'Cleft the water with the vessel of unyielding bronze.' Here arusai,
'to draw away' is used for tamein, 'to cleave,' and tamein, again
for arusai- each being a species of taking away. Analogy or proportion
is when the second term is to the first as the fourth to the third. We
may then use the fourth for the second, or the second for the
fourth. Sometimes too we qualify the metaphor by adding the term to
which the proper word is relative. Thus the cup is to Dionysus as
the shield to Ares. The cup may, therefore, be called 'the shield of
Dionysus,' and the shield 'the cup of Ares.' Or, again, as old age
is to life, so is evening to day. Evening may therefore be called,
'the old age of the day,' and old age, 'the evening of life,' or, in
the phrase of Empedocles, 'life's setting sun.' For some of the
terms of the proportion there is at times no word in existence;
still the metaphor may be used. For instance, to scatter seed is
called sowing: but the action of the sun in scattering his rays is
nameless. Still this process bears to the sun the same relation as
sowing to the seed. Hence the expression of the poet 'sowing the
god-created light.' There is another way in which this kind of
metaphor may be employed. We may apply an alien term, and then deny of
that term one of its proper attributes; as if we were to call the
shield, not 'the cup of Ares,' but 'the wineless cup'.
A newly-coined word is one which has never been even in local use,
but is adopted by the poet himself. Some such words there appear to
be: as ernyges, 'sprouters,' for kerata, 'horns'; and areter,
'supplicator', for hiereus, 'priest.'
A word is lengthened when its own vowel is exchanged for a longer
one, or when a syllable is inserted. A word is contracted when some
part of it is removed. Instances of lengthening are: poleos for
poleos, Peleiadeo for Peleidou; of contraction: kri, do, and ops, as
in mia ginetai amphoteron ops, 'the appearance of both is one.'
An altered word is one in which part of the ordinary form is left
unchanged, and part is recast: as in dexiteron kata mazon, 'on the
right breast,' dexiteron is for dexion.
Nouns in themselves are either masculine, feminine, or neuter.
Masculine are such as end in N, R, S, or in some letter compounded
with S- these being two, PS and X. Feminine, such as end in vowels
that are always long, namely E and O, and- of vowels that admit of
lengthening- those in A. Thus the number of letters in which nouns
masculine and feminine end is the same; for PS and X are equivalent to
endings in S. No noun ends in a mute or a vowel short by nature. Three
only end in I- meli, 'honey'; kommi, 'gum'; peperi, 'pepper'; five end
in U. Neuter nouns end in these two latter vowels; also in N and S.
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XXII
The perfection of style is to be clear without being mean. The
clearest style is that which uses only current or proper words; at the
same time it is mean- witness the poetry of Cleophon and of Sthenelus.
That diction, on the other hand, is lofty and raised above the
commonplace which employs unusual words. By unusual, I mean strange
(or rare) words, metaphorical, lengthened- anything, in short, that
differs from the normal idiom. Yet a style wholly composed of such
words is either a riddle or a jargon; a riddle, if it consists of
metaphors; a jargon, if it consists of strange (or rare) words. For
the essence of a riddle is to express true facts under impossible
combinations. Now this cannot be done by any arrangement of
ordinary words, but by the use of metaphor it can. Such is the riddle:
'A man I saw who on another man had glued the bronze by aid of
fire,' and others of the same kind. A diction that is made up of
strange (or rare) terms is a jargon. A certain infusion, therefore, of
these elements is necessary to style; for the strange (or rare)
word, the metaphorical, the ornamental, and the other kinds above
mentioned, will raise it above the commonplace and mean, while the use
of proper words will make it perspicuous. But nothing contributes more
to produce a cleanness of diction that is remote from commonness
than the lengthening, contraction, and alteration of words. For by
deviating in exceptional cases from the normal idiom, the language
will gain distinction; while, at the same time, the partial conformity
with usage will give perspicuity. The critics, therefore, are in error
who censure these licenses of speech, and hold the author up to
ridicule. Thus Eucleides, the elder, declared that it would be an easy
matter to be a poet if you might lengthen syllables at will. He
caricatured the practice in the very form of his diction, as in the
verse:
Epicharen eidon Marathonade badizonta,
I saw Epichares walking to Marathon,
or,
ouk an g'eramenos ton ekeinou elleboron.
