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tempest, in which he had been shipwrecked some time

before.

Tu sais ce qu'en ces lieux nous venions entreprendre ;
Tu sais que Palamède, avant que de s'y rendre,
Ne voulut point tenter son retour dans Argos,
Qu'il n'eût interrogé l'oracle de Délos.

A de si justes soins on souscrivit sans peine :
Nous partîmes, comblés des bienfaits de Thyrrène ;
Tout nous favorisait; nous voyaguàmes long-tems
Au gré de nos désirs, bien plus qu'au gré des vents:
Mais, signalant bientôt toute son inconstance,
La mer en un moment se mutine et s'elance:
L'air mugit, le jour fuit, une épaisse vapeur
Couvre d'un voile affreux les vagues en fureur;
La foudre, éclairante seule une nuit si profonde,
A sillons redoublés ouvre le ciel et l'onde,

Et comme un tourbillon, embrassant nos vaisseaux,
Semble en sources de feu bouillonner sur les eaux :
Les vagues quelquefois, nous portant sur leurs cîmes,
Nous font rouler après sous de vastes abîmes,
Où les éclairs pressés, pénétrans avec nous,

Dans des gouffres de feu semblaient nous plonger tous :
Le pilote effrayé, que la flamme environne,
Aux rochers qu'il fuyait lui-même s'abandonne ;
A travers les écueils notre vaisseau poussé,

Se brise, et nage enfin sur les eaux dispersé.

Thou know'st what purpose brought us to these shores;
Thou know'st that Palamed would not attempt
Again to set his foot within these walls

Until he'd questioned Delos' oracle.

To his just care we readily subscribed;

We sailed, and favouring gales at first appeared
To announce a prosperous voyage;

Long time we held our course, and held it rather
As our desires than as the winds impelled:

But the inconstant ocean heaved at last

Its treacherous bosom; howling blasts arose ;

The heavens were darkened; vapours black and dense
Spread o'er the furious waves a frightful veil,
Pierced only by the thunderbolts, which clove
The waters and the firmament at once,
And whirling round our ship, in horrid sport
Chased one another o'er the boiling surge;
Now rose we on some watery mountain's summit,
Now with the lightning plunged into a gulph
That seemed to swallow all. Our pilot, struck
Powerless by terror, ceased to steer, and left us
Abandoned to those rocks we dreaded most;
Soon did our vessel dash upon their points,
And swim in scattered fragments on the billows.
VOL. I.

H

In this description we see the poet wishing to surprise his readers with the relation of a shipwreck, rather than the man who seeks to avenge his father and his friend-to kill the tyrant of Argos, but who is at the same time divided between love and vengeance.*

Several men of taste, and among others the author of Telemachus, have considered the relation of the death of Hippolytus, in Racine, as an amplification: long recitals were the fashion at that time. The vanity of actors makes them wish to be listened to, and it was then the custom to indulge them in this way.

The

archbishop of Cambray says, that Theramenes should not, after Hippolytus' catastrophe, have strength to speak so long; that he gives too ample a description of the monster's threatening horns, his saffron scales, &c. That he ought to say in broken accents, Hippolytus is dead—a monster has destroyed him—I beheld it.

I shall not enter on a defence of the threatening horns, &c.; yet this piece of criticism, which has been so often repeated, appears to me to be unjust. You would have Theramenes say nothing more than, Hippolytus is killed-I saw him die—all is over. This is precisely what he does say;-Hippolyte n'est plus! (Hippolytus is no more!) His father exclaims aloud; and Theramenes, on recovering his senses, says,

J'ai vu des mortels périr le plus aimable.

I have seen the most amiable of mortals perish. and adds this line, so necessary and so affecting, yet so agonizing for Theseus

Et j'ose dire encore, Seigneur, le moins coupable. And, Sire, I may truly add, the most innocent. The gradations are fully observed; each shade is

A portion of similar observation upon this tragedy is omitted, there being few in the French language which will not illustrate the abuse of the figure amplification. The remarks on the celebrated narrative of the death of Hippolytus in the Phædra of Racine, are, however, retained, because that fine piece of recitation is well known to the students of the Drama all over Europe. It is, nevertheless, suspected, that, with the English reader at least, the judgment of Fenelon will in this instance take precedence of that of Voltaire.-T.

accurately distinguished. The wretched father asks what God-what sudden thunder-stroke has deprived him of his son? He has not courage to proceed; he is mute with grief; he awaits the dreadful recital, and the audience await it also. Theramenes must answer: he is asked for particulars; he must give them.

