Preface
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THE PREFACE.
THE writing a Preface to a Book seems to be invented for the Purpose of introducing the Author to the Acquaintance of the Reader; and hath been so general a Practice, that from Custom it appears to be established almost as a necessary Rule; and as every well-bred Man, when he presents Strangers to each other, informs them who they are to address, so doth the Author, in his Preface, acquaint his Reader in some degree what is the Nature of his Design; or what he thinks so necessary to avoid, that he is careful it shall not be found in his Writing. The following Sheets are composed of the Histories of Persons, whose Conduct in
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in Life gives abundant Opportunity of displaying the natural Tendency of Virtue towards the Attainment of Happiness; and, on the contrary, that Misery is the unavoidable Consequence of vicious Life; and tho' it is hoped the Characters are really to be found in human Nature, otherwise they would indeed deserve no other Appellation than Chimeras, yet are they universal, and not pointed at Individuals. It is amazing with what Celerity Conjectures are formed, by which the Incidents that befal, or the Behaviour of, the Personages in these kinds of Histories of Life and Manners, are dragged by the most far-fetched Deductions to mean a Reflexion on Mr. -- or Mrs. --, somebody whom they know; and this often when there is less Resemblance than in Fluellin's Parallel between Henry the Fifth and Alexander; that they were born in Places which began with the same Letter; that there were Rivers in each Country, and Fish in the Rivers of both, is some Degree beyond what these judicious Discoverers can boast; who have often no other Foundation for their Comparison, than that the Two Persons, being both
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both of the human Species, have each the Features in common to their Kind. But as it is requisite for a Writer, whenever he compares one Object to another, or illustrates a Thought by something else that resembles it, that he should first acquaint himself thoroughly with every minute Difference, lest he should confuse, instead of clearing his Meaning; so also it is necessary that the Reader, who delights in making Applications, should first be cautious in considering whether he hath informed himself of every Circumstance relating to the Two Pictures which he would represent as like each other, before he draws the Parallel, and remember well, that Man differs more from Man, than Man from Beast. If we were but to reflect on the strange Confusion the contrary Practice to what I am recommending would make in our common Converse with Mankind, we should immediately perceive the Absurdity of it in the most glaring Light; for there we find it necessary, in order to know our Friends and Acquaintance, not only to be
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be acquainted with the Formation of human Features in general, but also with the different Modifications of those of every Individual; otherwise the whole World would be in one continued Perplexity, and Mankind would never be able to distinguish one Person from another; for Men would run about challenging each other for Acquaintance, only because they had Mouths or Eyes, or any other human Feature. Nor is this in any degree too strong a Picture of Mens common Practice in their Judgments of Books, where not only a single Feature, but even Dress, or the Colour of a Ribbon, serves to prove a Likeness entirely to their Satisfaction. It is also very observable that these Conjecturers are very generous in bestowing on others those Characters which they can spare without any Reluctance, as they are by no means desirous of applying them to themselves; but those exemplary Pictures of human Nature, which are drawn as proper to shew forth what ought to be imitated, are very uncommonly given away, every one appearing to have some convenient Situation in which they can place it at home: But this is done in Silence;
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Silence; for tho' they wish others to perceive what is very visible to their own Eyes; namely, that they themselves have sat for such Pictures; yet they think it would be a small Breach of Modesty to declare their Thought on that head; but a Compliment of that kind is received with the same sort of Backwardness to acknowledge its Justice, as a young Lady often shews towards the Flattery of her Admirer, when it is impossible for his Praise to outrun her own fixed Opinion of herself. The Uniformity of Character is allowed to be one of the principal, and most necessary Ingredients to this kind of Writing. The great Master, and the deepest Penetrator into the inmost Recesses of human Nature, in the Instructions which he with such great Propriety and Judgment introduces from the Mouth of Hamlet to the Players, may, if the Writer pleases, be most Part of it adopted also by him for his own Advantage. Hamlet, amongst many others, gives the following Instructions to the Players: "With
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"With this special Observance, that "you o'er-step not the Modesty of Nature; for any thing so overdone is from the Purpose of playing; whose End, both at the first and now, was and is to hold, as it were, the Mirror to Nature; to shew Virtue her own Feature, Scorn her own Image, and the very Age and Body of the Time his Form and Pressure. Now this overdone, or come tardy of, tho' it make the Unskilful laugh, cannot but make the Judicious grieve." If the Word Writing was substituted instead of Playing, the Speech in general would be full as applicable to the Author as the Player; and when the former deviates from the Paths of Nature, in either stopping short of her Mark, or wildly running beyond the Limits she prescribes, it is natural for the Reader, as well as for the Spectator at the Theatre, to join with Hamlet in his Observation, that It is observable that Shakespeare, who in all his Works treats Scorn or Insolence with great Propriety, here points out Scorn as peculiarly worthy of Detestation, by placing it as in Contrast to Virtue in general. "Some
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"Some of Nature's Journeymen have made Men, and not made them well; they imitate Humanity so abominably." It is necessary also that the Writers of Characters, as well as the Actors who personate them on the Theatre, should, as is expressed finely in the fame Author, "Speak no more than is set down for "them;" for, as the Actor must be faithful to the Words he finds in his Author, so also must the Writer be careful neither to diminish nor exceed in the characteristical Strokes which are drawn by Nature herself: And such as are peculiarly distinguished by the Name of Characters of Humour, should no more be distorted by any fantastic Whim of the Poet's Brain, than any other Character whatever; tho' a greater Latitude seems necessary to be given in them than in others of a more serious Cast. The Word Humour itself is understood so variously by very ingenious Men, that it appears difficult to fix to it a certain Idea. Ben Johnson, in Every Man out of his Humour, hath led the Way into a little Path,
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Path, by which perhaps it may in some measure be traced; for, after an Enquiry into the Nature of Humour in the Abstract, he says - And hence we do Conclude, That whatsoe'er hath Fluxure and Humidity, As wanting Power to contain itself, Is Humour. So in every human Body, The Choler, Melancholy, Phlegm, and Blood, By reason that they flow continually In some one Part, and are not continent, Receive the Name of Humour. Now, thus far It may, by Metaphor, apply itself Unto the general Disposition: As when some one peculiar quality Doth so possess a Man, that it doth draw All his Affects, his Spirits, and his Powers, In their Confluxions, all to run one Way, This may be truly said to be a Humour. If this be true, and is by any means a proper Explanation of the Word, what we call Humour in an Author is the Capacity of penetrating that peculiar Quality, which hath taken such strong Possession of the Character he would represent to his Reader, that it in a great Degree flows through
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through every Action of his Life, and even influences him in the Workings of all his Passions. The Combination of Circumstances, which is necessary to display characteristic Humours, and set them a flowing into their proper Chanel, is at the Option of the Author; and when these Circumstances are judiciously chosen, the Fact will appear to the Reader not only as a Probability, but also will carry with it an Air of real Truth. To illustrate this by an Instance: If an Author hath an Inclination to display the Characteristic of various Persons under the Influence of the Passion of Fear, and should therefore contrive to place them all together in a House on Fire (which is very adequate to the raising the greatest Consternation); the Fire must not walk to the House, and burn it, "will he, nill he," as the Clown says; but natural Circumstances must combine for that Purpose: And even in such a Calamity, when the Bent of the Disposition is strong, it will not fail to display itself. The
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The Miser, even if he had before been confined to his Bed with the Gout or Stone, will break through all Obstacles to preserve his darling Treasure from Danger. The enamoured Swain will fly as if he had borrowed Wings, to bear his Fair one, as AEneas did Anchises his Father, safe from the Terrors of devouring Flames. Friends will fly to Friends Apartments to secure the Joy of their affectionate Hearts. The fond Parents, forgetful of their own own Danger, will bear in their Remembrance no other Part of the House than that wherein their little innocent darling Treasure is deposited. The fine Lady, who has an Antipathy to half God's Creation, who screams at the Sight of a Mouse, faints at a Spider, and breaks the Rest of her Family with a Thousand needless Apprehensions, would here indeed be somewhat out of her usual Conceit, and shew the Effect of true Fear, by being too much frighted to make a clamorous Noise; but yet I am much mistaken, if her beloved Affectation would not break forth, before such a Scene was concluded; and in all Probability her apparent Fears would greatly increase, as her
