it is evident, that whatever incidents are essential
to the fable, or constitute a part of it, are neces-
sary also to the action, and are parts of the epic
matter, none of which ought to be omitted. Such,
for instance, are the contention of Agamemnon
and Achilles, the slaughter Hector makes in tha
Grecian army, the re-union of the Greek princes ;
and, lastly, the re-settlement and victory which
was the consequence of that re-union.

There are four qualifications in the epic action :
the first is its unity, the second its integrity, the
third its importance, the fourth its duration.

1'he tmity of the epic action, as well as the
unity of the fable, does not consist either in the
unity of the hero, or in the unity of time : three
things, 1 suppose, are necessary to it. Tlie first
is, to make use of no episode, but what arises from
the very platform and foundation of the action, and
is as it were a natural member of the body. Tb«
second is, exactly to unite these episodes and
these members with one another. And the third is,
never to finish any episode so at it may seem to
be an entire action ; but to let each episode still
appear in its own particular nature, as the mem-
ber of a body, and as a part of itself not eom'<
plete.

OP THE BCGINNING, MIDBLE, AND END Of TB»
ACTION.

Aristotle not only says, that the epic action
should be one, but adds, that it should b« entire,
perfect, and complete; and for this purpose,
ought to ha\e a beginning, a middle, and ao end.
These three parts of a whole are too generally and
universally denoUxl by the words, beginning, mid-
dle, and end ; we may interpret them more pre-
cisely, and say, that the causes and designs of
an action, are the beginning : that the eflects of
these causes, and the difficulties that are met with
in the execution of these designs, are the middle j
and that the unraveling and resolution of thesa
difiiculties are the cud.

the ACTION OF TIIH ILIAD.

HoMEU's design in the Iliad, is to relate the
anger and revenge of Achilles. The beginning of
this aetion is the change of Achilles from a calm
to a passionate temper. The middle is the efect*
of his passion, and all the illustrious deaths it is the
cause of. The end of this same action in tha
retura vf Achillc§ io hii calnucbs of temper »g«B^'



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d



All m quiet in the Grecito camp, when Aga-
loeoiooD, their general, proTpkes Apollo against
ilwm, whom he was willing to appease afterwards
M the cost and prejudice of AclUlleSy wlio had no
{ttrt in his fault This then is an exa^ beginning :
it supposes nothing before, and requires, after it
tbe effects of this auger. Achilles revenge^ bimr
â– elf, and that is an exact middle ; it supposes be-
fore it the anger of Achilles, this revenge i^^ the
cifect of iu Then tkk'm middle requires after it th<i
efiects of this reVenge, which is the satisfaction
«f Achilles: for the revenge had not been com-
ffe^ unless AchUles bad been satisfied. By this
Beans the poet makes his hero, after be was
glutted bf tile miscbief he had done to Agamem-
MB, hjr the death of Hector, and the honour he
did bis friend, by insulting over his murderer ; he
i<^es hhn, I say, to be moved by the tears and
â– isfertimes of king Priam. We see him as calm
St the end of the poem, during the funeral of
Hector, as he was at the beginning of the poem,
vbOsT the plague raged among the Grecians. This
end B just ; since the calmness of temper Achilles
**^joyed is only an effect of the revenge which
oofht to have preceded : and after this nobody
expects any oMMre of his anger. Thus has Homer
^ very exact in the beginning, middle, and
^ of the action he inade choice of for the sub-
ject of his Iliad.



. TBI ACTION OF TH£ OOVSSBT.

, Ha design in the Odyssey was to describe the
i^tora of Ulysees ft^om the siege of Troy, and his
vrival at Ithaca. He opens hb poem with the
ooapbints of Mtberva against Neptune, who op-
pettd the return of ^his hero, and against Caljrpso,
*bo detained him in an inland from Ithaca. Is
^ a begimiing? No; .doubtless, the reader
*D«ld know why Neptune is displeased with Uljrs-
tttf and bow this princel»me to be with Calypso ^
Be vonkl kndw how be came from Troy thither ?
^ poet ^inswers bis demands out of the mouth of
%»es himself, who relate these things, and be-
tm the action by the recital of his travels from the
oty of Trery. It signifies little whether the begin-
â– â– ^ of the actiqii .be the.begmningof the poem.
!lWbegittniag of this action is thdt which happens
tn Ulysies, whep, updn his leaving Troy, he bends
kii coarse for Ithaca. The middle comprehends
Ul the misfortunes he endured, and all the dis-
J*den of his own governmoit. The epd is ihe re-
imtHtiag of this hero in the peaceable possession
ef hit kincdom, where he was acknowledged by
^ son, his wife, his father, and several others.
7W pc«i was senaible he should hive ended ill,
^ he gone no farther than the death of these
pnBses, who, were the rivals and enemies of tJlys-
*ii beeaase the reader might have looked for some
^'Bvenge, which the subjects of these princes might
^v« taken on him who had killed their sove-
^Bfos: but this dadger over, and tlie people van-
fBMbcdand quieted, there was nothing m6re to
fe expelled. The poem and the action have all
'^JMr^, and no loore.

