Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres: Lecture XLII — Epic Poetry
It now remains to treat of the two highest kinds of poetical writing, the epic and the dramatic. I begin with the epic. This lecture shall be employed upon the general principles of that species of composition: after which, I shall take a view of the character and genius of the most celebrated epic poets.
The epic poem is universally allowed to be, of all poetical works, the most dignified, and, at the same time, the most difficult in execution. To contrive a story which shall please and interest all readers, by being at once entertaining, important, and instructive; to fill it with suitable incidents; to enliven it with a variety of characters and of descriptions; and, throughout a long work, to maintain that propriety of sentiment, and that elevation of style, which the epic character requires, is unquestionably the highest effort of poetical genius. Hence so very few have succeeded in the attempt, that strict critics will hardly allow any other poems to bear the name of epic, except the Iliad and the TEneid.
There is no subject, it must be confessed, on which critics have displayed more pedantry than on this. By tedious disquisitions, founded on a servile submission to authority, they have given such an air of mystery to a plain subject, as to render it difficult for an ordinary reader to conceive what an epic poem is. By Bossu’s definition, it is a discourse invented by art, purely to form the manners of men, by means of instructions disguised under the allegory of some important action which is related in verse. This definition would suit several of iEsop’s fables, if they were somewhat extended, and put into verse; and accordingly, to illustrate his definition, the critic draws a parallel, in form, between the construction of one of iEsop’s fables and the plan of Homer’s Iliad. The first thing, says he, which either a writer of fables, or of heroic poems, does, is to choose some maxim or point of morality; to inculcate which, is to be the design of his work. Next, he invents a general story, or a series of facts, without any names, such as he judges will be most proper for illustrating his intended moral. Lastly, he particularizes his story; that is, if he be a fabulist, he introduces his dog, his sheep, and his wolf; or if he be an epic poet, he looks out in ancient history for some proper names of heroes to give to his actors; and then his plan is completed.
This is one of the most frigid and absurd ideas that ever entered into the mind of a critic. Homer, he says, saw the Grecians divided into a great number of independent states; but very often obliged to unite into one body against their common enemies. The most useful instruction which he could give them in this situation, was, that a misunderstanding between princes is the ruin of the common cause. In order to enforce this instruction, he contrived, in his own mind, such a general story as this. Several princes join in a confederacy against their enemy. The prince who was chosen as the leader of the rest, affronts one of the most valiant of the confederates, who thereupon withdraws himself, and refuses to take part in the common enterprise. Great misfortunes are the consequence of this division; till at length, both parties having suffered by the quarrel, the offended prince forgets his displeasure and is reconciled to the leader; and union being once restored, there ensues complete victory over their enemies. Upon this general plan of his fable, adds Bossu, it was of no great consequence, whether, in filling it up, Homer had employed the names of beasts, like AEsop, or of men. He would have been equally instructive either way. But as he rather fancied to write of heroes, he pitched upon the wall of Troy for the scene of his fable; he feigned such an action to happen there; he gave the name of Agamemnon to the common leader; that of
Achilles to the offended prince; and so the Iliad arose.
He that can believe Homer to have proceeded in this manner, may believe any thing. One may pronounce, with great certainty, that an author who should compose according to such a plan; who should arrange all the subject in his own mind, with a view to the moral, before he had ever thought of the personages who were to be the actors, might write, perhaps, useful fables for children; but as to an epic poem, if he adventured to think of one, it would be such as would find few readers. No person of any taste can entertain a doubt, that the first objects which strike an epic poet are, the hero whom he is to celebrate, and the action, or story, which is to be the ground-work of his poem. He does not sit down, like a philosopher, to form the plan of a treatise of morality. His genius is great enterprise, which, to him, appears noble and interesting; and which, therefore, he pitches upon, as worthy of being celebrated in the highest strain of poetry. There is no subject of this kind, but will always afford some general moral instruction, arising from it naturally. The instruction which Bossu points out, is certainly suggested by the Iliad; and there is another which arises as naturally, and may just as well be assigned for the moral of that poem; namely, that providence avenges those who have suffered injustice; but that when they allow their resentment to carry them too far, it brings misfortunes on themselves. The subject of the poem is the wrath of Achilles, caused by the injustice of Agamemnon. Jupiter avenges Achilles by giving success to the Trojans against Agamemnon; but by continuing obstinate in his resentment, Achilles loses his beloved friend Patroclus.
