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[201] IT is the fate of those maxims, which have been thrown out by very eminent writers, to be received implicitly by most of their followers, and to be repeated a thousand times, for no other reason, than because they once dropped from the pen of a superiour genius: one of these is the assertion of Aristotle, that all poetry consists in imitation, which has been so frequently echoed from author to author, that it would seem a kind of arrogance to controvert it; for almost all the philosophers and criticks, who have written upon the subject of poetry, musick, and painting, how little soever they may agree in some points, seem of one mind in considering them as arts merely imitative: yet it must be clear to any one, who examines what passes in his own mind, that he is [202] affected by the finest poems, pieces of musick, and pictures, upon a principle, which, whatever it be, is entirely distinct from imitation. M. le Batteux has attempted to prove that all the fine arts have a relation to this common principle of imitating: but, whatever be said of painting, it is probable, that poetry and musick had a nobler origin; and, if the first language of man was not both poetical, and musical, it is certain, at least, that in countries, where no kind of imitation seems to be much admired, there are poets and musicians both by nature and by art: as in some Mahometan nations; where sculpture and painting are forbidden by the laws, where dramatick poetry of every sort is wholly unknown, yet, where the pleasing arts, of expressing the passions in verse, and of enforcing that expression by melody, are cultivated to a degree of enthusiasm. It shall be my endeavour in this paper to prove, that, though poetry and musick have, certainly, a power of imitating the manners of men, and several objects in nature, yet, that their greatest effect is not produced by imitation, but by a very different principle; which must be sought for in the deepest recesses of the human mind.
To state the question properly, we must have a clear notion of what we mean by poetry and musick; but we cannot give a precise definition of them, till we have made a few previous remarks on their origin, their relation to each other, and their difference.
It seems probable then that poetry was originally no more than a strong, and animated expression of the human passions, of joy and grief, love and hate, admira[203]ration and anger, sometimes pure and unmixed, sometimes variously modified and combined: for, if we observe the voice and accents of a person affected by any of the violent passions, we shall perceive something in them very nearly approaching to cadence and measure; which is remarkably the case in the language of a vehement Orator, whose talent is chiefly conversant about praise or censure, and we may collect from several passages in Tully, that the fine speakers of old Greece and Rome had a sort of rhythm in their sentences, less regular, but not less melodious, than that of the poets.
If this idea be just, one would suppose that the most ancient sort of poetry consisted in praising the deity; for if we conceive a being, created with all his faculties and senses, endued with speech and reason, to open his eyes in a most delightful plain, to view for the first time the serenity of the sky, the splendour of the fun, the verdure of the fields and woods, the glowing colours of the flowers, we can hardly believe it possible, that he should refrain from bursting into an extasy of joy, and pouring his praises to the creatour of those wonders, and the authour of his happiness. This kind of poetry is used in all nations, but as it is the sublimest of all, when it is applied to its true object, so it has often been perverted to impious purposes by pagans and idolaters: every one knows that the dramatick poetry of the Europeans took its rise from the same spring, and was no more at first than a song in praise of Bacchus; so that the only species of poetical composition, (if we except the Epick) which can in any sense be called imitative, was deduced from a [204] natural emotion of the mind, in which imitation could not be at all concerned.
The next source of poetry was, probably, love, or the mutual inclination, which naturally subsists between the sexes, and is founded upon personal beauty: hence arose the most agreeable odes, and love-songs, which we admire in the works of the ancient lyrick poets, not filled, like our sonnets and madrigals, with the insipid babble of darts, and Cupids, but simple, tender, natural; and consisting of such unaffected endearments, and mild complaints,
* Teneri sdegni, e placide e tranquille
Repulse, e cari vezzi, e liete paci,
as we may suppose to have passed between the first lovers in a state of innocence, before the refinements of society, and the restraints, which they introduced, had made the passion of love so fierce, and impetuous, as it is said to have been in Dido, and certainly was in Sappho, if we may take her own word for it. ‡
The grief, which the first inhabitants of the earth must have felt at the death of their dearest friends, and relations, gave rise to another species of poetry, which originally, perhaps, consisted of short dirges, and was afterwards lengthened into elegies.
[205] As soon as vice began to prevail in the world, it was natural for the wise and virtuous to express their detestation of it in the strongest manner, and to show their resentment against the corrupters of mankind: hence moral poetry was derived, which, at first, we find, was severe and passionate; but was gradually melted down into cool precepts of morality, or exhortations to virtue: we may reasonably conjecture that Epick poetry had the same origin, and that the examples of heroes and kings were introduced, to illustrate some moral truth, by showing the loveliness and advantages of virtue, or the many misfortunes that flow from vice.
