24.1.
mvp-aristotle-comment-101
24.3
THE ILIAD IS SIMPLE AND PATHETIC, THE ODYSSEY COMPLI- CATED AND FULL OF CHARACTERISTIC MANNERS.
BY simple, as Ariftotle has already mentioned (Chap. X.), is meant without peripetía or discovery, which is strictly the character of the Iliad. The character also of pathetic which he gives it, taken in the same sense as it is in Chapter XI. when applied to tragedy, is exactly fitted to it, for it is replete with deaths, wounds, and other disastrous events. The Odyssey is complicated both from abounding in discoveries, as Aristotle particularly observes, and deriving its catastrophe from a very beautiful and affecting peripetía. I confess I do not see so strongly its fuperiority over the Iliad in point of manners. The Iliad is deservedly celebrated for nice discrimination of character, as nice perhaps as the rude and uniform way of life of the age would permit; and many of these strokes which characterize the manners, are also in the highest degree pathetic, using the word in its modern acceptation. Such, for instance, as the interview between Hector and Andromache, and the lamentation over the body of Hector, especially the speech of Helen [P]. However not only Aristotle, but even Homer himself characterizes the hero of the Odyssey as being versed in the manners of various na- [P] See Note II. Chap. xv. tions.
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. tions. Therefore though the delineation of character is strongly marked in the Iliad, and though in fact the anger of Achilles, which forms the ground-work of the poem, is rather a quality than an action; yet from the variety of scenes, nations and ranks of men defcribed in the Odyssey, the manners themselves may be introduced oftener, and must be more diverfified than in a work, whose scene of action is confined to a camp and a befieged city. Homer himself mentions variety as characteristic of the manners of the Odyssey. But if the Odyssey (Q) does not appear to me so strongly distinguished from the Iliad in point of manners, as to make them a character of contradistinction; on the other hand I must again repeat what I have before observed [R], that I can by no means accede to the opinion of Longinus, as to the decided superiority of the Iliad over the Odyssey in general: though perhaps the Iliad may have fome passages more strikingly fublime than any thing to be found in the Odyfssey; and the Odyssey may in some places have carried the marvellous into the extreme. Yet surely in the conduct and interest of the fable, the Odyssey has infinitely the advantage; and, for this reason probably, it appears to have [Q] It appears to have been at some time a doubt among the critics, whether the lliad and Odyssey were the work of the same perfon; for in the edition of Homer by Villoifon, which I have already mentioned in Note VII. on Chap. xv. near the conclufion, in one of the Scholia the mark called διπλῆ καθαρὰ, besides the use there mentioned as assigned to it, is said to point out passages (probably in confutation) to those who ascribe the Iliad and Odyssey to different poets. Πρὸς τὰς λέγοντας μὴ εἶναι τὸ ἀυτὲ ποιητᾶ Ιλίαδα καὶ Οδυσσείαν. So long ago as the year 1769, the late Dr. Hunter informed me, a friend of his was writing a treatise on this subject. I do not believe it has ever been made public. [R] See Note IV. Chap. VI. 3 M been
A COMMENTARY ON THE CHAP. XXIV. been the greater favorite of Aristotle who draws infinitely more examples from it in this work than from the Iliad, a mark of approbation that infinitely outweighs the censure of [s] Longinus. It is not impoffible that the subject of the Iliad might be more agreeable to the taste of Longinus, than the Odyssey, which is in fact a delineation of the private manners of the higher ranks of Greece, and there fore not fo capable of the Sublime as the Iliad. One drew his characters as kings and warriors, the other as fathers, fons and husbands. I mean in general; there are beautiful deviations from the rule in both, and which receive additional beauty from being contrasted with the leading features of the respective poems.. [T] Pope has been much and justly blamed for altering the manners of Homer, from a false refinement which he borrowed from the French critics while he abused them; and which, if the capricious taste of the [s] I should hardly have made any excuse for this assertion, had not so elegant a critic as Mr. Hayley preferred Longinus to the Stagirite. I may be prejudiced perhaps, for it is impoffible to feparate our opinion of the doctrine, from that we have of the person who delivers it, but in this case I own I can form no comparison between an Attic writer, the immediate fucceffor. of Xenophon and Plato, and a femi-barbarian, even if an Athenian, as some affert, of the age of Aurelian, one of those - Quos Græcia non suos alumnos Agnovit in pejus ruentis ævi. On this occafion I am almost tempted to adopt the strong distinction M. Leffing makes between the Greek and Roman writers; (Dramaturgie, Part II. page 132.) and say, 'It is not < impoffible that one may, for once only, have judged better than the other, but on the simple < possibility it is what I would not believe in any cafe.. [T] See Note 1. Chap. xv. and Note Iv. on this Chapter. public