The plain account of the nature of an epic poem is, the recital of some illustrious enterprise in a poetical form. This is as exact a definition, as there is any occasion for on this subject. It comprehends several other poems besides the Iliad of Homer, the ASneid of Virgil, and the Jerusalem of Tasso; which are, perhaps, the three most regular and complete epic works that ever were composed. But to exclude all poems from the epic class, which are not formed exactly upon the same model as these, is the pedantry of criticism. We can give exact definitions and descriptions of minerals, plants, and animals; and can arrange them with precision, under the different classes to which they belong, because nature affords a visible unvarying standard, to which we refer them. But with regard to works of taste and imagination, where nature has fixed no standard, but leaves scope for beauties of many different kinds, it is absurd to attempt defining and limiting them with the same precision. Criticism, when employed in such attempts, degenerates into trifling questions about words and names only. I therefore have no scruple to class such poems as Milton’s Paradise Lost, Lucan’s Pharsalia, Statius’s Thebaid, Ossian’s Fingal and Temora, Camoens’ Lusiad, Voltaire’s Henriade, Cambray’s Telemachus, Glover’s Leonidas, Wilkie’s Epigoniad, under the same species of composition with the Iliad and the iEneid; though some of them approach much nearer than others to the perfection of these celebrated works. They are, undoubtedly, all epic; that is, poetical recitals of great adventures; which is all that is meant by this denomination of poetry..
Though I cannot, by any means, allow, that it is the essence of an epic poem to be wholly an allegory, or a fable contrived to illustrate some moral truth, yet it is certain, that no poetry is of a more moral nature than this. Its effect in promoting virtue, is not to be measured by any one maxim, or instruction, which results from the whole story, like the moral of one of iEsop’s fables. This is a poor and trivial view of the advantage to be derived from perusing a long epic work, that at the end we shall be able to gather from it some common-place morality. Its effect arises from the impression which the parts of the poem separately, as well as the whole taken together, make upon the mind of the reader; from the great examples which it sets before us, and the high sentiments with which it warms our hearts. The end which it proposes is to extend our ideas of human perfection: or, in other words, to excite admiration. Now this can be accomplished only by proper representations of heroic deeds and virtuous characters. For high virtue is the object, which all mankind are formed to admire; and, therefore, epic poems are, and must be, favourable to the cause of virtue. Valour, truth, justice, fidelity, friendship, piety, magnanimity, are the objects which, in the course of such compositions, are presented to our minds, under the most splendid and honourable colours. In behalf of virtuous personages, our affections are engaged; in their designs, and iheir distresses, we are interested; the generous and public affections are awakened; the mind is purified from sensual and mean pursuits, and accustomed to take part in great heroic enterprises. It is indeed no small testimony in honour of virtue, that several of the most refined and elegant entertainments of mankind, such as that species of poetical composition which we now consider, must be grounded on moral sentiments and impressions. This is a testimony of such weight, that, were it in the power of skeptical philosophers to weaken the force of those reasonings, which establish the essential distinctions between vice and virtue, the writings of epic poets alone were sufficient to refute their false philosophy; showing by that appeal which they constantly make to the feelings of mankind in favour of virtue, that the foundations of it are laid deep and strong in human nature.
