On Sublime

8/16/2019 On Sublime

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I

1THE treatise of Caecilius on the Sublime, when, as you remember, my dear

Terentian, we examined it together, seemed to us to be beneath the dignity of thewhole subject, to fail entirely in seizing the salient points, and to offer little profitwhich should be the principal aim of e!ery writer" for the trouble of its perusal#There are two things essential to a technical treatise$ the first is to define thesubject% the second I mean second in order, as it is by much the first inimportance" to point out how and by what methods we may become masters of itoursel!es# &nd yet Caecilius, while wasting his efforts in a thousand illustrations of the nature of the Sublime, as though here we were 'uite in the dar(, somehow

passes by as immaterial the 'uestion how we might be able to exalt our own geniusto a certain degree of progress in sublimity# Howe!er, perhaps it would be fairer tocommend this 2writer)s intelligence and zeal in themsel!es, instead of blaming himfor his omissions# &nd since you *ha!e bidden me also to put together, if only foryour entertainment, a few notes on the subject of the Sublime, let me see if there isanything in my speculations which promises ad!antage to men of affairs# In you,dear friend+such is my confidence in your abilities, and such the part which

becomes you+I loo( for a sympathising and discerning critic of the se!eral partsof my treatise# -or that was a just remar( of his who pronounced that the points inwhich we resemble the di!ine nature are bene!olence and lo!e of truth#

3&s I am addressing a person so accomplished in literature, I need only state,without enlarging further on the matter, that the Sublime, where!er it occurs,consists in a certain loftiness and excellence of language, and that it is by this, andthis only, that the greatest poets and prose.writers ha!e gained eminence, and wonthemsel!es a lasting place in the Temple of -ame# 4& lofty passage does notcon!ince the reason of the reader, but ta(es him out of himself# That which isadmirable e!er confounds our judgment, and eclipses that which is merelyreasonable or agreeable# To belie!e or not is usually in our own power% but theSublime, acting with an imperious and irresistible force, sways e!ery readerwhether he will or no# S(ill in in!ention, lucid arrangement and disposition of

facts, /are appreciated not by one passage, or by two, but gradually manifestthemsel!es in the general structure of a wor(% but a sublime thought, if happilytimed, illumines* an entire subject with the !i!idness of a lightning.flash, andexhibits the whole power of the orator in a moment of time# 0our own experience,I am sure, my dearest Terentian, would enable you to illustrate these and similar

points of doctrine#

II

The first 'uestion which presents itself for solution is whether there is any artwhich can teach sublimity or loftiness in writing# -or some hold generally that

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there is mere delusion in attempting to reduce such subjects to technical rules# 1TheSublime,2 they tell us, 1is born in a man, and not to be ac'uired by instruction%genius is the only master who can teach it# The !igorous products of nature2 suchis their !iew" 1are wea(ened and in e!ery respect debased, when robbed of their

flesh and blood by frigid technicalities#22

3ut I maintain that the truth can beshown to stand otherwise in this matter# 4et us loo( at the case in this way% 5aturein her loftier and more passionate moods, while detesting all appearance ofrestraint, is not 6wont to show herself utterly wayward and rec(less% and though inall cases the !ital informing principle is deri!ed from her, yet to determine the rightdegree and the right moment, and to contribute the precision of practice andexperience, is the peculiar pro!ince of scientific method# The great passions, whenleft to their own blind and rash impulses without the control of reason, are in thesame danger as a ship let dri!e at random without ballast# 7ften they need the spur,

but sometimes also the curb# 3The remar( of 8emosthenes with regard to human

life in general,+that the greatest of all blessings is to be fortunate, but next to thatand e'ual in importance is to be well ad!ised,+for good fortune is utterly ruined

by the absence of good counsel,+may be applied to literature, if we substitutegenius for fortune, and art for counsel# Then, again and this is the most important

point of all", a writer can only learn from art when he is to abandon himself to thedirection of his genius#/

These are the considerations which I submit to the unfa!ourable critic of suchuseful studies# 9erhaps they may induce him to alter his opinion as to the !anityand idleness of our present in!estigations#:

III

### 1&nd let them chec( the sto!e)s long tongues of fire$-or if I see one tenant of the hearth,I)ll thrust within one curling torrent flame,&nd bring that roof in ashes to the ground$3ut now not yet is sung my noble lay#26

Such phrases cease to be tragic, and become burles'ue,+I mean phrases li(e1curling torrent flames2 and 1!omiting to hea!en,2 and representing 3oreas as a piper, and so on# Such expressions, and such images, produce an effect ofconfusion and obscurity, not of energy% and if each separately be examined underthe light of criticism, what seemed terrible gradually sin(s into absurdity# Sincethen, e!en in tragedy, where the natural dignity of the subject ma(es a swellingdiction allowable, we cannot pardon a tasteless grandilo'uence, how much moreincongruous must it seem in sober prose; 2Hence we laugh at those fine words of<orgias of 4eontini, such as 1=erxes the 9ersian >eus2 and 1!ultures, those li!ingtombs,2 and at certain conceits of Callisthenes which are high.flown rather than

sublime, and at some in Cleitarchus more ludicrous still+a writer whose frothystyle tempts us to tra!esty Sophocles and say, 1He blows a little pipe, ?and blows it







ill#2 The same faults may be obser!ed in &mphicrates and Hegesias and @atris,who in their fre'uent moments as they thin(" of inspiration, instead of playing thegenius are simply playing the fool#

3Spea(ing generally, it would seem that bombast is one of the hardest things to

a!oid in writing# -or all those writers who are ambitious of a lofty style, throughdread of being con!icted of feebleness and po!erty of language, slide by a naturalgradation into the opposite extreme# 1Aho fails in great endea!our, nobly fails,2 istheir creed#4 5ow bul(, when hollow and affected, is always objectionable, whether in material bodies or in writings, and in danger of producing on us an impressionof littleness$ 1nothing,2 it is said, 1is drier than a man with the dropsy#2

The characteristic, then, of bombast is that it transcends the Sublime$ but there isanother fault diametrically opposed to grandeur$ this is called puerility, and it is thefailing of feeble and narrow minds,+indeed, the most ignoble of all !ices in

writing# 3y puerility we mean a pedantic habit of mind, which by o!er.elaborationends in frigidity# Slips of this sort are made by those who, aiming at brilliancy, polish, and especially attracti!eness, are landed in paltriness and sillyaffectation# 5 Closely associated with this is a third sort of !ice, in dealing B with the

passions, which Theodorus used to call false sentiment, meaning by that an ill.timed and empty display of emotion, where no emotion is called for, or of greateremotion than the situation warrants# Thus we often see an author hurried by thetumult of his mind into tedious displays of mere personal feeling which has noconnection with the subject# 0et how justly ridiculous must an author appear,whose most !iolent transports lea!e his readers 'uite cold; Howe!er, I will dismiss

this subject, as I intend to de!ote a separate wor( to the treatment of the pathetic inwriting#

I

The last of the faults which I mentioned is fre'uently obser!ed in Timaeus+Imean the fault of frigidity# In other respects he is an able writer, and sometimes notunsuccessful in the loftier style% a man of wide (nowledge, and full of ingenuity% amost bitter critic of the failings of others+but unhappily blind to his own# In his

eagerness to be always stri(ing out new thoughts he fre'uently falls into the mostchildish absurdities# 2I will only instance one or two passages, as most of themha!e been pointed out by Caecilius# Aishing to say something !ery fine about&lexander the <reat he Dspea(s of him as a man 1who annexed the whole of &siain fewer years than Isocrates spent in writing his panegyric oration in which heurges the <ree(s to ma(e war on 9ersia#2 How strange is the comparison of the1great Emathian con'ueror2 with an &thenian rhetorician; 3y this mode ofreasoning it is plain that the Spartans were !ery inferior to Isocrates in courage,since it too( them thirty years to con'uer @essene, while he finished thecomposition of this harangue in ten# 37bser!e, too, his language on the &theniansta(en in Sicily# 1They paid the penalty for their impious outrage on Hermes in



mutilating his statues% and the chief agent in their destruction was one who wasdescended on his father)s side from the injured deity+Hermocrates, son ofHermon#2 I wonder, my dearest Terentian, how he omitted to say of the tyrant8ionysius that for his impiety towards >eus and Hera(les he was depri!ed of his

power by 8ion and Hera(leides#4

0et why spea( of Timaeus, when e!en men li(e=enophon and 9lato+the !ery demi.gods of literature+though they had sat at thefeet of Socrates, sometimes forgot themsel!es in the pursuit of such paltry conceits#The former, in his account of the Spartan 9olity, has these words$ 1Their !oice youwould no more hear than if they were of marble, their gaze is as immo!able as ifthey were cast in bronze% you would deem them more modest than the !erymaidens in their eyes#2: To spea( of the pupils of the eye as 1modest maidens2 wasa piece of absurdity becoming &mphicrates? rather than =enophon# &nd then whata strange delusion to suppose that modesty is always without exception expressedin the eye; whereas it is commonly said that there is nothing by which an impudent

fellow betrays his character so much as by the expression of his eyes# Thus&chilles addresses &gamemnon in the Iliad as 1drun(ard, with eye ofdog#2B 5Timaeus, howe!er, with that want of judgment which characterises

plagiarists, could not lea!e to =enophon the possession of e!en this piece offrigidity# In relating how &gathocles carried off his cousin, who was wedded toanother man, from the festi!al of the un!eiling, he as(s, 1Aho could ha!e donesuch a deed, unless he had harlots instead of maidens in his eyesF2 6&nd 9latohimself, elsewhere so supreme a master of style, meaning to describe certainrecording tablets, says, 1They shall write, and deposit in the temples memorials ofcypress wood2%D and again, 1Then concerning walls, @egillus, I gi!e my !ote withSparta that we should let them lie asleep within the ground, and not awa(enthem#2 7&nd Herodotus falls pretty much under the same censure, Gwhen hespea(s of beautiful women as 1tortures to the eye,2G though here there is someexcuse, as the spea(ers in this passage are drun(en barbarians# Still, e!en fromdramatic moti!es, such errors in taste should not be permitted to deface the pagesof an immortal wor(#

5ow all these glaring improprieties of language may be traced to one common root +the pursuit of no!elty in thought# It is this that has turned the brain of nearly allthe learned world of to.day# Human blessings and human ills commonly flow fromthe same source$ and, to apply this principle to literature, those ornaments of style,those sublime and delightful images, which contribute to success, are thefoundation and the origin, not only of excellence, but also of failure# It is thus withthe figures called transitions, and hyperboles, and the use of plurals for singulars# Ishall show presently the dangers which they seem to in!ol!e# 7ur next tas(,therefore, must be to propose and to settle the 'uestion how we may a!oid the

faults of style related to sublimity#















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7ur best hope of doing this will be first of all to grasp some definite theory andcriterion of the true Sublime# 5e!ertheless this is a hard matter% for a just judgmentof style is the final fruit of long experience% still, I belie!e that the way I shallindicate will enable us to distinguish between the true and false Sublime, so far asit can be done by rule#