Bat the order •f the Odyssey differs from that
^the Iliad, in that the poem does not begin with
«• beghming of the action.

•VTas CAI^SXS AVD BSGIMNIMG OP TBI ACTtOH.

.Tsf<

V^Mfed to giU linr tfcoo«Bt A



sorts of causes, the humours, the interests, and
the designs of men ; and these diff<^reiit causes of
an action are likewise often the causes of one ano-
ther, every man taking up those interests in which
his humour engages him, and forming those de-
signs to which his humour and interest incline
him. Of all these the poet ought to inform his
readers, and rei^der them conspicuous in his prin-
cipal personages. . *,
Homer has ingeniously b^un his Odyssey with
the t^nsactions at Ithaca, during the absence of
Ulysses. If he had begun with the travels of his
hero, ,he would scarce have spoken of any one
else, ^and a man might have r^ a great deal of
the poem, .without conceiving the least idea of
Telemachus, Penelope, or her suitors, who had
so great ^ shar^ in the action ; but in the begin-:
ning he has pitched upon, besides these personages
whom he. discovers, v^e represents Ulysses in hia
full length, and from the very first opening ono
sees the interest which the gods nake in tho
action. , : > •

The skill and care of the same i>oet may be seen
likewise in inducing his person^g^ in the first
book of his Iliad, where he discovers the humours^
the interests, and the designs of Agamemnon^
Achilles, Hector, Uljrsses, and several others^
and even of the deities. And in bis second he
makes a review of the Grecian and Trojfm armies ;
which is fiill evidence, that all we have here said
is very necessary.



OP TRI MIDhLE Oa INTEIOUB OP THE ACTION.

As these causes are the beginning of the action^
the opposite designs against that of the hero are
the middle of it, and form that difficulty or in-
trigue, which makes tip the greatt^st p4'rt of.the^
poem $ the solution or unraveling oommences when
the reader begins .to. see tl^at difficulty removed^
and the doubts cleared up. Homer has divided
each of his poems into two patts; and has put n
particular intrigue, and the solution of it, into
each part.

The first part of the Iliad is the anger of Achm
les, who is for revengihs^ himself upon Agamemnoiv
by the means df Hector and the Trojans. The
intrigue comprehends the three days' fight which
happene;! in the absence of Achilles : and. it con-
sists on one side in the resistance of Agamemnon
and the Grecians; and on the other in the re-
vengeful and inexorable humour of Acliilles. whicU
would not suffer him to be reconciled. The loss
of the Grecians, and the despkir 6f Agamemnon,
prepare for a solution by tte satisfaction which the
incensed hero received from it The death of Pa-i
troclus joined to tde offers of Agamemnon, which
of itself had t>rove4 ineffectual, remove thb diffi-
culty, and make the vinraveling of the first part ;
This d^ath is likewise the beginning 6f the second
part; sii^qe it puts Achilles upon the design of re-
ven^ng himself ori Hectoir, But tlje design of Hec-
tor is opposite to that of Achilles : this Trojan la
valiant, and resolved to st^nd on his owp defence.
This valour and resolution of Hector are on his
part the cause of the intrigue. All the endeavour^
Achilles used to meet with Hector^ ^nd be the
death of him ; and the contrary endeavours of tb^

of the action are also what the poem I J^^^r!^}^:^^^ ^' If^^ V^ ^t^ ^T
- xhWaril^l'^"' "• ^* ^^^i'^^i ^^^^ comprehends Htp



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battle (rf tbft last day. The tmravelmg begins at
the death of Hector ; and besidet that, it contaios
the insulting of Achilles over his body, the honours
be paid to Patrocltts, and the entreaties of king
Priam. The regrets of this krag and the other
Trojans, in the sorrowftil obsequies they paid to
BVctor's body, are tbe nnraveiing ; they Justify
Uie satisfaction of AchiHes, and diemonstrate his
tranquillity.