The general strain and spirit of epic composition, sufficiently mark its distinction from the other kinds of poetry. In pastoral writing, the reigning idea is innocence and tranquillity. Compassion is the great object of tragedy; ridicule, the province of comedy. The predominant character of the epic is, admiration excited by heroic actions. It is sufficiently distinguished from history, both by its poetical form, and the liberty of fiction which it assumes. It is a more calm composition than tragedy. It admits, nay requires, the pathetic and the violent, on particular occasions; but the pathetic is not expected to be its general character. It requires, more than any other species of poetry, a grave, equal, and supported dignity. It takes in a greater compass of time and action, than dramatic writing admits; and thereby allows a more full display of characters. Dramatic writings display characters chiefly by means of sentiments and passions; epic poetry, chiefly by means of actions. The emotions, therefore, which it raises, are not so violent, but they are more prolonged. These are the general characteristics of this species of composition. But, in order to give a more particular and critical view of it, let us consider the epic poem under three heads; first, with respect to the subject, or action; secondly, with respect to the actors, or characters; and lastly, with respect to the narration of the poet.
The action, or subject of the epic poem, must have three properties; it must be one; it must be great; it must be interesting.
First, it must be one action, or enterprise, which the poet chooses for his subject. I have frequently had occasion to remark the importance of unity, in many kinds of composition, in order to make a full and strong impression upon the mind. With the highest reason, Aristotle insists upon this, as essential to epic poetry; and it is, indeed, the most material of all his rules respecting it. For it is certain, that, in the recital of heroic adventures, several scattered and independent facts can never affect a reader so deeply, nor engage his attention so strongly, as a tale that is one and connected, where the several incidents hang upon one another, and are all made to conspire for the accomplishment of one end. In a regular epic, the more sensible this unity is rendered to the imagination, the better will be the effect; and, for this reason, as Aristotle has observed, it is not sufficient for the poet to confine himself to the actions of one man, or to those which happened during a certain period of time; but the unity must lie in the subject itself; and arise from all the parts combining into one whole.
In all the great epic poems, unity of action is sufficiently apparent. Virgil, for instance, has chosen for his subject, the establishment of iEneas in Italy. From the beginning to the end of the poem, this object is ever in our view, and links all the parts of it together with full connexion. The unity of the Odyssey is of the same nature; the return and re-establishment of Ulysses in his own country. The subject of Tasso, is the recovery of Jerusalem from the infidels; that of Milton, the expulsion of our first parents from Paradise; and both of them are unexceptionable in the unity of the story. The professed subject of the Iliad, is the anger of Achilles, with the consequences which it produced. The Greeks carry on many unsuccessful engagements against the Trojans, as long as they are deprived of the assistance of Achilles. Upon his being appeased and reconciled to Agamemnon, victory follows, and the poem closes. It must be owned, however, that the unity, or connecting principle, is not quite so sensible to the imagination here as in the iEneid. For, throughout many books of the Iliad, Achilles is out of sight; he is lost in inaction, and the fancy terminates on no other object, than the success of the two armies whom we see contending in war.
The unity of the epic action is not to be so strictly interpreted, as if it excluded all episodes, or subordinate actions. It is necessary to observe here, that the term episode is employed by Aristotle, in a different sense from what we now give to it. It was a term originally applied to dramatic poetry, and thence transferred to epic; and by episodes, in an epic poem, it should seem that Aristotle understood the extension of the general fable, or plan of the poem, into all its circumstances. What his meaning was, is indeed not very clear; and this obscurity has occasioned much altercation among critical writers. Bossu, in particular, is so perplexed upon this subject, as to be almost unintelligible. But, dismissing so fruitless a controversy, what we now understand by episodes, are certain actions, or incidents, introduced into the narration, connected with the principal action, yet not of such importance as to destroy, if they had been omitted, the main subject of the poem. Of this nature are the interview of Hector with Andromache, in the Iliad; the story of Cacus, and that of Nisus and Euryalus, in the JEneid; the adventures of Tancred with Erminia and Clorinda, in the Jerusalem; and the prospect of his descendants exhibited to Adam, in the last books of Paradise Lost.