II

It is proper to obser!e that in human life nothing is truly great which is despised byall ele!ated minds# -or example, no man of sense can regard wealth, honour, glory,and power, or any of those things which are surrounded by a great external paradeof pomp and circumstance, as the highest blessings, seeing that merely to despisesuch things is a blessing of no common order$ certainly those who possess themare admired much less than those who, ha!ing the opportunity to ac'uire them,through greatness of soul neglect it# 5ow let us apply this principle to the Sublimein poetry or in prose% let us as( in all cases, is it merely a specious sublimityF isthis gorgeous exterior a mere false and clumsy pageant, *which if laid open will befound to conceal nothing but emptinessF for if so, a noble mind will scorn insteadof admiring it# 2It is natural to us to feel our souls lifted up by the true Sublime,and concei!ing a sort of generous exultation to be filled with joy and pride, asthough we had oursel!es originated the ideas which we read# 3If then any wor(, on

being repeatedly submitted to the judgment of an acute and culti!ated critic, failsto dispose his mind to lofty ideas% if the thoughts which it suggests do not extend beyond what is actually expressed% and if, the longer you read it, the less you thin(of it,+there can be here no true sublimity, when the effect is not sustained beyondthe mere act of perusal# 3ut when a passage is pregnant in suggestion, when it ishard, nay impossible, to distract the attention from it, and when it ta(es a strongand lasting hold on the memory, then we may be sure that we ha!e lighted on thetrue Sublime# 4In general we may regard those words as truly noble and sublimewhich always please and please all readers# -or when the same boo( always

produces the same impression on all who read it, whate!er be the difference in

their pursuits, their manner of life, their aspirations, their ages, or their language,such a harmony of opposites gi!es irresistible authority to their fa!ourable !erdict#/

III

I shall now proceed to enumerate the fi!e principal sources, as we may call them,from which almost all sublimity is deri!ed, assuming, of course, the preliminarygift on which all these fi!e sources depend, namely, command of language# The

first and the most important is " grandeur of thought, as I ha!e pointed outelsewhere in my wor( on =enophon# The second is *" a !igorous and spirited



treatment of the passions# These two conditions of sublimity depend mainly onnatural endowments, whereas those which follow deri!e assistance from &rt# Thethird is /" a certain artifice in the employment of figures, which are of two (inds,figures of thought and figures of speech# The fourth is 6" dignified expression,

which is sub.di!ided into a" the proper choice of words, and b" the use ofmetaphors and other ornaments of diction# The fifth cause of sublimity, whichembraces all those preceding, is :" majesty and ele!ation of structure# 4et usconsider what is in!ol!ed in each of these fi!e forms separately#

I must first, howe!er, remar( that some of these fi!e di!isions are omitted byCaecilius% for instance, he says nothing about the passions# 2 5ow if he made thisomission from a belief that the Sublime 6and the 9athetic are one and the samething, holding them to be always coexistent and interdependent, he is in error#Some passions are found which, so far from being lofty, are actually low, such as

pity, grief, fear% and con!ersely, sublimity is often not in the least affecting, as wemay see among innumerable other instances" in those bold expressions of ourgreat poet on the sons of &lous+ 1Highly they ragedTo pile huge 7ssa on the 7lympian pea(,&nd 9elion with all his wa!ing trees7n 7ssa)s crest to raise, and climb the s(y%2

and the yet more tremendous climax+ 1&nd now had they accomplished it#2

3&nd in orators, in all passages dealing with panegyric, and in all the moreimposing and declamatory places, dignity and sublimity play an indispensable part% but pathos is mostly absent# Hence the most pathetic orators ha!e usually but littles(ill in panegyric, and con!ersely those who are powerful in panegyric generallyfail in pathos# 4If, on the other hand, Caecilius supposed that pathos ne!ercontributes to sublimity, and this is why he thought it alien to the subject, he isentirely decei!ed# -or I would confidently pronounce that nothing is so conduci!eto sublimity as an appropriate display of genuine passion, which bursts out with a(ind of 1fine :madness2 and di!ine inspiration, and falls on our ears li(e the !oiceof a god#

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I ha!e already said that of all these fi!e conditions of the Sublime the mostimportant is the first, that is, a certain lofty cast of mind# Therefore, although this isa faculty rather natural than ac'uired, ne!ertheless it will be well for us in thisinstance also to train up our souls to sublimity, and ma(e them as it were e!er bigwith noble thoughts# 2How, it may be as(ed, is this to be doneF I ha!e hintedelsewhere in my writings that sublimity is, so to say, the image of greatness of soul#Hence a thought in its na(ed simplicity, e!en though unuttered, is sometimes



admirable by the sheer force of its sublimity% for instance, the silence of &jax in theele!enth Odyssey is great, and grander than anything he could ha!e said# 3It isabsolutely essential, then, first of all to settle the 'uestion whence this grandeur ofconception arises% and the answer is that true elo'uence can be found only in those

whose spirit is generous and aspiring# -or those whose whole li!es are wasted in paltry and illiberal thoughts and habits cannot possibly produce any wor( worthyof the lasting re!erence of man(ind# ?It is only natural that their words should befull of sublimity whose thoughts are full of majesty# 4Hence sublime thoughts

belong properly to the loftiest minds# Such was the reply of &lexander to hisgeneral 9armenio, when the latter had obser!ed, 1Aere I &lexander, I should ha!e

been satisfied2% 1&nd I, were I 9armenio2###

The distance between hea!en and earth* +a measure, one might say, not lessappropriate to Homer)s genius than to the stature of his discord# 5How different isthat touch of Hesiod)s in his description of sorrow+if the Shield is really one ofhis wor(s$ 1rheum from her nostrils flowed2/ +an image not terrible, butdisgusting# 5ow consider how Homer gi!es dignity to his di!ine persons+ 1&s far as lies his airy (en, who sits7n some tall crag, and scans the wine.dar( sea$So far extends the hea!enly coursers) stride#26

He measures their speed by the extent of the whole world+a grand comparison,which might reasonably lead us to remar( that if the di!ine steeds were to ta(e twosuch leaps in succession, they would find no room in the world foranother# 6Sublime also are the images in the 13attle of the <ods2+

1& trumpet soundang through the air, and shoo( the 7lympian height%Then terror seized the monarch of the dead,B&nd springing from his throne he cried aloudAith fearful !oice, lest the earth, rent asunder 3y 5eptune)s mighty arm, forthwith re!ealTo mortal and immortal eyes those hallsSo drear and dan(, which e)en the gods abhor#2:

Earth rent from its foundations; Tartarus itself laid bare; The whole world torn

asunder and turned upside down; Ahy, my dear friend, this is a perfect hurly.burly,in which the whole uni!erse, hea!en and hell, mortals and immortals, share theconflict and the peril# 7& terrible picture, certainly, but unless perhaps it is to beta(en allegorically" downright impious, and o!erstepping the bounds of decency# Itseems to me that the strange medley of wounds, 'uarrels, re!enges, tears, bonds,and other woes which ma(es up the Homeric tradition of the gods was designed byits author to degrade his deities, as far as possible, into men, and exalt his men intodeities+or rather, his gods are worse off than his human characters, since we,when we are unhappy, ha!e a ha!en from ills in death, while the gods, according tohim, not only li!e for e!er, but li!e for e!er in misery# 8-ar to be preferred to thisdescription of the 3attle of the <ods are those passages which exhibit the di!ine













nature in its true light, as something spotless, great, and pure, as, for instance, a passage which has often been handled by my predecessors, the lines on 9oseidon$ + D1@ountain and wood and solitary pea(,

The ships &chaian, and the towers of Troy,Trembled beneath the god)s immortal feet#7!er the wa!es he rode, and round him played,4ured from the deeps, the ocean)s monstrous brood,Aith uncouth gambols welcoming their lord$The charmJd billows parted$ on they flew#2?

9&nd thus also the lawgi!er of the Kews, no ordinary man, ha!ing formed anade'uate conception of the Supreme 3eing, ga!e it ade'uate expression in theopening words of his 14aws2$ 1<od said2+whatF+1let there be light, and there

was light$ let there be land, and there was#210I trust you will not thin( me tedious if I 'uote yet one more passage from ourgreat poet referring this time to human characters" in illustration of the manner inwhich he leads us with him to heroic heights# & sudden and baffling dar(ness as ofnight has o!erspread the ran(s of his warring <ree(s# Then &jax in sore perplexitycries aloud+ 1&lmighty Sire,7nly from dar(ness sa!e &chaia)s sons%

5o more I as(, but gi!e us bac( the day%

<rant but our sight, and slay us, if thou wilt#2B

The feelings are just what we should loo( for in &jax# He does not, you obser!e,as( for his life+such a re'uest would ha!e been unworthy of his heroic soul+butfinding himself paralysed by dar(ness, and prohibited from employing his !alourin any noble action, he chafes because his arms are idle, and prays for a speedyreturn of light# 1&t least,2 he thin(s, 1I shall find a warrior)s gra!e, e!en though>eus himself should fight against me#2 11In such passages the mind of the poet isswept along in the whirlwind of the struggle, and, in his own words, he14i(e the fierce war.god, ra!es, or wasting fireThrough the deep thic(ets on a mountain.side%His lips drop foam#2D

123ut there is another and a !ery interesting aspect of Homer)s mind# Ahen weturn to the Odyssey we find occasion to obser!e that a great poetical genius in thedecline of power which comes with old age naturally leans towards the fabulous#-or it is e!ident that this wor( was composed after the Iliad , in proof of which wemay mention, among many other indications, the introduction in the Odyssey of these'uel to the story of his heroes) ad!entures at Troy, as so many additionalepisodes 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 pre!iousdesign# TheOdyssey is, in fact, a sort of epilogue to the Iliad +









*G1There warrior &jax lies, &chilles there,&nd there 9atroclus, godli(e counsellor%There lies my own dear son#2

13&nd for the same reason, I imagine, whereas in the Iliad , which was writtenwhen his genius was in its prime, the whole structure of the poem is founded onaction and struggle, in the Odyssey he generally prefers the narrati!e style, which is

proper to old age# Hence Homer in his Odyssey may be compared to the settingsun$ he is still as great as e!er, but he has lost his fer!ent heat# The strain is now

pitched to a lower (ey than in the 1Tale of Troy di!ine2$ we begin to miss that highand e'uable sublimity which ne!er flags or sin(s, that continuous current ofmo!ing incidents, those rapid transitions, that force of elo'uence, that opulence ofimagery which is e!er true to 5ature# 4i(e the sea when it retires upon itself andlea!es its shores waste and bare, henceforth the tide of sublimity begins to ebb, and

draws us away into the dim region of myth and legend# 14In saying this I am notforgetting the fine storm.pieces in the Odyssey, the story of the Cyclops,*G andother stri(ing passages# It is Homer grown old I am discussing, but still it isHomer# 0et in e!ery one of these passages the mythical predominates o!er the real#

@y purpose in ma(ing this digression was, as I *said, to point out into what triflesthe second childhood of genius is too apt to be betrayed% such, I mean, as the bag inwhich the winds are confined,* the tale of 7dysseus)s comrades being changed byCirce into swine** 1whimpering por(ers2 >oLlus called them", and how >eus wasfed li(e a nestling by the do!es,*/ and how 7dysseus passed ten nights on the

shipwrec( without food,*6

and the improbable incidents in the slaying of thesuitors#*:Ahen Homer nods li(e this, we must be content to say that he dreams as>eus might dream# 15&nother reason for these remar(s on the Odyssey is that Iwished to ma(e you understand that great poets and prose.writers, after they ha!elost their power of depicting the passions, turn naturally to the delineation ofcharacter# Such, for instance, is the lifeli(e and characteristic picture of the palaceof 7dysseus, which may be called a sort of comedy of manners#