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her Apprehensions and the real Danger lessened, and her vociferous Screams would break most abundantly forth, when indeed there was no need of any such Matter. But if, on the contrary, it was to be related of the Miser, that, forgetting his Money, his whole Care was placed on the Safety of the Lady; of the Lover, that, neglecting his Mistress, his Attention was all employed on any other Treasure but her; or that the Parent abandoned all Thoughts of his Offspring; the Whole would be perplexed, and Nature would be intirely banished from such an absurd Representation. But here it may be observed, that as the Writer must be thoroughly acquainted with the Bent of the Dispositions of the Miser, the Lover, the Friend, and the Parent, before he can make any of them act with Propriety on this or any other Occasion, so must the Reader also have some Degree of Knowlege of them before he can judge truly whether they are represented right or wrong, or distinguish what is natural from the wild Fancies of the Poet's Brain. Characters, which are drawn up by Historians are often perplexed and confused
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confused by Party Spirit; Prejudice or Partiality too often swaying the Authors, either to lash them with unreasonable Satire, or to smooth them over with a kind of glittering Varnish, so that it is as difficult to trace the real Features of the Man, who is transmitted to Posterity in a Figure perfectly different from what he really bore in his Life-time, as it would be to discover a Roman Senator dressed like a modern fine Gentleman. Amongst all the Biographers, whose Characters were taken from real Life, none seem to have in so very intelligible a Manner acquainted their Readers with the true Characteristic of their Heroes, as Plutarch; in Admiration of whom Montaigne expresses himself so warmly, that he acknowleges his Obligation to the French Translator of him in this very remarkable Expression: "He hath," says he, " lifted us Dunces out of the Dust;" as if understanding Plutarch was of itself enough to give a Man a Claim to Knowlege, and to baffle the dark Clouds of Ignorance. The short and pointed Story of Alexander the Great's enquiring of the Philosopher,
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Philosopher, "What a Man must do to become a God?" throws more Light on the inward Recess of the proud Hero's Mind, than if Plutarch had blazoned forth his own Parts by all the most pompous Descriptions of Alexander's Conquests; for as the little, almost imperceptible, Wheels generally influence the greatest worldly Machines, in like manner do the smallest Incidents most clearly unravel the intricate Labyrinths of the human Mind; and this Story, as it is the strongest Proof of his unbounded Ambition, is also a fort of Key to every Action which is recorded of his Life. The Perspicuity and Propriety of the Moral is allowed to be another Ingredient absolutely necessary to this, and indeed to all kinds of Writings of Invention. Bossu declares it to be the Opinion of both Aristotle and Horace, That Poets teach moral Philosophy; and that the latter even gives the Preference in this respect to Homer over the Philosopher, themselves. Then
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Then Bossu assigns the Cause why the Poets thus excel simple Philosophers, and says, that it arises from the Nature of the Poetry, which in every kind is wholly an Imitation; now Imitation, continues he, is extremely agreeable and natural to Man; for which Reason this Manner of treating any Subject is much more engageing, and more properly adapted to gain Attention. Besides Imitation gives Instruction by the Force of Examples; and Examples are so much the more powerful to persuade, as they prove the Possibility of following them; to all which Bossu also adds, that Imitation is so much of the intrinsic Nature of Poetry, that Aristotle declares the Art itself to that Cause owes its Birth. Thus it is visibly the unanimous Opinion of those great Men, that Poets are, as it were, the Imitators, I had almost said the Mimicks, of Nature; an Appellation which, in its present Use, carries with it indeed very little Dignity, and seems to imply only a Capacity at catching at some Peculiarity of Gesture or Behaviour, in order to point out an Object of Derision. But the Poets were considered as Imitators
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Imitators of Nature in a very different Light from that narrow and confined Sense; as Searchers into the inmost Labyrinths of the human Mind; as penetrating the Force of the different characteristic Bent of the various Dispositions of Men towards their Conduct in Life, and then placing them in such Circumstances, as give an ample Field to display, by the Examples they bring into Action, the fatal Effects of indulged Passions, and the happy Result of restraining all Passions and Tumults of the human Breast within the proper Limits prescribed by Reason for Monsieur Rochefocault truly says, "It is difficult to conquer the Passions, but it is impossible to satisfy them;" that is, when they rebel against their proper Guide, and forcibly snatch the Reins out of the Hands of that Governor appointed to restrain and keep them within their own prescribed Bounds. Every Vice, by which a bad Man is actuated, as well as every Virtue which animates the Bosom of a good Character, tends, if properly managed, to produce the Moral, which is essentially necessary to render any Writing useful to the Reader. The
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The narrow-minded and illiberal Peruser of Books, who searches only for pointed Satire, and can relish no Character, but such as he finds, or imagines he finds, to partake of the Nature of an abusive Libel on some particular Person, is incapable of being pleased with general Pictures of Nature; but, like the Palate vitiated by habitual Luxury, he requires sharp and seasoned Sauce before he can relish any Food whatsoever; and it is more Matter of Triumph to such Readers to find out a Similitude in any Individual of their Acquaintance to some ridiculous Story, or bad Character, than if they could discover all the Verisimilitudes that were ever thought of. Perhaps a Beau or a Belle, who run thro' Writings for this Purpose, would at the same time look down, with supercilious Contempt, on the Seaman who read Virgil with no other View but to observe whether or no he understood Geography; and as soon as he discovered that he was not ignorant in the only Point in which he himself could claim any Knowlege, he admitted Virgil to be a very fine Writer; and yet the same Belle or Beau might be told,
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told, with great Truth, that their own Manner of dealing with Books is much more confined and illiberal than the Seaman's, and an undoubted Proof of a smaller Degree of Understanding than that which belonged to the honest Tar, added to that Failure of Candour and Benignity of Heart, which is a much greater Blemish in their Nature, than the highest Degree of mere Ignorance and Want of Taste can ever deserve to be accused of. If an Author happens to live in an Age when a general Fashion of Dissipation banishes Reflexion, and the View in Reading at all is circumscribed within such narrow Limits, that the Pleasure thereby proposed seems to be no other than to discover some Reference to particular Objects, and universal Resemblances to human Nature are overlooked, he ought to content himself without such Applause as is only to be obtained by the Forfeiture of his own moral Character; and would make a very injudicious Bargain, if he so far adapted his Practice to their Taste, that he must necessarily be conscious of being a bad Man, in order to be accounted by such Readers a pleasing Writer. Well said
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said Horace, when he prefers any thing to this Manner of Writing: Better even this, than cruelly defame, And point Buffoons and Villains out by Name: Sure to be hated, even by those you spare, Whose Anger's always equal to their Fear. And more commendable yet is the same good-humoured Roman Bard in his Declaration, that No honest Man shall by Satire bleed. There is a peculiar Care necessary concerning the Purity of Language; I do not here mean any thing which is called Elegance or Beauty of Style; but only that the Terms, which are ever applied to whatsoever is deservedly laudable, should on no account be used so equivocally, as to be made applicable indifferently to what is either vicious or virtuous. I cannot forbear translating a Passage from Bossu, which is so exactly adapted to the present Purpose, that it is perfectly expressive
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expressive of the Ideas I would wish on this Occasion to convey to the Reader. "The Poet hath also this in common with Orators and Philosophers, that he ought, like them, to appear a wise, prudent, and virtuous Man; for this Reason, and more especially because he ought to teach Virtue, he is obliged to be perfectly acquainted with Morality, and to be truly virtuous. This Science consists in Practice; it is not learned by simple Speculations only. If a good and solid Morality doth not correct our Passions, it is almost impossible but that our Passions will lead us into a false Morality. We do not blame, with a good Grace, the Faults in which we delight.
"Le Poete a encore ceci de commune avec les Orateurs & les Philosophes, qu'il doit comme eux paroitre sage, prudent, & honnete Homme. Pour cette Raison, & de plus parce qu'il doit enseigner la Vertu, il eft oblige de favoir parfaitement la Morale, & d'etre veritablement vertueux. Cette Science eft practique; elle ne s'apprend point par de simple Speculations. Si une Morale bonne & solide ne corrige nos Passions, il eft prefque impossible que nos Passions ne nous fasse une fausse Morale. Nous ne blamons point de bonne Grace les Defauts ou nous nous plaisons. Nous
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delight: We love better to believe that they are not Vices, than to acknowlege to ourselves that we are vicious. If Horace judged rightly, in saying that Homer would have praised Wine less, if he had not loved it; what can be thought of those who dwell with so much Pleasure and Affectation on whatsoever is most shameful and criminal in our Passions? who from thence form the most interesting and pathetic Parts of their Poems; and who represent infamous Amours under the Appellation of Gallantries, which an honest Man, and a real fine Gentleman, can place among the Number of his fortunate Adventures? To
"Nous aimons mieux de croire que ce ne font pas des Vices, que de nous avouer a nous-memes que nous sommes vicieux. Si Horace a eu Raifon de dire qu Homere auroit moins loue le Vin, s'il ne l avoit aime; que peut on penfer de ceux qui s'arretent avec tant de Complaisance & d'Affectation a ce que les Passions ont de plus honteux & de plus criminel? qui en font les endroits de leur Poemes leslus touchans & les plus tendres; & qui tournent les Amours infames, & des Gallanteries qu'un honnete Honmme & qu'un brave Cavalier peut mettre au rang de fes bonnes Fortunes ? On
