, that in metaphysical language the moral
of an epos or a drama should be _immanent_, not _transient_; or,
otherwise, that it should be vitally distributed through the whole
organization of the tree, not gathered or secreted into a sort of red
berry or _racemus_, pendent at the end of its boughs. This view Mr. Landor
himself takes, as a general view; but, strange to say, by some Landorian
perverseness, where there occurs a memorable exception to this rule (as in
the 'Paradise Lost'), in that case he insists upon the rule in its rigor--
the rule, and nothing _but_ the rule. Where, on the contrary, the rule
does really and obviously take effect (as in the 'Iliad' and 'Odyssey'),
there he insists upon an exceptional case. There _is_ a moral, in _his_
opinion, hanging like a tassel of gold bullion from the 'Iliad;'--and what
is it? Something so fantastic, that I decline to repeat it. As well might
he have said, that the moral of 'Othello' was--'_Try Warren's Blacking!_'
There is no moral, little or big, foul or fair, to the 'Iliad.' Up to the
17th book, the moral might seem dimly to be this--'Gentlemen, keep the
peace: you see what comes of quarrelling.' But _there_ this moral ceases;
--there is now a break of guage: the narrow guage takes place after this;
whilst up to this point, the broad guage--viz., the wrath of Achilles,
growing out of his turn-up with Agamemnon--had carried us smoothly along
without need to shift our luggage.
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