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4et us now consider whether there is anything further which conduces to theSublime in writing# It is a law of 5ature that in all things there are certainconstituent parts, coexistent with their substance# It necessarily follows, therefore,that **one cause of sublimity is the choice of the most stri(ing circumstancesin!ol!ed in whate!er we are describing, and, further, the power of afterwardscombining them into one animate whole# The reader is attracted partly by theselection of the incidents, partly by the s(ill which has welded them together# -orinstance, Sappho, in dealing with the passionate manifestations attending on thefrenzy of lo!ers, always chooses her stro(es from the signs which she has obser!ed

to be actually exhibited in such cases# 3ut her peculiar excellence lies in the

















felicity with which she chooses and unites together the most stri(ing and powerfulfeatures#21I deem that man di!inely blestAho sits, and, gazing on thy face,

Hears thee discourse with elo'uent lips,&nd mar(s thy lo!ely smile#This, this it is that made my heartSo wildly flutter in my breast%Ahene)er I loo( on thee, my !oice-alters, and faints, and fails%@y tongue)s benumbed% a subtle fireThrough all my body inly steals%@ine eyes in dar(ness reel and swim%Strange murmurs drown my ears%

Aith dewy damps my limbs are chilled%&n icy shi!er sha(es my frame%9aler than ashes grows my chee(%&nd 8eath seems nigh at hand#2

3Is 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 ownF7bser!e too how her sensations contradict one another+she freezes, she burns,she ra!es, she reasons, and all at the same instant# &nd this description is designedto show that she is assailed, not by any particular emotion, but by a tumult of

different emotions# &ll these to(ens belong to the passion of lo!e% but it is in thechoice, as I said, of the most stri(ing features, and in the combination of them intoone picture, that the perfection of this 7de of Sappho)s lies# Similarly Homer in hisdescriptions of tempests always pic(s out the most terrific circumstances# 4The

poet of the 1&rimaspeia2 intended the following lines to be grand+ 1Herein I find a wonder passing strange,

That men should ma(e their dwelling on the deep,Aho far from land essaying bold to range

Aith anxious heart their toilsome !igils (eep%

Their eyes are fixed on hea!en)s starry steep%The ra!ening billows hunger for their li!es%&nd oft each shi!ering wretch, constrained to weep,Aith suppliant hands to mo!e hea!en)s pity stri!es,Ahile many a direful 'ualm his !ery !itals ri!es#2

&ll must see that there is more of ornament than of terror in the description# 5owlet us turn to Homer# 57ne passage will suffice to show the contrast#*617n them he leaped, as leaps a raging wa!e,Child of the winds, under the dar(ening clouds,7n a swift ship, and buries her in foam%Then crac(s the sail beneath the roaring blast,



&nd 'ua(es the breathless seamen)s shuddering heartIn terror dire$ death lours on e!ery wa!e#2*?

6&ratus has tried to gi!e a new turn to this last thought+ 13ut one frail timber shields them from their doom,2*B +

banishing by this feeble piece of subtlety all the terror from his description% settinglimits, moreo!er, to the peril described by saying 1shields them2% for so long as itshields them it matters not whether the 1timber2 be 1frail2 or stout# 3ut Homerdoes not set any fixed limit to the danger, but gi!es us a !i!id picture of men athousand times on the brin( of destruction, e!ery wa!e threatening them withinstant death# @oreo!er, by his bold and forcible combination of prepositions ofopposite meaning he tortures his language to imitate the agony of the scene, theconstraint which is put on the words accurately reflecting the anxiety of the sailors)minds, and the diction being stamped, as it were, with the peculiar terror of the

situation# 7Similarly &rchilochus in his description of the shipwrec(, and similarly8emosthenes when he describes how the news came of the ta(ing of Elatea*D +1Itwas e!ening,2 *:etc# Each of these authors fastidiously rejects whate!er is notessential to the subject, and in putting together the most !i!id features is careful toguard against the interposition of anything fri!olous, unbecoming, or tiresome#Such blemishes mar the general effect, and gi!e a patched and gaping appearanceto the edifice of sublimity, which ought to be built up in a solid and uniformstructure#

=I

Closely associated with the part of our subject we ha!e just treated of is thatexcellence of writing which is called amplification, when a writer or pleader,whose theme admits of many successi!e starting.points and pauses, brings on oneimpressi!e point after another in a continuous and ascending scale# 2 5ow whetherthis is employed in the treatment of a commonplace, or in the way of exaggeration,whether to place arguments or facts in a strong light, or in the disposition ofactions, or of passions+for amplification ta(es a hundred different shapes+in allcases the orator must be cautioned that none of these methods is complete withoutthe aid of sublimity,+unless, indeed, it be our object to excite pity, or to depreciatean opponent)s argument# In all other uses of amplification, if you subtract theelement of sublimity you will ta(e as it were the *?soul from the body# 5o sooner isthe support of sublimity remo!ed than the whole becomes lifeless, ner!eless, anddull#

3There is a difference, howe!er, between the rules I am now gi!ing and those justmentioned# Then I was spea(ing of the delineation and co.ordination of the

principal circumstances# @y next tas(, therefore, must be briefly to define thisdifference, and with it the general distinction between amplification and sublimity#7ur whole discourse will thus gain in clearness#









=II

I must first remar( that I am not satisfied with the definition of amplificationgenerally gi!en by authorities on rhetoric# They explain it to be a form of languagewhich in!ests the subject with a certain grandeur# 0es, but this definition may beapplied indifferently to sublimity, pathos, and the use of figurati!e language, sinceall these in!est the discourse with some sort of grandeur# The difference seems tome to lie in this, that sublimity gi!es ele!ation to a subject, while amplificationgi!es extension as well# Thus the sublime is often con!eyed in a singlethought,* but amplification can only subsist with a certain prolixity anddiffusi!eness# 2The most general definition of amplification would *Bexplain it toconsist in the gathering together of all the constituent parts and topics of a subject,emphasising the argument by repeated insistence, herein differing from proof, thatwhereas the object of proof is logical demonstration, ###

9lato, li(e the sea, pours forth his riches in a copious and expansi!e flood# 3Hencethe style of the orator, who is the greater master of our emotions, is often, as itwere, red.hot and ablaze with passion, whereas 9lato, whose strength lay in a sortof weighty and sober magnificence, though ne!er frigid, does not ri!al the thundersof 8emosthenes# 4&nd, if a <ree( may be allowed to express an opinion on thesubject of 4atin literature, I thin( the same difference may be discerned in thegrandeur of Cicero as compared with that of his <recian ri!al# The sublimity of8emosthenes is generally sudden and abrupt$ that of Cicero is e'ually diffused#8emosthenes is !ehement, rapid, !igorous, terrible% he burns and sweeps away all

before him% and hence we may li(en him to a whirlwind or a thunderbolt$ Cicero isli(e a widespread conflagration, which rolls o!er and feeds on all around it, whosefire is extensi!e and burns long, brea(ing out successi!ely in different places, andfinding its fuel now here, now there# 5Such points, howe!er, I resign to your morecompetent judgment#

To resume, then, the high.strung sublimity of *D8emosthenes is appropriate to allcases where it is desired to exaggerate, or to rouse some !ehement emotion, andgenerally when we want to carry away our audience with us# Ae must employ thediffusi!e style, on the other hand, when we wish to o!erpower them with a flood of

language# It is suitable, for example, to familiar topics, and to perorations in mostcases, and to digressions, and to all descripti!e and declamatory passages, and indealing with history or natural science, and in numerous other cases#

=III

To return, howe!er, to 9lato$ how grand he can be with all that gentle and noiselessflow of elo'uence you will be reminded by this characteristic passage, which youha!e read in his Republic$ 1They, therefore, who ha!e no (nowledge of wisdomand !irtue, whose li!es are passed in feasting and similar joys, are bornedownwards, as is but natural, and in this region they wander all their li!es% but they





ne!er lifted up their eyes nor were borne upwards to the true world abo!e, nor e!er tasted of pleasure abiding and unalloyed% but li(e beasts they e!er loo(downwards, and their heads are bent to the ground, or rather to the table% they feedfull their bellies and their lusts, and longing e!er more and more for such things

they (ic( and gore one another *with horns and hoofs of iron, and slay one another in their insatiable desires#2/G

2Ae may learn from this author, if we would but obser!e his example, that there isyet another path besides those mentioned which leads to sublime heights# Ahat

path do I meanF The emulous imitation of the great poets and prose.writers of the past# 7n this mar(, dear friend, let us (eep our eyes e!er steadfastly fixed# @anygather the di!ine impulse from another)s spirit, just as we are told that the 9ythian

priestess, when she ta(es her seat on the tripod, where there is said to be a rent inthe ground breathing upwards a hea!enly emanation, straightway concei!es fromthat source the godli(e gift of prophecy, and utters her inspired oracles% so li(ewisefrom the mighty genius of the great writers of anti'uity there is carried into thesouls of their ri!als, as from a fount of inspiration, an effluence which breathesupon them until, e!en though their natural temper be but cold, they share thesublime enthusiasm of others# 3Thus Homer)s name is associated with a numerous

band of illustrious disciples+not only Herodotus, but Stesichorus before him, andthe great &rchilochus, and abo!e all 9lato, who from the great fountain.head ofHomer)s genius drew into himself innumerable tributary streams# 9erhaps it wouldha!e been necessary to illustrate /Gthis point, had not &mmonius and his schoolalready classified and noted down the !arious examples# 4 5ow what I am spea(ing

of is not plagiarism, but resembles the process of copying from fair forms orstatues or wor(s of s(illed labour# 5or in my opinion would so many fair flowersof imagery ha!e bloomed among the philosophical dogmas of 9lato, nor would heha!e risen so often to the language and topics of poetry, had he not engaged heartand soul in a contest for precedence with Homer, li(e a young champion enteringthe lists against a !eteran# It may be that he showed too ambitious a spirit in!enturing on such a duel% but ne!ertheless it was not without ad!antage to him$1for strife li(e this,2 as Hesiod says, 1is good for men#2/ &nd where shall we finda more glorious arena or a nobler crown than here, where e!en defeat at the handsof our predecessors is not ignobleF

=I

Therefore it is good for us also, when we are labouring on some subject whichdemands a lofty and majestic style, to imagine to oursel!es how Homer might ha!eexpressed this or that, or how 9lato or 8emosthenes would ha!e clothed itwith /sublimity, or, in history, Thucydides# -or by our fixing an eye of ri!alry onthose high examples they will become li(e beacons to guide us, and will perhapslift up our souls to the fulness of the stature we concei!e# 2&nd it would be still

better should we try to realise this further thought, How would Homer, had he beenhere, or how would 8emosthenes, ha!e listened to what I ha!e written, or how







would they ha!e been affected by itF -or what higher incenti!e to exertion could awriter ha!e than to imagine such judges or such an audience of his wor(s, and togi!e an account of his writings with heroes li(e these to criticise and loo( onF 30etmore inspiring would be the thought, Aith what feelings will future ages through

all time read these my wor(sF If this should awa(en a fear in any writer that he willnot be intelligible to his contemporaries it will necessarily follow that theconceptions of his mind will be crude, maimed, and aborti!e, and lac(ing that ripe

perfection which alone can win the applause of ages to come#

=

The dignity, grandeur, and energy of a style largely depend on a properemployment of images, a term which I prefer to that usually gi!en#/* The /*termimage in its most general acceptation includes e!ery thought, howsoe!er presented,which issues in speech# 3ut the term is now generally confined to those cases whenhe who is spea(ing, by reason of the rapt and excited state of his feelings, imagineshimself to see what he is tal(ing about, and produces a similar illusion in hishearers# 29oets and orators both employ images, but with a !ery different object, asyou are well aware# The poetical image is designed to astound% the oratorical imageto gi!e perspicuity# 3oth, howe!er, see( to wor( on the emotions#1@other, I pray thee, set not thou upon meThose maids with bloody face and serpent hair$See, see, they come, they)re here, they spring upon me;2//

&nd again+ 1&h, ah, she)ll slay me; whither shall I flyF2/6

The poet when he wrote li(e this saw the Erinyes with his own eyes, and he almostcompels his readers to see them too# 3Euripides found his chief delight in thelabour of gi!ing tragic expression to these two passions of madness and lo!e,showing here a real mastery which I cannot thin( he exhibited elsewhere# Still, heis by no means diffident in !enturing on other fields of the imagination# His geniuswas far from being of the highest order, but // by ta(ing pains he often raiseshimself to a tragic ele!ation# In his sublimer moments he generally reminds us of

Homer)s description of the lion+ 1Aith tail he lashes both his flan(s and sides,&nd spurs himself to battle#2/:

4Ta(e, for instance, that passage in which Helios, in handing the reins to his son,says+ 18ri!e on, but shun the burning 4ibyan tract%The hot dry air will let thine axle down$Toward the se!en 9leiades (eep thy steadfast way#2

&nd then+











1This said, his son undaunted snatched the reins,Then smote the winged coursers) sides$ they bound-orth on the !oid and ca!ernous !ault of air#His father mounts another steed, and rides

Aith warning !oice guiding his son# M8ri!e there;Turn, turn thy car this way#)2/?