Not if you desire his hellebore.
To employ such license at all obtrusively is, no doubt, grotesque; but
in any mode of poetic diction there must be moderation. Even
metaphors, strange (or rare) words, or any similar forms of speech,
would produce the like effect if used without propriety and with the
express purpose of being ludicrous. How great a difference is made
by the appropriate use of lengthening, may be seen in Epic poetry by
the insertion of ordinary forms in the verse. So, again, if we take
a strange (or rare) word, a metaphor, or any similar mode of
expression, and replace it by the current or proper term, the truth of
our observation will be manifest. For example, Aeschylus and Euripides
each composed the same iambic line. But the alteration of a single
word by Euripides, who employed the rarer term instead of the ordinary
one, makes one verse appear beautiful and the other trivial. Aeschylus
in his Philoctetes says:
phagedaina d'he mou sarkas esthiei podos.
The tumor which is eating the flesh of my foot.
Euripides substitutes thoinatai, 'feasts on,' for esthiei, 'feeds on.'
Again, in the line,
nun de m'eon oligos te kai outidanos kai aeikes,
Yet a small man, worthless and unseemly,
the difference will be felt if we substitute the common words,
nun de m'eon mikros te kai asthenikos kai aeides.
Yet a little fellow, weak and ugly.
Or, if for the line,
diphron aeikelion katatheis oligen te trapezan,
Setting an unseemly couch and a meager table,
we read,
diphron mochtheron katatheis mikran te trapezan.
Setting a wretched couch and a puny table.
Or, for eiones booosin, 'the sea shores roar,' eiones krazousin,
'the sea shores screech.'
Again, Ariphrades ridiculed the tragedians for using phrases which
no one would employ in ordinary speech: for example, domaton apo,
'from the house away,' instead of apo domaton, 'away from the
house;' sethen, ego de nin, 'to thee, and I to him;' Achilleos peri,
'Achilles about,' instead of peri Achilleos, 'about Achilles;' and the
like. It is precisely because such phrases are not part of the current
idiom that they give distinction to the style. This, however, he
failed to see.
It is a great matter to observe propriety in these several modes
of expression, as also in compound words, strange (or rare) words, and
so forth. But the greatest thing by far is to have a command of
metaphor. This alone cannot be imparted by another; it is the mark
of genius, for to make good metaphors implies an eye for resemblances.
Of the various kinds of words, the compound are best adapted to
dithyrambs, rare words to heroic poetry, metaphors to iambic. In
heroic poetry, indeed, all these varieties are serviceable. But in
iambic verse, which reproduces, as far as may be, familiar speech, the
most appropriate words are those which are found even in prose.
These are the current or proper, the metaphorical, the ornamental.
Concerning Tragedy and imitation by means of action this may
suffice.
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XXIII
As to that poetic imitation which is narrative in form and employs a
single meter, the plot manifestly ought, as in a tragedy, to be
constructed on dramatic principles. It should have for its subject a
single action, whole and complete, with a beginning, a middle, and
an end. It will thus resemble a living organism in all its unity,
and produce the pleasure proper to it. It will differ in structure
from historical compositions, which of necessity present not a
single action, but a single period, and all that happened within
that period to one person or to many, little connected together as the
events may be. For as the sea-fight at Salamis and the battle with the
Carthaginians in Sicily took place at the same time, but did not
tend to any one result, so in the sequence of events, one thing
sometimes follows another, and yet no single result is thereby
produced. Such is the practice, we may say, of most poets. Here again,
then, as has been already observed, the transcendent excellence of
Homer is manifest. He never attempts to make the whole war of Troy the
subject of his poem, though that war had a beginning and an end. It
would have been too vast a theme, and not easily embraced in a
single view. If, again, he had kept it within moderate limits, it must
have been over-complicated by the variety of the incidents. As it
is, he detaches a single portion, and admits as episodes many events
from the general story of the war- such as the Catalogue of the
ships and others- thus diversifying the poem. All other poets take a
single hero, a single period, or an action single indeed, but with a
multiplicity of parts. Thus did the author of the Cypria and of the
Little Iliad. For this reason the Iliad and the Odyssey each furnish
the subject of one tragedy, or, at most, of two; while the Cypria
supplies materials for many, and the Little Iliad for eight- the Award
of the Arms, the Philoctetes, the Neoptolemus, the Eurypylus, the
Mendicant Odysseus, the Laconian Women, the Fall of Ilium, the
Departure of the Fleet.
