So that we are not to wonder he kept close to his author, though at the expence of this false fame of Originality. Nay it appears directly from a remarkable instance that in the case before us, He unquestionably judged right.
A defect of natural ability is not that, which the critics have been most forward to charge upon Statius. A person of true taste, who, in a fanciful way, hath contrived to give us the just character of the Latin poets, in assigning to this poet the topmost station on Parnassus, sufficiently acknowledges the vigour and activity of his genius. Yet, in composing his Thebaid (an old story taken from the heroic ages, which obliged him to the celebration of funeral obsequies with the attending solemnities of public games) to avoid the dishonour of following too closely on the heels of Homer and Virgil, who had not only taken the same route, but pursued it in the most direct and natural course, he resolved, at all adventures, to keep at due distance from them, and to make his way, as well as he could, more obliquely to the same end. To accomplish this project, he was forced, though in the description of the same individual games, to look out for different circumstances and events in them; that so the identity of his subject, which he could not avoid, might, in some degree, be atoned for by the diversity of his manner in treating it. It must be owned, that great ingenuity as well as industry hath been used, in executing this design. Had it been practicable, the character, just given of this poet, makes it credible, he must have succeeded in it. Yet, so impossible it is, without deserting nature herself, to dissent from her faithful copiers, that the main objection to the sixth book of the Thebaid hath arisen from this fruitless endeavour of being original, where common sense and the reason of the thing would not permit it. “In the particular descriptions of each of these games (says the great writer before quoted, and from whose sentence in matters of taste, there lies no appeal) Statius hath not borrowed from either of his predecessors, and his poem is so much the worse for it.”
2. The case of DESCRIPTION is still clearer, and, after what has been so largely discoursed on the subjects of it, will require but few words. For it must have appeared, in considering them, that not only the objects themselves are necessarily obtruded on the poet, but that the occasions of introducing them are also restrained by many limitations. If we reflect a little, we shall find, that they grow out of the action represented, which, in the greater poetry, implies a great similarity, even when most different. What, for instance, is the purpose of the epic poet, but to shew his hero under the most awful and interesting circumstances of human life? To this end some general design is formed. He must war with Achilles, or voyage with Ulysses. And, to work up his fable to that magnificence, ΜΕΓΑΛΟΠΡΕΠΕΙΑΝ, which Aristotle rightly observes to be the characteristic of this poem, heaven and hell must also be interested in the success of his enterprise. And what is this, in effect, but to own, that the pomp of epic description, in its draught of battles, with its several accidents; of storms, shipwrecks, &c. of the intervention of gods, or machination of devils, is, in great measure, determined, not only as to the choice, but application of it, to the poet’s hands? And the like conclusion extends to still minuter particularities.
What concerns the delineation of characters may seem to carry with it more difficulty. Yet, though these are infinitely diversified by distinct peculiar lineaments, poetry cannot help falling into the same general representation. For it is conversant about the greater characters; such as demand the imputation of like manners, and who are actuated by the same governing passions. To set off these, the same combination of circumstances must frequently be imagined; at least so similar, as to bring on the same series of representation. The piety of one hero, and the love of his country, which characterizes another, can only be shewn by the influence of the ruling principle in each, constraining them to neglect inferior considerations, and to give up all subordinate affections to it. The more prevalent the affection, the greater the sacrifice, and the more strongly is the character marked. Hence, without doubt, the Calypso of Homer. And need we look farther than the instructions of common nature for a similar contrivance in a later poet? Not to be tedious on a matter, which admits no dispute, the dramatic writings of all times may convince us of two things, 1. “that the actuating passions of men are universally and invariably the same;” and 2. “that they express themselves constantly in similar effects.” Or, one single small volume, the characters of Theophrastus, will sufficiently do it. And what more is required to justify this consequence, “that the descriptions of characters, even in the most original designers, will resemble each other;” and “that the very contexture of a work, designed to evidence them in action, will, under the management of different writers, be, frequently, much the same?” A conclusion, which indeed is neither mine nor any novel one, but was long ago insisted on by a discerning ancient, and applied to the comic drama, in these words,