@ay we not say that the spirit of the poet mounts the chariot with his hero, andaccompanies the winged steeds in their perilous flightF Aere it not so,+had not hisimagination soared side by side with them in that celestial passage,+he wouldne!er ha!e concei!ed so !i!id an image# Similar is that passage in his 1Cassandra,2

beginning10e Trojans, lo!ers of the steed#2/B

5&eschylus is especially bold in forming images /6suited to his heroic themes$ as

when he says of his 1Se!en against Thebes2+ 1Se!en mighty men, and !aliant captains, slew7!er an iron.bound shield a bull, then dippedTheir fingers in the blood, and all in!o(ed&res, Enyo, and death.dealing -lightIn witness of their oaths,2/D

and describes how they all mutually pledged themsel!es without flinching to die#Sometimes, howe!er, his thoughts are unshapen, and as it were rough.hewn andrugged# 5ot obser!ing this, Euripides, from too blind a ri!alry, sometimes falls

under the same censure# 6&eschylus with a strange !iolence of language representsthe palace of 4ycurgus as possessed at the appearance of 8ionysus+ 1The halls with rapture thrill, the roof)s inspired#2/

Here Euripides, in borrowing the image, softens its extra!agance6G + 1&nd all the mountain felt the god#26

7Sophocles has also shown himself a great master of the imagination in the scenein which the dying 7edipus prepares himself for burial in the midst of atempest,6* and where he tells how &chilles appeared to the <ree(s o!er his tomb

just as they were/:

putting out to sea on their departure from Troy#6/

This last scenehas also been delineated by Simonides with a !i!idness which lea!es him inferiorto none# 3ut it would be an endless tas( to cite all possible examples#

8To return, then,66 in poetry, as I obser!ed, a certain mythical exaggeration isallowable, transcending altogether mere logical credence# 3ut the chief beauties ofan oratorical image are its energy and reality# Such digressions become offensi!eand monstrous when the language is cast in a poetical and fabulous mould, andruns into all sorts of impossibilities# Thus much may be learnt from the greatorators of our own day, when they tell us in tragic tones that they see the -uries6: + good people, can)t they understand that when 7restes cries out























17ff, off, I say; I (now thee who thou art,7ne of the fiends that haunt me$ I feel thine arms&bout me cast, to drag me down to hell,26?

these are the hallucinations of a madmanF

9Aherein, then, lies the force of an oratorical imageF 8oubtless in adding energyand passion in a hundred different ways to a speech% but especially in this, thatwhen it is mingled with the practical, argumentati!e parts of an oration, it does notmerely /?con!ince the hearer, but enthralls him# Such is the effect of those words of 8emosthenes$6B 1Supposing, now, at this moment a cry of alarm were heard outsidethe assize courts, and the news came that the prison was bro(en open and the

prisoners escaped, is there any man here who is such a trifler that he would not runto the rescue at the top of his speedF 3ut suppose some one came forward with theinformation that they had been set at liberty by the defendant, what thenF Ahy, he

would be lynched on the spot;2 10Compare also the way in which Hyperidesexcused himself, when he was proceeded against for bringing in a bill to liberatethe sla!es after Chaeronea# 1This measure,2 he said, 1was not drawn up by anyorator, but by the battle of Chaeronea#2 This stri(ing image, being thrown in by thespea(er in the midst of his proofs, enables him by one bold stro(e to carry all merelogical objection before him# 11In all such cases our nature is drawn towards thatwhich affects it most powerfully$ hence an image lures us away from an argument$

judgment is paralysed, matters of fact disappear from !iew, eclipsed by thesuperior blaze# 5or is it surprising that we should be thus affected% for when twoforces are thus placed in juxtaposition, the stronger must always absorb into itself

the wea(er#/B127n sublimity of thought, and the manner in which it arises from nati!egreatness of mind, from imitation, and from the employment of images, this briefoutline must suffice#6D

=I

The subject which next claims our attention is that of figures of speech# I ha!ealready obser!ed that figures, judiciously employed, play an important part in

producing sublimity# It would be a tedious, or rather an endless tas(, to deal withe!ery detail of this subject here% so in order to establish what I ha!e laid down, Iwill just run o!er, without further preface, a few of those figures which are mosteffecti!e in lending grandeur to language#

28emosthenes is defending his policy% his natural line of argument would ha!e been$ 10ou did not do wrong, men of &thens, to ta(e upon yoursel!es the strugglefor the liberties of Hellas# 7f this you ha!e home proofs# They did not wrong whofought at @arathon, at Salamis, and 9lataea#2 Instead of this, in a sudden momentof supreme exaltation he bursts out li(e some inspired prophet with that famousappeal to the mighty dead$ 10e did not, could not ha!e done wrong# I swear it by









the /Dmen who faced the foe at @arathon;26 He employs the figure of adjuration,to which I will here gi!e the name of &postrophe# &nd what does he gain by itF Heexalts the &thenian ancestors to the ran( of di!inities, showing that we ought toin!o(e those who ha!e fallen for their country as gods% he fills the hearts of his

judges with the heroic pride of the old warriors of Hellas% forsa(ing the beaten pathof argument he rises to the loftiest altitude of grandeur and passion, and commandsassent by the startling no!elty of his appeal% he applies the healing charm ofelo'uence, and thus 1ministers to the mind diseased2 of his countrymen, until lifted

by his bra!e words abo!e their misfortunes they begin to feel that the disaster ofChaeronea is no less glorious than the !ictories of @arathon and Salamis# &ll thishe effects by the use of one figure, and so carries his hearers away with him# 3It issaid that the germ of this adjuration is found in Eupolis+ 13y mine own fight, by @arathon, I say,Aho ma(es my heart to ache shall rue the day;2:G

3ut there is nothing grand in the mere employment of an oath# Its grandeur willdepend on its being employed in the right place and the right manner, on the rightoccasion, and with the right moti!e# In Eupolis the oath is nothing beyond an oath%and /the &thenians to whom it is addressed are still prosperous, and in need of noconsolation# @oreo!er, the poet does not, li(e 8emosthenes, swear by the departedheroes as deities, so as to engender in his audience a just conception of their !alour,

but di!erges from the champions to the battle+a mere lifeless thing# 3ut8emosthenes has so s(ilfully managed the oath that in addressing his countrymenafter the defeat of Chaeronea he ta(es out of their minds all sense of disaster% and

at the same time, while pro!ing that no mista(e has been made, he holds up anexample, confirms his arguments by an oath, and ma(es his praise of the dead anincenti!e to the li!ing# 4&nd to rebut a possible objection which occurred to him

+1Can you, 8emosthenes, whose policy ended in defeat, swear by a !ictoryF2+ the orator proceeds to measure his language, choosing his !ery words so as to gi!eno handle to opponents, thus showing us that e!en in our most inspired momentsreason ought to hold the reins#: 4et us mar( his words$ 1Those who faced the

foe at @arathon% those who fought in the sea-fights of Salamis and &rtemisium%those who stood in the ranks at 9lataea#2 5ote that he nowhere says 1thosewho conquered ,2 artfully suppressing any word which might hint at the successful

issue of those 6G battles, which would ha!e spoilt the parallel with Chaeronea# &ndfor the same reason he steals a march on his audience, adding immediately$ 1&ll ofwhom, &eschines,+not those who were successful only,+were buried by the stateat the public expense#2

=II

There is one truth which my studies ha!e led me to obser!e, which perhaps itwould be worth while to set down briefly here# It is this, that by a natural law the

Sublime, besides recei!ing an ac'uisition of strength from figures, in its turn lendssupport in a remar(able manner to them# To explain$ the use of figures has a









peculiar tendency to rouse a suspicion of dishonesty, and to create an impression of treachery, scheming, and false reasoning% especially if the person addressed be a

judge, who is master of the situation, and still more in the case of a despot, a (ing,a military potentate, or any of those who sit in high places#:* If a man feels that this

artful spea(er is treating him li(e a silly boy and trying to throw dust in his eyes,he at once grows irritated, and thin(ing that such false reasoning implies acontempt of his understanding, he perhaps flies into a rage and will not hearanother 6word% or e!en if he masters his resentment, still he is utterly indisposedto yield to the persuasi!e power of elo'uence# Hence it follows that a figure is thenmost effectual when it appears in disguise# 2To allay, then, this distrust whichattaches to the use of figures we must call in the powerful aid of sublimity and

passion# -or art, once associated with these great allies, will be o!ershadowed bytheir grandeur and beauty, and pass beyond the reach of all suspicion# To pro!e thisI need only refer to the passage already 'uoted$ 1I swear it by the men,2 etc# It is

the !ery brilliancy of the orator)s figure which blinds us to the fact that it is afigure# -or as the fainter lustre of the stars is put out of sight by the all.encompassing rays of the sun, so when sublimity sheds its light all round thesophistries of rhetoric they become in!isible# 3& similar illusion is produced by the

painter)s art# Ahen light and shadow are represented in colour, though they lie onthe same surface side by side, it is the light which meets the eye first, and appearsnot only more conspicuous but also much nearer# In the same manner passion andgrandeur of language, lying nearer to our souls by reason both of a certain naturalaffinity and of their radiance, always stri(e our mental eye before we becomeconscious of the figure, throwing its artificial character into the shade and hiding itas it were in a !eil#6*

=III

The figures of 'uestion and interrogation:/ also possess a specific 'uality whichtends strongly to stir an audience and gi!e energy to the spea(er)s words# 17r tellme, do you want to run about as(ing one another, is there any newsF what greaternews could you ha!e than that a man of @acedon is ma(ing himself master of

HellasF Is 9hilip deadF 5ot he# Howe!er, he is ill# 3ut what is that to youF E!en ifanything happens to him you will soon raise up another 9hilip#2:6 7r this passage$1Shall we sail against @acedonF &nd where, as(s one, shall we effect a landingFThe war itself will show us where 9hilip)s wea( places lie#2:6 5ow if this had been

put baldly it would ha!e lost greatly in force# &s we see it, it is full of the 'uic(alternation of 'uestion and answer# The orator replies to himself as though he weremeeting another man)s objections# &nd this figure not only raises the tone of hiswords but ma(es them more con!incing# 2-or an exhibition of feeling has thenmost effect on an audience when it appears to flow naturally from the occasion, notto ha!e been laboured by the art of the spea(er% and this de!ice of 'uestioning andreplying to himself reproduces 6/the moment of passion# -or as a sudden 'uestion











addressed to an indi!idual will sometimes startle him into a reply which is anunguarded expression of his genuine sentiments, so the figure of 'uestion andinterrogation blinds the judgment of an audience, and decei!es them into a beliefthat what is really the result of labour in e!ery detail has been struc( out of the

spea(er by the inspiration of the moment#There is one passage in Herodotus which is generally credited with extraordinarysublimity####

=I=

### The remo!al of connecting particles gi!es a 'uic( rush and 1torrent rapture2 to a passage, the writer appearing to be actually almost left behind by his own words#There is an example in =enophon$ 1Clashing their shields together they pushed,

they fought, they slew, they fell#2:: &nd the words of Eurylochus in the Odyssey + 1Ae passed at thy command the woodland)s shade%Ae found a stately hall built in a mountain glade#2:?