Where there is vice, which is detestable in itself, there must be hate, since the strongest antipathy in nature, as Mr. Pope asserted in his writings, and proved by his whole life, subsists between the good and the bad: now this passion was the source of that poetry, which we call Satire, very improperly, and corruptly, since the Satire of the Romans was no more than a moral piece, which they entitled Satura or Satyra, * intimating, that the poem, like a dish of fruit and corn offered to Ceres, contained a variety and plenty of fancies and figures; whereas the true invectives of the ancients were called Jambi, of which we have several examples in Catullus, and in the Epodes of Horace, who imitated the very measures and manner of Archilochus.
These are the principal sources of poetry; and of musick also, as it shall be my endeavour to show: but it is [206] first necessary to say a few words on the nature of sound; a very copious subject, which would require a long dissertation to be accurately discussed. Without entering into a discourse on the vibrations of chords, or the undulations of the air, it will be sufficient for our purpose to observe that there is a great difference between a common sound, and a musical sound, which consists chiefly in this, that the former is simple and entire in itſelf like a point, while the latter is always accompanied with other sounds, without ceasing to be one; like a circle, which is an entire figure, though it is generated by a multitude of points flowing, at equal distances, round a common centre. These accessory sounds, which are caused by the aliquots of a sonorous body vibrating at once, are called Harmonicks, and the whole system of modern Harmony depends upon them; though it were easy to prove that the system is unnatural, and only made tolerable to the ear by habit: for whenever we strike the perfect accord on a harpsichord or an organ, the harmonicks of the third and fifth have also their own harmonicks, which are dissonant from the principal note. ‡
Now let us conceive that some vehement passion is expressed in strong words, exactly measured, and pronounced, in a common voice, in just cadence, and with proper [207] accents, such an expression of the passion will be genuine poetry; and the famous ode of Sappho is allowed to be so in the strictest sense: but if the same ode, with all its natural accents, were expressed in a musical voice, (that is, in sounds accompanied with their Harmonicks) if it were sung in due time and measure, in a simple and pleasing tune, that added force to the words without stifling them, it would then be pure and original musick, not merely foothing to the ear, but affecting to the heart, not an imitation of nature, but the voice of nature herſelf. But there is another point in which musick must resemble poetry, or it will lose a considerable part of its effect: we all must have observed, that a speaker, agitated with passion, or an actor, who is, indeed, strictly an imitator, are perpetually changing the tone and pitch of their voice, as the sense of their words varies: it may be worth while to examine how this variation is expressed in musick. Every body knows that the musical scale consists of seven notes, above which we find a succession of similar sounds repeated in the same order, and above that, other successions, as far as they can be continued by the human voice, or distinguished by the human ear: now each of these seven sounds has no more meaning, when it is heard separately, than a single letter of the alphabet would have; and it is only by their succession, and their relation to one principal sound, that they take any rank in the scale; or differ from each other, except as they are graver, or more acute: but in the regular scale each interval assumes a proper character, and every note stands related to the [208] first or principal one by various proportions. * Now a series of sounds relating to one leading note is called a mode, or a tone, and, as there are ‡ twelve semitones in the scale, each of which may be made in its turn the leader of a mode, it follows that there are twelve modes; and each of them has a peculiar character, arising from the position of the modal note, and from some minute difference in the ratio's, as of 81 to 80, or a comma; for there are some intervals, which cannot easily be rendered on our instruments, yet have a surprizing effect in modulation, or in the transitions from one mode to another.
