CHAP. I. The Design of the whole Work.

ARTS, as well as Sciences, are founded upon Reason, and in both we are to be guided by the Light of Nature. But in Sciences, neither the Inventers, nor the Improvers of them, are to make use of any other Guides but this Light of Nature: Whereas on the other hand, all Arts depend upon a great many other things, such as the Choice and Genius of those, who first invented them, or of those who have labour'd at them with an Universal Applause.

Poetry is of this Nature: And thò Reason might have first founded it, yet it cannot be deny'd but that the Invention of Poets, and the Choice they have been pleas'd to make, have added thereto both its Matter and Form. 'Tis then in the excellent Pieces of Antiquity we are to look for the Fundamentals of this Art: And, they are only to be rely'd on, to whom all others yield the Glory [Page 2] of having either practis'd with the most Success, or collected and prescrib'd Rules with the greatest Judgment.

The Greeks and Latins have furnish'd us with Examples of both kinds. Aristotle and Horace left behind them such Rules, as make them by all Men of Learning, to be look'd upon as perfect Masters of the Art of Poetry: And the Poems of Homer and Virgil are, by the Grant of all Ages, the most perfect Models of this way of Writing, the World ever saw. So that if ever a Just and Supreme Authority had the Power to prescribe Laws and Rules to any Art, one cannot question but these four Persons had all Authority on their side, with respect to the Epick Poem. And this is the only kind we shall treat of at present.

'Tis true, the Men of our Times may have as much Spirit as the Ancients had; and in those things which depend upon Choice and Invention, they may likewise have as just and as lucky Fancies: But then it would be a Piece of Injustice to pretend that our new Rules destroy those of our first Masters; and that they must needs condemn all their Works, who could not foresee our Humours, nor adapt themselves to the Genius of such Persons as were to be born in after-Ages, under different Governments, and under a different Religion from theirs; and with Manners, Customs, and Languages, that have no kind of relation to them.

Having no Design then by this Treatise to make Poets after the Model of our Age (with which I am not sufficiently acquainted) but only to furnish my self with some sort of Foundation in the Design I have of explaining the Aeneid of Virgil; I need not concern my self with every new Invention of these last Times. I am not of Opinion, that what our late Authors think is universal Reason, and such a common Notion as Nature must needs have put into the Head of Virgil. But leaving Posterity to determine whether these Novelties be well or ill devis'd, I shall only acquiesce in what I think may be prov'd from Homer, Aristotle, and Horace. I will interpret the one by the Other, and Virgil by all Three, as having the same Genius and Idea of the Epick Poesie.

CHAP. II. What is the Nature of the Epick Poem.

THE most considerable difference my Subject presents me with between the Style of the Ancients, and that of the last Ages, is, That our way of Speaking is plain, proper, and with­out [Page 3] the Turn: Whereas theirs was full of Mysteries and Allegories. The Truth was mask'd under these ingenious Inventions, which for their Excellence go under the name of Fables, or Sayings; as if there were as much difference between these fabulous Discourses of the Wise, and the ordinary Language of the Vulgar, as there is between the Language that is proper to Men, and the Sounds brute Beasts make use of to express their Passions and Sensations.

At first the Fables were employ'd in speaking of the Divine Na­ture according to the Notion they then had of it. This sublime Subject made the first Poets to be stil'd Divines, and Poetry the Language of the Gods. They divided the Divine Attributes as it were into so many Persons; because the Infirmity of a Humane Mind cannot sufficiently conceive, or explain so much Power and Action in a Simplicity so great and indivisible as is that of God. And perhaps they were jealous of the Advantages they reap'd from such excellent and refin'd Learning, and which they thought the vulgar part of Mankind was not worthy of.

They could not tell us of the Operations of this Almighty Cause, without speaking at the same time of its Effects: So that to Divi­nity they added Physiology, and treated thereof, without quitting the Umbrages of their Allegorical Expressions.

But Man being the chief and the most noble of all the Effects which God produc'd, and nothing being so proper, nor more useful to Poets than this Subject, they have added it to the former, and treated of the Doctrine of Morality after the same manner as they did that of Divinity and Philosophy: And from Morality thus dis­cours'd of, has Art form'd that kind of Poem and Fable, which we call the Epick.

What the Divines made their Divinity, that did the Epick Poets make their Morality. But that infinite Variety of the Actions and Operations of the Divine Nature (to which our Understanding bears but little proportion) did as it were force them upon dividing the single Idea of the only one God into several Persons, under the different Names of Jupiter, Juno, Neptune, and the rest. And on the other hand, the Nature of Moral Philosophy being such as never lays down a Rule for any particular thing, the Epick Poets were oblig'd to unite in one single Idea, in one and the same Person, and in an Action that appear'd singular, all that look'd like it in different Persons, and in various Actions, which might be thus con­tain'd as so many Species under their Genus.

Therefore when Aristotle speaks to this purpose, That Poetry is more serious than [...]. Poet. c. 9. History, and that Poets are greater Philo­sophers than Historians are: He does not only speak this to magnifie the Excellence of this Art, but to in­form [Page 4] us also of the Nature of it. [...]. I­bid. Poesie, says he, teaches Morality not by Recital only as an Historian, who barely tells us what Alcibiades for Instance ('tis Aristotle's own Instance) did or suffer'd: But by proposing whatever a Per­son, let the Poet call him by what name he pleases, ought either necessarily, or in all probability, to have said or done upon that or the like occasion? 'Tis in this Nature that the Poet lays down the bad Consequences of an ill-grounded Design or a wicked Action; or else the Reward of good Actions, and the Satisfaction one re­ceives from a Design form'd by Vertue, and manag'd by Prudence. Thus in the [...]. I­bid. Epopea, according to Ari­stotle, let the Names be what they will, yet the Persons and the Actions are Feign'd, Allegorical, and Ʋniversal; not Historical and Singular.

Horace is likewise of the same mind, as we shall see hereafter. Only by the way we cannot but observe, that he not only says Quicquid sit pulchrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non, Plenius & melius Chrysippo & Cran­tore dicit. Epist. Lib. 1. Ep. 2. that Poets teach Men Morality full as well as Philosophers, but in that he even gives Homer the Pre-emi­nence.

The reason Poets are more excellent here­in than the plain downright Philosopher, is this, [...]. Arist. Poet. c. 1. that every sort of Poem is in gene­ral an Imitation. Now Imitation is extreme­ly natural, and pleases every body: By which means this way of proposing things is more charming, and more proper to take with an Audience. Besides Imitation is an Instruction by Examples; and Examples are very proper to perswade, since they prove such or such a thing is feasi­ble. In short, [...]. Poet. c. 4. Imitation is so far the Essence of Poetry, that it is Poetry it self, as Aristotle the first Founder of this Art tells us: And Respicere exemplar vitae morum (que) jubebo Doctum Imitatorem, & veras hinc ducere Voces. Hor. Art. Poet. Horace recommends it very parti­cularly to the Poet he would create.

But thô Poets play the Moral Philosophers, yet still they are no less Divines. The Morality they deal withal, does indispensibly oblige them to have a Vein of Divinity run thrô all their Works: Because the Knowledge, the Fear, and the Love of God; in a Word, Piety and Religion, are the chief and solidest Foundations of other Vertues, and of all Morality.

[Page 5] The Presence of the Deity, and the Care such an August Cause ought to take about any Action, obliges the Poet to represent this Action as great, important, and manag'd by Res gestae regumque Ducumque. Hor. Art. Poet. Kings and Princes. It obliges him like­wise to think and speak in an elevated way above the Vulgar, and in a Style that may in some sort keep up the Character of the Divine Persons he introduces. Cui mens divinior atque os Magna sonaturum des Nominis hujus honorem. Horat. To this end serves the Poetical and Figurative Expression, and the Majesty of the Heroick Verse.

But all this, being divine and surprizing, may quite ruine all Probability: Therefore the Poet should take special care as to that Point, since his chief aim is to instruct, and without Probability any Action is less likely to perswade.

To all this the Poets are oblig'd by the substance of the Things they propose to themselves as the subject Matter of their Poems and Instructions. The manner of teaching them usefully and methodi­cally, has likewise oblig'd them to add several other Rules.

The Epopéa's business is with the Morals and Habitudes more than the Passions. These rise on a sudden, and their Heat is soon over; but the Habitudes are more calm, and come on, and go off more leisurely. Therefore the Epick Action cannot be contain'd in one single day, as the Dramatick can: It must have a longer and more just space allow'd it, than that of Tragedy, which is only allow'd for the Passions.

This Distinction makes the Tragedy and the Epopéa differ very much. The violence of Tragedy requires a great deal more lively and brisk Representation than that of a Recital: besides it is all Action, and the Poet says never a Word, as he does in the Epopéa, where there are no Actors.

But if in this the Epopéa is inferiour to the Drama, yet 'tis su­periour to both Philosophy and History: because 'tis a great deal more active than bare Philosophy, and the Recitals of History: And thô it does not present Actors to the Eyes of the Spectators, yet it ought at least more frequently than Historians, to break off the Thread of its Discourse by the Speeches of its Personages. This Aristotle orders, when he says, that the Narration of the Epick ought to be Dramatick, that is to say, very active.

It has likewise its Passions, which give it no small Advantage over Philosophy and History: But in this it is inferiour to Tragedy. For thô it has a mixture of all the Passions, yet Joy and Admiration are the most essential to it. These indeed contribute most towards the making us wise Men: Admiration and Curiosity are the Cause of Sciences; and nothing engages us so forcibly as Pleasure. So that these two Passions must never be wanting to any invented Piece, if we would be inform'd in what we are indispensibly oblig'd to know.

[Page 6] To conclude, because the Precepts had need be Quicquid praecipies esto brevis, ut citò dicta Per­cipiant animi dociles, te­neant (que) fideles. Hor. Poet. concise, that so they may be more easily conceiv'd, and less burden the Memo­ry; and because nothing can be more ef­fectual thereto, than proposing one single Idea, and collecting all things so well to­gether, that so they may be present to our Minds all at once, the Poets have reduc'd all to one Denique sit quodvis sim­plex duntaxat, & unum. Ibid. single Action, under one and the same Design, and in a Body whose Members and Parts should be homogeneous.

CHAP. III. The Definition of the Epick Poem.

THat which we have observ'd concerning the Nature of the Epick Poem, gives us a just Idea of it, which we may express thus:

‘The EPOPEA is a Discourse invented by Art, to form the Manners by such Instructions as are disguis'd under the Alle­gories of some one important Action, which is related in Verse. after a probable, diverting, and surprizing Manner.’

This here is the Definition of the Epopéa, and not of Poetry it self. For that is an Art of making all sorts of Poems, of which the Epick is but a part. The Epopéa then is not an Art, but an arti­ficial thing, as 'tis express'd in the Definition, which says 'tis a Discourse invented by Art.

It is likewise one sort of Poem, as 'tis intimated in the Definition by its being call'd a Discourse in Verse: And the rest distinguishes it from all other sorts of Poems.

The Action of Comedy is not very impor­tant; and besides the [...]. A­rist. Poet. c. 3. Poet says nothing, but only the Persons he introduces, say and act All, just as in Tragedy. For this reason both This and That is stil'd a Dramatick Poem. And thus it is plain the Epopéa is neither Tragedy nor Comedy.

Nor is it a piece of Natural Philosophy, as the Poems of Empedo­cles and Lucretius: Nor a Treatise of Husbandry, and the like, as the Georgicks of Virgil: Because these Pieces are not design'd to form Men's Manners, and the Instructions contain'd in them are naked, simple, and proper, without Disguise and Allegories.

[Page 7] This second reason, which more especially concerns the Essence and Nature of Poesy, does likewise exclude from the number of Epick Poems, any Piece of Morality writ in Verse, and a plain History, such as Lucan's Pharsalia, the Punick War of Silius Ita­licus, and such like real Actions of some singular Persons without a Fable, and in short every thing that is describ'd in Verse after this manner.

I shall not trouble my head to take notice how the Epopéa, dif­fers from the Satyr, the Eclogue, the Ode, the Elegy, the Epigram, and other lesser Poems: For this is self-evident.

But it will not be amiss to reflect upon what has been already said, and from thence to conclude that the Epopéa has some rela­tion to Four Things; viz. to the Poem, to the Fable, to Moral Philosophy, and to History.

It has a relation to History, because as well This as That relates one or more Actions: But the Actions of History are singular and true, so that the Epopéa is neither a History, nor a Species of History.

It has a necessary relation to Morality, since both one and the other instructs Men in their Morals; but the Action and the Alle­gories which are proper to it, is the cause why properly speaking it is not Moral Philosophy, although it may be stil'd a Species of it; and in short, it has a great deal more relation to this than to History.

But it belongs altogether to the Poem and the Fable, since it is properly and truly a Poem and a Fable; and is only distinguish'd from other Poems and Fables, as several Species, which equally partake of the same Genus, are distinguish'd from one another. Besides, the Definition does exactly include both, since a Poem is a Discourse in Verse, and a Fable is a Discourse invented to form Men's Morals by Instructions disguis'd under the Allegories of an Action. So that one might abridge the Definition we have given of the Epick Poem, and only say, that it is a Fable gracefully form'd upon an important Action, which is related in Verse after a very probable and surprising manner.

CHAP. IV. Of the Parts of the Epick Poem. The Division of this Treatise.

THE Parts of the Epick Poem contain'd in the former Defi­nition are its Nature, its Matter, its Form, and its Manner of proposing Things.

Its Nature is twofold; for the Epopéa is both a Fable and a Poem. But these two several Genus's agree very well together, and compose a Body, that is no Monster. One may likewise very well separate these two Natures from one another, and say, that the Fable is that which constitutes the Nature of the Epopéa; and that the Poem tells us how to manage the Fable, and comprehends the Thoughts, the Expression, and the Verse.

The Matter of it is an Action feign'd with probability, and drawn from the Actions of Kings, Princes, and Gods. This tells us two Things, the Action and the Persons, and therein it does not at all differ from Tragedy.

The Form of it is, that the Persons are not here introduc'd to the Spectator's view, acting by themselves without the Poet, as in Tragedy: But that the Action is recited by the Poet.

The End of the Epick Poem is to lay down Moral Instructions for all sorts of People both in general and in particular. This part belongs to the Poem as it is a Fable. It contains the Moral which serves for the Foundation of the Fable; and besides that it con­tains the Manners of those Personages who make some considerable Figure in the Poem.

Lastly, as the Form includes the Person of the Poet who makes the Rehearsal: So does the End comprehend the Persons of the Au­dience for whom the Poet designs his Instructions.

All these Things will make up the Subject-Matter of this Trea­tise: But 'tis not necessary they should be all handled with the same particularity and exactness.

Some will very naturally fall under others, as that will, for in­stance, which we have to say concerning the Poet and his Audience.

To treat of the End and the Moral a-part would require too vast a Compass; I shall content my self to speak thereof in speaking of the Fable, and in other Places, where the necessary connexion of that Part with the rest will afford me just Occasions of speaking as much of it as is requisite for my purpose.

Aristotle divided the Thoughts and Expressions into two Parts, as was very requisite: But so many Authors have handled these [Page 9] Things, and so copiously too, that I think my self excused from repeating and copying those Things, which are under the Jurisdiction of other Arts. I will leave these Things then to the Rhetoricians, Grammarians, and to those who have writ so much about them even in Poetry it self. So that the little I have to say will be com­pris'd in one part. And my Unwillingness to be copious, is the Reason which obliges me to speak still less of the Poem and Versi­fication.

But I shall write very fully of the Fable, as being the most essential part of the Epopéa. So likewise I shall concerning it a Form, and its Matter. Nay more, I shall handle distinctly the Morals of the Persons. And lastly, I shall distinguish the Gods from the Men. The Gods are usually express'd by the Name of Machines, because the Poets make use of such to let them down upon the Theatre; from whence the Epopéa has likewise borrow­ed the Name.

According to this Account, this Treatise will be divided into six Parts or Books.

• The First will be concerning the Nature of the Epick Poem, where we shall treat of the Fable.
• The Second Book will treat of the Matter, or of the Epick Action.
• The Third of the Form, or the Narration.
• The Fourth of the Manners and Characters of Humane Per­sonages.
• The Fifth of Machines, or of the Presence and Action of the Gods.
• And the Sixth of the Thoughts and Expressions.

CHAP. V. Of the Poem.

A Poem is a Discourse in Verse; and a Verse is a part of a Dis­course measur'd by a certain number of long and short Syl­lables, with a grateful Cadence, that is constantly repeated. This Repetition is necessary to distinguish the Notion we have of Verse, from that of Prose. For in Prose as well as Verse, every Period and Clause are so many parts of a Discourse measured by a certain number of long and short Syllables; but Prose is ever and anon altering its Cadences and Measures, which Verse never does.

[Page 10] The Repetition, which the Poets make use of, seems still the same in the way of Writing: for, when one Verse is finish'd, they come back again to the beginning of another Line to write the next Verse. And this coming back again, is that which gives it the Name of Versus. Verse; and this Name in Latin is common to Verses, and several other things that are rang'd, as they are, in different Lines; as Trees, for instance, which are set in Rows.

The Latins call Verses likewise by the Name of Carmina; but this is an Equivocal Term: for besides its signifying Verses, or Poems, it may be used to express other things. 'Tis a Term that is given to the Ramoque sedens mise­rabile Carmen Integrat. Virg. Geor. 4. Singing of Birds, to the Ducite ab urbe domum, mea Carmina, ducite Daph­nim. Carmina vel coelo possunt deducere lunam. Carminibus Circe socios mutavit Ulyssis. Ecl. 8. Charms of Ma­gick, to certain Lex horrendi Carminis erat: Duûmviri perduellionem judicent, si à Duûmviris provocatione certârit, provoca­tione certato, &c. Tit. Liv. Hist. l. 1. Forms of Law, to Rem Carmine signo: Aeneas haec de Danais Victoribus Armis. Virg. Aeneid. l. 3. In­scriptions or Devices, to Tumulo superaddite Carmen; Daplinis ego in sylvis hinc usque ad sidera notus, Formosi pecoris custos, formosior ipse. Virg. Ecl. 5. Epitaphs, and other such like things.

For the making of Verses, 'tis not enough to take care of the Measure and Quantity of the Syllables, and to place six Feet just after one another in the same Line; there must be likewise some grateful Cadences, of which there are several Rules laid down in treating about Caesura's, Synalepha's, the Length of Words, and the like. Besides this, there must be some Tenses of Verbs, some Moods, some Regiments, some Constructions, and some Words pro­per only to Verse, and which Prose knows nothing of.

But above all, there must be in Verse the Turn, and some ways of speaking that are elevated, bold, and metaphorical; which are so proper to this kind of Writing, that without them the most exact placing of long and short Syllables is not so much Verse as Prose in Metre: And, on the contrary, these bold Ex­pressions, so proper to Verse, when used in a Discourse that has not Feet nor Poetical Numbers, do give it such an Air of Verse, that it is not so properly Prose, as a kind of Poesie without Num­bers, and as Horace says, Disjecti Membra Poetae.

As Ego nec studium sine divite venâ, nec rude quid prosit video ingeni­um. Hor. Poet. Nature does not inspire into us the Rules of Poetry and Verse; so neither does Art and Study help us to that Air, that Force, and that Elevation, in which Horace discovers something that is Divine, and which only makes a Man deserve the Name of Poet. This is an Accomplishment a Man should be born with, owing either to the [Page 11] Excellency of his Nature, or to some happy Transports; but with­all so extraordinary, that the Ancients, and [...]. Arist. Poet. cap. 17. Aristotle himself, stile them Fits of En­thusiasm or Frensie: yet still there is to be supposed an exact and solid Judgment to master this Frensie and Imagination of the Poet.

From what has been said, we may conclude that the End of Poetry is to please: that its Cause is either the Excellency of the Poet's Nature, or the Poetick Frensie, and these Transports of Spirit, that are to be govern'd by Judgment. Its Matter is the long and short Syllables, the Numbers it is made up of, and the Words which Grammar furnishes it with, as well as Prose. And its Form is the ranging of all these Things in such exact and charming Verses, as may best express the Thoughts of the Author after the manner we have been describing.

But after all, how confin'd is all this, if we consider the great Name of Poet in the Honour Homer and Virgil did it, and in all the Extent it is capable of! What we have said about it has nothing of Praise-worthy in it, but what ev'ry pitiful Translator may pretend to, and what the War of Catiline turn'd into Verse might bestow upon him, that would transpose the Prose of Sal­lust after this manner. 'Tis with Reason then that we distinguish these mean Subjects from great Poetry, by giving them the name of Versification; and that we make, as it were, two distinct Arts of Versification and Poetry. In a word, there is as much Diffe­rence between the Art of Making Verses, and that of Inventing Poems, as there is between Grammar and Rhetorick.

This great Art consists chiefly in the Fable, in the manner of Expressing Things by Allegories and Metaphors, and in the Inven­tion of some probable Matter; that is, of some Actions, under which the Poet very charmingly disguises the Truths he would have us learn. This is so proper to the Poet, that even in the Expression [...]. Poet. c. 22. Aristotle re­commends nothing so much as the Meta­phor. Which agrees very well with that which we have already said about the Nature of Poetry. For the Fables are so many Allegorical Disguises, and an Allegory is no­thing else but a Series and Chain of Metaphors linked together.

We shall speak of the Fable, and these important Matters in the Sequel of this Treatise. We shall here only make this one Re­flection; That the true Poems, and such as have more of the Es­sence and Nature of Great Poetry than any other, are the Epapcit, the Tragedy, and the Comedy; for they are all Allegorical and Fabulous. Nor has [...]. Poet. c. 6. Aristotle in his Poetry undertaken to treat of any more than these [Page 12] three sorts. If we compare them together, the Epopéa will excel the other two by that great Liberty it takes of using Metaphors and perpetual Allusions in the Fables. Allegori­cal Expressions would be more obscure upon the Stage, and would have something that is less probable in the Mouth of the Actors we hear speak, than in the Narration of a Poet, who writes purely to be read. Comedy must likewise yield to Tragedy, be­cause it has little of Elevation, and the manner of its Actors Speaking, is too Natural and Familiar.

This very Thing has made some People question whether Idicirco quidam Comoe­dia necne Poema esset quaesivere: quod acer spi­ritus ac vis nec Verbis nec rebus inest; nisi quod pede certo differt sermoni sermo Merus. Hor. Lib. 1. Sat. 4. Comedy were a true Poem or no. Which Difficulty is wholly grounded upon this general Notion, That a Poem is a Discourse in Verse. Now in the Latin Comedy, the Discourse has nothing in it of Verse, but Feet and Numbers. This indeed is enough for such a Poetical Subject as Comedy is. And we suppose in this we are of Horace's Opinion, at least he attributes this Doubt to a very few Persons.

But this measure only, without any Air to distinguish the Dis­course from Prose, makes no Verses: And for this Reason has. Primum ego meillorum dederim quibus esse Poë­tas, Excerpam numero; neque enim concludere Versum Dixeris esse satis; neque si quis scribat uti nos Sermoni propiora, putes hunc esse Poëtam. Ibid. Horace call'd his Satyrs by a Prose Name; viz. Sermons. His Epistles are the same. His Odes are of a different Air, and these he calls by a Poetical Name, Carmina.

The Case is not the same with Subjects that are not Poetical, but writ in Verse, and adorn'd with Fables and Allegories; as, the Georgicks of Virgil, Lucan's Pharsalia, the Punick War of Silius Italicus, and the like. The truth on't is, these Fables and Allegories are not sufficient for an Epopéa, and its main Action, that ought to be a Fable; so that we do not take the Geor­gicks or the Pharsalia to be an Epopéa; but yet this should not hinder us from thinking them to be true Poems for all that.

But if a Man writes an Epopéa in Prose, would it be an Epick Poem? No, I think not; for a Poem is a Discourse in Verse. But yet this would not hinder its being an Epopéa; just as a Tragedy in Prose is still a Tragedy, though it be not a Tragick Poem. They who have question'd whether the Latin Comedy were a Poem or no, never doubted but it was a Comedy.

I should have said less upon such trite Matters, but that I was asham'd to take no notice at all what a Poem or a Verse was, be­ing to treat so largely about the Epick Poem.

CHAP. VI. Of the Fable.

[...]. Poet. c. 6. ARistotle says, The Fable is the principal Part of the Poem, and that 'tis as it were the very Soul of it. Therefore we must look for the Nature of the Epopéa in that of the Fable, and consider That as the chief Foundation of the Poem, as the Principle that gives Life and Motion to all its parts, and sets all its Faculties on work. We have indeed begun to define the Epo­péa by the Definition we gave of the Fable; for the Fable is a Discourse invented to form Mens Manners by Instructions dis­guis'd under the Allegories of one single Action.

There are several sorts of Fables, which one may treat after very different ways. The Poet forms his from that which is most excellent in each of these sorts.

There are reckon'd three sorts of Fables. The first fall under the Names of Men and Gods, and are call'd Rational; the second are only comprised under the Names of Beasts, and derive their Name of Moratoe from the humane Manners, which are attribu­ted to them; and the last are a Mixture of these two sorts of Personages, and are call'd Mix'd.

The Epick Fables are Rational. Nor do I think that the Li­berty Homer has taken of making a Horse speak only once in his Iliad, ought to make this Fable be counted a mix'd one. I should rather reckon this incident among the Machines and Mi­racles; as we read in the Roman History it sometimes happen'd, and as we know it did in Balaam's Ass.

Besides, 'twas such a common thing in those times to make use of these sorts of Fables, and to bring in brute Beasts, and even Trees speaking: and this Custom was so generally look'd upon as Mark of Learning, a Genius, and Eloquence; that had Homer us'd it oftner, I do not see how any one could blame this Fa­ble for any Irregularity. But in short, this Custom of making Beasts speak is so little relish'd by these last Ages, that even Ho­mer's Example would not make it excusable in any of our mo­dern Writers.

However 'tis, this inconsiderable Incident, which does not hin­der but the Epick Fable may be reckon'd among the Rational ones, will not hinder it from being plac'd among the Probable ones; though this Qualification be not at all necessary for the Fa­ble in general.

[Page 14] In fine, the Action of a Fable may be serious, great, and im­portant, or familiar, low, and vulgar. It may be either perfect or defective; writ in Verse or Prose; swell'd to a large Discourse, or express'd in a few Words; recited by the Author, or repre­sented by the Persons who are the sole Actors in it. And all these different ways make no Alteration in the Essence, and in the Nature of the Fable.

Excepting the Representation, which the Epick Poet leaves the Stage to be Master of, he takes always the most excellent, and the most noble Method. So that the Epick Action is grave, important, compleat, and rehearsed in a long train of Verses.

One may add to this, that there are some Fables which consist less in Action than in Speaking; as that Fable, for instance, which ridicules the foolish Vanity of those Men, who attribute all the Glory of an Event to themselves, for the producing of which they contributed nothing but their own unprofitable Presence. The Fable represents them under the Allegory of a Fly, which lighting upon a Chariot, and seeing her self in the midst of a Cloud of Dust, which the Chariot-Wheels and the Horse-Feet rai­sed in the Air, cries out; O Gemini! What a Dust do I make? The Epick is not of this sort of Fables, but of those which imi­tate an Action.

These then are the Differences which specifie the Epick Fable, and distinguish it from all others. It is Rational and Probable; it imitates an Action that is compleat and important; it is long and rehears'd in Verse; but neither of these Properties change its Nature, nor make it less a Fable, than those which are publish'd in Aesop's Name.

So much for the Sorts and Differences of the Epick Fable, now for its Parts.

[...]. Aristotle says, that the Fable is a Com­position of several Things. And in truth two Things do compose it, which are as it were its two essential Parts. The one is Truth, which serves as a Foundation to it; and the other is Fiction, which Allegorically disguises this Truth, and gives it the Form of a Fable.

The Truth lies conceal'd; and is that piece of Morality the Poet would teach us. The Romans made use of this very Expression, when they said to Vel qui Praetextas, vel qui docuere Togatas. Hor. Poet. Teach Fables and Trage­dies, instead of saying to Act and Repre­sent them. The Fiction is the Action or the Words, whereby these Instruction are veil'd. In the Instance we just now propos'd, the Truth is this, that it is ridiculous to brag of any thing we have no hand in: and the Fiction is that pleasant Thought of a Fly riding upon [Page 15] a Chariot, and crying, Bless me! what a Dust do I make?

The Truth lies under no Difficulty here, since the Moral Instru­ction ought always to be true.

‘But suppose the imitated Action be taken out of History, would this pass for a Fiction? The Difficulty is the same, if it be taken from a Fable that is already known, since after this manner, the Poet would at little invent and feign it, as if he had found it in History: And yet if the Author feigns nothing, we may well dispute with him the Name of Poet.’

To this we answer, that the Poet ought to feign one General Action; then he should look for the Names of some Persons (to whom a parallel Action has either truly or probably happen'd) in History, or some well-known Fables: And lastly, he ought to place his Action under these Names. Thus it will be really feign'd and invented by the Author, and yet will seem to be ta­ken out of some very ancient History and Fable. This we shall explain by what follows: we will begin to do so by the Instance of a Fable compos'd after this Method.

CHAP. VII. The Method of Composing a Fable.

THE first thing we are to begin with for Composing a Fable, is to chuse the Instruction, and the point of Morality, which is to serve as its Foundation, according to the Design and End we propose to our selves.

I would, for Instance, exhort two Brothers, or any other Per­sons, who hold an Estate in Common, to agree well together, the better to preserve it: And this is the End of the Fable, and the first thing I thought on.

For this purpose I endeavour to imprint upon their Minds this Maxim; That a Misunderstanding between Friends is the ru­in of Families, and of all sorts of Societies. This Maxim which I make choice of, is the Point of Morality, and the Truth which serves as a Foundation to the Fable I would compose.

In the next place this Moral Truth must be reduc'd into Acti­on, and a general Action must be feign'd in Imitation of the true and singular Actions of those who have been ruin'd by a Misun­derstanding that has happen'd among them. I say then, that se­veral Persons were engaged together to look after an Estate, which they hold in Common. They fall out with one another, and this Difference leaves them defenceless to the Will of an Ene­my who ruins them.

[Page 16] This is the first Platform of a Fable. The Action, which this Recital presents us with, has four Qualifications: it is Ʋniversal, it is Imitated, it is Feign'd, and it contains Allegorically, a Moral Truth. This Model then comprehends the two Essential Parts which compose the Fable, viz. the Truth and the Fiction. All this is common to all sorts of Fables.

The Names that are given to the Personages do first specifie a Fable. Aesop gives them the Names of Beasts. ‘Once upon a time (says he) two Dogs were set to keep a Flock of Sheep, they fight with one another, and leave the Sheep without De­fence to the Mercy of the Wolf, that commits what Ravage he pleases among them.’ These Names are the meanest of any. The Action is still General, and the Fiction is altogether apparent.

We may disguise the Fiction, render the Action more singular, and make it a Rational Fable by the Names of Men invented at Pleasure. ‘ Pridamant and Orontes, two Brothers by a second Marriage, were left very rich by their Father's last Will and Testament. They could not agree in sharing their Estates, and were so obstinately bent one against the other, that to pro­vide for their common Interest against Clitander (their elder Brother by a former Marriage) was the very least of their care. He very dextrously foments their Quarrel, and keeps them from minding the Design he has upon them, by pretending he ex­pected nothing but a small Gratuity by the Accommodations, which he daily proposes, but never urges home to them. In the mean time he gains upon the Judges, and all others, who were intrusted with this Affair; he procures the Will to be cancell'd, and becomes Master of all that Estate he pretended he would have gratified his Brothers with, though to his own prejudice.’

This Fable is a Rational and Probable Fable; but because the Names are feign'd as well as the Things, and the Action is only particular, and the Fami­lies ordinary, it is neither an Epick nor Tragick Fable; and can only be manag'd in Comedy. For [...]. Poet. c. 9. Aristotle informs us, That Comick Poets invent both the Names and the Things.

In order to make this an Alamode Comick Fable, some Girl or another should have been promised to Clitander; but the Will should have put the Father upon altering his Design, and he should have oblig'd her to have married one of these two rich Coxcombs, for whom she had not the least Fancy. And here the Comical Part might have been carried on very regularly even as the Poet pleas'd. But to return.

The Fiction might be so disguis'd under the Truth of History, that those who are ignorant of the Poet's Art would believe that [Page 17] he had made no Fiction. But the better to carry on this Disguise, search must be made in History for the Names of some Persons to whom this feign'd Action might either Probably or Really have happen'd; and then must the Action be rehears'd under these known Names, with such Circumstances as alter nothing of the Essence ei­ther of the Fable or the Moral: as in the following Example.

‘In the War King Philip the Fair had with the Flemings in the Year 1302, he sent out his Army under the Command of Robert Earl of Artois his General, and Ralph of Nesle his Con­stable. When they were in the Plain of Courtray in sight of the Enemy, the Constable says, 'Twas so easie to starve them, that it would be advisable not to hazard the Lives of so many brave Men against such vile and despicable Fellows. The Earl very haughtily rejects this Advice, charging him with Cowardice and Treachery. We will see, replies the Constable in a rage, which of us has the most Loyalty and Bravery: and with that away he rides directly towards the Enemy, drawing all the French Cavalry after him. This Precipitation, and the Dust they rais'd, hinder'd them from discovering a large and deep River, beyond which the Flemings were posted. The French were miserably cast away in the Torrent. At this Loss the Infantry were so startled, that they suffer'd themselves to be cut in pieces by the Enemy.’

'Tis by this means that the Fiction may have some Agreement with the Truth it self, and the Precepts of the Art do not con­tradict one another, though they order us to begin by feign­ing an Action, and then advise us to draw it from History. As for the Fiction and Fable, it signifies little whether the Persons are Dogs, or Oronics and Pridamont, or Robert d'Artois and the Earl of Nesle, or lastly Achilles and Agamemnon.

'Tis time we should now propose it in its just Extent under the two last Names in the Iliad. It is too narrow for an Epopéa under the former Names.

CHAP. VIII. Of the Fable of the Iliad.

THE Fable of the Iliad, at the bottom, is nothing else but that which I just now propos'd. I will treat of it here at large, because I cannot give you a greater light into this Doctrine, than by the Practice of Homer. 'Tis the most exact Model of the Epopéa, and the most useful Abridgment of all the Precepts of this Art; [Page 18] since in truth, Aristotle himself has extracted them out of the Works of this great Poet.

In every thing which a Man undertakes with Design, the End he proposes to himself is always the first thing which occurs in his Mind, and upon which he grounds the whole Work, and all its parts. Thus, since the Epick Poem was invented to form the Manners of Men, 'tis by this first View the Poet ought to begin.

The School-men treat of Vertues and Vices in general. The In­structions they give are proper for all sorts of People, and for all Ages. But the Poet has a nearer Regard to his own Country, and the Necessities he sees his own Nation lie under. 'Tis upon this account that he makes choice of some piece of Morality, the most proper and fittest he can imagine: and in order to press this home, he makes less use of Reasoning, than of the force of Insinuation; accommodating himself to the particular Customs and Inclinations of his Audience, and to those which in the general ought to be commended in them. Let us now see how Homer has acquitted himself in all these Respects.

He saw the Grecians, for whom he design'd his Poem, were divided into as many States as they had Capital Cities. Each was a Body Politick, and had its Form of Government independent from all the rest. And yet these distinct States were very often oblig'd to unite together in one Body against their common Ene­mies. And here we have two very different sorts of Government, such as cannot be very well comprehended in one Body of Mora­lity, and in one single Poem.

The Poet then has made two distinct Fables of them. The One is for all Greece united into one Body, but compos'd of Parts independent on one another, as they in truth were: and the Other is for each particular State, consider'd as they were in time of Peace, without the former Circumstances, and the necessity of being united.

As for the first sort of Government observable in the Union or rather in the Assembling of many Independent States: Experience has always made it appear, ‘That there is nothing like a due Sub­ordination, and a right Understanding between Persons to make the Designs that are form'd and carried on by several Generals to prosper. And on the other hand, an universal Misunderstand­ing, the Ambition of a General, and the Under-Officers refusing to submit, have always been the infallible and inevitable Bane of these Confederacies.’ All sorts of States, and in particular the Grecians, have dearly experienc'd this Truth. So that the most useful and the most necessary Instructions that could be given them, was, to lay before their Eyes the Loss which both the Peo­ple and the Princes themselves suffer'd by the Ambition and Dis­cord of these last.

[Page 19] Homer then has taken for the Foundation of his Fable this great Truth; viz. That a Misunderstanding between Princes is the Ruin of their own States. ‘I sing (says he) the Anger of Achilles, so pernicious to the Grecians, and the Cause of so ma­ny Heroes Deaths, occasion'd by the Discord and Parting of Agamemnon and this Prince.’

But that this Truth may be compleatly and fully known, there is need of a second to back it. For it may be question'd, whether the ill Consequences which succeed a Quarrel were caused by that Quarrel; and whether a right Understanding does re-adjust those Affairs which Discord has put out of Order: that is to say, these Assembled States must be represented first as labouring under a Misunderstanding, and the ill Consequences thereof; and then as United and Victorious.

Let us now see how he has dispos'd of these Things in one General Action.

‘Several Princes, independant on one another, were united a­gainst a Common Enemy. He, whom they had Elected their General, offers an Affront to the most Valiant of all the Confe­derates. This offended Prince was so far provok'd, that he withdrew himself, and obstinately refused to fight for the Com­mon Cause. This Misunderstanding gives the Enemy so much Advantage, that the Confederates are very near quitting their Design very dishonourably. He himself who is withdrawn is not exempt from sharing in the Misfortunes he brought upon his Allies. For having permitted his intimate Friend to succour them in a great Necessity, this Friend is kill'd by the Enemies General. Thus being both made wiser at their own Cost, are reconcil'd. And then this Valiant Prince gets the Victory, and revenges his own Wrongs by killing with his own hands him who had been the Death of his Friend.’

This is the first Platform of the Poem, and the Fiction, which reduces into one important and universal Action, all the Particulars upon which it turns.

In the next place it must be render'd Probable by the Circum­stances of Times, Places, and Persons; that is to say, If we would come up to the Precepts of our Masters, we must seek for some Persons already known by History, or other ways, by whom we may with Probability represent the Personages of this Fable. Homer has made choice of the Siege of Troy, and feign'd that this Action happen'd there. He has given the Name of Achilles to a valiant and angry Phantom; that of Agamemnon to his General, that of Hector to the Enemies Commander, and others to the rest, as is to be seen in his Poem.

Besides, he was oblig'd to accommodate himself to the Manners, Customs, and Genius of the Greeks his Auditors, the better to [Page 20] make them attend to the Instruction of his Poem, and to gain their Approbation by praising them, as far as the Faults he must of necessity make his Personages fall into, would admit. He ad­mirably discharges all the Duties, by making these Brave Princes, and those Victorious People, to be Grecians, and the Fathers of those he had a Mind to Commend.

But in that Length and Extent which is given to these Fables, if we would not stuff up the rest with useless Ornaments and foreign Incidents, we must do something else besides proposing the princi­pal point of Morality that is made use of. We must extend this Moral by its necessary Consequences: as for instance, in the Sub­ject before us, 'tis not enough to know, that a good Understanding ought always to be maintain'd among Confederates: 'tis likewise very material to know, that if there happens any Division, great Care is to be taken, that it be kept from the Enemies Knowledge, that so they being ignorant of this Advantage, may not venture to make use of it.

In the second place, when this Concord is but counterfeit, and only in appearance, one should never press the Enemy too close­ly, nor oblige them to make use of all their Forces: for this would discover the Weakness that ought to be concealed from them.

The Episode of Patroclus does even to Admiration furnish us with these two Instructions. For when he appear'd in the Arms of Achilles, the Trojans, who took him for Achilles himself, now reconciled and re-united to the Confederates, gave ground, and quitted the Advantages they had over the Greeks. But Patro­clus, who should have been contented with this Success, presses upon Hector too boldly, and by obliging him to fight, discovers that it was not the true Achilles that was clad in his Armour, but a much more feeble Hero. So that Hector kills him, and re-gains the Advantages which the Trojans had lost upon the Conceit that Achilles was reconcil'd.

'Tis by such sort of Fictions that this great Poet has fill'd his Poem with Instructions so excellent for their Design, and whereby he has merited those Praises which Aristotle, Horace, and all the Ancients have bestow'd upon him.

CHAP. IX. A Comparison of the Fable of the Iliad, with that of Aesop.

THE better to make it appear that an Epopéa is a true Fable; and that this Term we give it is not Metaphorical or Figura­tive, but Proper and Natural; and that the Sense is the same, as when we give the Name of Fables to the Fictions of Aesop: I shall here draw a Parallel between the Fable of the Iliad, and that of Aesop, which I have already mention'd.

First then I say, that the Moral Truth and Instruction is appa­rently the same in both. Aesop and Homer would have us learn, that a misunderstanding between those of the same Party, exposes them to the Insults of their Enemies, and their own Ruin: and that Concord preserves and renders them Victorious.

The Fiction is likewise the same. Both have feign'd a Con­federacy of several Persons together, for the Maintenance and De­fence of their Interest against the Common Enemy. Again, both have feign'd some disturbance that happen'd at first in this Union; and that those who quarrell'd met with an equal share of misfortune. Lastly, both have restor'd to the Party of these United Persons, the Concord and Victory which was the consequence of their Re-union.

There's nothing remains now but to give Names to those feign'd Persons. As for the Nature of the Fable, it matters little whether the Names of Beasts or of Men be made use of. Homer has made choice of these last; and has given the Quality of Kings to his Per­sonages. He has call'd them Achilles, Agamemnon, Hector, Patroclus, and has expressed by the name of Grecians, that Interest which the Confederates were obliged to maintain. Aesop in his way, has given the Names of Beasts to all his Personages: The Dogs are the Confederates, the Wolf is their Enemy, and he has called the Sheep, what the Poet has term'd the Grecians.

One says, ‘That whilst the Delirant reges plectun­tur achivi. Hor. Ep. 2. ad Loll. Confede­rate Kings quarrell'd, Hector their Enemy makes havock of the poor Grecians, who pay dearly for the Folly of their Princes; and when the Allies, mov'd with their Loss, were Reunited, they put Hector to flight and kill him.’

The other says the very same, ‘That whilst the Dogs did bite and tear one another, the Wolf broke in upon the Sheep: and when the Dogs, seeing the ravage of this Enemy, were good Friends again, they made him fly for it, and killed him.’

[Page 22] The Fable of Homer is a Rational one, and that of Aesop is not. But this is no rea­son why one is more or less a Fable than the other. Fabula quae Paridis nar­ratur propter Amorem Graecia Barbariae lento collisa ducllo. Ibid. Horace calls the Iliad a Fable, tho' the Names are Human; just as the Stories of Aesop are call'd Fables under the Names of Dogs, Lyons, Jupiter, The Frogs, and the like.

