CHAPTER III.
CLASSICISM IN THE OTHER NATIONS.
PRELIMINARY REMARKS—TEMPORARY REVIVAL OF ITALIAN CRITICISM—GRAVINA—MURATORI: HIS ‘DELLA PERFETTA POESIA’—CRESCIMBENI—QUADRIO—THE EMERGENCE OF LITERARY HISTORY—FURTHER DECADENCE OF ITALIAN CRITICISM—METASTASIO—NEO-CLASSICISM TRIUMPHS IN SPAIN—THE ABSURDITIES OF ARTIGA—LUZÁN—THE REST UNINERESTING—FEYJÓO, ISLA, AND OTHERS—RISE AT LAST OF GERMAN CRITICISM—ITS SCHOOL TIME—CLASSICISM AT BAY ALMOST FROM THE FIRST: GOTTSCHED—THE ‘VERSUCH EINER CRITISCHEN DICHTKUNST’—ITS CHIEF IDEA—SPECIMEN DETAILS—GELLERT: HE TRANSACTS.
It would be scarcely more than one of those sweeping generalisations which attract a certain class of readers, if one were to say that, during the eighteenth century, England and France exercised a reciprocal influence over one another in literature, the results of which the remaining nations did little but imitate. [Sidenote: _Preliminary remarks._] It is certainly true that, as regards the special subject of this particular Book—the criticism of orthodox neo-classicism in the eighteenth century—Germany, Italy, and Spain play a part to which justice can be very briefly done, while the rest may well be silence. Nor will Spain and Italy at least have much more to give us when, and if, in the next volume, we turn from the setting to the rising sun. But it will be very different with Germany, where almost the entire interest lies in the restless struggles and obstinate questioning which lead to Romanticism, and which practically show themselves from the very moment when the Swiss School aroused German criticism from its long sleep after Opitz. What has to be said of the Gottscheds and Gellerts of the Northern Country had better be said last, so as to bring the matter into closer juxtaposition with the account of the Romantic Revolt itself. Italy (which has some interest in at least the beginning of the century) and Spain, which has very little in any part of it, must be taken first.
For some reason, or for none, the closing years of the seventeenth century, and the opening of the eighteenth, in Italy saw a very considerable revival of that critical spirit which, as we know, had died away so strangely, after its vigorous flourishing a hundred years earlier. [Sidenote: _Temporary revival of Italian Criticism._] It is true that this new Italian criticism is of a rather tell-tale kind—that it is, in great part at least, criticism of erudition and of retrospect. But Gravina, Muratori, Crescimbeni, and even Quadrio, form a group of no small interest. The first is a real critic of great, if not always well-directed, ability; the second, something of a real critic too, with amazing erudition; the third, the author of the first really literary history of a national literature; and the fourth, the first pioneer—no Lynceus, certainly, but still a pioneer-guide—in the ways of general and comparative literary study.
Gianvincenzo Gravina is one of those persons who particularly invite the student to idle _ægri somnia_ as to what they might have been in other times and circumstances. [Sidenote: _Gravina._] A lawyer, a _littérateur_, the adoptive father of Metastasio, the joint founder of the Arcadian Academy, a critic of remarkable shrewdness, who wrote excellent things on tragedy, and thought his own bad tragedies excellent—he tempts one strangely. His most famous and most often quoted critical work is _Della Ragion Poetica_,[711] but it is necessary, in order to appreciate his criticism, to go to his _Works_[712] and read also the _Della Tragedia_ and the _Discorso delle Favole_. The total effect is, as with most other eighteenth-century critics, a conclusion that the writer has not “found his way”: though he is nearer to it than some others writing later. The _Della Ragion Poetica_ is a most interesting labyrinth of cross-purposes. The strongly scholastic character of Italian serious thought, which we have noticed in Rinaldini only a few years earlier,[713] betrays itself in Gravina’s opening _del vero e del falso_; _del reale e del finto_; and in an episodic discussion of the origin of Idolatry, which may seem absolutely preposterous at first sight, but which works itself into the consideration of Fable not so ill. The admirable description of Homer as “the potentest of mages and the wisest of enchanters, in that he makes use of words not so much for the complacency of the ear as for the advantage of the imagination,”[714] is balanced, at a page or two’s distance, by a fling at the _perniciosa turba de' Romanzi_. The utility of poetry is gravely insisted on, and we are invited as usual to the study of the Kinds; but section xiv., on “Popular Judgment,” is instinct with that Italian common-sense which had shown itself in various ways during the sixteenth century, through mouths so different as those of Castelvetro and Cinthio Giraldi, a sense almost epigrammatically concentrated in the phrase _ne con solo popolo ne senza il popolo_. In these passages of Gravina’s there is to be found, put not indeed quite clearly, but unmistakably on fair allowance, a doctrine which hardly any critic of any day has sufficiently digested—that there is something in poetry corresponding, in measure and degree, to a poetical sentiment which only needs waking in all but the exceptions of mankind. What libraries of vain or positively mischievous disquisition should we have been spared, what unintelligent laudation of Burns when the intelligent is so easy, what unintelligent depreciation of Béranger when the abstinence from it is surely not so difficult, what idle and obstinate questionings about Donne or Whitman, Macaulay or Moore, and a hundred others of the most opposite kinds, if people would only have remembered our author’s sound and sober law[715] that "in all men there gleams through [_traspare_] I know not what discernment of the Good "to which poets, if they know how, can appeal!
