Chapter IX: Part 9

Now Morn her rosy steps in th’ eastern clime
Advancing, sow’d the earth with orient pearl,
When Adam wak’d, so custom’d, for his sleep
Was aëry light from pure digestion bred,
And temp’rate vapours bland, which th’ only sound
Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora’s fan,
Lightly dispers’d, and the shrill matin song
Of birds on every bough; so much the more
His wonder was to find unwaken’d Eve
With tresses discompos’d, and glowing cheek,
As through unquiet rest: he on his side
Leaning half-rais’d, with looks of cordial love
Hung over her enamour’d, and beheld
Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar graces; then with voice
Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,
Her hand soft touching, whisper’d thus. Awake
My fairest, my espous’d, my latest found,
Heav’n’s last best gift, my ever new delight,
Awake; the morning shines, and the fresh field
Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring
Our tended plants, how blows the citron grove,
What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed,
How Nature paints her colours, how the bee
Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet.
_Book 1. l. 1_.

Comparing the Latin Hexameter and English heroic rhyme, the former has obviously the advantage in the following particulars. It is greatly preferable as to arrangement, by the latitude it admits in placing the long and short syllables. Secondly, the length of an Hexameter line hath a majestic air: ours, by its shortness, is indeed more brisk and lively, but much less fitted for the sublime. And, thirdly, the long high-sounding words that Hexameter admits, add greatly to its majesty. To compensate these advantages, English rhyme possesses a greater number and greater variety both of pauses and of accents. These two sorts of verse stand indeed pretty much in opposition: in the Hexameter, great variety of arrangement, none in the pauses or accents: in the English rhyme, great variety in the pauses and accents, very little in the arrangement.

In blank verse are united, in a good measure, the several properties of Latin Hexameter and English rhyme; and it possesses beside many signal properties of its own. If is not confined, like a Hexameter, by a full close at the end of every line; nor, like rhyme, by a full close at the end of every couplet. This form of construction, which admits the lines to run into each other, gives it a still greater majesty than arises from the length of a Hexameter line. By the same means, it admits inversion even beyond the Latin or Greek Hexameter, which suffer some confinement by the regular closes at the end of every line. In its music it is illustrious above all. The melody of Hexameter verse, is circumscribed to a line; and of English rhyme, to a couplet. The melody of blank verse is under no confinement, but enjoys the utmost privilege of which the melody of verse is susceptible, and that is to run hand in hand with the sense. In a word, blank verse is superior to the Hexameter in many articles; and inferior to it in none, save in the latitude of arrangement, and in the use of long words.

* * * * *

In the French heroic verse, there are found, on the contrary, all the defects of the Latin Hexameter and English rhyme, without the beauties of either. Subjected to the bondage of rhyme, and to the full close at the end of each couplet, it is further peculiarly disgustful by the uniformity of its pauses and accents. The line invariably is divided by the pause into two equal parts, and the accent is invariably placed before the pause.

Jeune et vaillant herôs || dont la haute sagesse
Ne’st point la fruit tardîf || d’une lente vieillesse.

Here every circumstance contributes to a most tedious uniformity. A constant return of the same pause and of the same accent, as well as an equal division of every line; by which the latter part always answers to the former, and fatigues the ear without intermission or change. I cannot set this matter in a better light, than by presenting to the reader a French translation of the following passage of Milton.

Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall,
Godlike erect, with native honour clad
In naked majesty seem’d lords of all;
And worthy seem’d, for in their looks divine
The image of their glorious Maker shon,
Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure,
Severe, but in true filial freedom plac’d;
Whence true authority in men: though both
Not equal, as their sex not equal seem’d;
For contemplation he and valour form’d,
For softness she and sweet attractive grace,
He for God only, she for God in him.

Were the pauses of the sense and sound in this passage, but a little better assorted, nothing in verse could be more melodious. In general, the great defect of Milton’s versification, in other respects admirable, is the want of coincidence betwixt the pauses of the sense and sound.

The translation is in the following words.

Ce lieu délicieux, ce paradis charmant,
Reçoit deux objets son plus bel ornement;
Leur port majestueux, et leur démarche altiere,
Semble leur meriter sur la nature entiere
Ce droit de commander que Dieu leur a donné.
Sur leur auguste front de gloire couronné,
Du souverain du ciel drille la resemblance:
Dans leur simples regards éclatte l’innocence,
L’adorable candeur, l’aimable vérité,
La raison, la sagesse, et la sévérité
Qu’adoucit la prudence, et cet air de droiture
Du visage des rois respectable parure.
Ces deux objets divins n’ont pas les mêmes traits,
Ils paroissent formés, quoique tous deux parfaits;
L’un pour la majesté, la force, et la noblesse;
L’autre pour la douceur, la grace, et la tendresse:
Celui-ci pour Dieu seul, l’autre pour l’homme encor.

