The golden verses of Pythagoras · Antoine Fabre d'Olivet
§ VII
I am beginning with the creator of epopœia, with Homer. It is easy to see by the manner in which this divine man blends, from the opening lines of the _Iliad_, the exposition and invocation, that, full of a celestial inspiration that he was the first to receive, he seeks to pour forth the superabundant fire which consumes him, and to throw into the soul of his hearer the impassioned enthusiasm which masters and controls his own. The following lines will suffice to make known the subject of a work which fills twenty-four cantos. Déesse! viens chanter la colère d’Achille, Fatale, et pour les Grecs si fertile en malheurs, Qui, d’avance, aux enfers, précipitant en foule Les âmes des héros, livra leurs corps sanglants Aux dogues affamés: ainsi Jupiter même Le voulut, quand la haine eut divisé les cœurs Du roi des rois Atride et du divin Achille. Lequel des Immortels provoqua ce courroux? Apollon irrité, qui, pour punir Atride, Ravagea son armée: et les peuples mourraient! O Goddess! sing the wrath of Peleus’ son, Achilles; sing the deadly wrath that brought Woes numberless upon the Greeks, and swept To Hades many a valiant soul, and gave Their limbs a prey to dogs and birds of air,―― For so had Jove appointed,――from the time When the two chiefs, Atrides, King of men, And great Achilles, parted first as foes. Which of the gods put strife between the chiefs, That they should thus contend? Latona’s son And Jove’s. Incensed against the king, he bade A deadly pestilence appear among The army, and the men were perishing. BRYANT.
Can heavenly natures nourish hate So fierce, so blindly passionate? although very beautiful, contains less depth, less feeling, and holds less intimately to the subject than this sublime reflection: ... and the men were perishing! Someone has said that Vergil had imitated in his exposition the commencement of the _Odyssey_ of Homer; this is a mistake. One finds always in the exposition of the _Odyssey_ the real character of a first inspiration blended with the invocation, although more calm and less alluring than in the _Iliad_. Here is the translation: Du plus sage Héros, Muse, dis les traverses Sans nombre, après qu’il eut triomphé d’Ilion: Rapelle les cités, les peuples, les usages, Qu’il connut, et les mers où longtemps il erra: À quels soins dévorants, à quels maux l’exposèrent L’amour de la patrie et noble désir D’y mener ses guerriers! Vain désir: ils osèrent, Insensés! du Soleil dévorer les troupeaux; Et ce Dieu, du retour leur ravit la journée. Fais-nous part de ces faits, fille de Jupiter. Tell me, O Muse, of that sagacious man Who, having overthrown the sacred town Of Ilium, wandered far and visited The capitals of many nations, learned The customs of their dwellers and endured Great suffering on the deep; his life was oft In peril, as he laboured to bring back His comrades to their homes. He saved them not, Though earnestly he strove; they perished all, Through their own folly; for they banqueted, Madmen! upon the oxen of the Sun,―― The all-o’erlooking Sun, who cut them off From their return. O Goddess, virgin-child Of Jove, relate some part of this to me. BRYANT.
There are people who, feeling by a sort of intuition that Homer had been created the poetic incentive of Europe, even as I have said, and judging on the other hand that Ariosto had made an epic poem, are convinced that the Italian poet had copied the Greek; but this is not so. Ariosto, who has made only a romanesque poem, has not received the inspiration of Homer; he has simply followed the fictions attributed to Archbishop Turpin and clothing them with forms borrowed from the Arabs by the troubadours makes himself creator in this secondary style. The rhyme is as essential to it as it is harmful to veritable epopœia; this is why the eumolpique verses never conform to it in the slightest degree. To apply them to it, is to make serious what is by nature gay, it is to give a character of force and of truth to what is only light, airy, and fantastic. I am about, however, to translate the beginning of his poem, in order to furnish, by the shocking disparity which exists between the romantic essence of his poetry and the epic form that I here adapt, a new proof of what I have said. Je veux chanter les Dames, les Guerriers, L’amour, l’honneur, et les jeux et les armes, Durant ces temps où les fiers Sarrasins, Des mers d’Afrique, abordèrent en France, Pour seconder les fureurs d’Agramant, Le jeune roi, dont l’orgueilleuse audace Pensait venger la mort du vieux Trojan, Sur l’empereur des Romains, Charlemagne.
