On the Sublime Part 2

3 It is absolutely essential, then, first of all to settle the question whence this grandeur of conception arises; and the answer is that true eloquence can be found only in those whose spirit is generous and aspiring. For those whose whole lives are wasted in paltry and illiberal thoughts and habits cannot possibly produce any work worthy of the lasting reverence of mankind. It is only natural that their words should be full of sublimity whose thoughts are full of majesty.

4 Hence sublime thoughts belong properly to the loftiest minds. Such was the reply of Alexander to his general Parmenio, when the latter had observed, "Were I Alexander, I should have been satisfied"; "And I, were I Parmenio"...

The distance between heaven and earth[1]--a measure, one might say, not less appropriate to Homer's genius than to the stature of his discord.

[Footnote 1: _Il._ iv. 442.]

5 How different is that touch of Hesiod's in his description of sorrow--if the _Shield_ is really one of his works: "rheum from her nostrils flowed"[2]--an image not terrible, but disgusting. Now consider how Homer gives dignity to his divine persons--

"As far as lies his airy ken, who sits On some tall crag, and scans the wine-dark sea: So far extends the heavenly coursers' stride."[3]

He measures their speed by the extent of the whole world--a grand comparison, which might reasonably lead us to remark that if the divine steeds were to take two such leaps in succession, they would find no room in the world for another.

[Footnote 2: _Scut. Herc._ 267.]

[Footnote 3: _Il._ v. 770.]

6 Sublime also are the images in the "Battle of the G.o.ds"--

"A trumpet sound Rang through the air, and shook the Olympian height; Then terror seized the monarch of the dead, And springing from his throne he cried aloud With fearful voice, lest the earth, rent asunder By Neptune's mighty arm, forthwith reveal To mortal and immortal eyes those halls So drear and dank, which e'en the G.o.ds abhor."[4]

Earth rent from its foundations! Tartarus itself laid bare! The whole world torn asunder and turned upside down! Why, my dear friend, this is a perfect hurly-burly, in which the whole universe, heaven and h.e.l.l, mortals and immortals, share the conflict and the peril.

[Footnote 4: _Il._ xxi. 388; xx. 61.]

7 A terrible picture, certainly, but (unless perhaps it is to be taken allegorically) downright impious, and overstepping the bounds of decency. It seems to me that the strange medley of wounds, quarrels, revenges, tears, bonds, and other woes which makes up the Homeric tradition of the G.o.ds was designed by its author to degrade his deities, as far as possible, into men, and exalt his men into deities--or rather, his G.o.ds are worse off than his human characters, since we, when we are unhappy, have a haven from ills in death, while the G.o.ds, according to him, not only live for ever, but live for ever in misery.

8 Far to be preferred to this description of the Battle of the G.o.ds are those pa.s.sages which exhibit the divine nature in its true light, as something spotless, great, and pure, as, for instance, a pa.s.sage which has often been handled by my predecessors, the lines on Poseidon:--

"Mountain and wood and solitary peak, The ships Achaian, and the towers of Troy, Trembled beneath the G.o.d's immortal feet.

Over the waves he rode, and round him played, Lured from the deeps, the ocean's monstrous brood, With uncouth gambols welcoming their lord: The charmed billows parted: on they flew."[5]

[Footnote 5: _Il._ xiii. 18; xx. 60; xiii. 19, 27.]

9 And thus also the lawgiver of the Jews, no ordinary man, having formed an adequate conception of the Supreme Being, gave it adequate expression in the opening words of his "Laws": "G.o.d said"--what?--"let there be light, and there was light: let there be land, and there was."

10 I trust you will not think me tedious if I quote yet one more pa.s.sage from our great poet (referring this time to human characters) in ill.u.s.tration of the manner in which he leads us with him to heroic heights. A sudden and baffling darkness as of night has overspread the ranks of his warring Greeks. Then Ajax in sore perplexity cries aloud--

"Almighty Sire, Only from darkness save Achaia's sons; No more I ask, but give us back the day; Grant but our sight, and slay us, if thou wilt."[6]

The feelings are just what we should look for in Ajax. He does not, you observe, ask for his life--such a request would have been unworthy of his heroic soul--but finding himself paralysed by darkness, and prohibited from employing his valour in any n.o.ble action, he chafes because his arms are idle, and prays for a speedy return of light. "At least," he thinks, "I shall find a warrior's grave, even though Zeus himself should fight against me."

[Footnote 6: _Il._ xvii. 645.]

11 In such pa.s.sages the mind of the poet is swept along in the whirlwind of the struggle, and, in his own words, he

"Like the fierce war-G.o.d, raves, or wasting fire Through the deep thickets on a mountain-side; His lips drop foam."[7]

[Footnote 7: _Il._ xv. 605.]

12 But there is another and a very interesting aspect of Homer's mind. When we turn to the _Odyssey_ we find occasion to observe that a great poetical genius in the decline of power which comes with old age naturally leans towards the fabulous. For it is evident that this work was composed after the _Iliad_, in proof of which we may mention, among many other indications, the introduction in the _Odyssey_ of the sequel to the story of his heroes' adventures at Troy, as so many additional episodes in the Trojan war, and especially the tribute of sorrow and mourning which is paid in that poem to departed heroes, as if in fulfilment of some previous design. The _Odyssey_ is, in fact, a sort of epilogue to the _Iliad_--

"There warrior Ajax lies, Achilles there, And there Patroclus, G.o.dlike counsellor; There lies my own dear son."[8]

[Footnote 8: _Od._ iii. 109.]