Homer has stretch'd out his Fable by long Harangues, by De­scriptions, by Similitudes, and by particular Actions: In like man­ner, might one amplify that of Aesop without spoiling it. One need only relate what provok'd these Dogs to quarrel, and to describe the rise of their Anger with all its Circumstances: To make fine De­scriptions of the Plain where the Sheep were feeding, and of some neighbouring Forest, which serv'd the Wolf for a shelter and Re­treat: To give this Enemy some little Cubs to breed up, to make them follow their Sire in the Quest of their Prey, and to describe the Booty they take at several times

One should not likewise omit the Genealogy of these Heroes. The Wolf should boast of his Descent from Lycaon; and one of the Dogs should have issu'd in a direct line from the great Celestial Dog, and the Canicula. This should be the Hero of the Poem, for he would be very hot and Cholerick. He would do well to represent the Personage of Achilles; and the Folly of a certain Ajax his Kins­man, would be a handsom Proof of this Nobility, and of an Origin so Divine as that is. There is no need of any thing farther to engage Heaven in this Quarrel, and to divide the Gods into Parties. For the Gods have as much to do in the Republick of Aesop, as in the States of Homer; witness Jupiter, who was so far concern'd as to appoint Kings over the Common-wealth of the Frogs.

And here we have matter enough to give this Subject a very large extent, provided we have Expressions to answer it, and take care to insert as often Edita ne brevibus pereat mihi charta libellis, Dica­tur potius, [...]. Martial. L. 1. as Homer has:

For this fine Epithet for a Dog, [...], a Fleet-runner, ought by no means to be omitted.

In short, Homer does likewise resemble Aesop, in that he as well as the other had a great mind to make the Beasts speak in the person of Xanthus the Horse of Achilles.

We conclude then, that the Name of Fable which is given to the Fable of the Iliad, and that of Aesop, is neither Equivocal nor Analogous, but Synonymous and equally Proper; that all the Qualities which make any difference between them, do by no means affect either the Foundation, the Nature, or the Essence of the Fable, but only constitute the different sorts of it; and lastly, that if a Fable be [Page 23] Rational, Probable, Serious, Important, mix'd with Divinities, Amplified and Rehears'd in Verse, it will be an Epick Poem: If it has not these Conditions, it will be another kind of Fable.

CHAP. X. The Fable of the Odyssëis.

THE Odyssëis was not design'd as the Iliad, to instruct all the States of Greece join'd and confederated in one Body, but for each State in particular. A State is compos'd of two parts; The Head which commands is the first, and the Members which obey make up the other. There are Instructions requisite for the Go­vernour, and some likewise necessary for the Subjects: for him to rule well, and for them to be rul'd by him.

There are two Vertues necessary to one in Authority; Prudence to order, and Care to put in Execution the Orders he has given. The Prudence of a Politician is not acquir'd but by a long experi­ence in all sorts of Business, and by an Acquaintance with all the different Forms of Governments and States. The Care of the Exe­cution suffers not him that has order'd it, to rely upon others, but it requires his own Presence; and Kings who are absent from their States are in danger of losing them, and give way to great dis­orders.

These two Points might be easily united in one and the same Man. Dic mihi Musa virum captae post tempora Trojae, Qui Mores hominum mul­torum vidit & urbes. Hor. Poet. ‘A King absent from his King­dom visits the Courts of several Princes, where he learns the Customs of different Nations. From hence there naturally arises a vast number of Incidents, of Dan­gers, and of Passages, that are very useful for a Political Instruction: And on the other side, this absence gives way to the disorders which happen in his own Kingdom, and which end not till his return, whose sole Presence can re-establish all things.’ Thus the Absence of a King is the same, and has the same effect in this Fable, as the Division had in the former.

The Subjects have scarce any need but of one general Maxim, which is to suffer themselves to be govern'd by, and to obey faithfully some Reason or other which seems to them contrary to the Orders they have received. It were easie to join this to what we have already said, by bestowing on this Wise and Industrious Prince such Sub­jects, as in his absence would obey, not the Orders they receiv'd, but what appear'd to them more reasonable: And by demonstrating [Page 24] from the Misfortunes this Disobedience draws upon them, the Evil Consequences which almost infallibly attend these particular Con­ducts, which are distinct from the general Notion of him who ought to Govern.

But as 'tis necessary that the Princes in the * Iliad should be Cholerick and Quarrel­some: Ira quidem commu­niter urit utrumque. Hor. So 'tis necessary in the Fable of the Odysseis that the chief Personage should be. Sage, and Prudent. This raises a difficulty in the Fiction; because this Personage ought to be absent for the two reasons aforemen­tion'd, which are Essential to the Fable; and which constitute the principal part thereof: But he cannot be absent from his own home without offending against another Maxim of equal importance; viz. That a King should never leave his own Country.

It is true, there are sometimes such necessities as sufficiently excuse the Prudence of a Politician: But such a necessity is a thing im­portant enough to supply matter for another Poem, and this mul­tiplication of the Action would have been Vicious. To prevent this, first this necessity and the departure of the Hero must be disjoin'd from the Poem: And in the second place, the Hero having been ob­lig'd to absent himself for a Reason antecedent to the Action, and di­stinct from the Fable; he ought not to embrace this opportunity of instructing himself, and so absent himself voluntarily from his own Government. For at this rate, his absence would have been still vo­luntary, and one might with reason lay to his Charge, the disorders which might have happen'd thereon.

Thus in the constitution of the Fable, the Poet ought not to take for his Action, and for the Foundation of his Poem, the Departure of a Prince from his own Country, nor his voluntary stay in any other Place; but his Return, and this Return hin­der'd against his Will. This is the first Idea the Poet gives us of it. [...]. Calyss. 5. His Hero appears at first in a desolate Island, sitting upon the side of the Sea, which with Tears in his Eyes he looks upon as the obstacle, that had hinder's him so long from returning home, and visiting his own dear Country.

And lastly, since this forc'd delay has something in it that is most Natural and usual to such as make Voyages by Sea: Homer has judi­ciously made choice of a Prince whose Kingdom was in an Island.

We see then how he has feign'd all this Action, allowing his Hero a great many Years, because he stood in need of so many to instruct himself in Prudence and Policy.

‘A Prince had been oblig'd to forsake his Native Country, and to head an Army of his Subjects in a Foreign Expedition. Ha­ving gloriously perform'd this Enterprize, he was for marching [Page 25] home again, and thither would have conducted his Subjects. But spite of all the attempts, which his eagerness to return home again put him upon, There are Tempests which stop him by the way for several Years together, and cast him upon several Countries very different from one another as to their Manners and Govern­ment. In the dangers he was in, his Companions, not always following his Orders, perish'd through their own fault. The Grandees of his Country do very strangely abuse his absence, and raise no small disorders at home. They consume his Estate, con­spire to make away with his Son, would constrain his Queen to chose one of them for her Husband, and indulge themselves in all these Violences so much the more, because they were perswaded he would never return. But at last he returns, and discovering himself to his Son and some others, who had continu'd Loyal to him, he is an Eye-witness of the Insolence of his Enemies, pu­nishes them according to their deserts, and restores to his Island that Tranquility and Repose, which they had been strangers to during his absence.’

As the Truth, which serves as a Foundation to this Fiction, and which with it makes the Fable, is, That the absence of a Person from his own Home, or who has not an Eye to what is done there, is the cause of great disorders: So the principal Action, and the most Essential one, is the absence of the Hero. This fills almost all the Poem: For not only this bodily absence lasted several Years, but even when the Hero return'd, he does not discover himself; and this prudent disguise, from whence he reap'd so much advantage, has the same effect upon the Authors of the Disorders, and all others who knew him not, as his real absence had; so that he is absent as to them, till the very moment he punish'd them.

After the Poet had thus compos'd his Fable, and join'd the Fiction to the Truth, he then makes choice of Ʋlysses, the King of the Isle of Ithaca, to maintain the Character of his chief Personage, and bestow'd the rest upon Telemachus, Penelope, Antinous, and others, whom he calls by what names he pleases.

I shall not here insist upon the many excellent Advices, which are as so many parts, and natural Consequences of the Fundamental Truth; and which the Poet very dexterously lays down in those Fictions, which are the Episodes and Members of the entire Action, such for instance are these Advices: Not to intrude ones self into the Mysteries of Government, which the Prince keeps secret to himself, This is represented to us by the Winds shut up in a Bull-hide, which the miserable Companions of Ʋlysses must needs be so foolish as to pry into: Not to suffer ones self to be lead away by the seeming Charms of an idle and lazy life, to which the Improba Siren desidia. Hor. Sirens Songs invite Men: Not to suffer ones self to be sensualiz'd by pleasures, like those [Page 26] who were chang'd into Brutes by Circe: And a great many other points of Morality necessary for all sorts of People.

This Poem is more useful to the Vulgar, than the Iliad is, where the Subjects suffer rather by the ill Conduct of their Princes, than through their own fault. But in the Odysseïs, 'tis not the Fault of Ʋlysses that is the ruin of his Subjects. This wise Prince did all he could to make them sharers in the Benefit of his Return. Thus the Poet in the Iliad says, ‘He sings the Anger of Achilles, which had caus'd the Death of so many Grecians;’ and on the contrary, in the [...]. Odyss. 1. Odysseïs he tells his Readers, ‘That the Subjects perish'd through their own fault.’

Notwithstanding it is to be confess'd, that these great Names of Kings, Hero's, Achilles, Agamemnon, and Ʋlysses, do no less denote the meanest Burghers, than they do the Caesars, the Pompeys, and the Alexanders of the Age. The Commonalty are as subject as the Grandees, to lose their Estates, and ruin their Families by Anger and Divisions, by negligence and want of taking care of their busi­ness. They stand in as much need of Homer's Lessons, as Kings; they are as capable of profiting thereby; and 'tis as well for the Small as the Great, that the Morality of the Schools, that of the Fable, and that of the Chair deliver those Truths we have been just speaking of.

CHAP. XI. Of the Fable of the Aeneid.

IN the Fable of the Aeneid we are not to expect that simplicity, which Aristotle esteem'd so Divine in Homer. But tho' the Fortune of the Roman Empire envied the Poet this Glory, yet the vast extent of the Matter it furnishes him with, starts up such diffi­culties as require more Spirit and Conduct, and has put us upon say­ing that there is something in the Aeneid more Noble than in the Iliad These very difficulties we are to solve, and they call upon us for our utmost care and attention.

There was a great deal of difference between the Greeks and the Romans. These last were under no obligation, as were the former, either of living in separated and independent States; or of frequent confederating together against the common Enemy. If in this re­spect, we would compare our two Poets together, Virgil had but one Poem to make, and this ought to be more like the Odysseïs than the Iliad, since the Roman State was govern'd by only one Prince.

[Page 27] But (without mentioning the Inconveniences the Latin Poet might meet with in forming a Fable upon the same Foundation, which the Greek had laid before him) the Roman State furnish'd him with Matter different enough to help him to avoid treading in the footsteps of him that went before him, and to pre­serve to him the glory of a primary invention. Homer in the Ody­sseïs spoke only for States already establish'd, and the Roman Empire was but of a new date. It was the change of a Commonwealth (to which Caesar's Subjects had been always extreamly biggoted) into a Monarchy, which till then they could never endure. Thus, the Instructions, which the Poet ought to give both to Prince and Peo­ple, were quite different from those Homer left his Countrymen.

He ought to instruct Augustus as the Founder of a great Empire, and to inspire into him as well as his Successors, the same Spirit and Conduct which had rais'd this Empire to such a Grandeur. A very expert Roman, and a great Politician (no less than Eventus bellorum erant aut mites, aut necessarii, &c. Cic. 2. de offic. Cicero himself) informs us, ‘That good Humour and Humanity was so far Essential to this State, that it was predomi­nant even in the very midst of War; and that nothing but an ab­solute Necessity could put a stop to its good effects.’ And he adds, ‘That when this Conduct was lost, and this Genius, which gave life to the State, was gone, there was nothing left but bare Walls, and what in propriety of Speech might be term'd a dead Carcase.’ In short, he shews the Advantages which a mild and mo­derate Government has over a cruel and severe Conduct, which in­spires Men with nothing but a slavish fear.

This then is the Instruction Virgil would give the Roman Em­perors, who began in the Person of Augustus to be settled upon the Throne. This Instruction has two parts, as each of Homer's had. The first comprehends the Misfortunes which attend a Tyrannical and Violent Reign: And the second the Happiness, which is the Con­sequence of a mild Government. Homer has plac'd both the parts of each Fable in one and the same Person, Achilles at first is at variance with the Confederates, and afterwards is reconcil'd to them: Ʋlysses is absent from home, and at last returns thither: and in all this there is nothing of difficulty. But Virgil could not represent in one and the same Person, a Hero, who by his Violence and Impiety was the Ruin of his Country; and who afterwards by his Piety and Justice, restor'd it to its former Glory. This inequality of Manners and Conduct would have been intolerable, and especially in that Bre­vity, which the Recital of an Epick Poem requires; besides, such a sudden change is never to be rely'd on; Men would think it Hypo­critical, and fear a very quick return of the old Tyranny. The Poet then is oblig'd to make use of two different Personages, to maintain the two parts of his exemplary instruction.

[Page 28] Besides, several weighty Reasons did indispensibly oblige him to put Humanity and Good-Nature in the Manners of his Hero, and to make Piety his predominant Quality, and the very Soul of all his Vertues. One of these great Reasons is the desire and necessity he lay under of pleasing his chief Auditor, who alone was more con­siderable than all the rest. Augustus Caesar did nothing to settle himself upon the Throne, but what his Piety put him upon under­taking; or at least he had a mind the World should think so. This is the Judgment which the most Prudent past upon him, even after he was dead, when he was no longer the subject of Mens Flatteries, or their Fear. This Apud prudentes vita e­jus variè extollebatur, ar­guebatúrve. Hi Pietate erga parentem & necessitudine Reip. in qua nullus tunc legibus locus, ad bella Civilia actum: Pauca admodum vitractata, quo caeteris quies esset. Dicebatur con­tra: Pietatem erga Parentem, & tempora Reipub. obtentui sumpta. Hist. Lib. 1. Cornelius Tacitus informs us of.

The Reasons why the Poet spoke thus of the new Establishment, were owing to the Subjects of Augustus, who made up the other part of the Audience; and the second Object of his Morality. He was oblig'd to make them lay aside the old Antipathy they had to Monarchy, to convince them of the Justice, and the legal Preroga­tive of Augustus, to divert them from so much desiring to oppose his designs, and to raise in them a Love and Veneration for this Prince.

Religion has always had a most powerful influence over the minds of the Vulgar. The first Roman Kings, and the new Emperors, made use thereof, by joyning the Sacerdotal to the Regal Office. The Poet likewise us'd his utmost care in searching for all the Ad­vantages he could derive from thence, by making it the chief Foun­dation of his whole design. He makes it appear, ‘That the great Revolutions, which happen in States, are brought about by the appointment and will of God: That those who oppose them are Impious, and have been punish'd according to their Demerits, For Heaven never fails to protect the Heroes it makes choice of, to carry on and execute its great designs.’ This Maxim serves for the Foundation of the Aeneid; and is that first part of the Fable which we call the Truth.

Besides, the Poet was oblig'd to represent his Hero free from all manner of Violence, and elected King by brave and generous People, who thought it an Honour to obey him, tho' they might lawfully have been their own Soveraigns, and have chosen what form of Government they pleas'd. In short it was requisite that the Justice of his Cause, like that of Augustus, should have been grounded up­on the Rights of War.

In a word, the Hero should have been like Augustus, a New Monarch, the Founder of an Empire, a Lawgiver, a Pontifex, and a great Commander.

[Page 29] The necessity of reducing all these things into one Body, and un­der the Allegories of a single Action, makes it appear how great a difference there is between the designs of Homer, and that of Virgil: And that if the Latin Poet did imitate the Greek, yet the applicaaion of it is so remote and difficult, that it should never make his Poem pass for a new Copy, nor rob him of the glory of the invention.

Let us see then the Collection which Virgil has made of all these Matters; and the general Fiction, which together with the Truths it disguises, makes up the Fable and Life of the Poem.

‘The Gods preserve a Prince amidst the Ruin of a mighty State, and make choice of him to be the maintainer of their Religion, and the Establisher of a more great and glorious Empire than the first. This very Hero is likewise elected King by the general consent of those, who had escap'd the universal Wrack of that Kingdom. He conducts them through Territories from whence his Ancestors came, and by the way instructed himself in all that was necessary for a King, a Priest, and the Founder of a Monarchy. He arrives and likewise finds in this new Country, the Gods and Men dispos'd to entertain him, and to allow him Subjects and Territories. But a neighbouring Prince, blinded by Ambition and Jealousie, could not see the Justice and the Orders of Heaven, but opposes his Esta­blishment, and is assisted by the Valour of a King, whose Cruelty and Impiety had divested him of his States. This opposition, and the War this pious stranger was Testatur (que) Deos iterum se ad praelia cogi. Aeneid. lib. 12. forc'd to, renders his establishment more just by the Right of Conquest, and more glorious by the overcoming and cutting off of his Enemies.’

The model being thus fram'd, there was nothing wanting but to look into History, or into some Authentick Fables, for Hero's whose Names he might borrow, and whom he might engage to represent his Personages. The obligation he lay under of accommodating himself to the Manners and Religion of his Country, invited him to look after them in the Roman History. But what Action could he take thence, which might furnish him with a Revolution and Esta­blishment of Government, that was proper to his purpose? Brutus had expelled the Kings, and placed the People in that which they then called their Liberty: But this Name was Odious and Prejudicial to Augustus; and this Action was quite opposite to the Design which the Poet had of confirming the Re-establishment of Monarchy. Romulus first founded Rome, but he laid the Walls thereof in his Brother's Blood; and his first Action was the Murder of his Uncle Amulius, for which none could ever find a satisfactory excuse: And then, it was very difficult to suppose these Heroes to have taken Voyages.

[Page 30] Besides, these two Establishments were made before the Destructi­on of the States which preceded them, and were the cause of their ruin. The Kingdom of Alba flourish'd during the Reign of the two first Roman Kings, but was erased by the Third: And Monarchy was extirpated by Brutus, and his Successors in the Consul-ship. It was of dangerous Consequence, to instil this Notion into the Subjects of Augustus, and to put the People upon thinking, that this Prince had ruined the Commonwealth, and banished their Liberty. The Truth of History furnished him with a thought more favourable to his design; since in reality Cicero and Tacitus do both inform us, ‘That before this Prince made the least shew of what he was about to do, there was no Commonwealth in being. All the vigour of the Empire was spent, the Laws were invalid, the Romans were nothing else but the Dregs of a State; and in short, there was nothing left of Rome but bare Walls, which were not able to last much longer.’ Thus Augustus destroyed nothing, he only re-established a tottering State. This is what the Iliaci cineres & Flamma extrema meorum, Testor in occasu vestro, nec tela, nec ullas Vitavisse vices Da­naum, & sifata, suissent, Ut caderem, meruisse ma­nu. Virg. 2. Aeneid. Poet is to prove, a great Empire ruin'd, of which his Hero was in no fault; and this very Empire more gloriously re-established by the Virtue, and the good Conduct of the Hero.

In the Roman History, Virgil did not meet with a Prince, who could with any probability keep up the Character of his chief Per­sonage; he was obliged to look out for one some where else. Homer had this Advantage, that the Heroes of his Fables were Greeks, and that his own Country was the Theatre whereon most of the Fabulous Actions were transacted: So that he had liberty enough to accom­modate himself to the Manners and Religion of those for whom he wrote.

But the Genius and Skill of the Latin Poet helped him to that which Fortune denied him. He took Rectius Iliaci Carmen de­ducis in actus, Quam si prae­ferres ignota indictaque primus. Poet. Horace's Advice, and had recourse to a Hero of the Iliad: And that he might make this stranger conform to the Religion of the Ro­mans, he has seign'd, that the Hero came thither to bring into Italy all the Ceremonies, and to settle these Gods there, which ever since they have observ'd and ador'd. He has very luckily compleated this Conformity in ‡ the Customs and Manners by making † Sermonem Ausonii pa­trium mores (que) tenebunt. Aeneid. 12. the Trojans and Romans but one People. And he as well as Homer has caused that his Illustrious Heroes should be the Fathers of his Auditors; but with this Advantage, that he himself makes the Application of it to his Readers, with an equal measure of Wit and Applause.

[Page 31] Aeneas is his chief Personage, Turnus is Aeneas's Rival, and in Me­zentius one may observe the Cruelty of a Tyrant, who is at Enmity with both Gods and Men.

To conclude: The Arrival of Aeneas into Italy, was not invented by the Poet, but handed down by Tradition. Segesta est oppidum per­vetus in Siciliâ, quod ab Aeneâ fugiente à Trojâ, atque in haec loca venien­te, conditum esse demon­strant. Cicer. in Verrem, iv. Cicero, who wrote before Virgil, speaks thereof in his Speech against Verres upon the account of the City of Segesta. Its Inhabitants gave out that 'twas built by Aeneas, when in his Voyage to Italy, he staid for some time on the Coast of Sicily.

CHAP. XII. Horace' s Thoughts of the Epick Fable.

'TIS time now to join Aristotle and Horace to Homer and Virgil, and to see whether the Thoughts and Precepts of our two Masters about the Nature of the Epick Fable agree with the Practice of our two Poets. We will begin with Horace.

As for the Word Fable there is no diffi­culty in it; he gives it to the Neve minor quinto, neu fit productior actu Fabula. Hor. Poet. Dramatick, he gives it to the Epick Poem, and in plain Terms calls the Fabula quae Paridis nar­tatur propter amorem Graecia Barbariae lento collisa ducllo. Epist. ad Loll. Ilida a Fable. The busi­ness is to know what he means by this Word, and what in his Opinion the Epick Fable is.

If it be granted that this kind of Fable is of the same Nature with those of Aesop, as we just now observed: Then we cannot say that an Epopéa is the Panegyrick of a Hero; of whom is rehearsed some illustrious Action or other; nor that the Epick Fable is only the Disposition of the different Parts of that Action, and of the se­veral Fictions with which 'tis garnished.

Three Things may clear up this difficulty: The first is the Choice and Imposition of the Names, which are given to the Personages of the Fable: The second is the Design which the Poet has of teaching Morality under an Allegory: And the third is the Virtue and Excel­lency of the chief Personage.

The First is most decisive: For if the Action be feigned, and the Fable prepared before the Poet has so much as thought of the Name he is to give to his chief Personage; without doubt he does [Page 32] not undertake the Elogy of any particular Man. But we do not find that Horace has concerned himself in the business of imposing Names: Therefore we refer this to the following Chapter, where we shall enquire into the Opinion of Aristotle.

The Point about Morality is expresly in Horace. This Critick is entirely for the way I proposed. He says Qui quid sit pulchrum quid turpe, quid utile, quid non: Plenius ac melius Chrysippo, & Cantore di­cit. Ibid. ‘That Homer lays down admirable Instructions for the Con­duct of Humane Life, and herein pre­fers the Iliad and the Odyssei's to the Wri­tings of the most excellent Philosophers.’ This is self-evident, and having said as much already, we wave saying any more about it: The Reader may consult his Epistle to Lollius.

‘But what signifies it (may some one say) if Homer had a mind to lay down Instructions of Morality? This does not him­der, but he might have made choice of a Hero whom he might have praised, and this Elogy rightly managed might be a Fable. He was willing then to praise Achilles and Ʋlysses as Xenophon did his Cyrus.’ Is not this plainly the Design of Virgil? ‘And if Ho­mer was less successful, ought we not to pardon the Imperfection of these first Ages, which did not furnish him with those great Ideas of Vertue, and those perfect Heroes which after-Ages did produce?’

The Hero of Virgil is indeed a true Hero in Morality as well as Poetry; and represents to Kings a compleat Model of all the Ver­tues which conspire to make a great Prince. This might have given that Idea of the Epick Fable, which we are now examining. For the Aeneid is better read and understood than the Iliad. And Men are easily perswaded, that the Design of these less known Pieces is the same with that which they are so well acquainted with. Besides, this Judgment is backed by that noble Idea Men commonly con­ceive of the Valour of Achilles, and of the consummated Prudence of Ʋlysses. These are almost the two only Things which the ge­nerality of the World are acquainted with in the Greek Poems: Which may have induced them to believe that the Fables of Homer are the Panegyricks of Achilles and Ulysses.

But if Horace, of whom we now speak, had been of this Mind; and if he had believed that the Design of an Epick Poem, should be to establish the Merit of a Hero, and to propose him to others as a Model of Perfection; it necessarily follows, that either this great Critick was not well acquainted with considerable Defects in the He­roes of Homer, or else that he did not think Homer was a good Pattern to imitate.

Yet we see he knew the one, and believed the other. He knew no Vertue in Achilles, nor any Action that deserved Praise. On the contrary, he says, ‘That in all the Iliad, both in the Grecians [Page 33] Seditione, dolis, scelere, at (que) libidine & irà, Iliacos intra muros peccatur & extra. Ibid. Camp, and in the City of Troy, there was nothing to be seen but Sedition, Trea­chery, Villainy, Lust, and Passion:’ And he never commends Achilles, neither for his Valour, nor for his killing Hector, nor for any thing else he did against the Trojans.

Yet 'tis evident what an esteem he has for Homer; and that he carped at no Faults of his but Quandoque bonus dor­mitat Homerus. Verum opere in longo fas est ob­repere somnum. Hor. Poet. Peccadilloes. He would have e­very one, that has a mind to be a Poet, Vos exemplaria Graeca nocturna versate manu versate diurna. Ibid have Homer before him night and day: And he proposes the Achilles of Homer with all the Vices, and all the Defects he imputes to him, as a great Exemplar for others to follow. Scri­ptor honoratum si fortè reponis Achillem; Impi­ger, Iracundus, iners, in­exorabilis, acer, &c. I­bid. He would have him be cholerick, inexorable, one who knows nothing of Ju­stice, but has all his Reason at his Sword's Point.

'Tis true, to these Qualities he has joined Vigilancy and Zeal to carry on an Enterprize. But these Qualities being in their own Nature indifferent, have nothing that is good, but in Persons duly accomplished as was Scipio. In wicked Persons they are pernicious Vices, as in Catiline, who made no other use of them but to op­press his Country. 'Tis then in this last sence that Horace ascribes them to Achilles, since he would have him be represented, as un­just and passionate.

In Rursus quid virtus & quid sapientia possit, Uti­le proposuit nobis exem­plar Ulysses. Ep. ad Loll. Ʋlysses he did discover an Example of Vertue: But since, in truth, he does equally commend Homer, for giving us in his two Poems an Example of Vertue, and an Example of Vice, should we not conclude, that the good or bad Qualities of the chief Personages, are not at all necessary nor essential to the Epick Fa­ble; and that Horace never thought the Epopéa was an Elogy of an Hero?

That which the Iliad and the Odyssei's have in common, is, that each of them is a Moral Instruction disguised under the Allegories of an Action. This is what Horace discovers in them; and by Consequence each of them, in the Opinion of this Critick, is a Fable, and such a one as we described it.

CHAP. XIII. Aristotle's Thoughts of the Epick Fable.

WHat we have said concerning the Fable, is still more mani­fest, in the Method and Order which Aristotle prescribes for the preparation of the Ground-work of an Epick Action. He does not bid us to search at first in History for some great Action, and some Heroical Person: But on the contrary, [...]. he bids us to make a general Action which has nothing in it particular; to impose Names on the Persons after this first Fiction, and afterwards to form the Episodes.

For the better conceiving of his Mind, we must take notice what he means by a gene­ral, what by a particular Action. [...]. Poet. c. 9. ‘There is this difference (says he) between a Poet and an Historian, that the One writes barely Matter of Fact, [the Other lays down things just as they ought to have been. For this Reason, Poetry is more serious and more philosophical than Histo­ry; because Poetry tells us of general Things, and History rehearses singular Things. A general Thing, is that which either probably or necessarily ought to have been said or done; and is that to which the Poet ought to have a special regard, when he imposes the Names on his Perso­nages. A singular thing is that which Alcibiades, for instance, has either done or suffered.’

The Poetical Action then is neither singular nor historical, but general and allegorical: 'Tis not what Alcibiades has done, but 'tis in general what any one else ought to have done upon the like Occasion.

'Tis a material Point to take notice, that a thing must be done after one way or other, for its being either absolutely good, or for its being only probable, no matter whether it be good or bad. Xenophon has feigned the Actions of his Cyrus in the first way; and so have all the Poets, who in imitation of him have undertaken to describe the Actions of a great Prince panegyrically. On the other hand, the Hecuba of Seneca should not have made such fine Re­flections [Page 35] upon the Destruction of Troy, and the Death of Priam. Not but these Reflections in themselves are very just and useful; but only 'tis not probable, that a Woman lying under such a weight of Afflictions, should have such Thoughts, as were only becoming the Tranquility of a great Philosopher, who had no manner of Inte­rest in the History of these ancient Times.

'Tis in this last sence, that Aristotle orders Poets to feign their Actions such, as they either probably or necessarily ought to have been. If there still remains any doubt what he means by this Ex­pression, 'tis very easie to give an entire solution of it. One need only consider the Instance of an Action that is just, and feigned re­gularly by the greatest of all the Poets: 'Tis that of the Iliad. With­out doubt he knew that the Action of Achil­les, made choice of by Homer, [...]. Iliad. i. Iratus Graiis quan­tum nocuisset Achilles! Horat. is the Anger of this Hero, so pernicious to the Greeks, and not to the Trojans. We will not so much as suppose, that this great Philosopher ever thought, that the Extravagan­cies of a Man, who sacrifices his Friends and his Country to his own Revenge, was an Action any ways commendable, vertuous, or worthy the imitation of Princes. Certainly it had been more for the Honour of Homer's Country, if he had sung of the War and the taking of Troy. And yet, [...], &c. Poet. c 23. Aristotle does not only not blame him for forgoing such a glorious Subject, and making choice of a more defective Theme: But he says that herein he has done something that is divine.

He is then perfectly of the same mind with Horace, who would have Achilles represented as cholerick, passionate, and unjust; just as Homer has made him. But that wherein Aristotle is more in­structive than Horace, is his Method of giving Names to the Perso­nages, that are introduced in a Poem. For how could one prepare the Ground-work of a particular Action of some illustrious Hero, that is not feigned; when one does not so much as know whether the Hero be Achilles, Aeneas, Ʋlysses, Diomedes, or any other? And yet this is what Aristotle orders in the Composition of the Epick Fable, when he says, that one should not give Names to Personages till after the Action is invented.

One should indeed do that just before the forming of the Epi­sodes: For if those, whose Names we borrow, have done any known Actions; the best way is to make use of them, and accommodate these real Circumstances to the Ground-work of the Fable, and to the Design of the Poet; to fill the Episodes with them; and to draw from them all the Advantages possible according to the Rules of Art. This management renders the feign'd Action more pro­bable, [Page 36] and may likewise make it look like true History. Besides, Aristotle had said, that the Poet in giving particular Names to Per­sons, which at first he made general, [...]. C. 9. should take special care to make his Fiction probable. This Precept is capable of another meaning, which does not at all contradict what has been said, but rather confirms the Doctrine which I proposed: 'Tis this, viz. ‘That when you have feigned an Action, if it be mild and moderate, you must not represent the chief Personage thereof under the Name of Achilles, Tydeus, Medea, or any other whose passionate Tempers are well known.’ In this Doctrine, we shall with Aristotle meet with three sorts of Actions which the Poets make use of. In the first, the Things and the Names of the Persons are singular and true, and not feigned or invented by the Poet. The Secuit Lucilius Urbem, Te Lupe, te Muti. Satyrists make use of this sort. In the second, both the Things and the Names are feigned and inven­ted by the Poet; and this is the Practice of Comedians. We have laid down an Instance thereof in the Fable we made use of under the Names of Orontes, Pridamant, and Clitander. In the third sort, the Things are invented, but the Names are not. They are noted either by History, or by some Tradition or other. This is manifest in the Fable we proposed under the Names of Robert Earl of Artois, and Ralph Count of Nesle. We might say the same of the Iliad, the Odysseïs, and the Aeneid. This sort of Action is proper for Tragedy, and the Epopéa.

Nor need we feign Instances to prove these things, or seek for them in Greece and old Italy; since we have enough of them nea­rer home, in the Satyrs, the Comedies, and the Tragedies, which are daily to be seen in the World.

This Doctrine of Aristotle is so important, that it deserves to be consulted in the Original. After he had informed us that the Poeti­cal Action is not singular, but general and universal; and after he had explained what he means by these Terms, as we observed at the beginning of this Chapter, he then goes on after this manner:

[...] Po. c. 9. ‘This in Comedy is very manifest. For after the Poet has prepared his Fable, upon what is probable, he then gives his [Page 37] Actors what Names he pleases: And he does not as the Satyrists, who speak only of particular Things. But in Tragedy they make use of Names ready made to their hands. This makes us more readily believe the thing to be possible; for Things that have never yet been done, we are not obliged to think possible: But what has been already done, is without all Dispute possible; since it would never have been done, had it been impossible. Yet in some Tragedies, there is but one or two known Names, and all the rest are feigned. Nay, in some others there is not one known Name, as in the Tragedy of Agathon, call'd The FLOWER, where all the Names, as well as Things, are feigned and invented. And yet it came off with Applause.’

In favour of our Subject 'tis, that we cite what Aristotle says in this passage, concerning the Tragick Fable. Nor is this a wresting of the Text, since this great Master lays it down as his first [...]. P. c. 32. Precept in the Epopéa, That we ought to prepare the Fable thereof as for Tragedy.

'Tis to be observ'd, that to make the thing probable, and to per­swade Men of its Possibility, from its having been done already, Aristotle orders us to put the Fable not under a known Action, but only under known Names. This makes good what we before alledged, viz. [...]. P. c. 9. That the Poet should think of making his Action pro­bable, when he gives Names to the Actors. This is the practice of those who make Histo­ries of their own Inventions. The better to perswade the World of the Truth of what they say, they name the Places and the Persons; and the more these Names are known, the more Credit they meet with. Homer has acquitted himself so very handsomely in this Matter, that the Art he had of feigning the best of any Man in the World, is one of the Commendations he de­served from the mouth of [...]. Poet. c. 24. Aristotle himself.

We conclude then that Homer in his Practice, and Aristotle in his Precepts, are exactly of the same mind; that Homer had no other Design but to form the Manners of his Country-men, by pro­posing to them, as Horace says, what was profitable or unprofita­ble, what was honourable or dishonourable: But that he did not undertake to rehearse any particular Action of Achilles or Ʋlysses. He made his Fable, and laid the Design of his Poems, without so much as thinking on these Princes; and afterwards, he did them the Honour to bestow their Names on the Heroes he had feign'd.

In other Histories of the Trojan War we do not indeed read of this Quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon, which Homer has taken for the Subject-Matter of his Iliad: And what is no less con­siderable [Page 38] is, that this very Design and Action which the Poet has form'd under the name of Achilles at the Siege of Troy, might with the same Probability have went under the Name of Tydeus, Capaneus, or any other at the Siege of Thebes. One might have made Adrastus the General, and given him some occasion of ex­asperating the cholerick Nature of Capaneus. He, by withdraw­ing into his Tent only for a few days, might have given the The­bans some Advantages over his Party. Afterwards one might have made this furious Person return to his Duty: and then fighting with the rest, he might have gain'd the Victory to his own side, and reveng'd in one single day, the Affront and Loss they had suffer'd the three or four days before: And this is all we contend for in the Iliad.

The same might be said of Ʋlysses. All the Adventures we read of him in the Odysseïs, might with altogether as much Probability have been rehears'd under the Name of any other Prince returning from an Expedition. For the better Proof of which, we need only cast an eye upon the Platform which Ari­stotle himself has left us thereof: and 'tis as follows.

[...] Poet. c. 17. ‘A Man is absent from his own home for several Years. Neptune persecutes him, destroys all his Retinue, and only he himself escapes. In the mean time his Family is in disorder, his Estate is made away with by his Wives Suitors, and his Son is plotted against. But at last, after many Storms at Sea, he returns home, discovers himself to his Friends, conceals himself from others, sets all things to rights again, and puts his Enemies to death. This (concludes Aristotle) is all that is proper, the Episodes make up the rest.’ This, in my mind, gives us abso­lutely such an Idea of a Fable as I proposed: And in this Model Ʋlysses seems to have as little to do as any other.

But after the Model is pitch'd upon, the Action invented, and the Names given, then if those whose Names are borrow's have done any known Actions, the Poet ought to make use of them, and to accommodate these true Circumstances to his own Design. With these he must fill his Episodes, and from these he should draw all the Advantages possible, according to the Rules of Art. Thus Aristotle gives no Orders for making the Episodes till the Names are pitch'd upon.

He therefore transgresses the Precepts of Aristotle, and the Pra­ctice of Homer, and spoils the Essence of the Epick Fable in particular, as well as of other Fables in general, who begins by [Page 39] looking for his Hero in some History or other, and undertakes to rehearse a particular Action this Hero has done, as we see in Silius Italicus, Lucan, Statius, and in the Authors of the Adventures of Hercules and Theseus, which Aristotle takes notice of. They did not make any general or universal Platform without Names, but made it altogether singular. For how could any one write like Silius, without thinking on the particular Action and Name of Hannibal? Call him as much as you will, in your Platform, a Cortain Man, yet still this Certain Man is determinately Han­nibal. You are so far from taking away his Name, that after you have once nam'd him, you afterwards use a Pronoun or some other Word which signifies him, instead of the Term Hannibal, which you are loth to repeat. Thus Aristotle does not order the Names to be taken away (which can never be done) but he on­ly orders to feign an Action without Names, to make it at first universal, as he instances in the Odysseïs and Iphigenia.

CHAP. XIV. Of the Real Actions, the Recitals whereof are Fables.

THere is a great deal of Difference between Fiction and a down-right Lye; and between a Thing's being Probable, and its be­ing no more than Probable. The Poet is order'd to feign, but no body desires him to tell Lyes. He is told, that he is oblig'd to Probability, and not to Truth; but no one says, that the Pro­bability he is oblig'd to by his Art is incompatible with the Truth. The Truth of an Action does not give him the Name of Poet, nor does it rob him of it: and, as Aristotle says, [...]. Arist. Poet c. 9. an Author is as much a Poet, though the Incidents he relates did really happen: Because whatsoever has been done, is capa­ble of all the Probability, and all the Possi­bility, which the Art requires, and of be­ing such as ought to be feign'd.

This makes so little an Alteration in the Nature of Things, that even the Author of a Fable is not always satisfied with making a bare Narration of the Action he feigns, but sometimes sets it off with all the Truth 'tis capable of. Anciently this was very com­mon; [Page 40] and I might produce the whole Hi­story of the Old Omnia in figura con­tingebant iis. Paul. Epist. ad Corinth. Testament, all the Histo­rical Truths whereof were so many Fables, or Parables divinely invented, which repre­sent Allegorically to us the Doctrine and the Truths which the Author of them has since discover'd to us.

But without concerning our selves with Sacred Things, we know what a Father did to perswade his Children to Unity. He might have only told them, that a Man very eager of breaking all the Arrows in his Quiver, striv'd to snap them all in pieces at once; but after many fruitless Tryals, he was forc'd to part them, and then breaks them one after another without the least trouble. He might have related a thing that was false, and only probable. But he did something more: he put a bundle of Rods, tied close to­gether, into the hands of each of his Children, and bid them see if they could break them: They used their utmost Endeavour, but to little purpose. Then he gave them the Rods one by one, and the weakest of these young Creatures broke them easily. The Truth of this Matter of Fact does not at all destroy the Na­ture of the Fable.

Sertorius made use of the same Artifice to his Soldiers. He order'd the Tails of a couple of Horses to be pull'd off before them. At last came a weak old Fellow, and did it with ease, pul­ling off the Hairs one after another; whilst a lusty Fellow had ha­rass'd himself to no purpose, because he took up too many Hairs at a time. When a Recital is made of this true Action, one tells as exact a Fable, as when one mentions the Fable of the Iliad, that of Aesop's Dogs, or any other of that Author, wherein is nei­ther Truth nor Probability.

'Tis true this Action of Sertorius was feign'd before it was true, and this General did begin to form his Fable by the Moral, which is, (as I said) the common way of forming Fables. But here I add, that the True Action may precede the Fable. The Example of Engravers and Statuaries will make us easily conceive how this revers'd Order, so contrary to the Rules of Art, may notwithstand­ing be applied thereto without destroying them.

Art teaches the Engraver to form his Design first, to fansie the Postures, and the Proportions he would give his Personages; and afterwards to look out for Materials that are proper to receive that which he has imagin'd. If notwithstanding he lights upon some choice Material, such as Agat, for instance, whose Figure, Colours, and Veins, cannot be suited to all that he has a mind it should; he then regulates his Design and Fancy according to his Matter. But yet he is not of the Opinion, that these lucky Hits and particular Accidents condemn the Justness of his Art, or make this a standing Rule for him to go by, viz. That he must begin to [Page 41] look out for Materials, and then form his Design according to what the Disposition of his Materials may suggest to his Fancy.

In this then, as in a great many other things, Ut Pictura Poesis erit. Hor. Poet. Poetry is like Painting. The Poet is frequently oblig'd to suit himself to the Dispositions of his Matter: which is found to be true, especially in the Composition of the Episodes, which are made after the General Personages are singulariz'd by the Im­position of the Names. It may likewise so happen that some Person in History may furnish an Author with fine Fancies, and as exact a Moral as that which Homer teaches. And in this Case, the Poet does not at all transgress his Art, though he should apply all his Moral to the Action. But notwithstanding this rare and lucky Hit, the common Rules lose nothing of their Exactness or Authority.

We still maintain, ‘That the Epick Poem is a Fable; that is, not the Rehearsal of the Action of some one Hero, in order to form Mens Manners by his Example; but, on the contrary, a Discourse invented to form the Manners by the Recital of a feign'd Action, and describ'd at pleasure under the borrow'd Name of some Illustrious Person or other, that is made choice of, after the Platform of the Action, that is ascrib'd to him, is laid.’

CHAP. XV. Of the feign'd Actions, the Recitals whereof are Historical.

AS there are True Actions, the Recitals whereof are exact and regular Fables; so on the other hand, there are Feign'd Actions, the Recitals whereof are Historical. Nothing is to be esteem'd Fabulous in them, but a downright Falshood, and that has as little to do with the Fable, as the Truth of History. The Reason of this is, that the most essential part of the Fable, and that which must indispensibly serve for its Foundation, is the Truth signified. 'Tis easie to explain our selves by those very Examples we have already made use of; we need only cut off some necessary Circumstances of them in order to illustrate the Doctrine we would add here.

