment-1090

1462a6 σημείοις: i.e. the significant movements, of hand or head for instance, by which the spoken word may be accompanied ( comp. Aristoxenus p. 411, 13 Marquard , and Ath. 628 D ; see also Sommerbrodt l. c. p. 213 ).

6. mvp-aristotle-comment-1091

1462a6_2 ῥαψῳδοῦντα. The ῥαψῳδός is tacitly assumed to be a kind of ὑποκριτής (see on 5, 1449 a15 ).

6. mvp-aristotle-comment-1092

1462a7 Σωσίστρατος ... Μνασίθεος. Nothing further is known of either. It is evident that the one was a rhapsodist and the other a professional singer.

6. mvp-aristotle-comment-1093

1462a7_2 διᾴδοντα. As Tyrwhitt (quoting Theocritus 5. 22 ) points out, διάδειν is ' certatim sive in certamine canere'; it implies that Mnasitheus sang, no doubt as a κιθαρῳδός, in an ἀγών, i.e. in a public performance in the theatre. The word is explained in the Lexicon in Bekker's Anecdota 37,

διάσασθαι τὸ διαμιλλήσασθαι ἐν ᾠδῇ τινι.

The same idea of competition is found in διαθεῖν, διακολακεύεσθαι, διαπίνειν, etc. Gomperz aptly compares the saying ascribed to Diogenes the Cynic ( Stob. Fl. 4. 112 ), Διογένης ἔλεγε διαπαλαίοντας μὲν πολλοὺς ὁρᾶν καὶ διατρέχοντας, διακαλοκαγαθιζομένους δὲ οὔ.

7. mvp-aristotle-comment-1094

1462a8 ἀποδοκιμαστέα. ἀποδοκιμάζειν, 'to reject as inadmissible', is the opposite of δοκιμάζειν, 'to approve, or sanction' ( Pol. 8. 7, 1342 a4 ; comp. Bon. Ind. 80 b 48 ).

7. mvp-aristotle-comment-1095

1462a9 φαύλων, ' turpium personarum' ( Victorius) — not as Paccius renders it, ' ineptorum', as we hardly need to be told that bad acting is to be rejected. What Aristotle means is clear from his instance: Callipides in his impersonations of the heroines of Greek Tragedy, did not make them move and deport themselves like ladies. The assumption here is that character comes out in movement, and that some sorts of movement are naturally noble and others ignoble; comp. Pol. 8. 5, 1340

τὸν αὐτὸν γὰρ τρόπον ἔχει καὶ τὰ περὶ τοὺς ῥυθμούς· οἱ μὲν γὰρ ἦθος ἔχουσι στασιμώτερον οἱ δὲ κινητικόν, καὶ τούτων οἱ μὲν φορτικωτέρας ἔχουσι τὰς κινήσεις οἱ δὲ ἐλευθεριωτέρας.

1462a12

8. mvp-aristotle-comment-1096

διὰ γὰρ τοῦ ἀναγινώσκειν φανερὰ ὁποία τίς ἐστιν: comp. infra τὸ ἐναργὲς ἔχει καὶ ἐν τῇ ἀναγνώσει καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ἔργων, and 6, 1450 b 18

ἡ γὰρ τῆς τραγῳδίας δύναμις καὶ ἄνευ ἀγῶνος καὶ ὑποκριτῶν ἔστιν.

But though Aristotle draws a line between a tragedy 356 COMMENTARY 1462a12 as literature and its stage presentation ( comp. 14, 1453 b2 ), he has no idea of a reading as distinct from an acting tragedy; a tragedy with him is essentially something to be acted. The notion of a reading play has been found in Rhet. 3. 12, 1413 b 12 , in the use of the word ἀναγνωστικοί of Chaeremon and others. The term, however, merely denotes a fact of style; these writers were ἀναγνωστικοί because their language could be read by any one, not requiring any special arts of elocution to bring out the meaning ( comp. Demetrius De eloc. 193 ).

9. mvp-aristotle-comment-1097

1462a14 ἔπειτα corresponds with the πρῶτον μὲν in 5. There is the same or an even greater interval between the words in Metaph. N. 2, 1089 a 15 , in Pol. 5. 11, 1314 b14 , in Aeschines in Tim. 161 , in Isocrates 197 A , and in Alcidamas De Soph. 3 . The answer to the opponents of Tragedy is twofold: (1) that their reasoning is not quite conclusive; and (2) that they ignore a whole series of facts which tell in favour of Tragedy. The series begins with διότι πάντ᾽ ἔχει ὅσαπερ ἡ ἐποποιία, and ends with ἔτι ἧττον μία ἡ μίμησις ἡ τῶν ἐποποιῶν ( b3); all that follows as far as μίμησις in b11 is a justification of this last proposition. To this, however, is added a further point, ἔτι τῷ τῆς τέχνης ἔργῳ ( scil. διαφέρει), in the short formula which summarizes this part of the argument in b12, εἰ οὖν τούτοις διαφέρει πᾶσιν καὶ ἔτι τῷ τῆς τέχνης ἔργῳ.

10. mvp-aristotle-comment-1098

1462a15 τῷ μέτρῳ: as for instance in Soph. Trach. 1009 , Phil. 840 , and Eurip. Troad. 590 ( Tyrwhitt).

10. mvp-aristotle-comment-1099

1462a16 οὐ μικρὸν μέρος, scil. ἔχει.

10. mvp-aristotle-comment-1100

1462a16_2 δι ἧς refers to τὴν μουσικήν, which is the more important of the two things ( comp. 6, 1450 b16 ). The neglect of καὶ τὰς ὄψεις in the construction is not unlike that of καὶ περιπέτεια in 11, 1452a38 . Other instances to be explained on the same principle are Soph. el. 16, 175a21

ἰδεῖν καὶ λῦσαι τὴν μοχθηρίαν

(i. e. ἰδεῖν ... τὴν μοχθηρίαν), and De anima 3. 7, 431 a7

λογίζεται καὶ βουλεύεται τὰ μέλλοντα πρὸς τὰ παρόντα

(i.e. λογίζεται ... τὰ μέλλοντα κτέ.).

12. mvp-aristotle-comment-1101

1462a18 τὸ ἐν ἐλάττονι μήκει, scil. ἔχει; comp. 24, 1460a30 (8)

Οἰδίπους

( scil. ἔχει) τὸ μὴ εἰδέναι. The same construction is found after λαμβάνειν in Isocrates 225

τὸ μηδένα τῶν μαχίμων ἄνευ τῆς τῶν ἀρχόντων γνώμης ἀποδημεῖν . . . ἔτι δὲ τὸ μηδενὸς τῶν ἀναγκαίων ἀποροῦντας τῶν κοινῶν προσταγμάτων ἀμελεῖν, μηδ᾽ ἐπὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις τέχναις διατρίβειν, ἀλλὰ τοῖς ὅπλοις καὶ ταῖς στρατείαις προσέχειν τὸν νοῦν, ἐκεῖθεν ἅπαντα ταῦτ᾽ εἰλήφασιν.

12. mvp-aristotle-comment-1102

1462b1 πολλῷ κεκραμένον τῷ χρόνῳ: Plato Critias 121 A

πολλῷ τῷ θνητῷ καὶ πολλάκις ἀνακεραννυμένη

. The lengthiness of the statement is 26. 1462 12-1462b 357 said to dilute the pleasure of the story and make it thin and watery ( υδαρῆ). The clause which follows ( λέγω δ᾽ οἷον κτέ.) is an illustration of this: if the matter of the Oedipus Tyrannus (see on 11, 1452 a 24 ) were treated at great length, in a poem as long as the Iliad, for instance, it would be only a thin and diluted pleasure that we should derive from it in its amplified form.

12. mvp-aristotle-comment-1103

1462b1_2 ἡ Ἰλιάς, scil. κεῖται, understood from the preceding θείη.

13. mvp-aristotle-comment-1104

πλείους τραγῳδίαι: comp. 23, 1459 b 2 .

1462b1_3

13. mvp-aristotle-comment-1105

ἐὰν μὲν ἕνα μῦθον ποιῶσιν, scil. οἱ ἐποποιοί; another instance of μέν solitarium (see on 6, 1450a3

τῆς μὲν πράξεως

). In order to provide an antithesis, the old editors, with certain of the apographs (e.g. Par. 2038), re-write the text after ὑδαρῆ ( b7) thus: (ἐὰν δὲ πλείους,) λέγω δὲ οἷον ἐὰν ἐκ πλειόνων πράξεων ᾖ συγκειμένη, (οὐ μία), ὥσπερ κτέ.; and both Vahlen and Gomperz assume a lacuna after υδαρῆ. All that Aristotle has to show, however, is that the epic μίμησις is in the nature of things ἧττον μία; and he does this by an indirect argument, by insisting that an epic is always a failure, if the dramatic rule of Unity of action is too strictly observed in it. 1 Eustathius on Il. 12. 208 recognizes both forms: Ἐν δὲ τῷ “Ἐρρίγησαν... ὄφιν” στιχηρόν ἐστι πάθος, λέγεται καὶ μυουρία διὰ διχρόνου τοῦ κατὰ τὴν ἀρχὴν καὶ μειουρία διὰ τῆς ει διφθόγγου, ὡς ἐν τῷ τέλει πυρριχισθέντος τοῦ στίχου καὶ συστολὴν παθόντος κατὰ μνὸς οὐράν, κατὰ μείωσιν οὐραίου ἤτοι τέλους ἄκρου.