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To represent Vice only under soft and amiable Colours, is not the Method to make it hated. Those who set them forth under beautiful Masques, give sufficient Cause to believe that they view them only in that Light, and that their Lives are consonant to their Morality and their Writings. If there are Readers who have the same Taste, it is not to them that an Author ought to accommodate himself; for this would be to corrupt the most essential Rules of Poetry and Fable. A pernicious Art is not an Art, or at least ought not to be tolerated. If there are no other Readers, and a Poet is obliged to
"On ne sera pas hair les Vices quand on n'en representera que ce qu'ils ont d'aimable & de doux. Ceux qui ne les font voir que fous de beaux Masque, laissent croire qu'ils ne les envisagent que par la, & que leur Vie est d'accord avecleur Morale & avec leur Ecrits. S'il y a des Lecteurs qui foient dans ces memes Penfees, ce n'est pas a ceux la que l'on doit s'accommoder. Ce feroit au contraire corrompre les Regles les plus essentielles de Potfie & de la Fable. Un Art-pernicieux n'est pas un Art, on du moins il "n'est pas tolerable. S'il n'y a point d'autres Lecteurs, & si un Poete est oblige d'etre corrumpupous
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to be corrupt, in order to please, it is unfortunate for those who cherish this Corruption; and who prefer the Glory of being a Poet to that of being a good Man. These Reflexions are not foreign to my Subject, because they serve to illustrate what is the Conduct of Homer and Virgil. These Heathens have not sul-lied the Majesty of their epic Poems by criminal Delicacies. Ulysses is cold towards Circe; melancholy when with Calypso: Briseis and Chryseis inflame Achilles and Agamemnon with Anger only; Camilla hath no Lovers; the Love of Turnus for Lavinia is scarcely mentioned
pour plaire; malheur a ceux qui entretiennent cette corruption, & qui preferent la gloire d'etre Poetes a celles d'etre gens de bien. Ces Reflexions ne font pas hors de mon Sujet, puisqu'elles fervent a faire connoitre quelle est la Conduite d' Homere & de Virgile. Ces Payans n'ont point fouille la Majeste de leur Epopees parces Delicatesses criminelles. Ulysses est froid chez Circe; il est triste aupres de Calypso; Briseide & Chryseide n'enflamment Achilles & Agamemnon que de Colere; Camille n'apoint d'amant; A peineparle-t-on de l'Amour de Turnus pour Lavinie; & toute
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mentioned; and the whole Passion of Dido is treated as a criminal Infidelity, for which that wretched Queen is cruelly punished." The Moral should most clearly manifest what seems to be evidently the Fact, That the Mind under the Influence of any indulged vicious Passion, is of itself and essentially unhappy, even without the Consideration of any Consequences, as truly as the Body is unhealthy whilst it labours under any Distemper whatsoever; for Virtue is as certainly the Strength of the Mind, as Health is visibly the Cause of the Vigour of the Body; and the Soul is as much diseased by Vice, as the Body is by a Fever. The various Manner in which the greatest Geniuses have personified almost all the different evil Passions by which the Mind of Man is ever actuated, whether in the Forms of Furies, or in any other Shape, with all the proper Circumstances with which they have surrounded such Personages
toute la Passion de Didon n'est traitee que comme une Infidelite criminelle, dent cette miserable Reine est punie cruellement." VOL. I. b ages;
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Personages; giving them Power to inflict the Stings of Serpents, the Venom of Snakes, with all that is dreadful to human Nature; plainly prove, that those elevated and uncommon Capacities meant to display, under such allegorical Descriptions, the immediate Misery which accompanies the cherishing such evil Passions; and it would be dealing very unjustly by such Writers, to suppose that they had no other View therein, than to give a Loose to their enlarged Imaginations: For if such was indeed the Fact, it would greatly lessen the Absurdity of that trite Saying, that "Wit and Judgment never go together." The Story of Amata, in Virgil's Seventh Book of the Aeneid, affords abundant Proof of that Poet's Judgment, in joining this Moral to the luxuriant Flights of the Imagination. When Juno resolves to carry her Point, and gratify her inexorable Revenge against the Trojans, agreeable to this noble Determination, she says, What tho' the partial Heav'ns my Aims repel, I'll raise new Forces from the Depths of Hell! And
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And then she immediately calls the Fury best fitted for the destined Purpose from her infernal Habitation, and Alecto comes forth thus beautifully described: Crimes, Frauds, and Murders, are the Fiend's Delight, The Rage of Death, and Slaughters of the Fight. So fierce her Looks! such Terrors from her Eyes! Round her grim Front such monstrous Serpents rise! She scares ev'n Pluto, her immortal Sire; Her sister Furies tremble, and retire. Thus armed with Serpents, is Rage properly personified; because into whatsoever Bosom Rage ever gets Admittance, mental Pain, such as resembles that which follows on the Sting of Serpents in the Body, certainly accompanies her; and when the Fury arrives at Amata's Door, how finely she insinuates herself, while she keeps concealed from the Queen's Sight; for the View of her was sure to make her avoided: Here stopt the Fiend; and (Discord all her Views) Snatch'd from her hissing Locks, a Snake she threw. And thro' her inmost Soul the Fury flew Unfelt
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Unfelt, the Monster glides thro' every Vest, And breathes the secret Poison in her Breast. Now, like Fillet, round her Temples roll'd; Now, round her Bosom, like a Chain of Gold. Now to her Tresses her repairs, and there Thrids every Kinglet of her golden Hair. If this Description was to be considered very particularly, every Instance of the Manner in which the Monster glides, might perhaps be visibly full of Meaning. We now almost see the Fury at work: Thus while her kindling Soul the Pest inspires With the first Sparkles of her fatal Fires. And Virgil leaves her to complete her Design, whilst he declares what Amata was before her Arrival; but there seems to be an inimitable Beauty in the Description of Amata before she was thus envenomed; when, tho' disappointed in her Desire of marrying her Daughter Lavinia to Turnus, by her Husband's Determination to give her to Aeneas, yet she was afflicted without being irritated, and only complained in such a Manner as became a Matron: Before
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Before the Bosom of the Royal Dame Felt the full Furies of th' infernal Flame, She speaks her Grief, in Accents soft and mild, Implores the Sire, and sorrows o'er her Child. And must Lavinia then, our only Joy, Wed with this wand'ring Fugitive of Troy? And can a Father issue the Decree, So fatal to himself, to her and me? But while the Fury is working in her Mind, we see her rise by degrees in her Language; and the first visible Instance we perceive of her Change, is in her reproaching the old King her Husband: Where, where is Friendship, Truth, and Honour, now? A Father's Promise, and a Monarch's Vow! But when the Fury hath thoroughly insinuated the Venom through her whole Mind, then we see her come forth in all the Height of Misery: But now the spreading Poison fir'd her Whole, Ev'n to the last Recesses of her Soul. In her wild Thoughts a thousand Horror rise, And fierce and madding round the Streets she flies. So
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So the gay Striplings lash, in eager Sport, A Top, in giddy Circles, round a Court: In rapid Rings it whirls, and spins aloud, Admir'd with Rapture by the blooming Croud; From ev'ry Stroke flies humming o'er the Ground, And gains new Spirit as the Blow goes round. Perhaps there cannot be a stronger or finer Contrast described than this, between the harrmles Effects, and the very supportable Affliction, of mild Sorrow, when placed in the Comparison with the dreadful Consequences, as well as the insupportable Pain, of furious Rage. But here Virgil takes great Care to paint in the most glaring Colours the Misery that Amata suffered from the Moment she had admitted this furious Passion, even whilst she was yet ignorant of all the future Misfortunes that might happen from it; for nothing can give us so strong an Idea of the Misery of a Woman, as to suppose her under the Power of her own Passions, in such a manner as to bear a Resemblance to the Top, which is whipped about at the Will and Pleasure of the Boys. And every human Creature, under the Lash of their own furious Passions, doth bear a very strong Resemblance to the Top so whirled
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whirled about, except in one very disadvantageous Circumstance on the Side of Mankind, that of feeling the Strokes, whilst they perturb and rend from the Bosom every peaceful Thought, and every Possibility of enjoying one Moment's Pleasure. Perhaps, by reflecting on every Circumstance which attends this Action of the whirling the Top about by the Strokes given by the Children, we should find there is no Simile more adapted to illustrate the inward Perturbation of the human Mind under the Influence of unrestrained Passion; which might be Virgil's Reason for admitting into his Poem a Simile, which, on a cursory View, and without these Considerations, appears of too little Importance to be worth his peculiar Notice. There is no Person, who reads this Story with any Attention, but what must conclude the Sufferings of Amata, whilst she was only sorrowfully complaining, and gently remonstrating against her Husband's Determination, were very trifling, in comparison of what she endured when her whole Soul
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Soul was inflamed with Fury, and she was raging through the Streets: Yet Virgil does not stop even there; but completes the whole, by displaying the last Effects of such Fury, by working Amata up to that Height of Madness which results naturally from such a Beginning. Thus flew the giddy Queen, with Fury stung, Thro' the wide Town, amid the wond'ring Throng. Yet more-the destin'd Nuptials to delay, Fierce to the darksome Wood she bounds away: And, rising still in Rage, with Rites divine, She feign'd new Orgies to the God of Wine. Thou, Bacchus, only thou, deserv'st to the Fair! For thee, in Ringlets grows her lovely Hair! For thee, she leads the Dance, and wreathes her Ivy-Spear! And thus the fond Mother, who at first seemed to have placed all her future Hopes of Happiness, all her Prospect of Comfort in her old Age, on one only Child, is actuated by Rage, and the Virulence of Passion, to such a Height of Madness, as, rather than see her Husband's Determination take place, voluntarily to devote this Daughter, this Darling of her Heart, to Bacchus. This