Here the sense is fairly translated, the words are of equal power, and yet how inferior the melody!

I take the liberty to add here a speculation, which, though collateral only, arises naturally from the subject, and shall be discussed in a few words. Many attempts have been made to introduce Hexameter verse into the living languages, but without success. The English language, I am inclined to believe, is not susceptible of this melody; and my reasons are these. First, the polysyllables in Latin and Greek are finely diversified by long and short syllables, a circumstance that qualifies them for the melody of Hexameter verse. Ours are extremely ill qualified for this service, because they superabound in short syllables. Secondly, the bulk of our monosyllables are arbitrary with regard to length, which is an unlucky circumstance in Hexameter. Custom, as observed above, may render familiar a long or short pronunciation of the same word: but the mind wavering betwixt the two sounds, cannot be so much arrested with either, as with a word that hath always the same sound; and for that reason, arbitrary sounds are ill fitted for a melody which is chiefly supported by quantity. In Latin and Greek Hexameter, invariable sounds direct and ascertain the melody: English Hexameter would be destitute of melody, unless by artful pronunciation; because of necessity the bulk of its sounds must be arbitrary. The pronunciation is easy in a simple movement of alternate short and long syllables; but would be perplexing and unpleasant in the diversified movement of Hexameter verse.

* * * * *

Rhyme makes so great a figure in modern poetry, as to deserve a solemn trial. I have for that reason reserved it to be examined with some deliberation; in order to discover, if possible, its peculiar beauties, and the degree of merit it is intitled to. The first view of this subject leads naturally to the following reflection, “That rhyme having no relation to sentiment, nor any effect upon the ear other than a mere jingle, ought to be banished all compositions of any dignity, as affording but a trifling and childish pleasure.” It will also be observed, “That a jingle of words hath in some measure a ludicrous effect; witness the celebrated poem of _Hudibras_, the double rhymes of which contribute no small share to its drollery; that this effect would be equally remarkable in a serious work, were it not obscured by the nature of the subject; that having however a constant tendency to give a ludicrous air to the composition, it requires more than ordinary fire to support the dignity of the sentiments against such an undermining antagonist[103].”

These arguments are specious, and have undoubtedly some weight. Yet, on the other hand, it ought to be considered, that rhyme, in later times, has become universal among men as well as children; and that to give it a currency, it must have some foundation in human nature. In fact, it has been successfully employ’d by poets of genius, in their serious and grave compositions, as well as in those which are more light and airy. Here, in weighing authority against argument, the balance seems to hang pretty even; and therefore, to come at any thing decisive, we must pierce a little deeper.

Music has great power over the soul; and may be successfully employ’d to inflame or sooth our passions, if not actually to raise them. A single sound, however sweet, is not music; but a single sound repeated after proper intervals, may have an effect upon the mind, by rousing the attention and keeping the hearer awake. A variety of similar sounds, succeeding each other after regular intervals, must have a still stronger effect. This is applicable to rhyme, which consists in the connection that two verse-lines have by closing with two words similar in sound. And considering deliberately the effect that this may have; we find, that it rouses the attention, and produceth an emotion moderately gay without dignity or elevation. Like the murmurings of a brook gliding through pebbles, it calms the mind when perturbed, and gently raises it when sunk. These effects are scarce perceived when the whole poem is in rhyme; but are extremely remarkable by contrast, in the couplets which close the several acts of our later tragedies. The tone of the mind is sensibly varied by them, from anguish, distress, or melancholy, to some degree of ease and alacrity. For the truth of this observation, I appeal to the speech of Jane Shore in the fourth act, when her doom was pronounced by Glo’ster; to the speech of Lady Jane Gray at the end of the first act; and to that of Calista, in the _Fair Penitent_, when she leaves the stage, about the middle of the third act. The speech of Alicia, at the close of the fourth act of _Jane Shore_, puts the matter beyond doubt. In a scene of deep distress, the rhymes which finish the act, produce a certain gaiety and chearfulness, far from according with the tone of the passion.

_Alicia_. For ever? Oh! For ever!
Oh! who can bear to be a wretch for ever!
My rival too! his last thoughts hung on her:
And, as he parted, left a blessing for her.
Shall she be bless’d, and I be curs’d, for ever!
No; since her fatal beauty was the cause
Of all my suff’rings, let her share my pains;
Let her, like me, of ev’ry joy forlorn,
Devote the hour when such a wretch was born:
Like me to deserts and to darkness run,
Abhor the day and curse the golden sun;
Cast ev’ry good and ev’ry hope behind;
Detest the works of nature, loathe mankind:
Like me with cries distracted fill the air,}
Tear her poor bosom, and her frantic hair,}
And prove the torments of the last despair.}

Having described, the best way I can, the impression that rhyme makes on the mind; I proceed to examine whether rhyme be proper for any subject, and to what subjects in particular it is best suited. Great and elevated subjects, which have a powerful influence, claim justly the precedence in this inquiry. In the chapter of grandeur and sublimity, it is established, that a grand or sublime object, inspires a warm enthusiastic emotion disdaining strict regularity and order. This observation is applicable to the present point. The moderately-enlivening music of rhyme, gives a tone to the mind very different from that of grandeur and sublimity. Supposing then an elevated subject to be expressed in rhyme, what must be the effect? The intimate union of the music with the subject, produces an intimate union of their emotions; one inspired by the subject, which tends to elevate and expand the mind; and one inspired by the music, which, confining the mind within the narrow limits of regular cadency and similar sound, tends to prevent all elevation above its own pitch. Emotions so little concordant, cannot in union have a happy effect.