3. In truth, so far as direct and immediate description is concerned, the matter is so plain, that it will hardly be called into question. The difficulty is to account for the similarity of metaphor and COMPARISON (that is, of imagery, which comes in obliquely, and for the purpose of illustrating some other, and, frequently, very remote and distinct subject) observable in all writers. Here it may not seem quite so easy to make out an original claim; for, though descriptions of the same object, when it occurs, must needs be similar, yet it remains to shew how the same object comes, in this case, to occur at all. Before an answer can be given to this question, it must be observed 1. that there is in the mind of man, not only a strong natural love of imitation, but of comparison. We are not only fond of copying single objects, as they present themselves, but we delight to set two objects together, and contemplate their mutual aspects and appearances. The pleasure we find in this exercise of the imagination is the main source of that perpetual usage of indirect and allusive imagery in the writings of the poets; for I need not here consider the necessity of the thing, and the unavoidable introduction of sensible images into all language. 2. This work of comparison is not gone about by the mind causelessly and capriciously. There are certain obvious and striking resemblances in nature, which the poet is carried necessarily to observe, and which offer themselves to him on the slightest exercise and exertion of his comparing powers. It may be difficult to explain the causes of this established relationship in all cases; or to shew distinctly, what these secret ties and connexions are, which link the objects of sense together, and draw the imagination thus insensibly from one subject to another. The most obvious and natural is that of actual similitude, whether in shape, attitude, colour, or aspect. As when heroes are compared to gods,—a hero in act to strike at his foe, to a faulcon stooping at a dove,—blood running down the skin, to the staining of ivory,—corn waving with the wind, to water in motion. Sometimes the associating cause lies in the effect. As when the return of a good prince to his country is compared to the sun—a fresh gale to mariners, to the timely coming of a general to his troops, &c. more commonly, in some property, attribute, or circumstance. Thus an intrepid hero suggests the idea of a rock, on account of its firmness and stability;—of a lion, for his fierceness,—of a deer encompassed with wolves, for his situation when surrounded with enemies. In short, for I pretend not to make a complete enumeration of the grounds of connexion, whatever the mind observes in any object, that bears an analogy to something in any other, becomes the occasion of comparison betwixt them; and the fancy, which is ever, in a great genius, quick at espying these traits of resemblance, and delights to survey them, lets dip no opportunity of setting them over against each other, and producing them to observation.
But whatever be the causes, which associate the ideas of the poet, and how fantastic soever or even casual, may sometimes appear to be the ground of such association, yet, in respect of the greater works of genius, there will still be found the most exact uniformity of allusion, the same ideas and aspects of things constantly admonishing the poet of the same resemblances and relations. I say, in the greater works of genius, which must be attended to; for the folly of taking resemblances for imitations, in this province of allusion, hath arisen from hence; that the poet is believed to have all art and nature before him, and to be at liberty to fetch his hints of similitude and correspondence from every distant and obscure corner of the universe. That is, the genius of the epic, dramatic, and universally, of the greater, poetry hath not been comprehended, nor their distinct laws and characters distinguished from those of an inferior species.
The mutual habitudes and relations (at least what the mind is capable of regarding as such), subsisting between those innumerable objects of thought and sense, which make up the entire natural and intellectual world, are indeed infinite; and if the poet be allowed to associate and bring together all those ideas, wherein the ingenuity of the mind can perceive any remote sign or glimpse of resemblance, it were truly wonderful, that, in any number of images and allusions, there should be found a close conformity of them with those of any other writer. But this is far from being the case. For 1. the more august poetry disclaims, as unsuited to its state and dignity, that inquisitive and anxious diligence, which pries into nature’s retirements; and searches through all her secret and hidden haunts, to detect a forbidden commerce, and expose to light some strange unexpected conjunction of ideas. This quaint combination of remote, unallied imagery, constitutes a species of entertainment, which, for its novelty, may amuse and divert the mind in other compositions; but is wholly inconsistent with the reserve and solemnity of the graver forms. There is too much curiosity of art, too solicitous an affectation of pleasing, in these ingenious exercises of the fancy, to suit with the simple majesty of the epos or drama; which disclaims to cast about for forced and tortured allusions, and aims only to expose, in the fairest light, such as are most obvious and natural. And here, by the way, it may be worth observing, in honour of a great Poet of the last century, I mean Dr. Donne, that, though agreeably to the turn of his genius, and taste of his age, he was fonder, than ever poet was, of these secret and hidden ways in his lesser poetry; yet when he had projected his great work “On the progress of the soul” (of which we have only the beginning) his good sense brought him out into the freer spaces of nature and open day-light.
In this, the author of Gondibert, and another writer of credit, a contemporary of Donne, Sir Fulk Grevil, were not so happy. 2. This work of indirect imagery is intended, not so much to illustrate and enforce the original thought, to which it is applied, as to amuse and entertain the fancy, by holding up to view, in these occasional digressive representations, the pictures of pleasing scenes and objects. But this end of allusion (which is principal in the sublimer works of genius) restrains the poet to the use of a few select images, for the most part taken from obvious common nature; these being always most illustrious in themselves, and therefore most apt to seize and captivate the imagination of the reader. Thus is the poet confined, by the very nature of his work, to a very moderate compass of allusion, on both these accounts; first, as he must employ the easiest and most apparent resemblances: and secondly, of these, such as impress the most delightful images on the fancy.