[209] The modes of the ancients are said to have had a wonderful effect over the mind; and Plato, who permits the Dorian in his imaginary republick, on account of its calmness and gravity, excludes the Lydian, because of its languid, tender, and effeminate character: not that any series of mere sounds has a power of raising or foothing the passions, but each of these modes was appropriated to a particular kind of poetry, and a particular instrument; and the chief of them, as the Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian, Ionian, Eolian, Locrian, belonged originally to the nations, from which they took their names: thus the Phrygian mode, which was ardent and impetuous, was usually accompanied with trumpets, and the Mixolydian, which, if we believe Aristoxenus, was invented by Sappho, was probably confined to the pathetick and tragick style: that these modes had a relation to poetry, as well as to musick, appears from a fragment of Lasus, in which he says, I sing of Ceres, and her daughter Melibæa, the consort of Pluto, in the Eolian mode, full of gravity; and Pindar calls one of his Odes an Eolian song. If the Greeks surpassed us in the strength of their modulations, we have an advantage over them in our minor scale, which supplies us with twelve new modes, where the two semitones are removed from their natural position between the third and fourth, the seventh and eighth notes, and placed between the second and third, the fifth and fixth; this change of the semitones, by giving a minor third to the modal note, softens the general expression of the mode, and adapts it admirably to subjects of grief and affliction: the minor mode of D is tender, that of C, with three [210] flats, plaintive, and that of F, with four, pathetick and mournful to the highest degree, for which reason it was chosen by the excellent Pergolesi in his Stabat Mater. Now these twenty-four modes, artfully interwoven, and changed as often as the sentiment changes, may, it is evident, express all the variations in the voice of a speaker, and give an additional beauty to the accents of a poet. Consistently with the foregoing principles, we may define original and native poetry to be the language of the violent passions, expressed in exact measure, with strong accents and significant words; and true musick to be no more than poetry, delivered in a succession of harmonious Sounds, so disposed as to please the ear. It is in this view only that we must consider the musick of the ancient Greeks, or attempt to account for its amazing effects, which we find related by the gravest historians, and philosophers; it was wholly passionate or descriptive, and so closely united to poetry, that it never obstructed, but always increased its influence: whereas our boasted harmony, with all its fine accords, and numerous parts, paints nothing, expresses nothing, says nothing to the heart, and consequently can only give more or less pleasure to one of our senses; and no reasonable man will seriously prefer a transitory pleasure, which must soon end in satiety, or even in disgust, to a delight of the soul, arising from sympathy, and founded on the natural passions, always lively, always interesting, always transporting. The old divisions of musick into celestial, and earthly, divine and human, active and contemplative, intellective and oratorial, were founded rather upon metaphors, and chimerical analogies, than upon any real distinctions in nature; but the want of [211] making a distinction between the musick of mere sounds, and the musick of the passions, has been the perpetual source of confusion and contradictions both among the ancients and the moderns: nothing can be more opposite in many points than the systems of Rameau and Tartini, one of whom asserts that melody springs from harmony, and the other deduces harmony from melody; and both are in the right, if the first speaks only of that musick, which took its rise from the multiplicity of sounds heard at once in the sonorous body, and the second, of that, which rose from the accents and inflexions of the human voice, animated by the passions: to decide, as Rousseau says, whether of these two schools ought to have the preference, we need only ask a plain question, Was the voice made for the instruments, or the instruments for the voice?
In defining what true poetry ought to be, according to our principles, we have described what it really was among the Hebrews, the Greeks and Romans, the Arabs and Persians. The lamentation of David, and his sacred odes, or psalms, song of Solomon, the prophecies of Isaiah, Jeremiah, and the other inspired writers, are truly and strictly poetical; but what did David or Solomon imitate in their divine poems? A man, who is really joyful or afflicted, cannot be said to imitate joy or affliction. The lyrick verses of Alcæus, Alcman, and Ibycus, the hymns of Callimachus, the elegy of Moschus on the death of Bion, are all beautiful pieces of poetry; yet Alcæus was no imitator of love, Callimachus was no imitator of religious awe and admiration, Moschus was no imitator of grief at the loss of an amiable friend. Aristotle himself wrote a very [212] poetical elegy on the death of a man, whom he had loved; but it would be difficult to say what he imitated in it: "O virtue, who proposest many labours to the human race, and art still the alluring object of our life, for thy charms, O beautiful goddess, it was always an envied happiness in Greece even to die, and to suffer the most painful, the most afflicting evils: such are the fruits, which thou raisest in our minds; fruits, more precious than gold, more sweet than the love of parents, and soft repose: for thee Hercules the son of Jove, and the twins of Leda, sustained many labours, and by their illustrious actions sought thy favour; for love of thee, Achilles and Ajax descended to the mansion of Pluto; and, through a zeal for thy charms, the prince of Atarne also was deprived of the sun's light: therefore shall the muses, daughters of memory, render him immortal for his glorious deeds, whenever they sing the god of hospitality, and the honours due to a lasting friendship."
In the preceding collection of poems, there are some Eastern fables, some odes, a panegyrick, and an elegy; yet it does not appear to me, that there is the least imitation in either of them: Petrarch was, certainly, too deeply affected with real grief, and the Persian poet was too sincere a lover, to imitate the passions of others. As to the rest, a fable in verse is no more an imitation than a fable in prose; and if every poetical narrative, which describes the manners, and relates the adventures of men, be called imitative, every romance, and even every history must be called so likewise; since many poems are only romances, or parts of history, told in a regular measure.