13. mvp-aristotle-comment-1106

1462b6 μείουρον. 358 COMMENTARY 1462b6 δ᾽ ἐρρίγησαν, ὅπως ἴδον αἰόλον ὄφιν ( Il. 12. 208 ), was termed στίχος μείουρος ( Athenaeus 632 E ; comp. Schol. Hephaest. 194-6 Gaisf. ). The Latin rendering of it in this sense is ecaudis. Aristotle has the word in a physical sense in two places of the De Partibus, 3. 1, 662 a24 and 4. 13, 696 b 34 , where the carnivorous fishes are said to have an ἀνερρωγός, and the non-carnivorous, a μύουρον στόμα. In both passages μύουρον στόμα denotes a mouth with a narrow orifice, i.e. one with an opening small by comparison with the interior cavity, just as ἀνερρωγὸς στόμα means one with a wide orifice. In the Rhetoric, where it is a term of literary criticism, μύουρος is applied to a clause or period which seems too short and to end abruptly: Rhet. 3. 9, 1409 a 17

δεῖ δὲ καὶ τὰ κῶλα καὶ τὰς περιόδους μήτε μυούρους εἶναι μήτε μακράς.

τὸ μὲν γὰρ μικρὸν [ =τὸ μύουρον]

προσπταίειν πολλάκις ποιεῖ τὸν ἀκροατήν· ἀνάγκη γάρ, ὅταν ἔτι ὁρμῶν ἐπὶ τὸ πόρρω καὶ τὸ μέτρον, οὗ ἔχει ἐν ἑαυτῷ ὅρον, ἀντισπασθῇ παυσαμένου, οἷον προσπταίειν γίγνεσθαι διὰ τὴν ἀντίκρουσιν.

This is apparently the sense of μείουρος in the present passage also where it is usually rendered by 'curtus' ( Tyrwhitt), 'truncatus' ( Hermann), 'in extremo imminutus' ( Victorius), or the like. The general meaning is clear enough: If the epic poet takes a story that is one in the strict dramatic sense of the term, and tells it with befitting rapidity and without diffuseness, the result will be that it will seem to end up too soon. The assumption is that an epic is naturally, and is always expected to be, a work of considerable length ( comp. 5, 1449 b 12 ; 24, 1459 b 17 ; 24, 1460 a3 ).

13. mvp-aristotle-comment-1107

1462b5_2 τῷ τοῦ μέτρου μήκει. In lieu of this Bernays suggested τῷ συμμέτρῳ μήκει. As the hexameter, however, has been said to be the only metre fit for a long poem ( 24, 1460 a3 ) it is possible that τῷ τοῦ μέτρου μήκει may be meant to stand for τῷ τοῦ μέτρου οἰκείῳ μήκει, the length one ordinarily associates with this description of verse. The rendering of Gomperz, 'wenn er der Länge des epischen Versmasses entspricht', has met with the approval of Zeller ( Arch. f. Gesch. d. Phil. 9 p. 539).

13. mvp-aristotle-comment-1108

1462b7 ὑδαρῆ: Dionysius Hal. 5 p. 659 R. ὑδαρής τε γὰρ καὶ ἀσθενὴς καὶ ψυχρός ἐστιν ( scil. ὁ λόγος). Similarly in Pol. 2. 4, 1262 b 15 Aristotle describes affection as becoming a ὑδαρὴς φιλία when spread over too large a circle of friends or relations.

13. mvp-aristotle-comment-1109

1462b7_2 λέγω δὲ οἷον ἐὰν ἐκ πλειόνων πράξεων ᾖ συγκειμένη illustrates the principal statement, ἧττον μία ἡ μίμησις ἡ τῶν ἐποποιῶν ( b3); for the position of the illustration see on 6, 1450a34 . The main 26. 1462b6-16 359 point is proved by showing that even the best epics, those of Homer, are made up of a plurality of actions, each of them of some magnitude and importance by itself.

14. mvp-aristotle-comment-1110

1462b9 τοιαῦτα μέρη: i. e. sections embodying so many distinguishable πράξεις or stories.

14. mvp-aristotle-comment-1111

1462b9_2 καὶ καθ᾽ ἑαυτὰ ἔχει It is usual to write here (ἃ) καὶ καθ᾽ ἑαυτὰ ἔχει with certain of the apographs; but a subject ( τὰ μέρη) may easily be supplied from the preceding τοιαῦτα μέρη ( comp. Kühner, Gr. Gr. 2. 1 p. 35 , and Riddell, Digest of Idioms § 234 ).

14. mvp-aristotle-comment-1112

1462b10 καίτοι ταῦτα τὰ ποιήματα. The error here in A s, καὶ τοιαῦτ᾽ ἄττα ποιήματα, is fellow to that in it in Rhet. 1. 2, 1358b16

καὶ τοι αυτα

( sic) for καίτοι ταῦτα.

1462b12 b12

15. mvp-aristotle-comment-1113

εἰ οὖν τούτοις κτέ. In summing up the series of reasons introduced by διότι in a14 Aristotle changes his construction, treating them as a series of assumptions. Here also, at the last moment as it were, he recognizes another and an even more important point of superiority, the superior emotional effect of Tragedy ( τῷ τῆς τέχνης ἔργῳ). An additional argument is introduced in just the same way in De caelo 2. 14, 297b47 , and 3. 5, 304 b 19 , and in De part. an. 2. 10, 656a9 .

15. mvp-aristotle-comment-1114

1462b12_2 τῷ τῆς τέχνης ἔργῳ. In Aristotle's view epic poetry has the same end as Tragedy; and its immediate effect ( ἔργον) is the same in kind, the pleasurable excitement of the emotions of pity and fear. The affinity of the Homeric Epic and Tragedy in this respect was acknowledged in antiquity by the ancient commentators on Homer ( Adam, Die aristotelische Theorie vom Epos p. 33 sqq. ) as well as by Plato ( Rep. 605 c ). Aristotle's view is that the difference between them is mainly one of manner; so that apart from that they are fundamentally alike — with the same literary elements, the same canons of procedure, the same emotional effect, and the same ultimate end and justification.

15. mvp-aristotle-comment-1115

1462b13 τὴν τυχοῦσαν ἡδονήν: Pol. 8. 5, 1339 b 32

ἔχει γὰρ ἴσως ἡδονήν τινα καὶ τὸ τέλος, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τὴν τυχοῦσαν.

15. mvp-aristotle-comment-1116

1462b13_2 αὐτὰς: i. e. Tragedy and epic poetry. The pleasure they give is essentially the same (see above on b12), though Tragedy gives it in a finer and more concentrated form.

15. mvp-aristotle-comment-1117

1462b13_3 τὴν εἰρημένην: 13, 1452 b 32 and 14, 1453 b 10 .

1462b14 b14 16

16. mvp-aristotle-comment-1118

περὶ μὲν οὖν κτἑ. This list of points in the preceding theory of Tragedy and epic poetry is preparatory to a discussion on another matter, no doubt the theory of Comedy (see 6, 1449 b 22 ). Summaries of the same type are constantly introduced by Aristotle 360 COMMENTARY 1462b16 as connecting links between one discussion and another; see more especially De gen. et corr. 2. 1, 328 b26 ; Meteor. 1. 14, 353a25 ; De mem. 2, 453b8 ; H. A. 3. 1, 509 a26 ; Eth. N. 7. 15, 1154 b 32 ; Pol. 6. 1, 1316b31 ; Rhet. 2. 1, 1377b15 . To judge from these parallels, the next paragraph must have opened with περὶ δὲ κωμῳδίας λοιπὸν εἰπεῖν or some equivalent formula.

