battle of the last day. The unraveling begins at the death of Hector; and besides that, it contains the insulting of Achilles over his body, the honours he paid to Patroclus, and the entreaties of king Priam. The regrets of this king and the other Trojans, in the sorrowful obsequies they paid to Hector's body, are the unraveling; they justify the satisfaction of Achilles, and demonstrate his tranquillity.

The first part of the Odyssey is the return of Ulysses into Ithaca. Neptune opposes it by raising tempests, and this makes the intrigue. The unraveling is the arrival of Ulysses upon his own island, where Neptune could offer him no farther injury. The second part is the re-instating this hero in his own government. The princes, that are his rivals, oppose him, and this is a fresh intrigue: the solution of it begins at their deaths, and is completed as soon as the Ithacans were appeased.

These two parts in the Odyssey have not one common intrigue. The anger of Achilles forms both the intrigues in the Iliad; and it is so far the matter of this epopea, that the very beginning and end of this poem depend on the beginning and end of his anger. But let the desire Achilles bad to revenge himself, and the desire Ulysses 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 he does the anger of Achilles

We have already observed what is meant by the intrigue, and the unraveling thereof; let us now say something of the manner of forming both. These two should arise naturally out of the very essence and subject of the poem, and are to be deduced from thence. Their conduct is so exact

and natural, that it seems as if their action had presented them with whatever they inserted, without putting themselves to the trouble of a farther enquiry.

What is more usual and natural to warriors, than anger, heat, passion, and impatience of bearing the least 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 these passions.

What more natural and usual obstacle to those who take voyages, than the sea, the winds, and the storms? Homer makes this the intrigue of the first part of the Odyssey: and for the second, he 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, and the sequestration of his estate. Besides, an absence of almost twenty years, and the insupportable fatigues joined to the age of which Ulysses

then was, might induce him to believe that he should not be owned by those who thought him dead, and whose interest it was to have him really $o. Therefore, if he had presently declared who he was, and had called himself Ulysses, they would easily have destroyed him as an impostor, before he had an opportunity to make himself known.

There could be nothing more natural nor more necessary than this ingenious disguise, to which

the advantages his enemies had taken of his absence had reduced him, and to which his long misfortunes had inured him. This allowed him an opportunity, without hazarding any thing, of taking the best measures he could, against those persons who could not so much as mistrust any harm from him. This way was afforded him, by the 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 dissimulation of a single man on one hand and the ungovernable insolence of so many rivals on the other, which constitutes the intrigue of the second part of the Odyssey.

OF THE END OR UNRAVELING OF THE ACTION.

If the plot or intrigue must be natural, and such as springs from the very subject, as has been already urged; then the winding-up of the plot, by a more sure claim, must have this qualification, and be a probable consequence of all that went before. As this is what the readers regard more in it. This is the end of the poem, and the last than the rest, so should the poet be more exact impression that is to be stamped upon them.

The Phæacians

We shall find this in the Odyssey. Ulysses by to whom he discovers himself, and desires they a tempest is cast upon the island of the Phæacians, would favour his return to his own country, which was not very far distant. One cannot see any such a reasonable request, to a hero whom he reason why the king of this island should refuse indeed had heard him tell the story of his advenseemed to have in great esteem. tures; and in this fabulous recital consisted all the advantage that he could derive from his presence; for the art of war which they admired in him, his undauntedness under dangers, bis indefatigable patience, and other virtues, were such as these islanders were not used to. All their talent lay in singing and dancing, and whatsoever was charming in a quiet life. And here we see makes use of. These people could do no less, for how dextrously Homer prepares the incidents he the account with which Ulysses had so much safe convoy, which was of little expense or trouble entertained them, than afford him a ship and a

to them.

When he arrived, his long absence, and the travels which had disfigured him, made him altogether unknown; and the danger he would have him to a disguise: lastly, this disguise gave him incurred, had he discovered himself too soon, forced who for several years together had been accustomed an opportunity of surprising those young suitors, to nothing but to sleep well, and fare daintily.

this rule, that "Whatever concludes the poem, It was from these examples that Aristotle drew should so spring from the very constitution of the fable, as if it were a necessary, or at least a probable, consequence.".

SECT. VI.

THE TIME OF THE ACTION.