But it is scarce necessary to reason upon a case, that never did, and probably never will happen, _viz._ an important subject clothed in rhyme, and yet supported in its utmost elevation. A happy thought or warm expression, may at times give a sudden bound upward; but it requires a genius greater than has hitherto existed, to support a poem of any length in a tone much more elevated than that of the melody. Tasso and Ariosto ought not to be made exceptions, and still less Voltaire. And after all, where the poet has the dead weight of rhyme constantly to struggle with, how can we expect an uniform elevation in a high pitch; when such elevation, with all the support it can receive from language, requires the utmost effort of the human genius?

But now, admitting rhyme to be an unfit dress for grand and lofty images; it has one advantage however, which is, to raise a low subject to its own degree of elevation. Addison[104] observes, “That rhyme, without any other assistance, throws the language off from prose, and very often makes an indifferent phrase pass unregarded; but where the verse is not built upon rhymes, there, pomp of sound and energy of expression are indispensably necessary, to support the style and keep it from falling into the flatness of prose.” This effect of rhyme is remarkable in the French verse, which, being simple and natural and in a good measure unqualified for inversion, readily sinks down to prose where it is not artificially supported. Rhyme, by rousing the mind, raises it somewhat above the tone of ordinary language: rhyme therefore is indispensable in the French tragedy; and may be proper even for their comedy. Voltaire[105] assigns this very reason for adhering to rhyme in these compositions. He indeed candidly owns, that even with the support of rhyme, the tragedies of his country are little better than conversation-pieces. This shows, that the French language is weak, and an improper dress for any grand subject. Voltaire was sensible of this imperfection; and yet Voltaire attempted an epic poem in that language.

The chearing and enlivening power of rhyme, is still more remarkable in poems of short lines, where the rhymes return upon the ear in a quick succession. And for that reason, rhyme is perfectly well adapted to gay, light, and airy subjects. Witness the following.

O the pleasing, pleasing anguish.
When we love, and when we languish!
Wishes rising,
Thoughts surprising,
Pleasure courting,
Charms transporting,
Fancy viewing,
Joys ensuing,
O the pleasing, pleasing anguish.
_Rosamond, act 1. sc. 2._

For this reason, such frequent rhymes are very improper for any severe or serious passion: the dissonance betwixt the subject and the modulation, is very sensibly felt. Witness the following.

Ardito ti renda,
T’accenda
Di sdegno
D’un figlio
Il periglio
D’un regno
L’ amor
E’ dolce ad un’ alma
Che aspetta
Vendetta
Il perder la calma
Fra l’ire del cor.
_Metastasio. Artaserse, act 3. sc 3._

Rhyme is not less unfit for deep distress, than for subjects elevated and lofty; and for that reason has been long disused in the English and Italian tragedy. In a work, where the subject is serious though not elevated, it has not a good effect; because the airiness of the modulation agrees not with the gravity of the subject. The _Essay on Man_, which treats a subject great and important, would show much better in blank verse. Sportive love, mirth, gaiety, humour, and ridicule, are the province of rhyme. The boundaries assigned it by nature, were extended in barbarous and illiterate ages, and in its usurpations it has long been protected by custom. But taste in the fine arts, as well as in morals, improves daily; and makes a progress, slowly indeed, but uniformly, towards perfection: and there is no reason to doubt, that rhyme in Britain will in time be forc’d to abandon its unjust conquests, and to confine itself within its natural limits.