Remarques sur la poëtique d'Aristote (André Dacier, 1692) (OCR draft) (André Dacier's French commentary on Aristotle's Poetics.) focus

10. mvp-aristotle-comment-661

26.6 10. Mais premierement tout ce qu'on vient de dire contre la Tragedie n'est pas contre l'art du Poëte, c'est contre celuy de l'Acteur.]¹

11. mvp-aristotle-comment-662

26.6 11. Outre que ce défaut n'est pas moins commun à ceux qui recitent un Poeme Epique, comme Softrate, ou qui le chantent comme Mnefitheus d'Opunte.]²

12. mvp-aristotle-comment-663

26.6 12. Car les uns & les autres accompagnent leur recit ou leur chant de geſtes auſſi outrez.]³

13. mvp-aristotle-comment-664

26.7 13 D'ailleurs tous les mouvemens ne font pas à blamer, non plus que toutes les danſes, mais ſeulement les mouvemens lafcifs & effeminez.]⁴

14. mvp-aristotle-comment-665

26.7 14. Et qu'on reproche encore aujourd'huy à nos Comediens, qui ſemblent affecter les geſtes des femmes deshonnètes & corrompües.]⁵

15. mvp-aristotle-comment-666

26.8 15. De plus la Tragedie fait ſon effeit ſeule & ſans tous ces mouvemens, auſſi-bien que l'Epopée ; car la ſimple lečture fait connoître ce qu'elle eft.]⁶

16. mvp-aristotle-comment-667

26.9 16. La Tragedie a tout ce qu'on trouve dans l'Epopée.]⁷

17. mvp-aristotle-comment-668

26.9 17. Car elle pourroit auſſi ſe ſervir du vers hexametre.]⁸

18. mvp-aristotle-comment-669

26.10 18, Et ce qui n'est pas peu confiderable, elle a de plus la Muſique & la Décoration.]⁹

19. mvp-aristotle-comment-670

26.10 19. Qui contribuent infiniment à donner du plaisir & à le rendre plus ſenſible.]¹⁰

20. mvp-aristotle-comment-671

26.11 20. Mais ce qui eft encore plus à eſtimer, elle a l'évidence de l'action, car elle met tout ſous les yeux du ſpectateur, &c.]¹¹

21. mvp-aristotle-comment-672

26.11 21. Car elle met tout ſous les yeux du ſpectateur & dans la repreſentation & dans la lecture.]¹²

22. mvp-aristotle-comment-673

26.12 Elle a encore ce grand avantage qu'elle eſt moins étenduë, & qu'elle parvient en moins de temps à la fin de ſon imitation.]¹³

23. mvp-aristotle-comment-674

26.12 Or ce qui eſt ſerré eſt bien plus agreable, & touche bien plus vivement que tout ce qui eſt diffus.]¹⁴

24. mvp-aristotle-comment-675

26.12 Et on en ſeroit convaincu ſi on mettoit l'Œdipe de Sophocle en autant de vers qu'en a l'Iliade.]¹⁵

25. mvp-aristotle-comment-676

26.13 Enfin il n'y a point d'Epopée qui conſerve ſi parfaitement l'Unité que la Tragedie.]¹⁶

26. mvp-aristotle-comment-677

26.13 Et une marque certaine de cela, c'eſt qu'on peut tirer pluſieurs ſujets de Tragedie de quelque Poëme Epique que ce ſoit.]¹⁷

27. mvp-aristotle-comment-678

26.13 Que ſi pour éviter ce défaut, un Poëte Héroïque s'atachoit abſolument à un ſeul ſujet, comme le Poëte tragique.]¹⁸

28. mvp-aristotle-comment-679

26.13 Il arriveroit neceſſairement l'une de ces deux choſes, où la brieveté de ſa matiere feroit paroître ſon Poëme eſtropié & imparfait, ou s'il vouloit à quelque prix que ce fût remplir la juſte étenduë qu'on luy donne ordinairement, cette longueur dénuée de matiére le rendroit lâche.]¹⁹

29. mvp-aristotle-comment-680

26.14 D'un autre côté, ſi ce même Poëte mêloit pluſieurs fables dans ſon ſujet, c'eſt-à-dire, ſi ſil faiſoit une imitation qui fût compoſée de pluſieurs actions & de pluſieurs Incidens, elle ne ſeroit plus dans cette Unité parfaite.]²⁰

30. mvp-aristotle-comment-681

26.14 Non plus que l'Iliade & l'Odyſſée qui ont pluſieurs parties de cette Nature, qui ont chacune leur grandeur, quoyque d'ailleurs ces deux Poëmes ſoient auſſi parfaits qu'ils puiſſent être, & qu'ils n'imitent l'un & l'autre, autant que cela eſt poſſible, qu'une ſeule action.]²¹

31. mvp-aristotle-comment-682

26.15 Si donc avec tous ces avantages, la Tragedie a encore celuy de faire mieux ſon effet, & de donner plus de plaiſir; car la Tragedie ny l'Epopée ne doivent pas donner toutes ſortes de plaiſirs; mais ſeulement le plaiſir qui leur eſt propre, il eſt conſtant qu'elle eſt plus parfaite que l'Epopée, puiſqu'elle parvient mieux à ſon but.]²²

32. mvp-aristotle-comment-683

26.16 Ce que nous venons de dire ſuffit pour expliquer ce que c'eſt que la Tragedie & l'Epopée, &c.]²³

Commentary on the Poetics (Thomas Twining, 1789) (OCR draft) (Thomas Twining's notes on Aristotle's Poetics, aligned to the Kassel reference edition.) focus

265. mvp-aristotle-comment-265

NOTE 265. P. 132.

26.6 LIKE BAD FLUTE-PLAYERS, WHO WHIRL THEMSELVES ROUND, WHEN THEY WOULD IMITATE THE MOTION OF THE DISCUS—.

This is one of those antique curiosities, which we stare at, without knowing very well what to make of it. —

Αν ΔΙΣΚΟΝ δεη μιμείσθαι

. We should think it very strange, if we were told of a flute-player having occasion to imitate a quoit. But we are not to understand this of a mere instrumental solo, but of a performer accompanying words sung by a Chorus, (as appears from the mention of the Coryphæus,) and endeavouring, in an absurd manner, to express them. The antient

Αυλητης

, or

Tibicen

, was not, it seems, a mere sedentary performer, like those of a modern orchestra. He accompanied the Chorus with his person, as well as with his instrument, and seems to have paraded about the stage, in a pompous dress; to have made a part of the

ὄψις

, or show, and to have joined in all the turns, and returns, and various evolutions, of the choral dance. Hence the description of Horace : A. P. 214.

Sic priscae motumque et luxuriam addidit arti
Tibicen, traxitque VAGUS per pulpita vestem.

Lucian, in his Harmonides , describing the requisites of a good

Αυλητης

, mentions, among the rest, —

και ΒΑΙΝΕΙΝ ἐν ῥυθμῳ

. ¹ The great masters, no doubt, respected themselves, and confined their motion to the dignity of a sort of rhythmic strut. But Aristotle here, is describing the tricks of the

φαυλοι

φορτικοι

performers. Such a performer might have occasion, or rather take occasion, to imitate the whirling or rolling of a disc, if the subject, for example, of the choral song chanced to be the story of Apollo and Hyacinthus; which is mentioned by Lucian in a long list of fabulous subjects, enumerated as a part of the knowledge requisite to an accomplished pantomimic dancer. Or, the subject might be taken from Homer, Od. 6. 186, &c.

Κυλιόμενοι

. Dacier , in his note, translates this, "rolling themselves upon the ground." This would be

φορτικον

indeed. Yet in this idea he follows Victorius ; who enters into a discussion, of some length, to prove that

κυλιομενοι

can mean nothing but rolling on the ground. Nor will he allow the difficulty of doing this while they were playing to be a sufficient objection. Certainly, the usual and proper sense of the word is on his side. But it was natural enough, surely, to apply to the motion imitating, the term proper to the motion imitated. ²

266. mvp-aristotle-comment-266

NOTE 266. P. 132.

26.6 AND PULL THE CORYPHÆUS WHEN SCYLLA IS THE SUBJECT.

Έλκοντες τον Κορυφαιον

. — To imitate Scylla, —

"naves in saxa trahentem,"

as Virgil has expressed it. But it is not easy to see, how the performer, at least while he was playing, could well spare a hand for this operation. This was even worse than what we call humouring a catch; when, for instance, a singer who is performing Purcell's "Fie, nay prithee, John" thinks it necessary to collar his neighbour.

267. mvp-aristotle-comment-267

NOTE 267. P. 133.

26.10 THE TRAGIC IMITATION, WHEN ENTIRE—.

Ἡ ὉΛΗ τέχνη

. Heinsius proposed,

ἡ ΑΛΛΗ τεχνη

. But I believe the established reading to be right. The whole art—i. e. Tragedy, as represented; with all its constituent parts, and, as it was said before,

άπαντα μιμεμενη

. For it might, as Aristotle presently observes, be read, or recited, like an Epic Poem; and, in that view, the comparison here made would not hold.

Τεχνη

. . . the Tragic art: for so he uses the word, cap. i. not for the whole Poetic art, but for a single branch of it:

ἐν ταις ειρημεναις ΤΕΧΝΑΙΣ

i. e. Epic Poetry, Tragedy, Comedy, &c. So too at the end of that chapter:

τας διαφορας ΤΩΝ ΤΕΧΝΩΝ

. And, again, at the end of this chapter, (as I understand the passage,)

της ΤΕΧΝΗΣ ἔργῳ

. See .

268. mvp-aristotle-comment-268

NOTE 268. P. 133.

