The
rhetoric
of Vergil is soft and devious.
Oxford Book of Latin Verse
But it is going to be judged at a single
recitation. For Vergil, it is true, there may be special terms. But this
will be the lot of the many; and the many will develop, to suit it, a
fashion of poetry the influence of which even Vergil himself will hardly
altogether escape. Moreover, there will be, of course, other patrons
than the Princeps, at once less patient and less intelligent.
These effects of recitation we recognize, of course, easily enough in
the case of such a poet as Lucan. But we must go back further. Vergil
is, no doubt, as little like Lucan as he well could be. Yet he did not
sit at the feet of Epidius for nothing: and he did not forget when he
wrote the fourth book of the _Aeneid_ that he would one day read it to
Augustus. We know that there are several kinds of oratory. But we are
inclined, I think, to suppose that there is only one kind of
rhetoric--that rhetoric is always the same thing. Yet there are at least
two kinds of rhetoric. In the practical world there are two conquering
forces--the iron hand and the velvet glove. Just so in rhetoric--which
in the spiritual world is one of the greatest, and very often one of the
noblest, of conquering forces--there is the iron manner and the velvet
manner. Lucan goes home like a dagger thrust. His is the rhetoric that
cuts and beats.
The rhetoric of Vergil is soft and devious. He makes no
attempt to astonish, to perplex, to horrify. He aims to move us in a
wholly different manner. And yet, like Lucan, he aims to move us _once
and for all_. He aims to be understood upon a first hearing. I know that
this sounds like a paradox. I shall be told that Vergil is of all poets
the most indirect. That is perfectly true. But _why_ is Vergil of all
poets the most indirect? Just because he is always trying at all costs
to make himself clear. Lucan says a thing once and is done with it.
Vergil cannot. He begins all over again. He touches and retouches. He
has no 'theme' not succeeded by a 'variation'. [8] In Lucan everything
depends upon concentration, in Vergil upon amplification.
recitation. For Vergil, it is true, there may be special terms. But this
will be the lot of the many; and the many will develop, to suit it, a
fashion of poetry the influence of which even Vergil himself will hardly
altogether escape. Moreover, there will be, of course, other patrons
than the Princeps, at once less patient and less intelligent.
These effects of recitation we recognize, of course, easily enough in
the case of such a poet as Lucan. But we must go back further. Vergil
is, no doubt, as little like Lucan as he well could be. Yet he did not
sit at the feet of Epidius for nothing: and he did not forget when he
wrote the fourth book of the _Aeneid_ that he would one day read it to
Augustus. We know that there are several kinds of oratory. But we are
inclined, I think, to suppose that there is only one kind of
rhetoric--that rhetoric is always the same thing. Yet there are at least
two kinds of rhetoric. In the practical world there are two conquering
forces--the iron hand and the velvet glove. Just so in rhetoric--which
in the spiritual world is one of the greatest, and very often one of the
noblest, of conquering forces--there is the iron manner and the velvet
manner. Lucan goes home like a dagger thrust. His is the rhetoric that
cuts and beats.
The rhetoric of Vergil is soft and devious. He makes no
attempt to astonish, to perplex, to horrify. He aims to move us in a
wholly different manner. And yet, like Lucan, he aims to move us _once
and for all_. He aims to be understood upon a first hearing. I know that
this sounds like a paradox. I shall be told that Vergil is of all poets
the most indirect. That is perfectly true. But _why_ is Vergil of all
poets the most indirect? Just because he is always trying at all costs
to make himself clear. Lucan says a thing once and is done with it.
Vergil cannot. He begins all over again. He touches and retouches. He
has no 'theme' not succeeded by a 'variation'. [8] In Lucan everything
depends upon concentration, in Vergil upon amplification.