POETICS|24
XXIV
Again, Epic poetry must have as many kinds as Tragedy: it must be
simple, or complex, or 'ethical,'or 'pathetic.' The parts also, with
the exception of song and spectacle, are the same; for it requires
Reversals of the Situation, Recognitions, and Scenes of Suffering.
Moreover, the thoughts and the diction must be artistic. In all
these respects Homer is our earliest and sufficient model. Indeed each
of his poems has a twofold character. The Iliad is at once simple
and 'pathetic,' and the Odyssey complex (for Recognition scenes run
through it), and at the same time 'ethical.' Moreover, in diction
and thought they are supreme.
Epic poetry differs from Tragedy in the scale on which it is
constructed, and in its meter. As regards scale or length, we have
already laid down an adequate limit: the beginning and the end must be
capable of being brought within a single view. This condition will
be satisfied by poems on a smaller scale than the old epics, and
answering in length to the group of tragedies presented at a single
sitting.
Epic poetry has, however, a great- a special- capacity for enlarging
its dimensions, and we can see the reason. In Tragedy we cannot
imitate several lines of actions carried on at one and the same
time; we must confine ourselves to the action on the stage and the
part taken by the players. But in Epic poetry, owing to the
narrative form, many events simultaneously transacted can be
presented; and these, if relevant to the subject, add mass and dignity
to the poem. The Epic has here an advantage, and one that conduces
to grandeur of effect, to diverting the mind of the hearer, and
relieving the story with varying episodes. For sameness of incident
soon produces satiety, and makes tragedies fail on the stage.
As for the meter, the heroic measure has proved its fitness by
hexameter test of experience. If a narrative poem in any other meter
or in many meters were now composed, it would be found incongruous.
For of all measures the heroic is the stateliest and the most massive;
and hence it most readily admits rare words and metaphors, which is
another point in which the narrative form of imitation stands alone.
On the other hand, the iambic and the trochaic tetrameter are stirring
measures, the latter being akin to dancing, the former expressive of
action. Still more absurd would it be to mix together different
meters, as was done by Chaeremon. Hence no one has ever composed a
poem on a great scale in any other than heroic verse. Nature herself,
as we have said, teaches the choice of the proper measure.
Homer, admirable in all respects, has the special merit of being the
only poet who rightly appreciates the part he should take himself. The
poet should speak as little as possible in his own person, for it is
not this that makes him an imitator. Other poets appear themselves
upon the scene throughout, and imitate but little and rarely. Homer,
after a few prefatory words, at once brings in a man, or woman, or
other personage; none of them wanting in characteristic qualities, but
each with a character of his own.
The element of the wonderful is required in Tragedy. The irrational,
on which the wonderful depends for its chief effects, has wider
scope in Epic poetry, because there the person acting is not seen.
Thus, the pursuit of Hector would be ludicrous if placed upon the
stage- the Greeks standing still and not joining in the pursuit, and
Achilles waving them back. But in the Epic poem the absurdity passes
unnoticed. Now the wonderful is pleasing, as may be inferred from
the fact that every one tells a story with some addition of his
knowing that his hearers like it. It is Homer who has chiefly taught
other poets the art of telling lies skilfully. The secret of it lies