26.11 TO HEARERS OF THE BETTER SORT—.

Θεατας ἐπιεικεις

: to which he opposes

φαυλους

. The word

ἐπιεικεις

seems rightly explained here by Dacier — "les honnêtes gens; c'est à dire, les gens qui ont eu une meilleure education." The passage, which he quotes from Plato , is much to the purpose of this chapter.

Συγχωρω δη τόγε τοσετον και ἐγω τοις πολλοις, δειν την μεσικην ήδονη κρινεσθαι μη μεντοι των ἐπιτυχοντων άλλα σχεδον ἐκεινην είναι μεσαν καλλιστην, ἡτις ΤΟΥΣ ΒΕΛΤΙΣΤΟΥΣ, και ΙΚΑΝΩΣ ΠΕΠΑΙΔΕΥΜΕΝΟΥΣ τερπει

. — De Leg. II. p. 658. Aristotle uses

ἐπιεικης

in the same sense, Eth. Nicom. IV. 8, p. 186, ed. Wilk. —

τοιαυτα λεγειν και άκκειν, δια τῳ ΕΠΙΕΙΚΕΙ ΚΑΙ ΕΛΕΥΘΕΡΩι άρμοττει

269. mvp-aristotle-comment-269

NOTE 269. P. 133.

26.13 AND IN SINGING—.

Και διᾳδοντα

. There seems great reason to suspect this word. For, what is the force of the preposition here? Some commentators, without disputing the reading, neglect the preposition entirely, and render the word as if it were the simple participle,

άδαντα

. Others understand, singing throughout:

"qui continenter canit."

Goulst. But the proper sense of

διᾳδειν

, would, I think, be — to sing dissonantly — to sing out of tune, — as,

ΔΙΑφωνειν

. And so the word is actually used in the treatise Περι Κοσμα , in Aristotle's works, and opposed to

ΣΥΝᾳδον

, as

ΔΙΑφωνειν

is to

ΣΥΜφωνειν

: —

συμφερομενον, και διαφερομενόν συνᾳδον, και ΔΙΑΙΔΟΝ

. "The agreeing, and the disagreeing, the consonant, and the dissonant." But as the word cannot here be admitted, in that which appears to be its only proper and warrantable sense, I suspect, it might, originally, have been only

ᾠδοντα

. Considering how frequently

and

were confounded by transcribers,

ΚΑΙ ΑΙΔΟΝΤΑ

might easily be blundered into

ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΙΔΟΝΤΑ

. One MS. reading is

διαΔΙδοντα

; where the

ΔΙ

, plainly enough, arose from the

ΑΙ

The commentators understand from this passage, that there were two sorts of rhapsodists; one, of those who recited Epic Poetry, and another, of those who sung it. Whether this can be proved from other passages of antient authors, I know not. From this, it certainly cannot. Aristotle says,

ΚΑΙ ῥαψωδεντα—ΚΑΙ διᾳδοντα

. Whatever the

διαδων

was, he is here clearly distinguished from the

ῥαψωδων

— the rhapsodist.

That the rhapsodists did not, in the strict and musical sense, at least, of the word, sing the verses of Homer, but recited or declaimed them only, we may pretty safely infer, from what is expressly said of Epic Poetry at the beginning of this work — that "it imitates by words only," without melody and rhythm — i. e. without music. This, indeed, will not prove that Epic Poetry was never sung, any more than what was said of Tragedy — that it imitates by words and music — will prove that it was never recited, or read. Yet the least, I think, that can be inferred from it, is, that Epic Poetry was, in general, and for the most part, recited or declaimed only; and, consequently, that the rhapsodists, properly so called, being the established performers of Epic Poetry, as the actors were of Tragic, performed it always in that manner; without singing, any farther, than as the tones of loud and sustained declamation approach more nearly to singing than those of common reading.

The earliest Lyric Poet-Musicians, indeed, as we learn from Plutarch and Athenæus , used to sing even the hexameters of Homer and Hesiod, as well as their own, to the lyre. But they, plainly, speak of this, as of an antient practice: —

τον Τερπανδρον, ΚΙΘΑΡΩΔΙΚΩΝ ποιητην όντα νομων, [hymns,] κατα νομον ἐκασον, ΤΟΙΣ ΕΠΕΣΙ, τοις ἑαυτε, και ΤΟΙΣ ΟΜΗΡΟΥ, ΜΕΛΗ περιτιθέντα, ΑιΔΕΙΝ ἐν τοις ἀγωσιν

. Plut. Dial. de Mus. p. 2074, ed. H. St. And afterwards

ότι δε οι κιθαρωδικοι νομοι, ΟΙ ΠΑΛΑΙ, ἐξ ΕΠΩΝ συνισταντο, Τιμοθέου ἐδηλωσε

, &c. p. 2075. So, too, Athenæus : "Chamæleon, in his book about Stesichorus,

και μελωδηθηναι φησι, ἐ μονον τα Ὁμηρε, άλλα και Ἡσιοδε, και Αρχιλοχε

, &c."

ΚΑΙ μελωδηθηναι

— "were even sung." p. 620.

It is not, however, at all improbable, that Homer might be sometimes sung, in Aristotle's time, and that this Mnasitheus, (of whom nothing is known,) might be a performer in this way. But, that this was a distinct thing from

ῥαψῳδια

seems pretty clear. ³⁴⁵

270. mvp-aristotle-comment-270

NOTE 270. P. 133.

26.7 WHOSE GESTURES RESEMBLE THOSE OF IMMODEST WOMEN.

The passage of Aulus Gellius , to which I referred in my note on the translation, as a story, both curious in itself, and confirming what was there advanced, is this.

"Histrio in terrâ Græciâ fuit famâ celebri: qui, gestûs et vocis claritudine & venustate, cæteris antestabat. Nomen fuisse aiunt POLUM. Tragœdias poetarum nobilium scitè atque asseveratè actitavit. Is Polus unicè amatum filium morte amisit. Eum luctum quum satis visus est eluxisse, rediit ad quæstum artis. In eo tempore Athenis Electram Sophoclis acturus, gestare urnam quasi cum Orestis ossibus debebat. Ita compositum fabulæ argumentum est, ut, veluti fratris reliquias ferens Electra, comploret commisereturque interitum ejus, qui per vim exstinctus existimatur. Igitur Polus, lugubri habitu Electræ indutus, ossa atque urnam à sepulchro tulit filii; &, quasi Orestis amplexus, opplevit omnia, non simulachris neque imitamentis, sed luctu atque lamentis veris & spirantibus. Itaque, quum agi fabula videretur, dolor actitatus est."

A. Gell. VII. 5.

271. mvp-aristotle-comment-271

NOTE 271. P. 134.

26.10 THE MUSIC AND THE DECORATION, BY THE LATTER OF WHICH THE ILLUSION IS HEIGHTENED, &C.

The Greek, here, in either of the two readings warranted by manuscript authority, is unsatisfactory and suspicious, and the sense, consequently, uncertain. The reading of the old editions —

δὶ ἧς τας ἡδονας ἐπιστανται ἐναργεστατα

: which Victorius renders —

"per quam voluptates percipiunt evidentissime"

: "through, or by means of, which, they perceive the pleasures most evidently." Nothing can well be more harsh, or strange.

ἐπιστανται

they perceive: — Who? — The spectators. To this mode of speaking, however, I should not object; because this ellipsis, of

ὁἱ ἀνθρωποι

, is frequent in both the Greek and Latin writers. Thus, in the beginning of this chapter,

κνωνται

. This answers to that very convenient idiom, of which the French make so much use, and which we so often find the want of

on s'agite — on apperçoit

, &c. ⁶

But, the verb,

ἐπιστανται

, will, I apprehend, by no means bear the sense here forced upon it, of perceiving pleasure; or any sense, but that of understanding, or knowing. Were I, therefore, obliged to make some sense of this reading, it would be this: —

"[quae efficiuntur] voluptates, norunt homines apertissime"

: — "the pleasures, which are produced through which, are clearly understood — well known to all." But this, I confess, is violent interpretation; and, in particular, I doubt whether the word

ἐναργες

is ever used, by Aristotle at least, as merely synonymous to

φανερον

; as evident to reason or understanding, and opposed to doubtful. It always means, I believe, evident, clear, visible, to the eye of imagination. Thus, cap. xvii. —

Δει δε τες μυθες συνισταναι ότι μαλισα ΠΡΟ ΟΜΜΑΤΩΝ τιθέμενον· ὕτω γαρ ἐν ΕΝΑΡΓΕΣΤΑΤΑ ΟΡΩΝ, ώσπερ ΠΑΡ ΑΥΤΟΙΣ ΓΙΓΝΟΜΕΝΟΣ ΤΟΙΣ ΠΡΑΤΤΟΜΕΝΟΙΣ

, &c. These words seem to furnish the best comment upon the passage in question, and will perhaps lead us to the most reasonable and least exceptionable interpretation of it; for perfect satisfaction is not, I think, to be expected, in the present condition of the text.