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Footnote 711:
My copy is the Naples edition of 1732. But the book had appeared some four-and-twenty years earlier at Rome (some even quote a Roman ed. of 1704).
Footnote 712:
Leipsic, 1737.
Footnote 713:
_V. sup._, p. 330.
Footnote 714:
Ed. cit., p. 12.
Footnote 715:
Ibid., p. 45.
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A large part of Gravina’s work in the _Ragion_ consists of an actual historical survey of poets and poetry in the spirit which, as we have seen and shall see, was so prevalent in his day; and his judgments, if a little traditional, are almost always sound, whether he is dealing with the classics or with the great Renaissance group of Italian-Latin poets.[716] Nor should he lack due meed for the word of praise he gives to Folengo, a writer little likely to appeal to the ordinary eighteenth-century spirit. When one thinks of the extreme inadequacy of French judgments of Rabelais himself at this time, it is no small merit in Gravina to have said, of one of not the least of Rabelais’ creditors, that “he wanted only will, not strength, to write a noble poem,” and actually possessed learning, invention, and fancy. The first book of the _Della Ragion Poetica_ ends thus with an author who must have seemed, to the usual eighteenth-century critic, nearly as sad and bad and mad as Rabelais and Shakespeare,[717] and in whom it is not now difficult to see much Rabelaisian and even some Shakespearian quality. The second deals with the Italian vernacular. Gravina duly admires Dante; but his elaborate apology for rhyme is noteworthy and amusing. It was the way of the eighteenth century to apologise for all sorts of things—from the Bible downwards—that were not in the least need of it. He is a little less shamefaced on the question of the vulgar tongue; and says excellent things about the _De Vulgari_ itself—that “discourse so subtle and so true.” Indeed he conducts his whole discussion on the Vernacular, which is long, in accordance with the principles of the tractate, and gives to Dante in all nearly fifty pages, or more than half of the book, announcing his deliberate intention _giudicare spediatamente_ of the rest from Boiardo and Ariosto downwards. The whole forms a very interesting survey of Italian poetry, though perhaps the most interesting of Gravina’s separate critical utterances is to be found, not in it but, in his short Latin Letter _De Poesi_ to Maffei, in which he speaks of La Casa as _qui alter potest haberi a Petrarca Lyricorum princeps_. It is a bold saying, but not hard to justify, concerning the author of _Errai gran tempo_ and _O sonno, o de la queta_.
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Footnote 716:
He is very interesting on these, being the principal critic, between their own times and those modern days which have forgotten them, to deal with the subject.
Footnote 717:
Gravina calls the opposite style to Macaronic not, as most do, _pedantesco_, but _Fidenziano_, from Fidentio, the _nom de guerre_ of Camillo Scrofa, author of certain egregious pedantesque pieces.
