407. Cantor Apollo. Natura fieret, &c.] The transition is delicate, and a fine instance of that kind of method, which the Epistle demands. The poet had just been speaking of the ode, and its inspirer, cantor Apollo; and this, in the natural train of his ideas, suggested that enthusiasm, and stretch of genius, which is at once the characteristic and glory of the lyric composition. And this was ground enough, in an Epistle, to pass on to say something concerning the power and influence of genius in poetry in general. It was for want of attending to so plain a reflexion as this, that the excellent Heinsius trifled so egregiously, in his transpositions of the Epistles, and in particular of this very place. And the hasty censures, which M. Dacier passed on the poet’s method, are apparently owing to no other cause. [See his introduct. remarks.] But to declare my sense at parting, of the latter of these critics, I would say, as he himself does of the former, C’est assez parlé contre M. Dacier, dont j’estime et admire autant la profonde érudition, que je condamne la mauvais usage qu’il en a fait en quelques rencontres.
410. Alterius sic Altera poscit opem res, et conjurat amice.] This conclusion, “that art and nature must conspire to the production of a perfect piece,” is, in the general, unquestionably just. If we would know the distinct powers and provinces of each, a fine passage in Longinus will inform us. For, of the five sources of the sublime, enumerated by that critic, two only, “a grandeur of conception, and the pathetic,” come from nature: the rest, “a just arrangement of figures,” “a splendid diction,” and “dignity of composition,” are of the province of art. Yet, though their powers are thus distinct, each, in order to attain its due perfection, must conspire, and be consociated, with the other. For that “sublime of conception” and “pathetic enthusiasm” never make a more sure and lasting impression, than when cloathed in the graces, and moderated by the sober sense of art: as, on the contrary, the milder beauties of “language” and “artificial composition” are never so secure of seizing the attention, as when raised and inspirited by the pathos, or sublime. So that the nature of the union, here recommended, is such, as makes it not only necessary to the completion of that great end, viz. the glory of perfect composition; but that either part, in the alliance, may fully effect its own. All which is but the larger explication of another passage in Longinus, who teaches, that ΤΟΤΕ Η ΤΕΧΝΗ ΤΕΛΕΙΟΣ, ΗΝΙΚ’ ΑΝ ΦΥΣΙΣ ΕΙΝΑΙ ΔΟΚΗΙ· Η Δ’ ΑΥ ΦΥΣΙΣ ΕΠΙΤΥΧΗΣ, ΟΤΑΝ ΛΑΝΘΑΝΟΥΣΑ ΠΕΡΙΕΧΗΙ ΤΗΝ ΤΕΧΝΗΝ. [περ. ὑψ. τμη. κβʹ.]
But here, in parting, it will be amusing, perhaps, to the curious reader to observe, what perpetual matter of debate this question hath furnished to the ancient learned.
It seems first to have taken its rise from the high pretension of poets to inspiration [see Pind. Od. iii. Nem.], which was afterwards understood in too literal a sense, and in time extended to all works of genius or imitation. The orator, who, as Cicero tells us, is near a-kin to the poet, set up the same claim; principally, as it should seem, on the authority of Socrates, who, taking occasion from the ill use that had been made of rhetoric, to decry it as an art, was herein followed by the most illustrious of his scholars; amongst whom was Aristotle, [Quinct. l. ii. c. 17.] who had written a set treatise professedly with this view, though his books of rhetoric proceed on very different principles. The question afterwards appeared of so much moment to Cicero, that he discussed it in form, in one of his dialogues De Oratore. And Quinctilian, in still later times, found himself obliged to resume the same debate, and hath accordingly considered it in an entire chapter.
The long continuance of so frivolous a dispute, and which admits so easy a decision, would go near to persuade one, if, as Shakespeare speaks, they had not the privilege of antiquity upon them, that the pens of the ancient literati were not always more wisely employed, than those of modern controversialists. If we ask the reason, it would seem to be owing to that ambitious spirit of subtlety and refinement, which, as Quintilian observes, puts men upon teaching not what they believe to be true, but what, from the falsehood or apparent strangeness of the matter, they expect the praise of ingenuity from being able to maintain. This, I say, might seem to be the cause of so much perversity, on the first view, and unquestionably it had its influence. But the truth is, the real cause was something more general and extensive. It was, in fact, that natural proneness, so Longinus terms it, in mankind, to censure and degrade things present, ἴδιον ἀνθρώπου καταμέμφεσθαι τὰ παρόντα. This in nothing holds truer, than in what concerns the state of literature; as may be seen from that unwearied industry of the learned to decry whatever appears to be the prevailing taste of the times; whether it be in suggesting some defect to be made good by future improvements; or, as is more common, because the easier and less invidious task, in setting up, and magnifying some former examples of a different cast and merit. Thus, in the case before us, exquisite art and commanding genius, being the two only means of rising to superior literary excellence, in proportion as any age became noted for the one, it was constantly defamed, and the preference given to the other. So, during the growth of letters in any state, when a sublimity of sentiment and strength of expression make, as under those circumstances they always will, the characteristic of the times, the critic, disgusted with the rude workings of nature, affects to admire only the nicer finishings and proportions of art. When, let but the growing experience of a few years refine and perfect the public taste, and what was before traduced as roughness and barbarity, becomes at once nerves, dignity, and force. Then art is effeminacy; and judgment want of spirit. All now is rapture and inspiration. The exactest modern compositions are unmanly and unnatural, et solos veteres legendos putant, neque in ullis aliis esse naturalem eloquentiam et robur viris dignum arbitrantur. [Quinct. l. x. c. i.] The truth of this observation might he justified from many examples. The learning and art of Pacuvius (for so I understand the epithet doctus) carried it before the sublime of Accius; just as in elder Greece the smooth and correct Simonides, tenuis Simonides, as Quinctilian characterizes him, bore away the prize from the lofty and high-spirited Æschylus. Afterwards indeed the case was altered. The Athenians, grown exact in the rules of good writing, became so enamoured of the bold flights of Æschylus, as with a little correction to admit him on the stage, who, by this means, frequently gained the prize from a polite and knowing people, for what had certainly lost it him in the simpler, and less informed theatre of his own times. Thus too it fared with the elder Latin poets, who, though admired indeed in their own age, but with considerable abatement from the reason before assigned, were perfectly idolized in that of Augustus; so as to require the sharpest satire of our poet, to correct the malevolent principle from whence the affectation arose. But the observation holds of our own writers. There was a time, when the art of Jonson was set above the divinest raptures of Shakespeare. The present age is well convinced of the mistake. And now the genius of Shakespeare is idolized in its turn. Happily for the public taste, it can scarcely be too much so. Yet, should any, in the rage of erecting trophies to the genius of ancient poesy, presume to violate the recent honours of more correct poets, the cause of such critical perversity will be ever the same. For all admiration of past times, when excessive, is still to be accounted for the same way,
Ingeniis non ille favet plauditque sepultis,
Nostra sed impugnat, nos nostraque lividus odit.