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. public at the time of his tranflation made necessary, a juster sense of propriety has now exploded. But this is carried so far in the Odyssey as to be perfectly absurd, and entirely to change the manners, and confequently the incidents (which are closely connected with them,) of the whole work. Pope all through the Odyssey represents Telemachus as not only having his substance wasted and his life attempted by the suitors, but as having his paternal throne ufurped, though there is no idea of fuch a thing mentioned in the original, nor does Telemachus [u] ever complain of any other injury than the waste of his flocks and herds, and the riots in his house. That Ulysses was an elected and not an hereditary prince is obvious from the private situation of Laertes, who, had he been king, would hardly have given up the government to Ulysses before or during the fiege of Troy. He is not at the return of Ulysses so old as to be unable to bear arms and even kill an armed warrior with his spear; and the time of the absence of Ulyffes was twenty years. In the fecond Book of the Odyssey, when Telemachus appeals to the assembly of the chiefs, Pope tells us, when he came His father's throne he fill'd, while distant stood • The hoary peers and aged wisdom bow'd; and when he rose ' majestic' to speak • His royal hand th' imperial fceptre sway'd.' [u] In the first book of the Odyssey, Antinous mentions the hereditary right of Telemachus to the monarchy in a taunting manner. Telemachus in answer, disclaims any exclufive right to the fucceffion of the government, but asserts his right to his father's property, both which are confirmed by Eurymachus. It is curious to see how completely Pope has misrepresented this, both in his translation and note upon it. 3 M 2 This
This is exactly a prince regent in the house of lords; but the original only says, [x] that he fat in his father's feat and the elders gave way to him, as seems natural both out of respect to his birth and because it was at his defire they met, and confequently he was to declare his cause of complaint to them. And as for the imperial fceptre it was no more than an ensign of oratory which [Y] the herald used to put in the hands of all public speakers when they addressed a large assembly. [z] • On feats of stone within the facred place, • The rev'rend elders judged the dubious case • Alternate; each th' attesting sceptre took, • And rifing folemn each his fentence spoke.' The constant repetition of court and palace, is in the same style; but the continual appellation of the prince, which is given to Telemachus, is [x] Ε΄ζελο δ᾽ ἐν πατρὸς θώκῳ ἔιξων δὲ γέροντες. But though hereditary succession to regal authority was no claim as clearly appears, I think from the whole story of the Odyssey, it seems clearly to have been the general practice in Greece during the era of the Trojan war. – Σκῆπτρον δὲ ὁι εμβαλε χειρὶ [γ] Y Κήρυξ Πεισήνωρ. [z] See Iliad Book XVIII. v. 504. in the original; 585 in Pope. I have altered the second line which is tranflated without the least authority from Homer, The rey'rend elders NODDED O'ER THE cafe.'" The meaning of this passage seems to have been universally mistaken; the obvious meaning is that given by Col. Mitford in his history of Greece. See Chap. III. Sect. 11. who supposes the talents of gold to be the object of the litigation not the reward of the judge, and that the speakers pleaded, not judged alternately, αμοιβηδὶς δ᾽ ἐδίκαζον. Δικάζομαι, in the middle voice has this sense. Though I cannot recollect another instance of its being used in this sense in the active voice, it feems so obviously necessary here, that I am inclined to confider this as one.. a mafter-
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. a master-piece of absurdity. Prince in its general acceptation is equivalent with king; in the appropriated language of modern etiquette, it may be called the second title of a king, which is bestowed on his eldest fon, to whom, with the article THE prefixed it peculiarly belongs. But it is fully as abfurd to give this title to the son even of a Greek hereditary monarch, as it would have been in Shakespear, who, following our older writers, made Theseus, Duke of Athens, to have called his fon, had he introduced him in his drama the Marquis, a fault that has been really committed by Beaumont and Fletcher in their tragedy of Cupid's Revenge. But we cannot wonder at any absurdity in writers, who make Demetrius Poliorcetes fire [A] a pistol. This title given to Telemachus, reminds me of a circumstance I have met with in some novel, where an African prince is introduced to an affected and ignorant woman, who asks him if he is Prince of Wales in his own country, or only one of the younger princes. In all interesting narrations where manners are strongly painted, the poet should be particularly careful not to blend them too much with the affecting parts. This is more particularly to be attended to in the comic epopee where manners are drawn with a bolder hand, and their tendency is frequently such as must counteract the affecting parts of the action. Miss Burney, who is second to none in just and well-difcriminated portraits of life and manners, runs a little into this fault in her novel of Cecilia. When the heroine is on the road to meet Delville in London and be privately married to him, we are too much interested in her fituation to attend to the conversation of the group that embarrasses her on. [A] See Note 1. Chap. XII. There is a print by Rembrandt of Tobit, where the scene is laid. in a Flemish kitchen, with dried herrings hanging in a great chimney corner.. the