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This Story of Amata is surrounded with every Circumstance that can possibly raise our Aversion to Rage and Virulence; and more particularly when it irritates and inflames the female Bosom, and eradicates thence that Gentleness which is the characteristic Beauty of the female Mind. To the judicious Reader the Moral of this Story is very conspicuous; tho' the Manner of Virgil's Writing, aid the Dignity of Epic Poetry, might recquire Allegories, and that his Stories should be surrounded with fuller Incidents as were necessary to his whole Purpose. But when we stop at those outward Circumstances, and perceive not the farther Intention, we read as Children see Tragedies, who place their chief Delight in the Noise of the Kettledrums and Trumpets; or is the Multitude in Holiday-time throng to see Shakespeare's Play of Harry the Eighth, and attend only to the Show of the Coronation, passing over all the beautiful Strokes therin contained, as little worthy of their Notice. I have somewhere read an Observation, I believe it is in La Bruyere, to this Effect, That
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That many Persons have endeavoured to teach Men to write; but none have taught them to read; as if Reading consisted only in distinguishing the Letters and Words from each other. A manuscript Essay on this Subject, which was found in the Study of an old Gentleman, who was well known by his Acquaintance to have been a curious Observer of Nature, may not perhaps be unentertaining to the Reader. "A curious Eye might perhaps as justly trace Mens different Dispositions, from the Delight they place in, or the Observations they make on, the various Parts of the Writings of Imagination, as in observing them in any other Situation whatever. And I never went into any Man's Library, but, by casting an Eye on those kind of Books, I could employ my Fancy with forming Conjectures on the Man's Bent of Disposition, by seeing what Characters, and what Parts of such Writings, shewed visible Marks of having been oftenest opened; and I have really found, on farther Acquaintance,
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Acquaintance, that these Conjectures were built on a good Foundation. The Hero's Homer or Virgil will certainly shew the Marks of being most used, where all the Thunder of the War breaks forth: And this will happen, not only to the actual Hero, who hath already shewn his Prowess in the Field; for that is nothing more than taking a Pleasure in his own Picture, as Alexander the Great admired Homer for his. Celebration of Achilles, whom he thought proper to fix on as a worthy Object of Admiration; but the would-be Hero, that young Mind in which the Seeds of Ambition for martial Glory begin to struggle and shoot forth, will also find his Heart beat with Joy, when Hector arms for the Battle, or Achilles takes the Field. That the Story of Dido, in the Fourth Book of Virgil's Aeneid, hath the Leaves generally most foiled in the Closets of young Gentlemen and Ladies, who will have no other Employment but that of seeking after Pleasure, is an Observation that I am not singular in; but have often
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often heard it remarked also by others; and have looked with an Eye of Compassion on the Parents of such Sons and Daughters, as could find nothing in Virgil but that Story (excellent as it is in its Kind) on which they could fix their Thoughts, or employ their Imaginations; whilst, on the other hand, I rejoiced in my Heart over the Son of a Friend, whom it was impossible, with the utmost Art, whilst the Conversation ran on Virgil, to keep long from turning his Thoughts with Admiration on Aeneas, when he was bearing his old Father through the raging Flames. Tears of Pleasure started from his Eyes, and his whole Countenance glowed with generous Warmth, when the old Anchises was safely placed out of the Reach of Danger: And, 'O that Ascanius may return the same filial Piety to his Father', flowed from his Lips so naturally, that it seemed to come from his inward Heart, and to result from the Strength of his Feeling. My Friend, the Father of this Youth, sympathized with every Parent he read of who was blessed with a worthy Son; and his old Eyes sent forth Floods of Tears on every Story which
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which represented an unfortunate Father. The whole Lives of this Father and Son were the strongest Proofs that Men feel in Reading what they feel in Life; for they were indeed Pictures of that Happiness, which parental Kindness and filial Duty and Affection can reciprocally bestow, The active beautiful Youth will delight in the Description of Alcanius, accompany him with Wishes for his Victory in the Games, be fearful for his Danger in the Battle, and rejoice over his Safety with an uncommon Degree of Gladness. The Bosom which is warmed with generous Friendship, will with a trembling Heart follow Nisus and Euryalus Step by Step. All their Fears will be alarmed in Pity for each, should the other be slaughtered; and when young Euryalus is slain, will rejoice that Nisus doth not survive him, to be himself to his Friend's Memory a mournful feeling Monument, till he could almost wish to be as insensible as that Stone of which the Monuments
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Monuments for the Dead are composed. The fond Mother will shudder with Apprehensions with the only remaining Parent of Euryalus, and feel by Sympathy every Pang which she knows must overwhelm her with Sorrow, when her Son's Destruction shall reach her Knowlege: And should she herself have a beloved young Son armed for the Fight, and initiated in the Trade of War, the Picture of the Head of Euryalus, borne home by his Enemies in Triumph, would haunt her in her Dreams, and rob her even of her peaceful Slumbers. The mournful Lady, who is widowed by the Fate of Arms, will lament with Andromache, answer her Sigh for Sigh, join in every pathetic Word, and feel with a bleeding Heart every Stroke in which her Sorrows are represented by the lively Pen of Homer. The Father who is so unfortunate as to have undutiful Children, will doubly feel all King Lear's Calamities. He will immediately
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immediately forget every Difference of Circumstance between himself and the old King; and, by the Application of every Pang which Lear endures, to his own Sufferings, will, tho' unknowingly, bear Testimony to the inimitable Strokes of Shakespeare: Whilst the Daughter who is treated harshly, only because she hath not the Gift of Flattery, when she is conscious of the most affectionate and dutiful Heart, will thoroughly sympathize with Cordelia, when she is forced to leave her Father, thro' his own Incapacity of judging between Love and Flattery, in the Hands of those deceitful Sisters, with whose treacherous Hearts she was well acquainted. The moral Philosopher of Taste will find the most abundant Matter for his Entertainment in the Descent of Aeneas into the infernal Shades; where he will be almost astonished at the judicious adapting of the Punishments to the Crimes; and where he will feel the vast Force of Virgil, by imagining that he sees and hears what is described so much to the Life, that for the present he forgets every other Idea that: hath ever passed
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passed thro' his Mind, or fixed on his Memory. The truly softened Heart hath a Tear ready for every human Misfortune which is represented to his Imagination by Reading; and the truly hardened Heart supplies no Moisture which can flow from the Eyes, but when poor Self alone is disappointed of any favourite Pursuit; and then indeed Sorrow is poured forth in such abundance, that every dear Friend is welcome to take his full Share of such Abundance. There are indeed Men, who, being insensible to every characteristical and every pathetic Stroke in the finest Writers, seek only to laugh, and at the same time overlook whatever naturally tends thereto; and are sure always to laugh where it would become them better to stifle such unseasonable Mirth. There are also Men who pass by every Stroke of Humour; and are so fearful of losing that Reputation for Sense, which they have built on what they call Gravity, whilst all the rest of Mankind
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Mankind name it Dullness, that they would not for the World ruffle their settled Features into a Smile, which they deem only fit for the Vulgar, and greatly below their Dignity. There are also fine Gentlemen and fine Ladies, who, being full of the Knowlege of the World, wonder at the vulgar Notions of a Writer who makes even a Shepherdess of Arcadia talk a rural, which they call a rustic, Dialect; and are desirous to see the Shepherdess drop the Sheep-hook, assume the Fan, and talk a courtly Language. These Critics would like it the better, were the Scene laid in England, if Corydon, whose only Care had been tending his Flock, Should every now-and-then intermix a French Phrase, to embellish his Discourse, and give it the Air of being a la mode de Paris. There are also Men, who, in reading old Satires, search from Book to Book, and pore over Notes and Commentators without End, in order to find the Name of a Man who has once lived, on whom to fix Abuse; and plume themselves as greatly
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greatly on such a Discovery, as if they had found something very useful to Mankind: And the same Readers, who deal thus with the Writings of Antiquity, fail not to peruse modern Books with equal, or rather with a superior Degree of Eagerness, to find an Individual on whom to bestow a Character justly satirized; for if the Pleasure is great to affix an Abuse on the Name of a Man who hath once lived, it must certainly be much greater to point out a Man whom he makes fit for a bad or ridiculous Picture, who is now feeling and living at this present Writing. But with no such Man would my Soul wish to hold Acquaintance: I say not, Friendship; because it would be the highest Absurdity to suppose such a one in the least degree capable of being animated with the generous Warmth which that Appellation requires. And if any one should think I am tracing this Matter too curiously, I, who have considered it in various Shapes, can only answer with Hamlet, on Horatio's making the same Objection to his philosophical
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philosophical Reflexions, in the Scene of the Grave-digger, that, in my Opinion, I can truly say, - Not a Jot; it being no more than the natural Result of examining and considering the Subject." THE
THE PREFACE.