The first part of th? Odyssey is the return of
Ulysses into Hhaca. Neptune opposes it by raising
tempests, and this makes the intrigue. The nn-
TfTding is the arrival of Ulysses upon his own
illand, where Neptune could offer him no farther
h^jury. The second part is the re-instaling this
hero in his own government. The princes, that
are his rivals, oppose him, and this is a fresh
intrigue: tbe solution of it begina at their deaths,
and is completed as soon as the hhacans were
appeased.

I'hesc two parts in the Odyssey have not one
common intrigue. The anger of AchiJIe^ forms
both the intrigues in the lUad; and it is so far
the matter of this epopea, that the very beginning
and end of this goem depend on the banning and
e<nd of his anger. But let the desire Achilles had
to revenge himself, and the desire Clysses had to
return to his own country, be never so near allied,
yet we cannot place them under one and the same
notion : for that desire of Ulysses is not a passion
that begins and ends in the poem with the action :
it is a natural habit : nor does the poet propose it
for his subject, as be does the anger of Athiff^.

We have already observed what is meant by
the intrigue, and tbe unraveling thereof; let us
now say spmething of the manner of fbrmin; both.
These two should arise naturally out of the very
essence and subject of the poem, and arc to be
de<luced fiom thence. Their conduct is so exact
and natural, that it seems as if their action had
presented them with whatever they inserted, with-
out putting themselves to the tix)ubJe of a forther
enquiry.

. What is more usual and natural to warriors,
than anger, heat, passion, and impatience of bear-
ing the Ir'ast affront or disrespect? This is what
forms the intrigue of the Iliad : and every thing
we read there is nothing else but the effect of
this humour and the-se passions.

What mure natural and iisual obstacle to those
who take voyages, than the sea, the winds, ani|
the storms ? Homer makes this the intrigue of the
first part of the Odyssey : apd for the second, ht;
makes use of almost the infallible effect of the
long absence of a master, whose return is quite
despaired of, viz. the insolence of his servants and
neighbours, the danger of his son and wife, aud
the sequestration of his estate. Besides, an ab-
jtence of almost twenty years, and the insupport-
able fatigues joined to the age of .which Ulysses
then was, might induce him to believe that be
should not he owned by those who thought hfni
dead, and whose iuterest it was to have hini really
80. Therefore, if he had presently declaimed wlio ,
he was, and had called himself Ulysses, tJiey
would easily have destroyed him as an impostor,
before he had an opportunity to make himself'
kno\vn.

Tht>re could be toothing more natural nor more
teccssary than this ingemoua disguise, to which



the advantage's his enemies ba^ taken of his al^-
sence had reduced him, and to whieh his long mis«
fortunes had inured him. This allowed him an
opportunity, without hazarding* any thing, "of
taking the best measures he could, agamst those
persons who could not so much as nustmst my
harm from him. This way was aflbrded him, by
I he very nature of his action, to execute his
designs, and overcome the obstacles it cast before
him. And it is this contest between the prudence .
and the dissimuhubn of a single man on one hand
and the ungovernable insolence of so rtiaiiy rivals
on the other, which constitutes the intrigue of the
second part of tbe Odyssey.

OP THE BlfB Oa .ONRAVZtiNO OP THB ACTIOV.

If tbe plot or intiigue must be natufal, and such
as spriag^ from tbe very subject, as bai been
already urged $ then the winding-up of tbe pk)t«
by a more snre claim, must have this qualification,
and be a probable consequeuce of all that went
before. Ais this is wlmt the readers regard more
tbau the rest, so should the poet bs niose exact
in it This is the end of the poem, and th^ last
impressiop that b to be stampeid upon thexn.

We shall find this in the Odyssey. Ulysses by
a tempest is c^t upon the island of the jPbs^apians,
to whom he discovers himself, and desires they
would favour his return to his own country, which'
was not very far distant One cannot see any
reason why the king of this island, ahonld. refttse
such a reasonable requed:, to a bero nhom he
seemed to have in great esteem. Tbe Phsoncianfl
indeed had heard him ieU the akary of bis adven-
tures j and in this fsbnlous recital consisted all
the advantage that lie oould derive from his
presence ; for the art of nar v^eh they admired
in him, his oadauntednesi under dangers, bis inde-
fatigable patience, and other virtues, were sqcb
as these islandeis were not used to* All theip
talent lay in singing and dancing, and whatanever
was charming in a quiet life. And here we sen
how dextrously Homer prepares the incidents he
makes use of. lliese people could do no less, for>
the account with which Ulysaea bnd so muck
entertahied them, ^an ofibrd htm a ahip and a
safe eonvoy, which was of little expenae or trouble
to them.