Je veux aussi raconter de Roland, Chose inouïe, autant en vers qu’en prose; Dire l’amour qui rendit furieux Ce paladin, auparavant si sage; Si toutefois celle qui m’a charmé, Qui va minant ma raison d’heure en heure, M’en laisse assez pour remplir dignement Mon entreprise et tenir ma promesse. Of Loves and Ladies, Knights and Arms, I sing, Of Courtesies, and many a Daring Feat; And from those ancient days my story bring, When Moors from Afric passed in hostile fleet, And ravaged France, with Agramant their King, Flushed with his youthful rage and furious heat; Who on King Charles’, the Roman emperor’s head Had vowed due vengeance for Troyano dead. In the same strain of Roland will I tell Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme, On whom strange madness and rank fury fell, A man esteemed so wise in former time; If she, who to like cruel pass has well Nigh brought my feeble wit which fain would climb And hourly wastes my sense, concede me skill And strength my daring promise to fulfil. W. R. ROSE. Le donne, i cavalier, l’arme, gl’amori Le cortesíe, l’audaci imprese io canto, Che furo al tempo che passaro i Mori D’Africa il mare, e in Francia nocquer tanto, Seguendo l’ire e i giovenil furori D’Agramante lor re, che si diè vanto Di vendicar la morte di Troiano Sopra re Carlo imperator romano.
Dirò d’Orlando in un medesmo tratto Cosa non detta in prosa mai, nè in rima; Che per amor venne in furore e matto, D’uom che si saggio era stimato prima: Se da colei che tal quasi m’ha fatto Che’l poco ingegno ad or ad or mi lima, Me ne sarà però tanto concesso, Che mi basti a finir quanto ho promesso. It is very easy to see, in reading these two strophes, that there exists in the exposition no sort of resemblance either with that of Homer, or with that of Vergil. It is a third style, wholly foreign to the other two. Homer mingling the exposition and the invocation, commands his Muse to sing what she inspires in him; Vergil distinguishing one from the other, prays his Muse to acquaint him with what he is about to sing; whereas Ariosto, announcing simply the subject of his songs, makes no invocation. It is evident that he relies upon himself, and that in the style that he adopts he understands very well that he has no other Muse, no other guide than his imagination. His subject is in accord with his manner of treating it. If one wishes to reflect upon this decisive point, one will feel and realize, for the first time perhaps, why in the opinion of all the world concerning two works from the same hand, _La Pucelle_ and _La Henriade_, the one is a poem, whereas the other, composed with a far greater pretension, is not. Voltaire, in imitating Ariosto in a subject that he has rendered romanesque and frivolous, has received the second inspiration; but in imitating Lucan in an historic subject he received nothing, for Lucan, creator of a mixed style, had no inspiration that he could communicate.
Je chante les combats pieux, et le Guerrier Qui délivra du Christ la tombe renommée. Combien il déploya de génie et d’ardeur! Combien il supporta de maux dans cette guerre! Vainement les enfers s’armèrent; vainement Les peuples de l’Asie aux Africains s’unirent: Favorisé du Ciel, sous ses drapeaux sacrés, Vainqueur, il ramena ses compagnons fidèles. Divine Muse! ô toi dont le front radieux Ne ceint point sur le Pinde un laurier périssable, Mais qui, parmi les chœurs des habitants du Ciel, Chantes, le front orné d’étoiles immortelles, Viens, inspire à mon sein tes célestes ardeurs; Fais briller dans mes vers tes clartés, et pardonne Si, parant quelquefois l’austère vérité, Je mêle à tes attraits des grâces étrangères. I sing the pious arms and Chief, who freed The Sepulchre of Christ from thrall profane: Much did he toil in thought, and much in deed; Much in the glorious enterprise sustain; And Hell in vain opposed him; and in vain Afric and Asia to the rescue pour’d Their mingled tribes;――Heaven recompensed his pain, And from all fruitless sallies of the sword, True to the Red-Cross flag his wandering friends restored. O thou, the Muse, that not with fading palms Circlest thy brows on Pindus, but among The Angels warbling their celestial psalms, Hast for the coronal a golden throng Of everlasting stars! make thou my song Lucid and pure; breathe thou the flame divine Into my bosom; and forgive the wrong, If with grave truth light fiction I combine, And sometimes grace my page with other flowers than thine! WIFFEN.