the way. The fame may be partly faid of the Vauxhall scene, but more strongly of the scene between Hopson and Cecilia immediately preceding her terrible interview with Delville, which brings on the catastrophe. This mixture of exceedingly well drawn comic character, with the strongest force of tragio situation, must contribute in great measure to weaken the effect of both. Fielding has avoided this in his novel of Tom Jones. He introduces no striking delineation of character from the time of his imprisonment till the final discovery. The manners in Joseph Andrews are highly colored till the conclufion, but then it contains no deep distress. Richardfon was the most unequal drawer of character imaginable. Mr. Greville has painted this painter of manners with fuch lively and just traits, that I trust I shall be forgiven for inserting a sketch of the picture. He is in many particulars the most minute, • fine, delicate observer of human nature I ever met with, the most re- • fined and just in his sentiments; but he often carries that refinement ، • into puerility, and that justness into tastelessness. He not only enters upon those beautiful and touching distinctions which the gross concep- ' tions of most men are incapable of discerning, but he also falls upon all ⚫ the trivial filly circumstances of society which can have attractions only ' for the nursery. His understanding seems to be hampered and con- ' fined; it wants enlargement, freedom, or to say all in one word, taste. • His men of the world are strange debauchées, his women outrageoufly • OUTRE'ES both in good and bad qualities [B].' I cannot quit a note which began with a comparison between the epopees of Homer, without taking notice of another which has been often compared with them, and strange to tell, often preferred to them. [B] Greville's Maxims, 3d edit. page 51. I mean
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. I mean the Æneid. I must say I am aftonished how such a comparison could ever have existed. Originality and invention are the foul of poetry; and Virgil, in his Æneid, has no more pretenfions to these than Pope has in his tranflation. It is true he has frequently ornamented the fimplicity of the old bard, and perhaps sometimes with advantage, but certainly oftener with a contrary effect, and so has our countryman. And I confefs I think in general, the more Virgil has deviated from his archetype the more he has deviated from excellence. What? I may be asked, do you wish, instead of writing the Æneid, he had translated the Iliad and Odyssey? I am much inclined to anfwer, Yes. And I think where Pope has given the sense of his original unsophisticated, his poem has a more original air than the Æneid. The great difference between Homer and Virgil consists in this, and it is in fact all the difference between poetical excellence and mediocrity; Homer described what he had feen; he combined incidents which he knew were founded on truth and nature; he painted manners which were real; he used machinery, the existence of which he believed; he was the Shakespear of Greece, with the advantage of writing in the most perfect language, (M) in its highest state of refinement, and with the most harmonious verfification imaginable. An advantage never enjoyed by any other poet. For, except Homer, no writer has lived at a period. which at the same time furnished manners and incidents best calculated for poetical imitation, and a language at the same time at its highest state of perfection, and capable of every degree of poetical ornament. [M] Greek verse received no additional ornament after Homer. The latest Greek poets, to the time of Oppian, attempted neither innovation or improvement; they tried no other road to excellence in poetry than what the great master of the art had pointed out to them. See Note Iv. on this chapter. In
In this last advantage Virgil was indulged: he wrote in the happiest era of the Roman language, and of that era his style was the purest. The only difference between the two poets in this respect lies in the superiority of the Greek language, and its more natural versification (N]. But in the other respects his inferiority was great indeed. The manners at Rome were as little natural in the Augustan age as they are now at London or Paris. The wars of the time were not directed by the private paffions of individuals; they were the wars of political ambition. In fuch wars nothing is interesting or picturesque. He was obliged to defcribe incidents he never faw, paint manners he was not converfant with, and introduce machinery, the existence of which was generally disbelieved by himself, and all the higher ranks of his cotemporaries. In confequence of these circumstances, every deviation from his archetype is a deviation from truth and nature. In imitating things in which he had no other guide to direct him than Homer, when he quitted that guide he must go wrong; and had he imitated scenes familiar to him they would have been as ill fitted for the epopee as the subject of the Henriade. Of what Virgil could do when he had a subject familiar to himself, and proper for poetry, though of an inferior kind, the divine Georgic will be an eternal monument. Yet, beautiful as the episode of Eurydice is, I cannot think the fourth book of the Georgic equal to the [N] See Note VI. Chap. XXII. But whatever might be the inferiority of Latin to Greek verse is repaid by the superiority of Latin to Greek oratory. If Greek is the natural language of poetry, Latin is the ornamented language of eloquence. When Longinus hefitates which to prefer, Demofthenes or Cicero, his real decision is apparent. For what Dr. Johnson has faid of our northern fellow countrymen may with greater propriety be said, especially in matters of literature, of the countrymen of Longinus. A Greek must be a very sturdy ' moralist who did not love Greece better than truth.' I however confine this to literary rather than political vanity. See Note VI. on this chapter. others.