Aords thus se!ered from one another without the inter!ention of stops gi!e a li!elyimpression of one who through distress of mind at once halts and 66hurries in hisspeech# &nd this is what Homer has expressed by using the figure Asyndeton#

==

3ut nothing is so conduci!e to energy as a combination of different figures, whentwo or three uniting their resources mutually contribute to the !igour, the cogency,and the beauty of a speech# So 8emosthenes in his speech against @eidias repeatsthe same words and brea(s up his sentences in one li!ely descripti!e passage$ 1Hewho recei!es a blow is hurt in many ways which he could not e!en describe toanother, by gesture, by loo(, by tone#2 2Then, to !ary the mo!ement of his speech,and pre!ent it from standing still for stillness produces rest, but passion re'uires acertain disorder of language, imitating the agitation and commotion of the soul", heat once dashes off in another direction, brea(ing up his words again, and repeating

them in a different form, 1by gesture, by loo(, by tone+when insult, when hatred,is added to !iolence, when he is struc( with the fist, when he is struc( as a sla!e;23y such means the orator imitates the action of @eidias, dealing blow upon blowon the minds of his judges# Immediately after li(e a hurricane he ma(es a freshattac($ 1Ahen he is struc( with the fist, when he is struc( in the face% this is whatmo!es, this is what 6:maddens a man, unless he is inured to outrage% no one coulddescribe all this so as to bring home to his hearers its bitterness#2:B 0ou see how he

preser!es, by continual !ariation, the intrinsic force of these repetitions and bro(enclauses, so that his order seems irregular, and con!ersely his irregularity ac'uires acertain measure of order#









==I

Supposing we add the conjunctions, after the practice of Isocrates and his school$1@oreo!er, I must not omit to mention that he who stri(es a blow may hurt inmany ways, in the first place by gesture, in the second place by loo(, in the thirdand last place by his tone#2 If you compare the words thus set down in logicalse'uence with the expressions of the 1@eidias,2 you will see that the rapidity andrugged abruptness of passion, when all is made regular by connecting lin(s, will besmoothed away, and the whole point and fire of the passage will at oncedisappear# 2-or as, if you were to bind two runners together, they will forthwith bedepri!ed of all liberty of mo!ement, e!en so passion rebels against the trammels of conjunctions and other particles, because they curb its free rush and destroy theimpression of mechanical impulse#6?

==II

The figure hyperbaton belongs to the same class# 3y hyperbaton we mean atransposition of words or thoughts from their usual order, bearing unmista(ably thecharacteristic stamp of !iolent mental agitation# In real life we often see a manunder the influence of rage, or fear, or indignation, or beside himself with jealousy,or with some other out of the interminable list of human passions, begin asentence, and then swer!e aside into some inconse'uent parenthesis, and then

again double bac( to his original statement, being borne with 'uic( turns by hisdistress, as though by a shifting wind, now this way, now that, and playing athousand capricious !ariations on his words, his thoughts, and the natural order ofhis discourse# 5ow the figure hyperbaton is the means which is employed by the

best writers to imitate these signs of natural emotion# -or art is then perfect when itseems to be nature, and nature, again, is most effecti!e when per!aded by theunseen presence of art# &n illustration will be found in the speech of 8ionysius of9hocaea in Herodotus$ 1& hair)s breadth now decides our destiny, Ionians, whether we shall li!e as freemen or as sla!es+ay, as runaway sla!es# 5ow, therefore, ifyou choose to endure a little hardship, you will be 6Bable at the cost of some

present exertion to o!ercome your enemies#2:D 2The regular se'uence here wouldha!e been$ 1Ionians, now is the time for you to endure a little hardship% for a hair)s breadth will now decide our destiny#2 3ut the 9hocaean transposes the title1Ionians,2 rushing at once to the subject of alarm, as though in the terror of themoment he had forgotten the usual address to his audience# @oreo!er, he in!ertsthe logical order of his thoughts, and instead of beginning with the necessity forexertion, which is the point he wishes to urge upon them, he first gi!es them thereason for that necessity in the words, 1a hair)s breadth now decides our destiny,2so that his words seem unpremeditated, and forced upon him by the crisis#

3Thucydides surpasses all other writers in the bold use of this figure, e!en brea(ing up sentences which are by their nature absolutely one and indi!isible# 3ut





nowhere do we find it so unsparingly employed as in 8emosthenes, who thoughnot so daring in his manner of using it as the elder writer is !ery happy in gi!ing tohis speeches by fre'uent transpositions the li!ely air of unstudied debate#@oreo!er, he drags, as it were, his audience with him into the perils of a long

in!erted clause#4

He often begins to say something, then lea!es the thought insuspense, meanwhile thrusting in between, 6Din a position apparently foreign andunnatural, some extraneous matters, one upon another, and ha!ing thus made hishearers fear lest the whole discourse should brea( down, and forced them intoeager sympathy with the danger of the spea(er, when he is nearly at the end of a

period he adds just at the right moment, i.e. when it is least expected, the pointwhich they ha!e been waiting for so long# &nd thus by the !ery boldness andhazard of his in!ersions he produces a much more astounding effect# I forbear tocite examples, as they are too numerous to re'uire it#

==III

The juxtaposition of different cases, the enumeration of particulars, and the use ofcontrast and climax, all, as you (now, add much !igour, and gi!e beauty and greatele!ation and life to a style# The diction also gains greatly in di!ersity andmo!ement by changes of case, time, person, number, and gender#

2Aith regard to change of number$ not only is the style impro!ed by the use ofthose words which, though singular in form, are found on inspection to be plural inmeaning, as in the lines+ 1& countless host dispersed along the sandAith joyous cries the shoal of tunny hailed,2

but it is more worthy of obser!ation that plurals 6for singulars sometimes fall witha more impressi!e dignity, rousing the imagination by the mere sense of !astnumber# 3Such is the effect of those words of 7edipus in Sophocles+ 17h fatal, fatal ties;0e ga!e us birth, and we being born ye sowedThe self.same seed, and ga!e the world to !iewSons, brothers, sires, domestic murder foul,

3rides, mothers, wi!es#### &y, ye laid bareThe blac(est, deepest place where Shame can dwell#2:

Here we ha!e in either case but one person, first 7edipus, then Kocasta% but theexpansion of number into the plural gi!es an impression of multiplied calamity# Soin the following plurals+ 1There came forth Hectors, and there came Sarpedons#2

&nd in those words of 9lato)s which we ha!e 4already adduced elsewhere",referring to the &thenians$ 1Ae ha!e no 9elopses or Cadmuses or &egyptuses or8anauses, or any others out of all the mob of Hellenised barbarians, dwellingamong us% no, this is the land of pure <ree(s, with no mixture of foreign





elements,2?G etc# Such an accumulation of words in the plural number necessarilygi!es greater pomp and sound to a subject# 3ut we must only ha!e recourse to thisde!ice when the nature of our theme ma(es it allowable to amplify, to multiply, orto spea( in the tones of exaggeration or :G passion# To o!erlay e!ery sentence with

ornament?

is !ery pedantic#

==I

7n the other hand, the contraction of plurals into singulars sometimes creates anappearance of great dignity% as in that phrase of 8emosthenes$ 1Thereupon all9eloponnesus was di!ided#2?* There is another in Herodotus$ 1Ahen 9hrynichus

brought a drama on the stage entitled The Taking of Miletus, the whole theatre fella weeping2+instead of 1all the spectators#2 This (nitting together of a number ofscattered particulars into one whole gi!es them an aspect of corporate life# &nd the

beauty of both uses lies, I thin(, in their beto(ening emotion, by gi!ing a suddenchange of complexion to the circumstances,+whether a word which is strictlysingular is unexpectedly changed into a plural,+or whether a number of isolatedunits are combined by the use of a single sonorous word under one head#

==

Ahen past e!ents are introduced as happening in present time the narrati!e form ischanged into :a dramatic action# Such is that description in =enophon$ 1& manwho has fallen, and is being trampled under foot by Cyrus)s horse, stri(es the bellyof the animal with his scimitar% the horse starts aside and unseats Cyrus, and hefalls#2 Similarly in many passages of Thucydides#

==I

E'ually dramatic is the interchange of persons, often ma(ing a reader fancyhimself to be mo!ing in the midst of the perils described+ 1Nnwearied, thou wouldst deem, with toil unspent,They met in war% so furiously they fought#2?/

and that line in &ratus+ 13eware that month to tempt the surging sea#2?6

2In the same way Herodotus$ 19assing from the city of Elephantine you will sailupwards until you reach a le!el plain# 0ou cross this region, and there enteringanother ship you will sail on for two days, and so reach a great city, whose name is@eroe#2?: 7bser!e how he ta(es us, as it were, by the hand, and leads us in spiritthrough these places, ma(ing us no longer readers, but spectators# Such a direct

personal address always has the effect of placing the reader in the midst of the















scene of :*action# 3&nd by pointing your words to the indi!idual reader, instead ofto the readers generally, as in the line1Thou had)st not (nown for whom Tydides fought,2??

and thus exciting him by an appeal to himself, you will rouse interest, and fix

attention, and ma(e him a parta(er in the action of the boo(#

==II

Sometimes, again, a writer in the midst of a narrati!e in the third person suddenlysteps aside and ma(es a transition to the first# It is a (ind of figure which stri(esli(e a sudden outburst of passion# Thus Hector in the Iliad 1Aith mighty !oice called to the men of TroyTo storm the ships, and lea!e the bloody spoils$

If any I behold with willing footShunning the ships, and lingering on the plain,That hour I will contri!e his death#2?B

The poet then ta(es upon himself the narrati!e part, as being his proper business% but this abrupt threat he attributes, without a word of warning, to the enragedTrojan chief# To ha!e interposed any such words as 1Hector said so and so2 wouldha!e had a frigid effect# &s the lines stand the writer is left behind by his ownwords, and the transition is :/effected while he is preparing for it# 2&ccordingly the

proper use of this figure is in dealing with some urgent crisis which will not allow

the writer to linger, but compels him to ma(e a rapid change from one person toanother# So in Hecataeus$ 15ow Ceyx too( this in dudgeon, and straightway badethe children of Heracles to depart# M3ehold, I can gi!e you no help% lest, therefore,ye perish yoursel!es and bring hurt upon me also, get ye forth into some otherland#)2 3There is a different use of the change of persons in the speech of8emosthenes against &ristogeiton, which places before us the 'uic( turns of!iolent emotion# 1Is there none to be found among you,2 he as(s, 1who e!en feelsindignation at the outrageous conduct of a loathsome and shameless wretch who,+ !ilest of men, when you were debarred from freedom of speech, not by barriers or

by doors, which might indeed be opened,2?D etc# Thus in the midst of a half.

expressed thought he ma(es a 'uic( change of front, and ha!ing almost in hisanger torn one word into two persons, 1who, !ilest of men,2 etc#, he then brea(s off his address to &ristogeiton, and seems to lea!e him, ne!ertheless, by the passion of his utterance, rousing all the more the attention of the court# 4The same featuremay be obser!ed in a speech of 9enelope)s+ :61Ahy com)st thou, @edon, from the wooers proudFCom)st thou to bid the handmaids of my lordTo cease their tas(s, and ma(e for them good cheerFIll fare their wooing, and their gathering here;Aould <od that here this hour they all might ta(eTheir last, their latest meal; Aho day by day









@a(e here your muster, to de!our and wasteThe substance of my son$ ha!e ye not heardAhen children at your fathers) (nee the deeds&nd prowess of your (ingF2?

