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 Unraveling] 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 endeavor, 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 caviling
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
Unraveling are the same. Many poets tie the knot well, but unravel
it 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 dramatized 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 marvelous 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: '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.
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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 effects aimed at in 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
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.
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XX
Language in general includes the following parts: Letter,
Syllable, Connecting Word, Noun, Verb, Inflection 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 semivowel, or a mute. A vowel is that which
without impact of tongue or lip has an audible sound. A semivowel 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 meter.
A Syllable is a nonsignificant 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 nonsignificant 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
nonsignificant sound, which out of several sounds, each of them
significant, is capable of forming one significant sound- as amphi,
peri, and the like. Or, a nonsignificant 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
men, etoi, de.
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 doron 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'
d
oes connote time, present or past.
Inflection 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 inflections 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.
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XXI
composed of nonsignificant elements, such as ge, 'earth.' By double or
compound, those composed either of a significant and nonsignificant
element (though within the whole word no element is significant), or
of elements that are both significant. A word may likewise be
triple, quadruple, or multiple in form, like so many Massilian
expressions, e.g., 'Hermo-caico-xanthus [who prayed to Father Zeus].'
Every word is either current, or strange, or metaphorical, or
ornamental, or newly-coined, or lengthened, or contracted, or altered.
By a current or proper word I mean one which is in general use among
a people; by a strange word, one which is in use in another country.
Plainly, therefore, the same word may be at once strange and
current, but not in relation to the same people. The word sigynon,
'lance,' is to the Cyprians a current term but to us a strange one.
Metaphor is the application of an alien name by transference
either from genus to species, or from species to genus, or from
species to species, or by analogy, that is, proportion. Thus from
genus to species, as: 'There lies my ship'; for lying at anchor is a
species of lying. From species to genus, as: 'Verily ten thousand
noble deeds hath Odysseus wrought'; for ten thousand is a species of
large number, and is here used for a large number generally. From
species to species, as: 'With blade of bronze drew away the life,' and
'Cleft the water with the vessel of unyielding bronze.' Here arusai,
'to draw away' is used for tamein, 'to cleave,' and tamein, again
for arusai- each being a species of taking away. Analogy or proportion
is when the second term is to the first as the fourth to the third. We
may then use the fourth for the second, or the second for the
fourth. Sometimes too we qualify the metaphor by adding the term to
which the proper word is relative. Thus the cup is to Dionysus as
the shield to Ares. The cup may, therefore, be called 'the shield of
Dionysus,' and the shield 'the cup of Ares.' Or, again, as old age
is to life, so is evening to day. Evening may therefore be called,
'the old age of the day,' and old age, 'the evening of life,' or, in
the phrase of Empedocles, 'life's setting sun.' For some of the
terms of the proportion there is at times no word in existence;
still the metaphor may be used. For instance, to scatter seed is
called sowing: but the action of the sun in scattering his rays is
nameless. Still this process bears to the sun the same relation as
sowing to the seed. Hence the expression of the poet 'sowing the
god-created light.' There is another way in which this kind of
metaphor may be employed. We may apply an alien term, and then deny of
that term one of its proper attributes; as if we were to call the
shield, not 'the cup of Ares,' but 'the wineless cup'.
A newly-coined word is one which has never been even in local use,
but is adopted by the poet himself. Some such words there appear to
be: as ernyges, 'sprouters,' for kerata, 'horns'; and areter,
'supplicator', for hiereus, 'priest.'
A word is lengthened when its own vowel is exchanged for a longer
one, or when a syllable is inserted. A word is contracted when some
part of it is removed. Instances of lengthening are: poleos for
poleos, Peleiadeo for Peleidou; of contraction: kri, do, and ops, as
in mia ginetai amphoteron ops, 'the appearance of both is one.'
An altered word is one in which part of the ordinary form is left
unchanged, and part is recast: as in dexiteron kata mazon, 'on the
right breast,' dexiteron is for dexion.
Nouns in themselves are either masculine, feminine, or neuter.
Masculine are such as end in N, R, S, or in some letter compounded
with S- these being two, PS and X. Feminine, such as end in vowels
that are always long, namely E and O, and- of vowels that admit of
lengthening- those in A. Thus the number of letters in which nouns
masculine and feminine end is the same; for PS and X are equivalent to
endings in S. No noun ends in a mute or a vowel short by nature. Three
only end in I- meli, 'honey'; kommi, 'gum'; peperi, 'pepper'; five end
in U. Neuter nouns end in these two latter vowels; also in N and S.
POETICS|22
XXII
The perfection of style is to be clear without being mean. The
clearest style is that which uses only current or proper words; at the
same time it is mean- witness the poetry of Cleophon and of Sthenelus.
That diction, on the other hand, is lofty and raised above the
commonplace which employs unusual words. By unusual, I mean strange
(or rare) words, metaphorical, lengthened- anything, in short, that
differs from the normal idiom. Yet a style wholly composed of such
words is either a riddle or a jargon; a riddle, if it consists of
metaphors; a jargon, if it consists of strange (or rare) words. For
the essence of a riddle is to express true facts under impossible
combinations. Now this cannot be done by any arrangement of
ordinary words, but by the use of metaphor it can. Such is the riddle:
'A man I saw who on another man had glued the bronze by aid of
fire,' and others of the same kind. A diction that is made up of
strange (or rare) terms is a jargon. A certain infusion, therefore, of
these elements is necessary to style; for the strange (or rare)
word, the metaphorical, the ornamental, and the other kinds above
mentioned, will raise it above the commonplace and mean, while the use
of proper words will make it perspicuous. But nothing contributes more
to produce a cleanness of diction that is remote from commonness
than the lengthening, contraction, and alteration of words. For by
deviating in exceptional cases from the normal idiom, the language
will gain distinction; while, at the same time, the partial conformity
with usage will give perspicuity. The critics, therefore, are in error
who censure these licenses of speech, and hold the author up to
ridicule. Thus Eucleides, the elder, declared that it would be an easy
matter to b
e a poet if you might lengthen syllables at will. He
caricatured the practice in the very form of his diction, as in the
verse:
Epicharen eidon Marathonade badizonta,
I saw Epichares walking to Marathon,
or,
ouk an g'eramenos ton ekeinou elleboron.
Not if you desire his hellebore.
To employ such license at all obtrusively is, no doubt, grotesque; but
in any mode of poetic diction there must be moderation. Even
metaphors, strange (or rare) words, or any similar forms of speech,
would produce the like effect if used without propriety and with the
express purpose of being ludicrous. How great a difference is made
by the appropriate use of lengthening, may be seen in Epic poetry by
the insertion of ordinary forms in the verse. So, again, if we take
a strange (or rare) word, a metaphor, or any similar mode of
expression, and replace it by the current or proper term, the truth of
our observation will be manifest. For example, Aeschylus and Euripides
each composed the same iambic line. But the alteration of a single
word by Euripides, who employed the rarer term instead of the ordinary
one, makes one verse appear beautiful and the other trivial. Aeschylus
in his Philoctetes says:
phagedaina d'he mou sarkas esthiei podos.
The tumor which is eating the flesh of my foot.
Euripides substitutes thoinatai, 'feasts on,' for esthiei, 'feeds on.'
Again, in the line,
nun de m'eon oligos te kai outidanos kai aeikes,
Yet a small man, worthless and unseemly,
the difference will be felt if we substitute the common words,
nun de m'eon mikros te kai asthenikos kai aeides.
Yet a little fellow, weak and ugly.
Or, if for the line,
diphron aeikelion katatheis oligen te trapezan,
Setting an unseemly couch and a meager table,