We ought, surely, at all events, to adhere to the proper and clear meaning of the adverb

ἐναργεστατα

, as used in the passage just cited; where the word itself, and the explanatory expressions which accompany it, afford a pretty strong presumption, that Aristotle, here, meant to express the particular advantage which Tragedy receives from the

ὄψις

, or, from actual representation, ⁷⁸ as giving to the imitation the greatest possible reality of effect, and producing the most perfect illusion in the spectator. Yet this, it must be owned, is very obscurely expressed, if it be expressed, by the Greek; which, according to the best reading, that of Victorius , and of many MSS. will stand thus:

και ἐτι, μικρον μερα την μεσικην και την όψιν ἐχει, δὲ ἡς ῾ΑΙ ΗΔΟΝΑΙ ΣΥΝΙΣΤΑΝΤΑΙ ἐναργεστατα

: that is, according to the only sense which I can find for it — "and the decoration, or spectacle; by means of which, the pleasures we receive from Tragedy, are rendered more sensible, striking, illusive," &c. But many objections may, undoubtedly, be made. For the fair and literal version would be this: "by means of which, the pleasures are formed, composed, constructed, or constituted, in the clearest and most visible manner."

I give, here, what I apprehend to be the only fair sense of the verb,

συνιστασθαι

; but it seems to be, by no means, the proper word in this place, and probably is not the word which Aristotle wrote. If any one MS. would offer me

ΠΑΡιστανται

, I would readily accept it. Ælian , describing the effect of a trumpet, sounding suddenly, at the instant when a famous painting was exhibited, of a warrior in the act of rushing to the battle, says —

ἁμα τε ἐν το μελθ ήκκετο τραχύ και φοβερου και οὐδεικνυτο ἡ γραφη, και ὁ στρατιωτης ἐβλεπετο, το μέλες ΕΝΑΡΓΕΣΤΕΡΑΝ την φαντασιαν τε ἐκβοηθεντα ἐτι και μαλλον ΠΑΡΑΣΤΗΣΑΝΤΟΣ

: i. e. "presenting to the imagination a still more lively and striking image." But again —

ἡδοναι

, is not ⁹¹⁰¹¹ what one would expect here. To speak, indeed, of terror and pity, as the pleasures of Tragedy, is perfectly agreeable, both to the doctrine, and to the language, of the author, throughout. But, it is not, properly, the pleasure — it is not the terror, or the pity — that is rendered more

ἐναργες

; but that pleasure is heightened by the action being rendered so.

Upon the whole, however, I see no other meaning that can be obtained from the words, without still greater violence and improbability of interpretation. Dacier , Batteux , and Goulston , make the assertion —

ὡι ήδοναι

, &c. relate to both music and decoration. But it is, surely, quite unwarrantable to give to —

ἩΣ

, the sense of,

δὶ ΩΝ

, or

δ' 'AIN

. Besides that the music, however great the pleasure it may afford, cannot, I think, properly be considered as contributing to the

ἐναργεια

, or as heightening the illusion, of Tragedy. Victorius , who read

την μεσικην και ΤΑΣ ΟΨΕΙΣ

, very consistently made

ἧς

refer to

μεσικη

only: and Castelvetro very properly observes, that, if we read

την όψω

—

"le predette parole [. . δι ἧς ἀι ήδοναι, κ. τ. αλ.] havranno rispetto alla vista; & conteneranno la commendatione della detta vista, per la quale si constituisca il diletto più manifestamente che non si fa per le parole dell epopea."

p. 690. He appears, I think, to have understood the passage in the way I have proposed. But he mentions another reading, which I have not seen noticed anywhere else —

ἐνΕργεστατα

. This had occurred to me, formerly, as a conjecture, before I had seen Castelvetro's commentary. But it gives much the same sense, and would remove no difficulty with respect to the passage itself — though, as I shall presently have occasion to observe, it might suit better with what follows. See .

272. mvp-aristotle-comment-272

NOTE 272. P. 134.

26.11 IT HAS THE ADVANTAGE OF GREATER CLEARNESS—AS WELL IN READING, AS IN REPRESENTATION.

Ειτα, και το ἐναργες ἐχει, και ἐν τῇ ἀναγνωσει, και ἐπι των ἐργων.

— It seems rather strange, that, immediately after mentioning the

ἐναργες

of the

ὄψις

, Aristotle should say —

"Then, it has also the

ἐναργες

&c. It was this which induced me to suspect, that for

ἐναργεστατα

, in the preceding passage, we should read —

ἐνΕργεστατα

"By means of which, [i. e. of the

ὄψις

,] the pleasures we receive from Tragedy (those, of terror and pity excited by imitation, as he says cap. xiv.¹²) are rendered more forcible and efficacious."

But the objection is, perhaps, not of sufficient force to warrant a departure from the established reading of all the manuscripts,

ἐναργεστατα

: and we may, well enough, understand the author, as if he had said —

"Then, farther, another advantage is, that Tragedy has this

ἐναργες

, not only on the stage, and on account of the

Ὄψις

, but even in reading also."

That

ἀναγνωσει

is right, (not

ἀναγνωρισει

,) I cannot entertain a doubt. Nothing can be more evidently nonsensical than this distinction —

"both in the discoveries, and in the incidents;"

as if a discovery were not an incident.

The expression,

ἔπι των ἐργων

, for, in representation, acting, performance, &c. seems liable to no difficulty. Thus, De Rep. VIII. 455 ,

δηλον ἐκ των ΕΡΓΩΝ

— from what happens in the performance of such music. And see ibid. cap. vi. throughout which,

ἐργα

is repeatedly used for musical performance; particularly, p. 457 , —

τα θαυμασια και περιττα ΤΩΝ ΕΡΓΩΝ

"surprising and elaborate performance."

273. mvp-aristotle-comment-273

NOTE 273. P. 134.

26.12 ATTAINING THE END OF ITS IMITATION IN A SHORTER COMPASS.

Dryden says of this passage —

"It is one reason of Aristotle's, to prove that Tragedy is the more noble, because it turns in a shorter compass; the whole action being circumscribed within the space of four and twenty hours. He might prove as well, that a mushroom is to be preferred before a peach, because it shoots up in the compass of a night."

&c. If Aristotle had said, that Tragedy was the more noble, because a Poet could compose a Tragedy in much less time than an Epic Poem, the simile would have been justly applied. Dryden had, but just before, said, that

"the effects of Tragedy are too violent to be lasting."

But he did not give himself time to see, that Tragedy owes this greater violence of effect to the shortness of its plan; that is, to its stricter unity, its more concentrated and unbroken interest, its

"close accelerated plot;"

to that

ἀθροον

, as Aristotle calls it, so essential to the purpose of Tragedy, which is, to give the pleasure of strong emotion. The Epic Poem is of too tedious a length, too various and episodic, to produce that effect in the same degree as Tragedy, which is read, or seen, at once, and without interruption.

But the case was, that Dryden , (who, as I have before had occasion to remark, appears to have taken his idea of Aristotle from French translation,) wrote this in the preface to his translation of ¹³ an Epic Poem: on the contrary, when he was writing on Tragedy, he gave Tragedy the preference. ¹⁴¹⁵

274. mvp-aristotle-comment-274

NOTE 274. P. 134.

26.13 HIS POEM, IF PROPORTIONABLY CONTRACTED, WILL APPEAR CURTAILED.

Μυερον

. — Nothing is more diverting than the explanation which some commentators give of this word, and its application here. The Poem, it seems, is compared to the tail of a mouse, or a rat, which grows less and less towards the end:

"versus extremum attenuata."

¹⁶ I never heard, that any naturalists have observed this property to be peculiar to the tails of rats and mice. The fact seems to be, that the words

μυερον

, and

μειερον

, however their etymologies may appear to differ, have both the same meaning — that of cropped, curtailed, tronqué, as M. Batteux translates it.

Μεικρού σιχθώ

. . .

ὁ κατα το τελοι ἐλλειπων χρονῳ

. [ Hephast. p. 92, ed. De Pauw .] To which is opposed,

δολιχουρ

a long-tailed verse:

ὁ κατα το τελώ πλεονάζων συλλαβη

In the Rhetoric , Aristotle applies

μειρά

to a period that is too short, and disappoints the ear by ending abruptly. The passage is curious for its expression, and illustrates both the word itself, and its application, here, to a Poem, which disappoints the expectation of a reader in the same manner, by ending before its time. Rhet. III. 9, p. 592, ed. Duval.

Δει δε, και τα κωλα, και τας περιοδες, μητε ΜΕΙΟΥΡΟΥΣ είναι, μητε ΜΑΚΡΑΣ· το μεν γαρ ΜΙΚΡΟΝ [. .

μειερον

] προσπταίειν πολλάκις ποιει τον ἀκροατην· ἀναγκη γαρ, όταν, ἐτι ὁρμων ἐπι το πορρω, και το μετρον ἔχει ἐν ἑαυτῳ ὁρε, ΑΝΤΙΣΠΑΣΘΗ παυσαμένε, ΟΙΟΝ, ΠΡΟΣΠΤΑΙΕΙΝ γίγνεσθαι, δια την ΑΝΤΙΚΡΟΥΣΙΝ.