==III

5one, I suppose, would dispute the fact that periphrasis tends much to sublimity#-or, as in music the simple air is rendered more pleasing by the addition ofharmony, so in language periphrasis often sounds in concord with a literalexpression, adding much to the beauty of its tone,+pro!ided always that it is notinflated and harsh, but agreeably blended# 2To confirm this one passage from 9latowill suffice+the opening words of his -uneral 7ration$ 1In deed these men ha!enow recei!ed from us their due, and that tribute paid they are now passing on theirdestined journey, with the State speeding them all and his own friends speedingeach one of them on his way#2BG 8eath, you see, he calls the 1destined journey2% torecei!e the ::rites of burial is to be publicly 1sped on your way2 by the State# &ndthese turns of language lend dignity in no common measure to the thought# Heta(es the words in their na(ed simplicity and handles them as a musician, in!estingthem with melody,+harmonising them, as it were,+by the use of periphrasis# 3So=enophon$ 14abour you regard as the guide to a pleasant life, and you ha!e laid upin your souls the fairest and most soldier.li(e of all gifts$ in praise is your delight,more than in anything else#2B 3y saying, instead of 1you are ready to labour,2 1you

regard labour as the guide to a pleasant life,2 and by similarly expanding the rest of that passage, he gi!es to his eulogy a much wider and loftier range of sentiment#4et us add that inimitable phrase in Herodotus$ 1Those Scythians who pillaged thetemple were smitten from hea!en by a female malady#2

==I=

3ut this figure, more than any other, is !ery liable to abuse, and great restraint isre'uired in employing it# It soon begins to carry an impression of feebleness,

sa!ours of !apid trifling, and arouses disgust# Hence 9lato, who is !ery bold andnot always happy in his use of figures, is much ridiculed :?for saying inhis Las that 1neither gold nor sil!er wealth must be allowed to establish itself inour State,2B* suggesting, it is said, that if he had forbidden property in oxen orsheep he would certainly ha!e spo(en of it as 1bo!ine and o!ine wealth#2

2Here we must 'uit this part of our subject, hoping, my dear friend Terentian, thatyour learned curiosity will be satisfied with this short excursion on the use offigures in their relation to the Sublime# &ll those which I ha!e mentioned help torender a style more energetic and impassioned% and passion contributes as largely

to sublimity as the delineation of character to amusement#











===

3ut since the thoughts con!eyed by words and the expression of those thoughts arefor the most part interwo!en with one another, we will now add someconsiderations which ha!e hitherto been o!erloo(ed on the subject of expression#To say that the choice of appropriate and stri(ing words has a mar!ellous powerand an enthralling charm for the reader, that this is the main object of pursuit withall orators and writers, that it is this, and this alone, which causes the wor(s ofliterature to exhibit the glowing perfections of the finest statues, theirgrandeur, :Btheir beauty, their mellowness, their dignity, their energy, their power,and all their other graces, and that it is this which endows the facts with a !ocalsoul% to say all this would, I fear, be, to the initiated, an impertinence# Indeed, wemay say with strict truth that beautiful words are the !ery light of thought# 2I donot mean to say that imposing language is appropriate to e!ery occasion# & trifling

subject tric(ed out in grand and stately words would ha!e the same effect as a hugetragic mas( placed on the head of a little child# 7nly in poetry and ###

===I

### There is a genuine ring in that line of &nacreon)s+ 1The Thracian filly I no longer heed#2

The same merit belongs to that original phrase in Theophrastus% to me, at least,from the closeness of its analogy, it seems to ha!e a peculiar expressi!eness,

though Caecilius censures it, without telling us why# 19hilip,2 says the historian,1showed a mar!ellous alacrity in taking doses of trouble#2B/ Ae see from this thatthe most homely language is sometimes far more !i!id than the most ornamental,

being recognised at once as the language of common life, and gaining immediatecurrency by its familiarity# :DIn spea(ing, then, of 9hilip as 1ta(ing doses oftrouble,2 Theopompus has laid hold on a phrase which describes with peculiar!i!idness one who for the sa(e of ad!antage endured what was base and sordidwith patience and cheerfulness# 2The same may be obser!ed of two passages inHerodotus$ 1Cleomenes ha!ing lost his wits, cut his own flesh into pieces with a

short sword, until by gradually !incing his whole body he destroyedhimself2%B6 and 19ythes continued fighting on his ship until he was entirely hackedto pieces#2B: Such terms come home at once to the !ulgar reader, but their own!ulgarity is redeemed by their expressi!eness#

===II

Concerning the number of metaphors to be employed together Caecilius seems togi!e his !ote with those critics who ma(e a law that not more than two, or at the

utmost three, should be combined in the same place# The use, howe!er, must bedetermined by the occasion# Those outbursts of passion which dri!e onwards li(e a











cast loose from her moorings li(e a ship, and free to wander whither shewill#2 6These, and a hundred similar fancies, follow one another in 'uic(succession# 3ut those which I ha!e pointed out are sufficient to demonstrate howgreat is the natural power of figurati!e language, and how largely metaphors

conduce to sublimity, and to illustrate the important part which they play in allimpassioned and descripti!e passages#

7That the use of figurati!e language, as of all other beauties of style, has a constanttendency towards excess, is an ob!ious truth which I need not dwell upon# It ischiefly on this account that e!en 9lato comes in for a large share of disparagement,

because he is often carried away by a sort of ?*frenzy of language into anintemperate use of !iolent metaphors and inflated allegory# 1It is not easy toremar(2 he says in one place" 1that a city ought to be blended li(e a bowl, inwhich the mad wine boils when it is poured out, but being disciplined by anotherand a sober god in that fair society produces a good and temperate drin( #2D* eally,it is said, to spea( of water as a 1sober god,2 and of the process of mixing as a1discipline,2 is to tal( li(e a poet, and no !ery sober one either# 8It was suchdefects as these that the hostile criticD/Caecilius made his ground of attac(, whenhe had the boldness in his essay 17n the 3eauties of 4ysias2 to pronounce thatwriter superior in e!ery respect to 9lato# 5ow Caecilius was doubly un'ualified for a judge$ he lo!ed 4ysias better e!en than himself, and at the same time his hatredof 9lato and all his wor(s is greater e!en than his lo!e for 4ysias# @oreo!er, he isso blind a partisan that his !ery premises are open to dispute# He !aunts 4ysias as afaultless and immaculate writer, while 9lato is, according to him, full of blemishes#

5ow this is not the case$ far from it#?/

===III

3ut supposing now that we assume the existence of a really unblemished andirreproachable writer# Is it not worth while to raise the whole 'uestion whether in

poetry and prose we should prefer sublimity accompanied by some faults, or a stylewhich ne!er rising abo!e moderate excellence ne!er stumbles and ne!er re'uirescorrectionF and again, whether the first place in literature is justly to be assigned tothe more numerous, or the loftier excellencesF -or these are 'uestions proper to anin'uiry on the Sublime, and urgently as(ing for settlement#

2I (now, then, that the largest intellects are far from being the most exact# & mindalways intent on correctness is apt to be dissipated in trifles% but in great affluenceof thought, as in !ast material wealth, there must needs be an occasional neglect ofdetail# &nd is it not ine!itably soF Is it not by ris(ing nothing, by ne!er aiminghigh, that a writer of low or middling powers (eeps generally clear of faults andsecure of blameF whereas the loftier wal(s of literature are by their !ery loftiness

perilousF 3I am well aware, again, that there is a law by which in all human

productions the wea( points catch the eye first, by which their faults ?6remainindelibly stamped on the memory, while their beauties 'uic(ly fade away# 40et,







though I ha!e myself noted not a few faulty passages in Homer and in otherauthors of the highest ran(, and though I am far from being partial to their failings,ne!ertheless I would call them not so much wilful blunders as o!ersights whichwere allowed to pass unregarded through that contempt of little things, that 1bra!e

disorder,2 which is natural to an exalted genius% and I still thin( that the greaterexcellences, though not e!erywhere e'ually sustained, ought always to be !oted tothe first place in literature, if for no other reason, for the mere grandeur of soul theye!ince# 4et us ta(e an instance$ &pollonius in his Argonautica has gi!en us a poemactually faultless% and in his pastoral poetry Theocritus is eminently happy, exceptwhen he occasionally attempts another style# &nd what thenF Aould you rather bea Homer or an &polloniusF 57r ta(e Eratosthenes and his #rigone% because thatlittle wor( is without a flaw, is he therefore a greater poet than &rchilochus, withall his disorderly profusionF greater than that impetuous, that god.gifted genius,which chafed against the restraints of lawF or in lyric poetry would you choose to

be a 3acchylides or a 9indarF in tragedy a Sophocles or sa!e the mar(;" an Io ofChiosF 0et Io and 3acchylides ne!er stumble, their style is ?:always neat, always

pretty% while 9indar and Sophocles sometimes mo!e onwards with a wide blaze ofsplendour, but often drop out of !iew in sudden and disastrous eclipse#

5e!ertheless no one in his senses would deny that a single play of Sophocles,the Oedipus, is of higher !alue than all the dramas of Io put together#

===I

If the number and not the loftiness of an author)s merits is to be our standard ofsuccess, judged by this test we must admit that Hyperides is a far superior orator to8emosthenes# -or in Hyperides there is a richer modulation, a greater !ariety ofexcellence# He is, we may say, in e!erything second.best, li(e the champion ofthe pentathlon, who, though in e!ery contest he has to yield the prize to some othercombatant, is superior to the unpractised in all fi!e# 2 5ot only has he ri!alled thesuccess of 8emosthenes in e!erything but his manner of composition, but, asthough that were not enough, he has ta(en in all the excellences and graces of4ysias as well# He (nows when it is proper to spea( with simplicity, and does not,li(e 8emosthenes, continue the same (ey throughout# His touches of character areracy and spar(ling, and full of a delicate fla!our# Then how admirable ??is his wit,how polished his raillery; How well.bred he is, how dexterous in the use of irony;His jests are pointed, but without any of the grossness and !ulgarity of the old &tticcomedy# He is s(illed in ma(ing light of an opponent)s argument, full of a well.aimed satire which amuses while it stings% and through all this there runs a

per!ading, may we not say, a matchless charm# He is most apt in mo!ingcompassion% his mythical digressions show a fluent ease, and he is perfect in

bending his course and finding a way out of them without !iolence or effort# Thuswhen he tells the story of 4eto he is really almost a poet% and his funeral oration

shows a declamatory magnificence to which I hardly (now a parallel# 38emosthenes, on the other hand, has no touches of character, none of the