THE time of the epic action is not fixed, like that of the dramatic poem; it is much longer:

for an uninterrupted duration is much more necessary in an action which one sees and is present at, than in one which we only read or bear repeated. Besides, tragedy is fuller of passion, and consequently of such a violence as cannot admit of so long a duration.

The Iliad containing an action of anger and violence, the poet allows it but a short time, about forty days. The design of the Odyssey required another conduct; the character of the hero is prudence and long-suffering; therefore the time of its duration is much longer, above eight years.

THE PASSIONS of the epic pOEM.

THE passions of tragedy are different from those of the epic poem. In the former, terrour and pity have the chief place; the passion that seems most peculiar to epic poetry, is admiration.

Besides this admiration, which in general distinguishes the epic poem from the dramatic; each epic poem has likewise some peculiar passion, which distinguishes it in particular from other epic poems, and constitutes a kind of singular and individual difference between these poems of the same species. These singular passions correspond to the character of the hero. Anger and terrour reign throughout the Iliad, because Achilles is angry, and the most terrible of all men. The Eneid has all soft and tender passions, because that is the character of Eneas. The prudence, wisdom, and constancy of Ulysses do not allow him either of these extremes; therefore the poet does not 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 Iliad and it is upon this account that he introduces a great many more machines, in the Odyssey, into the body of the action, than are to be seen in the actions of the other two poems.

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THE MANNERS.

THE manners of the epic poem ought to be poetically good, but it is not necessary they be always morally so. They are poetically good, when one may discover the virtue or vice, the good or ill inclinations of every one who speaks or acts: they are poetically bad, when persons are made to speak or act out of character, or inconsistently, or unequally. The manners of Eneas and of Mezentius are equally good, considered poetically, because they equally demonstrate the piety of the one, and the impiety of the other.

CHARACTER OF THE HERO.

Ir is requisite to make the same distinction between a hero in morality, and a hero in poetry, as between moral and poetical goodness. Achilles had as much right to the latter, as Æneas. Aristotle says, that the hero of a poem should be neither good nor bad; neither advanced above the rest of mankind by his virtues, or sunk beneath them by his vices; that he may be the proper and fuller example to others, both what to imitate and what to decline.

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

raise or discover them in the persons; that they have an exact resemblance to what history, or fable, have delivered of those persons, to whom they are ascribed; and that there be an equality in them, so that no man is made to act, or speak, out of his character.

UNITY OF THE CHARACTER.

BUT this equality is not sufficient for the unity of the character: it is further necessary, that the same spirit appear in all sorts of encounters. Thus Eneas acting with great piety and mildness in the first part of the Eneid, which requires no other 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 their particular place upon different occasions, character. So that, besides the qualities that claim there must be one appearing throughout, which commands over all the rest; and without this, we may affirm, it is no character.

Achilles, as pious as Eneas, and as prudent as One may indeed make a hero as valiant as Ulysses. But it is a mere chimera, to imagine a hero that has the valour of Achilles, the piety of Eneas, 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 hero to whatever each part of the action might naturally require, without regarding the essence of the fable, 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 implacable creature imaginable; he would be extremely tender like Æneas, extremely violent like Achilles, and yet have the indifference 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 reflect on the effects it would produce in several poems, whose authors were of opinion, that the chief character of a hero, is that of an

accomplished man. They would be all alike; all valiant in battle, prudent in council, pious in the acts of religion, courteous, civil, magnificent; and, lastly, endued with all the prodigious virtues dent from the action and the subject of the poem; All this would be indepenany poet could invent. and upon seeing each hero separated from the rest 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 discernable, and which distingnishes him from all others.

This commanding quality in Achilles is his anger; in Ulysses, the art of dissimulation; in Æneas, meekness. Each of these may be styled, by way of eminence, the character in these heroes.

But these characters cannot be alone. It is absolutely necessary that some other should give them a lustre, and embellish them as far as they are capable; either by hiding the defects that are in each, by some noble and shining qualities; as

the poet has done the anger of Achilles, by shading it with extraordinary valour: or by making them entirely of the nature of a true and solid virtue, as is to be observed in the two others. The dissimulation of Ulysses is a part of his prudence, and the meekness of Eneas is wholly employed in submitting his will to the gods. For the making up of this union, our poets have joined together such qualities as are by nature the most compatible; valour with anger, meekness with piety, and prudence with dissimulation. This last union was necessary for the goodness of Ulysses; for, without that, his dissimulation might have degenerated into wickedness and double-dealing,

SECT. VII.

