Ille per extentum funem mihi posse videtur
Ire poeta, meum qui pectus inaniter angit,
Inritat, mulcet, falsis terroribus implet,
Ut magus——
An office, which the dramatic poet hath no means of sustaining but by that strong painting and forcible imagery, above described.
What seems to have given a colour to the opposite opinion, is the faulty practice which good critics have observed in the French tragedies, and in some of our own that have been formed upon their model. But the case is mistaken. It is not the Poetry of the French or English drama that deserves their censure, but its prolix and languid Declamation, neglecting passion for sentiment, or expressing passion in a calm circuit of words and without spirit. Even Mr. Addison’s Cato, which from being immoderately extolled has had the usual fate of being as immoderately undervalued, is not to be censured for its abundance of poetry, but for its application of it in a way that hurts the passion. General sentiments, uncharacteristic imagery, and both drawn out in a spiritless, or, which comes to the same thing, a too curious expression, are the proper faults of this drama. What the critic of just taste demands in this fine tragedy, is even more poetry, but better applied and touched with more spirit.
Still, perhaps, we are but on the surface of this matter. The true ground of this mistaken Criticism, is, The Notion, that when the Hero is at the crisis of his fate, he is not at liberty to use Poetical, that is, highly figurative expression: but that the proper season for these things is when he has nothing else to do. Whereas the truth is just the contrary. The figures, when he is greatly agitated, come of themselves; and, suiting the grandeur and dignity of his situation, are perfectly natural. To use them in his cool and quiet moments, when he has no great interests to prosecute or extricate himself from, is directly against Nature. For, in this state of things, he must seek them, if he will have them. And when he has got them and made his best use of them, what do they produce? Not sublimity, but Bombast. For it is not the figures, but the suitableness to the occasion, that produces either. Not that I am ignorant that there are vices in the formation of figures, as well as in their application. But these vices go under various other names. The pure simple Bombast (if I may be indulged so bold a catachresis) arises from putting figurative expression to an improper use. To give an instance of what I mean. Tacitus writes under one continued resentment at the degeneracy of his times, and speaking of some sumptuary Laws proposed by the Senate, in 2 Ann. c. 33, he says they decreed, Ne Vestis Serica viros FOEDARET. This became the dignity of his historic character and genius. But had his Contemporary, Suetonius, who wrote Chronicles in the spirit of our Stow and Holinshed, used the same language, it would have set his readers a laughing.
Not but figurative expression, even when suitable to the character, genius, and general subject of a writer, may still be misplaced. Thus, had Tacitus, speaking of the honours decreed to Tiberius on a certain occasion, said with his translator Gordon—which of these he meant to accept or which to reject, the approaching issue of his days has BURIED in oblivion—the figure, the reader sees, would have been miserably out of place; the conceit of the burial of his intentions, on the mention of his death, being even ridiculous. But the ridicule, we may be sure, falls on the translator only, and not on his great original, who expresses himself on this occasion, not only with propriety, but with the greatest simplicity—quos omiserit receperitve IN INCERTO fuit ob propinquum vitæ finem. Ann. l. vi. c. 45.
I have brought these instances to shew that figurative expression is not improper even in a fervent animated historian, on a fit subject, and in due place: much less should the tragic poet, when his characters are to be shewn in the conflict of the stronger passions, be debarred the use of it.
The short of the matter is, in one word, this. Civil Society first of all tames us to humanity, as Cicero expresses it; and, in the course of its discipline, brings us down to one dead level. Its effect is to make us all the same pliant, mimic, obsequious things; not unlike, in a word, (if our pride could overlook the levity of the comparison) what we see of trained Apes. But when the violent passions arise (as in the case of these Apes when the apples were thrown before them) this artificial discipline is all shaken off, and we return again to the free and ferocious state of Nature. And what is the expression of that state? It is (as we understand by experience) a free and fiery expression, all made up of bold metaphors and daring figures of Speech.
The conclusion is, that Poetry, pure Poetry, is the proper language of Passion, whether we chuse to consider it as ennobling, or debasing the human character.
There is, as I have said, an obvious distinction to be made (and to that the poet’s rule, as explained in this note, refers) between the soft and tender, and the more vigorous passions. When the former prevail, the mind is in a weak languid state; and though all allusion and imagery be not improper here, yet as that fire and energy of the soul is wanting, which gives a facility of ranging over our ideas and of seizing such as may be turned to any resemblance of our own condition, it will for that reason be less frequent in this state of the mind than any other. Such imagery, too, will for the same reason be less striking, because the same languid affections lead to, and make us acquiesce in a simpler and plainer expression. But universally in the stronger passions the poetical character prevails, and rises only in proportion to the force and activity of those passions.
To draw the whole then of what has been said on this subject into a standing Rule for the observance of the dramatic Poet.