Such episodes as these, are not only permitted to an epic poet, but, provided they be properly executed, are great ornaments to his work. The rules regarding them are the following:
First, they must be naturally introduced; they must have a sufficient connexion with the subject of the poem; they must seem inferior parts that belong to it; not mere appendages stuck to it. The episode of Olinda and Sophronia, in the second book of Tasso’s Jerusalem, is faulty, by transgressing this rule. It is too much detached from the rest of the work: and, being introduced so near the opening of the poem, misleads the reader into an expectation that it is to be of some future consequence; whereas, it proves to be connected with nothing that follows. In proportion as any episode is slightly related to the main subject, it should always be the shorter. The passion of Dido in the iEneid, and the snares of Armida in the Jerusalem, which are expanded so fully in these poems, cannot with propriety be called episodes. They are constituent parts of the work, and form a considerable share of the intrigue of the poem.
In the next place, episodes ought to present to us objects of a different kind from those which go before, and those which follow in the course of the poem. For, it is principally for the sake of variety, that episodes are introduced into an epic composition. In so long a work, they tend to diversify the subject, and to relieve the reader, by shifting the scene. In the midst of combats, therefore, an episode of the martial kind would be out of place; whereas, Hector’s visit to Andromache in the Iliad, andErminia’s adventure with the shepherd in the seventh book of the Jerusalem, afford us a well-judged and pleasing retreat from camps and battles.
Lastly, as an episode is a professed embellishment, it ought to be particularly elegant and well finished; and, accordingly, it is, for the most part, in pieces of this kind, that poets put forth their strength. The episodes of Teribazus and Ariana, in Leonidas, and of the death of Hercules, in the Epigoniad, are the two greatest beauties in these poems.
The unity of the epic action necessarily supposes, that the action be entire and complete; that is, as Aristotle well expresses it, that it have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Either by relating the whole, in his own person, or by introducing some of his actors to relate what had passed before the opening of the poem, the author must always contrive to give us full information of every thing that belongs to his subject; he must not leave our curiosity in any article ungratified; he must bring us precisely to the accomplishment of his plan, and then conclude.
The second property of the epic action is, that it be great; that it have sufficient splendour and importance, both to fix our attention, and to justify the magnificent apparatus which the poet bestows upon it. This is so evidently requisite as not to require illustration: and, indeed, hardly any who have attempted epic poetry, have failed in choosing some subject sufficiently important, either by the nature of the action, or by the fame of the personages concerned in it.
It contributes to the grandeur of the epic subject, that it be not of a modern date, nor fall within any period of history with which we are intimately acquainted. Both Lucan and Voltaire have, in the choice of their subjects, transgressed this rule, and they have, upon that account, succeeded worse. Antiquity is favourable to those high and august ideas, which epic poetry is designed to raise. It tends to aggrandize, in our imagination, both persons and events; and what is still more material, it allows the poet the liberty of adorning his subject by means of fiction. Whereas, as soon as he comes within the verge of real and authenticated history, this liberty is abridged. He must either confine himself wholly, as Lucan has done, to strict historical truth, at the expense of rendering his story jejune; or if he goes beyond it, like Voltaire in his Henriade, this disadvantage follows, that, in well-known events, the true and the fictitious parts of the plan do not naturally mingle and incorporate with each other. These observations cannot be applied to dramatic writing; where the personages are exhibited to us, not so much that we may admire, as that we may love or pity them. Such passions are much more consistent with the familiar historical knowledge of the persons who are to be the objects of them; and even require them to be displayed in the light, and with the failings, of ordinary men. Modern and well-known history, therefore, may furnish very proper materials for tragedy. But for epic poetry, where heroism is the ground-work, and where the object in view is to excite admiration, ancient or traditionary history is assuredly the safest region. There the author may lay hold on names, and characters, and events, not wholly unknown, on which to build his story, while, at the same time, by reason of the distance of the period, or of the remoteness of the scene, sufficient license is left him for fiction and invention.