THE writing a Preface to a Book seems to be invented for the Purpose of introducing the Author to the Acquaintance of the Reader; and hath been so general a Practice, that from Custom it appears to be established almost as a necessary Rule; and as every well-bred Man, when he presents Strangers to each other, informs them who they are to address, so doth the Author, in his Preface, acquaint his Reader in some degree what is the Nature of his Design; or what he thinks so necessary to avoid, that he is careful it shall not be found in his Writing. The following Sheets are composed of the Histories of Persons, whose Conduct in
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in Life gives abundant Opportunity of displaying the natural Tendency of Virtue towards the Attainment of Happiness; and, on the contrary, that Misery is the unavoidable Consequence of vicious Life; and tho' it is hoped the Characters are really to be found in human Nature, otherwise they would indeed deserve no other Appellation than Chimeras, yet are they universal, and not pointed at Individuals. It is amazing with what Celerity Conjectures are formed, by which the Incidents that befal, or the Behaviour of, the Personages in these kinds of Histories of Life and Manners, are dragged by the most far-fetched Deductions to mean a Reflexion on Mr. -- or Mrs. --, somebody whom they know; and this often when there is less Resemblance than in Fluellin's Parallel between Henry the Fifth and Alexander; that they were born in Places which began with the same Letter; that there were Rivers in each Country, and Fish in the Rivers of both, is some Degree beyond what these judicious Discoverers can boast; who have often no other Foundation for their Comparison, than that the Two Persons, being both
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both of the human Species, have each the Features in common to their Kind. But as it is requisite for a Writer, whenever he compares one Object to another, or illustrates a Thought by something else that resembles it, that he should first acquaint himself thoroughly with every minute Difference, lest he should confuse, instead of clearing his Meaning; so also it is necessary that the Reader, who delights in making Applications, should first be cautious in considering whether he hath informed himself of every Circumstance relating to the Two Pictures which he would represent as like each other, before he draws the Parallel, and remember well, that Man differs more from Man, than Man from Beast. If we were but to reflect on the strange Confusion the contrary Practice to what I am recommending would make in our common Converse with Mankind, we should immediately perceive the Absurdity of it in the most glaring Light; for there we find it necessary, in order to know our Friends and Acquaintance, not only to be
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be acquainted with the Formation of human Features in general, but also with the different Modifications of those of every Individual; otherwise the whole World would be in one continued Perplexity, and Mankind would never be able to distinguish one Person from another; for Men would run about challenging each other for Acquaintance, only because they had Mouths or Eyes, or any other human Feature. Nor is this in any degree too strong a Picture of Mens common Practice in their Judgments of Books, where not only a single Feature, but even Dress, or the Colour of a Ribbon, serves to prove a Likeness entirely to their Satisfaction. It is also very observable that these Conjecturers are very generous in bestowing on others those Characters which they can spare without any Reluctance, as they are by no means desirous of applying them to themselves; but those exemplary Pictures of human Nature, which are drawn as proper to shew forth what ought to be imitated, are very uncommonly given away, every one appearing to have some convenient Situation in which they can place it at home: But this is done in Silence;
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Silence; for tho' they wish others to perceive what is very visible to their own Eyes; namely, that they themselves have sat for such Pictures; yet they think it would be a small Breach of Modesty to declare their Thought on that head; but a Compliment of that kind is received with the same sort of Backwardness to acknowledge its Justice, as a young Lady often shews towards the Flattery of her Admirer, when it is impossible for his Praise to outrun her own fixed Opinion of herself. The Uniformity of Character is allowed to be one of the principal, and most necessary Ingredients to this kind of Writing. The great Master, and the deepest Penetrator into the inmost Recesses of human Nature, in the Instructions which he with such great Propriety and Judgment introduces from the Mouth of Hamlet to the Players, may, if the Writer pleases, be most Part of it adopted also by him for his own Advantage. Hamlet, amongst many others, gives the following Instructions to the Players: "With
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"With this special Observance, that "you o'er-step not the Modesty of Nature; for any thing so overdone is from the Purpose of playing; whose End, both at the first and now, was and is to hold, as it were, the Mirror to Nature; to shew Virtue her own Feature, Scorn her own Image, and the very Age and Body of the Time his Form and Pressure. Now this overdone, or come tardy of, tho' it make the Unskilful laugh, cannot but make the Judicious grieve." If the Word Writing was substituted instead of Playing, the Speech in general would be full as applicable to the Author as the Player; and when the former deviates from the Paths of Nature, in either stopping short of her Mark, or wildly running beyond the Limits she prescribes, it is natural for the Reader, as well as for the Spectator at the Theatre, to join with Hamlet in his Observation, that It is observable that Shakespeare, who in all his Works treats Scorn or Insolence with great Propriety, here points out Scorn as peculiarly worthy of Detestation, by placing it as in Contrast to Virtue in general. "Some
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"Some of Nature's Journeymen have made Men, and not made them well; they imitate Humanity so abominably." It is necessary also that the Writers of Characters, as well as the Actors who personate them on the Theatre, should, as is expressed finely in the fame Author, "Speak no more than is set down for "them;" for, as the Actor must be faithful to the Words he finds in his Author, so also must the Writer be careful neither to diminish nor exceed in the characteristical Strokes which are drawn by Nature herself: And such as are peculiarly distinguished by the Name of Characters of Humour, should no more be distorted by any fantastic Whim of the Poet's Brain, than any other Character whatever; tho' a greater Latitude seems necessary to be given in them than in others of a more serious Cast. The Word Humour itself is understood so variously by very ingenious Men, that it appears difficult to fix to it a certain Idea. Ben Johnson, in Every Man out of his Humour, hath led the Way into a little Path,
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Path, by which perhaps it may in some measure be traced; for, after an Enquiry into the Nature of Humour in the Abstract, he says - And hence we do Conclude, That whatsoe'er hath Fluxure and Humidity, As wanting Power to contain itself, Is Humour. So in every human Body, The Choler, Melancholy, Phlegm, and Blood, By reason that they flow continually In some one Part, and are not continent, Receive the Name of Humour. Now, thus far It may, by Metaphor, apply itself Unto the general Disposition: As when some one peculiar quality Doth so possess a Man, that it doth draw All his Affects, his Spirits, and his Powers, In their Confluxions, all to run one Way, This may be truly said to be a Humour. If this be true, and is by any means a proper Explanation of the Word, what we call Humour in an Author is the Capacity of penetrating that peculiar Quality, which hath taken such strong Possession of the Character he would represent to his Reader, that it in a great Degree flows through
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through every Action of his Life, and even influences him in the Workings of all his Passions. The Combination of Circumstances, which is necessary to display characteristic Humours, and set them a flowing into their proper Chanel, is at the Option of the Author; and when these Circumstances are judiciously chosen, the Fact will appear to the Reader not only as a Probability, but also will carry with it an Air of real Truth. To illustrate this by an Instance: If an Author hath an Inclination to display the Characteristic of various Persons under the Influence of the Passion of Fear, and should therefore contrive to place them all together in a House on Fire (which is very adequate to the raising the greatest Consternation); the Fire must not walk to the House, and burn it, "will he, nill he," as the Clown says; but natural Circumstances must combine for that Purpose: And even in such a Calamity, when the Bent of the Disposition is strong, it will not fail to display itself. The
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The Miser, even if he had before been confined to his Bed with the Gout or Stone, will break through all Obstacles to preserve his darling Treasure from Danger. The enamoured Swain will fly as if he had borrowed Wings, to bear his Fair one, as AEneas did Anchises his Father, safe from the Terrors of devouring Flames. Friends will fly to Friends Apartments to secure the Joy of their affectionate Hearts. The fond Parents, forgetful of their own own Danger, will bear in their Remembrance no other Part of the House than that wherein their little innocent darling Treasure is deposited. The fine Lady, who has an Antipathy to half God's Creation, who screams at the Sight of a Mouse, faints at a Spider, and breaks the Rest of her Family with a Thousand needless Apprehensions, would here indeed be somewhat out of her usual Conceit, and shew the Effect of true Fear, by being too much frighted to make a clamorous Noise; but yet I am much mistaken, if her beloved Affectation would not break forth, before such a Scene was concluded; and in all Probability her apparent Fears would greatly increase, as her
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her Apprehensions and the real Danger lessened, and her vociferous Screams would break most abundantly forth, when indeed there was no need of any such Matter. But if, on the contrary, it was to be related of the Miser, that, forgetting his Money, his whole Care was placed on the Safety of the Lady; of the Lover, that, neglecting his Mistress, his Attention was all employed on any other Treasure but her; or that the Parent abandoned all Thoughts of his Offspring; the Whole would be perplexed, and Nature would be intirely banished from such an absurd Representation. But here it may be observed, that as the Writer must be thoroughly acquainted with the Bent of the Dispositions of the Miser, the Lover, the Friend, and the Parent, before he can make any of them act with Propriety on this or any other Occasion, so must the Reader also have some Degree of Knowlege of them before he can judge truly whether they are represented right or wrong, or distinguish what is natural from the wild Fancies of the Poet's Brain. Characters, which are drawn up by Historians are often perplexed and confused
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confused by Party Spirit; Prejudice or Partiality too often swaying the Authors, either to lash them with unreasonable Satire, or to smooth them over with a kind of glittering Varnish, so that it is as difficult to trace the real Features of the Man, who is transmitted to Posterity in a Figure perfectly different from what he really bore in his Life-time, as it would be to discover a Roman Senator dressed like a modern fine Gentleman. Amongst all the Biographers, whose Characters were taken from real Life, none seem to have in so very intelligible a Manner acquainted their Readers with the true Characteristic of their Heroes, as Plutarch; in Admiration of whom Montaigne expresses himself so warmly, that he acknowleges his Obligation to the French Translator of him in this very remarkable Expression: "He hath," says he, " lifted us Dunces out of the Dust;" as if understanding Plutarch was of itself enough to give a Man a Claim to Knowlege, and to baffle the dark Clouds of Ignorance. The short and pointed Story of Alexander the Great's enquiring of the Philosopher,
