And here is a wonder:  we have far more poets than judges and interpreters of poetry; it is easier to write it than to understand it.  There is, indeed, a certain low and moderate sort of poetry, that a man may well enough judge by certain rules of art; but the true, supreme, and divine poesy is above all rules and reason.  And whoever discerns the beauty of it with the most assured and most steady sight, sees no more than the quick reflection of a flash of lightning:  it does not exercise, but ravishes and overwhelms our judgment.  The fury that possesses him who is able to penetrate into it wounds yet a third man by hearing him repeat it; like a loadstone that not only attracts the needle, but also infuses into it the virtue to attract others.  And it is more evidently manifest in our theatres, that the sacred inspiration of the Muses, having first stirred up the poet to anger, sorrow, hatred, and out of himself, to whatever they will, does moreover by the poet possess the actor, and by the actor consecutively all the spectators.  So much do our passions hang and depend upon one another.

Poetry has ever had that power over me from a child to transpierce and transport me; but this vivid sentiment that is natural to me has been variously handled by variety of forms, not so much higher or lower (for they were ever the highest of every kind), as differing in colour.  First, a gay and sprightly fluency; afterwards, a lofty and penetrating subtlety; and lastly, a mature and constant vigour.  Their names will better express them:  Ovid, Lucan, Virgil.

But our poets are beginning their career: 

         “Sit Cato, dum vivit, sane vel Caesare major,”

["Let Cato, whilst he live, be greater than Caesar.” 
—­Martial, vi. 32]

says one.

“Et invictum, devicta morte, Catonem,”

["And Cato invincible, death being overcome.” 
—­Manilius, Astron., iv. 87.]

says the second.  And the third, speaking of the civil wars betwixt Caesar and Pompey,

“Victrix causa diis placuit, set victa Catoni.”

["The victorious cause blessed the gods, the defeated one Cato. 
—­“Lucan, i. 128.]

And the fourth, upon the praises of Caesar: 

              “Et cuncta terrarum subacta,
               Praeter atrocem animum Catonis.”

["And conquered all but the indomitable mind of Cato.” 
—­Horace, Od., ii. 1, 23.]

And the master of the choir, after having set forth all the great names of the greatest Romans, ends thus: 

“His dantem jura Catonem.”

     ["Cato giving laws to all the rest.”—­AEneid, viii. 670.]

CHAPTER XXXVII

THAT WE LAUGH AND CRY FOR THE SAME THING