The Spectator Volume Iii Part 1

THE SPECTATOR.

VOL. III.

No. 417. Sat.u.r.day, June 28, 1712. Addison.

'Quem tu Melpomene semel Nascentem placido lumine videris, Non illum labor Isthmius Clarabit pugilem, non equus impiger, &c.

Sed quae Tibur aquae fertile perfluunt, Et Sp.i.s.sae nemorum comae Fingent aeolio carmine n.o.bilem.'

Hor.

We may observe, that any single Circ.u.mstance of what we have formerly seen often raises up a whole Scene of Imagery, and awakens [numberless [1]] Ideas that before slept in the Imagination; such a particular Smell or Colour is able to fill the Mind, on a sudden, with the Picture of the Fields or Gardens, where we first met with it, and to bring up into View all the Variety of Images that once attended it. Our Imagination takes the Hint, and leads us unexpectedly into Cities or Theatres, Plains or Meadows. We may further observe, when the Fancy thus reflects on the Scenes that have past in it formerly, those which were at first pleasant to behold, appear more so upon Reflection, and that the Memory heightens the Delightfulness of the Original. A _Cartesian_ would account for both these Instances in the following Manner.

The Sett of Ideas, which we received from such a Prospect or Garden, having entered the Mind at the same time, have a Sett of Traces belonging to them in the Brain, bordering very near upon one another; when, therefore, any one of these Ideas arises in the Imagination, and consequently dispatches a flow of Animal Spirits to its proper Trace, these Spirits, in the Violence of their Motion, run not only into the Trace, to which they were more particularly directed, but into several of those that lie about it: By this means they awaken other Ideas of the same Sett, which immediately determine a new Dispatch of Spirits, that in the same manner open other Neighbouring Traces, till at last the whole Sett of them is blown up, and the whole Prospect or Garden flourishes in the Imagination. But because the Pleasure we received from these Places far surmounted, and overcame the little Disagreeableness we found in them; for this Reason there was at first a wider Pa.s.sage worn in the Pleasure Traces, and, on the contrary, so narrow a one in those which belonged to the disagreeable Ideas, that they were quickly stopt up, and rendered incapable of receiving any Animal Spirits, and consequently of exciting any unpleasant Ideas in the Memory.

It would be in vain to enquire, whether the Power of Imagining Things strongly proceeds from any greater Perfection in the Soul, or from any nicer Texture in the Brain of one Man than of another. But this is certain, that a n.o.ble Writer should be born with this Faculty in its full Strength and Vigour, so as to be able to receive lively Ideas from outward Objects, to retain them long, and to range them together, upon Occasion, in such Figures and Representations as are most likely to hit the Fancy of the Reader. A Poet should take as much Pains in forming his Imagination, as a Philosopher in cultivating his Understanding. He must gain a due Relish of the Works of Nature, and be thoroughly conversant in the various Scenary of a Country Life.

When he is stored with Country Images, if he would go beyond Pastoral, and the lower kinds of Poetry, he ought to acquaint himself with the Pomp and Magnificence of Courts. He should be very well versed in every thing that is n.o.ble and stately in the Productions of Art, whether it appear in Painting or Statuary, in the great Works of Architecture which are in their present Glory, or in the Ruins of those [which [2]]

flourished in former Ages.

Such Advantages as these help to open a Man's Thoughts, and to enlarge his Imagination, and will therefore have their Influence on all kinds of Writing, if the Author knows how to make right use of them. And among those of the learned Languages who excel in this Talent, the most perfect in their several kinds, are perhaps _Homer_, _Virgil_, and _Ovid_. The first strikes the Imagination wonderfully with what is Great, the second with what is Beautiful, and the last with what is Strange. Reading the _Iliad_ is like travelling through a Country uninhabited, where the Fancy is entertained with a thousand Savage Prospects of vast Desarts, wide uncultivated Marshes, huge Forests, mis-shapen Rocks and Precipices. On the contrary, the _aeneid_ is like a well ordered Garden, where it is impossible to find out any Part unadorned, or to cast our Eyes upon a single Spot, that does not produce some beautiful Plant or Flower. But when we are in the _Metamorphoses_, we are walking on enchanted Ground, and see nothing but Scenes of Magick lying round us.

_Homer_ is in his Province, when he is describing a Battel or a Mult.i.tude, a Heroe or a G.o.d. _Virgil_ is never better pleased, than when he is in his _Elysium_, or copying out an entertaining Picture.

_Homer's_ Epithets generally mark out what is Great, _Virgil's_ what is Agreeable. Nothing can be more Magnificent than the Figure _Jupiter_ makes in the first _Iliad_, no more Charming than that of Venus in the first _aeneid_.

[Greek: Ae, ka kyaneaesin ep' ophrysi neuse Kronion, Ambrosiai d' ara chaitai eperrhosanto anaktos Krats ap' athanatoio megan d' elelixen olympos.]

Dixit et avertens rosea cervice refulsit: Ambrosiaeque comae; divinum vertice odorem Spiravere: Pedes vestis defluxit ad imos: Et vera incessu patuit Dea--

_Homer's_ Persons are most of them G.o.d-like and Terrible; _Virgil_ has scarce admitted any into his Poem, who are not Beautiful, and has taken particular Care to make his Heroe so.

--lumenque juventae Purpureum, et laetos oculis afflavit honores.

