we read,
diphron mochtheron katatheis mikran te trapezan.
Setting a wretched couch and a puny table.
Or, for eiones booosin, 'the sea shores roar,' eiones krazousin,
'the sea shores screech.'
Again, Ariphrades ridiculed the tragedians for using phrases which
no one would employ in ordinary speech: for example, domaton apo,
'from the house away,' instead of apo domaton, 'away from the
house;' sethen, ego de nin, 'to thee, and I to him;' Achilleos peri,
'Achilles about,' instead of peri Achilleos, 'about Achilles;' and the
like. It is precisely because such phrases are not part of the current
idiom that they give distinction to the style. This, however, he
failed to see.
It is a great matter to observe propriety in these several modes
of expression, as also in compound words, strange (or rare) words, and
so forth. But the greatest thing by far is to have a command of
metaphor. This alone cannot be imparted by another; it is the mark
of genius, for to make good metaphors implies an eye for resemblances.
Of the various kinds of words, the compound are best adapted to
dithyrambs, rare words to heroic poetry, metaphors to iambic. In
heroic poetry, indeed, all these varieties are serviceable. But in
iambic verse, which reproduces, as far as may be, familiar speech, the
most appropriate words are those which are found even in prose.
These are the current or proper, the metaphorical, the ornamental.
Concerning Tragedy and imitation by means of action this may
suffice.
POETICS|23
XXIII
As to that poetic imitation which is narrative in form and employs a
single meter, the plot manifestly ought, as in a tragedy, to be
constructed on dramatic principles. It should have for its subject a
single action, whole and complete, with a beginning, a middle, and
an end. It will thus resemble a living organism in all its unity,
and produce the pleasure proper to it. It will differ in structure
from historical compositions, which of necessity present not a
single action, but a single period, and all that happened within
that period to one person or to many, little connected together as the
events may be. For as the sea-fight at Salamis and the battle with the
Carthaginians in Sicily took place at the same time, but did not
tend to any one result, so in the sequence of events, one thing
sometimes follows another, and yet no single result is thereby
produced. Such is the practice, we may say, of most poets. Here again,
then, as has been already observed, the transcendent excellence of
Homer is manifest. He never attempts to make the whole war of Troy the
subject of his poem, though that war had a beginning and an end. It
would have been too vast a theme, and not easily embraced in a
single view. If, again, he had kept it within moderate limits, it must
have been over-complicated by the variety of the incidents. As it
is, he detaches a single portion, and admits as episodes many events
from the general story of the war- such as the Catalogue of the
ships and others- thus diversifying the poem. All other poets take a
single hero, a single period, or an action single indeed, but with a
multiplicity of parts. Thus did the author of the Cypria and of the
Little Iliad. For this reason the Iliad and the Odyssey each furnish
the subject of one tragedy, or, at most, of two; while the Cypria
supplies materials for many, and the Little Iliad for eight- the Award
of the Arms, the Philoctetes, the Neoptolemus, the Eurypylus, the
Mendicant Odysseus, the Laconian Women, the Fall of Ilium, the
Departure of the Fleet.
POETICS|24
XXIV
Again, Epic poetry must have as many kinds as Tragedy: it must be
simple, or complex, or 'ethical,'or 'pathetic.' The parts also, with
the exception of song and spectacle, are the same; for it requires
Reversals of the Situation, Recognitions, and Scenes of Suffering.
Moreover, the thoughts and the diction must be artistic. In all
these respects Homer is our earliest and sufficient model. Indeed each
of his poems has a twofold character. The Iliad is at once simple
and 'pathetic,' and the Odyssey complex (for Recognition scenes run
through it), and at the same time 'ethical.' Moreover, in diction
and thought they are supreme.
Epic poetry differs from Tragedy in the scale on which it is
constructed, and in its meter. As regards scale or length, we have
already laid down an adequate limit: the beginning and the end must be
capable of being brought within a single view. This condition will
be satisfied by poems on a smaller scale than the old epics, and
answering in length to the group of tragedies presented at a single
sitting.
Epic poetry has, however, a great- a special- capacity for enlarging
its dimensions, and we can see the reason. In Tragedy we cannot
imitate several lines of actions carried on at one and the same
time; we must confine ourselves to the action on the stage and the
part taken by the players. But in Epic poetry, owing to the
narrative form, many events simultaneously transacted can be
presented; and these, if relevant to the subject, add mass and dignity
to the poem. The Epic has here an advantage, and one that conduces
to grandeur of effect, to diverting the mind of the hearer, and
relieving the story with varying episodes. For sameness of incident
soon produces satiety, and makes tragedies fail on the stage.