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. others. The three first books must please, from their views of general nature, but furely the battles and internal government of bees is not very interesting in a poetical light. I know the commentators talk of an afcending scale in the four books, from corn and grass, to trees, to animated nature, and the mimic actions of men, and which, in the last instance particularly, is strongly enforced by Mr. Harris, in his Philological Enquiries, page 123. I confess this account of the bees seems to me very congenial with that species of the burlesque which is derived. from dressing mean objects in pompous words, it reminds me of the Batrachomyomachia of Homer [o]. [P] As a proof of the fimplicity of the times described by Homer, it is a great doubt if his kings and heroes could write or read; at least when the Grecian leaders cast lots who shall engage Hector in single combat, in the seventh Iliad they only make their marks, for when the lot figned by Ajax falls out of the helmet, and is carried round by the herald, none of the chiefs know to whom it belongs till it is brought to Ajax himself. [o] Dr. Johnson says, (See BOSWELL'S LIFE, Vol. II. p. 454,) ، The Georgics did not < give me so much pleasure as the Æneid, EXCEPT THE FOURTH BOOK.' An instance of his predilection for description of political society, beyond the beauties of nature. [P] The probability that Homer lived much nearer the times he described than is usually supposed has been shewn by Mr. Mitford with as much clearness as so distant an event is capable of. See MITFORD'S HISTORY OF GREECE, Appendix to Chap. Iv. 3 N NOTE
24.2.
mvp-aristotle-comment-102
24.4
THE PROPER LENGTH OF THE EPOPEE HAS BEEN ALREADY MENTIONED; THERE SHOULD BE A POSSIBILITY OF COMPRE- HENDING THE BEGINNING AND END IN ONE VIEW, WHICH WOULD BE ATTAINED IF IT WERE A LITTLE SHORTER THAN THE COMPOSITIONS OF THE EARLIER POETS, AND REDUCED TO THE SAME LENGTH WITH THE NUMBER OF TRAGEDIES THAT ARE PERFORMED AT ONE TIME.
I CONFESS that, in the first edition of my translation, I followed the opinion of Dacier in understanding this passage as censuring other epic poets for the too great length of their poems, and recommending Homer's epopees as the standard in this respect. But Mr. Twining's arguments in favor of the contrary opinion are so conclusive to me, that I have, without any hesitation, abandoned my former hypothefis to adopt his. It appears clearly, both from the authorities he cites and his own reasoning, that four tragedies were the most that could be fupposed to be performed at one fitting, and which would certainly be now more than sufficient to wear out the patience of the most unwearied admirer of the drama [Q]. And to read a poem of that length without intermiffion, though it would not take up fo much time as the repre- [Q] Mr. Twining has shewn that the spectators took refreshment during this long re-- presentation. It appears that this practice, which is still continued at Sadler's Wells, was the general custom of the old English theatre, where the audience were regaled with tobacco, wine and beer. See a passage from PRYNNE'S HISTRIOMASTRIA, page 322, cited by Mr. Stevens, in his ESSAY ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH. STAGE. fentation
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. sentation of a drama, would I believe, however interesting, never be performed for pleasure only [R], and yet this continued attention must be the point of coincidence to which Aristotle would bring the drama and the epopee [s]. Mr. Twining has also confuted me on my own principles. I have supposed it improbable that Aristotle, who has been in this chapter so lavish of his praises of that poet in express terms, should here censure a part of his conduct by a kind of indirect implication. But Mr. Twining very properly asks, ' Had Aristotle meant to except Homer, why not expressly name him? Gladly as he appears to seize every opportunity of giving the poet his just praise, would he not here also ⚫ have opposed his conduct to that of other poets as he has done in so many other instances? Or why indeed refer us to the number of tragedies successively performed in one day, when he might as well have ' referred at once to the Iliad or the Odyffey.' ، ، This fame reasoning may be applied to all works of narrative imitation. Richardson's Grandifon and Clarissa are much too long. Perhaps Tom Jones falls a little under this predicament. What shall we fay then of the Clelias and Parthenissas, those voluminous romances of the last age, whose perusal would furnish fix months employment to the application of the reader? The epopee from the nature of its mode of imitation, as is well shewn by the Stagirite in this chapter, independent of any rules of art, has a [R] Dacier says, that fometimes fixteen tragedies were performed in fucceffion, which would have taken up thirty-two hours, allowing only two hours for each tragedy. He fays alfo the Iliad might be read through in a day. So it might for a wager. See Mr. Twining's note. [s] See Note III. Chap. xxvi. 3 N 2 much
