Somerset. Ah! Warwick, Warwick, wert thou as we are,
We might recover all our loss again.
The Queen from France hath brought a puissant power,
Ev’n now we heard the news. Ah! couldst thou fly!
Warwick. Why, then I would not fly.
Third part, Henry VI. act 5. sc. 3.21
Such a sentiment from a man expiring of his wounds, is truly heroic; and must elevate the mind to the greatest height that can be done by a single expression: it will not suffer in a comparison with the famous sentiment Qu’il mourut of Corneille:22 the latter is a sentiment of indignation merely, the former of firm and chearful courage.
To cite in opposition many a sublime passage, enriched with the finest images, and dressed in the most nervous expressions, would scarce be fair: I shall produce but one instance, from Shakespear, which sets a few objects before the eye, without much pomp of language: it operates its effect by representing these objects in a climax, raising the mind higher and higher till it feel the emotion of grandeur in perfection:
The cloud-capt tow’rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea all which it inherit, shall dissolve, &c.
The cloud-capt tow’rs produce an elevating emotion, heightened by the gorgeous palaces; and<241> the mind is carried still higher and higher by the images that follow. Successive images, making thus deeper and deeper impressions, must elevate more than any single image can do.
As, on the one hand, no means directly apply’d have more influence to raise the mind than grandeur and sublimity; so, on the other, no means indirectly apply’d have more influence to sink and depress it: for in a state of elevation, the artful introduction of an humbling object, makes the fall great in proportion to the elevation. Of this observation Shakespear gives a beautiful example, in the passage last quoted:
The cloud-capt tow’rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And like the baseless fabric of a vision
Leave not a rack behind.—
Tempest, act 4. sc. 4.23
The elevation of the mind in the former part of this beautiful passage, makes the fall great in proportion, when the most humbling of all images is introduced, that of an utter dissolution of the earth and its inhabitants. The mind, when warmed, is more susceptible of impressions than in a cool state; and a depressing or melancholy object listened to, makes the strongest impression when it reaches the mind in its highest state of elevation or chearfulness.<242>
But a humbling image is not always necessary to produce that effect: a remark is made above, that in describing superior beings, the reader’s imagination, unable to support itself in a strained elevation, falls often as from a height, and sinks even below its ordinary tone. The following instance comes luckily in view; for a better cannot be given: “God said, Let there be light, and there was light.” Longinus quotes this passage from Moses as a shining example of the sublime; and it is scarce possible, in fewer words, to convey so clear an image of the infinite power of the Deity: but then it belongs to the present subject to remark, that the emotion of sublimity raised by this image is but momentary; and that the mind, unable to support itself in an elevation so much above nature, immediately sinks down into humility and veneration for a being so far exalted above groveling mortals. Every one is acquainted with a dispute about that passage between two French critics,* the one positively affirming it to be sublime, the other as positively denying. What I have remarked shows that both of them have reached the truth, but neither of them the whole truth: the primary effect of the passage is undoubtedly an emotion of grandeur; which so far justifies Boileau: but then every one must be sensible, that the emotion is merely a flash, which,<243> vanishing instantaneously, gives way to humility and veneration. That indirect effect of sublimity justifies Huet, who being a man of true piety, and probably not much carried by imagination, felt the humbling passion more sensibly than his antagonist did. And laying aside difference of character, Huet’s opinion may, I think, be defended as the more solid; because in such images, the depressing emotions are the more sensibly felt, and have the longer endurance.
The straining an elevated subject beyond due bounds, is a vice not so frequent as to require the correction of criticism. But false sublime is a rock that writers of more fire than judgement commonly split on; and therefore a collection of examples may be of use as a beacon to future adventurers. One species of false sublime, known by the name of bombast, is common among writers of a mean genius: it is a serious endeavour, by strained description, to raise a low or familiar subject above its rank; which, instead of being sublime, becomes ridiculous. I am extremely sensible how prone the mind is, in some animating passions, to magnify its objects beyond natural bounds: but such hyperbolical description has its limits; and when carried beyond the impulse of the propensity, it degenerates into burlesque. Take the following examples.<244>
Sejanus. ——— Great and high
The world knows only two, that’s Rome and I.
My roof receives me not; ’tis air I tread,
And at each step I feel my advanc’d head
Knock out a star in heav’n.
Sejanus, Ben Johnson, act 5.24
A writer who has no natural elevation of mind, deviates readily into bombast: he strains above his natural powers; and the violent effort carries him beyond the bounds of propriety. Boileau expresses this happily:
L’autre à peur de ramper, il se perd dans la nue.*
The same author, Ben Johnson, abounds in the bombast:
——— The mother,
Th’ expulsed Apicata, finds them there;
Whom when she saw lie spread on the degrees,
After a world of fury on herself,
Tearing her hair, defacing of her face,
Beating her breasts and womb, kneeling amaz’d,
Crying to heav’n, then to them; at last
Her drowned voice got up above her woes:
And with such black and bitter execrations,
(As might affright the gods, and force the sun
Run backward to the east; nay, make the old
Deformed chaos rise again t’ o’erwhelm<245>
Them, us, and all the world), she fills the air,
Upbraids the heavens with their partial dooms,
Defies their tyrannous powers, and demands
What she