13 And for the same reason, I imagine, whereas in the _Iliad_, which was written when his genius was in its prime, the whole structure of the poem is founded on action and struggle, in the _Odyssey_ he generally prefers the narrative style, which is proper to old age. Hence Homer in his _Odyssey_ may be compared to the setting sun: he is still as great as ever, but he has lost his fervent heat. The strain is now pitched to a lower key than in the "Tale of Troy divine": we begin to miss that high and equable sublimity which never flags or sinks, that continuous current of moving incidents, those rapid transitions, that force of eloquence, that opulence of imagery which is ever true to Nature. Like the sea when it retires upon itself and leaves its sh.o.r.es waste and bare, henceforth the tide of sublimity begins to ebb, and draws us away into the dim region of myth and legend.

14 In saying this I am not forgetting the fine storm-pieces in the _Odyssey_, the story of the Cyclops,[9] and other striking pa.s.sages. It is Homer grown old I am discussing, but still it is Homer. Yet in every one of these pa.s.sages the mythical predominates over the real.

My purpose in making this digression was, as I said, to point out into what trifles the second childhood of genius is too apt to be betrayed; such, I mean, as the bag in which the winds are confined,[10] the tale of Odysseus's comrades being changed by Circe into swine[11]

("whimpering porkers" Zolus called them), and how Zeus was fed like a nestling by the doves,[12] and how Odysseus pa.s.sed ten nights on the shipwreck without food,[13] and the improbable incidents in the slaying of the suitors.[14] When Homer nods like this, we must be content to say that he dreams as Zeus might dream.

[Footnote 9: _Od._ ix. 182.]

[Footnote 10: _Od._ x. 17.]

[Footnote 11: _Od._ x. 237.]

[Footnote 12: _Od._ xii. 62.]

[Footnote 13: _Od._ xii. 447.]

[Footnote 14: _Od._ xxii. _pa.s.sim_.]

15 Another reason for these remarks on the _Odyssey_ is that I wished to make you understand that great poets and prose-writers, after they have lost their power of depicting the pa.s.sions, turn naturally to the delineation of character. Such, for instance, is the lifelike and characteristic picture of the palace of Odysseus, which may be called a sort of comedy of manners.

X

Let us now consider whether there is anything further which conduces to the Sublime in writing. It is a law of Nature that in all things there are certain const.i.tuent parts, coexistent with their substance. It necessarily follows, therefore, that one cause of sublimity is the choice of the most striking circ.u.mstances involved in whatever we are describing, and, further, the power of afterwards combining them into one animate whole. The reader is attracted partly by the selection of the incidents, partly by the skill which has welded them together. For instance, Sappho, in dealing with the pa.s.sionate manifestations attending on the frenzy of lovers, always chooses her strokes from the signs which she has observed to be actually exhibited in such cases. But her peculiar excellence lies in the felicity with which she chooses and unites together the most striking and powerful features.

2 "I deem that man divinely blest Who sits, and, gazing on thy face, Hears thee discourse with eloquent lips, And marks thy lovely smile.

This, this it is that made my heart So wildly flutter in my breast; Whene'er I look on thee, my voice Falters, and faints, and fails; My tongue's benumbed; a subtle fire Through all my body inly steals; Mine eyes in darkness reel and swim; Strange murmurs drown my ears; With dewy damps my limbs are chilled; An icy shiver shakes my frame; Paler than ashes grows my cheek; And Death seems nigh at hand."

3 Is it not wonderful how at the same moment soul, body, ears, tongue, eyes, colour, all fail her, and are lost to her as completely as if they were not her own? Observe too how her sensations contradict one another--she freezes, she burns, she raves, she reasons, and all at the same instant. And this description is designed to show that she is a.s.sailed, not by any particular emotion, but by a tumult of different emotions. All these tokens belong to the pa.s.sion of love; but it is in the choice, as I said, of the most striking features, and in the combination of them into one picture, that the perfection of this Ode of Sappho's lies. Similarly Homer in his descriptions of tempests always picks out the most terrific circ.u.mstances.

4 The poet of the "Arimaspeia" intended the following lines to be grand--

"Herein I find a wonder pa.s.sing strange, That men should make their dwelling on the deep, Who far from land essaying bold to range With anxious heart their toilsome vigils keep; Their eyes are fixed on heaven's starry steep; The ravening billows hunger for their lives; And oft each shivering wretch, constrained to weep, With suppliant hands to move heaven's pity strives, While many a direful qualm his very vitals rives."

All must see that there is more of ornament than of terror in the description. Now let us turn to Homer.

5 One pa.s.sage will suffice to show the contrast.

"On them he leaped, as leaps a raging wave, Child of the winds, under the darkening clouds, On a swift ship, and buries her in foam; Then cracks the sail beneath the roaring blast, And quakes the breathless seamen's shuddering heart In terror dire: death lours on every wave."[1]

[Footnote 1: _Il._ xv. 624.]