Canto l’armi pietose, e’l Capitano Che’l gran sepolcro liberò di Christo: Molto egli oprò col senno e con la mano; Molto soffri nel glorioso acquisto: E invano l’Inferno a lui s’oppose, e invano S’armò d’Asia, e dì Libia il popol misto; Chè il Ciel diè favore, e sotto ai santi Segni ridusse i suoi compagni erranti. O Musa, tu, che di caduchi allori Non circondi la fronte in Elicona Ma su nel Ciel infra i beati cori, Hai di stelle immortali aurea corona, Tu spira al petto mio celesti ardori, Tu rischiara il mio canto, e tu perdona, S’intesso fregi al ver, s’adorno in parte D’altri diletti, che de’ tuoi, le carte. The captivating enthusiasm of Homer, the majestic simplicity of Vergil are not there; there is a sweetness of expression, a purity of imagery which please. This might be greater, but then the melancholy of the romance would exclude it and the reader would demand the full force of epopœia. Besides, the Italians have tried, over and over again, to vary the form of their verses; some have wished to measure them by musical rhythm; others have contented themselves with making blank verse. They have neither succeeded completely nor failed completely. Their language sweet and musical lacks force whether in good or in evil. Its words might indeed, strictly speaking, be composed of long and short syllables; but as they terminate, nearly all, in the soft and languid style that we call feminine, it results, therefore, that in the measured verses the poets lack the long syllables to constitute the last foot and to form the spondee; and that in the blank verse they are obliged to terminate them all in the same style; so that with the measure they create only lame verses, and without the rhyme they make them all equally languid.[224]
I recall having sometimes read French writers who, not having investigated the character of their tongue, have reproached it for its feminine syllables and have believed that their concurrence was harmful to its force and its harmony. These writers have scarcely considered what this language would be, deprived of its feminine sounds. For with the little force that it would gain on one side, it would acquire such a harshness on the other, that it would be impossible to draw from it four consecutive lines that would be endurable. If all its finals were masculine, and if nothing could change it otherwise, it would be necessary to renounce poetry, or like the Arabs, be resolved to compose whole poems in the same rhyme.
We have just seen that the lack of masculine finals takes away all energy from the Italian tongue; a contrary defect would deprive the French of this _mélange_ of sweetness and force which makes it the _première langue_ of Europe. The English language is lacking in precisely what the writers of whom I have spoken desired eliminated from the French, without foreseeing the grave disadvantages of their desire: it has no feminine finals[225]; also it is in everything the opposite of the Italian. It is true that it possesses great energy, great boldness of expression, and a grammatical liberty which goes to the full extent; but deprived of sweetness and softness, it is, if I may say it, like those brittle metals whose strength is in stiffness, and which is broken when one would make them flexible. The poverty of its rhymes, denuded for the most part of accuracy of accent and of harmony in consonants, has for a long time engaged the English poets in making blank verse; and it must be admitted that, notwithstanding the defect inherent in their tongue and which consists, as I have just said, in the absolute lack of feminine finals, they have succeeded in this better than any of the poets of other nations. These lines, all imperfect in their harmony, are however, as to form, the only eumolpique verse that they could make. Shakespeare felt it and made use of it in his tragedies.
Shakespeare with the creative genius with which nature had endowed him, would have borne dramatic art to its perfection in these modern times, if circumstances had been as favourable to him as they were adverse. Emulator of Æschylus, he might have equalled and perhaps surpassed him, if he had had at his disposal a mine so rich, so brilliant as that of the mysteries of Orpheus; if he had made use of a language so harmonious, if his taste had been able to be refined at the school of Pindar or of Homer. At the epoch of his birth, Europe scarcely emerged from the gloom of barbarism; the theatre, given over to ridiculous mountebanks, profaned in indecent farces the incomprehensible mysteries of the Christian religion, and the English tongue, still crude and unformed, had not succeeded in amalgamating in one single body the opposed dialects of which it was successively formed. In spite of these obstacles, Shakespeare stamped upon England a movement of which Europe felt the influence. Raised by the sole force of his genius to the essence of dramatic poetry, he dared to seek for his subjects in the mythology of Odin, and put upon the stage, in _Hamlet_ and in _Macbeth_, tableaux of the highest character.[226] Like Æschylus he conducted one to virtue by terror; but unfortunately the taste of the spectators, upon which he was forced to model his, led him to degrade his tableaux by grotesque figures: the English people were not sufficiently advanced to comprehend the moral end of the tragedy. They must be amused; and Shakespeare succeeded only at the expense of the beauties of the art. Historic facts and trivial scenes replaced the mysterious and sublime subjects.
