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of the action, he will discover what is in keeping with it, and

be most unlikely to overlook inconsistencies. The need of such a rule is

shown by the fault found in Carcinus. Amphiaraus was on his way from the

temple. This fact escaped the observation of one who did not see the

situation. On the stage, however, the piece failed, the audience being

offended at the oversight.

 

Again, the poet should work out his play, to the best of his power, with

appropriate gestures; for those who feel emotion are most convincing

through natural sympathy with the characters they represent; and one who

is agitated storms, one who is angry rages, with the most life-like

reality. Hence poetry implies either a happy gift of nature or a strain

of madness. In the one case a man can take the mould of any character; in

the other, he is lifted out of his proper self.

 

As for the story, whether the poet takes it ready made or constructs it

for himself, he should first sketch its general outline, and then fill in

the episodes and amplify in detail. The general plan may be illustrated

by the Iphigenia. A young girl is sacrificed; she disappears mysteriously

from the eyes of those who sacrificed her; She is transported to another

country, where the custom is to offer up all strangers to the goddess. To

this ministry she is appointed. Some time later her own brother chances

to arrive. The fact that the oracle for some reason ordered him to go

there, is outside the general plan of the play. The purpose, again, of

his coming is outside the action proper. However, he comes, he is seized,

and, when on the point of being sacrificed, reveals who he is. The mode

of recognition may be either that of Euripides or of Polyidus, in whose

play he exclaims very naturally:—‘So it was not my sister only, but I

too, who was doomed to be sacrificed’; and by that remark he is saved.

 

After this, the names being once given, it remains to fill in the

episodes. We must see that they are relevant to the action. In the case

of Orestes, for example, there is the madness which led to his capture,

and his deliverance by means of the purificatory rite. In the drama, the

episodes are short, but it is these that give extension to Epic poetry.

Thus the story of the Odyssey can be stated briefly. A certain man is

absent from home for many years; he is jealously watched by Poseidon, and

left desolate. Meanwhile his home is in a wretched plight–suitors are

wasting his substance and plotting against his son. At length, tempest-tost, he himself arrives; he makes certain persons acquainted with him;

he attacks the suitors with his own hand, and is himself preserved while

he destroys them. This is the essence of the plot; the rest is episode.

XVIII

Every tragedy falls into two parts,—Complication and Unravelling or

Denouement. Incidents extraneous to the action are frequently combined

with a portion of the action proper, to form the Complication; the rest

is the Unravelling. By the Complication I mean all that extends from the

beginning of the action to the part which marks the turning-point to good

or bad fortune. The Unravelling is that which extends from the beginning

of the change to the end. Thus, in the Lynceus of Theodectes, the

Complication consists of the incidents presupposed in the drama, the

seizure of the child, and then again <The Unravelling> extends from

the accusation of murder to the end.

 

There are four kinds of Tragedy, the Complex, depending entirely on

Reversal of the Situation and Recognition; the Pathetic (where the motive

is passion),—such as the tragedies on Ajax and Ixion; the Ethical (where

the motives are ethical),—such as the Phthiotides and the Peleus. The

fourth kind is the Simple <We here exclude the purely spectacular

element>, exemplified by the Phorcides, the Prometheus, and scenes laid

in Hades. The poet should endeavour, if possible, to combine all poetic

elements; or failing that, the greatest number and those the most

important; the more so, in face of the cavilling criticism of the day.

For whereas there have hitherto been good poets, each in his own branch,

the critics now expect one man to surpass all others in their several

lines of excellence.

 

In speaking of a tragedy as the same or different, the best test to take

is the plot. Identity exists where the Complication and Unravelling are

the same. Many poets tie the knot well, but unravel it ill. Both arts,

however, should always be mastered.

 

Again, the poet should remember what has been often said, and not make an

Epic structure into a Tragedy—by an Epic structure I mean one with a

multiplicity of plots—as if, for instance, you were to make a tragedy

out of the entire story of the Iliad. In the Epic poem, owing to its

length, each part assumes its proper magnitude. In the drama the result

is far from answering to the poet’s expectation. The proof is that the

poets who have dramatised the whole story of the Fall of Troy, instead of

selecting portions, like Euripides; or who have taken the whole tale of

Niobe, and not a part of her story, like Aeschylus, either fail utterly

or meet with poor success on the stage. Even Agathon has been known to

fail from this one defect. In his Reversals of the Situation, however, he

shows a marvellous skill in the effort to hit the popular taste,—to

produce a tragic effect that satisfies the moral sense. This effect is

produced when the clever rogue, like Sisyphus, is outwitted, or the brave

villain defeated. Such an event is probable in Agathon’s sense of the

word: ‘it is probable,’ he says, ‘that many things should happen contrary

to probability.’