When he arrived, his long absence, imd thn
travels whieh bad disflgured him, made him alto^
getlier unknown; and the danger he would have
incurred, had he discovered himself too aoon, forced
him to a disguise : lastly, this disguise gave hint
an opportunity of surprising those young auiC4irs,
who for several years together had been accustomed
to eotbing bot to sleep well, and fare daintily.

It was from these examples that Aristotle drew
this rale, that "Whatever concludes the poem*
«liouid so spring from the very constitution of tba
fable, as K it were a necesaary, or at leMi a
probable, oonaequence^'*



OTCT. VI.

TUSTIHS OF T^^ ApriQIf,

Tm tfme of tbe tpk) action Is n^ ftic«<i, ttke
that of tbe dnuq|tiie pocoLj «t » 0mipIi Igognrj



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ht «n iiliiatem])>tcd doratioQ is moch more
aece^aiy in an action" which one sees and is
parent at, than m one which we only read or
k«ar repeated. Besides, tragedy is fuller of passion,
and consequently of suoh a violence as cannot
hdmitof so long a duration.

The Uiad coataioing an action -of anger and
violence, the poet allows it but a short time, about
Untj days. The design of the Odyssey required
SBOtfaer conduct ; the character of the hero »
pnideoce and loog-suffisriag ; therefore the time
of its duration is much longer, abpve eight years.



CHB, PASSIONS OP TBB BPIC rOEM.

•Trb panions of tragedy are diflferent from those
of the epic poem. In the former, terrour and pity
iuTe the chief place ; the passion that seems most
pernliar to epic poetry, is admiration.

Besides this admiration, which in general dis-
tb^uishfs the epc poem firom the dramatic;
each epic poem has likewise some peculiar passion,
which distinguishes it iu particular from other
epic poems, and constitutes a kind of sinfi^lar and
Sodhridoal difference petween these poems of the
Mne species. These singular passions correspond
to the character of the hero. Anger and terrour
t6^ throughout the Iliad, because Achilles is
tngry, and the most terrible of all men. The
iEneid has all soft and tender passions, because
that b the character of JEnens. The prudenre,
iriidoni, and constancy of Ulysses do not allow
him either of these extremes ; therefore the poet
<)oei Dot permit one of them to be predominant in
the Odyssey. He confines himself to admiration
only, which he carries to an higher pitch than in
the niad: and it is upon this account that he
iotrodooes a great many more machines, in the
Odyvey, into the body of the action, than are to
be jeeo in the actions of the other two poems.



THE MAmeSKS.

Tae manners of the q>ic poem ought to be
Jwetjcally good, but it is not necessary they be
always OKNrally so. They are poetically good, ^hcn
pw nay discover the virtue or vice, the good or
ill inclinations of every one who speaks or acts:
they arc poetically bad, when persons are made
to speak or act out of character, or inconsistently,
or unequally. The manners of .£neas and of
Mezeatius are equally good, considered poetically,
Iwaose they equally demonstrate the piety of the
one, and the impiety of the other.



CBARACTBR OP THE HEll*.

Ft is reqniute to make the same distinction
iKtvfcn a hero in morality, and a hero in poetry,
as between moral and poetical goodness. Achilles
hid as much right to the latter, as iEneas. Aristotle
ttji, that the hero of a poem should be neither
«wd nor bad ; neither advanced above the rest of
akaddod t^ his virtues, or sunk l>eneath them by
bia vices; that he may be the proper and fuller
oample to others, both what to imitate and what
to decline.

The other qualifications of the manners are,
^ they be suitable to the causes which either



raise or discover them In the ptrKmi ; that thef
have an exact resemblance to what history, off
fable, have delivered o( those persons, to whoa
they are ascribed ; aed that there be an equality
in tbem, ad that no maa if made to act, or «peak»
out of his charactu.



VVVTY OP TBB CBA|tACTEft.

BvT this equality is not sufficient for the cmHy of
the character : it is further necessary, that the
same spirit appear in all sorts of encounters. Thus
JEoeBB acting with great piety and mildness in the
first port of the iEneid, which requires no oth^
character ; and afterwards appearing illustrious in
heroic valour, in the wars of the second part; but
there, without any appearance either of a hard or
a soft disposition, would doubtless, be far from
offending against the equality of the manners : but
yet there would be no simplicity or unity in the
character. So that, besides the qualities that claim
their particular place upon different occasions,
there must be one appearing throughout, which
commands over all the rest ; and without this, we
may affirm, it is no character.