275. mvp-aristotle-comment-275

NOTE 275. P. 134.

26.13 IF EXTENDED TO THE USUAL LENGTH.

Ακολεθέντα τῳ το μετρο μηκεί.

Almost all the commentators and translators understand answerable to the length of the metre. And this is, certainly, the most obvious and unforced sense of the words: for, had Aristotle meant, by

μέτρον

, the standard measure, or length, of the Poem, as other commentators understand it, he, probably, would have rather said

τῳ το ΜΗΚΟΥΣ ΜΕΤΡΩΝ

.¹⁷

Μετρον

is so used in the passage given in the last note —

το ΜΕΤΡΟΝ ἔχει ἐν ἑαυτῳ ὁρε

. If, however, metre be the sense, (for, after all, the passage is ambiguous,) the expression must, I think, be understood as a short way of saying

"conformable to the usual length of Poems in that metre"

— of Poems in heroic verse. See what is said, cap. xxiv. about the adaptation of the hexameter to Epic Poetry:

οὐδεις ΜΑΚΡΑΝ συστασιν ἐν ἀλλῳ πεποιηκεν τῳ ἡρωῳ.

— I cannot conceive that Aristotle meant to say, that the length of the Epic Poem was proportioned, or ought to be proportioned, to the length of the metre. Yet so the commentators.

"Si — Poeta secutus fuerit longitudinem, quae instar videtur ejus carminis."

Vict. —

"Si cum metri longitudine provebatur."

Goulst. &c. It was not the length of the hexameter which made it the fittest measure for heroic Poetry, but the nature of the feet of which it is composed; and on that account it was preferred, as

στασιμωτατον και ὀγκωδεστατον των μετρων

. cap. xxiv.

The length of a verse is to be measured by the times (

χρονοι

) which compose it. Now the hexameter is but one third longer than the Iambic trimeter; their respective times being 24, and 18: so that the length of an Epic Poem would be strictly proportioned to the length of its verse —

τῳ τε μετρε μηκει

— were it longer by one third only than a Tragedy.

276. mvp-aristotle-comment-276

NOTE 276. P. 134.

26.13 DILUTED.

Ὑδαρη

— watery. Aristotle uses the same metaphor in the following passage of his second book De Republicâ , where, opposing the community of wives and children proposed by Plato , he very justly objects, that it would weaken the bond of social union, by diluting the social affections, and destroying— Par. Loft, IV. 756.

Relations dear, and all the charities
Of father, son, and brother,

—

Εν δε τη πόλει, την ΦΙΛΙΑΝ ἀναγκαιον ὙΔΑΡΗ γινεσθαι, δια την κοινωνιαν την τοιαυτην, και ήκιστα λέγειν τον ἐμον, ἡ ὑιον, πατερα, ὑιον.

¹⁸

Ωσπερ γαρ μικρον γλυκύ, εις πολυ ύδωρ μιχθεν, ἀναισθητον ποιει την κρασιν, ότω συμβαινει και την οικειοτητα, την προς άλληλες, την άπο των ὀνοματων τετων—κ . λ.

I stop there, because the passage is evidently defective, though the sense is plain.

277. mvp-aristotle-comment-277

NOTE 277. P. 135.

26.15 AND, ALSO, IN THE PECULIAR END AT WHICH IT AIMS—.

Και, ἐτι, τῷ της τέχνης ἔργῳ.

The expression is ambiguous. It may mean, either the end, or business, of the Poetic art in general, or, that of Tragedy — of the Tragic art.¹⁹ The latter, however, seems, pretty clearly, to be the meaning: for his expression —

τουτοις τε διαφέρει πασί, ΚΑΙ ΕΤΙ τῳ της τεχνης ἔργῳ

— shews the author to be speaking, here, of a distinct advantage. But, if we understand it to mean, that Tragedy answers the end of Poetry better than the Epic, this cannot be considered as an advantage distinct from those enumerated before, which are, plainly, such as contribute to the general end of Poetry — that of giving pleasure — of interesting, delighting, striking, &c. Whereas, if the peculiar end of Tragedy be superior to that of Epic Poetry, this, indeed, is an additional and separate advantage. Besides, the parenthetical insertion which immediately follows —

δει ΓΑΡ, την τυχεσαν ήδονην ποιειν αυτας

(i. e. the Epic and Tragic Poems,)

άλλα την ἐιρημενην

— plainly implies, that the

τεχνης ἐργον

, of which he had been speaking, was that of affording the particular pleasure proper to the species. And thus, too, the word

ἐργον

is used in other passages:

τραγῳδιας ἐργον

, cap. vi. and cap. xiii.

The words,

μαλλον το τέλες τυγχανεσα

, present a similar, but more embarrassing, ambiguity. Is

τελ

, here, the end of Poetry, or the end of Tragedy? If we take it in the latter sense, Aristotle will say, that Tragedy is superior, both because its end — the peculiar effect which it purposes to produce — is superior to that of the Epic Poem, and, because it attains that end more perfectly than the Epic attains its end. But this Aristotle has not proved, nor does it appear to be true. On the other hand, if we understand

τελ

to mean the end of the poetic art,²⁰ it is obviously true, that, if Tragedy be superior in all those respects which he had mentioned — in its closer unity, its brevity, its

ἐναργεια

, its music, and its decorations — and, besides, (

και ἐτι

) in the specific end at which it aims — it must, on the whole, be preferable to the Epic Poem, as answering more effectually the end of Poetry, by giving greater pleasure.

For, that this, in Aristotle's view, was the great end of the art, and of all its branches, appears, if I mistake not, evidently, from many other passages of this treatise, as well as from that now before us. Nor does he, any where, appear to me to give any countenance to an idea, which rational criticism has, now, pretty well exploded — that utility and instruction are the end of Poetry. That it may indeed be rendered, in some degree, useful and improving, few will deny; none, that it ought to be made so, if it can. But, that the chief end and purpose of Poetry is to instruct — that Homer wrote his Iliad on purpose to teach mankind the mischiefs of discord among chiefs, and his Odyssey , to prove to them the advantages of staying at home and taking care of their families — this is so manifestly absurd, that one is really astonished to see so many writers, one after the other, discoursing gravely in defence of it.²¹ It is true indeed, that Aristotle , in his account of Tragedy, mentions the correction and refinement of the passions, pity, terror, &c. as a useful effect of Tragic representations. But he no where, either in his definition, where we might surely have expected him to be explicit, or in any other part of his book, calls that effect the end of Tragedy. All his expressions prove, that his end, both of Tragic and of Epic Poetry, was pleasure;²² though, with respect to Tragedy, he asserts, (by way, as I have before suggested,²³ of obviating Plato's objections to it,) that the pleasure arising from it was so far from being pernicious, that it was even useful; so far from inflaming the passions of men, that it tended, on the contrary, to purify and moderate them in common life. When the reader sees the expressions, to which I allude, laid together, he will hardly, I think, entertain any doubt upon this head. —

τα μέγιστα, δις ΨΥΧΑΓΩΓΕΙ΄ ἡ Τραγῳδια, μυθε μερη ἐσιν

, &c. cap. vi. —

ἐστι δε ἐχ αυτη ἀπο Τραγῳδιας ἩΔΟΝΗ.

cap. xiii. —

γαρ πασαν δει ζητειν ἩΔΟΝΗΝ ἀπο Τραγῳδιας, άλλα ΤΗΝ ΟΙΚΕΙΑΝ.

—

Επει δε την ἀπο ἐλει και φοβε, δια μιμησεως, δει ἩΔΟΝΗΝ παρασκευαζειν τον ποιητην

cap. xiv. —

ὶν, ώσπερ ζωον ἐν όλον, ποιῃ την ΟΙΚΕΙΑΝ ΗΔΟΝΗΝ.

cap. xxiii. —

την όψιν, δι ἧς ΑΙ ΗΔΟΝΑΙ, &c. cap. ult.

—

δει γαρ ἐ την τυχεσαν ἩΔΟΝΗΝ ποιειν ΑΥΤΑΣ, άλλα την ειρημενην.

ibid. From all this it appears, I think, indubitably, that the great end of Poetry in general, was, in Aristotle's opinion, to give plea- sure; as Castelvetro , long ago, rightly contended.

"Coloro, che vogliono, che la poesia fia trovata principalmente per giovare, o per giovare & per dilettare infieme, veggano che non s'oppongono all' autorità d'Aristotele, il quale, qui ed altrove, non par che le affegni altro, che diletto; e se pure le concede alcuno giovamento, gliele concede per accidente come è la purgatione dello spavento & della compassione per mezzo della Tragedia."

p. 505 .

The peculiar end of Tragedy, he has expressly told us, is to afford that pleasure, which results from fictitious terror and pity:

την άπο ἐλει και φοβε δια μιμησεως ήδονην.