* * * * *

Having thrown out what occurred upon rhyme, I close the section with a general observation. The melody of articulate sound so powerfully inchants the mind, as to draw a vail over very gross faults and imperfections. Of this power a stronger example cannot be given, than the episode of Aristæus, which closes the fourth book of the _Georgics_. To renew a stock of bees when the former is lost, Virgil asserts, that they will be produced in the intrails of a bullock, slain and managed in a certain manner. This leads him to say, how this strange receipt was invented; which is as follows. Aristæus having lost his bees by disease and famine, never dreams of employing the ordinary means for obtaining a new stock; but, like a froward child, complains heavily of his misfortune to his mother Cyrene, a water-nymph. She advises him to consult Proteus, a sea-god, not how he was to obtain a new stock, but only by what fatality he had lost his former stock; adding, that violence was necessary, because Proteus would say nothing voluntarily. Aristæus, satisfied with this advice, though it gave him no prospect of repairing his loss, proceeds to execution. Proteus is catched sleeping, bound with cords, and compelled to speak. He declares, that Aristæus was punished with the loss of his bees, for attempting the chastity of Euridice, the wife of Orpheus; she having got her death by the sting of a serpent in flying his embraces. Proteus, whose sullenness ought to have been converted into wrath by the rough treatment he met with, becomes on a sudden courteous and communicative. He gives the whole history of Orpheus’s expedition to hell in order to recover his spouse; a very entertaining story indeed, but without the least relation to the affair on hand. Aristæus returning to his mother, is advised to deprecate by sacrifices the wrath of Orpheus, who was now dead. A bullock is sacrificed, and out of the intrails spring miraculously a swarm of bees. How should this have led any mortal to think, that, without a miracle, the same might be obtained naturally, as is supposed in the receipt?

_A list of the different FEET, and of their NAMES._

1. PYRRHICHIUS, consists of two short syllables. Examples: _Deus_,
_given_, _cannot_, _hillock_, _running_.

2. SPONDEUS, consists of two long syllables. Ex. _omnes_,
_possess_, _forewarn_, _mankind_, _sometime_.

3. IAMBUS, composed of a short and a long. Ex. _pios_, _intent_,
_degree_, _appear_, _consent_, _repent_, _demand_, _report_,
_suspect_, _affront_, _event_.

4. TROCHÆUS, or CHOREUS, a long and a short. Ex. _fervat_,
_whereby_, _after_, _legal_, _measure_, _burden_, _holy_, _lofty_.

5. TRIBRACHYS, three short. Ex. _melius_, _property_.

6. MOLOSSUS, three long. Ex. _delectant_.

7. ANAPÆSTUS, two short and a long. Ex. _animos_, _condescend_,
_apprehend_, _overheard_, _acquiesce_, _immature_, _overcharge_,
_serenade_, _opportune_.

8. DACTYLUS, a long and two short. Ex. _carmina_, _evident_,
_excellence_, _estimate_, _wonderful_, _altitude_, _burdened_,
_minister_, _tenement_.

9. BACCHIUS, a short and two long. Ex. _dolores_.

10. HYPPOBACCHIUS, or ANTIBACCHIUS, two long and a short. Ex.
_pelluntur_.

11. CRETICUS, or AMPHIMACER, a short syllable betwixt two long. Ex.
_infito_, _afternoon_.

12. AMPHIBRACHYS, a long syllable betwixt two short. Ex. _honore_,
_consider_, _imprudent_, _procedure_, _attended_, _proposed_,
_respondent_, _concurrence_, _apprentice_, _respective_,
_revenue_.

13. PROCELEUSMATICUS, four short syllables. Ex. _hominibus_,
_necessary_.

14. DISPONDEUS, four long syllables. Ex. _infinitis_.

15. DIIAMBUS, composed of two Iambi. Ex. _severitas_.

16. DITROCHÆUS, of two Trochæi. Ex. _permanere_, _procurator_.

17. IONICUS, two short syllables and two long. Ex. _properabant_.

18. Another foot passes under the same name, composed of two long
syllables and two short. Ex. _calcaribus_, _possessory_.

19. CHORIAMBUS, two short syllables betwixt two long. Ex.
_Nobilitas_.

20. ANTISPASTUS, two long syllables betwixt two short. Ex.
_Alexander_.

21. PÆON 1st, one long syllable and three short. Ex. _temporibus_,
_ordinary_, _inventory_, _temperament_.

22. PÆON 2d, the second syllable long, and the other three short.
Ex. _potentia_, _rapidity_, _solemnity_, _minority_, _considered_,
_imprudently_, _extravagant_, _respectfully_, _accordingly_.

23. PÆON 3d, the third syllable long and the other three short. Ex.
_animatus_, _independent_, _condescendence_, _sacerdotal_,
_reimbursement_, _manufacture_.

24. PÆON 4th, the last syllable long and the other three short. Ex.
_Celeritas_.

25. EPITRITUS 1st, the first syllable short and the other three
long. Ex. _voluptates_.

26. EPITRITUS 2d, the second syllable short and the other three
long. Ex. _pænitentes_.

27. EPITRITUS 3d, the third syllable short and the other three
long. Ex. _discordias_.

28. EPITRITUS 4th, the last syllable short and the other three
long. Ex. _fortunatus_.

29. A word of five syllables composed of a Pyrrhichius and
Dactylus. Ex. _ministerial_.

30. A word of five syllables composed of a Trochæus and Dactylus.
Ex. _singularity_.

31. A word of five syllables composed of a Dactylus and Trochæus.
Ex. _precipitation_, _examination_.

32. A word of five syllables, the second only long. Ex.
_necessitated_, _significancy_.

33. A word of six syllables composed of two Dactyles. Ex.
_impetuosity_.

34. A word of six syllables composed of a Tribrachys and Dactyle.
Ex. _pusillanimity_.

_N. B._ Every word may be considered as a prose foot, because every word is distinguished by a pause; and every foot in verse may be considered as a verse word, composed of syllables pronounced at once without a pause.