This being the case, it cannot but happen, that the allusions of different poets, of the higher class, though writing without any communication with each other, will, of course, be much the same on similar occasions. There are fixed and real analogies between different material objects; between these objects, and the inward workings of the mind; and, again, between these, and the external signs of them. Such, on every occasion, do not so properly offer themselves to the searching eye of the poet, as force themselves upon him; so that, if he submit to be guided by the most natural views of things, he cannot avoid a very remarkable correspondence of imagery with his predecessors. And we find this conclusion verified in fact; as appears not only from comparing together the great ancient and modern writers, who are known to have held an intimate correspondence with each other, but those, who cannot be suspected of this commerce. Several critics, I observed, have taken great pains to illustrate the sentiments of Homer from similar instances in the sacred writers. The same design might easily be carried on, in respect of allusive imagery; it being obvious to common observation, that numberless of the most beautiful comparisons in the Greek poet are to be met with in the Hebrew prophets. Nay, the remark may be extended to the undisciplined writers and speakers of the farthest west and east, whom nature instructs to beautify and adorn their conceptions with the same imagery. So little doth it argue an inferiority of genius in Virgil, if it be true, as the excellent translator of Homer says, “that he has scarcely any comparisons, which are not drawn from his master.”
The truth is, the nature of the two subjects, which the Greek poet had taken upon himself to adorn, was such, that it led him through every circumstance and situation of human life; which his quick attentive observation readily found the means of shewing to advantage under the cover of the most fit and proper imagery. Succeeding writers, who had not contemplated his pictures, yet, drawing from one common original, have unknowingly hit upon the very same. And those, who had, with all their endeavours after novelty, and the utmost efforts of genius to strike out original lights, have never been able to succeed in their attempts. Our Milton, who was most ambitious of this fame of invention, and whose vast and universal genius could not have missed of new analogies, had nature’s self been able to furnish them, is a glaring instance to our purpose. He was so averse from resting in the old imagery of Homer, and the other epic poets, that he appears to have taken infinite pains in the investigation of new allusions, which he picked up out of the rubbish of every silly legend or romance, that had come to his knowledge, or extracted from the dry and rugged materials of the sciences, and even the mechanic arts. Yet, in comparison of the genuine treasures of nature, which he found himself obliged to make use of, in common with other writers, his own proper stock of images, imported from the regions of art, is very poor and scanty; and, as might be expected, makes the least agreeable part of his divine work.
What is here said of the epic holds, as I hinted, of all the more serious kinds of poetry. In works of a lighter cast, there is greater liberty and a larger field of allusion permitted to the poet. All the appearances in art and nature, betwixt which there is any resemblance, may be employed here to surprize and divert the fancy. The further and more remote from vulgar apprehension these analogies lie, so much the fitter for his purpose, which is not so much to illustrate his ideas, as to place them in new and uncommon lights, and entertain the mind by that odd fantastic conjunction, or opposition of ideas, which we know by the name of wit. Nay, the lowest, as well as the least obvious imagery will be, oftentimes, the most proper; his view being not to ennoble and raise his subject by the means of allusion, but to sink and debase it by every art, that hath a tendency to excite the mirth and provoke the ridicule of the reader. Here then we may expect a much more original air, than in the higher designs of invention. When all nature is before the poet, and the genius of his work allows him to seize her, as the shepherd did Proteus, in every dirty form, into which she can possibly twist herself, it were, indeed, a wonder, if he should chance to coincide, in his imagery, with any other, from whom he had not expressly copied. They who are conversant in works of wit and humour, more especially of these later times, will know this to be the case, in fact. There is not perhaps a single comparison in the inimitable Telemaque, which had not, before, been employed by some or other of the poets. Can any thing, like this, be said of Rabelais, Butler, Marvel, Swift, &c.?
III. It only remains to consider the EXPRESSION. And in this are to be found the surest and least equivocal marks of imitation. We may regard it in two lights; either 1. as it respects the general turn or manner of writing, which we call a style; or 2. the peculiarities of phrase and diction.