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The monumental work of Muratori in history and antiquities has overshadowed his accomplishment in literature; and some respectable books of reference hardly mention this; but it is in fact considerable. [Sidenote: _Muratori: his_ Della Perfetta Poesia.] We have already had occasion to refer to the service that he did in editing the miscellaneous critical papers of Castelvetro, and he also did important work on the Italian Theatre; but his _Della Perfetta Poesia Italiana_[718] is a more original title-deed. There is no doubt that it had great influence: some have even thought that Luzán (_v. infra_, p. 548) was indebted to it for the impulse which enabled him finally to overcome the remnants of Romantic resistance in Spain, and to seat Neo-classicism at last triumphant in the country of Don Quixote. But it does not need this doubtful and reflected honour. The book is, given its lights and its time, a very good book. It accepts, without much or any demur, that notion of Good Taste which the seventeenth century excogitated and the eighteenth almost universally accepted, postponing inquiry whether it were the false Florimel or the true. But Muratori is both a historian and a philosopher; and he makes good use of both his qualifications. He contrasts, effectively enough, the supposed infallibility of Petrarch in Taste, the variety (without deserting this) of the sixteenth century, and the _pessimo gusto_ of that which had just closed when he wrote. He will have it that Poetry is “a daughter and servant of Moral Philosophy”—in which case it must be sadly admitted that the mother is too often not justified of the daughter, and that the service is not seldom unprofitable. But he comes (perhaps inspired by Tasso) nearer to universal acceptance when he tells us that Poetic Beauty is “a new and marvellously delightful Truth,” and he is specially copious on the Fancy—so much so that one imagines it not impossible that Addison may have seen the treatise, more particularly as there is much about “True and False Wit” in the Second Book of the _Perfetta Poesia_. He is, in his Third Book, liberal on the question of Useful or Delightful—the latter will do very well if it is healthy delight[719]—and he discusses the defects of poets, and the various parts of poetry, with sense and discrimination. All this is of course still too much “in the air”; it makes the old mistake of taking for granted that _poesis_ can be in some way strained off, or distilled from, _poeta_ and _poema_. But this defect is to some extent repaired in the sequel, and the whole is a book far from despicable. The chief defect of it (a defect which extends also to Gravina) is the absence of comparative criticism—of the attempt, at least, to study literature as a whole.
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Footnote 718:
Modena, 1706.
Footnote 719:
Du Bos, a little later, with the apolausticism of the French eighteenth century, says bluntly (_op. cit. sup._, i. 275) that “the best poem is that which interests most,” and that “one hardly ever opens a poem for the sake of instruction.”
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The two historians, especially Quadrio, are freer from this defect, though by no means free from it; but they compensate for this advantage by a much weaker dose of really critical spirit. [Sidenote: _Crescimbeni._] Crescimbeni is not an unimportant figure in the History of his own literature, to which he contributed, after writing in 1700 on _La Bellezza del Volgar Poesia_, a regular work[720] on the whole subject as far as poetry is concerned. Part, and the best part, of this is made up of a refashioning of the _Bellezza_. Its contents, which are not contemptible, though too like much that we have already gone through to require minute attention, are almost indicated by its title—an enumeration of poetical beauties, cautions against defects and mistakes in the application of them, and the usual analysis of Kinds. The rest of the book is a really valuable literary encyclopædia, with extracts, commentaries, lists, indices, &c., “all very capital” in their own way, but somewhat out of ours.
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Footnote 720:
_Istoria del Volgar Poesia_, Roma, 1698 and later.
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If Quadrio seems to invite more attention, it is partly because of his goodly bulk which fills the eye, and partly because of the oddity of some of his judgments, but partly also (in a third part) because he really intends to be critical, and because he extends his view far beyond Italian. [Sidenote: _Quadrio._] The _Della Storia e della Ragione d’Ogni Poesia_[721] is a sufficiently ambitious attempt; and I do not think I know anything of the kind, by a single man, which is at any rate more voluminous. Seven big quartos, tightly packed, give Quadrio ample room and verge enough for proceedings alike methodical and far-ranging in their method; and his _Distinzioni_—the sub-divisions of his Books—leave few things unattempted. He is able to include both branches of Patrizzi’s old division, _Disputata_ and _Istoriale_, and he extends the purview of the latter as widely as he can, if not as happily. The good faith, and the less than doubtful judgment, of some of his excursions will be sufficiently, and here most interestingly, demonstrated by some instances from his English notes. After devoting great space to the usual general questions of the nature, origin, position, &c., of poetry, he has a proportionately large distribution of Kinds, extending not merely into Acrostic-land but into Cento and Macaronic. He deals further with Poetic Art and Poetic Fury, and, in successive _Distinzioni_, with Plot and Manners, Erudition, Verse in general, Italian verse, &c. Then he attacks the actual contents of his subject, and devotes the whole of a volume of 800 pages to “Melic” or Lyric poetry. It cannot but be interesting to the reader to note who represented English Lyric poetry to the eyes of a learned and laborious Italian Jesuit in the second quarter of the eighteenth century; but it is pretty safe to say that not one of a hundred guessers would name the trio in a hundred guesses each. They are Gower, “Arthur Kelton,” and “Wicherley.”[722]
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Footnote 721:
7 vols. (Bologna and Milan, 1739-1752).