End of the SECOND VOLUME.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Nec vero illa parva vis naturæ est rationisque, quod unum hoc animal sentit quid sit ordo, quid sit quod deceat in factis dictisque, qui modus. Itaque eorum ipsorum, quæ aspectu sentiuntur, nullum aliud animal, pulchritudinem, venustatem, convenientiam partium, sentit. Quam similitudinem natura ratioque ab oculis ad animum transferens, multo etiam magis pulchritudinem, constantiam, ordinem, in consiliis factisque conservandum putat, cavetque ne quid indecorè effeminatève faciat; tum in omnibus et opinionibus et factis ne quid libidinosè aut faciat aut cogitet. Quibus ex rebus conflatur et efficitur id, quod quærimus, honestum. _Cicero de officiis, l._ 1.

[2] From many things that pass current in the world without being generally condemned, one at first view would imagine, that the sense of congruity or propriety hath scarce any foundation in nature; and that it is rather an artificial refinement of those who affect to distinguish themselves by a certain delicacy of taste and behaviour. The fulsome panegyrics bestowed upon the great and opulent, in epistles dedicatory and other such compositions, lead naturally to that thought. Did there prevail in the world, it will be said, or did nature suggest, a taste of what is suitable, decent, or proper, would any good writer deal in such compositions, or any man of sense receive them without disgust? Can it be supposed, that Lewis XIV. of France was endued by nature with any sense of propriety, when, in a dramatic performance purposely composed for his entertainment, he suffered himself, publicly and in his presence, to be styled the greatest king ever the earth produced? These it is true are strong facts; but luckily they do not prove the sense of propriety to be artificial. They only prove, that the sense of propriety is at times overpowered by pride and vanity; which is no singular case, for this sometimes is the fate even of the sense of justice.

[3] Contrary to this rule, the introduction to the third volume of the _Characteristics_, is a continued chain of metaphors. These in such profusion are too florid for the subject; and have beside the bad effect of removing our attention from the principal subject, to fix it upon splendid trifles.

[4] See act 1. sc. 2.

[5] See chap. 7.

[6] See chap. 3.

[7] See the Introduction.

[8] Part I. essay 2. chap. 4.

[9] Poet. cap. 5.

[10] L. 2. De oratore.

[11] Ideoque anceps ejus rei ratio est, quod a derisu non procul abest risus. _Lib._ 6. _cap._ 3. § 1.

[12] See chap. 7.

[13] See chap. 10.

[14] Scarron.

[15] Tassoni.

[16] Nº 102.

[17] Tale of a Tub, sect. 7.

[18] A true and faithful narrative of what passed in London during the general consternation of all ranks and degrees of mankind.

[19] Æn. l. 1. _At Venus obscuro_, &c.

[20] See chap. 10. compared with chap. 7.

[21] B. 2. ch. 11. § 2.

[22] See chap. 1.

[23] De oratore, l. 2. cap. 63.

[24]

If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work:
But when they seldom come, they wish’d-for come,
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
_First part, Henry_ IV. _act 1. sc. 3._

[25] Violent love without affection is finely exemplified in the following story. When Constantinople was taken by the Turks, Irene, a young Greek of an illustrious family, fell into the hands of Mahomet II. who was at that time in the prime of youth and glory. Irene’s charms conquered the savage heart of Mahomet. He abandoned himself to his new mistress; and shut himself up with her, denying access even to his ministers. His passion seemed to increase with time. In the most important expeditions, frequently would he abandon the army, and fly to his Irene. War was at a stand, for victory was no longer the monarch’s favourite passion. The soldiers, accustomed to booty, began to murmur, and the infection spread even among the commanders. The Basha Mustapha, consulting the fidelity he owed his master, was the first who durst acquaint him of the discourses held publicly to the prejudice of his glory.

The Sultan, after a gloomy silence, formed his resolution. He ordered Mustapha to assemble the troops next morning; and then retired with precipitation to Irene’s apartment. Never before did that princess appear so charming: never before did the prince bestow so many tender caresses. To give a new lustre to her beauty, he exhorted her women next morning to bestow all their art and care on her dress. He took her by the hand, led her into the middle of the army, and pulling off her vail, demanded at the Bashas with a fierce look, whether they had ever beheld so accomplished a beauty? After an awful pause, Mahomet with one hand laying hold of the young Greek by her beautiful locks, and with the other pulling out his simitar, severed the head from the body at one stroke. Then turning to his grandees, with eyes wild and furious, “This sword,” says he, “when it is my will, knows to cut the bands of love.”