In London, the dramatic muse was turbulent and licentious; as in Madrid it had been chivalrous and gallant. Everywhere the theatre had to accommodate itself to the taste of the people. The first regular tragedy which Pierre Corneille composed in France was derived from a Spanish ballad. Madrid at that time gave the tone to Europe. It needed much of the time and all the prosperity of Louis XIV. to throw off the unseasonable ascendancy that this proud nation had assumed over public opinion.[227] Notwithstanding the efforts of Corneille, of Racine, and of Molière, the Théâtre Français retained always the romanesque tone that it had originally received. All that these three men could do was, by lofty sentiments, by purity of forms, by regularity of the customs and characters, to pass over what was, in reality, defective. They came thus to give to modern dramatic art all the perfection of which it was susceptible. Shakespeare had been in London the successor of Æschylus; Corneille received in France the inspiration of Sophocles; Racine, that of Euripides; and Molière united as in a sheaf the spirit of Menander, of Terence, and of Plautus.
When I compare Shakespeare with Æschylus, I want to make it clearly understood that I regard him as the regenerator of the theatre in Europe, and superior to Corneille and Racine as to dramatic essence, although he may be assuredly much inferior to them as to form. Æschylus, in Greek, was inspired by Homer; while, on the contrary, it was Shakespeare who inspired Milton. It is known that _Paradise Lost_ was at first conceived as the subject of a tragedy, and that it was only after reflection that the English poet saw therein the material for an epic poem. I will tell later on, in speaking of the _Messiah_ of Klopstock, what has prevented these two subjects, which appear equally epics, from attaining wholly to the majesty of epopœia. As many of the motives that I have to offer apply to the two works, I will thus avoid useless repetition. I shall begin by translating the exposition and invocation of Milton, by imitating its movement and its harmony, as I have done with the other poets. De l’homme, viens chanter la disgrâce, et la fruit De cet arbre fatal, dont le goût homicide Livra le Monde au crime, à la mort, aux malheurs, Et nous ravit Eden, jusqu’au moment qu’un Homme Plus grand, par son trépas, racheta le séjour Du bonheur: viens, ô Muse! ô toi qui, sur la cime Se Sinaï, d’Oreb, en secret inspiras La Berger d’Israël, quand d’une voix sacrée Il enseignait comment et la terre et des cieux Sortirent du Chaos! ou bien, si tu préfères Les sommets de Sion, les bords du Siloë, Qui, près du Temple saint, roule ses flots, ô Muse! Viens protéger de là mes chants audacieux, Mes chants qui, surpassant d’un essor non timide, Les monts Aoniens, vont raconter des faits Que n’ont point encor dits la prose ni la rime.
Of Man’s first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste Brought death into the world, and all our woe, With loss of Eden, till one greater Man Restore us and regain the blissful seat, Sing, heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top Of Oreb or of Sinai, didst inspire That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed, In the beginning how the heavens and earth Rose out of chaos; or if Sion hill Delight thee more, and Siloa’s brook that flow’d Fast by the oracle of God; I thence Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song, That with no middle flight intends to soar Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
Des coupables humains, célèbre, Ame immortelle, l’heureuse délivrance, Que sur terre envoyé le Messie accomplit dans son humanité: Dis comment il rendit les fils du premier homme à leur Auteur céleste; Souffrant et mis à mort, enfin glorifié. Ainsi s’exécuta Le décret éternel. En vain Satan rebelle opposa son audace A ce Fils du Très-Haut; et Judas vainement s’éleva contre lui: Réconciliateur et Rédempteur suprême, il consomma son œuvre. Mais quoi, noble action! que Dieu seul en son cœur miséricordieux, Connaît, la Poésie, en son exil terrestre, pourra-t-elle te suivre? Non, Esprit créateur, c’est à toi, devant qui je m’incline en tremblant, A rapprocher de moi cette action divine, à toi-même semblable. Viens donc, conduis-la-moi dans l’état immortel de toute sa beauté; Remplis-la de ton feu, toi que, sondant l’abîme du Très-Haut, peux de l’homme Issu de la poussière, et fragile et mortel, te faire un temple saint. My Soul, degenerate man’s redemption sing, Which the Messiah in his human state On earth accomplished, by which, suffering slain And glorify’d, unto the Love of God The progeny of Adam he restored. Such was the everlasting Will divine, Th’ infernal Fiend opposed him, Judah stood In opposition proud; but vain their rage: He did the deed, he wrought out man’s salvation. Yet, wondrous Deed, which th’ all-compassionate Jehovah alone completely comprehends, May Poesy presume from her remote Obscurity to venture on thy theme? Creative Spirit, in whose presence here I humbly’ adore, her efforts consecrate, Conduct her steps and lead her, me to meet, Of transport full, with glorious charms endow’d And power immortal, imitating Thee. (EGESTORFF.)