If the Dogs that were set to keep the Sheep, and whose Falling out gave the Wolf an opportunity of seizing upon some of them; if they, I say, follow the Wolf before they end their Quarrel; and if up­on [Page 42] overtaking him, they are as fierce against one another, as against their Common Enemy: in this case, though the Wolf quit his Prey, fly for it, or though he die of the Wounds they give him; yet this Fiction will no longer signifie, That Concord re-establishes what Discord destroys; since the Calamity would have been ended, though the Discord still continued.

In like manner, if Achilles being provok'd at the Death of Patroclus, had set upon and kill'd Hector without being reconcil'd to Agamemnon; the Omission of this Incident, would have spoil'd the Fable.

We add farther, that if Achilles had been less inexorable, and had submitted to the Offers of Agamemnon before the Death of Patroclus; and if this Quarrel had not cost him the Life of his Friend, the Fable would have been spoil'd: For since the Quarrel would have been only prejudicial to Agamemnon, this Example would have shew'd us, in the Person of Achilles, that one might Quarrel, and be at Variance, without losing any thing: which is quite contrary to the Moral of the Poet.

We should deprive the Odysseïs of its very Soul, and spoil its Fable; should we retrench from it the Disorders which the Suitors of Penelope rais'd in the Isle of Ithaca, during the Ab­sence of Ʋlysses: because this Poem would no longer inform us of the mischievous Effects which the Absence of a Commander, a King, or a Father of a Family, does produce.

Lastly, Take away from the Aeneid, the Choice which the Gods made of Aeneas for the re-establishing of the Empire; his Divine Arms; the Care Jupiter took to engage Mezentius in the Quar­rel, where he was to be punish'd for his Impieties; and the Ter­rors with which this God affrights Turnus: and the Aeneid will no longer inform the Romans in favour of Augustus, That the Founders of Empires, such as this Prince was, were the Chosen of Heaven, that Divine Providence protects them from all manner of Violence, and severely punishes the Impious, who oppose their Designs.

All these Recitals want their Emphasis, and that Instruction, which is the most essential part of the Fable. When a Poet goes this way to work, he does not make such Epick Poems as Aristo­tle and Horace prescribes Rules for, nor such as Homer and Vir­gil has left us such exact Patterns of. It is not much matter whether these Recitals are of true Things, such as those of Lucan, and Silius Italicus; or whether they are feign'd and drawn from Fables, such as those of Statius in his two Poems. He relates a Fiction, they History: but all three write more like Historians than Epick Poets.

'Tis true, they have all a Mixture of Divinities and Machines, which carry a Fabulous and Poetical Air in them: but since these [Page 43] very Additions are likewise in true Fables, they will never make these Recitals to be of the Nature of an Epopéa; because these Fables consist only in the Additions and Decorations of the Acti­on. Now the Epick Fable is none of all this; 'tis on the con­trary the Soul of a Poem, and the Ground-work upon which all the rest is built. And this Ground-work is to be prepar'd before one so much as think of the Decorations, which make no part of the Essence of the Fable. The being adorn'd and loaded with Ani­mate Things, will never make an Animal, but there must be a Soul added to it: And though all the Earth were cover'd and em­bellish'd with an infinite number of Trees, and pierc'd very deep with their Roots, yet it will never pass for a Tree it self.

CHAP. XVI. Of the Vicious Multiplication of Fables.

ARistotle bestows large Commendations on Homer for the Simplicity of his Design, because he has included in one sin­gle part all that happen'd in the Trojan War. And to him he opposes the Ignorance of certain Poets, who imagin'd that the Ʋni­ty of the Fable, or of the Action, was well enough preserv'd by the Ʋnity of the Hero, and who compos'd their Theseid's, Hera­clid's, and such like Poems, in each of which they heap'd up eve­ry thing that happen'd to their principal Personage. The Instan­ces of these Defects which Aristotle blames, and would have us avoid, are very instructive. These Poems are lost to us: but Statius has something very like it.

His Achilleid is a Model of all the Adventures which the Poets have feign'd under the Name of Achilles Magnanimum Aeacidem, formidatamque Tonanti Progeniem, & patrio ve­titam succedere coelo, Di­va refer. Quanquam acta Viri multum inclyta cen­tu Maeonio, sed plura va­cant. Nos ire per om­nem, sic amor est, Heroa vetis.. ‘O Goddess (says this Poet) sing of the magnanimous Son of Aeacus, that has made Jove himself tremble, and was de­ny'd Admittance into Heaven, from whence he deduc'd his Origin. Homer has render'd his Actions very famous; but he has omitted a great many more than he has mention'd: For my part, I will not omit any thing. 'Tis this Hero at his full Length which I describe.’ Here is a noble Design, and Aristotle falls short of what he proposes.

All this cannot be consider'd, but as an Historical Recital, and without the least Glimpse of a Fable. Nor can I represent the [Page 44] Idea I have of this Design better, than by comparing it with the Fables of Aesop. I have already compar'd the Iliad with one of these Fables: and sure I may take the same liberty in a Poem that is less Regular; and make a Comparison between the Achil­leid which comprehends several Actions under one and the same Name, and several Fables which likewise go under one Name. Ho­mer and Virgil diverted themselves with their Poems of the Gnat, and of the Battel between the Frogs and the Mice: nor shall I stoop lower, when, upon the like occasion, I shall enlarge my self as far as the Design of Statius, and the Necessity of this Do­ctrine require me.

Let us suppose then and Author, who is as well vers'd in the Fables of Aesop, as Statius was in the Epick Fable; and who has read the Batrachomyomachia, as well as Statius has the Iliad. He shall have discover'd in this Battel between the Mice and the Frogs, the great Commendations which Homer bestows on the Va­lour of one of the Heroes in this Fable, upon Meridarpax for instance; whose Bravery made Jove and all the Gods wonder no less, than that of Capaneus in the Thebaid. And as Statius has read of several Actions of Achilles, which are not in the Iliad; this Author likewise shall have read of many Adventures attributed to the Mouse, which are not in the Batrachomyomachia of Homer.

He shall know what passed between the City-Mouse and the Country-Mouse; in order to teach us, That a little Estate en­joy'd quietly is better than a copious one, that exposes us to continual fears.

He shall know that a Lion having spared the Lise of a Mouse, was afterwards saved by this very Mouse, who gnaw'd assunder the Toils in which he was caught; whereby he might inform us, That the good Offices we do to the most Infirm and Ignoble, are not always lost.

He shall know the Story of the Mountains, which after great Groans, and much ado, were deliver'd of a Mouse; like those who promise much, but perform little.

He shall have read in the Battel between the Cats and the Mice, that the Mice being defeated and put to flight, those amongst 'em, who had put Horns upon their Heads as a distin­guishing Note of their being the Commanders, could not get into their Holes again, and so were all cut off: Because in the like Dis­orders, the Chief Leaders, and Men of Note, do commonly pay Sawce for all.

And upon these Discoveries, when he has conceiv'd the Idea of a Piece more surprizing than the Batrachomyomachia, or than any other particular Fable of Aesop, he shall undertake a Poem of all the Fables of the Mouse: as Statius undertook one about every [Page 45] thing that Story or the Poets ever said of Achilles. He might be­gin after the same manner, as Statius did his Achilleid:

‘Inspire me, O my Muse, what I ought to say concerning the Magnanimous Meridarpax, which Jove himself cannot look upon without trembling. Homer indeed has celebrated some of his Actions in his Poem; but there are a great many still untouch'd; and I am resolved to omit nothing that my Hero has done.’

He, as well as Achilles, had a Mortal for his Sire, to wit, the Redoubted Artepibulus, and a Mother far above his Rank and Quality, no less than a lofty Mountain. His Birth is foretold by the Oracles, and the People Hocking together from all parts to be Witnesses of this miraculous Labour, beheld Meridarpax creep out of his Mothers Belly, with so much Surprize and Delight, that their joyful Shouts and loud Laughter carried the News thereof to the Gods.

In the War his Associates maintain'd against the Amazonians of the Lakes, he signaliz'd himself in the Death of Physignathus. He would have utterly destroy'd all his Enemies, had not the Gods put a stop to his Designs.

To refresh himself after the Fatigues of this War, he was for ta­king the Air in some Country-Seat or other. But by the way he is surprized by a furious Lion, who is just ready to tear him to pieces: but Meridarpax was no less eloquent than stout. The Lion admir'd his parts, and let him go.

He was welcom'd in the Country by an old Friend of his Sire's. This Villager thought of making him a delicate Repast with his Country-Fare: but these old, dry, and unsavoury Morsels would not down with our nice Stranger. Whereupon bepitying the sorry Life of his Friend, he invites him to a more pleasant one, and pre­vail'd upon him to jog along with him.

They were scarce got half-way to their Journey's end, but they heard a most terrible noise. Meridarpax perceiv'd 'twas the Lion's Roar which before had spar'd his Life. He made that way, and in short found him so fetter'd in the Noose, that he expected nothing else but Death: the Mouse freed him from that fear, by gnawing asunder several Knots; and put the Prisoner in a Capacity of freeing himself from the rest.

Meridarpax re-joyns his Country-Friend, conducts him to Town, and receives him very splendidly in a Pantry well furnish'd. This new Citizen was blessing himself at his happy Change; when on the sudden in steps the Housekeeper, and at her Heels one of the most formidable Enemies these two Guests had. The Domestick betook himself presently to his Cittadel: but the poor Stranger, seiz'd with Fear, and every Limb about him in an Ague, sees him­self a long time expos'd to the Claws of a merciless Enemy. In [Page 46] short he escap'd; and without minding the good Cheer, as soon as the Danger was over, and he came to himself, he takes his Congé of his Host, and tells him, That he preferr'd his quiet Poverty to all that Plenty which was so attended with frights and fears.

Meridarpax stomachs this Affront, calls together a great many of his Allies, and prevails so effectually upon them, that they en­ter into a Confederacy with him, and offer to serve him in the War. He, the better to maintain his Grandeur, and make him­self more conspicuous than all the rest, claps two great Horns on his Forehead. At the first opening of the Pantry he had a great deal of Success against some of the young Rangers, who first came in. But no sooner had their squeaking call'd in their Sires and their Dams, and the Wawling of a great many others at a distance, gave notice of a new Reinforcement, that was ready to pour in upon the Assailants, but they presently thought of a speedy Re­treat. The rest with ease slunk into their Holes, and none left upon the spot but Meridarpax embarass'd with the Ensigns of his Grandeur, which made the Avenues too strait for him to escape at. One of his Party bid him lay aside his Regalities, but he had scarce time to reply, That he had rather die like a King, and make his Exit gloriously.

A Poem made up of these Stories joyn'd together, and which we might compare with one of the Fables of Aesop or the Ba­trachomyomachia, is very much like the Idea I have of the The­seid, the Heraclid, the Achilleid, and other such like Poems, when compar'd with those of Virgil and Homer.

Aristotle was in the right, when he call'd a certain little Iliad the whole Trojan War squeez'd into the compass of one single Poem. This Iliad indeed was very small, since it was all con­tain'd in a very narrow Compass. It was not at all like the Iliad of Homer, a small part of which fill'd so many Books. We may say as much of the Achilles of Statius, who is comprehended at his full Length within the Compass of twelve Books. And the Achilles of Homer is so vast, that a few days of his Anger and Passion have taken up four and twenty Books compleatly.

According to the old Ex ungue Leonem. Adage it must needs follow, that this Lion of Homer was of a pro­digious size, since so large a Table could con­tain no more than one single Paw, which had been the Destru­ction of so many Heroes. And on the other side, that the Lion of Statius was but of a very small size, since all his Parts could be comprehended and included in a Table less by half than that of Homer's.

You see then the ill Effects of Polymythia, or a Vicious Multi­plication of Fables. The Fable of the Dogs and the Wolf demon­strates [Page 47] how beautiful and regular the Iliad is; and the Narration of the Adventures of the Mouse shews the contrary in the Achil­leid. If my two Parallels are of equal justness, the Difference that appears to be between the Achilles of Homer and that of Statius ought to be attributed to nothing else but the different Conduct of these two Authors.

There is still another way of irregularly multiplying Fables. without making a Rehearsal of the Hero's whole Life: and that is, by mixing with the main Action other foreign Actions, which have no manner of Relation thereto. This belongs to the Ʋnity of the Action, and the Art of making the Episodes: of which we shall speak in the next Book.

The Poem of Ovid's Metamorphoses is of another kind. If (as I have already laid down the Idea I conceiv'd of the Achilleid of Statius, of the Heraclid, of the Theseid, and of other such like Pieces of the Ancient Poets) I had a mind likewise to pre­sent the World with an Example of Aesop's Fables compar'd with Ovid's Metamorphoses; I should be forced to put all the Fables of Aesop into one Body: Because Ovid is not contented to rehearse all that ever happen'd either to Achilles, or to Hercules, or to Theseus, or to any other single Personage; but he makes a Reci­tal of all that ever happen'd to all the Persons of the Poetical Fables. This Recital is by no means an Epick Poem, but a Col­lection of all the Fables that were ever writ in Verse, with as much Connexion and Union, as the Compiler of so many Incidents could devise.

And yet I do not see how any one can condemn this Design, and tax its Author with Ignorance: provided none pretend that he design'd to make an Epopéa, nor compare it to the Poems of Homer and Virgil, as Statius has done his Achilleid and Thebaid.

CHAP. XVII. Of the Regular Multiplication of Fables.

ALtho' we have been speaking so much against the Multiplica­tion of Fables, yet one cannot absolutely condemn it. Our Poets have got several Fables in each of their Poems, and Horuce commends Homer for it. Nay Aristotle himself forbids it in such a flight way, as might be easily evaded. [...]. &c. Poet. 0. 8. He finds fault with those Poets who were for reducing the Ʋnity of the Fable into the Ʋnity of the [Page 48] Hero; because One Man may have perform'd several Adventures, which 'tis impossible to reduce under any One and simple head. This reducing of all things to Ʋnity and Simplicity is what Denique sit quodvis sim­plex duntaxat, & unum. Hor. Poet. Ho­race likewise makes his first Rule.

According to these Rules then, it will be allowable to make use of several Fables; or (to speak more correctly) of several Incidents which may be divided into several Fables; provided they are so or­der'd, that the Ʋnity of the Fable be not spoil'd thereby. This Li­berty is still greater in the Epick Poem, because 'tis of a larger Ex­tent than ordinary Poems, and ought to be Entire and Compleat.

I will explain my self more distinctly by the practice of our Poets.

No doubt but one might make four distinct Fables out of these four following Instructions.

• 1. Division between those of the same party exposes them to the fury of their Enemies.
• 2. Conceal your weakness, and you will be dreaded as much, as if you had none of these Imperfections, which they know no­thing of.
• 3. When your strength is only feign'd, and founded only in the Opinion of others; never venture so far, as if your strength was real.
• 4. The more you agree together, the less hurt will your Enemies do you.

'Tis plain, I say, that each of these particular Maxims, might serve for the Ground-work of a Fiction, and one might make four distinct Fables out of them. May not a Man therefore put all these into one single Epopéa? No: Our Masters forbid that, unless he could make one single Fable out of them all.

But they do not at all forbid it, if the Poet has so much skill as to unite all into one Body, as Members and Parts, each of which taken asunder would be imperfect; and if he joins them so, as that this Conjunction shall be no hinderance at all to the Ʋnity and the Regular simplicity of the Fable. This is what Homer has done with such success in the Composition of the Iliad.

1. The Division between Achilles and his Allies tended to the ruin of their Designs. 2. Patroclus comes to their Relief in the Armour of this Hero, and Hector retreats. 3. But this young man pushing the Advantage, which his Disguise gave him, too far, ventures to engage with Hector himself; but not being Master of Achilles' s strength (whom be only represented in outward appear­ance) he is killed, and by this means leaves the Grecian Affairs in the same disorder, which he in that Disguise came to free them from. 4. Achilles provoked at the Death of his friend, is reconciled, and revenges his loss by the Death of Hector. These various Inci­dents [Page 49] being thus Ʋnited together, do not make different Actions and Fables, but are only the uncompleat, and unfinished Parts of one and the same Action and Fable, which alone can only be said to be Compleat and Entire: And all these Maxims of the Moral, are easily reduc'd into these two parts, which in my opinion cannot be separated without enervating the force of both. The two parts are these, Concordia res parvae crescunt: discordiâ magnae dilabuntur. Salust. de Bell. Jug. That a right understanding is the Preservation, and Discord the Destructi­on of States.

Tho' then our Poets have made use of two parts in their Poems, each of which might have serv'd for a Fable, as we have observ'd: Yet this Multiplication cannot be call'd a vicious and irregular Polymythia, contrary to the necessary Ʋnity and Simplicity of the Fable; but it gives the Fable another Qualification, altogether as necessary and as regular, namely its Perfection and finishing stroke.

There are Fable; which naturally contain in them a great many parts, each of which might make an exact Fable: And there are like­wise Actions of the very same nature. The subject Matter of the Odysseïs is of this kind; for Homer being willing to instruct a Prince and his Subjects, could not do it without Multiplying In­structions; and this Prince's Travels into Countries quite different from each other are likewise different Actions. This Multiplication of Instructions and In­cidents is extremely approv'd of by Horace. He commends the Ut speciosa dehine mi­racula promat, Antipha­ten, Scyllamque, & cum Cyclope Charybdim. Hor. Poet. Adventures of Anti­phates, Polypheme, Charybdis, Circe, the Sirens and others, stiling them the Mi­racles of the Odysseïs.

One might likewise multiply the Fable another way, by mixing with it some other Fable which should not be a part of the Principal one, but only a Species of it. This might be done by applying to some Point that is chiefly specified the Moral Instruction, which the Action contains in general. Homer has left us an Example of this in the Fable of Vulcan, at the End of his first Book of the Iliad.

The General Instruction is, That Discord is a prejudice of the Affairs of them who quarrel: And this story of Ʋulcan applies it, to the Injury which the falling out of Parents do their Children. ‘ Jupiter and Juno quarrel, their Son Ʋulcan is for perswading his Mother to submit to her Lord and Husband, because he was most Powerful. You know (says he) what befell me for endeavouring once to protect you from the rage of Jupiter. He took me by the Heels, and threw me headlong from his Battle­ments, and I carry the marks of it still about me.’

[Page 50] This Fable is quite distinct from the Body of the main Action; for the Quarrel between Jupiter and Juno, which cost Ʋulcan so dear, had nothing to do with the Grecian Affairs: 'Tis likewise compris'd in five Lines.

CHAP. XVIII. The Conclusion of the First Book.

THE Ʋnity of the Fable, and the Regular or Vicious Multi­plication that may be made thereof, depends in a great mea­sure upon the Ʋnity of the Action, and upon the Episodes; so we we shall speak more thereof in another place: But in this and many other Points, the Examen of our Authors, and those particular In­structions one might descend to for an exact Understanding of this Doctrine, would never be at end. And tho I should fill several Vo­lumes with what I have to say about it, yet I should still leave enough to employ the Imagination, the Genius, and the Judgment of both Criticks and Poets, which Art without Nature never brings to Perfection. Nor are we to fansie that Nature alone, and the Advantages of a happy Genius, can make us capable of passing a Judgment upon the Ancient Poets; unless Art and Study acquaint us with the Tast and the Manners of their Auditors, and of the times they liv'd in.

The Relish which all Antiquity, both Sacred and Profane, Greek and Barbarian, had for Fables, Parables, and Allegories (which are one and the same in this place) gave the Ancient Poets a great deal more Liberty than the Moderns have; and make things in Homer pass for Beauties, which would look but ill in a Piece of Mo­dern Poetry. This likewise exposes our An­cient Poet to such Censures, as bewray our Ignorance oftner than his faults. The Vobis datum est nosse mysteria, caeteris in Para­bolis tantum. Qui potest capere capiat. Sapientiam omnium an­tiquorum exquiret sapiens, & in versutias Parabolarum simul introibit, occulta pro­verbiorum exquiret, & in absconditis Parabolarum conversabitur. Eccl. c. 39. Custom of that time was to conceal their Mysteries from Vulgar View, and not to ex­plain their Allegories. Men of Learning made it a particular Study to discover these myste­rious Meanings, and this Penetration of thought made a Considerable part of their Learning. Our Age, which in other things pretends to so much Light and Curiosity, is very negligent of these sorts of Knowledge, since they no longer agree with our Customs.

[Page 51] 'Tis perhaps this very Neglect, which conceals from our Eyes the greatest Beauties of Homer, and which instead of his Skill, only shews us a very mean and gross Outside, which hinders us from judging favourably of his Spirit and Conduct. However he had reason to make use of this way, and to accom­modate himself to the Poetae officium in eo positum ut quae vera sunt in alias species obliquis fi­gurationibus cum decore aliquo conversa traducat. Lactant. Instit. l. n. Mode of his Age. He knew well enough, that those, who did not penetrate him would admire him as much as others; because every one was perswaded that what appear'd to the Eye of the World, was in effect nothing else but the Shell, which contained the Profitable and Pleasant parts of his Work.

Virgil was a great deal harder put to it, because the Romans of his time did not so frequently use Fables and Allegories. Cicero did not treat of Philosophy as Plato and Socrates did, upon whom they Father Aesop's Fables. And S. Familiare est Syris & maxime Palaestinis ad om­nem sermonem suum Pa­rabolas jungere. Hieron. in Matth. Jerom takes notice that Parables were in greatest vogue in the East. So that when Virgil was minded to shroud his Instructions and Doctrine under Allegories, he could not be contented with such a plain outside as Homer's was, which gravels those who cannot penetrate it, and who are ig­norant that he speaks figuratively. But he has so composed his Out-side, and his Fictions, that those very persons who can go no farther, may, without seeking for any thing else, be very well satisfied with what they find there.

This Method is wholly conformable to our Way, and very much to our Palates. But I fansie, the satisfaction we so easily find in these External Fictions alone, does us some Prejudice. The more we fix there, the less search do we make into the Bottom and Truth of things. This makes us perhaps Equivocate upon the Word Fable, which we apply so differently to the Epopéa, and to the Fictions of Aesop.

This Prepossession of Mind does Homer a great deal of Diskindness; for we are often willing to find such Vertues and good Manners there, which are not there, and which we suppose ought regularly to have been there: Because we are so little acquainted with his way of teaching Morality.

From hence it comes to pass that we meet with so great Obscuri­ties in the Precepts of Aristotle and Horace, who commend Homer so much for that, which we are so little acquainted with, especially if we examine it according to the Ideas of Perfection, which we gene­rally form to our Selves. By this means we shall be subject to great Confusions and many Contradictions. Before ever then we pass a judgment upon these things and upon Homer, who is the [Page 52] Author and first Model of them, 'tis requisite we rightly compre­hend his Allegories, and penetrate into the Moral and Physical Truths of the Fable, with which his Poems are so full.

As little insight as I have in these Matters; yet I fansie, I have said enough to explain what a Fable is, and to demonstrate the Idea I have of the Nature of the Epick Poem.

CHAP. I. What the subject Matter of the Epick Poem is.

THE Matter of a Poem is the subject which the Poet undertakes, proposes and works upon. So that the Moral, and the Instructions which are the End of the Epopéa, are not the Matter of it. These things are left by Poets in their Allegorical and Figurative Obscurity. They only give us notice in the Beginning of their Poems, that they sing some Action or another: The Revenge of Achilles, the Return of Ulysses, and the Arrival of Aeneas into Italy. Our Masters say just the same thing. [...]. Poet. c. 6. and elsewhere. Aristotle informs us that the Poet Imitates an Action: And Res gestae Regum (que) Ducumque, & tristia bella. Quo scribi possent numero monstravit Homerus. Hor. Poet. Horace in more express terms tells us, That the Actions are the subject Matter of the Epopéa.

[Page 54] But this Action is the Action of some Person: And our Authors expresly say as much. [...]. Ar. Poet. c. 2. Aristotle says that the Poets, who imitate, Imitate the Persons that Act. Horace says, that the Imitated Actions are the Acti­ons of Kings, and Generals of an Army. And our Poets do not propose simply, a Re­venge, a Return, or an Establishment: But they say further, that 'tis [...]. Iliad. 1. Achilles, who is Reveng'd; [...], &c. Odyss. 1. Ʋlysses, who Returns; and Arma Virumque cano, Trojae qui primus ab oris Italiam fato profugus La­vinaque venit Littora. Aeneid. 1. Aeneas, that goes to be Establish'd. There­fore, both the Actions and the Personages are the subiect Matter of the Epopéa.

But suppose we should consider them apart, and ask whether the Action or the Persons, is the Chief and Principal Matter of the Poem: It is plain by what has been said in the former Book, that the Action is not made for the Hero, since that ought to be feign'd and invent­ed independently from him, and before the Poet thought of using his Name; and, that on the other hand, the Hero is only design'd for the Action: And that the Names of Achilles, Ʋlysses, and Aeneas are only borrow'd to represent the Personages which the Poet feign'd in general. The Nature of the Fable will not admit us to doubt hereof; since all the Actions that are there rehears'd un­der the Names of a Dog, a Wolf, a Lyon, a Man, and the like, are not design'd to inform us of the Nature of these Animals to which they are applied; or to tell us of some Adventure that happen'd to them: For the Author of a Fable does not mind any such thing. These Personages on the contrary are only design'd to sustain the Action he has invented. It is therefore true in this Sense, that the [...]. Arist. Poet. c. 6. Action alone is the subject Matter of the Epopêa, or at least, that 'tis a great deal more so than the Persons; since that in its own Nature is so, and the Persons are only so by virtue of the Action.

So likewise have those been condemn'd, who have taken the Heroes for the subject Matter of their Poems. Aristotle finds fault with the Poets who under the name of the Theseid, and the Heraclid, have writ the Lives of Theseus and Hercules in Verse. Statius is likewise to blame in his Achilleid, because he does not sing of Achilles who did such or such an Action, as Homer and Virgil have done; but he sings Achilles himself, and this Achilles at his full length.

'Tis true Virgil in his Aeneid, and Homer in his Odysseïs call their Poem by their Heroe's Name: But this is no more than what is ordinary in Fables. Thus the Titles run, the Wolf and the Lamb, the Lyon and the Mouse, &c. and yet no one imagines, that these Fables were written to inform us of the Nature of these Ani­mals, [Page 55] or to tell us what a certain Wolf has done or said. The same Judgment ought to be made of the Epick Fables, and the Application thereof is easie.

This Doctrine may easily render us capable of judging what ex­tent is allowable to the Matter of a Poem; of what Incidents it is compos'd; and whether 'tis lawful to insert such as belong not to the main Matter.

Since then the Action is the Matter of a Fable, it is plain that whatever Incidents are necessary to the Fable, and make up a part of it, are likewise necessary to the Action, and are parts of the Epick Matter, none of which ought to be omitted: Such, for instance, are the Quarrel of the Dogs; and that of Agamemnon and Achilles: The havock which the Wolf made among the Sheep; and the Slaughter which Hector made in the Confederate Army: The re-union of the Dogs with each other; and that of the Grecian Princes: And lastly, the Re-settlement and Victory which was consequent to this Re-union in each of these Fables. Thus all things being ad­justed, you see the Fable, and the whole Action, with which the Poem ought to conclude. If less had been said about it, it had not been enough.

But can an Author put nothing into his Poem, but what is purely the Matter of it? Or has he not the Liberty of inserting what he pleases, and of talking to it, as Purpureus larè qui Splen­deat unus & alter Assui­tur pannus. Hor. Poet. Horace expresses himself, some pieces of rich and gay Stuff, that have nothing to do with the Ground-work? This is another Vicious Ex­treme, into which we shall never fall, if we follow the Dictates of Right Reason, the Practice of good Poets, and the Rules of the best Masters. They permit us on the one hand to insert some Incident or another, that is necessary to Clear up a part of the Action altho this Incident make up no part of the Fable nor the Action; and tho of it self it be not the subject Matter of the Epopéa: And on the other hand they do not approve of the Recital of an Incident that has not one of these two Conditions, viz. Such a one as is neither the Matter of the Epopéa, nor necessary to illustrate any part of the Action.

Examples and Authority will justifie this Doctrine, and make it more intelligible.

If in the Fable we mention'd, Aesop had related that the Wolf ranging one day in the Forest prick'd his Foot with a Thorn, of which after a great deal of Pain he was at last cur'd; doubtless he would have quite spoil'd his Fable: And Homer too had spoil'd his, if he had made an ample Narration of some Adventure that had hap­pen'd to Hector, which had no manner of dependance on his design. They would have been more considerably to blame, had they in­serted any Incident, which had not happen'd to these chief Person­ages, but which they only saw or heard. On the other side Aesop [Page 56] had said something to the purpose, if, to amplifie his Fable, he had related that the Woolf was wounded in the Foot, and being not quite cur'd, the Pain or the Weakness of that part hinder'd his Running, and expos'd him a Prey to the Dogs. So Homer has very regularly related, that Ʋlysses had formerly been wounded in the Leg, as he was hunting on the top of Parnassus: For this Wound serv'd to discover this Hero, and this discovery is part of the Action, and of the Matter of the Poem.

An Historian, that undertakes to write of one single Action, as the War of Catiline, or the Reign of a King, as Salust has done that of Jugurtha; has not for his subject Matter the Wars and Actions which went before, or happen'd after. Yet he may mention some, which may serve as Instances in the Deliberations; or for the main­taining of some Interests; or upon any other Occasion that is ne­cessary to his main Subject. A Poet has the same Privileges, and the same Reasons on his side: Our two have practis'd accordingly, and have the Approbation of Aristotle himself. For he does not blame Homer for making the Recital we mention'd; and yet he says that the Wound of Ʋlysses is not the Matter of the Poem to which it is apply'd. His words are these. [...]. Arist. Poet. c. 8. When Homer compos'd his Odysseïs, he did not make all the Ad­ventures of Ulysses the Matter of his Poem; such as the Wound be receiv'd upon Par­nassus, and the folly he feign'd before the Grecians: Because, thô one of these two things happen'd, yet it cannot be said that the other ought necessarily, or probably to have happen'd as the Consequence of the former.

This Passage of Aristotle teaches us two things. The first is, that every thing we meet with in an Epick Poem is not the Matter of it; since this Wound of Ʋlysses, which Aristotle, says is not the Matter of the Odysseïs, is not withstanding very largely described there. The second is, that the foreign Incidents, that are inserted in the Poem, should be so United and Joyn'd to some other Incident, which is really the subject Matter of the Poem, that one might swear if one happen'd, the other must necessarily, or in all Proba­bility have happen'd as a Consequence of the former.

The [...]. Odyss. lib. 19. Poet has observ'd this himself in the Wound of Ʋlysses. The discovery thereof is a Consequence so probable, that this Hero finding he was forc'd to let his Nurse wash his Feet, chose to let her do it in a dark place, that so at least she might be kept from the sight of it. The Birth and Education of Camilla is an Incident made use of after the very same way in the Aeneid: [Page 57] It is not the subject Matter of the Poem, but 'tis necessary to clear up so surprizing a Miracle as was the Valour of that excellent Virago.

When an Adventure has not this Consequence, nor this necessary or Probable Connexion with some part or another of the Matter proper to the Poem; 'tis by no means to be inserted: And upon this account Homer has not said one word of the Counterfeit folly of Ʋlysses. Statius with a great deal more Reason should never have meddled with the story of Hypsipyle.

All the particular Incidents which compose the Action are called Episodes. We ought then to be well acquainted with the Nature, Ʋnion, and Qualities of them, if we would know what is the Action and the Subject Matter of the Epick Poem.

CHAP. II. Episodes consider'd in their Original.

THE better to know what an Episode is, and to comprehend what Aristotle has said about it, we must look back for it in its first beginning, and in the Rise of Tragedy, whereby it first be­gan. I speak of it here thô Monsieur Hedelin has formerly writ about it.

Tragedy at first was only a Song in honor of Bacchus, which was performed by several persons (who made up the Musical Chorus) with dancing and playing upon Instruments.

Since this was too tedious, and might fatigue the singers, as well as disgust the Audience; they thought of dividing the Song of the Chorus into several parts, and of making some kind of Narrations between these Intervals. At first one single person spoke them: Then they brought in two speakers, because Dialogues are more diverting: And at last they increas'd the number to three, to give way for more Action. Those who made these Narrations upon the Scene or Stage were call'd Actors. And what they said being adventitious to the Song of the Chorus, these Narrations were no more than Ornaments added to a Ceremony, of which they were not a necessary part: And for this reason were they call'd Episodes.

Besides, as they were only added to refresh the Chorus, and their Assistants; it follows that the Chorus had sung before, and were to sing after them: So that these Episodes were always to be plac'd be­tween the two Songs of the Chorus. Whatever was said before the first, or after the last Song, was not look'd upon as an Episode: But these new Additions were made for Reasons distinct from those which [Page 58] were urg'd for introducing that. The design of them was, either to welcome the Company, and prepare them for what was to be Acted; and this was call'd the Prologue: or else to thank and take leave of them; which was call'd the Exode or Epilogue.

All this made up the four parts of Quan­tity, as [...]. Arist. Poet. c. 12. Aristotle terms it: viz. The Pro­logue, the Episode, the Exode, and the Chorus. The Prologue is all that precedes the first Enorance of the Chorus; the Episode is all that is between the Songs of the Chorus; the Exode is that which is said after the Chorus has done singing; the Chorus was the Company of those who sang the praises of Bacchus: And at first that was the only Tragedy in being.

As this Narration of the Actors was inserted in several places, and made at several times: So one might consider it Entire, as one single Episode compos'd of several parts; and one might likewise call each part an Episode. In this last sense a Tragedy had several Episodes; and in the first it had but only one. These different Episodes of one and the same Tragedy might be deduc'd from as many different Subjects: Or be all taken from the same Subject, that was divided into as many Recitals or Incidents as the Poet had a mind to allow Intervals for the Chorus to take breath in. If we consider the first Institution of these foreign Pieces, there was not the least necessity of deducing all of them from one and the same subject. Three or four Recitals of different Actions, that had no relation to one another, could refresh the singers well enough, and keep the Audience from languishing, as much as if they had all been only different parts of one and the same Action, very closely connected together.

But these foreign Beauties soon took off from the lustre of those others which so charitably gave them Entertainment: And that which at first was only an Addition to Tragedy, afterwards became the Principal part of it. Then, they were consider'd as a Body, whose Members should not be Heterogeneous, and independant on one another. The best Poets made use of them thus, and they de­duc'd their Episodes only from one single Action. This was so far establish'd in Aristotle's time, that he made a standing Rule of it, He says, that the most defective Tragedies are such, whose Episodes have no manner of Connexion. He calls them Episodical, that is to say, overcharg'd with Episodes: Because these lesser Episodes cannot make one single one, but of necessity remain in a Vicious Multiplicity.

[Page 59] Actions, that were most simple, and had least of Intrigue, were most of all liable to this Irregularity, because having fewer Incidents, and fewer parts than others, they afford so much the less Matter. A Poet of no great Conduct, very often quite spends himself at the first or second coming on of his Actors between the Songs of the Chorus: And then he finds himself oblig'd to seek out for other Actions to fill up the Intervals behind. Our first French Poets did so. They took to fill up each Act just as many different Actions of a Hero, which had no manner of Con­nexion, save that they were done by one single person. These Fables are Episodical, and such as Aristotle has condemn'd, as we hinted before. His Censure is in these Words: [...]. A. Poet. c. 9. Of all the Fables and simple Actions that are, the Episodical are the most Im­perfect. The Episodical Fable I call such a one, whose Episodes have no necessary nor probable Con­nexion.

CHAP. III. An Explication of the foregoing Doctrine by an Instance.

AS for what has been said, you may consult what the Practice of the Poets was, when they compos'd the Works we have been speaking of. After the Fable was invented, and the Names impos'd on the Personages, the Author was to consider all the Circum­stances of his Action, and what parts were finest and most suitable to the Movements of the Theatre, and to his own design; and then he was to make as many parts of his Representation, as there were distinct Narrations between the Songs of the Chorus.

To give you a famous Instance of this, and such an Instance as is well known to the whole World, we will make use of Seneca's Oedipus, without minding the several Absurdities that are therein.

Oedipus begs the Gods to tell him the means of putting a stop to the Plague that then rag'd at Thebes: The Oracle returns him this Answer, That the Death of King Laïus his Predecessor must be Reveng'd. He makes enquiry after the Murderers, and finds, that he was not only guilty of this Man's Death, but besides was the very Son of Laïus, whom he had Murder'd, and of Jocasta his [Page 60] Widow, whom he had Marry'd. He punishes himself severely for it, and by this means restores the Health of his Country.

You see then this Famous Fable, and in truth the most just, and the best invented, as to the Moral, and the Theatral part, of any Antiquity can boast of.

The Reges & exactos Tyran­nos Densum humeris bibit sure Vulgus. Hor. Grecians, for whom it was com­pos'd, were extremely pleas'd to see the Crimes and the Misfortunes of Kings: And the Moral instruction, that was most in Vogue at that time, was such a one as did beget in Men an Aversion to Monarchy, and a love to Democracy, which they call'd liberty. What the Poets feign'd of Oedipus contain'd all these things; and was very proper to prevent the Grandees from Aspiring to Tyranny, and to inspire others with a Resolution never to endure it.

This Fable being thus conceiv'd has very naturally these five parts. The first comprehends the Misfortunes of the People. The second is the Enquiry into the Cause and the Remedy of these Misfortunes. The third is the Discovery thereof. The fourth is the Effect of this Discovery, and the performance of what the Gods requir'd, namely the punishing those Crimes, that had been the Cause of the Ills which the People suffer'd. And the fifth is the Cure and Joy that ought to be the Consequence of the Repentance and Punishment of Oedipus.

But this last part was very improper for the Theatre. The Calm and Languishing Passions, of which the spectators upon this occasion were hardly capable, would have enervated and spoil'd the Beauty of those violent Passions so proper to Tragedy, and with which the Audience were to be inspir'd. The Poet then was not to make an exact Episode of this last part. On the other hand, he has divided the second part into two, and has supply'd his five Acts in the following Method.

1. The Plague rag'd in the City of Thebes, and brought so many Miseries and dreadful Deaths upon them, that King Oedipus, touch'd with the Misfortune of his Subjects, would freely have left the Kingdom: But he hopes for some Relief from the Oracle he has sent to consult, and attends its Answer.

2. Creon brings him the Answer, and informs him, That the Cause of the Thebans Misfortunes, is the Murder committed upon the person of his Predecessor King Laïus: And that the Remedy is the punishing of the Murderer. Oedipus sets himself upon his duty of punishing the Offence: And to discover who this Murderer was, whom no body as yet knew, he orders Tiresias to be sent for. This Priest began by a Sacrifice, but that made no discovery of the thing in question.

3. He then had recourse to more powerful means. He calls up from the shades below the Ghost of Laïus, who discovers to him [Page 61] that King Oedipus is the Assassin that ought to be punished; and moreover, that this Prince, who thought himself innocent, was at the same time guilty of Incest and Parricide. But Oedi­pus, inform'd of this only by Creon, and supposing he was born at Corinth, Son to King Polybus and Queen Meropa, is very confident of his own Innocence, and gives no Credit to the Re­port Creon made him. He is perswaded 'tis a Falshood invented to out him of the Kingdom, to which Creon was next Heir.

4. But at last he understands that he did kill Laïus, and was his Son, and Jocasta's, whom he had ignorantly married.

5. He punishes himself severely, plucks out his own eyes, goes into Exile, and so restores Health and Quietness to his People.

CHAP. IV. Of the several sorts of Episodes, and what is meant by this Term.

THE Word Episode passing from the Theatre to the Epopéa, did not change its Nature: all the Difference [...] Poet. cap. 17. Ari­stotle makes between them is, that the Epi­sodes of Tragedy are shortest, and the Epi­sodes in these great Poems are by much the longest. So slight a Difference should be no hinderance to our speaking of both after the same manner.

This Word, according to Aristotle, is capable of three distinct Meanings. The first arises from that Enumeration of all the parts of Tragedy, which we mention'd. For if there are only four parts, viz. The Prologue, the Chorus, the Episode, and the Epilogue; it follows, that the Episode in Tragedy is whatever does not make up the other three; and that if you substract those three, the Epi­sode necessarily comprehends all that remains. And since in our times they make Tragedies without either Chorus, Prologue, or Epilogue; this Term Episode signifies all the Tragedy which is made now-a-days. So likewise the Epick Episode will be the whole Poem. There is nothing to be substracted thence, but the Pro­position and the Invocation, which are instead of the Prologue. In this sense the Epopéa and Tragedy have each of them but one single Episode, or rather, are nothing else but an Episode: and if the Parts and Incidents of which the Poet composes his Work have an ill Connexion together, then the Poem will be Episodical and defective, as we hinted before.

[Page 62] But as all that was sung in Tragedy was, according to Aristotle's Expression, call'd the Chorus in the Singular Number; and yet its being in the Singular was no reason why each part (when it was divided into several) should not be call'd the Chorus too; and so several Chorus's be introduc'd: just so in the Episode, each Incident, and each part of the Fable and the Action, is not only stil'd a part of the Episode, but even an Entire Episode. 'Tis in this sense that [...]: Poet. cap. 17. Aristotle said, the Mad­ness of Orestes, and his Cure by Expiatory Sacrifices, were two Episodes. This Term taken in this sense signifies each part of the Action exprest in the Model, and first Con­stitution of the Fable; such as the Absence and Travels of Ʋlysses the Disturbance of his Family, and his Presence which re-adjusted all things.

Aristotle tells us of a third sort of Episodes, when he says, that whatever is comprehended and exprest in the first Platform of the Fable is Proper, and the other Things are Episodes. [...] Ibid. This is what he says just after he had propos'd the Model of the Odysseïs. We must then in the Odysseïs it self examine what this third sort of Episode is, the better to know wherein it differs from the second. We shall see how the Incidents he calls proper, are absolutely necessary: and how those, which he distin­guishes by the Name of Episodes, are in one sense necessary and probable; and in another sense not at all necessary, but such as the Poet had liberty to make use of, or not.

After Homer had laid the first Ground-work of the Fable, and prepar'd the Model, such as we have observ'd it to be, it was not then at his Choice to make or not make Ʋlysses absent from his Country. This Absence was Essential: [...]. Ibid. Aristotle stiles and places it among those things that are proper to the Fable. But the Adventure of Antiphates, that of Circe, of the Sirens, of Scylla, of Charybdis, &c. he does not call such. The Poet was left at his full liberty to have made choice of any other, as well as these things. So that, they are only probable, and such Episodes as are distinct from the main Action, to which in this sense they are neither proper nor necessary.