!ersatility, fluency, or declamatory s(ill of Hyperides# He is, in fact, almost entirelydestitute of all those excellences which I ha!e just enumerated# Ahen he ma(es!iolent efforts to be humorous and witty, the only laughter he arouses is againsthimself% and the nearer he tries to get to the winning grace of Hyperides, the farther

he recedes from it# Had he, for instance, attempted such a tas( as the little speechin defence of 9hryne or &thenagoras, he would only ha!e added to the reputationof his ri!al# 4 5e!ertheless all the beauties of Hyperides, howe!er numerous,cannot ma(e him sublime# He ne!er ?Bexhibits strong feeling, has little energy,rouses no emotion% certainly he ne!er (indles terror in the breast of his readers# 3ut8emosthenes followed a great master,D6 and drew his consummate excellences, hishigh.pitched elo'uence, his li!ing passion, his copiousness, his sagacity, his speed

+that mastery and power which can ne!er be approached+from the highest ofsources# These mighty, these hea!en.sent gifts I dare not call them human", hemade his own both one and all# Therefore, I say, by the noble 'ualities which he

does possess he remains supreme abo!e all ri!als, and throws a cloud o!er hisfailings, silencing by his thunders and blinding by his lightnings the orators of allages# 0es, it would be easier to meet the lightning.stro(e with steady eye than togaze unmo!ed when his impassioned elo'uence is sending out flash after flash#

===

3ut in the case of 9lato and 4ysias there is, as I said, a further difference# 5ot onlyis 4ysias !astly inferior to 9lato in the degree of his merits, but in their number as

well% and at the same time he is as far ahead of 9lato in the number of his faults ashe is behind in that of his merits#

?D2Ahat truth, then, was it that was present to those mighty spirits of the past, who,ma(ing whate!er is greatest in writing their aim, thought it beneath them to beexact in e!ery detailF &mong many others especially this, that it was not in nature)s

plan for us her chosen children to be creatures base and ignoble,+no, she broughtus into life, and into the whole uni!erse, as into some great field of contest, that weshould be at once spectators and ambitious ri!als of her mighty deeds, and from thefirst implanted in our souls an in!incible yearning for all that is great, all that is

di!iner than oursel!es# 3Therefore e!en the whole world is not wide enough for thesoaring range of human thought, but man)s mind often o!erleaps the !ery boundsof space#D: Ahen we sur!ey the whole circle of life, and see it aboundinge!erywhere in what is elegant, grand, and beautiful, we learn at once what is thetrue end of man)s being# 4&nd this is why nature prompts us to admire, not theclearness and usefulness of a little stream, but the 5ile, the 8anube, the hine, andfar beyond all the 7cean% not to turn our wandering eyes from the hea!enly fires,though often dar(ened, to the little flame (indled by human hands, howe!er pureand steady its light% not to thin( that tiny lamp more wondrous than ?the ca!ernsof &etna, from whose raging depths are hurled up stones and whole masses of

roc(, and torrents sometimes come pouring from earth)s centre of pure and li!ingfire#







To sum the whole$ whate!er is useful or needful lies easily within man)s reach% buthe (eeps his homage for what is astounding#

===I

How much more do these principles apply to the Sublime in literature, wheregrandeur is ne!er, as it sometimes is in nature, dissociated from utility andad!antage# Therefore all those who ha!e achie!ed it, howe!er far from faultless,are still more than mortal# Ahen a writer uses any other resource he shows himselfto be a man% but the Sublime lifts him near to the great spirit of the 8eity# He whoma(es no slips must be satisfied with negati!e approbation, but he who is sublimecommands positi!e re!erence# 2Ahy need I add that each one of those greatwriters often redeems all his errors by one grand and masterly stro(eF 3ut thestrongest point of all is that, if you were to pic( out all the blunders of Homer,8emosthenes, 9lato, and all the greatest names in literature, and add them together,they would be found to bear a !ery small, or rather an infinitesimal proportion tothe passages in which BGthese supreme masters ha!e attained absolute perfection#Therefore it is that all posterity, whose judgment en!y herself cannot impeach, has

brought and bestowed on them the crown of glory, has guarded their fame until thisday against all attac(, and is li(ely to preser!e it1&s long as lofty trees shall grow,&nd restless waters seaward flow#2

3

It has been urged by one writer that we should not prefer the huge disproportionedColossus to the 8oryphorus of 9olycletus# 3ut to gi!e one out of many possibleanswers" in art we admire exactness, in the wor(s of nature magnificence% and it isfrom nature that man deri!es the faculty of speech# Ahereas, then, in statuary weloo( for close resemblance to humanity, in literature we re'uire something whichtranscends humanity# 4 5e!ertheless to reiterate the ad!ice which we ga!e at the

beginning of this essay", since that success which consists in a!oidance of error isusually the gift of art, while high, though une'ual excellence is the attribute ofgenius, it is proper on all occasions to call in art as an ally to nature# 3y thecombined resources of these two we may hope to achie!e perfection#

Such are the conclusions which were forced upon me concerning the points atissue% but e!ery one may consult his own taste#B

===II

To return, howe!er, from this long digression% closely allied to metaphors arecomparisons and similes, differing only in this O O OD?

===III





Such absurdities as, 1Nnless you carry your brains next to the ground in yourheels#2DB Hence it is necessary to (now where to draw the line% for if e!er it iso!erstepped the effect of the hyperbole is spoilt, being in such cases relaxed byo!erstraining, and producing the !ery opposite to the effect desired# 2Isocrates, for

instance, from an ambitious desire of lending e!erything a strong rhetoricalcolouring, shows himself in 'uite a childish light# Ha!ing in his 9anegyrical7ration set himself to pro!e that the &thenian state has surpassed that of Sparta inher ser!ices to Hellas, he starts off at the !ery outset with these words$ 1Such is the

power of language that it can extenuate what is great, and lend greatness to what islittle, gi!e freshness to what is anti'uated, and describe what is recent so that itseems to be of the past#2DD Come, Isocrates it might be as(ed", is B*it thus that youare going to tamper with the facts about Sparta and &thensF This flourish about the

power of language is li(e a signal hung out to warn his audience not to belie!ehim# 3Ae may repeat here what we said about figures, and say that the hyperbole is

then most effecti!e when it appears in disguise#D &nd this effect is produced whena writer, impelled by strong feeling, spea(s in the accents of some tremendouscrisis% as Thucydides does in describing the massacre in Sicily# 1The Syracusans,2he says, 1went down after them, and slew those especially who were in the ri!er,and the water was at once defiled, yet still they went on drin(ing it, thoughmingled with mud and gore, most of them e!en fighting for it#2G The drin(ing ofmud and gore, and e!en the fighting for it, is made credible by the awful horror ofthe scene described# 4Similarly Herodotus on those who fell at Thermopylae$1Here as they fought, those who still had them, with daggers, the rest with handsand teeth, the barbarians buried them under their ja!elins#2 That they fought withthe teeth against hea!y.armed assailants, and that they were buried with ja!elins,are perhaps hard sayings, but not incredible, for the reasons already explained# Aecan see that these circumstances ha!e not been dragged in to produce a hyperbole,

but that the hyperbole has grown naturally out of the circumstances# B/5-or, as I amne!er tired of explaining, in actions and passions !erging on frenzy there lies a(ind of remission and palliation of any licence of language# Hence some comicextra!agances, howe!er improbable, gain credence by their humour, such as+ 1He had a farm, a little farm, where space se!erely pinches%)Twas smaller than the last despatch from Sparta by some inches#2

6-or mirth is one of the passions, ha!ing its seat in pleasure# &nd hyperboles may be employed either to increase or to lessen+since exaggeration is common to bothuses# Thus in extenuating an opponent)s argument we try to ma(e it seem smallerthan it is#

===I=

Ae ha!e still left, my dear sir, the fifth of those sources which we set down at theoutset as contributing to sublimity, that which consists in the mere arrangement ofwords in a certain order# Ha!ing already published two boo(s dealing fully with














this subject+so far at least as our in!estigations had carried us+it will besufficient for the purpose of our present in'uiry to add that harmony is aninstrument which has a natural power, not only to win and to delight, but also in aremar(able degree B6to exalt the soul and sway the heart of man# 2Ahen we see

that a flute (indles certain emotions in its hearers, rendering them almost besidethemsel!es and full of an orgiastic frenzy, and that by starting some (ind ofrhythmical beat it compels him who listens to mo!e in time and assimilate hisgestures to the tune, e!en though he has no taste whate!er for music% when we(now that the sounds of a harp, which in themsel!es ha!e no meaning, by thechange of (ey, by the mutual relation of the notes, and their arrangement insymphony, often lay a wonderful spell on an audience+ 3though these are mereshadows and spurious imitations of persuasion, not, as I ha!e said, genuinemanifestations of human nature$+ can we doubt that composition being a (ind ofharmony of that language which nature has taught us, and which reaches, not our

ears only, but our !ery souls", when it raises changing forms of words, of thoughts,of actions, of beauty, of melody, all of which are engrained in and a(in tooursel!es, and when by the blending of its manifold tones it brings home to theminds of those who stand by the feelings present to the spea(er, and e!er disposesthe hearer to sympathise with those feelings, adding word to word, until it hasraised a majestic and harmonious structure$+can we wonder if all this enchants us,where!er we meet with it, and filling us with the sense of pomp and dignity andsublimity, and whate!er else it B:embraces, gains a complete mastery o!er ourmindsF It would be mere infatuation to join issue on truths so uni!ersallyac(nowledged, and established by experience beyond dispute#*

4 5ow to gi!e an instance$ that is doubtless a sublime thought, indeed wonderfullyfine, which 8emosthenes applies to his decree$ PQ PQ PQ R UVWXY PQ R Z P[P\ Pῦ ῇ

][^\V ]\_VWP`ZPY ZZQZ ]Y_\^\ Z ]QW\Z W]\_ ZUQ, 1This decree caused ῖ ἐ ὥthe danger which then hung round our city to pass away li(e a cloud#2 3ut themodulation is as perfect as the sentiment itself is weighty# It is uttered wholly in thedactylic measure, the noblest and most magnificent of all measures, and henceforming the chief constituent in the finest metre we (now, the heroic# &nd it iswith great judgment that the words W]\_ ZUQὥ are reser!ed till the end#/Supposing we transpose them from their proper place and read, say PQ PQ PQ R ῦ

UVWXY W]\_ ZUQ ]QW\ PQ R Z P[P\ ZZQZ ]Y_\^\ Z+nay, let us merelyὥ ἐ ῖ cut off one syllable, reading ]QW\ ]Y_\^\ Z ZUQ+and you will understandἐ ῖ ὡhow close is the unison between harmony and sublimity# In the passage before usthe words W]\_ ZUQὥ mo!e first in a hea!y measure, which is metricallye'ui!alent to four short syllables$ but on remo!ing B?one syllable, and reading ὡ

ZUQ, the grandeur of mo!ement is at once crippled by the abridgment# Socon!ersely if you lengthen into W]\_\V R ZUQ, the meaning is still the same, but itὡ

does not stri(e the ear in the same manner, because by lingering o!er the finalsyllables you at once dissipate and relax the abrupt grandeur of the passage#