— What he regarded as the peculiar end of Epic Poetry, I observe that he has no where distinctly said. But from what he has said, of the advantages which its plan affords, with respect to grandeur, and variety, and the admission of the wonderful and surprising, and also of the superior richness of its language,²⁴ we may collect, that his ideas on this subject accorded with those of the best modern critics; and that he held the end of the Epic Poem to be, according to the exact description of an eminent writer,

"admiration, produced by a grandeur of design, and variety of important incidents, and sustained by all the energy and minute particularity of description."

²⁵

This end, however, and these peculiar advantages, of the Epic plan, Aristotle has not, as I have before remarked, brought forward, to complete the comparison in this chapter: but he plainly, and, I think, justly, considered them as more than compensated by the closer interest, more perfect illusion, stronger emotion, deeper impression, and, in bis view, more useful tendency, of Tragedy. The Epic Poem loses in force of effect, what it gains in variety; in nature and passion, what it gains in grandeur and sublimity. The very necessity, and the merit, of its variety, and of the

ἐπεισοδιων ἀνομοἰοις ἐπεισοδίοις

,²⁶ are a confession of its defects, as implying a too great extent of plan, a feebleness of interest, a want of relief. It seems, indeed, to be the great art of the Epic Poet, to make us amends, by the striking beauty of particular parts, for the fatigue and ennui which unavoidably results, more or less, from the whole.

A strong proof of the superiority of Tragedy, and of the justness of Aristotle's decision, is, that every reader is most delighted with the Episodes of Epic Poetry; with those subordinate and more compressed actions, which give us the very pleasure of Tragedy — which interest and affect us by exciting pity and terror: with the meeting of Hector and Andromache, and the supplication of Priam to Achilles for the body of his son, in the Iliad ; with the love, despair, and death, of Dido, the episode of Nisus and Euryalus, and the parting scene between old Evander and his son, in the Eneid .²⁷

But though, of all the pleasures which Poetry, or Music, or Painting, can afford, the pleasure of emotion deserves to be esteemed the greatest, yet all those arts certainly afford considerable pleasures of other kinds; and, perhaps, to do full justice to the Epic Poem, we ought not to characterize it by any one particular and principal pleasure, but by that variety, which is peculiar to it, and which comprehends, in some degree or other, every sort of pleasure, that serious Poetry can give.²⁸ Whatever, therefore, may be decided with respect to the comparative excellence of the Poems themselves, we may safely perhaps assent to the general decision of criticism, respecting the comparative merits of the Poets, and allow, that

"the first praise of genius is due to the writer of an Epic Poem; as it requires an assemblage of all the powers which are singly sufficient for other compositions."

²⁹

THE END.

Commentary on the Poetics (Henry James Pye, 1792) (OCR draft) (Henry James Pye's 1792 English commentary, aligned to the Kassel reference edition.) focus

26.1. mvp-aristotle-comment-126 26.6

TRAGEDY ALSO AS WELL AS THE EPOPEE MAY ATTAIN ITS END WITHOUT REPRESENTATION, FOR WE CAN JUDGE OF ITS MERIT BY READING ONLY.

26.2. mvp-aristotle-comment-127 26.7

TRAGEDY THEN HAS EVERY REQUISITE IN COMMON WITH THE EPOPEE SINCE IT MAY EQUALLY USE VERSE.

POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. the more elevated style of oratory, which might more naturally fall into the cadence of hexameters [o].

26.3. mvp-aristotle-comment-128 26.9

AND TRAGEDY POSSESSES ANOTHER ADVANTAGE IN CONFINING THE ACTION BY WHICH THE END OF THE IMITATION IS ATTAINED WITHIN A NARROWER COMPASS. FOR BEING AS IT WERE CONDENSED, IT BECOMES MORE INTERESTING THAN IF IT WERE PROTRACTED THROUGH A LONGER PERIOD OF TIME.

26.4. mvp-aristotle-comment-129 26.11

THE ILIAD AND ODYSSEY ARE AS MUCH THE IMITATION OF ONE ACTION AS THE NATURE OF THE COMPOSITION WOULD ADMIT

26.5. mvp-aristotle-comment-130 26.12

IF TRAGEDY THEN EXCELS IN ALL THESE CIRCUMSTANCES, AS WELL AS IN THE EFFECT WHICH IT IS THE PECULIAR END OF THE POETIC ART TO ATTAIN-IT WILL CERTAINLY BE MORE EXCELLENT THAN THE EPOPEE FROM ATTAINING THE END OF THE ART ITSELF MORE EFFECTUALLY.

VOLTAIRE, who is never so happy as when he can with any plausibility of argument oppose any opinion that is generally received by 4 A the

informed

4 C they

INDEX

Commentarius in Aristotelis Poeticam (Franciscus Ritter, 1839) (OCR draft) (Ritter's Latin commentary, extracted from the 1839 volume, divided by Ritter's chapters and sections, and linked to the corresponding Perseus reference subsections.) focus

3. mvp-aristotle-comment-206

Ritter, cap. 26 § 3

πρῶτον μὲν οὐ τῆς ποιητικῆς κτλ. tragoedia speciose adhuc accusata iam ita defenditur, ut primum ab illis accusatoribus non poeticam sed histrionum artem peti, deinde non quemcumque imitandi modum repudiandum esse doceatur. ἐπεὶ ἔστι περιεργάζεσθαι τοῖς σημείοις καὶ ῥαψῳδοῦντα: iniqua ista tragoediae accusatio eodem iure intendi potest in epopoeiam: nam carminis epici recitator ( ὁ ῥαψῳδός) et ipse modum excedere potest nimia manuum corporisque iactatione. rhapsodus σχήμασι (Tanz - Figuren) quidem non utitur, sed motibus simplicioribus gestibusque ( σημείοις) non minus egredi modum potest. ὅπερ ἐποίει Σωσίστρατος κτλ. proprium est huius scriptoris laudare auctores admodum obscuros. de Sosistrato nihil aliunde accepimus, neque de Mnasitheo Opuntio: illum poemata epica nimio cum gestu recitasse, hunc lyrica decantasse in certaminibus musicis ob hunclocum suspicari licet. pro priore ἐποίει codices qui memorantur omnes έστι praebent, quod ex versu antegresso forte huc delatum verbum genuinum et ab Aldo restitutum de sede sua deiecit. ceterum repetitum continuo ἐποίει nonnullam auctoris infantiam arguit. εἶτα οὐδὲ κίνησις - ὄρχησις: non id vitio verti tragoediae potest quod multo motu utitur, sed nonnisi motus et saltatio deteriorum vituperanda est. illa εἴπερ μηδ' ὄρχησις (si ne saltatio quidem omnis despicienda est) aetatem prodere videntur, cum saltatio obsolescere et contemni inciperet. - μιμουμένων: exspectamus μιμουμένοις, sed in conformanda oratione hic homo mira lascivia grassari solet. conf. c. 25, 18. οὐ πινόντων οἶνον. c. 26, 1. οὐκ αἰσθανο μένων. – διὰ γὰρ τοῦ ἀναγινώσκειν φανερὰ ὁποία τις ἐστίν: hausta haec sunt ex loco male intellecto c. 14, 1. conf. Comment. in c. 14, 1. et in c. 6, 19. καὶ

4. mvp-aristotle-comment-207

Ritter, cap. 26 § 4

ἔπειτα διότι πάντ᾽ ἔχει -τὴν μουσικήν καὶ τὴν ὄψιν ἔχει: iniqua reprehensione repulsa, iam transit ad praestantiam tragoediae prae epopoeia vindicandam, quod ita instituit ut ulna sua adhibita monstret tragoediae non modo quidquam deesse eorum quibus epopoeia instructa sit, sed eandem plura etiam habere quam epopoeiam. - γὰρ τῷ μέτρῳ ἔξεστι χρῆσθαι: non haec est falsi auctoris sententia, versus epopoeiae proprios, h. e. hexametros heroos, etiam in tragoediam admitti posse, sed ut doceat nullam epopoeiae partem tragoediae deesse, metricam orationem ( τὸ μέτρον) etiam tragoediae competere monet (Aristoteles ipse saltem τὰ μέτρα scripsisset. conf. Comment. ad c. 1, 6 et 10), ceteras partes communes ( μύθον ἤθη διάνοιαν) silentio praetermittens et festinans ad partes quae tragoediae peculiares epopoeiae desunt, ad μουσικὴν et ὄψιν. sed de hoc nomine ( τὴν μουσικήν) quid tandem dicemus? num verus Aristoteles unquam lyricam tragoediae partem μουσικὴν appellavit? non fecit neque facere potuit: immo proprium eius partis nomen est μελοποιία. vid. c. 6, 4 et 7. c. 24, 1. itaque hoc nomen nove et mire positum alieni auctoris manum prodit. sententia illa c. 24, 1. καὶ τὰ μέρη ἔξω μελοποιίας καὶ ὄψεως ταὐτά ( δεῖ ἔχειν τὴν ἐποποιίαν τῇ τραγῳδίᾳ) leviter vitiata et male expressa h. J. repetitur. sed magis offendunt quae sequuntur, δι' ἧς ( ὄψεως) αἱ ἡδοναὶ συνίστανται ἐναργέστατα: ἡδονὴν effici a tragoedia libenter damus, ἡδονὰς (Lüste vel Freuden) praefracte negamus. interpolator illud a se ante dictum (c. 6, 19) sinistre repetivit. — καὶ ἐν τῇ ἀναγνωρίσει καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ἔργων: agnitio non bene memoratur, quia non omnibus tragoediis inest aut inesse debet. conf. c. 10, 2. ἐπὶ τῶν ἔργων obscure dictum est de rebus ante oculos spectantium exhibendis. alio intellectu ἐπὶ τῶν ἔργων a vero Aristotele positum est c. 4, 3.