OF THE MACHINERY.

We now come to the machines of the epic poem. The chief passion which it aims to excite being admiration, nothing is so conducive to that as the marvellous; and the importance and dignity 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 virtues and vices.

Homer and the ancients have given to their deities the manners, passions, and vices of men. The poems are wholly allegorical; and in this view it is easier to defend Homer than to blame him. We cannot accuse him for making mention of many gods, for his bestowing passions upon them, or even introducing them fighting against men. The Scripture uses the like figures and expressions.

If it be allowable to speak thus of the gods in theology, much more in the fictions of natural philosophy; where, if a poet describes the deities, he must give them such manners, speeches, and actions, as are conformable to the nature of the things they represent under those divinities. The case is the same in the morals of the deities: Minerva is wise, because she represents prudence ; Venus is both good or bad, because the passion of love is capable of these contrary qualities.

Since among the gods of a poem some are good, some bad, and some indifferently either; and since of our passions we make so many allegorical deities; we may attribute to the gods all that is done in the poem, whether good or evil. But these deities do not act constantly in one and the, same manner.

Sometimes they act invisibly, and by mere inspiration; which has nothing in it extraordinary or miraculous; being no more than what we say every day," that some god has assisted us, or some demon has instigated us."

At other times they appear visibly, and manifest themselves to men, in a manner altogether mirasulous and preternatural.

The third way has something of both the others; it is in truth a miracle, but is not commonly so acseunted: this includes dreams, oracles, &c.

All these ways must be probable; for however necessary the marvellous is to the epic action, as nothing is so conducive to admiration; yet we can, on the other hand, admire nothing, that we think impossible. Though the probability of these machines be of a very large extent, (since it is founded upon divine power) it is not without limitations. There are numerous instances of allowable and probable machines in the epic poem, where the gods are no less actors than the men, But the less credible sort, such as metamorphoses, &c. are far

more rare,

This suggests a reflection on the method of rendering those machines probable, which in their own nature are hardly so. Those, which require only divine probability, should be so disengaged from the action, that one might subtract them from it, without destroying the action. But those, which are essential and necessary, should be grounded upon human probability, and not on the sole power of God. Thus the episodes of Circe, the Syrens, Polyphemus, &c. are necessary to the action of the Odyssey, and yet not humanly probable: yet Homer has artificially reduced them to human probability, by the simplicity and ignorance of the Phæacians, before whom he causes those recitals to be made,

The next question is, where, and on what occasions, machines may be used? It is certain Homer and Virgil make use of them every where, and scarce suffer any action to be performed without them. Petronius makes this a precept: Per ambages, deorumque ministeria, &c. The gods are mentioned in the very proposition of their works, the invocation is addrest to them, and the whole narration is full of them. The gods are the causes of the action, they form the intrigue, and bring about the solution. The precept of Aristotle and Horace, that the unravelling of the plot should not proceed from a miracle, or the appearance of a god, has place only in dramatic poetry, not in the epic. For it is plain, that both in the solution of the Iliad and Odyssey, the gods are concerned: in the former, the deities meet to appease the anger of Achilles: Iris and Mercury are sent to that purpose, and Minerva eminently assists Achilles in the decisive combat with Hector. In the Odyssey, the same goddess fights close by Ulysses against the suitors, and concludes that peace be• twixt him and the Ithacensians, which completes the poem.

We may therefore determine, that a machine is not an invention to extricate the poet out of any difficulty which embarrasses him: but that the presence of a divinity, and some action surprising and extraordinary, are inserted into almost all the parts of the work, in order to render it more majestic and more admirable. But this mixture ought to be so made, that the machines might be retrenched, without taking any thing from the action: at the same time that it gives the readers a lesson of piety and virtue; and teaches them, that the most brave and the most wise can do nothing, and attain nothing great and glorious, without the assistance of Heaven. Thus the machinery crowns the whole work, and renders it at once marvellous, probable, and moral.