1. A style in writing, if not formed in express imitation of some certain model, is the pure result of the disposition of the mind, and takes its character from the predominant quality of the writer. Thus a short and compact, and a diffused and flowing expression are the proper consequences of certain corresponding characters of the human genius. One has a vigorous comprehensive conception, and therefore collects his sense into few words. Another, whose imagination is more languid, contemplates his objects leisurely, and so displays their beauties in a greater compass of words, and with more circumstance and parade of language. A polite and elegant humour delights in the grace of ease and perspicuity. A severe and melancholic spirit inspires a forcible but involved expression. There are many other nicer differences and peculiarities of manner, which, though not reducible, perhaps, to general heads, the critic of true taste easily understands.
2. As men of different tempers and dispositions assume a different cast of expression, so may the same observation be applied, still more generally, to different countries and times. It may be difficult to explain the efficient causes of this diversity, which I have no concern with at present. The fact is, that the eloquence of the eastern world has, at all times, been of another strain from that of the western. And, also, in the several provinces of each, there has been some peculiar note of variation. The Asiatic, of old, had its proper stamp, which distinguished it from the Attic; just as the Italian, French, and Spanish wits have, each, their several characteristic manners of expression.
A different state of times has produced the like effect; which a late writer accounts for, not unaptly, from what he calls a progression of life and manners. That which cannot be disputed is, that the modes of writing undergo a perpetual change or variation in every country. And it is further observable, that these changes in one country, under similar circumstances, have a signal correspondence to those, which the incessant rotation of taste brings about in every other.
Of near affinity to this last consideration is another arising from the corresponding genius of two people, however remote from each other in time and place. And, as it happens, the application may be made directly to ourselves in a very important instance. “Languages, says one, always take their character from the genius of a people. So that two the most distant states, thinking and acting with the same generous love of mankind, must needs have very near the same combinations of ideas.—And it is our boast that in this conformity we approach the nearest to ancient Greece and Italy.” I quote these words from a tract32, which the author perhaps may consider with the same neglect, as Cicero did his earlier compositions on Rhetoric; but which the curious will regard with reverence, as a fine essay of his genius, and a prelude to the great things he was afterwards seen capable of producing. But to come to the use we may make of this fine observation. The corresponding state of the English and Roman people has produced very near the same combinations of ideas. May we not carry the conclusion still further on the same principle, that it produced very near the same combinations of words? The fact is, as the same writer observes, That “we have a language that is brief, comprehensive, nervous, and majestic.” The very character which an old Roman would give us of his own language. And when the same general character of language prevails, is it any thing strange that the different modifications of it, or peculiar styles, arising from the various turns and dispositions of writers (which, too, in such circumstances will be corresponding) should therefore be very similar in the productions of the two states? Or, in other words, can we wonder that some of our best writers bear a nearer resemblance, I mean independently of direct imitation, to the Latin classics, than those of any other people in modern times?
But let it suffice to leave these remarks without further comment or explanation.
The use the discerning reader will make of them is, that if different writers agree in the same general disposition, or in the same national character; live together in the same period of time; or in corresponding periods of the progression of manners, or are under the influence of a corresponding genius of policy and government; in every of these cases, some considerable similarity of expression may be occasioned by the agency of general principles, without any suspicion of studied or designed imitation.
II. An identity of phrase and diction, is a much surer note of plagiarism. For considering the vast variety of words, which any language, and especially the more copious ones furnish, and the infinite possible combinations of them into all the forms of phraseology, it would be very strange, if two persons should hit on the same identical terms, and much more should they agree in the same precise arrangement of them in whole sentences.
There is no defending coincidences of this kind; and whatever writers themselves may pretend, or their friends for them, no one can doubt a moment of such identity being a clear and decisive proof of imitation.
Yet this must be understood with some limitations.
For 1. There are in every language some current and authorized forms of speech, which can hardly be avoided by a writer without affectation. They are such as express the most obvious sentiments, and which the ordinary occasions of life are perpetually obtruding on us. Now these, as by common agreement, we chuse to deliver to one another in the same form of words. Convenience dictates this to one set of writers, and politeness renders it sacred in another. Thus it will be true of certain phrases (as, universally, of the words, in any language), that they are left in common to all writers, and can be claimed as matter of property, by none. Not that such phraseology will be frequent in nobler compositions, as the familiarity of its usage takes from their natural reserve and dignity. Yet on certain occasions, which justify this negligence, or in certain authors, who are not over-sollicitous about these indecorums, we may expect to meet with it. Hamlet says of his father,
which may be suspected of being stolen from Sophocles, who has the following passage in the Trachiniae.
The sentiment being one of the commonest, that offers itself to the mind, the sole ground of suspicion must lie in the expression, “I shall not look upon his like again,” to which the Greek so exactly answers. But these were the ordinary expressions of such sentiment, in the two languages; and neither the characters of the great poets, nor the situation of the speakers, would suffer the affectation of departing from common usage.