The third property required in the epic poem is, that it be interesting. It is not sufficient for this purpose that it be great. For deeds of mere valour, how heroic soever, may prove cold and tiresome. Much will depend on the happy choice of some subject, which shall, by its nature, interest the public; as when the poet selects for his hero, one who is the founder, or the deliverer, or the favourite of his nation; or when he writes of achievements that have been highly celebrated, or have been connected with important consequences to any public cause. Most of the great epic poems are abundantly fortunate in this respect, and must have been very interesting to those ages and countries in which they were composed.
But the chief circumstance which renders an epic poem interesting, and which tends to interest, not one age or country alone, but all readers, is the skilful conduct of the author in the management of his subject. He must so contrive his plan, as that it shall comprehend many affecting incidents. He must not dazzle us perpetually with valiant achievements; for all readers tire of constant fighting and battles; but he must study to touch our hearts. He may sometimes be awful and august; he must often be tender and pathetic; he must give us gentle and pleasing scenes of love, friendship, and affection. The more an epic poem abounds with situations “which awaken the feelings of humanity, the more interesting it is and these form always, the favourite passages of the work. I know no epic poets so happy in this respect as Virgil and Tasso.
Much, too, depends on the characters of the heroes, for rendering the poem interesting; that they be such as shall strongly attach the readers, and make them take part in the dangers which the heroes encounter. These dangers, or obstacles, form what is called the nodus, or the intrigue of the epic poem; in the judicious conduct of which consists much of the poet’s art. He must rouse our attention, by a prospect of the difficulties which seem to threaten disappointment to the enterprise of his favourite personages; he must make these difficulties grow and thicken upon us by degrees; till, after having kept us, for some time, in a state of agitation and suspense, he paves the way, by a proper preparation of incidents, for the winding up of the plot, in a natural and probable manner. It is plain, that every tale which is designed to engage attention, must be conducted on a plan of this sort.
A question has been moved, whether the nature of the epic poem does not require that it should always end successfully? Most critics are inclined to think, that a successful issue is the most proper; and they appear to have reason on their side. An unhappy conclusion depresses the mind, and is opposite to the elevating emotions which belong to this species of poetry. Terror and compassion are the proper subjects of tragedy; but as the epic poem is of larger compass and extent, it were too much, if, after the difficulties and troubles which commonly abound in the progress of the poem, the author should bring them all at last to an unfortunate issue. Accordingly, the general practice of epic poets is on the side of a prosperous conclusion; not, however, without some exceptions. For two authors of great name, Lucan and Milton, have held a contrary course; the one concluding with the subversion of the Roman liberty; the other, with the expulsion of man from Paradise.
With regard to the time or duration of the epic action, no precise boundaries can be ascertained. A considerable extent is always allowed to it, as it does not necessarily depend on those violent passions which can be supposed to have only a short continuance. The Iliad, which is formed upon the anger of Achilles, has, with propriety, the shortest duration of any of the great epic poems. According to Bossu, the action lasts no longer than forty-seven days. The action of the Odyssey, computed from the taking of Troy to the peace of Ithaca, extends to eight years and a half; and the action of the iEneid, computed in the same way, from the taking of Troy to the death of Turnus, includes about six years. But if we measure the period only of the poet’s own narration, or compute from the time in which the hero makes his first appearance to the conclusion, the duration of both these last poems is brought within a much smaller compass. The Odyssey, beginning with Ulysses in the island of Calypso, comprehends fifty-eight days only; and the iEneid, beginning with the storm, which throws iEneas upon the coast of Africa, is reckoned to include, at the most, a year and some months.
Having thus treated of the epic action, or the subject of the poem, I proceed next to make some observations on the actors of personages.
As it is the business of an epic poet to copy after nature, and to form a probable and interesting tale, he must study to give all his personages proper and well-supported characters, such as display the features of human nature. This is what Aristotle calls giving manners to the poem. It is by no means necessary, that all his actors be morally good; imperfect, nay, vicious characters, may find a proper place; though the nature of epic poetry seems to require, that the principal figures exhibited should be such as tend to raise admiration and love, rather than hatred or contempt. But whatever the character be which a poet gives to any of his actors, he must take care to preserve it uniform, and consistent with itself. Every thing which that person says, or does, must be suited to it, and must serve to distinguish him from any other.