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Philosopher, "What a Man must do to become a God?" throws more Light on the inward Recess of the proud Hero's Mind, than if Plutarch had blazoned forth his own Parts by all the most pompous Descriptions of Alexander's Conquests; for as the little, almost imperceptible, Wheels generally influence the greatest worldly Machines, in like manner do the smallest Incidents most clearly unravel the intricate Labyrinths of the human Mind; and this Story, as it is the strongest Proof of his unbounded Ambition, is also a fort of Key to every Action which is recorded of his Life. The Perspicuity and Propriety of the Moral is allowed to be another Ingredient absolutely necessary to this, and indeed to all kinds of Writings of Invention. Bossu declares it to be the Opinion of both Aristotle and Horace, That Poets teach moral Philosophy; and that the latter even gives the Preference in this respect to Homer over the Philosopher, themselves. Then
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Then Bossu assigns the Cause why the Poets thus excel simple Philosophers, and says, that it arises from the Nature of the Poetry, which in every kind is wholly an Imitation; now Imitation, continues he, is extremely agreeable and natural to Man; for which Reason this Manner of treating any Subject is much more engageing, and more properly adapted to gain Attention. Besides Imitation gives Instruction by the Force of Examples; and Examples are so much the more powerful to persuade, as they prove the Possibility of following them; to all which Bossu also adds, that Imitation is so much of the intrinsic Nature of Poetry, that Aristotle declares the Art itself to that Cause owes its Birth. Thus it is visibly the unanimous Opinion of those great Men, that Poets are, as it were, the Imitators, I had almost said the Mimicks, of Nature; an Appellation which, in its present Use, carries with it indeed very little Dignity, and seems to imply only a Capacity at catching at some Peculiarity of Gesture or Behaviour, in order to point out an Object of Derision. But the Poets were considered as Imitators
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Imitators of Nature in a very different Light from that narrow and confined Sense; as Searchers into the inmost Labyrinths of the human Mind; as penetrating the Force of the different characteristic Bent of the various Dispositions of Men towards their Conduct in Life, and then placing them in such Circumstances, as give an ample Field to display, by the Examples they bring into Action, the fatal Effects of indulged Passions, and the happy Result of restraining all Passions and Tumults of the human Breast within the proper Limits prescribed by Reason for Monsieur Rochefocault truly says, "It is difficult to conquer the Passions, but it is impossible to satisfy them;" that is, when they rebel against their proper Guide, and forcibly snatch the Reins out of the Hands of that Governor appointed to restrain and keep them within their own prescribed Bounds. Every Vice, by which a bad Man is actuated, as well as every Virtue which animates the Bosom of a good Character, tends, if properly managed, to produce the Moral, which is essentially necessary to render any Writing useful to the Reader. The
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The narrow-minded and illiberal Peruser of Books, who searches only for pointed Satire, and can relish no Character, but such as he finds, or imagines he finds, to partake of the Nature of an abusive Libel on some particular Person, is incapable of being pleased with general Pictures of Nature; but, like the Palate vitiated by habitual Luxury, he requires sharp and seasoned Sauce before he can relish any Food whatsoever; and it is more Matter of Triumph to such Readers to find out a Similitude in any Individual of their Acquaintance to some ridiculous Story, or bad Character, than if they could discover all the Verisimilitudes that were ever thought of. Perhaps a Beau or a Belle, who run thro' Writings for this Purpose, would at the same time look down, with supercilious Contempt, on the Seaman who read Virgil with no other View but to observe whether or no he understood Geography; and as soon as he discovered that he was not ignorant in the only Point in which he himself could claim any Knowlege, he admitted Virgil to be a very fine Writer; and yet the same Belle or Beau might be told,
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told, with great Truth, that their own Manner of dealing with Books is much more confined and illiberal than the Seaman's, and an undoubted Proof of a smaller Degree of Understanding than that which belonged to the honest Tar, added to that Failure of Candour and Benignity of Heart, which is a much greater Blemish in their Nature, than the highest Degree of mere Ignorance and Want of Taste can ever deserve to be accused of. If an Author happens to live in an Age when a general Fashion of Dissipation banishes Reflexion, and the View in Reading at all is circumscribed within such narrow Limits, that the Pleasure thereby proposed seems to be no other than to discover some Reference to particular Objects, and universal Resemblances to human Nature are overlooked, he ought to content himself without such Applause as is only to be obtained by the Forfeiture of his own moral Character; and would make a very injudicious Bargain, if he so far adapted his Practice to their Taste, that he must necessarily be conscious of being a bad Man, in order to be accounted by such Readers a pleasing Writer. Well said
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said Horace, when he prefers any thing to this Manner of Writing: Better even this, than cruelly defame, And point Buffoons and Villains out by Name: Sure to be hated, even by those you spare, Whose Anger's always equal to their Fear. And more commendable yet is the same good-humoured Roman Bard in his Declaration, that No honest Man shall by Satire bleed. There is a peculiar Care necessary concerning the Purity of Language; I do not here mean any thing which is called Elegance or Beauty of Style; but only that the Terms, which are ever applied to whatsoever is deservedly laudable, should on no account be used so equivocally, as to be made applicable indifferently to what is either vicious or virtuous. I cannot forbear translating a Passage from Bossu, which is so exactly adapted to the present Purpose, that it is perfectly expressive
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expressive of the Ideas I would wish on this Occasion to convey to the Reader. "The Poet hath also this in common with Orators and Philosophers, that he ought, like them, to appear a wise, prudent, and virtuous Man; for this Reason, and more especially because he ought to teach Virtue, he is obliged to be perfectly acquainted with Morality, and to be truly virtuous. This Science consists in Practice; it is not learned by simple Speculations only. If a good and solid Morality doth not correct our Passions, it is almost impossible but that our Passions will lead us into a false Morality. We do not blame, with a good Grace, the Faults in which we delight.
"Le Poete a encore ceci de commune avec les Orateurs & les Philosophes, qu'il doit comme eux paroitre sage, prudent, & honnete Homme. Pour cette Raison, & de plus parce qu'il doit enseigner la Vertu, il eft oblige de favoir parfaitement la Morale, & d'etre veritablement vertueux. Cette Science eft practique; elle ne s'apprend point par de simple Speculations. Si une Morale bonne & solide ne corrige nos Passions, il eft prefque impossible que nos Passions ne nous fasse une fausse Morale. Nous ne blamons point de bonne Grace les Defauts ou nous nous plaisons. Nous
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delight: We love better to believe that they are not Vices, than to acknowlege to ourselves that we are vicious. If Horace judged rightly, in saying that Homer would have praised Wine less, if he had not loved it; what can be thought of those who dwell with so much Pleasure and Affectation on whatsoever is most shameful and criminal in our Passions? who from thence form the most interesting and pathetic Parts of their Poems; and who represent infamous Amours under the Appellation of Gallantries, which an honest Man, and a real fine Gentleman, can place among the Number of his fortunate Adventures? To
"Nous aimons mieux de croire que ce ne font pas des Vices, que de nous avouer a nous-memes que nous sommes vicieux. Si Horace a eu Raifon de dire qu Homere auroit moins loue le Vin, s'il ne l avoit aime; que peut on penfer de ceux qui s'arretent avec tant de Complaisance & d'Affectation a ce que les Passions ont de plus honteux & de plus criminel? qui en font les endroits de leur Poemes leslus touchans & les plus tendres; & qui tournent les Amours infames, & des Gallanteries qu'un honnete Honmme & qu'un brave Cavalier peut mettre au rang de fes bonnes Fortunes ? On
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To represent Vice only under soft and amiable Colours, is not the Method to make it hated. Those who set them forth under beautiful Masques, give sufficient Cause to believe that they view them only in that Light, and that their Lives are consonant to their Morality and their Writings. If there are Readers who have the same Taste, it is not to them that an Author ought to accommodate himself; for this would be to corrupt the most essential Rules of Poetry and Fable. A pernicious Art is not an Art, or at least ought not to be tolerated. If there are no other Readers, and a Poet is obliged to
"On ne sera pas hair les Vices quand on n'en representera que ce qu'ils ont d'aimable & de doux. Ceux qui ne les font voir que fous de beaux Masque, laissent croire qu'ils ne les envisagent que par la, & que leur Vie est d'accord avecleur Morale & avec leur Ecrits. S'il y a des Lecteurs qui foient dans ces memes Penfees, ce n'est pas a ceux la que l'on doit s'accommoder. Ce feroit au contraire corrompre les Regles les plus essentielles de Potfie & de la Fable. Un Art-pernicieux n'est pas un Art, on du moins il "n'est pas tolerable. S'il n'y a point d'autres Lecteurs, & si un Poete est oblige d'etre corrumpupous
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to be corrupt, in order to please, it is unfortunate for those who cherish this Corruption; and who prefer the Glory of being a Poet to that of being a good Man. These Reflexions are not foreign to my Subject, because they serve to illustrate what is the Conduct of Homer and Virgil. These Heathens have not sul-lied the Majesty of their epic Poems by criminal Delicacies. Ulysses is cold towards Circe; melancholy when with Calypso: Briseis and Chryseis inflame Achilles and Agamemnon with Anger only; Camilla hath no Lovers; the Love of Turnus for Lavinia is scarcely mentioned
pour plaire; malheur a ceux qui entretiennent cette corruption, & qui preferent la gloire d'etre Poetes a celles d'etre gens de bien. Ces Reflexions ne font pas hors de mon Sujet, puisqu'elles fervent a faire connoitre quelle est la Conduite d' Homere & de Virgile. Ces Payans n'ont point fouille la Majeste de leur Epopees parces Delicatesses criminelles. Ulysses est froid chez Circe; il est triste aupres de Calypso; Briseide & Chryseide n'enflamment Achilles & Agamemnon que de Colere; Camille n'apoint d'amant; A peineparle-t-on de l'Amour de Turnus pour Lavinie; & toute
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mentioned; and the whole Passion of Dido is treated as a criminal Infidelity, for which that wretched Queen is cruelly punished." The Moral should most clearly manifest what seems to be evidently the Fact, That the Mind under the Influence of any indulged vicious Passion, is of itself and essentially unhappy, even without the Consideration of any Consequences, as truly as the Body is unhealthy whilst it labours under any Distemper whatsoever; for Virtue is as certainly the Strength of the Mind, as Health is visibly the Cause of the Vigour of the Body; and the Soul is as much diseased by Vice, as the Body is by a Fever. The various Manner in which the greatest Geniuses have personified almost all the different evil Passions by which the Mind of Man is ever actuated, whether in the Forms of Furies, or in any other Shape, with all the proper Circumstances with which they have surrounded such Personages
