Language and Style

THE art of classical poetry depends on a rigid observance of two principles: metre and poetic language. By common consent, the form must be more than simply rhythmical, although here, as we have already noticed, the Greek critics hesitate, and—at least in theory—refuse to dogmatize. In the same way, the Greeks accepted, in practice, the rule of a distinctive language, while, here again, there was nothing narrow-minded in their criticism. They recognized that the simplicity of Euripides was as “poetical” as the ornateness of Pindar or Aeschylus. Indeed, if comparisons were drawn, it was Aeschylus, rather than Euripides, who suffered. ¹ Attic taste could tolerate defect in ornament more readily than excess. But even Euripides would have failed to satisfy the Wordsworthian canon. If he “reduced the swelling” of Aeschylus, his own diction cannot support the dogma that “there is no essential difference between the language of prose and metrical composition.” Aristotle (who was quite orthodox about the distinction between the two styles) ² remarked that, even when Euripides borrows from common life, he is really elevated although he creates the illusion of just talking; and Longinus believed that the secret lay in the arrangement of these common words, which lifted them above the commonplace. ³ This may not explain 222the whole secret—sublimity or elevation is not merely a matter of Order, as Longinus himself was well aware, when he defined it as the echo of a great soul—but, at least on the formal side, the explanation goes a long way. Between the ages of Aristotle and Longinus, the Greek critic Dionysius had shown the immense importance of arrangement, both in prose and verse. ¹ He would have found no fault with the definition of poetry, as “the best words in the best order,” by which Coleridge rebuked Wordsworth’s own inconsistency for using the language of prose with frequent digressions from its normal arrangement. It may be argued that the order in languages like Greek and Latin is much less rigid than in English, so that a digression from the normal is less noticeable. But, after due allowance is made for the greater flexibility of the ancient languages, the fact remains that the poets far outran the prose writers in licence of order. When Ovid—to take an instance at random—wrote the couplet

hic ego qui iaceo tenerorum lusor amorum

ingenio perii Naso poeta meo