“No, prince,” answered Ricaric, and he was going to string up a long bead-roll of authorities, and cite all the rhetoricians of Afric, the two Arabias, and China, in order to prove the most incontestable thing in the world, when he was interrupted by Selim.
“All your authors,” said the courtier, “will never prove that Lambadago is not a very awkward and indecent haranguer. Pray, Mr. Ricaric, excuse these expressions. I honour you in a singular manner; but indeed, laying aside the prejudice of confraternity, can you avoid allowing with us, that, as the Sultan now reigning is just, amiable, beneficent, and a great warrior, he does not stand in need of the embroidery of your rhetoricians, to be as great as his ancestors; and that a son, who is exalted by depressing his father and grandfather, would be very ridiculously vain, if he were not sensible, that in embellishing him with one hand, he is disfigured by the other. In order to prove that Mangogul is as well-made a man as any of his predecessors, do you think it necessary to knock off the heads of the statues of Erguebzed and Kanaglou?”
“Mr. Ricaric,” says Mirzoza, “Selim is in the right. Let everyone enjoy what belongs to him, and let us not make the public suspect, that our panegyrics are a sort of robberies committed on the memory of our fathers: declare this from me in the next full meeting of the academy.”
“People are too long in possession of this custom,” replied Selim, “to expect any benefit from this advice.”
“I believe, Sir, that you are mistaken,” said Ricaric to Selim. “The academy is still the sanctuary of good taste; and its best times do not afford us either philosophers or poets, whom we cannot match at this day. Our stage has passed, and may still pass for the first stage of Africa. Oh! what a work is the Tamerlane of Tuxigraphus! ’Tis the pathetic of Eurisope, and the loftiness of Azopha. ’Tis antiquity quite pure.”
“I saw,” said the favorite, “the first representation of Tamerlane; and join with you in thinking the work well conducted, the dialogue elegant, and the propriety of characters well observed.”
“What difference, madam,” interrupted Ricaric, “between such an author as Tuxigraphus, fatted with the perusal of the ancients, and most part of our moderns.”
“Yet these moderns,” said Selim, “whom you demolish here at your ease, are not so contemptible as you pretend. What, don’t you find genius, invention, fire, details, characters, and fine strokes of wit in them? And of what importance are rules to me, provided a writer pleases me? Certainly it is neither the observations of the wise Almudir and the learned Abaldok, nor the art of poetry of the deep-read Facardin, which I have never perused, that makes me admire the pieces of Aboulcazem, Muhardar, Albaboukre, and many other Sarracens! Is there any other rule but the imitation of nature; and have we not as good eyes as those who studied her?”
“Nature,” answered Ricaric, “presents us with different faces every instant. They are all true, but all are not equally beautiful. It is in these works, on which you seem not to set any great value, that we should learn to choose. They are collections of their own experiments, and also of those which had been made before them. Whatever strength of understanding a person may have, things must be observed successively; and one man cannot hope to see in the short course of his life, all that had been discovered to his time. Otherwise we may assert, that any one science might owe its birth, progress, and utmost perfection to one head: which is contrary to experience.”
“Mr. Ricaric,” replied Selim, “the only consequence that I can draw from your argument is, that as the moderns are in possession of treasures amassed up to their times, they must be richer than the ancients; or, if this comparison displeases you, that as they are raised on the shoulders of those giants, they ought to see farther than them. And in fact, what is their natural philosophy, their astronomy, their navigation, their mechanics, their calculations, in comparison of ours? And why may not our eloquence and poesy have the superiority likewise?”
“Selim,” said the Sultana, “Ricaric will, at some proper time, give you the reasons of this difference. He will tell you why our tragedy is inferior to that of the ancients: for my part, I willingly undertake to show you, that it is so. I will not accuse you,” continued she, “of not having read the ancients. Your mind is too well adorned, to be ignorant of their stage. Now, abstracting from certain notions relative to their customs, manners and religion, which shock you purely because circumstances are changed; you will allow that their subjects are noble, well-chosen, and interesting; that the action naturally develops itself; that their dialogue is simple, and very near nature; that the unravelling of their plot is not strained; that the interest is not divided, nor the action overloaded with episodes. Transport yourself in idea to the isle of Alindala; examine everything that passes there; attend to all that is said, from the moment that young Ibrahim and the crafty Forfanti landed thereon: approach the cave of the wretched Polipsile; lose not a word of her complaints; and then tell me, if any one circumstance draws you out of the illusion. Name me a modern piece that can bear the same examination, and pretend to the same degree of perfection; and I grant you the victory.”
“By Brama,” cried the Sultan, yawning, “madam has made an academical dissertation.”
“I do not understand the rules,” continued the favorite; “and much less the learned words, in which they are expressed: but I know that nothing but the True can please