Poetic characters may be divided into two kinds, general and particular. General characters are, such as are wise, brave, virtuous, without any farther distinction. Particular characters express the species of bravery, of wisdom, of virtue, for which any one is eminent. They exhibit the peculiar features which distinguish one individual from another, which mark the difference of the same moral quality in different men, according as it is combined with other dispositions in their temper. In drawing such particular characters, genius is chiefly exerted. How far each of the three great epic poets have distinguished themselves in this part of composition, I shall have occasion afterwards to show, when I come to make remarks upon their works. It is sufficient now to mention, that it is in this part Homer has principally excelled; Tasso has come the nearest to Homer; and Virgil has been the most deficient.
It has been the practice of all epic poets, to select some one personage, whom they distinguish above all the rest, and make the hero of the tale. This is considered as essential to epic composition, and is attended with several advantages. It renders the unity of the subject more sensible, when there is one principal figure, to which, as to a centre, all the rest refer. It tends to interest us more in the enterprise which is carried on; and it gives the poet an opportunity of exerting his talents for adorning and displaying one character, with peculiar splendour. It has been asked, Who then is the hero of Paradise Lost? The devil, it has been answered by some critics; and, in consequence of this idea, much ridicule and censure has been thrown upon Milton. But they have mistaken that author’s intention, by proceeding upon a supposition, that, in the conclusion of the poem, the hero must needs be triumphant. Whereas Milton followed a different plan, and has given a tragic conclusion to a poem, otherwise epic in its form. For Adam is undoubtedly his hero; that is, the capital and most interesting figure in his poem.
Besides human actors, there are personages of another kind, that usually occupy no small place in epic poetry; I mean the gods, or supernatural beings. This brings us to the consideration of what is called the machinery of the epic poem; the most nice and difficult part of the subject. Critics appear to me to have gone to extremes on both sides. Almost all the French critics decide in favour of machinery, as essential to the constitution of an epic poem. They quote that sentence of Petronius Arbiter, as if it were an oracle, “per ambages, Deorumque ministeria, praecipitandus est liber spiritus” and hold that though a poem had every other requisite that could be demanded, yet it could not be ranked in the epic class unless the main action was carried on by the intervention of the gods. This decision seems to be founded on no principle or reason whatever, unless a superstitious reverence for the practice of Homer and Virgil. These poets very properly embellished their story by the traditional tales and popular legends of their own country; according to which, all the great transactions of the heroic times were intermixed with the fables of their deities. But does it thence follow, that in other countries, and other ages, where there is not the like advantage of current superstition, and popular credulity, epic poetry must be wholly confined to antiquated fictions and fairy tales? Lucan has composed a very spirited poem, certainly of the epic kind, where neither gods nor supernatural beings are at all employed. The author of Leonidas has made an attempt of the same kind, not without success; and beyond doubt, wherever a poet gives us a regular heroic story, well connected in its parts, adorned with characters, and supported with proper dignity and elevation, though his agents be every one of them human, he has fulfilled the chief requisites of this sort of composition, and has a just title to be classed with epic writers.
But though I cannot admit that machinery is necessary or essential to the 'epic plan, neither can I agree with some late critics of considerable name, who are for excluding it totally, as inconsistent with that probability and impression of reality which they think should reign in this kind of writing.* Mankind do not consider poetical writings with so philosophical an eye. They seek entertainment from them; and for the bulk of readers, indeed for almost all men, the marvellous has a great charm. It gratifies and fills the imagination, and gives room for many a striking and sublime description. In epic poetry, in particular, where admiration and lofty ideas are supposed to reign, the marvellous and supernatural find, if any where, their proper place. They both enable the poet to aggrandize his subject, by means of those august and solemn objects which religion introduces into it; and they allow him to enlarge and diversify his plan, by comprehending within it heaven, and earth, and hell, men and invisible beings, and the whole circle of the universe.