What is here said of the situation of the speakers reminds me of another class of expressions, which will often be similar in all poets. Nature, under the same conjunctures, gives birth to the same conceptions; and if they be of such a kind, as to exclude all thought of artifice, and the tricks of eloquence (as on occasions of deep anxiety and distress) they run, of themselves, into the same form of expression. The wretched Priam, in his lamentation of Hector, lets drop the following words:
“This line, says his translator, is particularly tender, and almost, word for word, the same with that of the Patriarch Jacob; who, upon a like occasion, breaks out in the same complaint, and tells his children, that, if they deprive him of his son Benjamin, they will bring down his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave.”
We may, further, except, under this head, certain privileged forms of speech, which the peculiar idioms of different languages make necessary in them, and which poetry consecrates in all. But this is easily observed, and its effect is not very considerable.
2. In pleading this identity of expression, regard must be had to the language, from which the theft is supposed to be made. If from the same language (setting aside the exceptions, just mentioned) the same arrangement of the same words is admitted as a certain argument of plagiarism: nay, less than this will do in some instances, as where the imitated expression is pretty singular, or so remarkable, on any account, as to be well known, &c. But if from another language, the matter is not so easy. It can rarely happen, indeed, but by design, that there should be the same order or composition of words, in two languages. But that which passes even for literal translation, is but a similar composition of corresponding words. And what does this imply, but that the writers conceived of their object in the same manner, and had occasion to set it in the same light? An occasion, which is perpetually recurring to all authors. As may be gathered from that frequent and strong resemblance in the expression of moral sentiments, observable in the writers of every age and country. Can there be a commoner reflexion, or which more constantly occurs to the mind under the same appearance, than that of our great poet, who, speaking of the state after death, calls it
Shall we call this a translation of the Latin poet;
Or, doth it amount to any more than this, that the terms employed by the two writers in expressing the same obvious thought are correspondent? But correspondency and identity are different things. The latter is only, where the words are numerically the same, which can only happen in one and the same language: the other is effected by different sets of words, which are numerous in every language, and are therefore no convincing proof (abstractedly from other circumstances) of imitation.
From these general reflexions on language, without refining too far, or prying too curiously into the mysteries of it, the same conclusion meets us, as before. The expression of two writers may be similar, and sometimes even identical, and yet be original in both. Which shews the necessity there was to lead the reader through this long investigation of the general sources of similitude in works of INVENTION, in order to put him into a condition of judging truly and equitably of those of IMITATION. For if similarity, even in this province of words, which the reason of the thing shews to be most free from the constraint of general rules, be no argument of theft in all cases; much less can it be pretended of the other subjects of this inquiry, which from the necessary uniformity of nature in all her appearances, and of common sense in its operations upon them, must give frequent and unavoidable occasion to such similarity. But then this is all I would insinuate.
For, after the proper allowances, which candid criticism requires to be made on this head, it will still be true (and nothing in this Essay attempts to contradict it) “that coincidences of a certain kind, and in a certain degree, cannot fail to convict a writer of imitation.” What these are, the impatient reader, I suppose, is ready to enquire. And, not entirely to disappoint him, I have thrown together, at the close of this volume, some remarks which, perhaps, will be of use in solving that difficult question33. In the mean time, it seemed of importance to free the mind from the perversion of that early prejudice, which is so prompt to mistake resemblance universally for imitation. And what other method of effecting this, than by taking a view of the extent and influence of the genuine powers of nature, which, when rightly apprehended, make it an easier task to detect, in particular instances, the intervention of design?
Allowing then (what this previous inquiry not only no way contradicts but even assists us in perceiving more clearly) that certain resemblances may be urged as undoubted proofs of imitation, it remains only to the integrity of this discourse, to satisfy that other question, “how far the credit of the imitator is concerned in the discovery;” or, in other words, (since the praise of invention is of the highest value to the poet) “how far the concession of his having borrowed from others, may be justly thought to detract from him in that respect.” An inquiry, which, though for its consequences to the fame of all great writers, since the time of Homer, of much importance, may yet be dispatched in few words.