But now let us see in what sense they are necessary thereto. Since the Absence of Ʋlysses was necessary, it follows, that not being at home, he must be somewhere else. Though then the Poet had his liberty to make use of none of these particular Ad­ventures we mention'd, and he made choice of; yet had he not an absolute liberty of making use of none at all: but if he had omitted these, he had been necessarlly oblig'd to substitute others [Page 63] in their room; otherwise he would have left out part of the Mat­ter contain'd in his Model, and his Poem would have been de­fective.

This last sense of the Word Episode is not so different from the second as it seems at first sight, since it still informs us that an Episode is a necessary part of the Action. The difference between them lies in this, that an Episode in the second sense is the Foun­dation and Ground-work of the Episode in the third Sense: and that this third Sense adds to the second the probable Circumstan­ces of Places, Princes, and People, where and among whom he was cast by Neptune, and abode during his Absence from Ithaca.

We must likewise take notice, that in this third Sense, the In­cident which serves as a Foundation to an Episode, ought to be of some Extent and Compass, and that without this an Essential part of the Action and Fable is not an Episode. As in the Ex­ample of Oedipus which we propos'd; the Cure of the Thebans is a part proper and essential to the Fable, and would be an Episode in the second Sense. But because the Poet has not amplified this Incident by any Circumstance, therefore 'tis not an Episode in the third Sense: 'tis only the Foundation of such an Episode, which the Poet made no use of. This Observation makes it clear, that in reality the first Platform of the Action contains only what is proper and necessary to the Fable, and has not any Episode; as Ari­stotle says of the Model he has given us of the Odysseïs.

'Tis therefore in this third Sense we are to understand the Pre­cept of Aristotle, which orders us not to form the Episodes till after we have made Choice of the Names we would give our Per­sonages. Homer could not have spoken of a Fleet and Navy, as he has, if instead of the Names of Achilles, Agamemnon, and the Iliad, he had made choice of those of Capaneus, Adrastus, and the Thebaid, as he might have done without spoiling the Essence of the Fable.

If one should form an Episode, whereof not only the Names and Circumstances were not necessary, but whose very Ground-work and Foundation was not a part of the Action, that serves for the Subject-Matter of a Poem: then this Episode would have a sorry Connexion, and would render the Fable Episodical. This Irregularity is discernable, when one can so take away a whole Episode, without substituting any thing in its room, that this Substraction shall make no Vacuum, nor Defect in the Poem. The Story of Hypsipyle inserted in the Thebaid, is an Instance of these defective Episodes. If the whole Narration of this famous Matron were taken away, the Sequel of the main Action would be but so much the better; one should not perceive that the Poet had forgot any thing, or wanted the least Member of the Body of his Action.

[Page 64] But suppose any one should say, ‘That if these particular In­cidents were natural and necessary Members, it would thence follow, that they would not be foreign, extraneous, additional, and inserted Pieces.’ To this I answer, that all this is true; but withall, that the Thing has retain'd its original and native Name, though it has quite lost its Nature. Aristotle, who as well as others has retain'd this dubious Term, prescribes the Rules of Tragedy under the Name of Episode. Therefore in this Trea­tise, wherein I only follow his Precepts, I am oblig'd to take every thing in his sense, and not spoil the Nature of the Things, which he explains, by a superstitious adhering to a Word that has chang'd its Nature ever since its first Rise.

I will maintain then that the Word Episode in the Epick Poem does not signifie in extraneous foreign Peice, even in Aristotle's opinion: but that it signifies the whole Narration of the Poet, or a necessary and essential part of the Action and the proper Sub­ject, extended and amplified by probable Circumstances.

This Conclusion deserves a more particular Examination.

CHAP. V. Concerning the Nature of Episodes.

AN Episode, according to Aristotle, should not be taken from something else and added to the Action; but should consti­tute a part of the Action it self. That this is Aristotle's Mind, we shall find, if we would but reflect, that this great Master, when he treated of Episodes, never made use of this Word to Add, al­though his Interpreters have found it so natural, that they have commonly made use of it in their Translations and Notes.

When he commends Homer for taking only part of the Siege of Troy for the Subject-Matter of his Iliad; he does not say that he has amplified it by Adding a great many Episodes to it; this Ex­pression would distinguish the Episodes from the Matter to which they would have been added: But he says, [...]. Poet. c. 23. That he made use of a great many Episodes of this Action: and this denotes that the Episodes of the Iliad were part of the Acti­on which is the Subject-Matter thereof. And a few Lines after he says, [...]. Ibid. That the Poet divided his Poem by Episodes. This is what we observ'd before in Oedipus.

[Page 65] If the Episodes were taken elsewhere, and added to the Acti­on, whereof they were not parts, it would signifie little whe­ther they were join'd and connected with one another or no, but they should be join'd to the Action, and this [...]. Cap. 9. Aristotle should have taught us. And yet he does no such thing, but orders us to connect them with one another.

He does not say, that after one has prepar'd the Platform of the Fable, and made Choice of the Names, one should add the Episo­des; but he makes use of a Verb deriv'd from this Word; as if we should say in our Language, [...]. Cap. 17. ‘That the Poet ought to Episodize his Action.’ And elsewhere he says, ‘That the Episodes should not be foreign, but [...]. Ibid. proper to the Subject.’

In fine, we might likewise alledge this very Chapter, wherein Aristotle lays down the first Draught of the Odysseïs, and which he concludes by saying, that whatever he has propos'd is proper to the Subject, and that the Episodes make up the rest. In this Passage, to give us a reason of the different Extent of Tragedy and the Epopéa; or to inform us how this last becomes longer: He does not say, that they Add a few Episodes to the Tragick Acti­on, and a great many to the Epick; but he says more exactly, That the Episodes of Tragedy are short and concise, and the Epopéa is extended and amplified by its Episodes. He demon­strates this Length of the Epopéa amplified by the Extent of its Episodes, by the Poem of the Odysseïs, which he brings as an Example, and says, [...]. Ibid. The Sub­ject of it is long. Now if the Episodes (take the Word in what sense you please) be not part of the Subject, 'tis plain the more room they take up the less is left for the Subject; and that the longer they are, the more straitned and short will the Subject be. If then the Epopéa be stretch'd out by its Episodes, and if for this very reason the Subject of the Odysseïs is long, as Aristotle affirms; it then ne­cessarily follows, that the Subject is nothing else but the very Episodes.

The better to demonstrate this Length of the Odysseïs, Aristotle adds, That the Subject of this Poem is a Voyage for several Years; That Neptune did all he could to hinder the chief Per­sonage from returning home; that he does return thither not­withstanding; where he meets with very great Disorders, the Authors of which he punishes, and so restores Peace and Qui­etness to his Kingdom. This Subject is indeed a great deal longer than that of the Iliad; and it requires a longer time, and more Actions for all these things, than for the simple Anger of an [Page 66] enrag'd and pacified person, where every thing was transacted in one and the same place.

This Length of the Odysseïs, compar'd to that of the Iliad, would still hold good, though we should substract from it the several Years which precede the opening of the Poem; and began the Action only at the time of the first Council of the Gods. For it would be still longer than that of the Iliad by a fifth part; the one taking up 58 Days, and the other only 47 or 48.

But one cannot exclude from the Subject that which precedes the opening of the Poem, and that which Ʋlysses relates to Alcinous, without contradicting [...]. Cap. 17. Aristotle, by redu­cing into the Compass of less than two Months, what he says took up several Years. This would be to give [...]. Odyss. 1. Homer himself the Lye, who says, That his Subject contains the Voyages and Travels of a Man, who after the taking of Troy, saw several Ci­ties, and knew the Customs of a great many States and People: he says, that he suffer'd much by Sea, and did all he could to secure the Return of his Attendants as well as of himself. Now all this did not happen since the first Council of the Gods. Then, there were se­ven whole Years, in which he never so much as thought of his Attendants, for they were all destroy'd. And since that, there happen'd but one Tempest, and he visited no more than one City. These seven Years then, and all the Adventures, the Travels, and the Tempests which preceeded, from the Ruin of Troy down to that time, are not extraneous, foreign, or additional Pieces; but are with the rest the Subject of the Poem. And yet they are Episodes, as Aristotle asserts in these Words, The rest are Epi­sodes: for this Rest is all that he did not name in particular. Now he spoke only in general, of the Absence of Ʋlysses, of the Storms he met with, of the Disturbances of Ithaca, and of the Re-establishment of this Prince.

In short, when we discours'd of the Nature of the Fable, we there took notice of the absolute Necessity the Poet lay under of keeping Ʋlysses from his Country a very long time; of ordering his Absence as caused by the Storms he met with; of casting this Hero upon several different Countries; of raising great Disorders in Ithaca; of making an Example of his Enemies by punishing them; and of re-establishing the Prince himself. This was so far necessary to the Subject, that the Poet was not left to his Liberty of changing it, without destroying his Design, spoiling his Fable, and making another Poem of it.

[Page 67] But though it was necessary that Ʋlysses should be with strange Princes for several Years; yet it was not necessary that one of these Princes should be Antiphates, another Alcinous; nor that the Nymph Calypso, and the Enchantress Circe should be his Hostesses. One might have changed these Persons and States into others, with­out changing the Design and the Fable. Thus, though these Ad­ventures were part of the Subject after the Poet's Choice of them, yet they were not proper to the Subject.

It is likewise necessary to the Subject, that Ʋlysses revenge him­self, and punish his Wife's Courtiers; but 'tis neither proper nor necessary that he should kill them with Javelins, as they were at Supper in his House, at Night too, and none to assist him but his Son and two or three of his Domestics. He might have ap­pear'd at the Head of an Army, and without the least Surprize have kill'd them with his drawn Sword at their own Houses, or in the open Field. But yet will any Man say, that his killing them with Javelins is not part of the Subject?

In a word, the Revenge he takes, and the punishing of these Miscreants, exprest in short, as we see it in the Model Aristotle has left us, is a simple Action proper and necessary to the Subject. It is not an Episode, but the Foundation and Soul of an Episode: and this same Punishment explain'd and amplified with all the Circum­stances of Times, Places, and Persons, is not a simple and pro­per Action, but an Episodiz'd Action, and a true Episode: And though the Poet is left at his Freedom and Choice therein, yet it does not follow that the Episode is form'd upon a less proper and necessary Foundation.

'Tis in this last Sense, and of this only sort of Episodes, we shall generally speak.

CHAP. VI. The Definition of Episodes.

AFter what has been said, we may very well infer, That Epi­sodes are necessary Parts of the Action, extended by pro­bable Circumstances.

An Episode is but a part of an Action, and not an entire one; like that of Hypsipyle in Statius, which renders this Poem defe­ctive and Episodical.

That part of the Action which serves for a Foundation to the Episode, ought not to continue in its Simplicity; such as it is in the General related in the first Draught of the Fable. Aristo­tle [Page 68] having recounted the Parts of the Odysseïs, says expresly, that they are proper: and in this Case distinguishes them from the Episodes. Thus in the Instance of Oedipus which we produc'd, we said, that the Cure of the Thebans is not an Episode, but on­ly the Foundation and Subject of an Episode, which the Poet made no use of. And Aristotle (by saying that Homer in the Iliad has taken but a few Things for his Subject, but that he has made use of a great many Episodes) does inform us, that the Subject contains in it self a great many Episodes, which the Poet may or may not make use of. That is, it contains the Founda­tion of them, which one may leave in its general and simple Brevi­ty, as Seneca has done the Cure of the Thebans; or which one may enlarge and explain, as the same Author has done the Cha­stisement of Oedipus. In this last way 'tis that the Poet makes use of them, and forms just Episodes out of them.

The Subject of a Poem may be long after two ways: the first is, when the Poet makes use of a great many of its Episodes: and the other is, when he gives to each a considerable Extent. 'Tis by this Method, that the Epick Poets extend their Poems a great deal more than the Dramatick.

We must likewise take notice, that there are some parts of an Action which of themselves do naturally present us but with one single Episode; as, the Death of Hector, that of Turnus, &c. There are likewise more fertile parts of the Fable, which oblige the Poet to form several Episodes of each part, though in the first Model they are exprest in as simple a manner as the rest. Such are, the Fight between the Trojans and the Grecians; the Ab­sence of Ʋlysses; the Travels of Aeneas, &c.

For the Absence of Ʋlysses from his own Country during so ma­ny Years together, does necessarily require his Presence elsewhere; and the Design of the Fable obliges him to be cast into several Dangers, and upon several States. Now each Danger, and each State, furnishes Matter for an Episode, which the Poet may make use of, if he please.

We conclude then, that Episodes are not Actions, but the parts of an Action: That they are not added to the Action, and the Matter of the Poem; but that they constitute this Action and this Matter, as the Members of the Body constitute the Matter of it: That upon this Account they are not deduc'd from any thing else, but the very Foundation of the Action: That they are not united and connected to the Action, but to one another: That all the parts of an Action are not so many Episodes; but only such as are amplified and extended by particular Circumstances, and in the manner whereby the Poet rehearses a Thing: And last­ly, That this Union between each other, is necessary in the Foun­dation of the Episode, and probable in the Circumstances.

CHAP. VII. Of the Ʋnity of the Action.

THere are four Qualifications in the Epick Action: the first is its Ʋnity; the second its Integrity; the third its Importance; and the fourth its Duration. We will begin with the first.

In this place we shall consider the Ʋnity of the Action, not on­ly in the first Draught and Model of the Fable, but in the extend­ed and Episodiz'd Action. And in truth, if the Episodes are not added to the Action, but on the contrary are the necessary parts thereof; it is plain, that they ought to be comprehended in it, and its Ʋnity still preserv'd: And the Fables which Aristotle calls Episodical are such, wherein some Episodes that are foreign, and not duly connected, add some Actions to the Action of the Po­em, and so spoil the Ʋnity of it.

The Ʋnity of the Epick Action, as well as the Ʋnity of the Fable, does not consist either in the Ʋnity of the Hero, or in the Ʋnity of Time: This is what we have already taken notice of. But 'tis easier to tell wherein it does not consist, than 'tis to dis­cover wherein it does.

From the Idea I have conceived thereof by reading our Authors, these three things, I suppose, are necessary thereto. The first is, to make use of no Episode, but what arises from the very Plat­form and Foundation of the Action, and is as it were a Natural Member of this Body. The second is, exactly to unite these Epi­sodes, and these Members, with one another. And the third is, never to finish any Episode so as it may seem to be an entire Acti­on; but to let each Episode still appear in its own particular Na­ture, as the Member of a Body, and as a Part of it self not com­pleat.

We have already established the first of these three Qualifica­tions, in the Doctrine we laid down concerning the Episodes; and perhaps enough has been said about it: but yet we will clear up this Doctrine by some Instances taken from the principal Episodes of the Aeneid.

In the Scheme we have drawn of the Fable and Action of this Poem, we have observed, that Aeneas ought of necessity to be a King newly elected, and the Founder of an Empire rais'd upon the Ruins of a decay'd State: that this Prince should be oppos'd by wicked Men: and lastly, that he should be established by Piety and the Force of Arms.

[Page 70] The first part of this Action is the Alteration of a State, of a King, and of a Priest. And this is Virgil's first Episode, contain'd in his second Book, wherein the Sacra suosque tibi com­mendat Troja penates: Hos cape fatorum comites, his moenia quaere, &c. Aeneid. 2. Poet de­scribes the Subversion of the Trojan Empire in Asia, the Death of King Priam, and of the Priest Panthus. To all this he adds the Choice which both Gods and Men make of Aeneas to be the Successor of these two deceased Persons, and to re-establish the Empire of the Trojans in Italy.

The second part of the Action begins, when Aeneas sets himself upon his Duty, executes the Orders he receives, and marches for Italy. Virgil has plac'd almost all this second Episode in his third Book: the rest lies in the first, in the fifth, and in the beginning of the seventh.

The third part of the Action is the Establishing Religion and Laws. Religion consists in Sacrifices, in Funeral Rites, and Festi­val Sports. Aeneas performed all these; and the Hac casti maneant in relligione Nepotes. Ae­neid. 3. Poet took care from time to time to advertise his Readers, that these Ceremonies were not to be consider'd as so many parti­cular Actions, or as the simple Effects of the Hero's Piety upon some particular Occasions; but as sacred Rites, which he was go­ing to Hinc maxima porro Ac­cepit Roma, & patrium servavit honorem. Ae­neid. 5. transfer into Italy under the Quality of the Founder of the Roman Empire. By this means, no body can doubt of his mean­ing, nor take these Acts of Religion, and these Episodes, for any thing else but the necessary and essential Parts of his Action and Matter. This Part furnishes the Poet with several Episodes, which he distributes into several parts of his Work; as in the third Book, where Aeneas re­ceives from Helenus the Ceremonies which hereafter he was ob­lig'd to institute: in the fifth, where he celebrates the Sports hard by his Father's Tomb: And elsewhere almost throughout the whole Poem.

Virgil design'd his sixth Book for the other part about Laws, viz. for the Morality, for the Politicks, and for the forming such a Ge­nius as was to animate the Body-Politick of the Roman State.

After these parts of the Action, which contain the performance of the Hero's Designs, we are to consider likewise the Obstacles he meets with, which make up the Intrigues of the Action. These Obstacles are the Effects of Juno's Passion. And we might say, that this Opposition is no less proper to the Aeneid, than the Opposi­tion of Neptune is to the Odysseïs. Now we observ'd that Aristotle placed the Anger of this God in the first Draught of the Greek Poem among the Incidents that are proper to it.

[Page 71] The first of these Intrigues, and the most considerable Obstacle of all, is that of Dido, which takes up the first and fourth Book. The second is the Burning of his Fleet in the fifth Book. The third is the Love, the Ambition, and the Valour of Turnus. This last supply'd him with a great many Episodes, being the Cause of all the War Aeneas met with in Italy. It begins at the se­venth Book, and is not over till the End of the Poem. 'Tis thus that the Episodes of the Aeneid are deduc'd from the Fable and the very Essence of the Action.

The second Thing we said was necessary for the Ʋnity of the Action, is the Unity and the Connexion of the Episodes with one another. For besides that Relation and Proportion which all the Members ought to have with one another, so as to constitute but one Body, which should be homogeneous in all its parts; 'tis re­quir'd farther, that these Members should be, not contiguous as if they were cut off and clap'd together again, but uninterrupted and duly connected. Without this, the natural Members would not make up that Union, which is necessary to constitute a Body.

The Continuity and Situation of Episodes is not exact, when they only follow one another: but they should be plac'd one after another so as the first shall either be necessarily or probably the Cause of that which follows. [...] Poet. cap. 8. Aristotle finds fault with Incidents that are without any Consequence or Connexion; and he says that the Poems, wherein such sorts of Epi­sodes are, offend against the Ʋnity of A­ction. He brings, as an Instance of this De­fect, the Wound which Ʋlysses receiv'd up­on Parnassus, and the Folly he counterfeited before the Grecian Princes: because one of these Incidents could not have happen'd as a Consequence of the other; Homer could not have given them a necessary Connexion and Continuity: nor has he spoil'd the Ʋnity of the Odysseïs by such a Mixture.

But he gives us a compleat Instance of the Continuity we speak of, in the Method whereby he has connected the two parts of his Iliad; which are the Anger of Achilles against Agamemnon, and the Anger of the same Hero against Hector. The Poet would not have duly connected these two Episodes, if before the Death of Patroclus, Achilles had been less inexorable, and had accepted of the Satisfaction Agamemnon offer'd him. This would have made two Angers and two Revenges quite different from, and independent of one another. And though both had been necessa­ry and essential to the Fable, to make it appear what Mischiefs Discord, and what Advantages Concord is the Cause of: Yet the Ʋnity would have been only in the Fable, but the Action would have been double and Episodical: because the first Episode would [Page 72] not have been the Cause of the second, nor the second a Conse­quence of the first.

These two parts of the Ilaid are joyn'd together very regular­ly. If Achilles had never fell out with Agamemnon, he would have fought in person, and not have expos'd his Friend singly against Hector, under those Arms that were the cause of this Young man's Rashness and Death. And besides, the better to joyn these two parts with one another, the second is begun a great while before one sees what Event the first ought to have. All the Articles of the Reconciliation are propos'd, and one might say, that this Recon­ciliation, with respect to Agamemnon, is made before the Death of Patroclus, and even before it was ever thought of exposing him to a Battel. There was nothing more wanting but Achilles's Consent: and since that was not given till the Death of Patroclus had made him resolve upon that of Hector; it may be truly affirm­ed, that the Anger and the Revenge of Achilles against Hector, which is nothing else but the second part of the Poem, is the on­ly cause of the Reconciliation, which finish'd the first part.

But for the Ʋnity of a Body, it is not enough that all its Mem­bers be natural, and duly united and compacted together; 'tis far­ther requisite, that each Member should be no more than a Mem­ber; an imperfect Part, and not a finish'd compleat Body. This is the third Qualification we said was necessary to preserve the Ʋni­ty of the Epick Action.

For the better understanding of this Doctrine, we must take notice that an Action may be entire and compleat two ways: The first is, by perfectly compleating it, and making it absolute­ly entire with respect to the principal Persons that are interested therein, and in the principal Circumstances which are employ'd about it. The second way is by compleating it only with respect to some Persons, and in some Circumstances that are less princi­pal. This second way preserves the Action in its regular Ʋnity, the other destroys it. We will give you an Instance of each.

The Greeks were assembled together to revenge the Affront of­fer'd to Menelaus, and to force the Trojans to restore him his Wife, whom Paris had stollen away. There happens a Difference between Agamemnon and Achilles. This last being highly incens'd, abandons the Common Cause, and withdraws himself; so that in his Absence Agamemnon's Army was worsted by the Trojans. But the Boldness of the King of Kings puts him upon engaging the Enemy without Achilles. Away he marches to give them a gene­ral Assault with all his Forces.

The Fight began with the Duel between Menelaus and Paris. They sight without Seconds, upon Condition that Helen should be the Conquerour's; and the War decided by this Combat. Tho' the Anger of Achilles was the Cause of this Combat, and whatever Interest [Page 73] he might have therein; yet 'tis plain, that Menelaus, Paris, and Helen are so far the principal Personages concern'd, that if this Action had been finished with respect to them, it would have been quite finish'd: it would not have made a part of the Action and of the Revenge of Achilles, but a compleat Action; which would have put an End to the Revenge, and render'd the Anger of this Hero ineffectual. Therefore Homer has not finish'd this Action: Paris being hard put to it escapes, and Menelaus is wounded with a Dart by Pandarus; by this means Achilles be­gins to be reveng'd, and this Incident becomes an exact Episode.

Virgil has manag'd the Episode of Dido another way. He has finish'd it so, that the Ʋnion of his main Action is as Regular as the Art of Poetry requires. The Address of this great Poet consists in ordering it so, that Dido, in whom this Incident is compleat, was not the chief Personage; and her Marriage was only a simple Circumstance of an Action, that is not finish'd, and yet is the Soul and the only Foundation of this particular Action: in a word, Aeneas is the Hero of this Episode, which is only invented to re­tard the Settlement of this Hero in Italy.

This is manifest, if we would but reflect on what the Skill and Care of the Poet has left us about it. Juno, who carried on all this Intrigue, was very little concern'd for Dido's Happiness. If she had lov'd her so well, she should have diverted the Trojan Fleet from her Coasts; upon which place she her self did cast them, Foelix, heu! nimium foelix, si littora tantum, Nunquam Dardaniae teti­gissent nostra carinae. Aeneid. 4. which was the only Cause of this Queens Miseries. When she proposes the Match to Venus with so much Ardency, 'twas only the top of her Countenance. Sensit enim simulatâ mente locutam, Quo regnum Italiae Liby­cas averteret oras. Her whole Aim was to keep Aeneas in Africk, and to bestow on Carthage the Empire of the World, which belonged only to Italy, and depended upon the Stars of this Hero. You see then the on­ly thing she drives at, the rest is only counterfeit, and a Means whereby she endeavours to accomplish this End.

Dido her self makes it appear how less considerable her Person is than that of Aeneas, and that she is only brought in to hinder the Designs of this Prince. 'Tis she, that courts him, and would have him for her King, Husband, and Protector, against the Rage of her Brother and the Incursions of Iarbas. But she could on­ly obtain a Marriage for a Month or so, as was customary now and then in those times. Aeneas tells her plainly, that the Name of Husband should be no Hinderance to his Departure, and his De­signs for Italy: and he declares, that this Condition of not lea­ving Carthage was not in the Articles of their Alliance.

[Page 74] The more an Episode may seem to be a compleat Action, the more care should the Poet take to prepare the Reader's mind, before he engages him in it. This is what Virgil did in the Episode we men­tioned. All the beginning of the first Book does sufficiently inform the Reader, that the Stay of Aeneas at Carthage was only a hin­drance and constraint which he was forced to submit to. The Poet is likewise obliged to repeat this Advertisement at the beginning of these Episodes; that so the Reader may know to what the Poet engages him. Thus the Trojans were scarce got to Carthage, but they give out that their Design is for Italy. And before Dido made the least shew of her Designs upon Aeneas; the Poet spends the second and third Books to inform us of this Hero's Design, and the necessity of his going to Italy, according to the Orders he received from the Oracles and the Gods. All this is declar'd in his Speech to Dido her self. To conclude, All this Episode is so full of this main Design, that the Poet is not willing we should lose the sight of it for a Moment. Therefore Aeneas is doubtless the Hero of this Episode: and we ought to look upon this Inci­dent rather as an Obstacle laid to hinder the Settlement of the Trojans in Italy, as the History of Dido, in whom it is a compleat Action.

CHAP. VIII. Of the Faults which corrupt the Unity of the Action.

HOmer and Virgil have furnished us with Instances of an Exact Ʋnity, with the three Qualifications we requir'd. We must now enquire elsewhere for Instances of an Ʋnity that is corrupted by Episodes that are irregular all these three ways: that is, first such as are deriv'd from something else besides the Action; se­condly, such as have no Connexion with the rest of the Poem, nor with the Members and Parts, which are the Matter thereof; and lastly, such as are compleat Actions, independent from the Subject. These vicious and superfluous Episodes may be met with not only in the Middle of the Poem, but at the Beginning and the End.

The Thebaid of Statius furnishes us with all these Instances, as his Achilleid has already afforded us an Instance of that false Ʋni­ty, which consists only in the Ʋnity of the Hero.

The unfortunate Oedipus had pluck'd out his own Eyes; and banishing himself from Thebes, left the Government of it to Eteo­cles [Page 75] and Polynices, his two Sons. They order'd Matters so, that each of them, one after another, should Reign a whole Year by himself. But the eldest being in possession, when his time was out, refus'd to quit the Throne. Polynices, in his Exile, was so happy as to marry the Daughter of Adrastus King of Argos. This aged Prince takes Prince takes up the Quarrel, and with the Assistance of his Allies undertakes to settle Polynices on the Throne, and to out Eteocles. Upon this Thebes is beleaguer'd, and after several Skit­mishes, this Difference was decided by the Duel and Death of the two Rival Brothers. This War between the two Theban Brothers, is the Fraternas acies alterna (que) regna prophanis Decertata odiis, sontesque evolvere Thebas, Picrius menti calor incidit. Theb. 1. Action our Poet would relate, and the Subject-Matter of the Thebaid.

But observe another Action, or rather another Story. The God­dess Venus is offended with the Inhabitants of Lemnos, because in all that Island she had neither Temple, Altar, nor Sacrifice. At first she puts the Men out of conceit with their Wives; and then she makes the Women so mad, as to conspire the Death of all their Husbands. This Barbarous Resolution is most unmercifully put in Execution. Hypsipyle was the only Woman who had secretly saved her Father King Troas, and so ingeniously dissembles the having Murder'd him, that the rest confer the Kingdom upon her, as be­longing to that Family.

A little after the Argonauts, going in quest of the Golden-Fleece, are forc'd by a Storm to call in and recruit themselves at Lemnos. They were very kindly entertain'd there, and the badness of the season gave Jason, the chief of these Hero's, an opportunity of leaving Hypsipyle big with Twins, before he put off to Sea.

She was scarce brought to bed, but 'twas told her Subjects, that they had been cheated, and that King Troas was alive, and reign'd in the Isle of Chios, whither Hypsipyle had convey'd him, tho' she had pretended she had murder'd him. This made the Princess so odious, that fearing the fury of those Women she fled to the Sea-shore, where she was seiz'd on and carry'd off by Pirates. They bestow her on King Lyeurgus, who makes her the Nurse of his Son Archemorus.

The State of this Prince border'd upon Thebes, and lay in the Road the Army of Adrastus was to pass thither. The Greeks met with this famous Nurse as she was alone with her Nursery in a Wood. They were extreme thirsty, all the Wells being dry'd up by the scorching Seasons. They intreat her to give them some relief; she grants their request, and brings them to a Fountain that never was drain'd. She was so forward, that to make the more hast to this wish'd for Stream, she eases her self of her precious burden with which she was intrusted, and leaves Archemorus all alone upon the Grass. [Page 76] She goes to quench the Grecians Thirst; and then to satisfie the desire they had of knowing who she was, that had been the saving of them, she makes a large Recital of her own Life.

After she had made an end, and receiv'd the Compliments of Adrastus, she returns back to her Prince. But a frightful Serpent had kill'd him by a blow with his Tail. The Greeks kill the Ser­pent, and in honour of the Dead Prince make a splendid Funeral, and institute most magnificent sports, which take up a whole book of the Thebaid. The Recitals of Hypsipyle, and the Death of Archemorus fill up another.

These are foreign Episodes, and if they are Regular, I cannot imagine what use the Rules of Aristotle can be of in this business. But let us see whether these Incidents have so much as one single Qualification of those which I propos'd as necessary to the Ʋnity of the Action.

The first of these Qualifications is that an Episode be proper and drawn from the very Essence of the Fable and the Subject. It would be hard to invent an Adventure more foreign to the War of the Theban Brothers, than all this story of Lemnos. For what Affinity has the Anger of Venus, the butchering of the Lemnians, the Designs of the Argonauts, and the Amours of Jason and Hypsipyle, with the Quarrel between Eteocles and Polynices? To make a mix'd medly of such various In­cidents, is just like forming one of Humano capiticervicem pictor equinam Jungere si velit, & varias inducere plumas, Undique collatis membris, &c. Hor. Poet. Horace's Monsters: And never would a Woman's Head clap'd on to a Horse's Neck appear more Monstrous, than does this Hypsipyle tack'd to the War of Thebes ap­pear in this Poem. This is the first and most Essential fault of this Episode.

The second is in the Connexion, which is not at all in the Thebaid, things being clap'd together without the least necessity or proba­bility. For pray what part of the subject of the Thebaid is either the Cause, or the Effect of the Massacre at Lemnos? Or of any of the Adventures of Jason?

'Tis true Hypsipyle makes this Recital to the Argives, as they were going to infest Thebes; but there is a great deal of difference between connecting the Recital of an Action to something, and connecting the very Action to it. If for the Introducing a Nar­ration into the Body of a Poem, and connecting it thereto, so as to make a just Episode of it, 'tis enough that this Narration be made in the Presence of the Hero, by some body that has some Interest therein; there would be no more need of Rules for the due Ʋniting of Episodes. For a Poet to fail of making this Ʋnion exactly, it would not be enough that he were Ignorant and Unskil­ful, but he should be something more; he should be Malicious, and [Page 77] declare positively against all Connexions whatever. For without 'twere so, he would not be easily inclined to stuff a whole book with the impertinent Description of a Story that was nothing to the purpose.

The sports of the sixth Book of Statius are no less irregular. There is nothing in the Action to give them the least Countenance. They have no reference to the War of Thebes, to the designs of the Argonauts, nor to the mad Practices of Lemnos. Nor is it a Consequence of the Stories of Hypsipyle; but rather a Consequence of the Recital she made of these Stories. They are tack'd to her Recital at one end, and at the other to the March of the Grecians, without the least Necessity and Probability. And how could the fiery Tempers of Tydeus and Capaneus, and the hot Spirits of the other Commanders away with such languishing and Godly Amuse­ments; and by consequence so opposite to the very Soul of the Poem, which consists altogether in Violence and Impiety?

'Tis true the March of the Argives was the Cause of his Death for whom they instituted these sports: But that it should not have been; and since this cause is no way necessary, and offends against all probability, 'tis rather a fresh Fault, than any Excuse. Hypsi­pyle had so little a way to go from the place where she left her Prince, to that whither she conducted the Grecians; that from thence Moriens vagitus in auras Excidit, & ruptis immutuit ore querelis, Qualia non totas peragunt insomnia voces. Audiit Hypsipyle.— she hears this Infant's shrill cry, when Death had almost stop'd his Mouth. Therefore if she had had any concern for leaving Archemorus, she should not have staid from him a mo­ment. But could not a Souldier have leave to pass a Compliment upon her for a few Minutes or so? To conclude, who did ever know a Nurse so inconsiderate, as to leave her Child alone for several hours in the midst of a Forest, to the mercy of wild Beasts, expos'd to so many other Dangers; and to leave him in this manner without a Guard, thô so many Thousands were at hand, to whom she had done such a singular piece of service? How could so many Re­doubted Princes endure this Unworthy and Foolish exposing of a Child without the least necessity for it? But what signifies it? Virgil had: his sports, and 'twas but requisite Statius should have his too.

The third fault that may be committed against the Ʋnity of the Main Action, is to compleat an Action entirely, which should serve for an Episode. This is likewise one of the Conditions of the Story of Hypsipyle: Nothing is more compleat in all its Cir­cumstances. It makes no part of any other Action: 'Tis an entire Action, that has no dependance on any of the Theban Worthies, or the other Grecians of this Poem; of whom not one has the least in­terest in what pass'd at Lemnos. Thus, the Ʋnity of the Action is [Page 78] entirely spoil'd in the Thebaid by this Adventure, the Recital where­of makes the Poem Episodical.

This fault of Statius is in the very midle of his Poem. It has cut the Action of it into two parts, most monstrously divided by this large Hiatus, which is so miserably fill'd up with foreign Mem­bers, or rather foreign Bodies. But, as I before hinted, these su­perfluities corrupt the Ʋnity as much when they are plac'd at the Beginning or End, as when they are in the Middle and Body of the Poem. Statius affords us instances of this kind of fault likewise.

Had he Limen mihi Carminis esto Oedipodae confusa domus. Theb. 1. begun the War of Thebes with the Incestuous Birth of Eteocles and Polynices, he would have imitated those, who began the War of Troy with the Birth of Helen, thô even that met with Nec gemino bellum Trojanum orditur ab Ovo. Hor. Poet. Horace's Censure. But Gentisque canam pri­mordia dirae, Sidonios raptus, & inexorabile pactum Legis Agenoreae, scrutantemque aequora Cad­mum. Stat. Theb. 1. he carries matters still higher, goes back as far as the first founding of Thebes, and opens his Poem with the Rape of Europa, which was the first Cause of building that City.

He ends just as he begun. The Quarrel of the two Brothers was manifestly decided by their Deaths, there remained no more difficulty, the Siege was rais'd, and all over. And when the Reader expects no more, the Poet, who has quite drained his Matter, gives us notice of his joyning another story thereto, which was the Consequence thereof, just as the Return of Ʋlysses is the Conse­quence of Hector's death, and the taking of Troy; and as the Reign of Ascanius is the Consequence of the Establishment of Aeneas. Thebes has no longer the Argives but the Athenians for its Ene­mies; 'tis no longer defended by Eteocles, but by Creon; and not assaulted by Polynices, but by Theseus. The Dispute is no longer about a Kingdom, but a Tyrant to be punished. 'Tis no more a Siege but the taking of a City. And now no longer is Cruelty, Ambition, and Violence predominant there; but Valour, Gene­rosity, and Piety, which in the last Book destroy the Character of the whole Poem. So that the Action is quite Another, in the Cause, in the End, in the Persons, in the Manner, and in all the other Circumstances. These are the faults which manifestly spoil the Ʋnity of the Epick Action.

CHAP. IX. Of the Integrity of the Action

ARistotle not only says that the Epick Action should be One, but [...]. Poet­c. 23. he adds that it should be Entire, Perfect and Compleat: And for this purpose, it must have a Beginning, a Middle, and an End. Herein these Actions differ from those of Aesop's Fables; for there is no necessity that these last should be Entire and Com­pleat. Witness the Forte per augustam te­nuis Vulpecula rimam Rep­serat in cumeram frumenti: pastaque, rursus Ire foras pleno tendebat corpore frustra: Cui Mustela pro­cul: si vis ait effugere isthinc, Macra cavum re­petes arctum, quem macra subisti. Hor. Lib. 1. Ep. 7. Fable of the meager hunger-starved Fox, who convey'd himself thro a very small hole into a Granary full of Corn. When he had cram'd his Guts, he was for marching the same way out again: but he found himself too Corpulent. A Weezel at a distance seeing him in such a quandary tells him, he came empty in, and must go as empty out. Now there's no necessity of finishing this Action. Reynard is very regularly left in this place without telling what happened to him afterwards; and without troubling ones head, whether he was kill'd upon the spot; or pinched his Guts to save his Carcass, or whether he escaped at some other Hole. This Action then is not a Whole, because it has only a Beginning and Middle, but not an End.

These three parts of a Whole are too Generally and Universally denoted by the Words, Beginning, Middle, and End: We may interpret them more precisely, and say, That the Causes and De­signs which one takes for doing an Action are the Beginning of this Action; That the Effects of these Causes, and the Difficulties that are met with in the Execution of these Designs are the Middle of it; and that the Unraveling and Resolution of these Difficulties are the End of the Action.

This End, and this Unravelling may happen after different ways, and so form several sorts of Actions. For sometimes the Action ends by the discovery of some person, who was unknown before, as in the Tragedy of Oedipus. This Prince thought himself the Son of Polybus and Meropa, King and Queen of Corinth: And he dis­covers himself to be a Theban, the Son of Laius and Jocasta. Sometimes without any Discovery, there is a great change of For­tune in some person or other, who thinking himself happy, all on a sudden falls into a Misery he never dream'd of; or else on the con­trary, becomes from a miserable, a very happy person beyond all [Page 80] Expectation. The first of these was Agamemnon's Case after the Ruine of Troy, who thinking himself in quiet Possession of his ac­quired Glory was miserably butchered by his Wife. [...]. Arist. Poet. c. 11. These Changes or Al­terations from one kind of Fortune to the Contrary are called by a Greek Name Peripetias.

Sometimes likewise there is neither a Discovery nor a Peripetia; but the Action ceases, and passes, if I may so say, from Motion to Rest after a simple Manner, without any Incident, but such as might be expected in the Ordinary course of Affairs. Thus in the Troad of Seneca, Hecuba and the Trojans appear at first as in Captivity, and under a long series of Afflictions, which made them complain with their Tongues, and despair in their Hearts. The Ghost of Achilles requires Polixena should be Sacrificed to him, and before they part, Calchas would make them kill Astyanax too. Both are put in Exe­cution, and so the Tragedy ends.

[...]. Poet. c. 17. These different ways make two sorts of Action or Fable: The One Simple, the Other Complex. The Simple Actions are such as End without a Discovery and a Peripetia; The Complex have ei­ther a Discovery, or a Perpetia, or Both.

The Integrity of the Action comprehends all these things: Let us now take a particular View of them.

CHAP. X. That the Action ought to be a Whole.

THis Proposition seems contrary to what Aristotle teaches us, when he says, ‘ [...]. Arist. Poet. c. 23. That the War of Troy is a just and perfect Whole; That Homer has taken but a part of it. That therein he was very Judicious; and that those who instead of Imitating him, have taken this Whole for the Sub­ject of their Poems, have taken too much Matter, and have been very indifferent Artists.’ Does he pretend by this Doctrine, and by these Instances to overthrow what we have cited out of that very treatise of Poetry? Would he teach us that the Subject and Matter of a Poem ought not to be a Whole, and an Entire and Compleat Action, but only a part of an Action? Sure 'tis not likely he should contradict himself thus.

We may reconcile this, that appears so contradictory in the Terms, by making this Reflection: That one and the same Action may be consider'd as in the Fable, where the Poet makes use of it; or else as in the History, whence he took it. When the Poet is upon the search after Matter for his Fable, he lights upon several sorts of Actions. Some have several parts which may be regularly connected in one Body; and then he may take one of these Actions, entire as it is. But there are others whose parts are so independent to one another, that a Man cannot with any proba­bility joyn them together so as they shall seem to be the Causes and the Consequences of each other. And this is what Aristotle con­demns under the Name of Many-limb'd Fables. To which he op­poses those which have but one only part.

He does not absolutely forbid the Multiplicity of Parts; but he commonly takes such sorts of Words in the worst Sense, which might of themselves be understood in a more favourable one. Thus we observ'd, that he condemned the vicious Plurality of Fables and Episodes, under the Terms of Polymythia, and Episodical, altho' a Man may lawfully put several Fables into a Poem, and there is none but has several Episodes in it.

Therefore 'tis in this Sence that he condemns the Plurality of the Parts in an Epick Action. We are not to suppose that he condemns it absolutely, and that this Action made use of cannot be a Whole. He explains his own meaning sufficiently in the following Words. [Page 82] [...]. Poet. c. 8. As, says he, in other Imitations, that which a Man Imitates is one single thing: So likewise, The Fable being the Imitation of an Action, 'tis requisite that this Action be One, Entire, and a Whole, and that the parts be so joyn'd to, and dependent on each other, that one cannot so much as remove any one out of its Place, either to transpose, or retrench it quite, with­out making a Change in the whole. For whatever can be so placed or omitted, that one cannot perceive the Alteration, can by no means be a part of the Action. So then, 'tis only the Plurality of parts in this last Sence which Aristotle condemns. And he has commended Homer for having taken only a Part of all that passed in the Trojan War.

But yet we are to take special notice that this Retrenchment of all the other parts does not hinder the Anger of Achilles, which is only retain'd, from being a Whole in the Poem. 'Tis only a Part with respect to the whole War, and in the History whence Homer took it: But 'tis an Entire and Compleat Whole in the Fable and Poem, which Homer has made of it. You see then how these opposite Expressions of Aristotle are easily reconciled in their mean­ing. The Poet may take out of History an Entire Action, or but a Part of one: but still he must put in his Poem an entire Action, and not a Part only. The Disposition of his Matter regulates this Point, and makes a regular Whole of whatever he shall have met with and made choice of. He must make use thereof Variously, according to the Historical Plurality, or Singularity of the Parts, so as to make thereof the Subject of his Poem.