At the same time, in the use of this supernatural machinery, it becomes a poet to be temperate and prudent. He is not at liberty to invent what system of the marvellous he pleases. It must always have some foundation in popular belief. He must avail himself, in a decent manner, either of the religious faith, or the superstitious
* See Elements of Criticism, ch. 22.
credulity of the country wherein he lives, or of which he writes, so as to give an air of probability to events which are most contrary to the common course of nature. Whatever machinery he employs, he must take care not to overload us with it; not to withdraw human actions and manners too much from view, nor to obscure them under a cloud of incredible fictions. He must always remember, that his chief business is to relate to men, the actions and the exploits of men; that it is by these principally he is to interest us, and to touch our hearts; and that if probability be altogether banished from his work, it can never make a deep or a lasting impression. Indeed, I know nothing more difficult in epic poetry, than to adjust properly the mixture of the marvellous with the probable; so as to gratify and amuse us with the one, without sacrificing the other. I need hardly observe, that these observations affect not the conduct of Milton’s work; whose plan being altogether theological, his supernatural beings form not the machinery, but are the principal actors in the poem.
With regard to allegorical personages, fame, discord, love, and the like, it may be safely pronounced, that they form the worst machinery of any. In description they are sometimes allowable, and may serve for embellishment; but they should never be permitted to bear any share in the action of the poem. For being plain and declared fictions, mere names of general ideas, to which even fancy cannot attribute any existence as persons, if they are introduced as mingling with human actors, an intolerable confusion of shadows and realities arises, and all consistency of action is utterly destroyed.
In the narration of the poet, which is the last head that remains to be considered, it is not material, whether he relate the whole story in his own character, or introduce some of his personages to relate any part of the action that had passed before the poem opens. Homer follows the one method in his Iliad, and the other in his Odyssey. Virgil has, in this respect, imitated the conduct of the Odyssey; Tasso, that of the Iliad. The chief advantage which arises from any of the actors being employed to relate part of the story, is, that it allows the poet, if he chooses it, to open with some interesting situation of affairs, informing us afterwards of what had passed before that period; and gives him the greater liberty of spreading out such parts of the subject as he is inclined to dwell upon in person, and of comprehending the rest within a short recital. Where the subject is of great extent, and comprehends the transactions of several years, as in the Odyssey and the iEneid, this method therefore seems preferable. When the subject is of smaller compass, and shorter duration, as in the Iliad and the Jerusalem, the poet may, without disadvantage, relate the whole in his own person.
In the proposition of the subject, the invocation of the muse, and other ceremonies of the introduction, poets may vary at their pleasure. It is perfectly trifling to make these little formalities the object of precise rule, any farther, than that the subject of the work should always be clearly proposed, and without affected or unsuitable pomp. For, according to Horace’s noted rule, no introduction should ever set out too high, or promise too much, lest the author should not fulfil the expectations he has raised.
What is of most importance in the tenour of the narration is, that it be perspicuous, animated, and enriched with all the beauties of poetry. No sort of composition requires more strength, dignity, and fire, than the epic poem. It is the region within which we look for every thing that is sublime in description, tender in sentiment, and bold and lively in expression; and, therefore, though an author’s plan should be faultless, and his story ever so well conducted, yet, if he be feeble, or flat in style, destitute of affecting scenes, and deficient in poetical colouring, he can have no success. The ornaments which epic poetry admits, must all be of the grave and chaste kind. Nothing that is loose, ludicrous, or affected, finds any place there. All the objects which it presents ought to be either great, or tender, or pleasing. Descriptions of disgusting or shocking objects, should, as much as possible, be avoided; and, therefore, the fable of the Harpies, in the third book of the iEneid, and the allegory of Sin and Death, in the second book of Paradise Lost, had been better omitted in these celebrated poems.