A COMMENTARY ON THE CHAP. XXIV. much larger scope and richer materials for extending its bulk than can with the greatest indulgence be poffibly allowed to the drama. • The epopee,' (to use the words of Metaftafio, which are a fort of paraphrafe of those of Ariftotle) ' has as it were the whole world for its theatre, and is enabled by narration to avail itself as its material of what different people do at the fame time in different places.' With the drama it is far otherwise. The latter advantage it is impossible it can attempt without utter absurdity; and a plan equally extensive with the epopee is beyond its powers. (T) I have in another place vindicated Shakespear for his deviation from the local laws of the Greek drama; but though I acknowledge myself an admirer almost to idolatry of his excellencies, I cannot bring myself to idolize his faults. That he errs frequently against the general rules on which dramatic probability can alone be founded, it is impoffible to deny, and we can only fay in his justification what Aristotle said of the improbabilities in the Odyssey, Though such faults would be intolerable in an inferior ، writer, they are here almost lost amidst the luftre of furrounding beau- ⚫ ties.' Yet nevertheless they are faults, and as fuch should, if poffible, be avoided. But the epic plan has its boundaries, as well as the actual length of the poem itself. Interest can only be excited by entering into detail. It is not fufficient to mention only, an affecting incident; the poet, if he would influence the paffions of his readers, must describe the circumftances particularly; he must not only, to use the words of Aristotle in another part of this work [u], conduct his imitation well, but dramatically. The natural boundaries of the real length of the poem, and length of plan are mutually dependant on each other. If the poem is itself too long, the story, however drawn out in detail, will [T] See Note III. Chap. v.. [U] Chapter Iv.. certainly
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. certainly incur the fault of not having the beginning, the middle, and the end, the necessary connexion of one part on the other, easily comprehended by the memory; and if a proper length as to the real bulk of the poem is chosen, and a plan is formed of too great an extent, one of two defects must arise from it. Either the events and situations must be so slightly touched on, as to lose their interest, or if the most interesting parts are sufficiently detailed, there will be a want of uniformity that will disgust, the story will be broken into parts, and the idea of the length of time will be confused in the mind of the reader. It must be remembered, that the real natural unity of time, as well as that of place depending upon it, are equally limited by natural probability in the epopee and the drama. If the precise time of an event in the epopee is marked by any circumstance of the action, probability is essentially violated, if more events are crouded into that time than could really happen in it. And if in a comedy that takes up only four hours the fame person should not be in London and Bath, or in a tragedy, the action of which takes up twenty-four hours, he should not be seen at Rome and at Athens; so in an epopee, which takes up forty days, he should not in the course [x] of the action be in England and the East-Indies. To this circumstance being strongly pointed out by nature, we must impute that general regard paid to it, even by indifferent novel writers, which has been noticed in the first note on the preceding chapter: and which has been made still more necessary by the mode, now [x] In the Odyssey the narrative of Ulyffes to Alcinous, and that of Æneas to Dido, are out of the action. See Bossu, L. III. Chap. xi. almost
almost universally adopted, of throwing the narrative into correspondence, which enforces a continuity of action, with more than dramatic precifion. We are less disgusted at the interval of fixteen years that elapses between the third and fourth acts of the Winter's Tale than we should at a twelfth part of that time interrupting an epistolary novel. The Winter's Tale is in fact composed of two distinct dramas, one the sequel of the other; and in the last there are several new characters [Y]. But the correspondents of the novel have the property of the ancient chorus, in keeping the action always before our eyes. For we can never suppose all the persons to drop their correfpondence while one of the principal characters acquires a fortune in the East Indies, however rapidly it may occafionally have been done there. The only resource the author has in this cafe is to step forth in propria persona, and tell his readers that as nothing very interesting happened in that time he has fuppressed the correspondence [z]. Though the epopee, from the action not being immediately before the eyes, has in most respects a greater latitude of indulgence than the drama [A], yet in point of detail it must be much inferior. By detail the events of two hours may be drawn out into a hundred pages, nay a thousand when the actual length of the work is unlimited; and as we always calculate time by the succession of ideas, what is minutely described will naturally appear long. However tedious one may be, and [Y] It is the custom of the Spanish drama, (at least the comedies of Cervantes are fo printed,) to prefix to each act the names of the characters that appear in it. [z] I recollect an instance of this fort in a novel called Clara and Emmeline. [A] See Note III. Chap. xxvi. however
