A third instance may be thought still more remarkable.
“We read perpetually of walls of fire raised by magical art to stop the progress of knights-errant. In Tasso, the wizard Ismeno guards the inchanted forest with walls of fire. In the Orlando Inamorato, L. III. c. i. Mandricardo is endeavoured to be stopped by enchanted flames; but he makes his way through all.”
Thus far the learned editor of the Fairy Queen [Notes on B. III. C. xi. s. 25.] who contents himself, like a good Romance-critic, with observing the fact, without the irreverence of presuming to account for it. But if the profane will not be kept within this decent reserve, we may give them to understand, that this fancy, as wild as it appears, had some foundation in truth. For I make no question but these fires, raised by magical art, to stop the progress of assailants, were only the flames of FEUGREGEOIS, as it was called, that is of WILDFIRE, which appeared so strange, on its first invention and application, in the barbarous ages.
We hear much of its wonders in the history of the Crusades; and even so late as Spenser’s own time they were not forgotten. Davila, speaking of the siege of Poitiers in 1569, tells us——Abbondavano nella citta le provisioni da guerra; tra le quali, quantita inestimabile di FUOCHI ARTIFICIATI, lavorati in diverse maniere, ne’quali avenano i defensori posta grandissima speranza di respingere gli assalti de’nemici. Lib. v.
Hence, without doubt, the magical flames and fiery walls, of the Gothic Romancers[53]; and who will say, that the specious miracles of Homer himself had a better foundation?
But, after all, this is not the sort of defence I mean chiefly to insist upon. Let others explain away these wonders, so offensive to certain philosophical critics. They are welcome to me in their own proper form, and with all the extravagance commonly imputed to them.
It is true, the only criticism, worth regarding, is that which these critics lay claim to, the philosophical. But there is a sort which looks like philosophy, and is not. May not that be the case here?
This criticism, whatever name it deserves, supposes that the poets, who are lyars by profession, expect to have their lyes believed. Surely they are not so unreasonable. They think it enough, if they can but bring you to imagine the possibility of them.
And how small a matter will serve for this? A legend, a tale, a tradition, a rumour, a superstition; in short, any thing is enough to be the basis of their air-formed visions. Does any capable reader trouble himself about the truth, or even the credibility of their fancies? Alas, no; he is best pleased when he is made to conceive (he minds not by what magic) the existence of such things as his reason tells him did not, and were never likely to, exist.
But here, to prevent mistakes, an explanation will be necessary. We must distinguish between the popular belief, and that of the reader. The fictions of poetry do, in some degree at least, require the first (they would, otherwise, deservedly pass for dreams indeed): but when the poet has this advantage on his side, and his fancies have, or may be supposed to have, a countenance from the current superstitions of the age in which he writes, he dispenses with the last, and gives his reader leave to be as sceptical, and as incredulous, as he pleases.