[26] See chap. 2. part 3.

[27] Lady Easy, upon her husband’s reformation, expresses to her friend the following sentiment. “Be satisfy’d; Sir Charles has made me happy, even to a pain of joy.”

[28] See chap. 2. part 3.

[29] See chap. 2. part 3.

[30] See chap. 2. part 4.

[31] Chap. 2. part 1. sect. 2.

[32] See chap. 2. part 1. sect. 6.

[33] Act 2.

[34] Omnis enim motus animi, suum quemdam a natura habet vultum et sonum et gestum. _Cicero, l. 3. De oratore._

[35] See this explained, Essays on morality and natural religion, part 2. essay 5.

[36] See chap. 2. part 6.

[37] See chap. 17.

[38] Though a soliloquy in the perturbation of passion is undoubtedly natural, and indeed not unfrequent in real life; yet Congreve, who himself has penned several good soliloquies, yields, with more candor than knowledge, that they are unnatural; and he only pretends to justify them from necessity. This he does in his dedication of the _Double Dealer_, in the following words. “When a man in soliloquy reasons with himself, and _pro’s_ and _con’s_, and weighs all his designs; we ought not to imagine, that this man either talks to us, or to himself; he is only thinking, and thinking (frequently) such matter as were inexcuseable folly in him to speak. But because we are concealed spectators of the plot in agitation, and the poet finds it necessary to let us know the whole mystery of his contrivance, he is willing to inform us of this person’s thoughts; and to that end is forced to make use of the expedient of speech, no other better way being yet invented for the communication of thought.”

[39] Act 3. sc. 6.

40 : The actions here chiefly in view, are what a passion suggests in order to its gratification. Beside these, actions are occasionally exerted to give some vent to a passion, without proposing an ultimate gratification. Such occasional action is characteristical of the passion in a high degree; and for that reason, when happily invented, has a wonderful good effect in poetry:

_Hamlet._ Oh most pernicious woman!
Oh villain, villain, smiling damned villain!
My tables---- meet it is I set it down,
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;
At least I’m sure it may be so in Denmark. [_Writing._
So, uncle, there you are.
_Hamlet, act 1. sc. 8._

[41] See chap. 2. part 7.

[42] See passions explained as agreeable or disagreeable, chap. 2. part 2.

[43] Locke.

[44] Rough and blunt manners, are allied to anger by an internal feeling, as well as by external expressions resembling in a faint degree those of anger. Therefore such manners are easily heightened into anger; and savages for that reason are prone to anger. Thus rough and blunt manners are unhappy in two respects. They are first readily converted into anger: and next, the change being imperceptible, because of the similitude of external signs, the person against whom the anger is directed is not put upon his guard. It is for these reasons a great object in society, to correct such manners, and to bring on a habit of sweetness and calmness. This temper has two opposite good effects. First it is not easily provoked to wrath. Next the interval being great betwixt it and real anger, a person of this temper who receives an affront, has many changes to go through before his anger be inflamed. These changes have each of them their external sign, and the offending party is put upon his guard, to retire, or to endeavour a reconciliation.

[45] See chap. 2. part 1. sect. 5.

[46] See chap. 2. part 7.

[47] See Appendix.

[48] In the _Æneid_, the hero is made to describe himself in the following words: _Sum pius Æneas, fama super æthera notus._ Virgil could never have been guilty of an impropriety so gross, had he assumed the personage of his hero, instead of uttering the sentiments of a spectator. Nor would Xenophon have made the following speech for Cyrus the younger, to his Grecian auxiliaries, whom he was leading against his brother Artaxerxes. “I have chosen you, O Greeks! my auxiliaries, not to enlarge my army, for I have _Barbarians_ without number; but because you surpass all the _Barbarians_ in valour and military discipline.” This sentiment is Xenophon’s; for surely Cyrus did not reckon his countrymen Barbarians.

[49] See chap. 2. part 1. sect 6.

[50] This criticism reaches the French dramatic writers in general, with very few exceptions. Their tragedies are mostly, if not totally, descriptive. Corneille led the way; and later writers following his track, have accustomed the French ear to a style, formal, pompous, declamatory, which suits not with any passion. Hence it becomes an easy task to burlesk a French tragedy: it is not more difficult than to burlesk a stiff solemn fop. The facility of the operation has in Paris introduced a singular amusement, which is, to burlesk the more successful tragedies in a sort of farce, called _a parody_. La Motte, who himself appears to have been sorely galled by some of these burlesk compositions, acknowledges, that no more is necessary to give them a run, than barely to vary the _dramatis personæ_, and in place of kings and heroes, queens and princesses, to substitute tinkers and tailors, milkmaids and seamstresses. The declamatory style, so different from the genuine expression of passion, passes in some measure unobserved, when great personages are the speakers. But in the mouths of the vulgar, the impropriety, with regard to the speaker as well as to the passion represented, is so remarkable as to become ridiculous. A tragedy, where every passion is made to speak in its natural tone, is not liable to be thus burlesked. The same passion is by all men expressed nearly in the same manner: and therefore the genuine expressions of passion cannot be ridiculous in the mouth of any man, provided only he be of such a character as to be susceptible of the passion.