Sing, unserterbliche Seele, der sündigen Menschen Erlösung, Die der Messias auf Erden, in seiner Menscheit vollendet; Und durch die er Adams Geschlecht zu der Liebe der Gottheit, Leidend, getödtet und verherlichet, weider erhöhet hat. Also geschah des Ewigen Wille. Vergebens erhub sich Satan gegen der göttlichen Sohn; umsonst stand Juda Gegen ihn auf; er that’s, und wollbrachte die grosse Versöhnung. Aber, o That, die allein der Albarmherzige kennet, Darf aus dunckler Ferne sich auch dir nahen die Dichtkunst? Weihe sie, Geist, Schöpfer, vor dem ich hier still anbete, Führe sie mir, als deine Nachahmerin, voiler Entzückung, Voll unsterblicher Kraft, in verklärter Schönheit, entgegen. Rüste mit deinem Feuer sie, du, der die Tiefen des Gottheit Schaut und den Menschen, aus Staube gemacht, zum Tempel sich heiligt!
It is evident that in this exposition the movement of Homer has been united by Klopstock to the ideas of Tasso. The German poet claims nevertheless the originality, and believes that he himself was called to enjoy the first inspiration. In order that this high aspiration might have been realized, a mass of learning very difficult to find would have been necessary. I will explain briefly this idea. I believe that the one who, disdaining to follow in the footsteps of Homer or of Vergil, would wish to open another road to epopœia, should be well acquainted with the ground over which he ventures to trace it, and the goal toward which he aspires to conduct it; I think he should make himself master of his subject so that nothing might remain obscure or unknown to him; so that if he should choose either the downfall of Man, as Milton, or his rehabilitation, after the example of Klopstock, he would be able to acquaint himself with the inner meaning of these mysteries, to explain all the conditions, to comprehend the beginning and the end, and, raising himself to the intellectual nature where they had birth, to spread light upon physical nature. This is the first attainment that I deem indispensable to the epic poet; I say that he should understand what he would sing. Homer knew what Ilium was, what Ithaca was; he could explain to himself the nature of Achilles and Helen, of Penelope and Ulysses; consequently he could depict them. I do not wish to investigate here whether Milton has understood in the same manner the beginning of the World and the nature of Satan; nor whether Klopstock has well understood the mystery of the incarnation of the Messiah. I only say that if they have not understood these things, they cannot sing them in a manner really epic.
A defect which is common to these two poets, and which is even noticeable in the _Jerusalem Delivered_ of Tasso, is, that everything which does not pertain to the part of the celebrated hero, is by its impure, unfaithful, impious nature, governed by the Principle of evil, and as such consigned to eternal damnation. An insurmountable barrier separates the personages and makes them not alone enemies, but opposed, as much as good and evil, light and darkness. However, the passions act unknown even to the poet; the reader is hurried along, he forgets the fatal line of demarcation, and is deceived into becoming interested in Satan, into finding great, beautiful, and terrible, this enemy of mankind; he trusts in Armida, he is moved by her troubles, and seconds with his vows those of a notorious magician, instrument of the Infernal Spirit. Matters go not thus with Homer. The Greeks see in the Trojans, enemies, and not reprobates. Paris is culpable but not impious. Hector is a hero in whom one can be interested without shame, and the interest that one devotes to him reflects upon Achilles and can even be increased. The gods are divided; but Venus and Juno, Minerva and Mars, Vulcan and Neptune are of a like nature; and although divided in the epic action, they are none the less venerated by both parties, equal among each other and all equally subject to Jupiter, who excites or checks their resentment. I know not whether any one has already made this observation; but be that as it may, it is very important. One can attain to the sublimity of epopœia only if like Homer one knows how to oppose the Powers which serve the hero with the Powers which persecute him. For if everything which serves the hero is good, holy, and sacred, and everything which is harmful to him wicked, impious, and reprobate, I do not see the glory of his triumph.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.