When he takes an Entire Action, as Homer has done for his Odysseïs, and Virgil for the Aeneid; there is nothing to be ad­justed, nor any measure to be taken to make this Action appear a Whole, and not the Part of another Action. The Reader is already instructed by History, and is in little danger of being mistaken therein. 'Tis enough that the Poet tell wherein his Action con­sists, without saying wherein it does not. Homer proposes the Return of Ʋlysses, who after the Destruction of Troy, came back again to his own Country: Virgil proposes the Change of a State which is ruin'd at Troy, and re-established in Italy by Aeneas. Each of these Adventures have the Conditions of a Whole as well in the History whence they were taken, as in the Fables where they are made use of.

But when the Poet chuses only a Part, and out of this Historical Part makes a whole in his Fable; he must take care to give his Readers notice of it, for fear that they, applying the knowledge [Page 83] they have of the History to what they Read in the Poem, should blame the Author, as if he had said but little on his Subject, or rather had ill managed his design, having only described an im­perfect Action.

The Poet's not knowing how to change a Part into a Whole, has perhaps contributed very much to the fault of those Men, whom Aristotle blames for having loaded themselves with too much mat­ter. But the Knowledge Homer had of this Secret, and his Skill in practising it, has made him merit those Praises which Aristotle gives him. He does not only tell us in his Iliad that the Anger of Achilles is his Subject; but besides that, in express Words he ex­cludes the other parts of the Trojan War. To do this after a Poetical and more Artificial Manner, he makes use of the very Hero's person, whose Action and Design he Sings. [...], &c. Iliad. 1. I am not come hither (says Achilles) to wage War against the Trojans; I have nothing to do with them, they have done me no wrong: my design was to main­tain the Honour of Agamemnon and Menelaus. But since Aga­memnon offers an Injury to my Honour, I renounce that Design, and shall only take care to revenge my self, &c. You may see by this what is the Design of the Iliad, and what is not.

Besides, the Poet has given neither a Beginning nor an End to the Siege of Troy: Nay there is scarce a Middle that is proper to it. For tho' Jupiter sends Agamemnon to Assault the Town, yet 'tis not with a Design it should be taken, as this Abused Prince imagin'd: But only to be punish'd by the Trojan Arms for the Affront he had put upon Achilles, and to satisfie the Anger, and the Revenge of this Hero.

On the other hand, all the parts of this Anger, that are requisite to make it a Whole, are very Conspicuous. It has its Beginning, its Causes, its Effects, and its End. This is what the Poet con­tinues to make out as he had begun; that is, in the Person of his Hero. Achilles is not reconcil'd with Agamemnon with a Design to revenge all Greece upon Troy, or Menelaus upon Paris: As long as nothing else was on foot he was inexorable. But Hector kills Patroclus; then he is reconcil'd, that he may revenge his own par­ticular injury upon Hector alone. Thô he is the Death of other Trojans, yet 'tis only because he meets not with Hector himself: 'Tis to fight his way through to this particular Enemy; 'tis because those he kills are his Relations, or his Souldiers; just as before he reveng'd himself on all the Grecians, for the Affront which Agamemnon alone had put upon him.

[Page 84] As soon as he could meet with Hector, he [...] Iliad. charges all the other Greeks to stand off, and would not let them interpose their Quarrel with his. After he had kill'd him, he never pushes on the Advantage which Hector's Death had given him over the Trojans, who were stupified at this disaster, and dejected at so great a loss. He had nothing more to say to 'em, called off the Gracians to the Obsequies of Patroclus, and vents the rest of his fury by insulting over the Dead Corps of his Enemy.

Lastly, being mov'd at Priam's tears, he Restores the body to him, and grants him a Truce for twelve days to perform the Funeral Solemnities. And that we might not look upon the Death of Hector as the End of the War; the Poet is so far from making the least shew of the Trojans being inclin'd to a Peace, or a Surrender, that he makes Priam say expresly, [...]. Iliad. 24. That when the Truce was over, they would be for fight­ing again upon the twelfth day. If this twelfth day had come, and a Battle ensu'd, then the Anger and the particular Interest of Achilles being at an End, these Battles would have been really a Part of the Trojan War, and of the Common Cause. [...]. Lin. ult. Poemat. Homer to prevent this Irregularity has finish'd his Poem together with the Truce and the Funeral of Hector, before the Fight or the Skirmishes were re­new'd.

Could there be any greater Demonstration, that the Trojan War had nothing to do with all this, and that the Subject of this Poem is not a Part of this War in the Iliad: But that 'tis a Whole, Entire, and Compleat Action, that has no dependence on the taking of this City?

To conclude, we must not confound the Action with the Fable; nor the Design of the Hero in the Action he does, with the Design of the Poet in the Allegory, and in the Moral he teaches. 'Tis well known that a Wolf devouring a Lamb has no design to give us the Instructions which Aesop has drawn from it.

CHAP. XI. Of the Beginning, Middle and End of the Action.

THE Poet should so begin his Action, that on one hand no­thing should be farther wanting for the understanding of what one reads; and on the other hand, that what we read require after it a necessary Consequence. He should end after the same manner, with these two Conditions transposed; the One, that no­thing more be expected; and the Other, that what is put at the End of the Action be only a necessary Consequence of some thing which ought to have went before. Lastly, the Beginning must be joined to the End by a Middle that makes no Interval, but which is in it self neither the Beginning nor the End. This Middle must be the effect of something that went before, and the Cause of some other thing that is to come after.

[...]. Arist. Poet. c. 7. This makes three parts, each of which taken singly is imperfect, and always suppo­ses One or both of the Other. The Begin­ning supposes nothing before it self, and re­quires something after it: On the contrary, the End requires nothing after it self, but supposes something that goes before: And the Middle supposes something that went before, and requires something to follow after. We will explain this Doctrine of Aristotle by the Instances we produced.

Eteocles and Polynices were equally the Sons and Heirs of Oëdipus King of Thebes. They made a Contract to reign a Year by turns. Eteocles began, and his Year expired, refuses to quit his Throne to his Brother. Polynices meets with Assistance at Argos, and comes to dispute his Title at the Head of an Army. This is an exact Beginning. It requires a Consequence, but not any thing antecedent thereto. Therefore 'twas irregularly done to place before this Beginning the Recital of whatever hap­pened from the founding of Thebes, and the Rape of Europa down to that time.

The Quarrel of these two Brothers ended with their Deaths: which is an exact End? The Reader does not desire one should re­late what becomes of Creon the Successor of Eteocles. Therefore Statius is in the wrong, when he makes That a Part of his Poem.

[Page 86] He was no less to blame for putting in the Middle of his Poem the Story of Hypsipyle. For this Narration has no dependance on the Theban Action, and supposes nothing before it, and requires nothing after it; and by consequence this Action is neither the Middle, nor any other Part of the Quarrel between the two Bro­thers, or of the Subject of the Poem. These are Examples to be avoided; now we will produce such as are to be imitated.

Homer's Design in the Iliad is to relate the Anger and Revenge of Achilles. The Beginning of this Action is the change of Achilles from a Calm to a Passionate Temper. The Middle is the Effects of his Passion, and all the Illustrious Deaths it is the Cause of. The End of this same Action is the Return of Achilles to his Calmness of Temper again All was quiet in the Graecian Camp, when Aga­memnon their General provokes Apollo against them, whom he was willing to appease afterwards at the cost and prejudice of Achilles, who had nothing to do with his Fault. This then is an exact Be­ginning; it supposes nothing before, and requires after it the Effects of this Anger. Achilles revenges himself, and that is an exact Middle; it supposes before the Beginning of the Anger of Achilles, who is provoked. This Revenge is the Effect of it. Then this Middle requires after it the Effect of this Revenge, which is the sa­tisfaction of Achilles; for the Revenge had not been compleat, un­less Achilles had been satisfied. By this means, the Poet makes his Hero, after he was glutted, as I may so say, by the mischief he had done to Agamemnon, by the Death of Hector, and the Honour he did his Friend, by insulting o'er his Murderer; he makes him, I say, to be moved by the Tears and Misfortunes of King Priam. We see him as calm at the End of the Poem, during the Funeral of Hector, as he was at the Beginning of the Poem, whilst the Plague raged among the Graecians. This End is just, since the Calmness of Tem­per Achilles re-enjoy'd, is only an Effect of the Revenge which ought to have went before; and after this no body expects any more of his Anger. Thus has Homer been very exact in the Beginning, Middle and End of the Action he made choice of for the Subject of his Iliad.

His Design in the Odysseis was to describe the Return of Ʋlysses from the Ruin of Troy, and his Arrival at Ithaea. He opens this Poem with the Complaints of Minerva against Neptune, who op­posed the Return of this Hero, and against Calypso, who detained him in an Island far from Ithaca. Is this a Beginning? No; doubt­less 'tis not. The Reader would fain know why Neptune is di­spleased with Ʋlysses, and how this Prince came to be with Calypso. He has a mind to know how he came from Troy thither. The Poet answers his Demands out of the Mouth of Ʋlysses himself, who re­lates these things, and begins the Action by the recital of his Tra­vels from the City of Troy. It signifies little whether the Beginning [Page 87] of the Action be the Beginning of the Poem, as we shall take notice in the following Book, where we shall treat expresly of the Order our Poets have observed in their Narrations. The Beginning of this Action then is that which happens to Ʋlysses, when upon his leaving of Troy he bends his Course for Ithaca. The Middle comprehends all the Misfortunes he endured, and all the Disorders of his own Go­vernment. The End is there instanting of this Hero in the peaceable Possession of his Kingdom, where he discovers himself to his Son, his Wife, his Father, and several others. The Poet was sensible he should have ended ill, had he went no farther than the Death of these Princes, who were the Rivals and Enemies of Ʋlysses, because the Reader might have looked for some Revenge which the Subjects of these Princes might have taken on him, who had kill'd their So­vereigns: But this Danger over, and these People vanquished and quieted, there was nothing more to be expected. The Poem and the Action have all their Parts and no more.

The Order of the Odysseis differs from that of the Iliad, in that the Poem does not begin with the Beginning of the Action. That of the Aeneid is still more different, since the very End of the Poem is not the End of the Action of Aeneis. But we shall say no more of this at present.

The Design of Virgil is to conduct Aeneas into Italy, there to establish his Gods and Religion, and lay the Foundations of the Ro­man Empire. There is this difference between the Return of Ʋlysses, and the Voyage of Aeneas, that no one ever questions why a Man returns to his own Country: Though Homer had made no mention of the natural Affection he bore to his Country, yet the Readers would never have fell out with him for this Omission. This is a well known Cause; 'tis neither an Action, of which one ought to make a Narration, nor a thing which precedes this Return. But Aeneas acts contrary to this natural Affection; he abandons his own Country, to go in search after a strange Land. The Reader then would have the Poet tell him why this Hero leaves Troy. Besides Ʋlysses was born a King, but Aeneas was not. So that the embark­ing of Ʋlysses is sufficiently the Beginning of the Odysseïs: But the embarking of Aeneas from Troy, on Board the Admiral of a Fleet of Twenty Sail; cannot be the Beginning of the Action of Aeneas. Aeneas abandons Troy, because it was taken by the Greeks: and is King of the Trojans, because Priam was dead, and he elected in his room.

But if the taking of Troy be the Consequence of a ten Year's Siege, should not this War have been related as the necessary Cause of the taking and ruine thereof? This is what the Poet has admirably provided for by bringing it about, that neither the War, nor the long and tedious Siege, should be the Cause of the taking of this [Page 88] City. Fracti bello, fatisque re­pulsi Ductores Danaum tot jam labentibus annis. Ae­neid. l. 2. Therefore he says at first, that the Greeks were worsted, that they utterly de­spaired of being Masters of the City by any of those Measures they had hitherto taken; and that so many Years spent in the War was but so much time lost. So that the Taking of Troy depends not upon any thing that went before. The Greeks form another Design, which is an exact Beginning of an Action; for it supposes nothing before it. The Poet gives it likewise the other Qualification of a Beginning, which is the requiring Something after it. Before ever the Gre­cians became Masters of the City, and before ever King Priam was kill'd, Aeneas is destin'd to re-establish a more noble Religion, and a more illustrious Empire elsewhere. Wherefore the Burning of Troy is not an entire Action, nor the Downfall of an Empire, but the Cause and the first Part of the Alteration of a State; and it requires a new Establishment to succeed it.

The Shipping off of Aeneas, his Voyages, his Battels, and all the Obstacles he met with, compose a just Middle; they are a Con­sequence of the Destruction of Troy, and of the Choice they made of him to transport them into Italy; and these same Incidents re­quire an End.

The End comprehends the Death of Amata, that of Turnus, the Change of Juno's Mind, and the Terms of the Peace, which contain'd all that Aeneas pretended to for his Establishment.

But for the better judging of the Ʋnity and Integrity of the Action (of which we have already spoke) we must add, that there are two sorts of Designs: The first sort have no manner of Con­sequence, but end with the Action; the others, beside the Acti­on, have likewise some necessary Consequences: And in this last Case these Consequences must be related, if one would have the Poem be as Entire and as Compleat as it ought to be. Our Po­ets furnish us with Instances of both these Designs.

The Anger and Revenge of a Man requires necessarily nothing more after it: when it is satisfied and over, all is at an end. When Achilles was reveng'd, when he had receiv'd Satisfaction for the Affront put upon him, and when he was once quiet, a Man ne­ver enquires what becomes of him afterwards. 'Tis the same case with the Return of a Prince into his own Country: when he is come thither, has put an End to those Disorders which his Absence had caused, and enjoys Peace again, the Reader is satisfied. Nor has Homer made any Episode that has transgressed these Bounds.

Virgil's Practice has been otherwise, because he undertook a De­sign of another Nature. The Establishment of any State does of necessity draw great Consequences after it. If the Poet had taken them all for his Action, it would have been of a monstrous Ex­tent, because the Roman Government was not fully settled till af­ter [Page 89] the Ruin of Carthage, which had so long disputed with it for Empire and Liberty: and this very State arrived not to its Gran­deur and Perfection till under Augustus, who was its last, as Aeneas was its first, Founder. Therefore Virgil has not taken this for the Matter of his Poem; but Super & Garamantas & Indos Proferet Imperium; jacet ex via Sydera tel­lus, &c. Aen. 6. he relates it by such Recitals as Homer makes use of in his Odysseïs, when he tells us of the Wound Ʋlysses receiv'd on the top of Parnassus. Upon this Account we observed, that the Poet may relate such Incidents as were necessary to the Matter of his Poem, but which notwithstanding were not the Matter there­of. 'Tis thus that Virgil practices in the Machines, making Ju­piter in the first, and Anchises in the sixth Book, to make these Prophetical Recitals.

There is something still more Noble in the Episode of Dido, where by an Allegory and a Conduct, which one can never suffi­ciently admire, he brings into the Body of his Action all the suc­ceeding History of Carthage; and this so naturally too, that one would think the Poet should have made Dido say and act, just as she did, though there had never been any Quarrel between these two States, and though there had never been such a Man as Hannibal.

CHAP. XII. Of the Causes of the Action.

AN Historian does not make his Subject-Matter himself, he speaks nothing but what he knows; and in the Conduct of a State, we often see Effects, whose Causes are never known. Those who act in it, keep all things in private; and the more they do so, the greater Qui nescit dissimulare nescit regnare. Politicians are they accounted. So that on one side the Histo­rian is obliged to declare all the Causes he knows, because these Circumstances are very instructive: but on the other hand, he is justly dispensed from relating several Causes, because he cannot come to any Knowledge of them.

A Poet has the same Reasons to tell all the Causes of his Acti­on, and he is likewise more oblig'd to it than an Historian, since 'tis more proper and essential for Poetry to instruct, than 'tis for History. But the Poet has not the same Reasons to excuse his Omission of any Cause whatever. He makes his Matter himself, and if he takes any thing from History, 'tis but so far as History [Page 90] suits thereto. He must feign whatever is not there, or else change what is not suited to his purpose. If 'tis propose that some Things may lie concealed from him, because no Man can know every thing; he then is instructed by the Gods who do know every thing. Virgil is my Warrant in the Case before us, Musa, mihi causas me­mora. Aeneid. 1. he invokes a Deity, that he may come to the Knowledge of the Causes of his Action: and he relates such things, as he could never know but by Revelation; since he says they happen'd to Dido alone, and which she never made any one, no not so much as her Sister, acquainted with. Thus is the Poet oblig'd to tell all the Causes not only that he may instruct, as we hinted before, but likewise that he may please; for without doubt this is very grateful.

There are three sorts of Causes; some are more general and undetermin'd, such as the Humours of any one; for 'tis upon Hu­mour that every one commonly regulates his Conduct, and acts upon Occasion. Others are more precise, such as the Interests of those that Act. And lastly, there are others which are more im­mediate, such as the Designs which one takes to promote or hin­der any thing. These different Causes of an Action are likewise frequently the Causes of one another: every one taking up those Interests, which his Humour engages him in, and forming such Designs as his Humour and Interest prompt him to.

The Humours and the Inclinations belong to the Doctrine of the Morals, which we shall treat of particularly in the fourth Book. We only joyn them here to the two other Causes we mention'd; and of all three we affirm this in general, That the Poet ought to inform his Readers of them, and make them conspicuous in his principal Personages, when he introduces them, or even before he makes them appear.

Homer has ingeniously begun his Odysseïs with the Transactions at Ithaca during the Absence of Ʋlysses. If he had begun with the Travels of his Hero, he would scarce have spoken of any one else, and a Man might have read a great deal of the Poem without conceiving the least Idea of Telemachus, Penelope, or her Suitors, who had so great a share in the Action. But in the Beginning he has pitch'd upon, besides these Personages, whom he discovers, he represents Ʋlysses in his full Length. And from the very first Opening of the Action, one sees the Interest which the Gods had therein.

The Skill and Care of the same Poet may be seen likewise in in­troducing his Personages in the first Book of his Iliad; where he discovers the Humour, the Interests, and the Designs of Agamemnon, Achilles, Nestor, Ʋlysses, and several others, nay, and of the Gods too. And in his second Book he makes a Review of the Grecian and Trojan Armies; which is full evidence, that all we have here said is very necessary.

[Page 91] But lastly, Since the Epick Poem is doubtless much longer than the Dramatick; and since 'tis easier to manage the Incidents and the Presence of the Personages in that than in the other: one is not obliged to introduce all of them at the Beginning of the Epopéa with as much Exactness, as in the first Act of a Thea­tral Piece, where at least one is obliged to give some Item of all those who have any considerable part in the Intrigue.

I mention this upon the Account of Virgil's Practice. He has been less exact than the Greek Poet; for he says nothing of Tur­nus, Latinus, Amata, and other Italians, till the middle of his Poem. But 'tis true likewise, that he has so disposed his Action as seems to justifie this Delay. He has divided the Aeneid into two parts more sensibly than Homer has his Iliad and Odysseïs. He not only makes this Division at the first, and in his Proposition, by saying that Multum ille & terris jactatus & alto: Multa quoque & bello passus. Aeneid. 1. ‘ Aeneas suffer'd much when he was toss'd about from this Sea to that, and from one Province to another; and suffer'd also a great deal more in the Wars he was engag'd in:’ but he likewise, when he begins his second Part, advertises his Reader of it, and Major return mihi na­scitur ordo, Majus opus moveo. Aeneid. 8. proposes the things he is about to mention, as all new, and quite of another Make from the former. Thus in the first Book he introduces the principal Personages of his first part; and he on­ly speaks of those, who were to appear afresh in the second Part, in his sixth, seventh, and eighth Books. And here, in my mind, he was less fortunate than the Greek Poet.

Besides these more general Causes of the Action and of the main Intrigues; there are still some Incidents, and some Episodes more particular, of which the Poet must give an Account. This happens commonly not in the Beginning of the Action, but only when the Poet is about to make one of his lesser Recitals. The Reader could not guess, how the Wound of Ʋlysses came, which discover'd him to his Friends; not why Camilla should be in love with War; nor how it came to pass that Aeneas met with se­veral Persons in the Shades below, who were to come into the World many Ages after, &c. Therefore the Poet must tell him the Causes of all this.

These Causes must be good, and suitable to the Subject. All the Action of the Iliad is founded upon the Anger of Achilles. The Cause of this Anger is the Displeasure Apollo conceiv'd against Agamemnon; because Agamemnon likewise in his Anger had af­fronted the Priest of this God. All these Passions have probable Causes, and such as are suitable to the General Subject of the Trojan War. For as this General Cause is Heten's being ravish'd from Menelaus; so the other Causes are of the same Nature. [Page 92] Chryseïs is ravish'd from her Father, and Briseïs from Achilles. In short, all are stamp'd with the same Character of Injustice and Violence in these Heroes.

If the Hero be a Man of Probity, the Causes of all his Designs should be just and commendable, as those in the Odysseïs and the Aeneid: And the Causes of the Persecution he meets with, must not lessen the Esteem which the Poet would raise of his Probity. Neptune persecutes Ʋlysses, because Ʋlysses had blinded his Son Polypheme. But this Monster had already devour'd six of the Come­rades of Ʋlysses, and was just upon serving Ʋlysses himself and the rest the same Trick. Aeneas makes a more particular Pro­fession of his Piety, and accordingly Virgil uses him more ho­nourably. The Causes Juno had to persecute him, did either not touch his Person, or else were much to his Glory; since the only one which concern'd him, was the Choice which Fate made of him to lay in Italy the Foundation of the Empire of the World. Liceat Phrygio servire marito, Dotalisque tuae Tyrios permittere dex­trae. Aen. 4. Juno is so far from having any scornful or hateful Thoughts for this Hero's Person, that she was willing to trust him with all that was most dear to her on Earth, and make him Lord over her own Carthage. She could never have given a more considerable Token of her Love and Esteem for any Man.

CHAP. XIII. Of the Intrigue, and the Ʋnravelling thereof.

IN what was said about the Causes of the Action, one might have observ'd two opposite Designs. The first and most principal is that of the Hero: The second comprehends all their Designs, that oppose the Pretensions of the Hero. These Opposite Causes produce likewise Opposite Effects; viz. the Endeavours of the Hero for the accomplishing his Design, and the Endeavours of those who are against it. As these Causes and Designs are the Beginning of the Action; so these contrary Endeavours are the Middle of it, and form a Difficulty and Intrigue, which makes up the greatest part of the Poem. It lasts as long as the Reader's Mind is in suspense about the Event of these contrary Endeavours. The Solution or the Ʋnravelling begins, when one begins to see the Difficulty remov'd, and the Doubts clear'd up.

Our Poets have divided each of their three Poems into two Parts, and have put a particular Intrigue, and the Solution of it in each Part.

[Page 93] The first Part of the Iliad is the Anger of Achilles, who is for revenging himself upon Agamemnon by the means of Hector and the Trojans. The Intrigue comprehends the three Days Fight which happen'd in the Absence of Achilles: and it consists on one side in the Resistance of Agamemnon and the Grecians; and on the other, in the revengeful and inexorable Humour of Achilles, which would not suffer him to be reconcil'd. The Loss of the Grecians, and the Despair of Agamemnon, prepare for a Solution by the Satisfaction which the incens'd Hero receiv'd from it. The Death of Patroclus joyn'd to the Offers of Agamemnon, which alone had proved ineffectual, remove this Difficulty, and make the Unravelling of the first Part.

This Death is likewise the Beginning of the second Part; since it puts Achilles upon the Design of revenging himself on Hector. But the Design of Hector is opposite to that of Achilles: This Trojan Hero is Valiant, and resolved to stand in his own Defence. This Valour and Resolution of Hector, are on his Account the Cause of the Intrigue. All the Endeavours Achilles used to meet with Hector, and be the Death of him; and the contrary Endea­vours of the Trojan to keep out of his Reach and defend himself, are the Intrigue: which comprehends the Battel of the last Day. The Ʋnravelling begins at the Death of Hector; and besides that, it contains the insulting of Achilles over his Body, the Honours he paid to Patroclus, and the Intreaties of King Priam. The Re­grets of this King, and the other Trojans in the sorrowful Obse­quies they paid to Hector's Body end the Ʋnravelling; they justi­fie the Satisfaction of Achilles, and demonstrate his Tranquillity.

The first part of the Odysseïs is the Return of Ʋlysses into Ithaca. Neptune opposes it by raising Tempests, and this makes the Intrigue. The Ʋnravelling is the Arrival of Ʋlysses upon his own Island, where Neptune could offer him no farther Injury. The second Part, is the re-instating this Hero in his own Govern­ment. The Princes, that are his Rivals, oppose him, and this is a fresh Intrigue. The Solution thereof begins at their Deaths, and is compleated as soon as the Ithacans were appeased.

These two parts in the Odysseïs have not one common Intrigue, as is to be observed in the two other Poems. The Anger of Achilles forms both the Intrigues in the Iliad; and it is so far the Matter of this Epopéa, that the very Beginning and End of this Poem depend on the Beginning and End of this Anger. But let the Desire Achilles had to revenge himself, and the Desire Ʋlysses had to return to his own Country be never so near a-kin: yet we cannot place them under one and the same Notion: For the Love of Ʋlysses is not a Passion that Begins and Ends in the Poem with the Action; 'tis a natural Habit, nor does the Poet pro­pose it for his Subject, as he does the Anger of Achilles.

[Page 94] Virgil has divided his Poem as Homer did his Odysseïs. The first Part is the Voyage and Arrival of Aeneas in Italy; the second is his Establishment there. But he has connected these two great Episodes better by giving them a Common Intrigue. He did not take for his first Intrigue a Deity, who could act no where but by Sea, as Neptune: but Nec Teneris addita Ju­no Unquam aberit. Ae­neid. 6. makes Choice of Juno, the Goddess of the Air, who had an equal Power over Sea and Land. She oppo­sed the Voyage of this Hero, and 'tis she likewise that opposes his Settlement. This Opposition then is the General Intrigue of the whole Action. The Solution is over when Annuit his Juno & men­tem laetata retorsit. Ae­neid. 12. Juno is appeas'd by Jupiter.

The principal Intrigue of the first Part, is the Design of Dido, and the Endeavours she used to keep Aeneas still at Carthage. The Complaints of Iarbas, the Orders Mercury brought Aeneas to be gone, and the re-fitting of the Trojan Fleet, are Preparations for the Ʋnravelling, which begins at the Departure of Aeneas, when he Vaginaque eripit en­sem Fulmineum, stricto­que ferit retinacula Fer­ro. Aen. 4. cut the Cables which held his Ships at Anchor.

Dido might have done more Mischief to Aeneas, either by pur­suing him as an Enemy to be reveng'd on him, or by following him as his Wife. And though she stay'd still at Africk, what­ever Liberty Men had in those days of putting away one Wife and marrying another, yet the Poet had made him too honest a Man than to allow him two Wives living at the same time. Let Cases stand how they would, yet Aeneas had reason to be afraid of Dido, and to apply the Prophecy of Sibyl to himself, Causa mali tanti con­jux iterum hospita Teu­cris, Externique iterum thalami. Aeneid. 6. which said, that the Cause of the Misfortunes he was to suffer should be another foreign Wife, that should entertain the Trojans, and be ravish'd from another Man's Bed. Upon this Account she must needs die, and Aeneas be certified of her Death. So that this Ʋnravelling is not com­pleat till the sixth Book, Infelix Dido, verus mi­hi nuncius ergo Venerat extinctam ferroque ex­trema sequutam. Ae­neid. 6. where Aeneas meets with the Ghost of this unhappy Queen in the Shades below.

The Intrigue of the second Part is form'd out of the Love and Ambition of Turnus, who was countenanc'd by the Authority and Passion of the Queen Amata. The Articles of Peace which are propos'd in the Eleventh Book, and which are sworn to in the Twelfth, prepare for the Ʋnravelling. The Death of Amata begins, and the Death of Turnus finishes it.

[Page 95] After what has been said of the principal Intrigues, the rest are easily discern'd: there are almost as many as there are great and small Episodes.

CHAP. XIV. The Way of forming the Plot or Intrigue.

WE have already observ'd what is meant by the Intrigue, and the Ʋnravelling thereof; let us now say something of the manner of forming both: and this we shall meet with in the Practice of our Poets; which tells us that these two things should arise naturally out of the very Essence and Subject of the Poem, and that they are to be deduced thence. Their Conduct is so exact and natural, that it seems as if their Action had presented them with whatever they inserted therein, without putting them­selves to the Trouble of a farther Enquiry.

What is more Usual and Proper among Warriours, than Anger, Heat, Passion, and Impatience of bearing the least Affronts and Disrespects? This is what forms the Intrigue of the Iliad: and eve­ry thing we read there, is nothing else but the Effect of this Hu­mour, and these Passions.

What more Natural and Usual Obstacle do they who take Voya­ges meet with than the Sea, the Winds, and the Storms? Homer makes this the Intrigue of the first part of the Odysseïs: and for the second, he makes use of the almost infallible Effect of the long Absence of a Master, whose Return is quite despair'd of; viz. the Insolence of his Servants and Neighbours; the Danger his Son and Wife were in; and the Sequestration of his Estate. Besides, an Absence of almost 20 Years, and the insupportable Fatigues joyn'd to the Age Ʋlysses was then of, might induce him to believe that he should not be own'd by those that thought him dead, and whose Interest it was to have him be really so. Therefore if he had pre­sently declar'd who he was, and had call'd himself Ʋlysses, they would easily have made away with him as an Impostor, before he had had Opportunity to make himself known to them.

There could be nothing more Natural, nor more Necessary, than this ingenious Disguise, to which the Advantages which his Enemies had taken of his Absence had reduc'd him, and to which his long Misfortunes had inur'd him. This allow'd him an Opportunity, without hazarding any thing, of taking the best Measures he could against those Persons who could not so much as mistrust any harm from him. This Way then was afforded him by the very Nature [Page 96] of his Action, that he might execute his Designs, and overcome the mighty Obstacles it presented him with: And 'tis this Contest be­tween the Prudence and the Dissimulation of a single Man on one hand, and the ungovernable Insolence of so many Rivals on the other, which makes up the Intrigue of the second Part of the Odysseïs.

The Conduct of the Latin Poet, in the Intrigues he forms, has the same Simplicity. The Tempests are made use of in the first Part of the Aeneid, just as in the Odysseïs.

In this very part of the Aeneid, Virgil suits himself to the Hu­mour of his Hero, as Homer does himself to the Humour of Achil­les. He (Achilles I mean) was testy and passionate, Agamemnon provokes him by very sensible Affronts. Aeneas was of a soft Disposition; the Poet makes use of good Turns, kind Treats, and the most melting, most endearing Passions, to engage him to stay at Carthage.

In the Second Part, the Oppositions of Turnus and Mezentius are no less exact. For Love and Respect oblig'd Aeneas, not to abandon a Queen to whom he ow'd so much; and these oppos'd his Embarking for Italy: and the Impiety of Turnus and Mezen­tius was an Obstacle to the Establishment of the Gods and Religion at that place. In fine, the Love Turnus had for Lavinia, and the Esteem Amata had for this Italian Hero above Aeneas, are like­wise other natural Obstacles, derived from the very Subject; since Amata was oblig'd to prefer her Relation to an unknown Stranger; and such an accomplish'd Princess as Lavinia, who was sole Heiress to a Kingdom, could not but have her Suitors.

Besides, we observed that Homer made use of the Anger of Apollo, and that of Agamemnon, to stir up the same Passion in Achilles; and that the Cause of the War, and the Cause of these Passions, are the Ravishment of three Women. Virgil forms his general Intrigue after the same manner: He opposes to the Esta­blishing of a Kingdom in Italy, the Establishing of another Kingdom in Africk. This Opposition is suited to Policy in general, and to the Roman Hi­story in particular. Tantum in medio cre­scéntem noctem sibi ac posteris suis metuebant. Liv. lib. 1. Rome in its Infancy sees all her Neighbours conspiring against her; for new Governments cast always a Shade upon the old ones.

But in these Intrigues of the Aeneid, there are a great many other Circumstances, wherein Virgil makes Allegories and Allusions so correspondent to History and Truth, that without bating any thing of his Quality as Poet, he seems to merit likewise that of an Historian. A Man may see in the Persons of Aeneas and Dido the very Spirit and Conduct of two great Empires, of which they are Founders. There one may observe the greatest Obsta­cle [Page 97] the Romans ever met with: and this great Intrigue in the Fa­ble is a Truth in History. Was it only Fiction, that there was a Design of translating in Africk the Empire of the World, which was destin'd for Italy? And the Means used to accomplish that End, was it not that Treachery with which the Romans have always upbraided the Carthaginians? Dido casts this Reproach upon her self; and Nullus amor populis nec foedera sunto. Exoriare aliquis nostris ex ossibus ultor, Qui face Dardani­os ferroque sequare colo­nos. Aeneid. 4. makes the Application thereof to Hannibal and the Carthaginians; ordering them to make use of it always a­gainst the Romans, and to violate their most solemn Treaties, as oft as they suppos'd they could do it to their own Advantage. This is the Genius and Conduct she inspires her Commonwealth with. Mercury likewise advises the Founder of Rome not to trust to the Inconstancy of this Woman, which was like the Inconstancy of her City. And when Juno made the Proposal to Venus of an Alliance between these two States, Venus saw well enough 'twas only a Trick of Dissimulation, to which her present Interests compell'd her to condescend. But I am too mi­nute in a General Treatise of the Epick Poem. We end all with saying, that the Event is the same both in the History and the Poem. Extincti te meque, soror, populumque patresque Si­donios, urbemque tuam. Aeneid. 4. 'Tis Dido's Breach of Faith that had almost ruin'd Aeneas, and which at last became the Ruin of this Foundress of Car­thage. 'Twas this very same Perfidiousness in Hannibal that brought Rome into so much Danger, and was at last the Ruin of Hannibal and his City.

I shall conclude this Chapter with the three Methods of form­ing the Plot or Intrigue of the Poem. One is, to deduce it from the Design of the Hero and the Action, which we have already taken notice of. The second is, to deduce it from the Fable and the Design of the Poet; and this is what we observ'd in the Alle­gory of two opposite Persons and two opposite Empires. The third is to form the Intrigue so, as that the Ʋnravelling may be prepar'd for it. I have said nothing as yet of this third Way, and shall explain it by some Instances.

'Tis worth taking notice, how the Poet prepares the Departure of Aeneas from Dido. The Hero does not come designedly into Africk, but is forced thither against his Will by a Storm. He ac­cepts not the Offer Vultis & his mecum pa­riter considere regnis? Urbem quam statuo, ve­stra est. Aeneid. 1. Dido made him of her City, if he would stay there: Fugae nec conjugis un­quam Praetendi taedas, aut haec in foedera veni. Ae­neid. 4. And in the Marriage it self he takes care to engage him­self to nothing that might hinder him from making a Voyage into Italy by the first fair Wind. All these Precautions prepare the Reader, that so without the least Surprize [Page 98] he sees Aeneas leave Carthage: This is the Ʋnravelling of that Intrigue.

In the second part the Poet opposes none against his Hero, but such persons as he could deal well enough with, when a Peace was clap'd up. King Latinus was to be his Father-in-Law, Lavinia his Wife, and the Latins his Subjects. It would have been hard for all these persons to have become such upon his Account, after they had been his profess'd Enemies. The Poet has provided for that too. In Lavinia there is not to be observ'd either an Inclination for Turnus, or an Aversion to Aeneas: Multaque se incusat, qui non acceperit ultro Dar­danium Aeneam, gene­rumque asciverit turbem. Aen. lib. 11. The King profers this Princess his Daugh­ter to the Hero as an Article of the Peace, and constantly persists in this Design: The Latins only fight against Aeneas because they are forc'd to it. Their Legates give such ample testimonies of their Love and Esteem for him, Quin & fatales murorum attollere moles; Saxaque sibvectare humeris Trojana juvabit. Aen. 10. that they declared, they should think it an Honour to build the City for him which he demanded in Italy. The Poet then opposes none against him but Amata and Turnus, who both perished by their own faults.

Juno indeed could not die; but she is well enough disposed of, by insinuating that all she hopes for, is not absolutely to hinder the Establishment of Aeneas (for that she confessed she could not do): At trahere, & tantis mo­ras licet addere rebus, Sanguine Trojano & Ru­tulo dotabere, Virgo. Aeneid. 7. But only to put a stop to it a little, and make the Trojans and Italians pay very dear for it. Thus, having accomplished these two designs, 'twas no hard matter for Jupiter to chear up her Spirits, and make her consent to the rest.

CHAP. XV. How to dispose, or prepare the Ʋnravelling.

IF the Plot or Intrigue must be natural, and such as springs from the very Subject, as has been already urg'd: Then the Winding up of the Plot, by a more sure claim, must have this Qualification, and be a probable Consequence of all that went be­fore. As the Readers regard this more than the rest, so should the Poet be so much the more exact therein. This is the End of the Poem, and the last Impression that is like to be stamp'd upon them, and which either leaves them in the satisfaction they fought [Page 99] after, or in such a dissatisfied Temper, as endangers the Reputation of the Author. Let us now see the Instances Homer and Virgil have left us of this Practice.

The Ʋnravelling of the Plots of the Iliad is the Cessation of the Anger of Achilles, who was incensed at first against Agamem­non, and lastly against Hector. There is nothing but what is Natural in the Appeasing of this Anger. The Absence of Achilles is the Reason why the Greeks are worsted by the Trojans. He absented himself on purpose, and 'twas a pleasure to him to see the Loss they underwent; that so he might be reveng'd on Agamem­non, who was the only person, that had affronted him. Among the wounded he believes he sees one of his Friends. For his better satisfaction therein, he sends thither his dear Patroclus. But this Favourite of Achilles had not the same Passions with him. He could not but be extremely concern'd at the miserable condition his Allies were reduc'd to by the Common Enemy. These unfor­tunate Princes, who had done Achilles no wrong, importune Pa­troclus to work him into a better Temper; and to persuade him not to suffer they should be so unworthily us'd any longer, since he could defend them from the Disgrace. Patroclus prevails upon Achilles to lend him his Men and Armour, and under this Appear­ance beats back the Enemy. It is likewise Natural that this young Hero, intoxicated with so glorious a success, should push on his Victory farther than Achilles had order'd him, and so force Hector to fight with and kill him. But shall Achilles endure, that so near and dear a Friend should be butcher'd before his face, and in his Armour too, without revenging the Deed? That can never be. So then the Death of Patroclus is the Cause why Achilles, who is otherwise well enough satisfied and revenged upon Agamemnon, should be now reconcil'd to him, and accept of his submission, his presents, and the Oath he made that he had never to do with Briseïs. This first Intrigue then is naturally unravell'd.

The second could not be brought about by a Reconciliation with Hector. It was not in this Trojan Prince's power to restore Patro­clus, as Agamemnon had Briseïs. Nothing but Hector's death could be a satisfaction for that of Patroclus. 'Tis by this that Achilles begins his Revenge. Besides, the many Indignities which he offered to the Body of this innocent Homocide, and the great Honours he paid to that of his Friend, must needs Naturally mollifie his Grief, and asswage his Passion. To conclude, as Agamemnon repented, and wholly submitted to what he pleas'd; so likewise we find King Priam prostrate at his feet in as miserable a Condition as a Father could be, that takes on for the Death of his Son. So that there is nothing in the pacified Anger of Achilles, and in the Winding up of the Plots of the Iliad, but what Naturally arises from the Subject and the very Action.

[Page 100] We shall find the same in the Odysseïs. Ʋlysses by a Tempest is cast upon the Island of the Phaeacans, to whom he discovers himself, and desires they would further his Return to his own Country, which was not very far from thence. One cannot see any Reason why the King of this Island should refuse such a reasonable request to a Hero whom he seems to have in great esteem. The Phaeacans had heard him tell the story of his Adventures: In this fabulous Re­cital consists all the advantage they could derive from his presence; for the Art of War which they admir'd in him, his undauntedness under Dangers, his indefatigable Patience, and such like Vertues, were such as these Islanders were not used to. All their talent lay in Singing and Dancing, and whatsoever a soft and quiet life esteem'd Charming. And here we see how dextrously Homer prepares the Incidents he makes use of. These People could do no less for the Account Ʋlysses had given them of his Life, and with which he had ingeniously entertain'd them, than conduct him home by furnishing him with Shipping which would stand them in little or nothing.

When he came home, his long Absence, and the Travels which had disfigur'd him, made him altogether unknown; and the danger he would have incurr'd, had he discover'd himself too soon, forc'd him to a disguise, as we hinted before. Lastly, this Disguise gave him an Opportunity of surprizing those young Gallants, who for several years together had been only us'd to sleep well, and fare daintily.

In the Latin Poet, all the hinderance Aeneas met with was from Turnus. The turbulent Spirit of this Rival drew out the Italians to fight the Trojans, and cost our Hero as many Subjects, as there were Souldiers slain in both parties; since he was already King of the one, and within a while was to be King of the other. What is to be done then in this case by a Prince so valiant as Aeneas, and so affectionate and tender towards his Subjects? Aequius huic Turno fu­erat se opponere morti. Aen. 11. Is it not the most natural thing in the World, that he should declare he was ready to put a stop to the Quarrel Turnus had caused, by fighting singly with him? Turnus ut infractos adverso marte Latinos De­fecisse videt, sua nunc promissa reposci, Se sig­nari oculis. Aen. 12. Turnus for his part sees the Latins vanquish'd and dejected; he is sensible of the Reproaches they cast upon him for having exposed them in his Quarrel, and not daring to answer the demands of Aeneas. Can he shift off the Challenge Aeneas had sent him? By this means the Duel and the Ʋnravelling of all the Action happens naturally, and is as it were a necessary Consequence of the Disposition of the Fable.

[Page 101] These are the Examples our Poets have left us of Aristotle's Rules. [...]. Poet. c. 10. He teaches us that whatever concludes the Poem, should so arise from the Constitution of the Fable, as if 'twere a Necessary or at least a Probable Consequence of all that went be­fore.

CHAP. XVI. Of the several sorts of Actions.

THE several Effects which the Ʋnravelling of the Plot pro­duces, and the different States to which it reduces the per­sons, divide the Actions into so many sorts.

The Ʋnravelling of the Intrigue may be by changing of any one's fortune from good to bad, as that of Oedipus; or from bad to good, as that of Cinna. Oedipus seems to be innocent; and in the very moment he thought himself Master of two King­doms, he finds himself guilty of Incest and Parricide, and becomes miserable, blind, and an exile. Cinna, on the other hand, is con­demn'd, and look's for nothing else but a cruel punishment; and contrary to his expectation he is freed from Death, restablish'd in his preferments, and made Master of Aemylia.

Sometimes these two Contrary Turns of Fortune happen in one and the same Action, as in Heraclius. Phocas is dethron'd, when he thought himself settled in a sure Post: And Heraclius steps into the place of the Tyrant who was gone to visit the other World.