 

The Chorus too should be regarded as one of the actors; it should be an

integral part of the whole, and share in the action, in the manner not of

Euripides but of Sophocles. As for the later poets, their choral songs

pertain as little to the subject of the piece as to that of any other

tragedy. They are, therefore, sung as mere interludes, a practice first

begun by Agathon. Yet what difference is there between introducing such

choral interludes, and transferring a speech, or even a whole act, from

one play to another?

XIX

It remains to speak of Diction and Thought, the other parts of Tragedy

having been already discussed. Concerning Thought, we may assume what is

said in the Rhetoric, to which inquiry the subject more strictly belongs.

Under Thought is included every effect which has to be produced by

speech, the subdivisions being,— proof and refutation; the excitation of

the feelings, such as pity, fear, anger, and the like; the suggestion of

importance or its opposite. Now, it is evident that the dramatic

incidents must be treated from the same points of view as the dramatic

speeches, when the object is to evoke the sense of pity, fear,

importance, or probability. The only difference is, that the incidents

should speak for themselves without verbal exposition; while the effects

aimed at in speech should be produced by the speaker, and as a result of

the speech. For what were the business of a speaker, if the Thought were

revealed quite apart from what he says?

 

Next, as regards Diction. One branch of the inquiry treats of the Modes

of Utterance. But this province of knowledge belongs to the art of

Delivery and to the masters of that science. It includes, for instance,—

what is a command, a prayer, a statement, a threat, a question, an

answer, and so forth. To know or not to know these things involves no

serious censure upon the poet’s art. For who can admit the fault imputed

to Homer by Protagoras,—that in the words, ‘Sing, goddess, of the

wrath,’ he gives a command under the idea that he utters a prayer? For to

tell some one to do a thing or not to do it is, he says, a command. We

may, therefore, pass this over as an inquiry that belongs to another art,

not to poetry.

XX

[Language in general includes the following parts:- Letter, Syllable,

Connecting word, Noun, Verb, Inflexion or Case, Sentence or Phrase.

 

A Letter is an indivisible sound, yet not every such sound, but only one

which can form part of a group of sounds. For even brutes utter

indivisible sounds, none of which I call a letter. The sound I mean may

be either a vowel, a semi-vowel, or a mute. A vowel is that which without

impact of tongue or lip has an audible sound. A semi-vowel, that which

with such impact has an audible sound, as S and R. A mute, that which

with such impact has by itself no sound, but joined to a vowel sound

becomes audible, as G and D. These are distinguished according to the

form assumed by the mouth and the place where they are produced;

according as they are aspirated or smooth, long or short; as they are

acute, grave, or of an intermediate tone; which inquiry belongs in detail

to the writers on metre.

 

A Syllable is a non-significant sound, composed of a mute and a vowel:

for GR without A is a syllable, as also with A,—GRA. But the

investigation of these differences belongs also to metrical science.

 

A Connecting word is a non-significant sound, which neither causes nor

hinders the union of many sounds into one significant sound; it may be

placed at either end or in the middle of a sentence. Or, a non-significant sound, which out of several sounds, each of them significant,

is capable of forming one significant sound,—as {alpha mu theta iota},

{pi epsilon rho iota}, and the like. Or, a non-significant sound, which

marks the beginning, end, or division of a sentence; such, however, that

it cannot correctly stand by itself at the beginning of a sentence, as

{mu epsilon nu}, {eta tau omicron iota}, {delta epsilon}.

 

A Noun is a composite significant sound, not marking time, of which no

part is in itself significant: for in double or compound words we do not

employ the separate parts as if each were in itself significant. Thus in

Theodorus, ‘god-given,’ the {delta omega rho omicron nu} or ‘gift’ is not

in itself significant.

 

A Verb is a composite significant sound, marking time, in which, as in

the noun, no part is in itself significant. For ‘man,’ or ‘white’ does

not express the idea of ‘when’; but ‘he walks,’ or ‘he has walked’ does

connote time, present or past.

 

Inflexion belongs both to the noun and verb, and expresses either the

relation ‘of,’ ‘to,’ or the like; or that of number, whether one or many,

as ‘man’ or ‘men ‘; or the modes or tones in actual delivery, e.g. a

question or a command. ‘Did he go?’ and ‘go’ are verbal inflexions of

this kind.

 

A Sentence or Phrase is a composite significant sound, some at least of

whose parts are in themselves significant; for not every such group of

words consists of verbs and nouns—‘the definition of man,’ for example -

-but it may dispense even with the verb. Still it will always have some

significant part, as ‘in walking,’ or ‘Cleon son of Cleon.’ A sentence or

phrase may form a unity in two ways,—either as signifying one thing, or

as consisting of several parts linked together. Thus the Iliad is one by

the linking together of parts, the definition of man by the unity of the

thing signified.]

XXI

Words are of two kinds, simple and double. By simple I mean those

composed of non-significant elements, such as {gamma eta}. By

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