As for the meter, the heroic measure has proved its fitness by
hexameter test of experience. If a narrative poem in any other meter
or in many meters were now composed, it would be found incongruous.
For of all measures the heroic is the stateliest and the most massive;
and hence it most readily admits rare words and metaphors, which is
another point in which the narrative form of imitation stands alone.
On the other hand, the iambic and the trochaic tetrameter are stirring
measures, the latter being akin to dancing, the former expressive of
action. Still more absurd would it be to mix together different
meters, as was done by Chaeremon. Hence no one has ever composed a
poem on a great scale in any other than heroic verse. Nature herself,
as we have said, teaches the choice of the proper measure.
Homer, admirable in all respects, has the special merit of being the
only poet who rightly appreciates the part he should take himself. The
poet should speak as little as possible in his own person, for it is
not this that makes him an imitator. Other poets appear themselves
upon the scene throughout, and imitate but little and rarely. Homer,
after a few prefatory words, at once brings in a man, or woman, or
other personage; none of them wanting in characteristic qualities, but
each with a character of his own.
The element of the wonderful is required in Tragedy. The irrational,
on which the wonderful depends for its chief effects, has wider
scope in Epic poetry, because there the person acting is not seen.
Thus, the pu
rsuit of Hector would be ludicrous if placed upon the
stage- the Greeks standing still and not joining in the pursuit, and
Achilles waving them back. But in the Epic poem the absurdity passes
unnoticed. Now the wonderful is pleasing, as may be inferred from
the fact that every one tells a story with some addition of his
knowing that his hearers like it. It is Homer who has chiefly taught
other poets the art of telling lies skilfully. The secret of it lies
in a fallacy For, assuming that if one thing is or becomes, a second
is or becomes, men imagine that, if the second is, the first
likewise is or becomes. But this is a false inference. Hence, where
the first thing is untrue, it is quite unnecessary, provided the
second be true, to add that the first is or has become. For the
mind, knowing the second to be true, falsely infers the truth of the
first. There is an example of this in the Bath Scene of the Odyssey.
Accordingly, the poet should prefer probable impossibilities to
improbable possibilities. The tragic plot must not be composed of
irrational parts. Everything irrational should, if possible, be
excluded; or, at all events, it should lie outside the action of the
play (as, in the Oedipus, the hero's ignorance as to the manner of
Laius' death); not within the drama- as in the Electra, the
messenger's account of the Pythian games; or, as in the Mysians, the
man who has come from Tegea to Mysia and is still speechless. The plea
that otherwise the plot would have been ruined, is ridiculous; such
a plot should not in the first instance be constructed. But once the
irrational has been introduced and an air of likelihood imparted to
it, we must accept it in spite of the absurdity. Take even the
irrational incidents in the Odyssey, where Odysseus is left upon the
shore of Ithaca. How intolerable even these might have been would be
apparent if an inferior poet were to treat the subject. As it is,
the absurdity is veiled by the poetic charm with which the poet
invests it.
The diction should be elaborated in the pauses of the action,
where there is no expression of character or thought. For, conversely,
character and thought are merely obscured by a diction that is
over-brilliant
POETICS|25
XXV
With respect to critical difficulties and their solutions, the
number and nature of the sources from which they may be drawn may be
thus exhibited.
The poet being an imitator, like a painter or any other artist, must
of necessity imitate one of three objects- things as they were or are,
things as they are said or thought to be, or things as they ought to
be. The vehicle of expression is language- either current terms or, it
may be, rare words or metaphors. There are also many modifications
of language, which we concede to the poets. Add to this, that the
standard of correctness is not the same in poetry and politics, any
more than in poetry and any other art. Within the art of poetry itself
there are two kinds of faults- those which touch its essence, and
those which are accidental. If a poet has chosen to imitate something,
[but has imitated it incorrectly] through want of capacity, the
error is inherent in the poetry. But if the failure is due to a
wrong choice- if he has represented a horse as throwing out both his
off legs at once, or introduced technical inaccuracies in medicine,
for example, or in any other art- the error is not essential to the
poetry. These are the points of view from which we should consider and
answer the objections raised by the critics.