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. however agreeable the other, a month spent in a uniform way, where the transactions of one day exactly correspond with those of the fucceeding ones, will on retrospection appear to have passed more rapidly than the same space of time in which we have been engaged in a variety of transactions. Or, still more applicably to this case, let any person compare different parts of the English history [B], whose comparative chronology he has never before examined, and he will be surprised to find the different impreffion detail of event has made on his imagination as to duration of time. If much (c) of this detail intervenes between any two interesting events, without that detail being very minutely connected with both, the effect of their dependence on each other will be greatly weakened. This is, to my own feelings, strongly exemplified in Tom Jones. A very short period of time intervenes between the fup- [B] For the first clear notion I had of this I must acknowledge my obligation to Dr.. Priestley's Charts of History and Biography, where the time is marked by equi-distant lines, and the comparative chronology seen by one comprehensive view. See his Preliminary Description. [c] In the Iliad, Achilles kills Hector at his first appearance in the field after the death of his friend, but from the intervening detail that behaviour impresses us a little with the idea. of deliberate cruelty, which might have seemed only excusable indignation if the events had been more obviously connected. In this instance Virgil has been superior to his master;
Pallas te hoc vulnere! Pallas • Immolat!' Is an imitable instance of poetical art.. This in real events is evident, as in the execution of criminals. Many an atrocious offender, whose death immediately succeeding his offence would have been looked upon with fatisfaction, becomes, from the interval between them, an object of univerfal pity. Our legislature has seen this, and in the most atrocious of all offences, MURDER, execution follows closely after conviction. posed
posed final parting of Jones and Sophia; yet so long a detail of events, in which, though Sophia appears, her character, as to her paffion for Jones, is so little affecting, and Jones is involved in so many adventures in which she is unconcerned, or rather worse than unconcerned, that their re-union does not give us that lively fatisfaction we should expect from it, when we feel ourselves so strongly affected by their separation. This however may be partly imputed to the conduct of the poet in the catastrophe, where I own the behaviour of Sophia on her meeting with Jones, her obstinate refusal of him, and her extraordinary mode of afterwards consenting to an immediate marriage with him, seem to me perfectly unnatural. (D) Now in the drama the contracted period of the performance will not fuffer an interest once warmly excited ever to cool unless from very ill conduct in the poet. I would not be supposed to censure the body of this inimitable composition on any other ground than its effect on part of the catastrophe. Of the conduct of the work in general I have before given my opinion in the strongest terms of approbation, and the detail is in itself interefting in the highest degree, directly the reverse of Richardson, which is often trifling and tedious in the extreme. In Mrs. Smith's novel of Ethelinde, though the time of the abfence of Montgomery takes up but a short part of the bulk of the work, it must occupy at least as much of the poetical time as all the other incidents; yet as the detail of the intervening events is abridged, (contrary indeed to the uniformity of the tale, but which in such a case is more honored in the breach than the observance,) and in that detail the paf- [D] See Note III. Chap. xxvI. fion
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. sion of Ethelinde for Montgomery is a prominent feature, our interest for the lovers, as such, is never relaxed. In the next chapter Ariftotle allows a deviation from the rules of art if that deviation conduces to the end of poetical imitation; that is, if it makes the effect of the incidents more striking. Having mentioned Mrs. Smith, I cannot avoid paying the tribute due to her extraordinary talents, which excel in two species of composition so different as the novel and the fonnet, and whose powers are so equally capable of charming the imagination, and awakening the passions. I feel a strong wish to see both these exerted in the highest degree in one work; and that she would clothe some pathetic tale, in the conception of which she could not be excelled, with that garb of luxuriant fancy and melodious versification, in which she cannot be equalled.