It is a well-known fact, that to an English ear the French actors appear to pronounce with too great rapidity; a complaint much insisted on by Cibber in particular, who had frequently heard the famous Baron upon the French stage. This may in some measure be attributed to our want of facility in the French language; as foreigners generally imagine, that every language is pronounced too quick by natives. But that it is not the sole cause, will be probable from a fact directly opposite, that the French are not a little disgusted with the languidness, as they term it, of the English pronunciation. I conjecture this difference of taste may be derived from what is observed above. The pronunciation of the genuine language of passion is necessarily directed by the nature of the passion, and by the slowness or celerity of its progress. In particular, plaintive passions, which are the most frequent in tragedy, having a slow motion, dictate a slow pronunciation. In declamation again, which is not the genuine language of any passion, the speaker warms gradually; and as he warms, he naturally accelerates his pronunciation. But as the French have formed their tone of pronunciation upon Corneille’s declamatory tragedies, and the English upon the more natural language of Shakespear, it is not surprising that custom should produce such difference of taste in the two nations.

[51] See chap. 2. part 3.

[52] See chap. 2. part 7.

[53] Titus Livius, l. 29. §17.

[54] Canto 20. stan. 124. 125. & 126.

[55] Page 316.

[56] Act 1. sc. 1.

[57] Act 2. sc. 1.

[58] Beginning of act 2.

[59] Act 3. sc. 3. at the close.

[60] A certain author says humourously, “Les mots mêmes d’amour et d’amant sont bannis de l’intime société des deux sexes, et relegués avec ceux de _chaine_ et de _flame_ dans les Romans qu’on ne lit plus.” And where nature is once banished, a fair field is open to every fantastic imitation, even the most extravagant.

[61] Act 4. sc. 5.

[62] Act 4. sc. 7.

[63] This observation is finely illustrated by a story which Herodotus records, _book 3_. Cambyses when he conquered Egypt, took Psammenitus the King prisoner: and to try his constancy, ordered his daughter to be dressed in the habit of a slave, and to be employ’d in bringing water from the river. His son also was led to execution with a halter about his neck. The Egyptians vented their sorrow in tears and lamentations. Psammenitus only, with a down-cast eye, remained silent. Afterward meeting one of his companions, a man advanced in years, who being plundered of all, was begging alms, he wept bitterly, calling him by his name. Cambyses was struck with wonder, and sent a messenger with the following question, “Psammenitus, thy master Cambyses is desirous to know, why, after thou hadst seen thy daughter so ignominiously treated, and thy son led to execution, without exclamation or weeping, thou shouldst be so highly concerned for a poor man no way related to thee?” Psammenitus returned the following answer: “Son of Cyrus, the calamities of my family are too great to leave me the power of weeping: but the misfortunes of a companion, reduced in his old age to want of bread, is a fit subject for lamentation.”

[64] See chap. 2. part 3.

[65] Chap. 16.

[66] See this explained more particularly in chap. 8.

[67] Of this take the following specimen:

They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and, indeed, it takes
From our atchievements, though perform’d at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So, oft it chances in particular men,
That for some vicious mole of nature in them,
As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty,
Since Nature cannot chuse his origin),
By the o’ergrowth of some complexion
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason;
Or by some habit, that too much o’er-leavens
The form of plausive manners; that these men
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
(Being Nature’s livery, or Fortune’s scar),
Their virtues else, be they as pure as grace,
As infinite as man may undergo,
Shall in the general censure take corruption
From that particular fault.
_Hamlet, act 1. sc. 7._

[68] The critics seem not perfectly to comprehend the genius of Shakespear. His plays are defective in the mechanical part, which is less the work of genius than of experience; and is not otherwise brought to perfection than by diligently observing the errors of former compositions. Shakespear excels all the ancients and moderns, in knowledge of human nature, and in unfolding even the most obscure and refined emotions. This is a rare faculty, and of the greatest importance in a dramatic author; and it is this faculty which makes him surpass all other writers in the comic as well as tragic vein.

[69] Soliloquies accounted for chap. 15.

[70] Act 2. sc. 2.

[71] Act 1. sc. 1.

[72] Act 1. sc. 2.

[73] Act 1. sc. 2.

[74] See chap. 2. part 1. sect. 4.

[75] Here the German _a_ is understood.

[76] That the Italian tongue is rather too smooth, seems to appear from considering, that in versification vowels are frequently suppressed in order to produce a rougher and bolder tone.