toute la Passion de Didon n'est traitee que comme une Infidelite criminelle, dent cette miserable Reine est punie cruellement." VOL. I. b ages;
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Personages; giving them Power to inflict the Stings of Serpents, the Venom of Snakes, with all that is dreadful to human Nature; plainly prove, that those elevated and uncommon Capacities meant to display, under such allegorical Descriptions, the immediate Misery which accompanies the cherishing such evil Passions; and it would be dealing very unjustly by such Writers, to suppose that they had no other View therein, than to give a Loose to their enlarged Imaginations: For if such was indeed the Fact, it would greatly lessen the Absurdity of that trite Saying, that "Wit and Judgment never go together." The Story of Amata, in Virgil's Seventh Book of the Aeneid, affords abundant Proof of that Poet's Judgment, in joining this Moral to the luxuriant Flights of the Imagination. When Juno resolves to carry her Point, and gratify her inexorable Revenge against the Trojans, agreeable to this noble Determination, she says, What tho' the partial Heav'ns my Aims repel, I'll raise new Forces from the Depths of Hell! And
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And then she immediately calls the Fury best fitted for the destined Purpose from her infernal Habitation, and Alecto comes forth thus beautifully described: Crimes, Frauds, and Murders, are the Fiend's Delight, The Rage of Death, and Slaughters of the Fight. So fierce her Looks! such Terrors from her Eyes! Round her grim Front such monstrous Serpents rise! She scares ev'n Pluto, her immortal Sire; Her sister Furies tremble, and retire. Thus armed with Serpents, is Rage properly personified; because into whatsoever Bosom Rage ever gets Admittance, mental Pain, such as resembles that which follows on the Sting of Serpents in the Body, certainly accompanies her; and when the Fury arrives at Amata's Door, how finely she insinuates herself, while she keeps concealed from the Queen's Sight; for the View of her was sure to make her avoided: Here stopt the Fiend; and (Discord all her Views) Snatch'd from her hissing Locks, a Snake she threw. And thro' her inmost Soul the Fury flew Unfelt
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Unfelt, the Monster glides thro' every Vest, And breathes the secret Poison in her Breast. Now, like Fillet, round her Temples roll'd; Now, round her Bosom, like a Chain of Gold. Now to her Tresses her repairs, and there Thrids every Kinglet of her golden Hair. If this Description was to be considered very particularly, every Instance of the Manner in which the Monster glides, might perhaps be visibly full of Meaning. We now almost see the Fury at work: Thus while her kindling Soul the Pest inspires With the first Sparkles of her fatal Fires. And Virgil leaves her to complete her Design, whilst he declares what Amata was before her Arrival; but there seems to be an inimitable Beauty in the Description of Amata before she was thus envenomed; when, tho' disappointed in her Desire of marrying her Daughter Lavinia to Turnus, by her Husband's Determination to give her to Aeneas, yet she was afflicted without being irritated, and only complained in such a Manner as became a Matron: Before
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Before the Bosom of the Royal Dame Felt the full Furies of th' infernal Flame, She speaks her Grief, in Accents soft and mild, Implores the Sire, and sorrows o'er her Child. And must Lavinia then, our only Joy, Wed with this wand'ring Fugitive of Troy? And can a Father issue the Decree, So fatal to himself, to her and me? But while the Fury is working in her Mind, we see her rise by degrees in her Language; and the first visible Instance we perceive of her Change, is in her reproaching the old King her Husband: Where, where is Friendship, Truth, and Honour, now? A Father's Promise, and a Monarch's Vow! But when the Fury hath thoroughly insinuated the Venom through her whole Mind, then we see her come forth in all the Height of Misery: But now the spreading Poison fir'd her Whole, Ev'n to the last Recesses of her Soul. In her wild Thoughts a thousand Horror rise, And fierce and madding round the Streets she flies. So
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So the gay Striplings lash, in eager Sport, A Top, in giddy Circles, round a Court: In rapid Rings it whirls, and spins aloud, Admir'd with Rapture by the blooming Croud; From ev'ry Stroke flies humming o'er the Ground, And gains new Spirit as the Blow goes round. Perhaps there cannot be a stronger or finer Contrast described than this, between the harrmles Effects, and the very supportable Affliction, of mild Sorrow, when placed in the Comparison with the dreadful Consequences, as well as the insupportable Pain, of furious Rage. But here Virgil takes great Care to paint in the most glaring Colours the Misery that Amata suffered from the Moment she had admitted this furious Passion, even whilst she was yet ignorant of all the future Misfortunes that might happen from it; for nothing can give us so strong an Idea of the Misery of a Woman, as to suppose her under the Power of her own Passions, in such a manner as to bear a Resemblance to the Top, which is whipped about at the Will and Pleasure of the Boys. And every human Creature, under the Lash of their own furious Passions, doth bear a very strong Resemblance to the Top so whirled
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whirled about, except in one very disadvantageous Circumstance on the Side of Mankind, that of feeling the Strokes, whilst they perturb and rend from the Bosom every peaceful Thought, and every Possibility of enjoying one Moment's Pleasure. Perhaps, by reflecting on every Circumstance which attends this Action of the whirling the Top about by the Strokes given by the Children, we should find there is no Simile more adapted to illustrate the inward Perturbation of the human Mind under the Influence of unrestrained Passion; which might be Virgil's Reason for admitting into his Poem a Simile, which, on a cursory View, and without these Considerations, appears of too little Importance to be worth his peculiar Notice. There is no Person, who reads this Story with any Attention, but what must conclude the Sufferings of Amata, whilst she was only sorrowfully complaining, and gently remonstrating against her Husband's Determination, were very trifling, in comparison of what she endured when her whole Soul
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Soul was inflamed with Fury, and she was raging through the Streets: Yet Virgil does not stop even there; but completes the whole, by displaying the last Effects of such Fury, by working Amata up to that Height of Madness which results naturally from such a Beginning. Thus flew the giddy Queen, with Fury stung, Thro' the wide Town, amid the wond'ring Throng. Yet more-the destin'd Nuptials to delay, Fierce to the darksome Wood she bounds away: And, rising still in Rage, with Rites divine, She feign'd new Orgies to the God of Wine. Thou, Bacchus, only thou, deserv'st to the Fair! For thee, in Ringlets grows her lovely Hair! For thee, she leads the Dance, and wreathes her Ivy-Spear! And thus the fond Mother, who at first seemed to have placed all her future Hopes of Happiness, all her Prospect of Comfort in her old Age, on one only Child, is actuated by Rage, and the Virulence of Passion, to such a Height of Madness, as, rather than see her Husband's Determination take place, voluntarily to devote this Daughter, this Darling of her Heart, to Bacchus. This
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This Story of Amata is surrounded with every Circumstance that can possibly raise our Aversion to Rage and Virulence; and more particularly when it irritates and inflames the female Bosom, and eradicates thence that Gentleness which is the characteristic Beauty of the female Mind. To the judicious Reader the Moral of this Story is very conspicuous; tho' the Manner of Virgil's Writing, aid the Dignity of Epic Poetry, might recquire Allegories, and that his Stories should be surrounded with fuller Incidents as were necessary to his whole Purpose. But when we stop at those outward Circumstances, and perceive not the farther Intention, we read as Children see Tragedies, who place their chief Delight in the Noise of the Kettledrums and Trumpets; or is the Multitude in Holiday-time throng to see Shakespeare's Play of Harry the Eighth, and attend only to the Show of the Coronation, passing over all the beautiful Strokes therin contained, as little worthy of their Notice. I have somewhere read an Observation, I believe it is in La Bruyere, to this Effect, That
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That many Persons have endeavoured to teach Men to write; but none have taught them to read; as if Reading consisted only in distinguishing the Letters and Words from each other. A manuscript Essay on this Subject, which was found in the Study of an old Gentleman, who was well known by his Acquaintance to have been a curious Observer of Nature, may not perhaps be unentertaining to the Reader. "A curious Eye might perhaps as justly trace Mens different Dispositions, from the Delight they place in, or the Observations they make on, the various Parts of the Writings of Imagination, as in observing them in any other Situation whatever. And I never went into any Man's Library, but, by casting an Eye on those kind of Books, I could employ my Fancy with forming Conjectures on the Man's Bent of Disposition, by seeing what Characters, and what Parts of such Writings, shewed visible Marks of having been oftenest opened; and I have really found, on farther Acquaintance,
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Acquaintance, that these Conjectures were built on a good Foundation. The Hero's Homer or Virgil will certainly shew the Marks of being most used, where all the Thunder of the War breaks forth: And this will happen, not only to the actual Hero, who hath already shewn his Prowess in the Field; for that is nothing more than taking a Pleasure in his own Picture, as Alexander the Great admired Homer for his. Celebration of Achilles, whom he thought proper to fix on as a worthy Object of Admiration; but the would-be Hero, that young Mind in which the Seeds of Ambition for martial Glory begin to struggle and shoot forth, will also find his Heart beat with Joy, when Hector arms for the Battle, or Achilles takes the Field. That the Story of Dido, in the Fourth Book of Virgil's Aeneid, hath the Leaves generally most foiled in the Closets of young Gentlemen and Ladies, who will have no other Employment but that of seeking after Pleasure, is an Observation that I am not singular in; but have often
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often heard it remarked also by others; and have looked with an Eye of Compassion on the Parents of such Sons and Daughters, as could find nothing in Virgil but that Story (excellent as it is in its Kind) on which they could fix their Thoughts, or employ their Imaginations; whilst, on the other hand, I rejoiced in my Heart over the Son of a Friend, whom it was impossible, with the utmost Art, whilst the Conversation ran on Virgil, to keep long from turning his Thoughts with Admiration on Aeneas, when he was bearing his old Father through the raging Flames. Tears of Pleasure started from his Eyes, and his whole Countenance glowed with generous Warmth, when the old Anchises was safely placed out of the Reach of Danger: And, 'O that Ascanius may return the same filial Piety to his Father', flowed from his Lips so naturally, that it seemed to come from his inward Heart, and to result from the Strength of his Feeling. My Friend, the Father of this Youth, sympathized with every Parent he read of who was blessed with a worthy Son; and his old Eyes sent forth Floods of Tears on every Story which