First as to matters which concern the poet's own art. If he
describes the impossible, he is guilty of an error; but the error
may be justified, if the end of the art be thereby attained (the end
being that already mentioned)- if, that is, the effect of this or
any other part of the poem is thus rendered more striking. A case in
point is the pursuit of Hector. if, however, the end might have been
as well, or better, attained without violating the special rules of
the poetic art, the error is not justified: for every kind of error
should, if possible, be avoided.
Again, does the error touch the essentials of the poetic art, or
some accident of it? For example, not to know that a hind has no horns
is a less serious matter than to paint it inartistically.
Further, if it be objected that the description is not true to fact,
the poet may perhaps reply, 'But the objects are as they ought to be';
just as Sophocles said that he drew men as they ought to be;
Euripides, as they are. In this way the objection may be met. If,
however, the representation be of neither kind, the poet may answer,
'This is how men say the thing is.' applies to tales about the gods.
It may well be that these stories are not higher than fact nor yet
true to fact: they are, very possibly, what Xenophanes says of them.
But anyhow, 'this is what is said.' Again, a description may be no
better than the fact: 'Still, it was the fact'; as in the passage
about the arms: 'Upright upon their butt-ends stood the spears.'
This was the custom then, as it now is among the Illyrians.
Again, in examining whether what has been said or done by some
one is poetically right or not, we must not look merely to the
particular act or saying, and ask whether it is poetically good or
bad. We must also consider by whom it is said or done, to whom,
when, by what means, or for what end; whether, for instance, it be
to secure a greater good, or avert a greater evil.
Other difficulties may be resolved by due regard to the usage of
language. We may note a rare word, as in oureas men proton, 'the mules
first [he killed],' where the poet perhaps employs oureas not in the
sense of mules, but of sentinels. So, again, of Dolon: 'ill-favored
indeed he was to look upon.' It is not meant that his body was
ill-shaped but that his face was ugly; for the Cretans use the word
eueides, 'well-flavored' to denote a fair face. Again, zoroteron de
keraie, 'mix the drink livelier' does not mean 'mix it stronger' as
for hard drinkers, but 'mix it quicker.'
Sometimes an expression is metaphorical, as 'Now all gods and men
were sleeping through the night,' while at the same time the poet
says: 'Often indeed as he turned his gaze to the Trojan plain, he
marveled at the sound of flutes and pipes.' 'All' is here used
metaphorically for 'many,' all being a species of many. So in the
verse, 'alone she hath no part... , oie, 'alone' is metaphorical;
for the best known may be called the only one.
Again, the solution may depend upon accent or breathing. Thus
Hippias of Thasos solved the difficulties in the lines, didomen
(didomen) de hoi, and to men hou (ou) kataputhetai ombro.
Or again, the question may be solved by punctuation, as in
Empedocles: 'Of a sudden things became mortal that before had learnt
to be immortal, and things unmixed before mixed.'
Or again, by ambiguity of meaning, as parocheken de pleo nux,
where the word
pleo is ambiguous.
Or by the usage of language. Thus any mixed drink is called oinos,
'wine'. Hence Ganymede is said 'to pour the wine to Zeus,' though
the gods do not drink wine. So too workers in iron are called
chalkeas, or 'workers in bronze.' This, however, may also be taken
as a metaphor.
Again, when a word seems to involve some inconsistency of meaning,
we should consider how many senses it may bear in the particular
passage. For example: 'there was stayed the spear of bronze'- we
should ask in how many ways we may take 'being checked there.' The
true mode of interpretation is the precise opposite of what Glaucon
mentions. Critics, he says, jump at certain groundless conclusions;
they pass adverse judgement and then proceed to reason on it; and,
assuming that the poet has said whatever they happen to think, find
fault if a thing is inconsistent with their own fancy.
The question about Icarius has been treated in this fashion. The
critics imagine he was a Lacedaemonian. They think it strange,
therefore, that Telemachus should not have met him when he went to
Lacedaemon. But the Cephallenian story may perhaps be the true one.
They allege that Odysseus took a wife from among themselves, and
that her father was Icadius, not Icarius. It is merely a mistake,
then, that gives plausibility to the objection.
In general, the impossible must be justified by reference to
artistic requirements, or to the higher reality, or to received
opinion. With respect to the requirements of art, a probable
impossibility is to be preferred to a thing improbable and yet
possible. Again, it may be impossible that there should be men such as
Zeuxis painted. 'Yes,' we say, 'but the impossible is the higher
thing; for the ideal type must surpass the realty.' To justify the
irrational, we appeal to what is commonly said to be. In addition to