In entering on this apology for professed imitators, I shall not be suspected of undervaluing the proper merits of invention, which unquestionably holds the first place in the virtutes of a poet, and is that power, which, of all others, enables him to give the highest entertainment to the reader. Much less will it be thought, that I am here pleading the cause of those base and abject spirits, who have not the courage or ability to attempt any thing of themselves, and can barely make a shift, as a great poet of our own expresses it, to creep servilely after the sense of some other. These I readily resign to the shame and censure, which have so justly followed them in all ages; as subscribing to the truth of that remark, “Imitatio per se ipsa non sufficit, vel quia pigri est ingenii, contentum esse iis, quae sunt ab aliis inventa.” My concern is only with those, whose talent of original genius is not disputed, but the degree of strength and vigour, with which it prevails in them, somewhat lowered in the general estimation, from this imputed crime of PLAGIARISM. And, with respect to such as these, something, I conceive, may be said, not undeserving the notice of the candid reader.
1. The most universal cause, inducing imitation in great writers, is, the force of early discipline and education. Were it true, that poets took their descriptions and images immediately from common nature, one might expect, indeed, a general similitude in their works, but such, as could seldom or never, in all its circumstances, amount to a strict and rigorous correspondency. The properties of things are so numerous, and the lights in which they shew themselves to a mind uninfluenced by former prejudices, so different, that some grace of novelty, some tincture of original beauty, would constantly infuse itself into all their delineations. But the case is far otherwise. Strong as the bent of the imagination may be to contemplate living forms, and to gaze with delight on this grand theatre of nature, its attention is soon taken off, and arrested, on all sides, by those infinite mirrors, and reflexions of things, which it every where meets with in the world of imitation. We are habituated to a survey of this secondary and derivative nature; as presented in the admired works of art, through the entire course of our education. The writings of the best poets are put into our hands, to instruct us in the knowledge of men and things, as soon as we are capable of apprehending them. Nay, we are taught to lisp their very words, in our tenderest infancy. Some quick and transient glances we cannot chuse but cast, at times, on the phænomena of living beauty; but its forms are rarely contemplated by us with diligence, but in these mirrors, which are the constant furniture of our schools and closets. And no wonder, were we even left to ourselves, that such should be our proper choice and determination. For, by the prodigious and almost magical operations of fancy on original objects, they even shew fairer, and are made to look more attractive, in these artificial representations, than in their own rude and native aspects. Thus, by the united powers of discipline and inclination, we are almost necessitated to see nature in the same light, and to know her only in the dress, in which her happier suitors and favourites first gave her to observation.
The effect of this early bias of the mind, which insensibly grows into the inveteracy of habit, needs not be insisted on. When the poet, thus tutored in the works of imitation, comes to address himself to invention, these familiar images, which he hath so often and so fondly admired, immediately step in and intercept his observation of their great original. Or, if he has power to hold them off, and turn his eye directly on the primary object, he still inclines to view it only on that side and in those lights, in which he has been accustomed to study it. Nor let it be said, that this is the infirmity, only, of weak minds. It belongs to our very natures, and the utmost vigour of genius is no security against it. Custom, in this as in every thing else, moulds, at pleasure, the soft and ductile matter of a minute spirit, and by degrees can even bend the elastic metal of the greatest.
And if the force of habit can thus determine a writer knowingly, to imitation, it cannot be thought strange, that it should frequently carry him into resemblance, when himself perhaps is not aware of it. Great readers, who have their memories fraught with the stores of ancient and modern poetry, unavoidably employ the sentiments, and sometimes the very words, of other writers, without any distinct remembrance of them, or so much as the suspicion of having seen them. At the least, their general cast of thinking or turn of expression will be much affected by them. For the most original writer as certainly takes a tincture from the authors in which he has been most conversant; as water, from the beds of earths or minerals, it hath happened to run over. Especially such authors, as are studied and even got by heart by us in our early youth, leave a lasting impression, which is hardly ever effaced out of the mind. Hence a certain constrained and unoriginal air, in some degree or other, in every genius, throughly disciplined by a course of learned education. Which, by the way, leads to a question, not very absurd in itself, however it may pass with most readers for paradoxical, viz. “Whether the usual forms of learning be not rather injurious to the true poet, than really assisting to him?” It should seem to be so for a natural reason. For the faculty of invention, as all our other powers, is much improved and strengthened by exercise. And great reading prevents this, by demanding the perpetual exercise of the memory. Thus the mind becomes not only indisposed, but, for want of use, really unqualified, to turn itself to other views, than such as habitual recollection easily presents to it. And this, I am persuaded, hath been the case with many a fine genius, and especially with one of our own country34; who, as appears from some original efforts in the sublime allegorical way, had no want of natural talents for the greater poetry; which yet were so restrained and disabled by his constant and superstitious study of the old classics, that he was, in fact, but a very ordinary poet.