In a Word, 'Homer' fills his Readers with Sublime Ideas, and, I believe, has raised the Imagination of all the good Poets that have come after him. I shall only instance 'Horace', who immediately takes Fire at the first Hint of any Pa.s.sage in the 'Iliad' or 'Odyssey', and always rises above himself, when he has 'Homer' in his View. 'Virgil' has drawn together, into his 'aeneid', all the pleasing Scenes his Subject is capable of admitting, and in his 'Georgics' has given us a Collection of the most delightful Landskips that can be made out of Fields and Woods, Herds of Cattle, and Swarms of Bees.

'Ovid', in his 'Metamorphoses', has shewn us how the Imagination may be affected by what is Strange. He describes a Miracle in every Story, and always gives us the Sight of some new Creature at the end of it. His Art consists chiefly in well-timing his Description, before the first Shape is quite worn off, and the new one perfectly finished; so that he every where entertains us with something we never saw before, and shews Monster after Monster, to the end of the 'Metamorphoses'.

If I were to name a Poet that is a perfect Master in all these Arts of working on the Imagination, I think 'Milton' may pa.s.s for one: And if his 'Paradise Lost' falls short of the 'aeneid' or 'Iliad' in this respect, it proceeds rather from the Fault of the Language in which it is written, than from any Defect of Genius in the Author. So Divine a Poem in 'English', is like a stately Palace built of Brick, where one may see Architecture in as great a Perfection as in one of Marble, tho'

the Materials are of a coa.r.s.er Nature. But to consider it only as it regards our present Subject: What can be conceived greater than the Battel of Angels, the Majesty of Messiah, the Stature and Behaviour of Satan and his Peers? What more beautiful than 'Pandaemonium', Paradise, Heaven, Angels, 'Adam' and 'Eve'? What more strange, than the Creation of the World, the several Metamorphoses of the fallen Angels, and the surprising Adventures their Leader meets with in his Search after Paradise? No other Subject could have furnished a Poet with Scenes so proper to strike the Imagination, as no other Poet could have painted those Scenes in more strong and lively Colours.

O.

[Footnote 1: [a Thousand]]

[Footnote 2: [that]]

[Advertis.e.m.e.nt:--'Whereas the Proposal called the Multiplication Table is under an Information from the Attorney General, in Humble Submission and Duty to her Majesty the said Undertaking is laid down, and Attendance is this Day given ... in order to repay such Sums as have been paid into the said Table without Deduction.']

No. 418. Monday, June 30, 1712. Addison.

'--ferat et rubus asper amomum.'

Virg.

The Pleasures of these Secondary Views of the Imagination, are of a wider and more Universal Nature than those it has when joined with Sight; for not only what is Great, Strange or Beautiful, but any Thing that is Disagreeable when looked upon, pleases us in an apt Description.

Here, therefore, we must enquire after a new Principle of Pleasure, which is nothing else but the Action of the Mind, which _compares_ the Ideas that arise from Words, with the Ideas that arise from the Objects themselves; and why this Operation of the Mind is attended with so much Pleasure, we have before considered. For this Reason therefore, the Description of a Dunghill is pleasing to the Imagination, if the Image be represented to our Minds by suitable Expressions; tho' perhaps, this may be more properly called the Pleasure of the Understanding than of the Fancy, because we are not so much delighted with the Image that is contained in the Description, as with the Aptness of the Description to excite the Image.

But if the Description of what is Little, Common, or Deformed, be acceptable to the Imagination, the Description of what is Great, Surprising or Beautiful, is much more so; because here we are not only delighted with _comparing_ the Representation with the Original, but are highly pleased with the Original itself. Most Readers, I believe, are more charmed with _Milton's_ Description of Paradise, than of h.e.l.l; they are both, perhaps, equally perfect in their Kind, but in the one the Brimstone and Sulphur are not so refres.h.i.+ng to the Imagination, as the Beds of Flowers and the Wilderness of Sweets in the other.

There is yet another Circ.u.mstance which recommends a Description more than all the rest, and that is if it represents to us such Objects as are apt to raise a secret Ferment in the Mind of the Reader, and to work, with Violence, upon his Pa.s.sions. For, in this Case, we are at once warmed and enlightened, so that the Pleasure becomes more Universal, and is several ways qualified to entertain us. Thus in Painting, it is pleasant to look on the Picture of any Face, where the Resemblance is. .h.i.t, but the Pleasure increases, if it be the Picture of a Face that is Beautiful, and is still greater, if the Beauty be softened with an Air of Melancholy or Sorrow. The two leading Pa.s.sions which the more serious Parts of Poetry endeavour to stir up in us, are Terror and Pity. And here, by the way, one would wonder how it comes to pa.s.s, that such Pa.s.sions as are very unpleasant at all other times, are very agreeable when excited by proper Descriptions. It is not strange, that we should take Delight in such Pa.s.sions as are apt to produce Hope, Joy, Admiration, Love, or the like Emotions in us, because they never rise in the Mind without an inward Pleasure which attends them. But how comes it to pa.s.s, that we should take delight in being terrified or dejected by a Description, when we find so much Uneasiness in the Fear or Grief [which [1]] we receive from any other Occasion?

If we consider, therefore, the Nature of this Pleasure, we shall find that it does not arise so properly from the Description of what is terrible, as from the Reflection we make on our selves at the time of reading it. When we look on such hideous Objects, we are not a little pleased to think we are in no Danger of them. We consider them at the same time, as Dreadful and Harmless; so that the more frightful Appearance they make, the greater is the Pleasure we receive from the Sense of our own Safety. In short, we look upon the Terrors of a Description, with the same Curiosity and Satisfaction that we survey a dead Monster.

'--Informe cadaver Protrahitur, nequeunt expleri corda tuendo Terribiles oculos: vultum, villosaque satis Pectora semiferi, atque extinctos faucibus ignes.'