[77] See Swift’s proposal for correcting the English tongue, in a letter to the Earl of Oxford.

[78] See the reason, chap. 8.

[79] De structura perfectæ orationis, l. 2.

[80] Scot’s Christian life.

[81] Elements of criticism, vol. 1. p. 43.

[82] Chap. 2. part 4.

[83] Ibid.

[84] See Gerard’s French grammar, discourse 12.

[85] An argument against abolishing Christianity, Swift.

[86] Letter concerning enthusiasm. Shaftesbury.

[87] See chap. 8.

[88] Treatise of the sublime, cap. 16.

[89] Taking advantage of a declension to separate an adjective from its substantive, as is commonly practised in Latin, though it detract not from perspicuity, is certainly less neat than the English method of juxtaposition. Contiguity is more expressive of an intimate relation, than resemblance merely of the final syllables. Latin indeed has evidently the advantage when the adjective and substantive happen to be connected by contiguity as well as by the resemblance of the final syllables.

[90] See chap. 1.

[91] Reflections sur la poesie Françoise.

[92] See chap. 2. part 1. sect. 4.

[93] Poet. L. 3. l. 365.-454.

[94] See chap. 2. part 4.

[95] De oratore, l. 3. cap. 58.

[96] De structura orationis, sect. 2.

[97] From this passage, however, we discover the etymology of the Latin term for musical expression. Every one being sensible that there is no music in a continued sound; the first inquiries were probably carried no farther, than that to produce a musical expression, a number of sounds is necessary; and musical expression obtained the name of _numerus_, before it was clearly ascertained, that variety is necessary as well as number.

[98] Music, properly so called, is analysed into melody and harmony. A succession of sounds so as to be agreeable to the ear, constitutes melody. Harmony is the pleasure that arises from co-existing sounds. Verse therefore can only reach melody, and not harmony.

[99] After some attention given to this subject, and weighing deliberately every circumstance, I have been forc’d to rest upon the foregoing conclusion, That the Dactyle and Spondee are no other than artificial measures invented for trying the accuracy of composition. Repeated experiments convince me, that though the sense should be altogether neglected, an Hexameter line read by Dactyles and Spondees, will not be melodious. And the composition of an Hexameter line demonstrates this to be true, without necessity of an experiment. It will appear afterward, that in an Hexameter line, there must always be a capital pause at the end of the fifth long syllable, reckoning, as above, two short for one long. And when we measure this line by Dactyles and Spondees, the pause now mentioned divides always a Dactyle or a Spondee: it never falls in at the end of either of these feet. Hence it is evident, that if a line be pronounced, as it is scanned, by Dactyles and Spondees, the pause must be utterly neglected; which consequently must destroy the melody, because a pause is essential to the melody of an Hexameter verse. If, on the other hand, the melody be preserved by making this pause, the pronouncing by Dactyles and Spondees must be abandoned.

What has led grammarians into the use of Dactyles and Spondees, seems not beyond the reach of conjecture. To produce melody, the latter part of a Hexameter line consisting of a Dactyle and a Spondee, must be read according to these feet: in this part of the line, the Dactyle and Spondee are distinctly expressed in the pronunciation. This discovery, joined with another, that the foregoing part of the verse could be measured by the same feet, has led grammarians to adopt these artificial measures, and perhaps rashly to conclude, that the pronunciation is directed by these feet as well as the composition. The Dactyle and Spondee at the close, serve indeed the double purpose of regulating the pronunciation as well as the composition: but in the foregoing part of the line, they regulate the composition only, not the pronunciation.

If we must have feet in verse to regulate the pronunciation, and consequently the melody, these feet must be determined by the pauses. The whole syllables interjected betwixt two pauses ought to be deemed one musical foot; because, to preserve the melody, they must all be pronounced together, without any stop. And therefore, whatever number there are of pauses in a Hexameter line, the parts into which it is divided by these pauses, make just so many musical feet.

Connection obliges me here to anticipate, by observing, that the same doctrine is applicable to English heroic verse. Considering its composition merely, it is of two kinds. One is composed of five Iambi; and one of a Trochæus followed by four Iambi. But these feet afford no rule for pronouncing. The musical feet are obviously those parts of the line that are interjected betwixt two pauses. To bring out the melody, these feet must be expressed in the pronunciation; or, which comes to the same, the pronunciation must be directed by the pauses, without regard to the Iambus or Trochæus.

[100] See chap. 2. part 1. sect. 4.

[101] Poet. cap. 25.

[102] See chap. 9.

[103] Vossius, _de poematum cantu_, p. 26. says, “Nihil æque gravitati orationis officit, quam in sono ludere syllabarum.”

[104] Spectator, Nº 285.

[105] Preface to his _Œdipus_, and in his discourse upon tragedy, prefixed to the tragedy of _Brutus_.

End of Project Gutenberg's Elements of Criticism, Volume II., by Henry Home