expreffion of his fentiments, detected, by their nicer criticks, have brought matters to that país, that, with their good will, Taffo himself fhould now follow the fate of Ariofto.

I will not fay, that a little national envy did not perhaps mix itself with their other reafons for undervaluing this great poet. They afpired to a fort of fupremacy in Letters; and, finding the Italian language and its beft writers ftanding in their way, they have fpared no pains to lower the eftimation of both.

Whatever their inducements were, they fucceeded but too well in their attempt. Our obfequious and over modeft criticks were run down by their authority. Their tafte of Letters, with fome worte things, was brought amongst us at the Restoration. Their language, their manners, nay their very prejudices, were adopted by our Frenchified king and his Royalifts. And the more fashionable wits, of course, fet their fancies, as my Lord Molefworth tells us the people of Copenhagen in his time did their clocks, by the court-ftandard.

Sir W. Davenant opened the way to this new fort of criticifm in a very elaborate preface to Gondibert; and his philofophick friend, Mr. Hobbes, lent his beft affiftance towards establishing the credit of it. Thefe two fine Letters contain, indeed, the fubftance of whatever has been fince written on the fubject. Succeeding wits and criticks did no more than echo their language. It grew into a fort of cant, with which Rymer, and the reft of that School, filled their flimfy effays and rambling prefaces.

f

Our noble critick himfelf condefcended to take up this trite theme: And it is not to be told with

* Lord Shaftesbury, Adv. to an Author. HURD.

what alacrity and felf-complacency he flourishes upon it. The Gothick manner, as he calls it, is the favourite object of his raillery; which is never more lively or pointed, than when it expofes that "bad tafte which makes us prefer an Ariofto to a Virgil, and a Romance (without doubt he meant, of Taffo) to an Iliad." Truly, this critical fin requires an expiation, which is easily made by fubfcribing to his fentence, "That the French indeed may boaft of legitimate authors of a juft relifh; but that the Italian are good for nothing but to corrupt the taste of those who have had no familiarity with the noble ancients." This ingenious nobleman is, himself, one of the gallant votaries he fometimes makes himself fo merry with. He is perfectly enamoured of his noble ancients, and will fight with any man who contends, not that his Lordship's mistress is not fair, but that his own is fair also.

It is certain the French wits benefited by this foible. For pretending, in great modefty, to have formed themselves on the pure taste of his noble ancients, they eafily drew his Lordship over to their party: While the Italians more ftubbornly pretending to a tafte of their own, and chufing to lye for themselves, instead of adopting the authorised lyes of Greece, were juftly expofed to his resentment.

Such was the addrefs of the French writers, and fuch their triumphs over the poor Italians.

It must be owned, indeed, they had every advantage on their fide, in this conteft with their mafters. The taste and learning of Italy had been long on the decline, and the fine writers under Louis XIV were every day advancing the French language, fuch as it is, (fimple, clear, exact, that is, fit for bufinefs and converfation; but for that reafon, befides its total want of numbers, abfoJutely unfuited to the genius of the greater poetry,)

towards its laft perfection. The purity of the ancient manner became well understood, and it was the pride of their beft criticks to expofe every inftance of falfe tafte in the modern writers. The Italian, it is certain, could not stand fo fevere a fcrutiny. But they had escaped better, if the most fashionable of the French poets had not, at the fame time, been their best critick.

A lucky word in a verfe, which founds well and every body gets by heart, goes farther than a volume of just criticism. In fhort, the exact but cold Boileau happened to fay fomething of the clinquant of Taffo; and the magick of this word, like the report of Aftolfo's horn in Ariofto, overturned at once the folid and well-built reputation of the Italian poetry. It is not perhaps io amazing that this potent word fhould do its bufinefs in France. It put us into a fright on this fide the water. Mr. Addifon, who gave the law in tafte here, took it up and fent it about the kingdom in his polite and popular effays. It became a fort of watch-word among the criticks; and, on the fudden, nothing was heard, on all fides, but the clinquant of Taffo.

After all, thefe two refpectable writers might not intend the mischief they were doing. The obfervation was juft, but was extended much farther than they meant, by their witlefs followers and admirers. The effect was, as I faid, that the Italian poetry was rejected in the grofs, by virtue of this cenfure; though the authors of it had faid no more than this, "That their best poet had fome falfe thoughts, and dealt, as they fuppofed, too much in incredible fiction."

I leave the reader to make his own reflexions on this fhort hiftory of the Italian poetry. It is not my defign to make its apology in all refpects. However, with regard to the first of thefe charges,

I prefume to say that, as juft as it is in the fenfe in which I perfuade myself it was intended, there are more inftances of natural fentiment and of that divine fimplicity we admire in the ancients, even in Guarini's Paftor Fido, than in the best of the French poets. And, as to the last, I pretend to show, that it is no fault at all in the Italian poets.

Chi non fa che cofa fia Italia?--If this queftion could ever be reasonably asked on any occafion, it muft furely be when the wit and poetry of that people were under confideration. The enchanting fweetness of their tongue, the richness of their invention, the fire and elevation of their genius, the fplendour of their expreffion on great fubjects, and the native fimplicity of their fentiments on affecting ones; All these are fuch manifeft advantages on the fide of the Italian poets, as fhould feem to command our highest admiration of their great and capital works.

Yet a different language has been held by our finer criticks. And in particular you hear it commonly faid of the tales of Faery, which they first and principally adorned; "That they are unnatural and abfurd; that they furpafs all bounds not of truth only, but of probability; and look more like the dreams of children, than the manly inventions of poets."

All this, and more, has been faid; and if truly faid, who would not lament

"L'arte del poëtar troppo infelice?"

For they are not the cold fancies of plebeian poets, but the golden dreams of Ariofto, the celeftial vifions of Taffo, that are thus derided.

The only criticifm, indeed, that is worth regarding, is the philofophical. But there is a fort which looks like philofophy, and is not. May not that

be the cafe here? This criticism, whatever name it deferves, fuppofes that the poets, who are lyars by profeffion, expect to have their lyes believed. Surely they are not fo unreafonable.. They think it enough, if they can but bring you to imagine the poffibility of them.

*

And how fmall a matter will ferve for this? A legend, a tale, a tradition, a rumour, a fuperftition; in fhort, any thing is enough to be the bafis of their air-formed vifions. Does any capable reader trouble himself about the truth, or even the credibility of their fancies? Alas, no; he is beft pleased when he is made to conceive (he minds not by what magick) the existence of fuch things as his reafon tells him did not, and were never likely to, exist.

But here, to prevent mistakes, an explanation will be neceffary. We muft diftinguish between the popular belief, and that of the reader. The fictions of poetry do, in fome degree at least, require the first; (They would, otherwife, defervedly pafs for dreams indeed :) But when the poet has this advantage on his fide, and his fancies have, or may be supposed to have, a countenance from the current fuperftitions of the age, in which he writes, he difpenfes with the last, and gives his reader leave to be as fceptical and as incredulous, as he pleases.

An eminent French critick diverts himself with imagining "what a perfon, who comes freth from reading Mr. Addifon and Mr. Locke, would be apt to think of Taffo's Enchantment.".

The English reader will, perhaps, fmile at feeing thefe two writers fo coupled together: And, with the critick's leave, we will put Mr. Locke out of the queftion. But if he be defirous to know what a

Voltaire, Effai fur la Poefe Epique, Ch. vii. HURD.