[213] What has been said of poetry, may with equal force be applied to musick, which is poetry, dressed to advantage; and even to painting, many sorts of which are poems to the eye, as all poems, merely descriptive, are pictures to the ear: and this way of considering them, will set the refinements of modern artists in their true light; for the passions, which were given by nature, never spoke in an unnatural form, and no man, truly affected with love or grief, ever expressed the one in an acrostick, or the other in a fugue: these remains, therefore, of the false taste, which prevailed in the dark ages, should be banished from this, which is enlightened with a just one.
It is true, that some kinds of painting are strictly imitative, as that which is solely intended to represent the human figure and countenance; but it will be found, that those pictures have always the greatest effect, which represent some passion, as the martyrdom of St. Agnes by Domenichino, and the various representations of the Crucifixion by the finest masters of Italy; and there can be no doubt, but that the famous sacrifice of Iphigenia by Timanthes was affecting to the highest degree; which proves, not that painting cannot be said to imitate, but that its most powerful influence over the mind, arises, like that of the other arts, from sympathy.
It is asserted also that descriptive poetry, and descriptive musick, as they are called, are strict imitations; but, not to insist that mere description is the meanest part of both arts, if indeed it belongs to them at all, it is clear, that [214] words and sounds have no kind of resemblance to visible objects: and what is an imitation, but a resemblance of some other thing? Besides, no unprejudiced hearer will say that he finds the smallest traces of imitation in the numerous fugues, counterfugues, and divisions, which rather disgrace than adorn the modern musick: even sounds themselves are imperfectly imitated by harmony, and, if we sometimes hear the murmuring of a brook, or the chirping of birds in a concert, we are generally apprised beforehand of the passages, where we may expect them. Some eminent musicians, indeed, have been absurd enough to think of imitating laughter and other noises, but, if they had succeeded, they could not have made amends for their want of taste in attempting it; for such ridiculous imitations must necesarily destroy the spirit and dignity of the finest poems, which they ought to illustrate by a graceful and natural melody. It seems to me, that, as those parts of poetry, musick, and painting, which relate to the passions, affect by sympathy, so those, which are merely descriptive, act by a kind of substitution, that is, by raising in our minds, affections, or sentiments, analogous to those, which arise in us, when the respective objects in nature are presented to our senses. Let us suppose that a poet, a musician, and a painter, are striving to give their friend or patron, a pleasure similar to that, which he feels at the sight of a beautiful prospect. The first will form an agreeable asemblage of lively images, which he will express in smooth and elegant verses of a sprightly measure; he will describe the most delightful objects, and will add to the graces of his description a certain delicacy of sentiment, and a spirit of cheerfulness. The musician [215] who undertakes to set the words of the poet, will select some mode, which, on his violin, has the character of mirth and gaiety, as the Eolian, or E flat, which he will change as the sentiment is varied: he will express the words in a simple and agreeable melody, which will not disguise, but embellish them, without aiming at any fugue, or figured harmony: he will use the bass to mark the modulation more strongly, especially in the changes, and he will place the tenour generally in union with the bass, to prevent too great a distance between the parts: in the symphony he will, above all things, avoid a double melody, and will apply his variations only to some accessory ideas, which the principal part, that is, the voice, could not easily express: he will not make a number of useless repetitions, because the passions only repeat the same expressions, and dwell upon the same sentiments, while description can only represent a single object by a single sentence. The painter will describe all visible objects more exactly than his rivals, but he will fall short of the other artists in a very material circumstance; namely, that his pencil, which may, indeed, express a simple passion, cannot paint a thought, or draw the shades of sentiment: he will, however, finish his landscape with grace and elegance; his colours will be rich, and glowing; his perspective striking; and his figures will be disposed with an agreeable variety, but not with confusion: above all, he will diffuse over his whole piece such a spirit of liveliness and festivity, that the beholder shall be seized with a kind of rapturous delight, and, for a moment, mistake art for nature.
[216] Thus will each artist gain his end, not by imitating the works of nature, but by assuming her power, and causing the same effect upon the imagination, which her charms produce to the senses: this must be the chief object of a poet, a musician, and a painter, who know that great effects are not produced by minute details, but by the general spirit of the whole piece, and that a gaudy composition may strike the mind for a short time, but that the beauties of simplicity are both more delightful, and more permanent.
As the passions are differently modified in different men, and as even the various objects in nature affect our minds in various degrees, it is obvious, that there must be a great diversity in the pleasure, which we receive from the fine arts, whether that pleasure arises from sympathy, or substitution; and that it were a wild notion in artists to think of pleasing every reader, hearer, or beholder; since every man has a particular set of objects, and a particular inclination, which direct him in the choice of his pleaures, and induce him to consider the productions, both of nature and of art, as more or less elegant, in proportion as they give him a greater or smaller degree of delight: this does not at all contradict the opinion of many able writers, that there is one uniform standard of taste; since the passions, and, consequently, sympathy, are generally the same in all men, till they are weakened by age, infirmity, or other causes.