But let this Turn be what it will, double or single, fortunate or unfortunate, 'tis still call'd a Peripetia.

Sometimes it happens by the Discovery of one or more persons, which till then were unknown, as in Oedipus and Heraclius: Sometimes without any discovery, as in Cinna.

But let the Matter end which way it will, whether it be a Peri­petia without a Discovery, or a Discovery without a Peri­petia, or both together; this makes a sort of Action which we call Implex or mix'd. But if the Ʋnravelling be without a Discovery, and without a Peripetia; if it be a simple passing from trouble and Action, to quiet and Repose, then these Actions and Fables are call'd single Ones.

Sometimes likewise by a sub-division of the Fables wherein is a Peripetia, Aristotle has call'd those Single, where the Peripetia is [Page 102] single, and only of one sort, as in Cinna: and those Double, where the Peripetia is double, as in Heraclius.

According to this last Division, the Fable of the Odysseïs is double, because the Ʋnravelling of the Intrigue makes Ʋlysses and his party pass from a Miserable to an Honourable State; and casts his Rivals from their Merriments to a shame­ful Death. [...]. Arist. Poet. c. 24. This Action then is likewise Implex. 'Tis not only unravell'd by this double Peripetia, but likewise by the Discovery of Ulysses.

There is neither a Discovery nor a Peripetia in the Iliad. Two Generals of the same party fall out, and then agree, after they had both suffered considerable losses: Achilles loses his friend Patroclus, and Agamemnon his Glory and Authority: He is vanquish'd by the Trojans, and forc'd to submit to his Inferiour Achilles, to ac­knowledge his fault, and to give him Satisfaction. In the second part, too Enemies fight, and he who was the weakest and knew him­self so, is at last vanquish'd and kill'd. This Action then is wholly Single.

There is no more Complexedness in the Plots of the Aeneid, than in those of the Iliad. Dido, who came to so miserable a Death, was not more fortunate before that Catastrophe. Her Love for Aeneas fills her at first with trouble and disquiet. Her Marriage in­creases both, and adds thereto the dismal fear, whereby she fore­saw her Loss, and all the horrors of her Death. Urbem praeclaram Sta­tui, mea maenia vidi. Ulta rirum poenas inimico à flatre recepi. Foelix, heu nimium foelix si littora tantum Nunquam Dar­daniae tetigissent nostra catinae! Aen. 4. If she had any good Fortune when she reveng'd her first Husband, pu­nish'd the Treachery of her Brother, and was established so gloriously, all this happen'd before the Trojans arriv'd at Carthage: And by consequence having nothing to do with the Action, could not make a Peripe­tia. Nothing pass'd between Aeneas and Turnus, that is more complex'd, than that which happen'd in the Quarrel between Achilles and Hector. So that the Action of the Aeneid is altogether Simple, without a Peripetia or a Discovery.

Not that the Aeneid is absolutely without a Peripetia; there are some in the lesser Episodes. In the fighting with whirl-bats, Entellus is knock'd down at the feet of his Antagonist; ev'ry one looked upon him as vanquish'd, and Dares began to triumph. But when Rage had restored this old Combatant the Force which Age had robb'd him of, on a sudden he leaps up, and Dares found him­self so over-match'd, and so confounded, that he could not make the least resistance. But the Quality of these Episodes make no­thing against the Entire Action. The Fable, properly speaking, is [Page 103] only Complex when the Peripetia or Discovery happens in the main Ʋnravelling, which is the End of the Action.

I shall not stay here to enumerate all the sorts of Discoveries Aristotle has mention'd. There is none in the Aeneid, for the sake of which I chiefly write: And elsewhere this Subject is com­monly handled in the Rules men lay down for the Dramatic Poem, where is the most occasion for them.

But I cannot omit the Conclusion of the Action; 'Tis a con­sequence of the Ʋnravelling, and a part or a necessary Qualification of the Integrity of the Poem.

CHAP. XVII. Of the Conclusion of the Action.

THAT which we call here the Conclusion of the Epick Action is the very last passage from Agitation and Trouble, to Quiet and Repose: So that there is a great deal of difference between the Ʋnravelling and the Conclusion of an Action. This last is nothing else but a kind of moment without Extent and Duration: But the first is of some length, since it Comprehends all that happens after the Plot. Besides, there are a great many Ʋnravellings in a Poem, because there are a great many Intrigues: All that are be­fore the last make no kind of Cessation, but start up new Difficul­ties, which is quite contrary to the Conclusion. The Conclusion then is the End of the last Ʋnravelling, so that there can be no more than One.

This Doctrine is a Consequence of that which we laid down con­cerning Episodes. None of them, as we urg'd, should be Entire; and only the last can be regularly finish'd. A great many Conclusions then is no where to be found but in Episodical Poems, as in the Thebaid of Statius, where he has finish'd the Story of Hypsi­pyle.

But now for some better Instances in the practice of our two Poets.

The first part of Virgil's Poem is the Voyage of Aeneas from Troy to Italy. The Plot is the Difficulty of getting thither, and the opposition of Juno who raises Storms, and other obstaoles a­gainst him. The Ʋnravelling begins at the last Voyage of the Hero from Sicily (which he leaves in the fifth Book) to Italy and the Mouth of Tyber, where he arrives in the sixth and Seventh Book. This Ʋnravelling Ea vox audits laborum Prima tulit finem. Aen. 7. puts an End to the Labours and hazards of the Voyage. But [Page 104] does it put an End to all the Troubles and Dangers of Aeneas? No: O tandem magnis pelagi defuncte periclis, Sed terra graviora manent. Aen. 6. On the con­trary it casts him upon greater. It leaves him not in Repose, but puts him upon more Action and more business than ever he had before. And therefore 'tis not the Conclusion.

The Conclusion is not always joyn'd to the Solution of that In­trigue which seems to be most general, as was the Design of Juno in the Aeneid. This Goddess gives over acting, but Aeneas does not. He has still Turnus to deal withal. In a word, since the Poet does not sing the Action of Juno, but of Aeneas, the Poem and the Action remain still unfinish'd, even when this Divine Enemy has given over. All the Conclusion then is included in the Death of Turnus, because that puts an End to the Action of Aeneas.

'Tis true that even then Aeneas had not quite executed his designs, he had not built his City, nor established his Religion, nor Married Lavinia. But it must be observ'd that these things are not necessary. 'Tis enough that all Obstacles were remov'd, and that the Reader be no longer in doubt of what follows. And this is the Case of the Aeneid. In this particular it is very compleat, and needs no supple­ment. If one Instance is not enough to justifie this Doctrine, we can have recourse to the Theatre. Marriage is very commonly the very End of Dramatick Poems: And yet that is not always per­form'd before the Spectators. The Actors step in to perform this Ceremony within doors: No body expects they should come out again upon the Stage; or that they should tell the Audience of it, as Ne expectetis, specta­tores, dum illi hue ad vos excunt. Nemo exibit, omnes intus conficiunt Negotium. Ubi id erit factum, ornamenta ponent. Posti­dea loci, Qui deliquit vapulabit, Qui non deliquit biber. Plaut. Cistell. Plautus has done in one of his Plays, more to make People laugh, than because he was forc'd to it.

Homer has concluded his Odysseis by the league which Pallas makes between Ʋlysses and his Neighbours. And yet he does not make it appear by the Continuation of the Poem, whether the Ar­ticles were faithfully kept or no.

He has not us'd the same Method in the Iliad. The observation of the Truce depended upon Achilles. The Poet had good reason to presume that all his Readers were not persuaded of the Moderation of so passionate a Man. It was a business of the highest Importance for the Conclusion of this Action to convince them that his Anger was appeas'd. This Hero in the whole series of the Poem had ap­peared so testy, unreasonable and unjust, that thô the Poet's pre­caution was very great and exact, yet one might distrust this ex­travagant humour, as long as the Body of his Enemy was in a con­dition of being insulted over. They were then ready to bestow such Honours upon this Corps, as one might fear would put our [Page 105] Hero into a Passion. So that the Poet thought himself oblig'd to carry on the Funeral and the Observation of the Truce to the very End of his Poem: That so he might absolutely convince us of his tranquillity and repose, whose Action and Anger he had undertook to Sing.

After having observed what the Conclusion of the Action is, and when it ought to be made, there remains still a third question be­hind. And that is to know whether the Conclusion ought to leave the Hero in a happy State, or whether 'tis allowable to leave him in a miserable Condition.

Our Poets have not given us any Examples of a Hero, that is left in a Miserable and forlorn Condition. Sad Conclusions are pro­per for Tragedy: But in that they were more in Vogue formerly. than they are now a days: Because in the Popular States of Greece, where Monarchy was Odious, nothing was heard with greater plea­sure and Ardency than the Misfortunes of Kings. Aristotle has still another reason for preferring this kind of Catastrophe to a more happy one. The Tragical Scene is the Throne of the Passions, where Terror and Compassion ought to rule over all the rest. Now these two Passions arise naturally from sad Events: And the Spectators going from the Theatre with their minds full of the misfortunes they were Eye-witnesses of, do doubtlesly preserve their tenderness a great deal longer, and resent more such forcible Effects, than if their tears were dryed up, and their sighs abated by the satisfaction of a more prosperous Catastrophe.

But these Reasons will not serve for the Epopéa, since 'tis not so much for refining the Passions, as for making Men put off ill habits, and put on good ones. 'Tis likewise as true, that this does not exclude sad Events. Besides the Nature of the Fable is as capable of Good as Bad persons for its chief Actors. The sad Adventure of the Lamb unjustly butcher'd by the Wolf is as just, as in­structive, and as regular a Subject, as the Generosity of the Elephant, who quitted his Anger upon the Innocence of the same Lamb.

'Tis true if the Poets in the person of their Hero proposed an Example of Perfection for Imitation, the misfortunes into which this Hero falls, and his unsuccessful Enterprizes, would suit very ill with the designs of these Authors. But the Practice of Homer in his Iliad, and the Approbation given him by Aristotle and Horace for the same, will not permit us to think that the design of the Epopéa should be to give us these fine Ideas of a perfect Hero. These three great men did certainly never pretend that Achilles, the Hero of the Fable, was a Model of Vertue.

We cannot then from any of these Principles determine any thing concerning the fortunate or unfortunate End of an Epick Action.

But if any heed be to be given to Authority, I do not know any one Instance of a Poet, who finishes his piece with the mis­fortune [Page 106] of his Hero. Our three Poems afford us quite con­trary Instances; and Statius himself has quite spoil'd the Ʋnity of his Action, because he would not leave upon the minds of his Readers that miserable Fratricide, which was the true Conclusi­on of it. So that all the Poets seem to conspire for a happy Catastrophe.

In a word, since the Epick Poem's Action is of a larger extent than that of the Theatre; it would perhaps be less satisfactory to the Readers, if, after so much pains and so long Troubles with which this kind of Poem is always fill'd, it should at last bring them to a doleful and unhappy end. Achilles as unjust and Vio­lent as he was, yet in his Valour shew'd such an Air of Greatness, which dazles our sight, and will not let us see his faults so, as to wish him any greater punishment than what he suffer'd by the Death of his friend. In speaking of the Fable, I hinted upon what account the Iliad should end thus, because it redounded more to the happiness and the Glory of the Grecians.

Virgil had the same reason to please his Audience. The Romans would have been disgusted and offended, if he had ill used their Founder and Ancestors: And besides in the Odysseïs and the Aeneid the Poets would have been unjust, and the Readers dissatisfied, if such brave Princes and such noble Souls as Ʋlysses and Aeneas had been suffer'd to sink under any misfortune. Achilles, who fell far short of their Vertue, was likewise but little less for­tunate.

Let the Case be how it will, yet I fansie there needs a great deal of skill to give the Hero of the Epopéa a sad and mournfull End, which might be received with a general Ap­plause.

This is what we had to say concerning the Integrity of the Epick Action. There remain still two of its Qualifications behind, its Duration, and it's Importance: Of each of which briefly.

CHAP. XVIII. Of the Duration of the Action.

THe time of the Epick Action is not so limited as that of the Theatre. [...]. Poet. c. 5. This last (says Aristotle) should takeup as much time, as the Sun does in going about the Earth, or thereabouts. But the Epopéa has no fixed time, and in that it differs from the Dramatick Poem. These are all the Rules he has left us upon this head. They consist in two Things: The First, That the Epick Action is longer than the Dramatick; and, Secondly, That the Epick Actions may be some longer than others.

The First is a Comparison between the Epopéa and the Drama: Concerning which we say that an uninterrupted Duration is a great deal more necessary in an Action, which one sees and are present at; than in one which we read, or only hear repeated. It is not natural to imagine one can spend Days and Nights without Sleeping, Eating and Drinking, purely to mind the Event of Things; and that, without moving out of the place, one can be conveyed to several places: And hence arises the Ʋnity of Time and Place so necessary to the Drama. But neither of these two Ʋnities is necessary to the Epick Poem, because we read it as an History which we may leave off when we please.

Besides, Tragedy being full of Passions, and consequently full of such a Violence as cannot last long, requires a shorter time; and the Epick Poem requires a longer time for to give leisure to the Habits, if good, to sink deep into the Minds and Souls of the Readers; or to be rooted thence, if bad. These two Reasons constitute the diffe­rence between the Epick and the Dramatick Action, as to their Duration.

But the Difficulty is to know how long these Actions of the Epo­péa should last; and, whether, since as Aristotle says they are un­limited, this does not cause some difference between the Actions of the same kind. All we can do in the Case, is to lay down the Pra­ctice of our Poets, and to make such Reflexions therein, as Aristotle has given us liberty to make.

This Philosopher says, Whatsoever is violent cannot last long; and, in his Poesie he tells us, That the Manners of the Personages [Page 108] are either [...]. C. 15. violent and strong, or calm, sedate and soft. The first cannot last so long as the other. A Man can be good hu­mour'd, peaceable, and prudent all his life­long, and no body will find fault with it: But one would wonder to see him keep up his Anger, and be in a violent agitation of body and mind all that time.

And though this long train of Passions were probable; yet it would not be necessary in a Poem that is designed to root out, or plant in Habits: Since the Habits are sooner received and impressed by violent Actions, than by such as are gentle and moderate. We ought to conclude then, that the more violence any Action has, the less time it ought to last.

This is what we see in the Practice of our Poets.

The Stultorum regum & populorum continet aestus. Hor. Ep. ad Lollium. Iliad contains not only the Anger and Passion of Achilles, but likewise of the Kings and People that are the Personages of it. The Poet allows this Action seven and forty days only. Nor is this little time designed all for the Anger of Achilles, though the most principal and the most violent. We must substract at one End the nine days of the Plague, which were before his Quarrel with Agamemnon: And at the other, the ele­ven days of the Truce which he granted to King Priam.

Besides, these seven and twenty days of Anger are not all spent in the Action. The eleven first are allowed for the curing and re­covery of the Grecians; and the eleven last for the Funeral-Pomp which Achilles bestowed on the Body of Patroclus. So that the Fight begins and ends in five days time. Nor does the Fight last all the time; but on the second day there was a Cessation of Arms for burning the dead on both sides.

To conclude, Achilles, the chief Hero of the Poem, and the very Life of all the Violence that reigns there; he, I say, who being transported with it more than the rest, ought likewise to continue in this Excess less time, fought only one day. By this means all the Poem founded upon Violence lasts but a little while: And the Duration of that which was most violent is judiciously retrenched by the Poet.

The Design of the Odysseïs is quite different from that of the Iliad; so likewise is the management of it, as to its Duration. The Character of the Hero is Prudence and Wisdom. And this Mo­deration gives the Poet liberty to extend his Action to as long a time as he pleases, and his political Instructions required. Therefore he did not allow this Action some Weeks as he had that of the Iliad; but he takes up eight years and a half, from the taking of Troy, at which it begins, to the Peace of Ithaca, where it ends.

[Page 109] The Aeneid is like the Odysseïs. The Sum pius Aeneas, Aen. 1. Character of the Hero is Piety and Meek­ness: and Politicks are likewise essential thereto. Therefore the Duration of the Action is continued after the same manner. The Poet makes the recital thereof begin at the building of the Wooden Horse, just before the taking of Troy. This City was taken a great while before the beginning of Summer, so that Aeneas had time enough to fit out a Fleet. Jam prima incooperat aestas, Et pater Anchises dare fatis vela jubebat. Aen. 3. He quits Troy at the beginning of the first Summer: Septima post Trojae ex­cidium jam vertitur aestas. Aen. 5. arrives at Sicily by the end of the seventh, and immediately after comes to Italy, where his Action continues one or two Months longer to the Death of Turnus. All this makes up a little more than six Years and a half, and not quite seven. This is the Duration of the Action of the Aeneid.

There is still another way of reckoning the Time of the Epick Poem. 'Tis to compute only what the Poet himself relates. By this means the Odysseïs begins at the first meeting of the Gods; and the Aeneid, at that time when the Storm cast the Trojans upon Carthage. As for all that went before, we only reckon so much time as was requisite for Ʋlysses and Aeneas to make the Narration of their Adventures in, viz. a Night. This way of computing the Time, reduces the Action of several Years into the space of a few Months, and this Computation is no less necessary than the other. But because this belongs rather to the Narration than the Action, we reserve it for the ensuing Book.

Here we only regard the Duration of the Action, as being the Matter of the Poem. For this reason we reckon not the Incidents which are added thereto: Such as the Wound of Ʋlysses upon Par­nassus, and the sequel of the Italian History from Aeneas down to Augustus Caesar's Reign.

'Tis enough that we have shown the Duration of the Actions of the Iliad, the Odysseïs, and the Aeneid, and the difference between them; which is so great even in Homer, that one of his Actions con­tains less than two Months, and the other more than eight Years.

CHAP. XIX. Of the Importance of the Action.

THE Epick Poet cannot insinuate himself into the mind of his Hearers by the Diversions of Comedy; nor by the force and vivacity of Tragedy. Let him use never so much Artifice to seize upon a Passion, yet if one compares his Recitals with the Action of the Theatre, one may apply thereto what Horace says: That the Soul is less affected Segnius irritant animos dimissa per aurem, Quàm quae sunt oculis subjecta sidelibus, & quae Ipse sibi tradit Spectator. Hor. Poet. with what it hears, than with what it sees. So that besides the Reasons drawn from the Nature of these Poems, we may likewise from hence conclude, that the Epick Poet lies under a greater Obligion than the Dramatick, of surprizing the minds of his Readers by Admiration, and by the Importance of the things he treats of; and of taking for his Subject a Great, Noble, and Important Action. Aristotle re­quires this Grandeur, and this Lustre in the Epick Action, [...]. Poet. c. 5. and says That the Epopéa and Tragedy do both imitate whatever is most Noble and important.

But the Action may be important two ways: Either of its self independently from him that executes it; or by the Quality of the Persons, the Poet is pleased to make use of.

Horace excludes mean Personages, and would have them be Crowned Heads: But neither he nor Aristotle says any thing to shew that the Action in its own Nature ought to be great and im­portant. And in truth they could not require this Qualification without condemning the Poet, that in their Opinion is the least to blame of any in the World, and without rejecting the Model they proposed. If one considers the two Actions of Homer without the Names and their Episodes, as Aristotle would have them be pre­pared at first, one shall find nothing in them but what is common, and which requires no higher Qualities, than those a Merchant, a burgomaster, or at most a plain Country-Squire is capable of. You need only reflect upon the two Models we have given of them, one of which Aristotle himself drew. One shall find nothing there but what might have happened to ordinary Persons. 'Tis this, ‘A Man returns to his own Country, and finds a great many disorders in his Family. Two others fall out about a Captive Wench, and break the neck of their Affairs.’ This teaches us that to make [Page 111] Action important, 'tis enough that it be the Action of noble and important Persons.

'Tis true, Horace makes mention of Wars: But there is no need for them, 'tis only by accident that they are in the Poem. I might urge, that this is only upon the Account of the Hero who ought to be a Warrior, such as Achilles, Ʋlysses, and Aeneas. Homer, who is cited by Horace in this point, shall testifie it. There is so little War in the Odysseïs, that there is not the least colour to think Ho­race meant to affirm that Wars were the subject Matter, or a consi­derable part thereof. The Poet mentions but three Rencounters, that of the Ciconians, that of the Lestrygons, and that of some Ithacans, who were for revenging of their Masters, whom Ʋlysses had murdered at his House. The recitals of these three Battles, if a Man may call these Adventures so, are made in less than forty Ver­ses in all.

But however 'tis, yet the Return of a Man to his own home, and the Quarrel of two others, that have nothing that is great in them­selves, become noble and important Actions; when, in the choice of the Names, the Poet tells us that 'tis Ʋlysses, who returns back into Ithaca; and that 'tis Achilles and Agamemnon, who fall out with one another at the famous Siege of Troy. 'Tis then these Affairs become Matters of State.

But there are Actions that of themselves are very important, such as the Establishing, or the Downfall, of a State or a Religion. Such then is the Action of the Aeneid. There can nothing be imagined more great, noble, and august, since it comprehends both the Civil State and Religion.

There is yet another way of making an Action great, by the Grandeur of the Personages under whose Names we represent it.

This way is to give a higher Idea of these Personages than that which the Readers conceive of all they know to be great. This is performed by comparing the Men of the Poem, with the Men of the present time in which the Poet writes.

Homer says that two Men of his time could not carry the Stone, which Diomedes with ease threw at Aeneas; and Virgil says that the Stone Turnus flung at the same Aeneas, would have been too heavy a burden for twelve Men in the time of Augustus. In short, according to Homer's Account, who lived one or two Ages after Aeneas, and who pretends that Men's strength was abated to a Moiety of what it was before, this same strength may well be redu­ced to the pitch Virgil would have it ten Ages after. 'Tis by this means these two Poets were willing to render the Subjects of their Poems more great and august by the Strength and Grandeur of their Personages, and by these great Ideas which they super-added to those which the Men of their Times conceived.

[Page 112] This very reason obliged them not to represent their Heroes su­perior to those of former Ages: But the probable diminution from Age to Age, as they supposed, ought on the contrary to give the Fathers the preference over their Children. Homer makes no difficulty of it; and [...]. Iliad. 1. Nestor who had lived two Ages already, says without any Complement to the Prin­ces of the Iliad, that they fell short of their Fore-fathers. Hic genus antiquum, Teucri pulcherrima proles, Magnanimi Heroes nati melioribus annis, Itusque Assaracusque, &c. Aen. 6. Virgil also says, that the Times of Itus and Assaracus were better than those in which his Hero lived.

It seems Statius had the same mind to represent the strength of his Heroes, as far surpassing that of Homer's and Virgil's Heroes, though in truth the Heroes of the one were only the Children of the Heroes of the other two; so prodigious are the Actions he would attribute to some. But 'tis more likely, that herein his whole aim was to amplifie to a Prodigy whatsoever he handled. For if by this extraordinary Strength he had a mind to heighten the Grandeur and Importance of his Action, he forgot himself in several Places, and has done something worse than sleep, when he debased it so much in his first Book. 'Tis there, where to shew the Baseness and Po­verty of the Kingdom of Thebes, he compares it to the Power and Riches of the greatest Empires that have flourish'd since. Is it not pleasant in him to declaim himself against the Design he bestows upon his Heroes, and to ridicule the great labour he puts them upon for a wretched and pitiful Kingdom?

Bellum est de paupere Regno. Thebaid. l. 1. 'Tis for a sordid Kingdom that they strive.

How ill an Imitation is this of Virgil's Epi­phonema, which gives us so lofty and so just an Idea of the Importance of his Subject:

Tantae molis erat Ro­manam condere gentem. Aen. 1. So vast a thing it was to found the Roman State!

CHAP. I. Of the Parts of the Narration.

THere are two ways of Relating an Action that is past: The one is Simple and Historical, when a Man makes the Rehearsal of it to his Audience without forcing their Imagination, only leaving them under a Sense that they are reading a Book, or hearing something or other related. The other is more Artificial, where the Author makes no Appearance, nor says any thing of himself. But, by a kind of innocent Magick, he raises from the Dead, and brings upon the Stage, those very Per­sons who have done the Action he would represent. He makes them speak and act over again the same Words and Actions they [Page 114] spoke and did before, and in some sort transports his Auditors to the Times when, and the Places where the Action was done. By this means he does not declare it to them after a plain, simple Way, as the Historian, but makes them Witnesses of it, and the Acti­on becomes its own Discoverer.

The Actions which Poets imitate, are such Things as are in an equal degree capable of two Forms, each of which constitute a dif­ferent Species. Such as fall under the most Artificial and Active Form are call'd Dramatick Poems, denoting their Nature by their [...], To Act. [...], Action. Title; and such as are represented by the Poet only, who speaks therein as an Historian, are for that very reason call'd [...], To Speak. Epick Poems, or Epopéa's.

Whatsoever regard the Dramatick Poet has to his Spectators, yet the Persons he introduces in his Poem, who are the only Actors therein, are not in the least acquainted with those before whom the Poet makes them speak: nay more, they don't know what they shall do themselves, nor what the Issue of their Pro­jects will be; and therefore they cannot either advertise the Spe­ctators thereof, or beg their Attention, or thank them for it. So that this kind of Poem, properly speaking, has no parts exempt from the Action that is represented. This alone makes the Comedy and Tragedy entire and perfect, such I mean as are in use now-a­days; that is, without Prologue, Epilogue, and those other Ap­pendages, which being lost, or left to the Choice of the Poet, have alter'd nothing of the Nature and Integrity of the Poem. When they are made use of, [...]. they have nothing to do with the Tragedy and Action, since they are not made by the Actors.

But in the Epick Poem, where the Poet speaks, he says nothing but what is a part of the Poem. So likewise an Orator not only alledges his Reasons, and refutes those of the adverse Party; but besides that, prepares his Auditors, begs their Attention, and at last raises the Passions that are proper to his Cause. Nothing of all this is look'd upon as foreign to his Subject: the Exordium, Proposition, and Peroration, are true parts of it, though less ne­cessary than the Narration and the Confirmation. 'Tis just the same in the Epopéa. Before the Poet begins the large Recital of his Action, he proposes it in general, and invokes the Gods that are to inspire him. This makes up three parts that have been always look'd upon as necessary, viz. the Proposition, the Invo­cation, and the Narration. We may add to them a fourth, which is no less necessary, nor less usual; and that is, the Title or Inscription of the Poem.

There are several others, which signifie nothing to the Integri­ty of the Epick Poem. There is a Preface before the Aeneid, [Page 115] which they say was made against the Plagiaries, who might have transcrib'd this Poem, and have had the Credit of it to Virgil's prejudice. It is contain'd in the following Verses, where he speaks of his other Works.

I question whether these Verses are proper for a Beginning, where the Reader's mind, not being as yet in a Heat, requires something more mild and just, than in the Sequel, where 'tis ea­sily transported. In my mind, the last of these four Verses seems unworthy of this great Poet. All that needed be said, was suffi­ciently exprest in the three first.

The other parts are a Dedication, to flatter some great Man or other, and an Epilogue for the Conclusion of the Poem.

Virgil made use of these two parts in his Georgicks. Quid faciat laetas sege­tes, quo fidere terram Vertere, Maecenas, &c. He begins with the Proposi­tion, where he just mentions Maecenas, to whom he delicates this Piece, but says never a word in his Praise. Vos ô clarissima mundi Lumina labentem coelo quae ducitis annum, &c. After this he makes an Invocation, wherein he addresses himself to all the Gods that presided over Agricul­ture: and then he flatters Tuque adeo, quem mox quae sint habitura Deo­rum Incertum est, &c. Augustus, joyn­ing him with the Gods he invokes.

Vere novo gelidus ca­nis cum montibus humor Liquitur, &c. Afterwards he enters upon his Subject, and begins to treat at large of Agriculture. This part is the Body of the Poem, as the Narration in the Epopéa. Haec super arvorum cul­tu, pecorumque cane­bam, &c. Lastly, after he had finish'd his Treatise in four Books, he ends with an Epilogue design'd against the Plagiaries, as the Preface of the Aeneid is; but with an Air so different, that these Verses seem to be pro­duc'd by another sort of Genius. This is what he has done in his Georgicks.

But neither He nor Homer, in their Epick Poems, have made use of any of these unnecessary parts; so that I shall say nothing more about them. I will now speak particularly to the other four. 1. Of the Inscription or Title of the Poem. 2. of the Proposition. 3. Of the Invocation. 4. and lastly, Of the Body of the Poem, and the Narration properly so call'd.

CHAP. II. Of the Title of the Epick Poem.

WE here examine Things upon the Principles we laid down in speaking concerning the Nature of the Epick Poem. We observed that it is a Fable; and we see nothing in the Practice of our Poets that gives us any other Idea of the Title and Inscri­ption of their Poems, than of the Titles of Aesop's Fables. They have for their Title the Names of the Persons that act in them. There lies this Difference, that all the Personages are nam'd in the Title of Aesop's Fables, because they are but few, and one is as im­portant as another; but in the Epick Poem there is commonly One who is a great deal more considerable than the rest, and the others are too many to be all nam'd. Therefore they only affix the Name of the principal Personage to it. Thus the Odysseïs and the Aeneid bear only the Name of Ʋlysses and Aeneas.

The Example of Homer in the Inscription of the Iliad informs us, that the Title of the Poem may be deriv'd from something else besides the Name of the Personages. Perhaps he did not call it the Achilleid, because Achilles does not act therein, as Ʋlysses and Aeneas do in the other two Poems. He has as many Sharers in his Dignity as there are Princes in his Alliance. He has a Gene­ral to whom he should submit, and refusing to do that, he makes but little or no Figure in the whole Action, of which the Subject of the Poem is but a part. He is but little better than a Cashier'd Officer. He is doubtless the most Valiant; but the Poet sings his Anger, not his Valour. And even there, the Anger which the Poet sings is rather that which makes Achilles to absent himself from fighting, than that which puts him upon killing of Hector. To conclude, the Fable consists less in this Anger, than in the Quar­rel and Reconciliation, wherein Agamemnon had as great a share as he. So that the Poet makes no Scruple to mention them both in his Proposition, when he comes as near the Fable it self as possi­ble: I sing, says he, the Anger of Achilles, that has done so much mischief to the Grecians, and caused the death of so ma­ny Heroes; [...]. Iliad. 1. since the time that Agamem­non and he fell out and parted. These Considerations ought not to degrade Achilles from the Honour of being the chief Perso­nage, which Homer has doubtless made him: but they may serve to prove, that though he is the chief Hero of this Fable, yet he is not the only Hero, as Ʋlysses and Aeneas are in the Fables that go under their Names.

[Page 117] Statius and Lucan have each of them two Heroes; and they have, like Homer, given their Poems the Names of the Places where the Actions were done, and not of the Heroes who did them. But the Thebaid, and the Pharsalia, are such defective Poems, that there's no relying upon their Authority.

In Tragedies, where the Name of the Personage is made use of for the Title, the Poet adds something else to it, when he makes several pieces under the Name of the same Hero. Seneca has done this in his two Tragedies of Hercules. The Hercules Furens. One he names from the Madness which transported him, and the Hercules Oetus. Other from the Place, where he was burnt. This is the Rea­son why more than one Name is requisite for the Title of Aesop's Fables; for there is scarce an Animal, but what is a Hero in seve­ral Fables. But this signifies little to the Epick Poem: 'Tis rare that an Author makes two of these Fables under the Name of one and the same Person.

Nor do Poets use to denote the Action in the Title of the Poem. Several Things happen'd to Medea, Ʋlysses, Aeneas, and Troy; and one might feign a great many under the Names of the Wolf and the Lamb, which the Title alone would never inform us of. This signifies nothing; the Authors are well enough satisfied with these plain Inscriptions, Medea, the Odysseïs, the Aeneid, the Ili­ad, the Lamb and the Wolf. And they refer us to the Discourse it self to know what the Action is that is recited.

CHAP. III. Of the Proposition.

THE Epick Proposition is that first part of the Poem, where­in the Author proposes briefly, and in the General, what he has to say in the Body of his Work. And here two Things offer themselves to our Consideration; first, What the Poet proposes; and secondly, After what manner he does it.

The Proposition should only comprehend the Matter of the Poem; that is, the Action, and the Persons that Act, whether Divine or Humane. We find all this in the Iliad, the Odysseïs, and the Aeneid.

The Action Homer proposes in the Iliad is the Revenge of Achil­les; that of the Odysseïs is the Return of Ʋlysses; and that of the Aeneid is the Empire of Troy translated into Italy by Aeneas.

Nor should any one be surpriz'd at Homer's way of expressing [Page 118] himself in his first Words, where he says, [...]. &c. he sings the deadly Anger of Achilles; nor think he proposes this Anger as the Subject of his Poem. He would not then have made the Rehearsal of an Action, but of a Passi­on. We are not to stop here, since in truth he himself does not. He says, he sings this Anger which had been the Cause of so much Slaughter among the Greeks, and of so many brave Mens Deaths. He proposes an Action then, and not a mere Passion, for the Subject of his Poem; and this Action is, as we already hinted, the Revenge of Achilles.

So in the two other Poems, a [...]. Arma vi­rumque cano. Man is propos'd at first: but the Proposition does not stop here; it adds either, [...]. Odyss. 1. that he underwent much in returning home to his own Country; or, Trojae qui primus ab oris Italiam, &c. Aev. 1. that he went to settle in Italy; and both of them propose an Action.

If Homer's Design had been to propose the two parts of each Poem; his Design was not to do it very distinctly. Yet we may conceive the first part of the Iliad by the Misfortunes of the Gre­cians, and the second by the illustrious Deaths of so many He­roes. The Grecians are greater Sufferers than the Trojans, and there are fewer Heroes kill'd on their side, but almost all are wounded.

The Proposition of the Odysseïs speaks plainly enough of the Travels of Ʋlysses; but it leaves us rather to infer his Re-esta­blishment in Ithaca, than discovers it to us. The Poet says, his Hero did all he could to preserve and conduct back his Compa­nions to Ithaca; [...]. Odyss. but that these miserable Creatures were their own Destruction, and that the God whom they had offended would not suffer them to see the happy day of their Return. By which 'tis plain Ʋlysses did see the Day, and pre­serv'd himself according to his Wish.

The Latin Poet has clearly distinguish'd the two parts of his Aeneid. At first he makes his General Proposition in two Verses; and then he makes a Division of it, saying in the Multum ille & terris ja­ctatus & alto. first place, that he had suffer'd much both by Sea and Land; and then Multa quoque & bello passus. Aen. 1. se­condly, that he had likewise suffer'd much by War.

This is the most considerable Difference between Homer and Virgil.

It was enough for Achilles to be reveng'd; and [...]. O­dyss. 1. Ʋlysses pretended only to save himself. This is the Scope and End of the Odysseïs, [Page 119] as Aristotle, in the Scheme he has drawn, very well observ'd. But Aeneas had a Settlement to make, and this Settlement was attend­ed with great Consequences. Virgil has been so exact, that he has omitted nothing of it. Dum conderet urbem Inferretque Deos Latio, genus unde Latinum, Albanique Patres, atque alta moenia Romae. He advertises us, that his Hero travell'd to Italy to build a Ci­ty, and establish his Gods and Religion there; and he adds, that from this Settlement pro­ceeded the Latins, the City of Alba, and the Romans their Progeny.

It will not be amiss to make this one Reflection more, that in the three Poems, the Proposition takes notice where the Acti­on of each Poem does begin. [...]. This Be­ginning of the Iliad is the Beginning of the Quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles. Trojae qui primus ab oris.... Profugus. The Action of the Aeneid begins at Troy, from whence Aeneas was forc'd to part. [...]. The Odysseïs does not begin at the Ruin of Troy, as the Aeneid, but some time af­ter.

This is what I had to say concerning the Action propos'd, now for the Persons.

The Divine Persons are mention'd in the three Propositions. Homer says, that what­ever happen'd in the Iliad was by [...]. Jupi­ter's Appointment; and that [...]. Apollo was the Cause of the Quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles.

The same Poet says, that it was Apollo likewise who hinder'd the Return of the Comerades of Ʋlysses.

Fato profugus, Vi supe­rum, & saevae memorem Junonis ob iram. Virgil likewise makes mention of the Fates, the Will of the Gods, and the An­ger of Juno.

But these Poets chiefly insist upon the Person of the Hero. It seems as if he alone were more properly the Subject-matter of the Poem than all the rest. Homer names Achilles particularly, and adds Agamemnon to him, as we hinted in the former Chapter. Ʋlysses and Aeneas are not nam'd, but only implied; and that in such general terms, that we should not know them, had we not Information otherways, that they are the Persons. For what does the Proposition of the Odysseïs say concerning the Return of Ulys­ses from the Ruin of Troy, but what might be in the Proposition of a Poem, that treated of the Return of Diomedes?

This Practice might have perhaps some Respect to the prima­ry Invention of the Poet, who ought at first to feign his Action without Names, and relates not the Action of Alcibiades, as Ari­stotle says; nor consequently the Actions of Achilles, Ʋlysses Aeneas, or any other in particular: but of an Universal, General, [Page 120] and Allegorical person. But since Homer has done otherwise in his Iliad and has mention'd Achilles by his own name and that of his Father too; one cannot condemn the practice of naming the Persons in the Proposition.

Besides, the Character which the Poet would give his Hero and all his Work, is taken notice of likewise by Homer and Virgil. All the Iliad is nothing else but Heat and Passion, and that is the Character of Achilles, and the [...]. first thing the Poet begins with. The Odysseïs in the [...]. first Verse presents us with the Prudence, Dissimulation and Artifice, that Ʋlysses made use of to so many different Persons. And in the Beginning of the Latin Poem, we see the Insignem pietate virum. Meekness and Piety of Aeneas.

These Characters are kept up by another such like Quality, namely that of a Warriour. The Proposition of the Iliad says, that the Anger of Achilles cost a great many Heroes their lives: That of the Odysseïs represents Ʋlysses as Victor of Troy, from the Destruction of which he came: And that of the Aeneid begins with Arms: I have already observed that Horace speaks of Wars and Generals in the Subject Matter of the Epopéa.

As for the way of making the Proposition, Horace only prescribes Modesty and Simplicity. He would not have us promise too much, nor raise in the Reader's Mind too large Ideas of what we are going to Relate. Nec sic Incipies ut scrip­tor Cyclicus olim. Fortunam Priami cantabo, & nobile bellum. Quid feret hic tanto dig­num promissor hiatu? Parturiunt montes nascetur ridiculus mus. Quanto rectius hic qui nil molitur inepté. Dic mihi, Musa, virum cap­ta post tempora Troja, Qui mcres hominum multo­rum vidit & urbes. Non fumum ex fulgore sed ex sumo dare lucem Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat. Antiphaten, Scyllamque, & cum Cyclope Charybdim. Hor. Poet. His words are these:

[Page 121] And in truth what can be more Simple and Modest than the Pro­position of the Odysseïs, which does not promise us any great Action of this Hero, but only the dangers, and the continual Fatigues of his Voyages, and the loss of his miserable Companions?

We shall find the very same Simplicity and Modesty in the Propo­sition of the Aeneid. The Poet does not say his Hero had done much, but only that he had suffered much. Thô he speaks of Alba and the Roman Empire; yet he proposes neither as parts of his Mat­ter; but as Consequences which other Heroes had brought to Per­fection a great while after. So Homer in his Odysseïs has spoken of the destruction of Troy; but withal as an Action already done, and which his Readers were not to expect would be rehears'd in the se­quel of the Poem.

The Proposition of the Iliad is something more lofty, in that it mentions the Deaths of so many Heroes: But this is so far the Matter of this Poem, that it seems as if it could not have been wholly omit­ted. And besides, Art might oblige the Poet to make some kind of Conformity between the Character of the Proposition and that of the whole Poem, which is nothing else but a long series of Heat and Violence. But to conclude, the Poet acquitted himself of these Obligations with so much Simplicity and Modesty, that one cannot charge upon him the Transgressing of Horace's Rule. For he does not say that these Heroe's Deaths were the Effect of his Heroe's Va­lour and Courage: He only says that he sings the Anger of Achilles, which had brought so many disasters upon the Greeks, and had been the Cause of the Death of so many Homes, who were exposed as a Prey to Birds and Beasts. Certainly if there is any thing of Grandeur here, 'tis not so much in any Glory or Splendor, as in that Trouble and smoke, which will scarce let us see it.

Beside this sort of Bombast, which things, proposed with too much glazing produce; or which arises from the Dignity of the Personages, that at the very first are praised unseasonably, and set off with too great Ideas; there is yet another that respects the Per­son of the Poet. He should speak as Modestly of himself, as of his Hero or his Subject. Virgil in plain terms says that he sings the Action of Aeneas. Homer begs his Muse to inspire the Action into him, or to sing it for him; this was all. Claudian has not fol­lowed these Exemplars. Audaci promere cantu Mens congesta jubet. Gres­sus removere profani. Jam furor humanos nostro de pectore Sensus Expulit, & totum spirant praecordia Phoebum, &c. He says, his Song shall be full of Boldness: That the Poetical Fury, and the whole Divinity of Apollo had so swell'd his Mind and possess'd his Senses, that they had not left any thing Human about him: That the rest of man­kind were profane, whose conversation he could no longer endure: With a great deal of such like stuff.

[Page 122] These Raptures well manag'd, would look well enough in an Ode, a Pastoral, or some such Piece, that is short enough to pre­serve them to the last, and where we may suppose them to have been uttered all in a Breath.

But a Poem so long as an Epopéa, admits not these Rhapsodical Propositions from a Poet that is well in his Wits. This is Horace's Doctrine, who would have the Proposition of the Epick Poem be simple and Modest; and yet he sticks not in one of his Odi Profanum vulgus & arces. Favete linguis, Carmina non prius audita Musarum sacerdos Virgini­bus puerisque canto. Hor. l. 3. Od. 1. Odes to do what Claudian does in the Proposition we cited. This Poem of Claudian that begins so ill justifies the Rule, which Horace has drawn from the Practice of Homer. One may even there observe, that those, who are so daring in what they propose, are so more out of Lightness and Vanity, than out of any knowledge of their Abilities and Art; and that com­monly they are the least able to keep up to it. Claudian was not able to carry the Terrors which he proposed as the Subject of his Poem any farther than the middle of his first Book: And that In­ternal Darkness, which should have eclipsed the light of the Sun, could not take off from the lustre of the Ivory Walls, and Amber Columns of Proserpina's fine Palace.

But we will not leave this Chapter without producing some In­stances that are contrary to the Practice of Homer and Virgil. We may reckon six of these sorts of faults. The first is when any thing is proposed that is foreign to the Subject: The second is, the giving too large an Idea of the Subject Matter: The third is, when the Hero appears too dazling in the Proposition: The fourth, when the Poet speaks too favourably of himself: The fifth is the omitting the Presence of the Deity: And the sixth is, when nothing is said that may give a light into the Character of the Hero.