Was it for him who had made Mentor and all the rest of his personages discourse at such length, sometimes even tediously, was it for him to shut the mouth of Theramenes? Who among the spectators would not listen to him? Who would not enjoy the melancholy pleasure of hearing the circumstances of Hippolytus' death? Who would have so much as three lines struck out? This is no vain description of a storm unconnected with the piece-no ill-written amplification; it is the purest diction-the most affecting language; in short, it is Racine.

Amplification, declamation, and exaggeration, were at all times the faults of the Greeks, excepting Demosthenes and Aristotle.

There have been absurd pieces of poetry on which time has set the stamp of almost universal approbation, because they were mixed with brilliant flashes which threw a glare over their imperfections, or because the poets who came afterwards did nothing better. The rude beginnings of every art acquire a greater celebrity than the art in perfection: he who first played the fiddle was looked upon as a demi-god, while Rameau had only enemies. In fine, men, generally going with the stream, seldom judge for themselves, and purity of taste is almost as rare as talent.

At the present day, most of our sermons, funeral orations, set discourses, and harangues in certain ceremonies, are tedious amplifications-strings of common place expressions repeated again and again a thousand times. These discourses are only supportable when rarely heard. Why speak when you have nothing new to say? It is high time to put a stop to this excessive waste of words; and therefore we conclude our article.

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ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.

THE great cause of the Ancients versus the Moderns is not yet disposed of; it has been at issue ever since the silver age, which succeeded the golden one. Men have always pretended, that the good old times were much better than the present. Nestor, in the Iliad, wishing to insinuate himself, like a wise mediator, into the good opinion of Achilles and Agamemnon, begins with saying, I have lived with better men than you; never have I seen, nor shall I ever see again, such great personages as Dryas, Cæneus, Exadius, Połyphemus equal to the Gods, &c. Posterity has made ample amends to Achilles for Nestor's bad compliment, so vainly admired by those who admire nothing but what is ancient. Who knows anything about Dryas? We have scarcely heard of Eradius or of Caneus; and as for Polyphemus equal to the Gods, he has no very high reputation, unless, indeed, there was something divine in his having a great eye in the midble of his forehead, and eating the raw carcases of mankind.

Lucretius does not hesitate to say that nature has degenerated

Ipsa dedit dulces fœtus et pabula lœta,

Quæ nunc vix nostro grandescunt aucta labore;
Conterimusque boves, et vires agricolarum, &c.

Antiquity is full of the praises of another antiquity still more remote

Les hommes, en tout tems, ont pensé qu' autrefois
De longs ruisseaux de lait serpentaient dans nos bois ;
La lune était plus grande, et la nuit moins obscure ;
L'hiver se couronnait de fleurs et de verdure;
L'homme, ce roi du monde, et roi très-fainéant,
Se contemplait à l'aise, admirait son néant,
Et, formé pour agir, se plaisait à rien faire, &c.

Men have, in every age, believed that once

Long streams of milk ran winding through the woods;
The moon was larger, and the night less dark;

Winter was crowned with flowers and trod on verdure;
Man, the world's king, had nothing else to da

Than contemplate his utter worthlessness,

And, formed for action, took delight in sloth, &c. Horace combats this prejudice with equal force and address, in his fine epistle to Augustus. * "Must our poems, then," says he, "be like our wines, of which the oldest is always preferred?" He afterwards says―

Indignor quidquàm reprehendi, non quia crassè
Compositum illepidève putetur. sed quia nuper;
Nec veniam antiquis, sed honorem et præmia posci.

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Ingeniis non ille favet plauditque sepultis,

Nostra sed impugnat, nos nostraque lividus odit.
I feel my honest indignation rise,

When, with affected air, a coxcomb cries
"The work, I own, has elegance and ease,
But sure no modern should presume to please :"
Thus for his favourite ancients dares to claim,
Not pardon only, but rewards and fame.

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Not to the illustrious dead his homage pays,

But envious robs the living of their praise.-FRANCIS. On this subject, the learned and ingenious Fontenelle expresses himself thus :

"The whole of the question of pre-eminence between the ancients and moderns, being once well understood, reduces itself to this-Were the trees which formerly grew in the country larger than those of the present day? If they were, Homer, Plato, and Demosthenes cannot be equalled in these latter ages; but, if our trees are as large as those of former times, then can we equal Homer, Plato, and Demosthenes.

"But to clear up the paradox.-If the ancients had stronger minds than ourselves, it must have been that the brains of those times were better disposed, were formed of firmer or more delicate fibres, or contained a larger portion of animal spirits. But how should the brains of those times have been better disposed? Had such been the case, the leaves would likewise have been larger and more beautiful; for if Nature was then more youthful and vigorous, the trees, as well as

*Book II. Epist. I.

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