5. mvp-aristotle-comment-208

Ritter, cap. 26 § 5

ἔτι τῷ ἐν ἐλάττονι μήκει τὸ τέλος τῆς μιμήσεως εἶναι: h. e. tragoedia epopoeiam etiam co superat quod citius finitur. vide mihi hunc hominem rursus ad normam et ulnam tamquam unicam mensuram profugientem. hic illud fit quod Aristophanes iocose descripsit in Ranis 798- 802. τί δέ; μειαγωγήσουσι τὴν τραγῳδίαν cet. exemplum illud, λέγω δὲ οἷον εἴ τις τὸν Οἰδίπουν θείη τὸν Σοφοκλέους ἐν ἔπεσιν ὅσοις ἡ Ἰλιάς, pueris sane utile erit ad sententiam antegressam recte intelligendam.

6. mvp-aristotle-comment-209

Ritter, cap. 26 § 6

ἔτι ἧττον μία μίμησις ἡ τῶν ἐποποιῶν: poesin epicorum minus unam esse dicit quam tragoediae scriptorum. quod vulgo additur ὁποιαοῦν ante μίμησις, codicibus deest AcBcNa et plerisque omnibus. Aldus et codex G ὁποιασ οῦν praebent, unde origo vitii cognoscitur: nimirum ex versu subsequente illud pronomen in paucis libris huc delatum est. σημεῖον δέ: pro causis luculentis et a vero auctore ante (c. 23, 3. c. 24,3 et 4. conf. c. 17, 5) expositis obscurum quoddam signum quo nihil probatur afferre contentus est. ἐκ γὰρ ὁποιασοῦν μιμήσεως πλείους τραγῳδίαι γίνονται: aut scribere ἐκ γὰρ ὁποιασοῦν μιμήσεως τῶν ἐποποιῶν debuit aut μιμήσεως omittere. - ὥστε, ἐὰν μὲν ἕνα - μήκει ὑδαρῆ: postremo maledicta adeo in epopoeiam congerit: scilicet assertionem suam quam maxime munire nititur. ad structuram verborum iuvandam Al Ι- dus pro ἢ βραχέως scripsit ἀνάγκη ἢ βραχέα, sed hoc in nullo codice repertum aut ipse dedisse aut ab interpolatore Italo videtur accepisse. raram vocem μύουρον legimus etiam apud verum Arist. in Rhetor. III, 9. τοῦ μέτρου μήκει: intelligere videtur mensurae longitudinem quae vulgo carminum epicorum esse solet. brevis esse laborat et obscurus fit. ἐὰν δὲ πλείους: hoc membrum et quod sequitur, οὐ μία, aut Aldus ipse dedit aut corrector aliquis Aldo suggessit: codicibus certe utrumque deest. ipse ut haec omittantur suadeo, sed in operis contextu locum iis concessi, ne ad sententiam meam obtinendam haec prudens et cupidus peiora fecisse videar. οἷον ἐκ πλειόνων πράξεων: una πρᾶξις etiam in carmine epico praevalere debet, sed episodia multa et fabulas secundarias admittere epopoeia potest. hoc verus Aristoteles huic homini minime consentiens docuit с. 23, 3. с. 24, 4. conf. c. 8, 3. ὥσπερ ἡ Ἰλιὰς ἔχει πολλά τοιαῦτα μέρη - ἔχει μέγεθος: haec et veritati repugnant et eis veri Aristotelis locis quos modo indicavimus; repugnant adeo eis quae mox ab ipso interpolatore de Iliade et Odyssea praedicantur. nam si haec vera sunt, illa quae sequuntur, καίτοι ταῦτα τὰ ποιήματα - μιᾶς πράξεως μίμησις, falsa esse inveniuntur.

7. mvp-aristotle-comment-210

Ritter, cap. 26 § 7

τῷ τῆς τέχνης ἔργω : artis officio, eo quod ars efficere debet. quid sit ἔργον ἐποποιίας non expositum est. obscurum est igitur, quomodo artis officio epopoeiam a tragoedia vinci interpolator sibi cogitaverit. - δεῖ γὰρ οὐ τὴν - τὴν εἰρημένην: haec ducta sunt ex c. 14, 2. οὐ γὰρ πᾶσαν δεῖ ζητεῖν ἡδονὴν ἀπὸ τραγῳδίας, ἀλλὰ τὴν οἰκείαν. quam voluptatem tragoedia praestet dictum est, sed quae sit propria epopoeiae voluptas expositum non est.

8. mvp-aristotle-comment-211

Ritter, cap. 26 § 8

quae iam sequuntur partim ex operis initio sumpta partim ab ipso interpolatore concinnata sunt.

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Commentary on Chapter 26

TRAGEDY ALSO AS WELL AS THE EPOPEE MAY ATTAIN ITS END WITHOUT REPRESENTATION, FOR WE CAN JUDGE OF ITS MERIT BY READING ONLY.

TRAGEDY THEN HAS EVERY REQUISITE IN COMMON WITH THE EPOPEE SINCE IT MAY EQUALLY USE VERSE.

AND TRAGEDY POSSESSES ANOTHER ADVANTAGE IN CONFINING THE ACTION BY WHICH THE END OF THE IMITATION IS ATTAINED WITHIN A NARROWER COMPASS. FOR BEING AS IT WERE CONDENSED, IT BECOMES MORE INTERESTING THAN IF IT WERE PROTRACTED THROUGH A LONGER PERIOD OF TIME.

THE ILIAD AND ODYSSEY ARE AS MUCH THE IMITATION OF ONE ACTION AS THE NATURE OF THE COMPOSITION WOULD ADMIT

IF TRAGEDY THEN EXCELS IN ALL THESE CIRCUMSTANCES, AS WELL AS IN THE EFFECT WHICH IT IS THE PECULIAR END OF THE POETIC ART TO ATTAIN-IT WILL CERTAINLY BE MORE EXCELLENT THAN THE EPOPEE FROM ATTAINING THE END OF THE ART ITSELF MORE EFFECTUALLY.

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Commentary

NOTE 265. P. 132.

NOTE 266. P. 132.

NOTE 267. P. 133.

NOTE 268. P. 133.

NOTE 269. P. 133.

NOTE 270. P. 133.

NOTE 271. P. 134.

NOTE 272. P. 134.

NOTE 273. P. 134.

NOTE 274. P. 134.

NOTE 275. P. 134.

NOTE 276. P. 134.

NOTE 277. P. 135.

TRAGEDY ALSO AS WELL AS THE EPOPEE MAY ATTAIN ITS END WITHOUT REPRESENTATION, FOR WE CAN JUDGE OF ITS MERIT BY READING ONLY.

TRAGEDY THEN HAS EVERY REQUISITE IN COMMON WITH THE EPOPEE SINCE IT MAY EQUALLY USE VERSE.

AND TRAGEDY POSSESSES ANOTHER ADVANTAGE IN CONFINING THE ACTION BY WHICH THE END OF THE IMITATION IS ATTAINED WITHIN A NARROWER COMPASS. FOR BEING AS IT WERE CONDENSED, IT BECOMES MORE INTERESTING THAN IF IT WERE PROTRACTED THROUGH A LONGER PERIOD OF TIME.

THE ILIAD AND ODYSSEY ARE AS MUCH THE IMITATION OF ONE ACTION AS THE NATURE OF THE COMPOSITION WOULD ADMIT

IF TRAGEDY THEN EXCELS IN ALL THESE CIRCUMSTANCES, AS WELL AS IN THE EFFECT WHICH IT IS THE PECULIAR END OF THE POETIC ART TO ATTAIN-IT WILL CERTAINLY BE MORE EXCELLENT THAN THE EPOPEE FROM ATTAINING THE END OF THE ART ITSELF MORE EFFECTUALLY.

Ritter, cap. 26 § 3

Ritter, cap. 26 § 4

Ritter, cap. 26 § 5

Ritter, cap. 26 § 6

Ritter, cap. 26 § 7

Ritter, cap. 26 § 8

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