There is scarce one of these faults but may be met with in the Proposition of the Achilleid. Magnānimum Aeacidem formidatumque Tonanti, Progeniem, & patrio ve­titam succedere coelo, Diva refer. Statius prays his Muse to tell him the Story of the Magnanimous Son of Aeacus, whose Birth struck the Thunderer himself with Terror, and to whom admittance into Heaven was deny'd, tho he had from thence his Origin. If Horace could not endure that a Poet should propose Priam's Fate, and the famous War of Troy, thô in truth this War was Noble and Illustrious: What would he have said of him, who sings a Hero, that strikes Terror into Jupiter himself?

This very Poet gives us likewise too favourable a Character of himself, when begging Phoebus to bestow upon him new Inspira­tions, [Page 123] Tu modo si veteres digno deplevimus haustu, Da fontes mihi, Phoebe, novos... meque inter priscu parentum Nomina, cum (que) suo memorant Amphione Thebae. he tells him that in his first Poem, he had worthily exhausted those he had re­ceiv'd, and brags of his being so excellent a Poet, that Thebes would look upon him as another Amphion.

He speaks of the Gods in this Proposition, but 'tis more by Chance, than in Imitation of Homer or Virgil; since if he had been perswaded that Art required so much, he would not have fail'd doing it in the Proposition of the Thebaid.

To conclude, he has given a very sorry Character of his Hero, when he stiles him Magnanimous. Achilles was certainly very Impatient, Cholerick, and Revengeful. Homer made him so, and Statius should have kept up the same Character, which this first Poet had given him. Scriptor, honoratum si forte reponis Achillem, Impiger, iracundus, iners, inexorabilis, acer, &c. Hor. Poet. This is one of Ho­race's Rules. But we need not seek any farther than Statius himself for a proof of his error in this point. In the Proposition he contradicts this Character of Magnanimous which he had bestow'd upon Achilles at first: For immediately after, among the Actions he was to mention of his Hero, he mentions one, that is far from Magnanimity; namely his cruel Usage of Hector's body, when after he had kill'd him, he bound him by the heels to his Charriot, and drag'd him a great many times round the Walls of Troy, and the Tomb of Patroclus.

CHAP. IV. Of the Invocation.

[...]. HOMER in his two Poems inserts the Invocation in the Proposition. He does not say that he will relate what Achilles, or Ʋlysses has done; but intreats his Muse to make the Recital. Virgil has these two parts distinct: He first Arma virumque cano. pro­poses what he would sing, and then he Musa, mihi causas me­mora. begs his Muse to inform him about it. In this second part he Infignem pietate virum. inserts the Character of his Hero, which more properly belongs to the [Page 124] first. And this makes it appear, that it signifies little whether they are distinct from each other, or joyn'd together.

But let the way be how it will, the Poet cannot omit the Invoca­tion. He speaks of things which he would know nothing of, un­less some God or other had reveal'd them to him. He owes his Rea­ders this Example of Piety and Veneration, which is the very Foun­dation of all the Moral, and the Instructions he pretends to lay down from the Fable: And lastly, since the Gods must be concern'd in it, 'tis unreasonable to dare to bring them upon the Stage, without craving their leave first. So that with respect to the Gods, the Auditors, and the Poet himself, the Invocation becomes an indis­pensible and necessary part.

The Poet likewise addresses himself to the Gods very often in the sequel of his Work: Nune agé qui Reges Erato, quae tempora, re­rum, Quis Latio antiquo fuerit Status, &c. Sometimes when he enters upon a new matter, as Virgil does, when in his Seventh Book he enters upon the second part of his design: Quis Deus, ô Musae, tam saeva incendia Teucris A­vertit; tantos ratibus quis depulit ignes, Dicite Prisca fides facti, sed fama perennis. Aen. 9. Some­times when he relates some miraculous Action, that is above common probabili­ty; as in the transformation of Aeneas's Ships into Nymphs: Die, quibus Imperium est animarum umbraeque filentes, Et Chaos & Phle­geton, loca nocte silentia latè: Sit mihi fas audita loqui, fit numine vestro Pandere res altâ terrâ & caligine mersas. Aen. 6. Sometimes when he reveals those Mysteries, which God seems to have been willing to keep se­cret from the Curiosity of Men, such for instance is that which happens in the shades below, whither Aeneas is conduct­ed by Sibyl: And lastly at other times upon other occasions.

But the Principal Invocation is that at the Beginning. And here we are to take notice of two things. The first is what the Poet desires: And the second, to what Deity he makes his Appli­cation.

That which we demand in the first Question, is whether the Poet should desire that all his Matter should be inspir'd into him, or only a part of it. The different practice of our Authors obliges us to make this Reflection.

Homer has so well connected his Proposition in the Iliad with the Invocation, that he implores his Muse for all that he proposes without exception.

In the Odysseïs he has begun after the same way; but after men­tioning several things which he begs his Muse to assist him in, he at last retrenches some; and only intreats her to tell him a part of them.

Virgil follows this last method. That which is particular in him is, that he does not in the general desire one part of his Subject, but precisely determines what part he would have his Muse inspire into [Page 125] him. 'Tis that which was the most secret and hardest to know. After he had very exactly proposed all his Matter, he then addresses himself to his Muse, and prays her to inform him of the Causes of all.

There is a very natural reason to be given for this Conduct: For since the Poet supposes that his Action is true, and writes as if he would have it pass for such; he must likewise suppose that such an Illustrious and Important Action could not have been buried in Oblivion. By this means History or Report might have informed him of one Part. This is the Idea he would have the Readers con­ceive, when he does not desire the Muses for all.

Perhaps likewise our Poets did this to divide the business so, that they might have the Honour of singing a part with the Gods. This is what Haec Damon: vos, quae re­sponderit Alphesiboeus, Di­cite Pierides: Non omnia possumus omnes. Virgil does in his eighth Eclogue: He sings the one half of his Matter; and prays the Muses to go on and sing the other part, because he could not do all.

However the case stands, we see by this Practice what the Poet is allowed to do. Thus much for what he desires; now let us see to whom he makes his Addresses.

The Invocation is proper to the Poem, when 'tis either addressed to the God, who presides over the Subject he treats on; or to the God, who presides over Poetry in general.

Ovid in his In nova fert anīmus mu­tatas dicere formas Cor­pora. Di coeptis (nam vos mutastis & illas) Aspi­rate meis. Metamorphoses makes use of the first sort of Invocation. He names no God in particular, but addresses himself to all who had contributed to the Mira­culous Transformations he was about to describe.

The Poet Quae quoniam rerum Naturam sola gubernas, Te sociam studeo scri­bundis versibus esse, Quos ego de rerum naturà pandere conor. Lucretius does the same in his Poem concerning the Nature of things. He calls upon Venus, because she presides o'er the Productions of Nature.

This is likewise what Virgil has done in his Georgicks. He names in particular all the Gods who were concern'd with Husbandry, and as if he had been affraid of omitting any one Diique, Deaeque omnes Studium quibus arva tu­eri. he calls upon them all in General.

But both he and Homer have left us another kind of an Ex­ample in their Epick Poems. They have call'd upon the Muses, and so they have distinguished the Deities which preside over Poesie, from those that preside over the Actions of the Poems, and are the Personages that act in them.

Besides, we are not to imagine that these Divirities, which they invok'd, were look'd upon by the Poets themselves, as Divine Per­sons, [Page 126] from whom they expected any real Assistance. Under this Name of Muse, they wish'd for that Genius of Poesy, and all those Qualifications and Circumstances, that were necessary for executing their design. This is nothing else but an Allegorical and Poetical way of expression: As when they say, the God of Sleep, the God­dess of Fame, and the like. There are likewise Muses of all Ages, Countries, and Religions. There are Christian as well as Pagan Muses. There are Greek, Latin, French, and English Muses. There are New ones too, which begin every day to appear in behalf of those who disdaining the thread-bare Antiquities, are so bold as to invent things wholly new.

When Virgil wrote his Eclogues, he in­vok'd the Sicelides Musae, paulo majora canamus. Vir. Ecl. 6. Extremum hunc, Are­thusie, mihi concede labo­rem. Ecl. 10. Sicilian Muses, because he imitated Theocritus: And this Sicilian Poet coming off so well put the Latin Poet up­on wishing for as lucky a Genius as this Islander had.

The Muses of the Philosopher Lucretius were Avia Pieridum peragro loca, nullius ante Trita solo: juvat integros ac­cedere fontes, Atque hau­rire; juvatque novos de­cepere flores; Insignem (que) meo capiti petere inde co­ronam. Unde prius nulli velarint tempora Musae. Lucr. l. 3. New, and had inspired none before him. None had as yet entered the Gardens where this Epicurean Poet gather'd so many Immortal flowers: And the Waters of his Poetical Fountains were such, as former Poets had never quenched their thirst with; he is the first that ever tasted of the sweets of them.

But the Doctrine of this Author leaves no room to doubt what sort of Gods they were, that he invok'd. At the very beginning of this Poem, when he had addressed himself to Venus, as a Goddess who managed the whole concern of Natural things, about which he was going to treat: He presently-informs us, Omnis enim per se Di­vûm natura necesse est. Immortali aevosumma cum pace fruatur. Semota ab nostris rebus sejunctaque longè, &c. that the Gods never concerned themselves with what was done below. This is the main Principle of his whole Treatise: and Tantum Religio potuit suadere malorum. Religion, in his account, is an Error that imposes upon us. What then are these Muses, and this Venus to which he addresses himself? Has he invoked the Deities to in­spire him with that, with which 'tis impossible they should inspire him? And did he intreat them to teach him, that 'tis an Error to pray to them, and a mistake to expect any thing from them? Other Poets are not so unreasonable, and Parcus Deorum cultor & infrequens, Insanientis dum sapientiae Consultus erro, nunc retrorsum Vela dare, atque iterare cursus Cogor relictos. Hor. lib. 1. Od. 34. Horace, who for some time was of the same opinion, might well call this Epicurean Wisdom downright Folly.

[Page 127] We will conclude this Chapter by a short recapitulation of all that has been observ'd about the Invocation; and from thence it may be said, That the Invocation may be mixed with the Proposition, or may be separated from it: That it is always a necessary part of the Epick Poem: And that 'tis a prayer addressed to the Allegorical Genius of Poesy, under the name of Muse, or some one else, by whom the Poet begs to be inspir'd, either in the whole, or only in a part of that which he has undertaken to relate.

CHAP. V. Of the Body of the Poem, or the Narration properly so called.

ALL the parts of the Epick Poem, which we have already discours'd of, are nothing but Introductions into it. Let us now enquire into the Body of the Poem, and into that which is properly called the Naration. And in short this Narration is the Recital which the Poet makes of his entire Action, Episodiz'd with all its Circumstances and all its Decorations. 'Tis in this part we are to look for the Beginning, the Middle, and the End of the Action: This is it which informs us of the Causes of all we read: In this are proposed, in this are unravelled all the Plots and Intrigues: In this the Personages, whether Divine or Humane, ought to demonstrate their Interests, their Manners, and their Quality, by their Actions and Discourses: And all this must be described with the Beauty, the Majesty, and the Force of Verse, of Stile, of Thoughts, of Similes, and of other Ornaments, that are suitable to the Subject in general, and to each single thing in particular.

We have spoken already to some of these things, and shall say something more about them in the remaining parts of this Treatise. But in this we shall consider, First, the Qualifications of the Narra­tion: Secondly, the Order our Poets have observ'd therein: And Thirdly, its Duration; that is, how long time they have assigned to the Adventures which they themselves have related in each of their Poems. For we have already observ'd how much time they assign'd to the Entire Actions.

We will begin with the Qualifications of the Narration. It must be Pleasant, Probable, Moving, Marvellous, and Active. We prov'd the necessity of these Properties, when we treated of the Fable, and of the Nature of the Epopéa, from whence we took them. So that without insisting any longer upon these proofs, we shall in this [Page 128] place only consider, wherein these Qualifications do consist, and what we are perswaded Homer and Virgil have done to establish them in the Poem.

Aus prodesse volunt, aut delectare Poetae, Aut simul & jucunda, & idonea di­cere vitae... Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci Lectorem delectando pariterque monendo. Hor. Poet. Horace speaks of the Profitable and the Pleasant in such a manner, that he seems to treat of them both alike. But we fansie, if that had been his design, he had more re­gard to Poesie in general, than to the Epick Poem in particular. With respect to the last we say, that the Profitable is a Property Essential to the Epick Narration, whereas the Pleasant is only a Mode or Qualifica­tion of it. For it must be granted, that the Fable, which is the very Soul of the Epopéa, was only invented to instruct Men: That the Profitable is not made use of to please People; but that on the other hand the Pleasant is inserted to procure a more favourable re­ception of the Instructions which the Fable contains.

So that the Profitable belongs not to any particular part of the Poem, but to the very Nature of the Epopéa, and of the Fable in general. I am satisfied then with what I said about it in the first Book, where I think it was more proper to speak of it, than to joyn it with the Pleasant here. Besides, it being Essential, as I have already said, it will be met with in a great many Passages, since all suppose it.

CHAP. VI. How the Narration is Pleasant.

PLeasantry in the Epick Narration is a necessary Qualification, which engages us to read the Poem with some sort of Delight, thô excited by the most Terrible, the most Violent, and the most afflicting Passions. The Effect may arise, either from the Poem alone; or from that Relation which the Poet makes between his Auditors and his Personages, and the Interest which he makes the first to have in the Action he relates. Statius rob'd himself of this Advantage, when not regarding the Romans for whom he wrote, he must needs hunt for his Subjects in Countries and States, whose Manners and Customs bore no relation to those of his Readers, and wherein they had not the least Interest. Homer has made a better choice, and has better disposed of his Actions. And if Virgil has not been more careful than Homer, yet at least he has [Page 129] had infinitely more luck than him. But we said enough of this in the first Book.

The Pleasantries which the Poem affords in its own nature in­dependently from the Auditors, are of three sorts. The first arise from the Beauty of the Verse, of the Stile, and of the Thoughts: Others depend upon the Persons that are introduced into the Poem, upon their Manners, their Passions, and their Interests rightly manag'd: And the third sort consist in the things which are de­scrib'd, and in the way of proposing them.

We shall speak of the first sort in our last Book, wherein we shall treat of the Thoughts, and Expressions. In this Book, we shall allow a whole Chapter to the Passions, and all the next Book will be about the Manners. As for the rest let us consider them here.

It is not necessary that all the persons introduc'd into a Poem should have divided and particular Interests therein: Not only their great Number exempts them from it, but likewise a multitude of Interests would too much annoy and subvert the Pleasure we are discoursing of. It confounds the Hearer's mind, it over charges his Memory; and makes him less capable of those Motions with which we would have him affected. The greater variety of things we have to take notice of and remember, the more sedate and at­tentive ought we to be, for fear of losing any necessary thing; and when any such thing escapes us, we take but little pleasure in hear­ing that, which we have no farther understanding of.

But there must be care likewise taken, that no Action or Ad­venture of any length be describ'd without interested persons. Aeneid. l. 3. The Recital, which Achemenides makes of that which happened to Ʋlysses in Polypheme's Den, takes up no more than forty Verses. This wretched Grecian had a great Interest therein; but since he is but a very inconsiderable Personage in this Poem, Virgil provides that Aeneas should not be at a Distance from the Borders of the Cyclops, where he might in safety hear this Adventure: But all this is told in the Port, and upon the very Coast, where the Trojans were in danger of suffering the same Fate with the Companions of Ʋlysses. So that Achemenides speaks as well in their behalf as his own; and in conclusion says, Sed fugite, & miseri, fugite atquo ab littors funem Rumpite. that they should not so much as stay to weigh Anchor, but cut the Cables that detained them. Supplice sic merito. Aeneas for his part owns himself obliged to him. With­out these Engagements, these Adventures are languishing, and make those that hear them languish too.

[Page 130] But the Readers are very desirous to know what any person shall say or do in an Adventure wherein he has some Interest. This is more apparent in the Theatre, from whence the want of Interest has excluded the Narrations of the Chorus, and of such Actors as were only to tell what passed behind the Scenes. After Oedipus was come to the knowledge of his Parents and his Crimes, the Spectators were not very eager to know what the thoughts of the old Corinthian, and the Theban Phorbas are, nor do they take any delight in hearing them. But they cannot hear Oedipus and Jocasta without application and attention.

As much might be said concerning the Manners and the Passions, which are the second sor of Pleasantries. There is nothing more cold and disgustful than to see Personages of no Character. Good Painters give this to all their Draughts; and represent them either Passionate, or Attentive upon some thing or other. Such as are most lively, and have most of the Character upon them, are the most delight­ful to the Eye, and get most credit to their Masters. Ut Pictura Poesis erit. 'Tis just with Poetry as with Painting.

The third sort comprehends the Pleasantries which the things themselves furnish us with. There are some things that in their own Nature are Pleasant, namely such as are Important and Mar­vellous, as Wars, and other great Adventures, provided they are not collected without Choice and Judgment, nor carried on to an extreme, but judicious and well managed.

Others there are that are cold and insipid; and great skill must be used to manage them with success. The best way in such cases is to follow Sumite materiam vestris, qui scribitis, aequam Viri­bus, & versate diu, quid ferre recusent, Quid va­leant humeri. Cui lecta potenter erit res; Nec fa­cundia deseret hunc nec lucidus ordo. Et quae De­speret tractata nite scere posse Relinquet. Hor. Poet. Horace's Rule; to examine those Incidents, and ones own strength; and to study them, and know himself so well, as to undertake nothing but what is proportionate to his Genius and Strength. If an Author distrusts himself in any thing, 'tis best letting it alone.

Dogmatical things are generally dry and insipid. Of this nature is the Doctrine of Plato, and the Pythagoreans, which Virgil has touch'd upon in his sixth Book with so much success. 'Twas ne­cessary that this great Poet, should give us Instances of all sorts of perfections. Upon this account we might say, what Aristotle upon another Occasion says of Homer, that had an ordinary Poet manag'd this Subject, he would have been insufferable. The Art which I discover in him is what follows.

First of all, he makes this Doctrine necessary for the better con­ceiving of the Wonders which follow. Besides, he goes farther, for he makes it a necessary part of his Fable, and his Subject; since [Page 131] tis the Foundation of the Religion, the Laws, and the Morality, which Aeneas went to establish in Italy under the Character of a Pantifex and a Legislator. In the third place, before ever he proposes it to the Readers, he puts them upon desiring it as much as Aeneas did; for without doubt they are mov'd with the same Cu­riosity, which the Poet bestows so naturally on his Hero: They see with the same Amazement, that he does, persons that were to be born some Ages after: And what this Hero asks Anchises, that they ask Virgil. [ O Pater, anne aliquos ad coelum hinc ire pu­tandum est Sublimes ani­mas, iterumque ad tardá reverti Corpora? Is it possible, that there should be any Souls here so fond of return­ing again upon the Earth, and of being im­prisoned once more in a body?] And 'tis with delight that they hear the Dicam equidem, r [...]c tu suspensum, nate, tunebo. Aen. 6. Poet in the person of Anchises promise to satisfie their Curiosity in that point. The Author does not dogmatize at all himself: But he brings it about, that it should be discours'd of by two persons of the greatest importance in his Poem, and who were both very highly interested therein. Lastly, he is very short upon this Subject: He does not so much as spend thirty Verses about it.

The most usual and proper way for Poesie, is to lay down these pieces of Doctrine disguised under the Allegories of some Action or other. Homer does this often in some Physical points. The Age Virgil lived in obliged him to be more reserv'd therein; by which means he has more examples of lessons in Morality. We have said something already about this in the first Book: And shall say more of it in the Book about Machines and the Gods: And likewise in this Book, when we come to shew, how the Epick Narration ought to be Active.

The meeting of Councils may be reckoned among those things which make the Narration languish, and render it unpleasant. Quietness, Moderation, and arguing of Debates ought naturally to preside there, and all this is opposite to the Motions, and the Action, which ought to appear throughout the whole Epick Poem.

Our Poets have carefully avoided all manner of sage and serious Debates, where each person speaks in his turn, and delivers his sober thoughts. They generally brought in some hasty or passio­nate persons, such as are Achilles, and Agamemnon in the first Book of the Iliad, and almost all the other Grecians and Trojans of this Fable. Such likewise in the Aeneid are Venus and Juno in the tenth Book, and Drauces and Turnus in the Eleventh. The Council in the ninth Book is altogether as Passionate, but the Move­ments are of another kind. There are neither Quarrels, nor Heats. All the Personages therein are generous and manly: And yet of [Page 132] above threescore Verses which the Poet spends about it, there are scarce five calm ones. Nisus and young Euryalus, that are in­troduced therein, make the rest so passionate, that this Passage is not one of the least tender and moving Beauties, which the Aeneid has of this kind.

If these Assemblies are without passions, there should be little said in them, and no body contradicting what is propos'd, these Incidents are not so much Debates, as simple Proposals of what is going to be done. There should likewise such proper Places be chosen for them in the Poem, where they might not interrupt the Series of the Action. Of this Nature are the two Assemblies of the Gods in the first and fifth Books of the Odysseis. The first is at the Beginning of the Poem, where it interrupts nothing: And the second does not last long, and is only a simple Transition from the Recital of the Transactions at Ithaca during the Absence of Ʋlysses, to the Recital of that which more particularly regards the Person of this Hero.

The Reader is offended likewise, when that is related to him which he knows already. This was not so great a fault in Homer's time. Virgil is more exact herein. Venus in the first book, would not make a Recital of her Misfortunes to Aeneas, she interrupts it to comfort him. And in the third Book, when good Manners oblig'd this Hero to relate his story to Andromache, Helenus comes in very opportunely, and so hinders him from going on with his Discourse.

CHAP. VII. Of Probability.

TRuth and Probability may meet together, since a thing, that is true, may appear such. This is what's common. But sometimes Truth it self is only Probability, as in Miraculous, Pro­digious, and extraordinary Actions. Sometimes likewise there is Probability without Truth, as in the ordinary Fictions of the Poets. In a word, an Action may be either only True, or only Probable, or else without Truth and Probability, or lastly, it may have both these Qualifications. These four sorts of Actions or things have been as it were divided among four sorts of Learning. History has got the first, relying only on that which is true independently [Page 133] from Probability, which may, or may not be in it. Such is the Action of the Maid of Orleans. The Epick and Dramatick Fables are opposite to History, in that they prefer a Probable Falsity before an Improbable Truth. Such an Action as Samson's would be less proper for the Subject of an Epick Poem, than the Death of Dido who made away with her self, when Aeneas left her. Aesop is alike negligent of Truth and Probability in the Dis­courses he attributes to the Beasts. Lastly, Moral Philosophy should not only mind the Truth of the things it teaches, but 'tis likewise necessary that this Truth appear such, and convince those, we are willing to convince, that it is profitable.

But to what we have said concerning the Epopéa, we may add that naturally it makes use of both Truth and Probability, as Mo­rality does; and that in its Expressions and its Dress, it assumes a liberty very like that of Aesop. It is Probable that Aeneas, when going for Italy, endur'd a dreadful storm, which cast him upon the Coasts of Africk, where he escaped. 'Tis a Moral Truth, that God proves, and sometimes seems to abandon good men, and that at last he rescues them from the Dangers, into which he had permitted them to fall: This is not only True, but likewise Pro­bable. But the Discourse that passed between Juno and Aeolus, and what Neptune said to Boreas and Zephyrus, have as little Truth and Probability in them, as the Intercourse that passed be­tween the Country and the City-Mouse.

So much may be said in the general. To be more particular, and to speak more exactly and Methodically concerning the Pro­bability of Epick Narrations, we shall reduce it to several Heads, and consider it according to Divinity, according to Morality, ac­cording to Nature, according to Reason, according to Experience, and according to vulgar Opinion.

It may be said, that there is nothing with respect to Divinity, but what is Probable; because with God nothing is impossible. This is a Means the Poets often make use of to render every thing Probable, which they have a mind to feign contrary to the Ordi­nary Course of Nature. This is an ample Subject, and requires a particular Treatise: Which we shall bestow upon it, when we come to treat of the Machines.

We have already observ'd that Morality requires both Truth and Probability, and the first is more necessary than the last. A Poet was formerly condemned and fined for a Default in this upon the Theatre: For he made a Personage, whom he had represented as an honest Man, to say, that when his tongue swore, his Mind did not. Certainly 'tis neither True nor Probable that an honest Man should ever trick another by a false Oath, and call God to witness those Promises he never intends to keep.

[Page 134] Seneca the Philosopher accuses Virgil of a fault against Natural Truth and Probability, when he says that the Winds were pen'd up in Grots: Because Wind being nothing else but Air, or Va­pours in Motion, it destroys its Nature to suppose it in a Pro­found Repose. Vossius answers this, and says, that the Poet has very well described the Natural production of Winds, which arise from Hills by the Vapours and Exhalations, that are inclosed there­in; and that 'tis concerning the Causes of Winds which the speaks, by a figure very common among Poets and Orators, taking the Cause for the Effect. 'Tis as if we should say, that the Winds are inclosed in Eolipiles full of Water, since when these Vessels are warm, the Water comes out of them in puffs of Wind. It would have been likewise a Fault against Natural Probability to have said that Aeneas met with Stags in Africk, if 'tis true that they could not live there. But these are Venial Slips, because, Aristotle says, they make not against the Poet's Art, but arise from his ignorance in some things that he has learn'd from other Arts. Yet care must be taken that they be not too gross and visible. There are some Probabilities of this kind from which Aesop him­self would not be excused. We should never pardon him if he had represented the Lyon Timorous, the Hare Daring, the Fox Dull, and the like.

The Probability with respect to Reason is usually destroyed by those, who only strive to make things look Great. They transgress the Bounds which good sense prescribes. They think 'tis creeping unless they soar above the Clouds: And Et dum vitat humum, nubes & ioania captat. Hor. Poet. little dream that when they quit the Earth, they part with what is solid to embrace an Airy Fantom. Statius is very often guilty of this Fault. Who would believe, for Instance, that a single Man surprized in an Ambuscado by fifty Bravo's, that lay in wait for him, could kill nine and forty of them, and give Quarter to the last? Who would believe that this same Romantick Hero would fight at fifty cuffs with a Young Prince for the Wall? And yet they wore Swords by their sides, even when they were pulling of hair, and scratching Faces with their Nails. The Forte & nudassent enses, sic ira ferebat. Theb. l, 4. Poet himself observes as much, and says their Anger rose so high, that perhaps they had drawn upon one another, if King Adrastus had not step'd in between. Here is a strange Illustration of the rage of two Kings. The third per­son finds it so reasonable, Haud humiles tanta ira decet. that he dis­covers by this noble exploit the greatness of their Extraction. Is this at all Probable? And is not a Man's Reason strangely shock'd at this?

[Page 135] Sometimes the Poets are found fault with for relating things contrary to Experience. Etiam decimo Iliados Jovem fulgurare facit, ubi ningit. Nunquam hoc Vidimus. Scaliger. Poet. Book 5. Scaliger blames Homer for saying that Jupiter Thundered and Snowed at the same time: Which is a thing, says this Critick, which we never observed. But this does not contradict Experience; not many years ago it was observable, that in January the Thunder was so Violent, that it Burnt down the Steeple of a Church at Chalons, and did as much at the Abby of Chally near Senlis, and in several other places. Terrible Claps of Thunder were heard, and several Thunderbolts fell at Senlis in a very deep and thick Snow. Homer then might likewise have seen the self same thing.

But the principal sort of Probability, and that which we nam'd last, is the Probability according to the common-received Opinion; which is of no small moment in this place. A thing is Probable when it seems to be True. But sometimes it seems True to Men of Sence, and False to the Vulgar; or the Contrary. Since the Vulgar and the Learned are thus divided, it may be asked which side the Poet ought to take. The Subject shall be, for instance, the Adventure of Dido, or that of Penelope, or the Story of Medea, Helen, or the like. That which Homer and Virgil have wrote a­bout it shall be Probable to the Vulgar: But Men of Learning shall have read the contrary in History. Some Authors shall have written that [Dido was Chast, and Medea Innocent, that Penelope was banished and divorced by Ʋlysses for having abused his Absence, and that Helen was never at Troy.

'Tis no hard matter to decide this Point by the Rules I have laid down. Homer, Virgil, and the rest have made no scruple to dis­regard History, that so their Fables might be more just. Rectius Iliacum carmen deducis in actus. Aut Famam sequere, aut sibi convenientia finge. Hor. Post. Horace does not refer Poets to the Truth of History, but either to Fables already invented as that of the Iliad, or else to vulgar Opinions and Fame. Aristotle says nothing against, but rather seems to confirm this Doctrine, when he tells us, that a Poet does not write as an Historian, what sort of Man Alcibiades was, what he said, or what he did, upon such or such an Occasion; but only what in all probability he ought to have said or done. He ap­proves of the Fable of Oedipus upon the Theatre, and yet, he says, that that which serves as a Ground work to all this Action has no­thing of reason in it: And that King Oedipus could not have tarry'd so many years, before he made inquiry into the Murder of his Prede­cessour King Laius. He only excuses the Negligence that is at­tributed to Oedipus, upon the account that this Fault against Reason was foreign to the Tragedy. But this excuse being only designed [Page 136] to justifie the Conduct of the Poet, it expresly supposes that this Action was invented contrary to the Truth of History: And be­sides it shews that Aristotle allows of this, when he goes about to prove that this Falsity hinders not but the Subject may be Lawful and Regular.

He likewise approves of the Iphigenia in Taurica, and thinks it worth his while to make the Platform of it, as he did that of the Odysseïs. And yet it does not appear that this Philosopher nor the Learned Men of his times were perswaded of a thing whose Falsity quite ruins this Action. Certainly they never thought, that in the very moment Iphigenia was going to be sacrificed to Diana in Aulis, this Goddess conveyed her away, and substituted a Hind in her stead. Aristotle was therefore of the Opinion, that a Poet, when his Fable so required, was not so strictly tyed up to the Truths of History, to suit himself to the Capacity of the Learned, as he was to that which might pass for Probable in the Eye of the Vulgar.

After all, it may be said, that not only ev'ry individual person finds his story, and meets with his satisfaction in this Practice: But likewise Men of Learning see more solid Truths therein, than any the Vulgar can meet with; and more certain than those of History which the Poet disregards. The more learned they are, the less will they expect these Historical Truths in a Poem, which is not de­signed for that, but for things more Mysterious. The Truths, they look for there, are Moral and Allegorical Truths. The Aeneid was never writ to tell us the Story of Dido, but to inform us un­der this Name of the Spirit and Conduct of that State which she founded, and of the Original and Consequences of its differences with Rome. A Man takes some delight in seeing this; and these Truths are more pleasant, more apparent, and better understood, than those which the Poet might have taken out of an History that was so little known in his time, and about which the Learned Men of our days, after so many searches, do still contend.

Beside these sorts of Probabilities, there is still another particular one, which we may call an Accidental Probability. It consists, not in making use of several Incidents, each of which in particular is Probable, but in ordering them so, that they shall happen all to­gether very Probably. A Man, for instance, may Probably die of an Apoplexy, but that this should happen exactly when the Poet has occasion to unravel his Plot, is not so easily granted.

The faults against this Probability are of a large Extent: For they comprehend the Multitude of Marvellous things, each of which might have been regular in the particular; but which in all Pro­bability cannot be heaped up in so great a Number and so small a space. 'Tis likewise a fault against this Probability, when an In­cident not duly prepared (tho it needs it) is brought in all on a [Page 137] sudden. A desire of surprizing the Auditors by the sight of some Beauty which they never expected, casts Poets of little Judgment into these Errors; but the effect thereof is of very ill Consequence. When a Man sets himself to seek for the Causes of these events in what he has already seen, this Application of thought takes away all the pleasure. It would vex a Man to take too much pains to find out these Causes, but much more if he could not find them out at all. And when at last the Poet does discover them, the Passion is weaken'd or destroy'd by these misplaced Instructions.

The Comedians make use of these surprizes more frequently, and can reap some Advantage from them. But the gravity of the Epopéa will not away with these petty Amusements. All there ought to be manag'd after a Natural way, so that the Incidents thereof must be duly prepar'd, or else be such as need no Pre­paration.

Virgil is exact in this. Juno prepares the Tempest which she raises in the first Book: Venus in the same Book prepares the Amours of the Fourth. The Death of Dido, which happen'd at the End of this Fourth Book, is prepar'd from the very * first day of her Marriage. Ille dies primus Lethi. Helenus in the third Book prepares all the matter of the sixth. In the Sixth, Sibyl foretells all the ensuing Wars, the Out-rages of Turnus, the misfortunes which were to happen upon the Account of Lavinia, and likewise the Voyage of Aeneas with Evander. We should be too tedious, if we took notice of ev'ry thing of this Nature.

CHAP. VIII. Of the Admirable, or the Marvellous.

ADmiration is opposed to Probability. 'Tis the business of the last to reduce ev'ry thing into the most simple, and most natural order: Whereas on the other hand, we never admire any thing, but what appears extraordinary, and out of the common Road. This is that which deceives some, who, to make their Heroes admir'd, raise them to what is impossible. This Practice meets with a quite contrary effect; for if we would have a thing admired, we should make it so Probable, that it may be conceiv'd and credited: We never Admire that, which we think has actu­ally [Page 138] never been; and all extravagant Flights put us upon this Thought.

And yet for ought I know, I may yield too much to Reason and Probability contrary to Aristotle's mind, who prefers the Admirable by far before them. Let us see what he says about it, and let the World agree to it, as they see cause. [...]. Poet. c. 24. 'Tis requisite, says he, That the Marvellous should be in Tragedy, but much more in the Epopéa, which in this goes beyond the bounds of Reason: For since they do not see the Persons act, as they do upon the Stage, that which transgresses the bounds of Reason is very proper to produce the Mar­vellous. That which Homer says of Hector pursued by Achilles, would have been very ridiculous upon the Stage, where one should have seen so many persons in a fight, looking on Hector as he was flying without pursuing him, and only one person following, giving a signal to the rest to stand off. But this is not discernable in the Epopéa. Aristotle says further, [...]. Poet. Ibid. ‘that these Additions, that are made to Reason and Truth for the raising of Admiration, are likewise Pleasant; and that 'tis evi­dent how natural this is by the ordinary practice of most People, who to make their story the more diverting, and some­thing or another of their own Invention: But that Homer out-does all Men in teaching us how to tell these sorts of yes with a bon grace.’

These Fictions of Homer are, amongst other things, such as Horace commends in the Odysseïs, and which he finds to be equally beautiful and surprising, joyning together these two Qualifications, the Pleasant and the Marvellous, after the same manner that we have observed Aristotle did.

But tho' this Philosopher might have said thus much, certainly he never design'd to allow Men a full license of carrying things beyond Probability and Reason. Besides, without doing him the least in­justice, and without abating any thing of his due Authority, it may be questioned whether the Example of Homer, which he pro­poses, would have been exact enough for Virgil's Imitation. For the custom of speaking by Fables and Allegories, even in Prose, and before the People, was not in vogue at Rome in the Latin Poet's time. So that beside the Allegorical sense, he was farther obliged to insert some other, which one might understand simply without any more ado.

[Page 139] Lastly, that which I infer from the Doctrine of Aristotle is that he prescribes the Marvellous and the Probable to both the Epick and the Dramatick Poets: But in such a manner, that the Dra­matick have a greater regard to the Probable than the Marvellous; and that the Epick on the contrary prefer the Admirable. The reason of this difference is, that we see what is done in Tragedy; and only hear by Recitals the Adventures of the Epopéa. 'Tis upon this consideration that Horace orders, Multaque tolles Ex o­culis, quae mox narret fa­cundia praesens. Aut in avem Progne, Cadmus mutetur in anguem. Quod­cunque ostendis mihi sic incredulus odi. Poet. that in Tragedies themselves the two sur­prizing Incidents (such as the Transforma­tion of Progne into a Bird, or of Cadmus into a Serpent) should be kept from the Spectator's view. There needs only simple Narrations to be made of these things. 'Tis likewise for this reason that the Epopéa has the privilege of Machines, which are as so many Miracles and exceed natural Proba­bility. But they are not after the same manner allow'd upon the Theatre.

We add further, that if for the better pleasing the Auditors by a surprizing Incident, one should transgress the boundaries of Rea­son and Truth, their minds ought to be disposed thereto, by some­thing that may set them so far besides themselves, that they be not in a condition to perceive that they are imposed upon; or at least that they may thank the Poet for having surprised them so pleasantly. This is what Monsieur Corneille has observ'd in his Cid. He knew well enough that he could not bring Rodrigues into the Earl's House, whom he had but just then Murder'd, without transgressing against Reason and Probability: But then he knew as well that the curi­osity of the Spectators, and the Attention they gave to what passed between this Young Hero and Chimene, would not suffer them to take notice of this fault: And that tho' they should have been inform'd of it, they would have taken it ill, if a more strict Re­gularity had rob'd them of so great a satisfaction.

I believe that the best Rules for knowing how far 'tis allowable to carry on the Marvellous, and for discerning what will be taking, what will offend, and what will be Ridiculous; is first, a sound judgment; and then the reading of good Authors, and likewise the Examples of those who have come off but sorrily; and lastly the comparing these two together. But in this Examen of things a Man must be well acquainted with the Genius's, the Customs, and the Manners of the several Ages. For that which is a Beauty in Homer, might have met with sorry Entertainment in the Works of a Poet in the days of Augustus.

'Tis not enough (to make an Incident admir'd) that it should have something that is Admirable: But beside that, 'tis requisite there should be nothing in it that might put a stop to its effect, [Page 140] and destroy the Admiration; such as would be all contrary Passions Admiration in this point has nothing but what is common to it self and all the other Passions. Therefore for the better explain­ing of this matter we must join that with them.

CHAP. IX. Of the Passions.

THE Epick Narration ought to be Admirable, Non satis est pulchra esse Poemata, dulcia sunto. Et quocumque volent ani­mum Auditoris agunto. Hor. Poet. but this Beauty is not enough. It is farther necessary, that it be moving and Passionate, that it transport the Mind of the Reader, fill him with In­quietude, give some pleasure, cast him into a Consternation, and make him sensible of the Violence of all these Motions, even in Sub­jects, which he himself knows are feign'd and invented at pleasure. Ille per extensum funem mihi posse videtur Ire Poeta, meum qui pectus in­aniter angit, Irritat, mul­cet, falsis terroribus implet Ut magus. L. 1. Ep. 1. Horace, who prescribes all this to the Poets, can't forbear admiring them, when they come off well, and he compares their skill to the Power of Magick.

The Passions then are necessary to great Poems: But all are not equally necessary or convenient to all Poems. Mirth and Pleasant surprizes belong to Comedy. On the contrary, Horrour and Com­passion belong to Tragedy. The Epick Poem keeps as it were in the middle between both, and seizes upon all these Passions, as is evident from the Grief that reigns in the fourth Book of the Aeneid, and from the Sports and Diversions of the Eighth. The Passion that seems most peculiar to this kind of Poem is Admiration. It is the least contrary to the Passions of the two other kinds of Poems. We admire with Joy things that surprise us pleasingly, and we admire with Terrour and Grief such things as terrifie and make us sad.

Beside this Admiration which in general distinguishes the Epick Poem from the Dramatick, each Epick Poem has likewise some peculiar passion, which distinguishes it in particular from other Epick Poems, and constitutes a kind of singular and individual difference between these Poems of the same Species. These singular Passions correspond to the Character of the Hero. Anger and Terrour reign throughout the Iliad, because [...]. Il. 1. Achilles is Angry and the most Terrible of all Men. The Aeneid has all soft and tender Passions, be­cause that is the Character of Aeneas. The [Page 141] Prudence, Wisdom, and Constancy of Ʋlysses do not allow him in either of these Extremes, therefore the Poet does not permit one of them to be predominant in the Odysseïs. He confines himself to Admiration only, which he carries to an higher pitch than in the Iliad: And 'tis upon this account that he introduces a great many more Machines of the Odysseïs into the Body of the Action, than is to be seen in the Actions of the other two Poems. This Doctrine will find a fitter place in the next Book, where we shall treat con­cerning the Manners and the Character.

We have still two things to say concerning the Passions. The One is how to impress them upon the Auditors: And the Other how to make them sensible of them. The First is to prepare their minds for them: And the Second is, not to huddle together several Passions that are Incompatible.

The Necessity of preparing the Auditors is founded upon the Na­tural and General necessity of taking things where they are, when we would convey them elsewhere. 'Tis easie applying this Maxim to the Subject in hand. A Man is in a quiet and profound repose, and you have a mind by a discourse made on purpose to make him angry: You must begin your discourse by a mild way; by this means, you will Close him, and then going hand in hand together, as the saying is, he will not fail following you in all the Passions: You have a mind to excite in him by degrees. But if at the first touch you manifest your Anger, you will make your self as ridicu­lous, and meet with as little success as Ajax in Ovid's Metamor­phoses, in whom the witty Ovid has given us a notable Instance of this Default. He makes him begin his plea by Anger and violent figures before his Judges who were profoundly calm. Consedêre Duces, & vulgi stante coronâ, sur­git ad hos Clypei dominus septemplicis Ajax. Utque erat impatiens irae, Sigeia torvo Littora prospexit, classemque in littore vullu. Protendensque manus, A­gimus, pro Juppiter, inquit, Ante rates causam, & me­cum confert ur Ulysses? &c. Metam. Lib. 13. The Generals were set, the Soul­diers standing round about them, Ajax rises, and being of a furious and impatient Disposition casts a fierce look towards the Sea-shore, stretches out his hands towards the Fleet that rode there, and then cries out: Oh Heavens! This Cause must be tryed in view of the Navy, and Ulysses my Competitor!

These necessary Preparations arise from the discourse that goes before these Movements, or else from some Action, that already be­gins to excite them before one speaks. The Orators themselves sometimes make use of this last way. For tho' they generally ex­cite not the Passions till the end of their Harangues, yet when they find their Audience already mov'd, it would be ridiculous, if by an unseasonable Calmness they should begin by making them quit that, with which they would have them affected. The last time Catiline enter'd the Senate house, the Senators were so di­sturbed [Page 142] at his presence, that those who sat next him drew farther off, and left him to sit alone. Then the Consul would have offend­ed against Reason, if he had begun his Speech with that sedateness that is usual to Exerdiums. He would have abated that Indigna­tion with which he was willing to affect the Senators against Cariline; and he would have taken away from the mind of this Parricide, that Dread and Terror he was minded to strike him with, and which he was already sensible of by this tacite condemnation of the Senate. Therefore Quousque tandem abu­têre, Catilins, patientiâ nostrâ, &c. omitting this first part of the Speech, which upon such an occasion would have been prejudicial to him, he takes his Audience in the Condition he found them, and continues and beightens their Passions.