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which represented an unfortunate Father. The whole Lives of this Father and Son were the strongest Proofs that Men feel in Reading what they feel in Life; for they were indeed Pictures of that Happiness, which parental Kindness and filial Duty and Affection can reciprocally bestow, The active beautiful Youth will delight in the Description of Alcanius, accompany him with Wishes for his Victory in the Games, be fearful for his Danger in the Battle, and rejoice over his Safety with an uncommon Degree of Gladness. The Bosom which is warmed with generous Friendship, will with a trembling Heart follow Nisus and Euryalus Step by Step. All their Fears will be alarmed in Pity for each, should the other be slaughtered; and when young Euryalus is slain, will rejoice that Nisus doth not survive him, to be himself to his Friend's Memory a mournful feeling Monument, till he could almost wish to be as insensible as that Stone of which the Monuments
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Monuments for the Dead are composed. The fond Mother will shudder with Apprehensions with the only remaining Parent of Euryalus, and feel by Sympathy every Pang which she knows must overwhelm her with Sorrow, when her Son's Destruction shall reach her Knowlege: And should she herself have a beloved young Son armed for the Fight, and initiated in the Trade of War, the Picture of the Head of Euryalus, borne home by his Enemies in Triumph, would haunt her in her Dreams, and rob her even of her peaceful Slumbers. The mournful Lady, who is widowed by the Fate of Arms, will lament with Andromache, answer her Sigh for Sigh, join in every pathetic Word, and feel with a bleeding Heart every Stroke in which her Sorrows are represented by the lively Pen of Homer. The Father who is so unfortunate as to have undutiful Children, will doubly feel all King Lear's Calamities. He will immediately
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immediately forget every Difference of Circumstance between himself and the old King; and, by the Application of every Pang which Lear endures, to his own Sufferings, will, tho' unknowingly, bear Testimony to the inimitable Strokes of Shakespeare: Whilst the Daughter who is treated harshly, only because she hath not the Gift of Flattery, when she is conscious of the most affectionate and dutiful Heart, will thoroughly sympathize with Cordelia, when she is forced to leave her Father, thro' his own Incapacity of judging between Love and Flattery, in the Hands of those deceitful Sisters, with whose treacherous Hearts she was well acquainted. The moral Philosopher of Taste will find the most abundant Matter for his Entertainment in the Descent of Aeneas into the infernal Shades; where he will be almost astonished at the judicious adapting of the Punishments to the Crimes; and where he will feel the vast Force of Virgil, by imagining that he sees and hears what is described so much to the Life, that for the present he forgets every other Idea that: hath ever passed
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passed thro' his Mind, or fixed on his Memory. The truly softened Heart hath a Tear ready for every human Misfortune which is represented to his Imagination by Reading; and the truly hardened Heart supplies no Moisture which can flow from the Eyes, but when poor Self alone is disappointed of any favourite Pursuit; and then indeed Sorrow is poured forth in such abundance, that every dear Friend is welcome to take his full Share of such Abundance. There are indeed Men, who, being insensible to every characteristical and every pathetic Stroke in the finest Writers, seek only to laugh, and at the same time overlook whatever naturally tends thereto; and are sure always to laugh where it would become them better to stifle such unseasonable Mirth. There are also Men who pass by every Stroke of Humour; and are so fearful of losing that Reputation for Sense, which they have built on what they call Gravity, whilst all the rest of Mankind
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Mankind name it Dullness, that they would not for the World ruffle their settled Features into a Smile, which they deem only fit for the Vulgar, and greatly below their Dignity. There are also fine Gentlemen and fine Ladies, who, being full of the Knowlege of the World, wonder at the vulgar Notions of a Writer who makes even a Shepherdess of Arcadia talk a rural, which they call a rustic, Dialect; and are desirous to see the Shepherdess drop the Sheep-hook, assume the Fan, and talk a courtly Language. These Critics would like it the better, were the Scene laid in England, if Corydon, whose only Care had been tending his Flock, Should every now-and-then intermix a French Phrase, to embellish his Discourse, and give it the Air of being a la mode de Paris. There are also Men, who, in reading old Satires, search from Book to Book, and pore over Notes and Commentators without End, in order to find the Name of a Man who has once lived, on whom to fix Abuse; and plume themselves as greatly
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greatly on such a Discovery, as if they had found something very useful to Mankind: And the same Readers, who deal thus with the Writings of Antiquity, fail not to peruse modern Books with equal, or rather with a superior Degree of Eagerness, to find an Individual on whom to bestow a Character justly satirized; for if the Pleasure is great to affix an Abuse on the Name of a Man who hath once lived, it must certainly be much greater to point out a Man whom he makes fit for a bad or ridiculous Picture, who is now feeling and living at this present Writing. But with no such Man would my Soul wish to hold Acquaintance: I say not, Friendship; because it would be the highest Absurdity to suppose such a one in the least degree capable of being animated with the generous Warmth which that Appellation requires. And if any one should think I am tracing this Matter too curiously, I, who have considered it in various Shapes, can only answer with Hamlet, on Horatio's making the same Objection to his philosophical
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philosophical Reflexions, in the Scene of the Grave-digger, that, in my Opinion, I can truly say, - Not a Jot; it being no more than the natural Result of examining and considering the Subject." THE
Notes to Vol. 1, Book 1, Preface
Celerity: Speed.
Mr. -- or Mrs. --: A common literary trope at the time was to refer to characters as "Mr. --" or "Mr. B" rather than a real or full name.
Fluellin: A comical Welsh soldier in Shakespeare's Henry V (1599).
Henry V: King of England from 1413-1422, but the Preface refers to the fictionalized version of him portrayed in Shakespeare's play Henry V.
Alexander: Alexander the Great (356-323 BC), famed Greek general who aspired to conquer the known world of ancient times.
Man differs more from Man, than Man from Beast: Quotation from "A Satyr against Reason and Mankind" (1674), a satirical poem written by John Wilmont (1647-1680).
The great Master: William Shakespeare.
Hamlet: Title character of Shakespeare's Hamlet (1602).
Hamlet, amongst many others, gives the following Instructions to the Players: Hamlet, Act III, Scene II
Some of Nature's Journeymen have made Men, and not made them well; they imitate Humanity so abominably: Hamlet, Act III, Scene II
Speak no more than is set down for them: Hamlet, Act III, Scene II
Ben Johnson: Benjamin Jonson (1572-1637): English poet and playwright specializing in satire. The Preface uses an alternate spelling of his name.
Every Man Out Of His Humour: Ben Jonson's most well-known play, written 1598, in which every major character represents a humour. See below for more information on humours.
The Choler, Melancholy, Phlegm, and Blood: The theory of humours posits that personality and health are determined by a balance or imbalance of blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm. "Choler" and "Melancholy" refer indirectly to yellow bile and black bile by referring directly to the personality traits they affect. Phlegm and blood are the remaining two fluids and are mentioned by name.
Will he, nill he: Hamlet Act V, Scene II. The Clown is the character (literally named "the Clown") who speaks the quotation.
Swain: A male lover.
The Story of Aeneas: In Greco-Roman mythology, Aeneas is a Trojan hero and half-god. His mother is Aphrodite/Venus (goddess of love and sex) and his father is the mortal Anchises. Aeneas ultimately escapes the destroyed and burning city of Troy by carrying his elderly father on his back.
Plutarch: Greek historian and biographer (46-120 AD).
Montaigne: Michel de Montaigne (1533-1592), French essayist active during the French Renaissance.
Descriptions of Alexander's Conquests: Alexander the Great conquered a majority of the known world at the time, so a description of his conquests would be extremely lengthy and impressive.
Bossu: René Le Bossu (1631-1680), French critic specializing in the analysis of epic poetry.
Aristotle: Greek philosopher (384-322 BC). Aristotle was Plato's student and later became Alexander the Great's tutor.
Horace: Quintus Horatius Flaccus (65 BC-8 AD), Roman poet.
Homer: Revered as the greatest of all the Greek poets, author of both the Iliad and the Odyssey. It is unknown when he lived, but most scholars believe it was approximately 800-700 BC.
Mimicks: Refers to mimesis, the Ancient Greek idea about the relation of the physical world to works of art. Plato, its most well-known adherent, believed that art imitates the real, which allows it to influence/mislead its audience without representing Truth.
Monsieur Rochefocault: François de La Rochefoucauld (1613-1680), major French essayist. The Preface uses an alternate spelling of his name.
Reins out of the Hands of that Governor: A reference to Plato's chariot allegory. Plato describes the human soul as a chariot pulled by two horses. The charioteer is intellect, the first horse is reason, and the second horse is irrational passion. The charioteer is always trying to force both horses to guide his chariot toward enlightenment.
Beau: A rich young man of fashion, but the context of the Preface implies slight condescension toward him.
Virgil: Publius Vergilius Maro (70-19 BC): Revered as the greatest of the Roman poets, best known for the Aeneid.
Tar: Period slang for "sailor."
Better even this: Horace's "The Satires."
Roman bard: Horace.
Amours: Loves.
Furies: The Erinyes/Eumenides/Furies (all names are correct) of Greek mythology. They are goddesses of vengeance.
Amata: In Roman mythology, Amata is the wife of King Latinus. They are the parents of Princess Lavinia, whose hand in marriage Aeneas seeks. Latinus desires the match but Amata has already promised her to Aeneas' rival Turnus. Her actions to hide her daughter ultimately cause a war.
Juno: Roman goddess of marriage, equivalent to the Greek Hera. She was easily angered and schemed or took revenge frequently.
Pluto: Roman god of the Underworld. Equivalent to the Greek god Hades.
Thrid: To pass/course through something.
Bacchus: Roman god of wine, song, and parties. Equivalent to the Greek god Dionysus.
Harry the Eighth: Henry the VIII.
La Bruyere: Jean de La Bruyère (1645-1696), French essayist and moralist. The Preface uses an alternate spelling of his name.
The Story of Dido: Ancient Queen of Carthage who actually existed, but is better known for her fictionalized portrayal by Virgil. After her husband is murdered, she falls in love with Aeneas. He later abandons her, prompting her to commit suicide by self-immolation, and her spirit refuses to forgive him when he comes to her in the Underworld.
Ascanius: Son of Aeneas.
Nisus and Euryalus: A pair of friends who serve Aeneas. They are loyal and valorous but die tragically.
Andromache: A woman who lives in Troy. Her husband is killed in battle and her son is thrown off of a tower and dies on impact, leaving her devastated.
King Lear's Calamities: Shakespeare's King Lear (1603-6), about a king who divides his land between two of his three daughters because they flatter him without loving him and exiles the last, who loves him but will not flatter him. Each dies in a tragic way, leaving him with nothing in the end.
Shepherdess of Arcadia: Refers to Amaryllis, a character in the Aeneid.
Corydon: A stock character name for a shepherd.