2. But were early habit of less power to incline the mind to imitation, than it really is, yet the high hand of authority would compel it. For the first originals in the several species of poetry, like the Autocthones of old, were deemed to have come into the world by a kind of miracle. They were perfect prodigies, at least reputed so by the admiring multitude, from their first appearance. So that their authority, in a short time, became sacred; and succeeding writers were obliged, at the hazard of their fame, and as they dreaded the charge of a presumptuous and prophane libertinism in poetry, to take them for their guides and models. Which is said even without the licence of a figure; at least of one of them; whom Cicero calls the fountain and origin of all DIVINE institutions35; and another, of elder and more reverend estimation, pronounces to be ὁ θεὸς καὶ θεῶν προφήτης36·
And what is here observed of the influence of these master spirits, whom the admiration of antiquity hath placed at the head of the poetic world, will, with some allowance, hold also, of that of later, though less original writers, whose uncommon merits have given them a distinguished rank in it.
3. Next, (as it usually comes to pass in other instances) what was, at first, imposed by the rigour of authority, soon grew respectable in itself, and was chosen for its own sake, as a virtue, which deserved no small commendation. For, when sober and enlightened criticism began to inspect, at leisure, these miracles of early invention, it presently acknowledged them for the best, as well as the most ancient, poetic models, and accordingly recommended, or more properly enjoined them by rule, to the imitation of all ages. The effect of this criticism was clearly seen in the works of all succeeding poets in the same language. But, when a new and different one was to be furnished with fresh models, it became much more conspicuous. For, besides the same or a still higher veneration of their inventions, which the distance of place and time insensibly procured to them, the grace of novelty, which they would appear to have in another language, was, now, a further inducement to copy them. Hence we find it to be the utmost pride of the Roman writers, such I mean as came the nearest to them in the divinity of their genius, to follow the practice, and emulate the virtues, of the Grecian.
says one of the best of those writers, who yet was only treading in the footsteps of his Grecian masters.
But another was less reserved, and seemed desirous of being taken notice of, as an express imitator, without so much as laying in his claim to this sort of originality, in a new language—in multis versibus Virgilius fecit—non surripiendi causâ, sed palam imitandi, hoc animo ut vellet agnosci. Sen. Suasor. III.
And, on the revival of these arts in later times and more barbarous languages, the same spirit appeared again, or rather superior honours were paid to successful imitation. So that what a polite French writer declares on this head is, now, become the fixed opinion of the learned in all countries. “C’est même donner une grace à ses ouvrages, que de les orner de fragmens antiques. Des vers d’Horace et de Virgile bien traduits, et mis en œuvre à propos dans un poëme François, y font le même effet que les statuës antiques font dans la gallerie de Versailles. Les lecteurs retrouvent avec plaisir, sous une nouvelle forme, la pensée, qui leur plût autrefois en Latin37.”
It should, further, be added, that this praise of borrowing from the originals of Greece and Rome is now extended to the imitation of great modern authors. Every body applauds this practice, where the imitation is of approved writers in different languages. And even in the same languages, when this liberty is taken with the most ancient and venerable, it is not denied to have its grace and merit.
4. But, besides these several incitements, similarity of genius, alone, will, almost necessarily determine a writer to the studious emulation of some other. For, though it is with the minds, as the faces of men, that no two are exactly and in every feature alike; yet the general cast of their genius, as well as the air and turn of the countenance, will frequently be very similar in different persons. When two such spirits approach, they run together with eagerness and rapidity: the instinctive bias of the mind towards imitation being now quickened by passion. This is chiefly said in respect of that uniformity of style and manner, which, whenever we observe it in two writers, we almost constantly charge to the account of imitation. Indeed, where the resemblance holds to the last degree of minuteness, or where the peculiarities, only, of the model are taken, there is ground enough for this suspicion. For every original genius, however consonant, in the main, to any other, has still some distinct marks and characters of his own, by which he may be distinguished; and to copy peculiarities, when there is no appearance of the same original spirit, which gave birth to them, is manifest affectation. But the question is put of such, whose manner hath only a general, though strong, resemblance to that of some other, and whose true genius is above the suspicion of falling into the trap of what Horace happily calls, EXEMPLAR VITIIS IMITABILE. And of these it is perhaps juster to say, that a previous correspondency of character impelled to imitate, than that imitation itself produced that correspondency of character. At least (which is all my concern it present) it will be allowed to incline a writer strongly to imitation; and where a congenial spirit appears to provoke him to it, a candid critic will not be forward to turn this circumstance to the dishonour of his invention.