One may indeed make a hero as valiunt as
Achilles, as pious as ^neas, and as prudent aS
Ulysses. But it is a mere chimera, to imagine
a hero that has the valour of Achilles, the pjcty
of .£neas, and the prudence of Ulysses, at one
and the same time. This vision might happen to
an author, who would suit the character of a heix)
to whatever each part of the action might naturally
require, without regarding the essence of the faWe,
or the unity of the character in the same person
upon all sorts of occasions : this hero would be
the mildest, best<natured prince in the world, and
also the most choleric, hard-hearted, and im-
placable creature imaginable; he would be ex-
tremely tender like JEneas, extremely violent like
Achilles, and yet have the indiflference of Ulysses,
that is incapable of the two extremes. Would it
not be in vain for the poet to call this person by
the same name throughout ?

Let us refiect on the effects it would produce ia
several poems, whose authors were of opinion,
that the chief character of a hero is tliat of an
accomplished man. They would be all alike;
all valiant in battle, prudent in council, pious ia
the acts of religion, courteous, civil, magnificent;
and, lastly, endued with all the prodigious virtues
any poet could invent All this would be indepen-
dent from the action and the subject of the pot^m ;
and upon seeing each hero separated from the rnst
of the work : we should not easily guess, to what
action, and to what poem, the hero belonged. So
that we should see, that none of those would have
a character ; since the character is that which
makes a person discemable, and which distin-
gnislies him from all others.

This commanding quality in Achilles is his
anger; in Ulyssiu, the art of disbimulation ; in
i^neas, meekness. Kach ofthescmaybe styletl,
by way of eminence, the character in th«e
herots

But these characters cannot be alone. It is ab-
solutely necessary that some other shouM i-ive
them a lustre, and embellish them as far as they
arc capable ; either by hidins? the defects thnt are
in each, by some noble and shining quulitici • as



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fhe poet has done the ang^ of Achilles, by shading
tt with extraordinary Talour: or by making them
aotirely of the nature of a true and solid virtue,
as is to be observed in the two others. The
dissimulation of Ulyi«scs is a part of his prudence ^
and the meekness of £neas is «* holly employed in
submitting his will to the gods. For the making
up of this union, our poets hare joined together
such qualities as are by nature the most com-
]^tible; valour with anger, meekness with piety,
and prudence with dissimulation. This Ust union
was necessary for the goodness of Ulysses ; for,
without that, his dissimulation might liave de>
generated into wickedness and double-dealing.



SECT. VII.



OP TUB MACHINERY.

^B DOW come to the machines of the epic
poem. The chie^ passion which it aims tp excite
being admiration, nothing is so conducive to that
fa the marvellous ; and the importance and dig-
pitv of the action is by nothing so greatly elevated
as by the care and interposition of Heaven.

These machines are of three sorts. Some are
theological, and 'were invented to explain the
nature of the gods. Others are physical, and
represent the things of nature. The last are moral,
and are images of yirtue^ and vices.
. Homer and the ancient^ have given to their
deities the manners, passiojos, and vices of men.
The poems are wholly allegorical; and in this
view it is easier to defend Homer than to blame
tiim. We cannot accuse him for making mention
pf many gods, for his bestowing passions ^upon
them, or even introducing them fighting against
men. The Scripture uses the li|ce figuri^ tuid
expressions.

' If it be allowable to speak thus of the gods in
theology, much more in tiie fictions of natural

?' hilosophy ; where, if a poet describes the deities,
e ii)U8t give them such manners, speeches, and
actions^ as are conformable to the nature of the
f hings* thev represent under those divinities, the
case is' the same in the nnorals of the deities:
^inerva is irise, because she represents prudenoe ;
Venus is both good or bad, because the passion of
}ove is capable of these contrary qualities.

Siqce among the gods of a poem some are good,
some had, and some indifferently either; and
since oC pur passions we koake so many allegorical
«|eities ; ve may attribute to the gods all that is
done in the poem, whether good or evil. But
these 4eitie8 40 not act constantly in one and the
aamemaniier* '' -

Sometimes they act invisibly, and by mere
jnsphution > fhich has nothing in it extraordinary
or miracoAous ; being tio more than what we say
every day, *' that some god has assisted qs, or
^me demon has instigated us." *
* At other times they appear visibly, and manifest
themselves to men, in a- manner altogether mira-
culoos aind pretemktural. •

' The third way has something of both the others ;
>( is in troth a miracle, but is not commonly so ac-
tuated : this includes dreams^ oracles, &c. . ^



All these ways must be p i oto W N j for however
necessary the marvellous is to the «piG action, ss
nothing is so conducive to admiration ; J^ we can,