IV. We have seen a Mark of Imitation, in the allusion of writers to certain strange, and foreign tenets of philosophy. The observation may be extended to all those passages (which are innumerable in our poets) that allude to the rites, customs, language, and theology of Paganism.
It is true, indeed, this Species of Imitation is not that which is, properly, the subject of this Letter. The most original writer is allowed to furnish himself with poetical ideas from all quarters. And the management of learned Allusion is to be regarded, perhaps, as one of the nicest offices of Invention. Yet it may be useful to see from what sources a great poet derives his materials; and the rather, as this detection will sometimes account for the manner in which he disposes of them. However, I will but detain you with a remark or two on this class of Imitations.
1. I observe, that even Shakespear himself abounds in learned Allusions. How he came by them, is another question; though not so difficult to be answered, you know, as some have imagined. They, who are in such astonishment at the learning of Shakespear, besides that they certainly carry the notion of his illiteracy too far, forget that the Pagan imagery was familiar to all the poets of his time—that abundance of this sort of learning was to be picked up from almost every English book, he could take into his hands—that many of the best writers in Greek and Latin had been translated into English—that his conversation lay among the most learned, that is, the most paganized poets of his age—but above all, that, if he had never looked into books, or conversed with bookish men, he might have learned almost all the secrets of paganism (so far, I mean, as a poet had any use of them) from the Masks of B. Jonson; contrived by that poet with so pedantical an exactness, that one is ready to take them for lectures and illustrations on the ancient learning, rather than exercises of modern wit. The taste of the age, much devoted to erudition, and still more, the taste of the Princes, for whom he writ, gave a prodigious vogue to these unnatural exhibitions. And the knowledge of antiquity, requisite to succeed in them, was, I imagine, the reason that Shakespear was not over-fond to try his hand at these elaborate trifles. Once indeed he did, and with such success as to disgrace the very best things of this kind we find in Jonson. The short Mask in the Tempest is fitted up with a classical exactness. But its chief merit lies in the beauty of the Shew, and the richness of the poetry. Shakespear was so sensible of his Superiority, that he could not help exulting a little upon it, where he makes Ferdinand say,
This is a most majestic Vision, and
Harmonious charming Lays—
’Tis true, another Poet, who possessed a great part of Shakespear’s genius and all Jonson’s learning, has carried this courtly entertainment to its last perfection. But the Mask at Ludlow Castle was, in some measure, owing to the fairy Scenes of his Predecessor; who chose this province of Tradition, not only as most suitable to the wildness of his vast creative imagination, but as the safest for his unlettered Muse to walk in. For here he had much, you knew, to expect from the popular credulity, and nothing to fear from the classic superstition of that time.
2. It were endless to apply this note of imitation to other poets confessedly learned. Yet one instance is curious enough to be just mentioned.
Mr. Waller, in his famous poem on the victory over the Dutch on June 3, 1665, has the following lines;
His flight tow’rds heav’n th’ aspiring Belgian took;
But fell, like Phaeton, with thunder strook:
From vaster hopes than his, he seem’d to fall,
That durst attempt the British Admiral:
From her broadsides a ruder flame is thrown,
Than from the fiery chariot of the Sun:
That, bears THE RADIANT ENSIGN OF THE DAY;
And She, the flag that governs in the Sea.
He is comparing the British Admiral’s Ship to the Chariot of the Sun. You smile at the quaintness of the conceit, and the ridicule he falls into, in explaining it. But that is not the question at present. The latter, he says, bears the radiant ensign of the day: The other, the ensign of naval dominion. We understand how properly the English Flag is here denominated. But what is that other Ensign? The Sun itself, it will be said. But who, in our days, ever expressed the Sun by such a periphrasis? The image is apparently antique, and easily explained by those who know that anciently the Sun was commonly emblematized by a starry or radiate figure; nay, that such a figure was placed aloft, as an Ensign, over the Sun’s charioteer, as we may see in representations of this sort on ancient Gems and Medals.
From this original then Mr. Waller’s imagery was certainly taken; and it is properly applied in this place where he is speaking of the Chariot of the Sun, and Phaeton’s fall from it. But to remove all doubt in the case, we can even point to the very passage of a Pagan poet, which Mr. Waller had in his eye, or rather translated.