5. Lastly, were every other consideration out of the way, yet, oftentimes, the very nature of the poet’s theme would oblige him to a diligent imitation of preceding writers. I do not mean this of such subjects, as suggest and produce a necessary conformity of description, whether purposely intended or not. This hath been fully considered. But my meaning is, that, when the greater provinces of poetry have been, already, occupied, and its most interesting scenes exhausted; or, rather, their application to the uses of poetry determined by great masters, it becomes, thenceforward, unavoidable for succeeding writers to draw from their sources. The law of probability exacts this at their hands; and one may almost affirm, that to copy them closely is to paint after nature. I shall explain myself by an instance or two.
With regard to the religious opinions and ceremonies of the Pagan world, the writings of Homer, it is said and very truly, were “the standard of private belief, and the grand directory of public worship38.” Whatever liberty might have been taken with the rites and gods of Paganism before his time, yet, when he had given an exact description of both, and had formed, to the satisfaction of all, the established religion into a kind of system, succeeding poets were obliged, of course, to take their theology from him; and could no longer be thought to write justly and naturally of their Gods, than whilst their descriptions conformed to the authentic delineations of Homer. His relations, and even the fictions, which his genius had raised on the popular creed of elder Paganism, were now the proper archetype of all religious representations. And to speak of these, as given truly and originally, is, in effect, to say, that they were borrowed or rather transcribed from the page of that poet.
And the same may be observed of historical facts, as of religious traditions. For not unfrequently, where the subject is taken from authentic history, the authority of a preceding poet is so prevalent, as to render any account of the matter improbable, which is not fashioned and regulated after his ideas. A succeeding writer is neither at liberty to relate matters of fact, which no one thinks credible, nor to feign afresh for himself. In this case, again, all that the most original genius has to do, is to imitate. We have been told that the second book of the Aeneis was translated from Pisander39. Another thinks, it was taken from the LITTLE ILIAD40. Or, why confine him to either of these, when Metrodorus, Syagrus, Hegesianax, Aratus, and others, wrote poems on the taking of Troy? But granting the poet (as is most likely) to have had these originals before him, what shall we infer from it? Only this, that he took his principal facts and circumstances (as we see he was obliged to do for the sake of probability) from these writers. And why should this be thought a greater crime in him, than in Polygnotus; who, in his famous picture on this subject, was under the necessity, and for the same reason, of collecting his subject-matter from several poets41?
It follows, from these considerations, that we cannot justify ourselves in thinking so hardly, as we commonly do, of the class of imitators; which is, now, by the concurrence of various circumstances, become the necessary character of almost all poets. Nor let it be any concern to the true poet, that it is so. For imitations, when real and confessed, may still have their merit; nay, I presume to add, sometimes a greater merit, than the very originals on which they are formed: And, with the reader’s leave (though I am hastening to a conclusion of this long discourse), I will detain him, one moment, with the reasons of this opinion.
After all the praises that are deservedly given to the novelty of a subject, or the beauty of design, the supreme merit of poetry, and that which more especially immortalizes the writers of it, lies in the execution. It is thus that the poets of the Augustan age have not so properly excelled, as discredited, all the productions of their predecessors; and that those of the age of Louis XIVth not only obscure, but will in process of time obliterate, the fame and memory of the elder French writers. Or, to see the effect of masterly execution in single instances, hence it is, that Lucilius not only yields to Horace, but would be almost forgotten by us, if it had not been for the honour his imitator has done him. And nobody needs be told the advantage which Pope is likely to have over all our older satirists, excellent as some of them are, and more entitled than he to the honour of being inventors. We have here, then, an established fact. The first essays of genius, though ever so original, are overlooked; while the later productions of men, who had never risen to such distinction but by means of the very originals they disgrace, obtain the applause and admiration of all ages.
The solution of this fact, so notorious, and, at the same time, so contrary, in appearance, to the honours which men are disposed to pay to original invention, will open the mystery of that matter we are now considering.
The faculties, or, as we may almost term them, the magic powers, which ope the palace of eternity to great writers, are a confirmed judgment, and ready invention.
Now the first is seen to most advantage, in selecting, out of all preceding stores, the particulars that are most suited to the nature of a poet’s work, and the ends of poetry. When true genius has exhausted, as it were, the various manners, in which a work of art may be conducted, and the various topics which may be employed to adorn it, judgment is in its province, or rather sovereignty, when it determines which of all these is to be preferred, and which neglected. In this sense, as well as others, it will be most true, Quòd artis pars magna contineatur imitatione.
Nay, by means of this discernment, the very topic or method, which had no effect, or perhaps an ill one, under one management, or in one situation, shall charm every reader, in another. And by force of judging right, the copier shall almost lose his title, and become an inventor: