The Works of John Dryden, Volume 4 | Page 2

and reason. In the Grand Cyrus, Artamenes, upon a
moderate computation, exterminates with his own hand, in the course
of the work, at least a hundred thousand fighting men. These monstrous
fictions, however, constituted the amusement of the young and the
gay[1], in the age of Charles II., and from one of these very books
Dryden admits his having drawn, at least in part, the character of his
Moorish warrior. The public was, therefore, every way familiarised
with such chivalrous exploits as those of Almanzor; and if they did not
altogether command the belief, at least they did not revolt the
imagination, of an audience: And this must certainly be admitted as a
fair apology for the extravagance of his heroic achievements.
But, it is not only the actual effects of Almanzor's valour, which appear
to us unnatural, but also the extraordinary principles and motives by
which those exertions are guided. Here also, we must look back to the
Gothic romances, and to those of Scudery and Calprenede. In fact, the
extravagance of sentiment is no less necessary than the extravagance of
achievement to constitute a true knight errant; and such is Almanzor.
Honour and love were the sole deities worshipped by this extraordinary
race, who, though their memory and manners are preserved chiefly in
works of fiction, did once exist in real life, and actually conducted
armies, and governed kingdoms, upon principles as strained and
hyperbolical as those of the Moorish champion. If Almanzor, at the

command of his mistress, aids his hated rival to the destruction of his
own hopes, he only discharges the duty of a good knight, who was
bound to sacrifice himself, and all his hopes and wishes, at the slightest
command of her, to whom he had vowed his service, and who, in the
language of chivalry, was to him as the soul is to the body. The reader
may recollect the memorable invasion of England by James IV. of
Scotland, in which he hazarded and actually lost his own life, and the
flower of his nobility, because the queen of France, who called him her
knight, had commanded him to march three miles on English ground
for her sake.
Less can be said to justify the extravagant language in which Almanzor
threatens his enemies, and vaunts his own importance. This is not
common in the heroes of romance, who are usually as remarkable for
their modesty of language as for their prowess; and still more seldom
does, in real life, a vain-glorious boaster vindicate by his actions the
threats of his tongue. It is true, that men of a fervent and glowing
character are apt to strain their speech beyond the modesty of ordinary
conversation, and display, in their language, the fire which glows in
their bosoms; but the subject of their effusions is usually connected not
with their own personal qualities, or feats, but with some extraneous
object of their pursuit, or admiration. Thus, the burst of Hotspur
concerning the pursuit of honour paints his enthusiastic character; but it
would be hard to point out a passage indicating that exuberant
confidence in his own prowess, and contempt of every one else, so
liberally exhibited by Almanzor. Instances of this defect are but too
thickly sown through the piece; for example the following rant.
If from thy hands alone my death can be, I am immortal, and a God to
thee. If I would kill thee now, thy fate's so low, That I must stoop ere I
can give the blow. But mine is fixed so far above thy crown, That all
thy men, Piled on thy back, can never pull it down. But, at my ease, thy
destiny I send, By ceasing from this hour to be thy friend. Like heaven,
I need but only to stand still; And, not concurring to thy life, I kill.
Thou canst no title to my duty bring; I am not thy subject, and my
soul's thy king. Farewell! When I am gone, There's not a star of thine
dare stay with thee: I'll whistle thy tame fortune after me; And whirl

fate with me wheresoe'er I fly, As winds drive storms before them in
the sky.
This curious passage did not escape the malicious criticism of Settle,
who, besides noticing the extravagant egotism of the hero, questions,
with some probability, whether Abdalla would have chosen to scale
Almanzor's fate, at the risque of the personal consequences of having
all his men piled on his own back. In the same scene, Almanzor is so
unreasonable as to tell his rival,
--Thou shalt not dare To be so impudent as to despair.
And again,
What are ten thousand subjects, such as they? If I am scorned, I'll take
myself away.
Dryden's apology for these extravagancies seems to be, that