If the arguments, used in this essay, have any weight, it will appear, that the finest parts of poetry, musick, and [217] painting, are expressive of the passions, and operate on our minds by sympathy; that the inferiour parts of them are descriptive of natural objects, and affect us chiefly by substitution; that the expressions of love, pity, desire, and the tender passions, as well as the descriptions of objects, that delight the senses, produce in the arts what we call the beautiful; but that hate, anger, fear, and the terrible passions, as well as objects, which are unpleasing to the senses, are productive of the sublime, when they are aptly expressed, or described.
These subjects might be pursued to infinity; but, if they were amply discussed, it would be necessary to write a series of dissertations, instead of an essay.
[Die Anmerkungen stehen als Fußnoten auf den in eckigen Klammern bezeichneten Seiten]
[204] * Two lines of Tasso.
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[204] ‡ See the ode of Sappho quoted by Longinus,
and translated by Boileau.
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[205] * Some Latin words were spelled either with an u or a y,
as Sulla or Sylla,
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[206] ‡ Suppose C, E, G, are struck together: then E gives g sharp, b,
and G, b, d, which g sharp, b, d, are dissonant from C, the first being
its superfluous fifib, and the two laft its seventh and second; and, to
complete the barmony, as it is called, g sharp and g natural are heard together,
than which nothing can be more absurd: these horrid diffonances are, indeed,
almoſt overpowered by the natural harmonicks of the principal chord, but that
does not prove them agreeable. Since nature has given us a delightful harmony
of her own, why ſhould we destroy it by the additions of art? It is like
painting a face naturally beautiful.
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[208] * The proportions of the intervals are these: 2d. maj. 8 to 9. 2d. min.
15 to 16. 3d. maj. 4 to 5. 3d. min. 5 to 6. 4th. 3 to 4. 5th. 2. to 3.
6th. maj. 3 to 5. 6th. min. 5 to 8. 7th. maj. 8 to 15. 7th. min.
5 to 9. These proportions are determined by the length of the strings, but,
when they are taken from the vibrations of them, the ratio's are inverted,
as 2d. maj. 9 to 8, 2d. min. 16 to 15 &c. that is, while ore string
vibrates nine times, its second major makes eight vibrations, and so forth.
It happens that the intervals which have the simplest ratio's are generally
the most agreeable; but that simplicity must not be thought to occasion our
pleasure, as it is not possible that the ear should determine those proportions.
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[208] † There are no more than six full notes in a scale of eight sounds,
or an octave, because the intervals between C D, D E, F G, G A, A B, are
equal, and the intervals between E F, B C, are also equal, but are almost
half as small as the others; and C D E = 2 n + E F = ½ n + F G A B =
3 n + B C =⅙ n = 6 n.
But though the interval EF be usually called a semitone; yet it is more
properly a Limma, and differs from a semitone by a Comma,
or 8/8 1; and that
it is less than a semitone, was asserted by Pythagoras, and thus
demonstrated by Euclid of Alexandria, in his treatise On the division of
the Monochord: if the diatessaron CF, contain two full tones, and a
semitone, then the diapason C c (which comprises two diatessarons,
and a whole tone) will be equal to fix tones: But the diapason is less
than fix tones; therefore CF is less than two, and a semitone; for
if 9/8,
the ratio of a tone, be fix times compounded, it will be a fraction
greater than that, which is equal to 2/1,
or the ratio of the diapason;
therefore, the diapason is less than fix tones. Ptolemy has proved the
same truth more at large in the tenth and eleventh chapters of his first
book of Harmonicks, where he refutes the assertions of the Arifloxenians,
and exposes their errours with great clearness.
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Erstdruck und Druckvorlage
William Jones: Poems Consisting Chiefly of Translations from the Asiatick Languages.
To which are Added Two Essays,
I. On the Poetry of the Eastern Nations,
II. On the Arts, commonly Called Imitative.
Oxford: At the Clarendon-Press 1772, S. 201-217.
Die Textwiedergabe erfolgt nach dem ersten Druck
(Editionsrichtlinien).
URL: https://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015027523284
URL: https://books.google.fr/books?id=784TAAAAQAAJ
URL: https://mdz-nbn-resolving.de/bsb10248796
URL: https://archive.org/details/bim_eighteenth-century_poems-consisting-chiefly_jones-william-sir_1772
Aufgenommen in
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Edition
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