That which is so rare among the Orators, is common among the Poets: They abound with Instances of this nature, where one may see the Passion prepar'd and kept up by the Actions. Dido begins a Speech as Ovid's Ajax did. Oh Jupiter! What? Shall this Stranger go off so? &c. But these Motions were very well prepar'd. Illa dolos dirumque ne­ [...]as in pectore versat, Cetta mori, &c. Aen. 4. ‘ Dido entertains thoughts of her Death before Aeneas left her. She spent her Night in nothing else but dis­quietude, and such distracting thoughts, as these her fears possess'd her with.’

This is no surprize to the Hearers: They are so well prepared for it, that they would have wonder'd if the Beginning of this Speech had been less passionate.

The Practice of Seneca is quite contrary. If he has any Recital to make, which ought to imprint some great Passion or other; he [Page 143] takes away from both his Personages and his Audience all the incli­nations they might have towards it. If they are possess'd with the Sorrow, fear, and expectation of some dreadful thing? He will begin by some fine and elegant Description of some place or other, which only serves to shew the Copiousness; and the poignant, bloomy Wit of a Poet without Judgment. In the Troad, Hecuba and Andromache were disposed to hear of the violent and barbarous death of their Son Astyanax, whom the Gre­cians had thrown from the top of an high Tower. It mightily concern'd them indeed to know, that among the croud that flock'd from all parts to that sad sight, Alta rupes cujus è cacu­mine erecta summos turba libravit pedes, &c. Some there were who stood upon the ruins of the old decay'd Buildings, others whose legs trembled under them, because they were mounted a little too high, &c. People that have the patience to speak or hear such idle stuff, are so little inclin'd to weep, that they had need have notice, as the mercenary Mourners of old had, when 'tis time to set up their Whine.

The Second thing we think necessary for the well managing the Passions, and to make the Auditors sensible of them, is to insert them in the Poem pure and disengag'd from every thing, that may hinder them from producing their due Effect.

'Tis necessary then, to avoid the vicious Multiplicity of Fables, where there are too many Stories, too many Fables, too many Actions, the Adventures too much divided and hard to be remem­bred, and such Intrigues as one can't easily comprehend. All this distracts the Mind, and requires so much attention, that there is nothing left for the Passions to work upon. The Soul should be free and disengag'd, to be the more sensible of them. We destroy our true sorrows, when we divert our thoughts another way: And how contrary will these troublesome Applications be to the Fictions and Movement of Poems? Of all the obstacles that de­stroy the Passions, the Passions themselves are not the least. They fight with and destroy one another: And if a Man should mix to­gether a Subject of Joy and a Subject of Sorrow, he would make neither of them sink deep. Non ut placidia cocant immitia. Horace in­forms us, that no Poetical License will allow of this sort of mixture.

The very nature of these Habits impose this Law. The Blood and Animal Spirits cannot move so smoothly on in their usual way at quiet, if at the same time they are stop'd and retarded by some Violence, such as Admiration causes. Nor can they be in ei­ther of these two Motions, whilst Fear contracts them from the external parts of the Body to make them rally about the Heart: Or whilst Anger sends them into the Muscles, and makes them act there with a Violence so contrary to the operations of Fear. [Page 144] A Poet then should be acquainted with both the Causes and the Effects of the Passions in our Souls. 'Tis there we are more sensible of them, and know them better than in the Blood and the Animal Spirits. This Knowledge, and the justness of his Genius will make him manage them with all the force, and the effects they are ca­pable of. And here we will propose two Examples of that which we have said concerning the Simplicity and the Disengagement of each Passion.

The Admirable must needs be predominant in the Warlike Ver­tues of a Maid; and this is the Passion Virgil makes use of in the Episode of Camilla: And on the contrary he has made Pity to reign in that of Pallas. This passion agrees very well with this young Prince who is one of the Heroe's Party. But the Poet does not mix these two Passions together. He only shows in Pallas all that ordinary Courage that a young Man is capable of. He fights Turnus, but did not go out to attack him: He does not so much as wound him, nor put him in the least danger; he only attends his coming, and Aut spoliis ego jam rap­tis laudabor opimis, Aut letho insigni. Aen. 10. speaks to him more like one that fear'd not death, than one who ex­pected to kill him. He is kill'd at the first blow; and there is nothing extraordinary in it. But there is something more than ordinary in the Lamentation which Aeneas and the unhappy Evander made upon his Death.

Camilla on the contrary, made her self admir'd by a Valour be­coming a Hero; but she dies without being pitied. That which Diana says upon the Subject, deserves not the name of a Lamenta­tion in comparison to that which Aeneas and Evander made for Pallas. Besides, the Speech of Diana is said before her Death, and is not in a place where it might have any great effect. In short, Camilla is kill'd, she is reveng'd, and nothing more said about it. How many Poets are there, that would have bestow'd a Lover or two upon her, and endeavour'd to make an Episode as moving as that of Clorinda, and Tancred? This Beauty did not escape Virgil's view. Multae illam frustra Tyr­thena per oppida matres Optavere nurum. Aen. 10. He says, that several Italian Dames courted her for their Sons. This Reflection shews us, that his thoughts were upon every thing, and that it was not without choice and judgment, that he omitted that which would have appear'd so beautiful to other Poets. But he was not willing to spoil the Ʋnity of the Passion, nor put a stop to its effects.

CHAP. X. How the Narration ought to be Active.

THE Epick Narration ought to be Active. This Qualifica­tion is so necessary to it, that Aristotle's Expression herein seems to confound the Epopéa with the Tragedy. 'Tis by this he begins to lay down Rules for this first sort of Poem. [...]. Poet. c. 23. 'Tis requisite, says he, that the Epick Fables be Dramatick, like those that are in Tragedy. Now that which makes Tragedy Dramatick, and upon the account of which it has the Name which signifies to [...]. Act, is, that the Poet never speaks in it; and that every thing is represented by the Personages that are introduc'd, and who alone Act and speak therein. From whence we learn, that since Aristotle requires this Qualification likewise in the Epopéa, he thereby orders, that the Personages speak likewise in this kind of Poem.

Nor does he hereby exclude the Narration of the Poet. This can never be; since he himself says that the Epopéa is an Imitation car­ried on by a Narration; and that in truth the Narration of the Poet is its Form, which distinguishes it the most Essentially from the Actions of the Theatre. But he means, that these two things ought to be so mix'd, that the Personages speak very often. [...]. c. 24. Homer, says he, who merits so much praise in other things, is especially to be admired for this, that he has been the only Poet, who knew what he ought to do. For the Poet should speak but little. The Poeti­cal Imitation consists not so much in what the Poet says, as in what he makes his Per­sonages say: The other Poets shew them­selves from the Beginning to the very End of their Poems. They imitate but seldom, and then they carry not on their Imitation very far. Homer uses a quite contrary method. After having said a very little himself, he presently introduces some one or other of his Personages. This is what Aristotle says, nor needs it any Comment. To this famous Example he has given us in Homer we might join that of the Latin Poet, who speaks less in his Aeneid, than he makes his Personages speak.

[Page 146] But the last Words of Aristotle are capable of two Interpretati­ons; the first is, [...]. Ib. Homer says but little himself, and presently introduces a Man or a Woman, or something else that has Man­ners; but without that Qualification he in­troduces nothing. So that all the Words which follow the mention of a Man or a Woman, signifie a Deity, or a feign'd person, which though in its own nature it has no Manners, yet has some in the Poem, in­to which Allegorically one may bring all manner of things as well as into other Fables.

For this thought is taken from the Nature of Fables in general. When they are divided into different sorts; by the term Moracae, that is by the Manners that are attributed to something that has none, we understand those, where for the Personages we introduce Beasts, Plants, and such like things, which in their own Nature have no Manners. Thus, for instance, in the Fable of the Olive-Tree and the Reed, the Olive-Tree is proud and vaunts it self because it stands so firm as not to bend to ev'ry blast of Wind, as the Reed does. Whatever then is introduc'd into Fables ought so necessarily and essentially to have Manners, that the Author is oblig'd to be­stow them upon things that naturally are not endued with them.

In short, if the names of Man and Woman which Aristotle makes use of, do not properly signifie Gods and Goddesses, he would with­out doubt have omitted a great part of Homer's Personages. He has done well then in adding, [or some other thing that has Man­ners.] And this will denote not only Apollo, Thetis, Jupiter, and such like Deities, who are angry, complain, and laugh as we do, but likewise the Horse Xanthus, that speaks in the Iliad; the Horse Rhebus, which Mezentius speaks to in the Aeneid; Ethon who la­ments the death of Pallas, and ev'n Fame who knows ev'ry thing, and takes such a pleasure in telling Tales; the Winds that are so Mutinous and Seditious that they would have overturn'd the Globe, and dashed Heaven and Earth together by this time, if Jove had not taken care to set a King over them, who shuts them up close, and when he lets them out always keeps a strict hand over them. And this according to the first Interpretation is what Aristotle means, by these other things which have Manners, which the Poet introduces, and makes to speak in the Fable.

The other way of Interpreting this passage of Aristotle is to say, That he does not suppose that the Speeches the Personages are made to pronounce are the only means of making a Narration Active and Dramatick, but that 'tis so, when the Manners are Apparent, whether by the Persons speaking or only Acting therein, or by any other way, supposing you have a mind to give this Precept a little larger extent. In this sense, not only the Speech of Dido to the [Page 147] Princess her Sister, to whom she discovers her passion for Aeneas, would be Dramatical; but this qualification would be likewise in the Verses that go before, where one may observe the Agitations and the Disquietude of this Queen, who from the time she first fell in Love, had lost all her Quiet and Repose.

In this sense, the learn'd Discourse of Anchises to his Son in the sixth Book may be likewise reckon'd among the Dramatical passages. First, because 'tis not the Poet that speaks, but one of his Perso­nages. Yet I declare 'tis my opinion, that this single Qualification is not a sufficient Reason why that which is spoken should be Dra­matical, if beside that, there are not Manners to be observ'd there­in. Now there are Manners in this speech of Anchises. That which he says there, is the Foundation of all the Morality, the Laws, and the Religion which Aeneas was going to Establish in Italy. So that the subject Matter of this Speech is a Moral Instruction wherein one may see the Immortality of the Soul establish'd; and the Causes of the Passions and Manners both of the Living and the Dead. But that which makes most for our purpose is, that this Speech contains the Manners, Habits, and Condition of Anchises himself who spoke it, and of those who were in the same place with him. The Poet having us'd no small skill to engage him thereto: Each of us, Quisque suos patimur ma­nes. Exinde per am­plum Mittimur Elysium, & pauci laeta arva tenemus. Aen. 6. Says he, feel the tor­ments that are proper to him; then are we sent to the Elysian Fields, where we, a few in number, spend our time, &c.

But whatever Aristotle's sense is, he does not seem to favour the simple Explication of Arts or Sciences, which are without Manners, and without Action, and which have nothing of Morality in them. If a Man would speak like a Poet, he must Imitate Homer, and con­ceal these things under the Names and Actions of some feign'd per­sons. He will not say that Salt is good to preserve dead Bodies from Corruption and Putrefaction, and that Flies would presently fill them full of Maggots: But he will say, that Achilles designing to revenge the Death of Patroclus, before he perform'd the last Offices to his dead Body, apprehends that the hotness of the Season would corrupt it, and that the Flies that lighted upon his Wounds, would engender Maggots there. He will not barely say, that the Sea offers him a Remedy against the Putrefaction he was afraid of: But he will make the Sea a Divinity; he will bring it in speaking: In a word he will say the Goddess Thetis comforts Achilles, and tells him, he might set his heart at rest, for she would go and perfume his Body with Ambrosia, which should preserve it a whole Year from Cor­ruption. This is the way by which Poets, if they would imitate Homer, must speak of Arts and Sciences. One sees in this instance, that Flies breed Corruption, and fill dead Bodies with Maggots. One there sees the Nature of Salt, and the Art of preserving dead Bodies [Page 148] from Corruption. But all this is express'd Poetically, and with all the Qualifications requisite to that Imitation, which according to Aristotle is essential to Poetry: All is reduc'd into Action. The Sea is made a Person that speaks and acts, and this Prosopopoeia is at­tended with Passion, Tenderness, and Interest. In short there is no­thing therein but what has Manners.

This Instance may suffice; it is plain, obvious, and easie to be un­derstood. We may for Diversion sake produce another from a Sci­ence a great deal more mysterious. The Chymists have too good an opinion of their Philosophy, and too much esteem for Virgil; than to think he was wholly ignorant of their Art. There are some that observe, that he has express'd as clearly as themselves, some of their choicest Operations. These Gentlemen are not satisfied with ordinary Metaphors and Allegories, such as Poets use: But they carry on these Figures and Disguises to the utmost obscurity of a Riddle. No inconvenience then would follow, should they suppose the Hero of the Aeneid to be a Man who makes a discovery of that Gold, which is produc'd after a miraculous manner, and which is reproduc'd and increas'd incessantly from the very first time of its being discover'd. The principle of this happy discovery is Piety, Industry, á Genius, and the blessing of Heaven; Aeneas was not deficient in any of these. But 'tis requisite several things should be Divin'd; For this reason Helenus sends Aeneas to Sibyl, he follows his advice, and sees the two birds of Venus. These are the two Ex­tracts of Vitriol: For that green Mineral, which contains them, is a sort of Copper, that goes under the name of this Goddess. I omit the rest, and leave it as I found it in the Books where by chance I did read of it; at least it will suit well enough with the Justice of that Advice Sibyl gives Aeneas upon the account of the difficulty of this discovery, and the small number of those who succeed in it; and that lastly, as she says, this undertaking is not fit for a wise Man. But to return:

We may likewise reckon among the Subjects that are not Poetical, the Descriptions of Palaces, Gardens, Groves, Rivulets, Ships, and a hundred other Natural and Artificial things; when they are too long, and made after a simple, proper manner, without Allegories. This is what Horace calls purple Shreds, which Poets sometimes place very ill, thinking that those faults will prove the finest Ornaments of their Works. Thô this may be good in the lesser Poems.

I believe I have already spoken in some other place concerning the manner of making the Narration Active, which is proper and es­sential to the Fable. And that is to reduce the Precepts and Instru­ctions we would lay down, into Action. Virgil abounds with In­stances of this nature. His Hero is a Legislator, but 'tis in a Poem. So that he does not appoint that such a Sacrifice should be made, or such Ceremonies observ'd: But he does all this himself. He does [Page 149] not command one should submit to the Gods, nor does he prescribe a way how to punish the profane; but he demonstrates at large the dreadful torments that attend these Miscreants.

CHAP. XI. Of the Continuity of the Action, and the Order of the Narration.

THe Continuity, which the Action ought to have in the Narra­tion is a Consequence of what has been already said, and will serve as a Principle to that we are about to observe concerning the Order which the Poet ought to mind in the Recital of all his Action. 'Tis upon this Principle we shall judge, when the Poet is permitted to begin the Narration by the beginning of his Action, and to relate every thing one after another, just as they happen'd and in their na­tural Order; and when, on the contrary, he is oblig'd to invert this Order, and make use of the Artificial one, beginning his Poem by the Incidents of his Action, which happen last perhaps in order of time.

In the first place we will treat concerning Continuity. From the time the Poet begins to rehearse his Subject, from the time he opens his Poem, and brings his Personages, if I may so say, upon the Stage; he ought so to continue his Action to the very end, that none of the Personages be ever observ'd to be Idle, and out of Motion.

This Continuity is sometimes to be met with in the Action it self, and in the first Model of the Fable. Of this Nature is the Action of the Iliad. Apollo is provok'd, and sends the Pestilence into the Gre­cian Army. Agamemnon pacifies his Anger, the Soldiers recover of their distemper, and afterwards Fight. Patroclus and Hector are kill'd, their Funeral Obsequies are over; and so the Action Ends in less than fifty Days without any Interruption and Discontinuity.

But when the Action lasts for several Years, as in the Odysseïs and the Aeneid, it cannot be Continu'd, thô 'twere interrupted by no­thing else but the Winter-season, a very unfit time for Wars and Voyages, which are the usual Subjects of Poems. Ʋlysses tarries a whole Year with Circe, and seven with Calypso: And Aeneas spent several Years in Thrace, where he does nothing worthy to be recited by an Epick Poet. And perhaps he was more than a Year in Sicily during his Fathers Sickness, and their Mourning for his Death. So [Page 150] that the Actions of these two Poems are not Continued. But thô the Actions are not Continu'd, yet the Narration ought to be so, as we hinted before.

There is no difficulty in managing the Actions that are Continu'd. The Poet has nothing to do but Rehearse them in their Natural Or­der, and relate the things one after another, just as they happen'd: This is what Homer has done in his Iliad.

When the Action is long and Discontinu'd, the Poet relates it in an Artificial Order. He takes nothing for the Matter of his Narra­tion, but what towards the End of the Action has something of Continuity in it; and for his own share he only relates this part. For this reason Virgil has begun his Recital just after Aeneas left Si­cily, where Anchises dy'd: And Homer at the very first makes his Hero quit the Isle of Ogyges, after he had staid there seven Years, all which time the Poet lets pass before the opening of his Poem. In the Sequel of the Discourse, some probable and natural occasion a­rises for Repeating the most considerable and necessary things which went before these beginnings. The love Dido conceiv'd for Aeneas made her extreamly curious to know his adventures. This Passi­on made the Recital thereof so Natural, that the Iliacosque iterum demens áudire labores Exposcit, pendetque iterum narran­tis ab ore. Aen. 4. Poet thought himself oblig'd to make it more than once. The Phaeacans indeed had no Interest in the fortune of Ʋlysses; but the Poet supply'd that by making these dull Fellows mightily in love with Romantick Adventures.

This Artificial Order divides the Action into two Parts very diffe­rent from each other. The principal Part contains that which the Poet relates. He takes but a little Matter, but he treats of it amply, and with all the Pomp and Majesty his Art can furnish him with. The other Part is a great deal larger in the Number of its Incidents, and in its Duration; but 'tis of less Compass should you reckon the Verses it takes up, and consequently in the Circumstances and Move­ments which make a great part of the Beauties of the Poem. But yet, if among the Incidents which the Poet is oblig'd to insert in that which we here call the Second and Least part of his Work, there should be any one Important Incident, he may treat of this more largely than of the rest, as Virgil has done the Taking of Troy. 'Tis true one may not treat of many of them after this manner: The rest should be more concise. Besides one sees a great deal of Difference between the Death of Priam describ'd in the Recitals of the second Book, and the Death of Camilla related by the Poet in the Eleventh. For thô that of Camilla is doubtless less considera­ble as to the Fable, yet the Poet extends it more by half than that of Priam.

These two Parts of the Epick Poem may be compar'd to two of [Page 151] the Dramatick: Aut agitur res in Scenis aut acta refertur. Hor. Poet. One of which is Acted upon the Stage before the Spectators; and the Other comprehends whatsoever is done behind the Scenes, and which we come to know of purely by the Recitals which the Actors make. Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem, Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fi­dellibus. Ibid. This last is less moving than the other; And let Aeneas's sorrow for his first Wife Creüsa be never so great, yet her Death has nothing in it, whereby it deserves to be compar'd to that of Dido.

The Division of the Dramatick Action we are now speaking of, Non tamen intus Digna geri promes in scenam, multaque tolles Ex oculis, quae mox narret facundia praesens. Nec pueros co­ram populo Medea truci­det, &c. Ibid. Gives the Poet an Advantage of keeping from the Spectators view, whatever would offend them; either by its being two horri­ble, as a Mother's butchering her own Chil­dren; or by its being too incredible, as the Metamorphoses of a Man into a Serpent or a Bird: Whereupon these things should only be related. So likewise the Division of the Epick Action gives the Poet liberty to retrench from this Action whatever would cause a Confusion in the Poem. The things that are improper for the Epo­pea are not of the same nature with those, which ought to be ex­cluded the Theatre, since that which is good in a Dramatick Reci­tal, is likewise so in an Epopéa, which only discovers things to us by Reciting them. But on the contrary, the things, that confound the Epick Poem, are such as are too languishing, and which cannot ad­mit of that Action and Motion, which are the proper Ornaments of this sort of Poem. And this is what Et quae desperet tractatu nitescere posse, Relinquit: Poet. Horace orders to be ex­cluded thence.

And in truth how could Virgil make his Readers endure Aeneas's constant Attendance at his sick Father's bed, together with the Me­dicines, and Fomentations which ought to be made use of to recall the Spirits, and the Natural Heat into the cold Limbs of this aged Prince? And the sorrow too of Aeneas, which ought to have been very great, would have been but a sorry Ornament of a Poem: The Readers would not have been affected with them. Would they have bestow'd one tear upon the Natural death of a person of his Age, who had so little to do in this Poem? Therefore has the Poet very judiciously drawn a Veil over all these things.

By this means, the Artificial Order cuts off the languishing and unpleasant Incidents, and the Intervals of time that are void of Action, which hinders the Continuity there­of: And Vehemens & liquidus puroque simillimus amni. Hor. Poet. by these Retrenchments it gives the Poem that continu'd force, which makes it run smoothly on throughout the whole, [Page 152] and bestows on it those Beauties which the Action in it self has not. Semper ad eventum fe­stinat, & in medias res, Non secus ac notus audito­rem rapit. Hor. Art. Poet. By this means it hastens towards a Conclusion, and at first transports the Readers into the Middle of its subject Matter, and always entertains in them a desire and expectation to see the events as soon as possible.

Our Poets begin their Narration so nigh the End, that the Rea­der imagines the Poem would End within a few Verses. In the Odys­seïs, the Gods order Mercury to go to the Isle of Ogyges, where Ʋlysses was detain'd by Calypso. He was to charge that Goddess to give him leave to depart, and furnish him with ev'ry thing that was necessary for his journey to Ithaca.

Virgil approaches still nearer to a Conclusion. His Hero has alrea­dy left Sicily, and is upon his Journey to Italy. The second Part begins much after the same Manner: Aeneas arriving at the Country which the Fates had promis'd him, finds there the Gods and Men who waited his coming with Impatience; and King Latinus offers him his Daughter Lavinia, sole Heir to his Crown, in Marriage. Who would think then but this Hero was very well settled, and the Poem at an end? But a Storm casts him upon Carthage and furnishes the Poet with what fills the first Part. The jealousie of Turnus, who pretends Lavinia was promis'd to him, and was his due, op­poses the Settlement of the Trojans, and affords subject Matter for the last six Books.

The Beginning of the Action is resum'd so pertinently that these large Recitals of Aeneas and Ʋlysses make no Interruption. Aeneas relates all that preceded his arrival at Carthage, and then the Poet undertakes to tell what happen'd to him in that City. This series of things is so exact, that the first Book may pass for a mere Pro­logue, which informs us of the Action in general, and which in per­ticular discovers the Humors and Interest of the persons that were to appear in Play. The Poet's practice is the same in his lesser Episodes. Venus so resumes the Story of Dido, and Diana that of Camilla, that what in this Poem follows the Recitals of these two Goddesses, is the natural Consequence of what they related. We may observe the same Order in the Odysseïs. But the Death of Archemorus, the funeral Sports, and the March of the Argives towards Thebes, are by no means the Consequences of that which is contain'd in the Re­cital of Hypsipyle.

If our Poets had made the Recitals of Ʋlysses and Aeneas at seve­ral times they could not have connected them to the Action that would have follow'd, and the Order would have been less exact, and more irksome to the Readers.

Let us now in a few Words sum up all that has been said concer­ning the Continuity of the Epick Narration, and the Order Homer and Virgil have observ'd therein.

[Page 153] They have so begun, that when once their Personages have made their appearance, they never ceas'd from Acting till the End of the Poem. For this purpose, when the Epick Action was Continu'd and of a few Months duration, as that of the Iliad; the Poet has related it himself in the Natural Order. But when it lasted for se­veral Years, as the two Others did, the Poets observ'd an Artificial Order, and the last part of their Subject that was only Continu'd, was all that they themselves related. They made their Heroes relate all that went before, and that in one speech, made upon a probable Occasion. They plac'd these Recitals so well, that the things related therein, precede immediately, and without any Interruption those which the Poet at last relates himself. So that neither the Mind, nor the Memory of the Readers are at a loss to rejoyn the Conse­quence of the Incidents, which they read in the Poem.

CHAP. XII. Of the Duration of the Narration.

ACCORDING to the Idea we have been proposing con­cerning the Continuity and the Order of the Narration; 'tis requisite we should say thus much concerning its Duration, viz. That the space of a Year is to the Epick Narration, what the space of a Day is to Tragedy; and that the Winter is as improper for this great Work, as the Night is for the Theatre; since both being void of Action, make a vicious Interval, and an irregular Discontinuity in these Poems. So then, the Duration of the Epick Narration only lasts one Campaign, as the Duration of the Dramatick Action lasts an Artificial Day.

But we may carry on this Parallel a little farther, and say, that as the Time for the Theatral Representation is under debate amongst Learned men, and the Practice of the Ancients has its obscurities, which ev'ry one interprets in favour of himself, either for the Na­tural, or the Artificial day: So the precise time of the Epopéa ad­mits of dispute; for the Practice of Virgil in this matter is not very clear.

First it may be said that the Narration of the Aeneid lasts a Year and some Months. And thus the account may go. Aeneas parting from Sicily after he had interr'd his Father there, returns thither a­gain a Year after, and there celebrates his An­niversary on the very Day he dy'd on. Annus exactis comple­tur mensibus orbis, Ex quo relliquias divinique ossa Parentis Condidimus ter­râ, moestasque sacravimus aras. Jamque dies, ni fal­lor, adest, &c. Aen. 5. 'Tis a full Year, says Aeneas, since we interr'd my Father, and now we are return'd hither a­gain the same day he dy'd on. So that the Nar­ration beginning when Aeneas left Sicily, just after his Father's death, that makes a whole Year to the Sports of the fifth Book. By this means the time that is requisite for the rest of this Book, for the Sixth, and for the Wars of Italy, will be added to the Year.

One may reduce this Narration into a precise Year, by saying, that these Verses cited out of the fifth Book, do indeed inform us, that it was a full Year since Aeneas had interr'd his Father in Sicily; but that neither these Verses nor any others intimate that he left Si­cily immediately after this Action. One may then with freedom suppose that he tarry'd there as long a time, as was afterwards requi­site for his Settlement in Italy. From whence one will inferr that the Narration is compris'd within the compass of a Year of twelve Months, and no more.

[Page 155] Each of these Opinions supposes that the Winter is comprehended in this Narration, and that Aeneas spent the whole of that with Di­do, in Africk, as the Poet plainly says in this Verse spoken by Fame.

A third Opinion supposes that the word Hyems in this Verse should not be understood for the Winter-season; but that it signifies, the same thing which it does in other passages of this very Book, that have a necessary relation to this. Dum pelago desaevit hy­ems, & aquosus Orion. Quin etiam hyberno mo­liris sidere classem. Now in those other passages it does not signify the Winter, but a Season which the Rising of Orion renders tempestuous, and that happens in the Summer; for this Constellation rises about the Summer Solstice. So that the Poet had only a mind to tell us, that Aeneas indulg'd himself in the Amours of Dido, all that time, wherein the Rising of Orion, for about six Weeks, made him afraid to put to Sea, and excus'd him from complying so readi­ly to the Orders of the Gods, that summon'd him to Italy.

By this means all the Narration of the Aeneid will be reduc'd in­to the Compass of one single Campaign, making it to begin in Sum­mer, and to conclude before the End of Autumn in the same Year. This Opinion is grounded upon several Expressions of Virgil, which seem more exact than the former, thô less agreeable to several Inter­pretations. Aeneas leaves Sicily, and is cast upon the Coasts of A­frick in the Summer; and this Summer is already the seventh since the taking of Troy. This is what the Poet says in the person of Dido, when she receives this Hero into Carthage. Nam te jam septima por­sat Omnibus orrantem ter­ris & fluctibus [...]stas. Aen. 1. This is now the seventh Summer since your Travels over so many Countries, and so ma­ny Seas. He spends in Carthage neither the Winter, nor any part of Autumn; but he parted thence before the End of Summer. He arrives at Sicily and there keeps the Anni­versary of Anchises at the end of the same Summer he came to Car­thage in; since the Poet says that this like­wise was the seventh. Septima post Trojae ex­cidium jam vertitur aestas. Aen. 5. This is now the end of the seventh Summer since the Ruin of Troy. Lastly, the Poem ends before Autumn does, since the day before the Death of Turnus, the Woods had still their Leaves on, and cast their shadow. The Poet says, that Est in anfructu vallis ac­commods fraudi, Armo­rumque dolis; quam den­sis frondibus atrum Urgez utrinque latus. Aen. 11. Turnus lay in Ambush in a Valley where the thickness of the Leaves and the Shade favour'd very much his de­sign. By this means the Narration of the Aeneid will comprise only one Campaign, and be all included within [Page 156] the two Seasons of Summer and Autumn: Cum subito assurgens flu­ctu nimbosus Orion. In vada caeca tulit. Aen. 1. Beginning at the Solstice and Rising of Orion, which cast Aeneas into Africk; and ending before the Frosts of Autumni frigore primo Lapsa cadunt folia. Aen. 6. Autumn had strip'd the Leaves off the Trees.

As there are Reasons for both sides, so there are Difficulties in both. Some of them are reply'd to: And for those that seem unanswera­ble, we say, that the Aeneid being uncorrect, we should not Won­der if we cannot understand all.

Homer is a great deal clearer. He has made an exact journal of the time he allows his two Poems.

The Iliad begins with a Plague, which lasts ten Days. The Poet has allow'd as many for the Grecians recovery. The Battles, that follow next, end the fifth Day. After that eleven Days are spent in the Funeral Rites of Patroclus, and eleven more likewise in the Fu­neral of Hector, and then the Poem Ends. The twice ten at the Beginning, and the twice eleven at the End make just two and forty Days, to which add the five in the Middle, and the whole Duration of the Action and the Narration amounts to seven and forty Days.

The Days are not so well rang'd in the Odysseis, but the Account is altogether as exact. The Poem opens with Minerva. She frees Telemachus from the dangers he was in at Ithaca, and conducts him to Pylos. The fourth Day she goes up to Heaven again, and brings it about that Calypso be ordered to dismiss Ʋlysses. On the morrow he begins a Ship, and in twenty Days finishes it; the twenty fifth he sets Sail, and after a Voyage of twenty Days is cast upon the Island of Corfu, There he tarries three Days with Alcinous. All this makes one and fifty Days from the first opening of the Poem to the Arrival of Ʋlysses in his own Country. Eight and twenty of them he spent with Calypso, reckoning the four that preceded the building of his Ship; three and twenty Days more he is upon his Journey, part of which he spent at Sea, and part with Alcinous. A night after he arrives in Ithaca. Four Days he remains incognito at Eumeus's Country House. On the fifth he went to his own Palace, where he was in disguise two Days, taking an account of what had happen'd and squaring his Actions accordingly. The next night he kills his Rivals, and on the morrow makes an end of discovering himself, and re-adjusting all his Affairs. Therefore adding these seven Days to the one and fifty before; the Duration of the Narration in this Poem amounts to eight and fifty Days.

As for the Seasons of the Year the Poet gives us an occasion to guess something about it. In the Iliad where there is more Action and Violence, the Days are longer than the Nights, and the Season very hot. And on the contrary, Homer has assign'd longer and coo­ler Nights to the Prudence of Ʋlysses; placing the Maturity of Au­tumn in the Odysseis, as he has the Contagious heats of the Summer in the Iliad.

[Page 157] The Practice of Homer then is without doubt to reduce the Du­ration of the Epick Narration into the Compass of a Campaign of a few Months. But the Difficulty of knowing the design and inten­tion of Virgil, is the reason why 'tis question'd, whether one might not advance it to the Compass of a whole Year or more, and whe­ther the Winter season ought in reason to be excluded thence.

I found my self insensibly ingag'd in the Examen of this particu­lar question: I found it a great deal larger than I imagin'd, and I have discours'd very amply upon it, from whence several things may be deduc'd, that in my mind are of no small use for the un­derstanding of the Aeneid. I here propose this Question about the time by way of Problem, and freely leave others to determine and judge what they please.

But yet I say, that in this Uncertainty, two Reasons rather incline me to a single Campaign than a whole Year.

The first is, the Practice of Homer, which the Latin Poet com­monly proposes as his Exemplar, and who by wise men has been esteemed the most excellent Model for Poets to imitate. This Reason makes so much the more for me in this Treatise of the Epick Poem, because 'tis founded upon that Relation that is ob­servable between the Practice of Virgil and that of Homer, the Rules of Horace, and those of Aristotle.

The other Reason is still more to my purpose; and that is, that this reducing of it to one single Campaign, is more conformable to that Idea I have proposed concerning the Fable, and the Design of Virgil in this Poem.

We have already considered Aeneas as a Legislator, and Founder of the Romans Religion. He is so exact in observing all the Cere­monies which were performed for the Dead, that there is not the least colour he should omit one so considerable, as is that of Mourning, especially for the Death of his Father, for which he spares no cost. This high Veneration he has for him, makes one of the principal Qualities of his Character, and almost throughout the whole regulates the general Character of the Poem.

Now the Mourning of the Romans consisted in two things: the one is its Duration, which lasted ten Months: the other is, that the Romans in this ominous and inauspicious time never undertook any thing of consequence. How then could Aeneas dare to under­take his Settlement in Italy, which was then a business of the high­est Consequence to him? So then, he was oblig'd to stay in Sicily full ten Months after the Death of his Father; and having stay'd less than two Months at Carthage, he returned to Sicily to cele­brate the Anniversary of his Death, on the same day he arriv'd there.

This agrees very well with the Expressions of the Poet which we have already cited. For the Anniversary happens at the end of the [Page 158] seventh Summer, a little more than a Month after the Solstice and rising of Orion. Aeneas then leaving Sicily in Summer during the Rising of this Constellation, which rais'd the Tempest in the first Book, he could not leave it the same Summer Anchises died, but must needs have left Sicily the Summer following, which is the seventh as the Poet says, and the same in which he re­turns to the Anniversary. By this means, he must needs have pass'd the Autumn, the Winter, and the Spring in Sicily, and have tar­ried there more than nine Months before his parting for Carthage; but he went out and came back again to it the same Summer.

In the other Opinions I neither find the Conformity of Virgil with Homer, nor the Observation of the Roman Mourning, to which I really think Aeneas was oblig'd as much as he was to the other Ceremonies in which he was so punctual. But these Reasons which make for me may not perhaps make for others. I only pro­pose them as I was oblig'd. 'Tis for Philosophers and Criticks to examine things, to propose Reasons, and to make them intelligi­ble, and 'tis for the Reader to draw his Inferences.

CHAP. I. Concerning the Manners in General.

UNder the name of Manners we comprehend all the natural or acquired inclinations, which carry us on to good, bad, or indifferent actions. This Definition con­tains three things, The first is the Manners themselves which we call Inclinations, whether they have their source and origin in our Souls, such as the Love of Sciences and Vertue; or whether they proceed from the constitution of the Body, as Anger, and the Rest, which we have in common with the Brutes. The second thing is the cause of those Manners, which is either Nature, or our Choice, and Industry, according as they are either natural or ac­quir'd. The third thing, is the effect of the Manners, namely [Page 160] Actions whether good as that of Aeneas, or bad as that of Achilles or indifferent as that of Ʋlysses.

Those Manners are good, which incline us to Vertue, and Ver­tuous Actions; those Bad which incline us to Vice and Sin; and those are Indifferent which incline us to indifferent Qualities and Actions.

A right distinction should be made between Real Vertues, and those that appear such, and are only mere Qualities. The Real Vertues, such as Piety, Prudence, and the like, make those who are Masters of them Good, Praise-worthy, and Honest-men. But Real Vices, such as Impiety, Injustice, Fraud, and the like, cor­rupt and vitiate those, who are tainted with them. Meer Qualities in their own Nature produce neither of these two effects, such as Valour, Art, the Knowledge of Sciences, and the like. Solomon could still preserve the Knowledge of the Sciences even when he was become an Idolater. Aencas and Mezentius were both Valiant, yet one was a Pious and a good Man, the other an Atheistical and profane fellow.

'Tis farther observable that among the Inclinations, there are some which belong more peculiarly to some particular Adventure, and that are only of Use upon certain Occasions: Such for instance are Valour, Clemency, and Liberality. Others are more Universal, and appear in every thing, such as are good Nature and a passionate Temper. For a Man may be passionate, and violent, not only in War, but at a Council board, and upon all other occasions, as Achilles was; or he may be mild and good-natured even in the heat of Battle, as Aeneas. We shall call this last species of general and Universal Manners the Character of such or such a Person, and will treat of it more particularly.

The Causes of our Manners are either wholly External, or wholly Internal, or they may be considered as partly External, partly Internal. The External Causes are God, the Stars and our Native Country. The mixt Causes are our Parents and Education. The internal Causes are the Complexion, the Sex, the Passions, and the Actions whereby we contract these habits.

The effects of our Manners are the Discourses, the Designs, and the Essays we make to do such or such a thing, and the Good, Bad, or Indifferent Actions.

Poetry is not the only thing, where the Manners are of use. Philosophers, Historians, Geographers, and Rhetoricians treat of them as well as Poets. Each of these in his own way. But the Poet has need of all. And beside these, there are a vast number of things, which he is indispensibly obliged to be acquainted with, that he may make his Personages speak, and act regularly. What­soever has been said on this Subject, yet I cannot wholly pass it over. I shall only content my self to apply it to the practice of Virgil. [Page 161] Therefore before I treat of the Poetical Manners, I will explain at large what I have proposed concerning the Causes of the Man­ners, and I shall say something concerning the Manners that are Foreign to Poetry.

CHAP. II. Of the Causes of the Manners.

GOD is the chief of all the Causes in general, we shall look upon him here in particular, as the most universal and first cause of the Manners. He is the Author of Nature, and disposes of all things as he thinks fit. This cause renders the Manners of Aeneas good even to admiration. 'Tis superfluous to show how this Hero is favour'd by Jupiter, since we see Juno, who prose­cuted him, loves and esteems his person.

The Stars, and principally the Signs and Planets, are the second Cause of the Manners. The Non obtusa adeo gesta­m is pectora Teucri: Nec tam aversus equos Tyria Sol jungit ab urbe. Aen. 1. Poet takes notice what influence they have upon Men. When in the person of Dido, He proves from them that the Tyrians are not so dull, but that they know what esteem ought to be had for Virtue. But is it by chance, think ye, that this Poet, who elsewhere was so skillful in Astro­nomy, causes the Planets to act in favour of his Hero conform­able to the Rules of Astrologers? Of the seven there are three that favour him, Jupiter, Venus, and the Sun: All three act visibly in the Poem in behalf of Aeneas. There are three others, whose influences are Malignant, Saturn, Mars, the Moon or Diana. If they act 'tis indeed against the Hero. But they appear so obscure­ly that one may say Virgil has hid them below the Horizon. Lastly, Mercury, whose Planet is said to be good with the good, and bad with the bad, acts visibly as the good Planets do, but he never acts alone, 'tis Jupiter that always sends him out. And this is the Horoscope which the Poet makes for the Birth of the Roman Empire.

The third external cause of the Manners is the Country in which one is Born. Virgil bestows great commendations on the Country of his Hero, and advances it far above Greece. Fracti bello fatisque re­pulsi Ductores Danaum: Aen. 2. As long as Troy was assaulted fairly by Force, it always remained Victorious. 'Twas only the fraud and Treachery of the Grecians, that gain'd the mastery over the generosity of the Trojans. So [Page 162] that according to their Countries, the one Party are brave and generous, the other Knaves and Cheats; the one Civil, the other Barbarous; the one Hardy, the other Nice, &c.

After these Causes, that are properly external, follow next the Fathers and Mothers whose blood is derived down to their Children. We cannot say that the Parents are such Causes as are altogether foreign to the Inclinations of those who are formed from their sub­stance. Let us apply this to our Subject. Aeneas sprang from the Royal Blood of Troy. The first Princes of this Family were as Virtuous, as Powerful. But in process of time these two things were divided into two different branches. Ilus left the Crown to Laomedon, and his Virtue to Assaracus. Priam and Paris were Heirs to the first, Anchises and Aeneas to the second. By this means the Poet bestows upon his Hero the good inclina­tions of his Ancestors before ever he restored to him the Regal Power. His Piety deserv'd the Sceptre of his Fathers, and the perfidiousness of the other branch was the cause that Priam's Family was extirpated. The Innocent themselves felt likewise the smart of it, as Postquam res Asiae, Priamique evertere gen­tem, Immeritam visum superis, &c. Polydorum ob­truncat. Aen. 3. Virgil observes of Polydore. This is more clearly expressed by the Greek Poet. [...]. Iliad. He lays down the genealogy of Priam and Aeneas, and adds that Jupiter hated the Family of Priam, and that not­withstanding Aeneas was to command the Trojans and transmit the Empire to his Posterity. These are the advantages Aeneas derived from his Father. His Mother was the Goddess, from whom he deriv'd the Character of Good Nature, and Meekness which was the finest Ornament of his Manners.

Parents likewise hand down to their Children, their Nobility, which often makes a great deal of difference between those, that are Noble, and those that are not. Now that which happens often, or ordinarily in these things is the Rule which the Poet ought to go by. It would argue Ignorance, or Childish­ness to do otherwise: And one should fall under these Censures, if for instance, one should cause a Poetical person to be born under an unlucky Constellation, to whom we would give good inclinations and a happy fortune; whatsoever Instances may be opposed against the pretended doctrine of Astrologers, yet that which is admirable, and extraordinary in Poets, does not consist in contradicting the common received opinion about these things.

Education is another Cause of the Manners which depends upon the two former, to wit, the Care and Quality of the Parents. Vir­gil [Page 163] has not forgot this Cause. Those likewise with whom one converses, contribute very much towards those various Inclinations that proceed from Education. Whether one suits himself to their Humour, or whether that conformity of Humours makes these Conjunctions, and presides o'er the choice of Friends, the Compa­nions of Aeneas are good, sage, and pious Persons? Ipse suas artes, sua mu­nera laetus Apollo Augu­rium Citharamque dabat celeresque sagittas. Ille ut depositi proferret fata Parentis, Scire potestatem herbarum usum (que) medendi Maluit, & mutas agitare inglorius artes. Aen. 12. Japis his Physician prefers his Skill in Physick beyond the Glory of Arms, even in that only design of prolonging the life of his old Father.