=4

There is another method !ery efficient in exalting a style# &s the different membersof the body, none of which, if se!ered from its connection, has any intrinsicexcellence, unite by their mutual combination to form a complete and perfectorganism, so also the elements of a fine passage, by whose separation from oneanother its high 'uality is simultaneously dissipated and e!aporates, when joined inone organic whole, and still further compacted by the bond of harmony, by themere rounding of the period gain power of tone# 2In fact, a clause may be said toderi!e its sublimity from the joint contributions of a number of particulars# &ndfurther as we ha!e shown at large elsewhere", many writers in prose and !erse,though their natural powers were not high, were perhaps e!en low, and though theterms they employed were usually common and popular and con!eyingno BBimpression of refinement, by the mere harmony of their composition ha!e

attained dignity and ele!ation, and a!oided the appearance of meanness# Suchamong many others are 9hilistus, &ristophanes occasionally, Euripides almostalways# 3Thus when Heracles says, after the murder of his children,1I)m full of woes, I ha!e no room for more,26

the words are 'uite common, but they are made sublime by being cast in a finemould# 3y changing their position you will see that the poetical 'uality ofEuripides depends more on his arrangement than on his thoughts# 4Compare hislines on 8irce dragged by the bull+ 1Ahate!er crossed his path,

Caught in his !ictim)s form, he seized, and dragging7a(, woman, roc(, now here, now there, he flies#2:

The circumstance is noble in itself, but it gains in !igour because the language isdisposed so as not to hurry the mo!ement, not running, as it were, on wheels,

because there is a distinct stress on each word, and the time is delayed, ad!ancingslowly to a pitch of stately sublimity#

=4I

5othing so much degrades the tone of a style as an effeminate and hurriedmo!ement in the language, BDsuch as is produced by pyrrhics and trochees anddichorees falling in time together into a regular dance measure# Such abuse ofrhythm is sure to sa!our of coxcombry and petty affectation, and grows tiresome inthe highest degree by a monotonous sameness of tone# 23ut its worst effect is that,as those who listen to a ballad ha!e their attention distracted from its subject andcan thin( of nothing but the tune, so an o!er.rhythmical passage does not affect thehearer by the meaning of its words, but merely by their cadence, so that sometimes,(nowing where the pause must come, they beat time with the spea(er, stri(ing theexpected close li(e dancers before the stop is reached# E'ually undignified is thesplitting up of a sentence into a number of little words and short syllables crowded







too closely together and forced into cohesion,+hammered, as it were, successi!elytogether,+after the manner of mortice and tenon#?

=4II

Sublimity is further diminished by cramping the diction# 8eformity instead ofgrandeur ensues from o!er.compression# Here I am not referring to a judiciouscompactness of phrase, but to a style Bwhich is dwarfed, and its force fritteredaway# To cut your words too short is to prune away their sense, but to be concise isto be direct# 7n the other hand, we (now that a style becomes lifeless by o!er.extension, I mean by being relaxed to an unseasonable length#

=4III

The use of mean words has also a strong tendency to degrade a lofty passage# Thusin that description of the storm in Herodotus the matter is admirable, but some ofthe words admitted are beneath the dignity of the subject% such, perhaps, as 1theseas ha!ing seethed 2 because the ill.sounding phrase 1ha!ing seethed2 detractsmuch from its impressi!eness$ or when he says 1the wind wore away,2 and 1thosewho clung round the wrec( met with an unwelcome end#2B 1Aore away2 isignoble and !ulgar, and 1unwelcome2 inade'uate to the extent of the disaster#

2Similarly Theopompus, after gi!ing a fine picture of the 9ersian (ing)s descent

against Egypt, has exposed the whole to censure by certain paltry expressions#1There was no city, no people of &sia, which did not send an embassy to the (ing%no product of the earth, no wor( of art, whether beautiful DGor precious, which wasnot among the gifts brought to him# @any and costly were the hangings and robes,some purple, some embroidered, some white% many the tents, of cloth of gold,furnished with all things useful% many the tapestries and couches of great price#@oreo!er, there was gold and sil!er plate richly wrought, goblets and bowls, someof which might be seen studded with gems, and others besides wor(ed in reliefwith great s(ill and at !ast expense# 3esides these there were suits of armour innumber past computation, partly <ree(, partly foreign, endless trains of baggage

animals and fat cattle for slaughter, many bushels of spices, many panniers andsac(s and sheets of writing.paper% and all other necessaries in the same proportion#&nd there was salt meat of all (inds of beasts in immense 'uantity, heaped together to such a height as to show at a distance li(e mounds and hills thrown up oneagainst another#2 3He runs off from the grander parts of his subject to the meaner,and sin(s where he ought to rise# Still worse, by his mixingup panniers and spices and bags with his wonderful recital of that !ast and busyscene one would imagine that he was describing a (itchen# 4et us suppose that inthat show of magnificence some one had ta(en a set of wretched bas(ets and bags

and placed them in the midst, among !essels of gold, D jewelled bowls, sil!er plate,and tents and goblets of gold% how incongruous would ha!e seemed the effect;







5ow just in the same way these petty words, introduced out of season, stand outli(e deformities and blots on the diction# 4These details might ha!e been gi!en inone or two broad stro(es, as when he spea(s of mounds being heaped together# Soin dealing with the other preparations he might ha!e told us of 1waggons and

camels and a long train of baggage animals loaded with all (inds of supplies for theluxury and enjoyment of the table,2 or ha!e mentioned 1piles of grain of e!eryspecies, and of all the choicest delicacies re'uired by the art of the coo( or the tasteof the epicure,2 or if he must needs be so !ery precise" he might ha!e spo(en of1whate!er dainties are supplied by those who lay or those who dress the

ban'uet#2 5In our sublimer efforts we should ne!er stoop to what is sordid anddespicable, unless !ery hard pressed by some urgent necessity# If we would write

becomingly, our utterance should be worthy of our theme# Ae should ta(e a lessonfrom nature, who when she planned the human frame did not set our grosser parts,or the ducts for purging the body, in our face, but as far as she could concealed

them, 1di!erting,2 as =enophon says, 1those canals as far as possible from oursenses,2D and thus shunning D*in any part to mar the beauty of the whole creature#

6Howe!er, it is not incumbent on us to specify and enumerate whate!er diminishesa style# Ae ha!e now pointed out the !arious means of gi!ing it nobility andloftiness# It is clear, then, that whate!er is contrary to these will generally degradeand deform it#

=4I

There is still another point which remains to be cleared up, my dear Terentian, andon which I shall not hesitate to add some remar(s, to gratify your in'uiring spirit# Itrelates to a 'uestion which was recently put to me by a certain philosopher# 1Tome,2 he said, 1in common, I may say, with many others, it is a matter of wonderthat in the present age, which produces many highly s(illed in the arts 7f popular

persuasion, many of (een and acti!e powers, many especially rich in e!ery pleasing gift of language, the growth of highly exalted and wide.reaching geniushas with a few rare exceptions almost entirely ceased# So uni!ersal is the dearth ofelo'uence which pre!ails throughout the world# 2@ust we really,2 he as(ed, 1gi!e

credit to that oft.repeated assertion that democracy is the (ind nurse of genius, andthat high literary excellence has D/flourished with her prime and faded with herdecayF 4iberty, it is said, is all.powerful to feed the aspirations of high intellects, tohold out hope, and (eep ali!e the flame of mutual ri!alry and ambitious strugglefor the highest place# 3@oreo!er, the prizes which are offered in e!ery free state(eep the spirits of her foremost orators whetted by perpetual exercise% they are, asit were, ignited by friction, and naturally blaze forth freely because they aresurrounded by freedom# 3ut we of to.day,2 he continued, 1seem to ha!e learnt inour childhood the lessons of a benignant despotism, to ha!e been cradled in herhabits and customs from the time when our minds were still tender, and ne!er to

ha!e tasted the fairest and most fruitful fountain of elo'uence, I mean liberty#Hence we de!elop nothing but a fine genius for flattery# 4This is the reason why,







though all other faculties are consistent with the ser!ile condition, no sla!e e!er became an orator% because in him there is a dumb spirit which will not be (eptdown$ his soul is chained$ he is li(e one who has learnt to be e!er expecting a

blow# -or, as Homer says+ 5

1)The day of sla!eryTa(es half our manly worth away#)GG

1&s, then if what I ha!e heard is credible", the cages D6in which those pigmiescommonly called dwarfs are reared not only stop the growth of the imprisonedcreature, but absolutely ma(e him smaller by compressing e!ery part of his body,so all despotism, howe!er e'uitable, may be defined as a cage of the soul and ageneral prison#2

6@y answer was as follows$ 1@y dear friend, it is so easy, and so characteristic ofhuman nature, always to find fault with the present#G Consider, now, whether the

corruption of genius is to be attributed, not to a world.wide peace,G* but rather tothe war within us which (nows no limit, which engages all our desires, yes, andstill further to the bad passions which lay siege to us to.day, and ma(e utter ha!ocand spoil of our li!es# &re we not ensla!ed, nay, are not our careers completelyshipwrec(ed, by lo!e of gain, that fe!er which rages unappeased in us all, and lo!eof pleasureF+one the most debasing, the other the most ignoble of the mind)sdiseases# 7Ahen I consider it I can find no means by which we, who hold in suchhigh honour, or, to spea( more correctly, who idolise boundless riches, can closethe door of our souls against those e!il spirits which grow up with them# -orAealth unmeasured and unbridled D:is dogged by Extra!agance$ she stic(s close to

him, and treads in his footsteps$ and as soon as he opens the gates of cities or ofhouses she enters with him and ma(es her abode with him# &nd after a time they

build their nests to use a wise man)s wordsG/" in that corner of life, and speedilyset about breeding, and beget 3oastfulness, and anity, and Aantonness, no base.

born children, but their !ery own# &nd if these also, the offspring of Aealth, beallowed to come to their prime, 'uic(ly they engender in the soul those pitilesstyrants, iolence, and 4awlessness, and Shamelessness# 8Ahene!er a man ta(es toworshipping what is mortal and irrationalG6 in him, and neglects to cherish what isimmortal, these are the ine!itable results# He ne!er loo(s up again% he has lost all

care for good report% by slow degrees the ruin of his life goes on, until it isconsummated all round% all that is great in his soul fades, withers away, and isdespised#

91If a judge who passes sentence for a bribe can ne!er more gi!e a free and sounddecision on a point of justice or honour for to him who ta(es a bribe honour and

justice must be measured by his own interests", how can we of to.day expect, whenthe whole life of each one of us is controlled by bribery, while we lie in wait forother men)s death and plan how to get a place in their wills, when D?we buy gain,from whate!er source, each one of us, with our !ery souls in our sla!ish greed,how, I say, can we expect, in the midst of such a moral pestilence, that there is stillleft e!en one liberal and impartial critic, whose !erdict will not be biassed by














a!arice in judging of those great wor(s which li!e on through all timeF 10&las; Ifear that for such men as we are it is better to ser!e than to be free# If our appetiteswere let loose altogether against our neighbours, they would be li(e wild beastsuncaged, and bring a deluge of calamity on the whole ci!ilised world#1

11I ended by remar(ing generally that the genius of the present age is wasted bythat indifference which with a few exceptions runs through the whole of life# If wee!er sha(e off our apathyG: and apply oursel!es to wor(, it is always with a !iewto pleasure or applause, not for that solid ad!antage which is worthy to be stri!enfor and held in honour#

12Ae had better then lea!e this generation to its fate, and turn to what follows,which is the subject of the passions, to which we promised early in this treatise tode!ote a separate wor(#G? They play an important part in literature generally, andespecially in relation to the Sublime#





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