Footnote 722:
I shall own frankly that, when I first read this, I had either never heard of Arthur Kelton, or had utterly forgotten him, and thought the name must be a muddle of “Skelton.” What is known about him may be found in Warton, iv. 159, ed. Hazlitt (taken, as was probably Quadrio’s knowledge of him, from Wood and Bale), and also in the _Dictionary of National Biography_. According to the latter, his poem in praise of the Welsh nation is not now extant or discoverable; and though a Chronicle exists I have never seen it. What made the Jesuit name Kelton at all is as dark to me as what made him transform Gower and “Wicherley” into “Melic” bards.
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He proceeds through all the divisions in the same way. His notice of Shakespeare is obviously a recollection of the milder view of Voltaire, who was a friend of Quadrio’s. Dryden wrote a “tragedy” entitled _King Arthur_; Addison is treated at length, and with evident sympathy, as well as with at least more direct knowledge than that shown of “Il Benjanson” (_sic_). There is a whole chapter on Milton, in which Rapin and the Chevalier Ramsay[723] are quoted. The critic is aware of (let us hope he had not read) Glover’s _Leonidas_; and he is naturally copious on Pope, though his section on _The Rape of the Lock_ shades itself off in the oddest manner into a Discourse on Hair, with references to Apuleius and the obliging Fotis, to Dion Chrysostom, and to Firenzuola. But Chaucer and Spenser are not (unless I have missed them) discussed by the citer of Arthur Kelton.
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Footnote 723:
If I have said nothing about this excellent Scoto-French disciple of Fénelon, author of the _Voyages de Cyrus_ (which all good little eighteenth-century boys and girls read), and writer of French which was admitted by Frenchmen to be the best (except Hamilton’s) written by any non-Frenchman, it is neither from ignorance nor from _outre-cuidance_ He takes place in criticism for a _Discourse of Epic Poetry_, prefixed to _Télémaque_.
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Of course there is no need to laugh at Quadrio; and if we do it must be done only in the most good-humoured and politest way possible. Doubtless we all make mistakes in dealing with foreign Literatures; and those of us who have dealt most with them have doubtless sinned most. But what is important to notice here about the Historian of All Poetry is—first, that he has shrewdly seen and manfully accepted, if not the necessity, at least the immense advantage, of comparative literary study; and secondly, that while emancipating himself to this extent, he is still under the domination of Kinds. If he had gone to A. Kelton himself, and had examined that worthy’s works—not to range him under Melic or Epic or anything _quod exit in ’ic_, but—to see whether he wrote good or bad poetry, he would at least have been in a fairer way of escape. But the mania for Kind- and Subject-division, instead of studying poetic treatment, can hardly be better illustrated than in Quadrio, whose schedule of narrative poetry, for instance, is as complicated and as meticulous as a Government return.
Yet the value of his attempt, and in a less degree of Crescimbeni’s, is very great: and it perhaps exceeds in _general_ critical importance the results of the exercise of the superior talent of Muratori and Gravina. [Sidenote: _The emergence of literary history._] These latter said more noteworthy things than the others: but they said them in a kind of criticism which, to speak our best for it, had already done all the good that was in it to do. Nay, their method of handling was likely to stand in the way of real critical advance or recovery, not to help it. Crescimbeni and Quadrio, especially the latter, recognised indeed, if they did not themselves quite understand, or lay down in so many words for the instruction of others, the great fact that before all things, and for some time at any rate instead of all things, it was time for criticism to “take stock”—that instead of theorising at large, and controlling the theory at best by a partial study of the classics and a very limited and arbitrary selection of the literature of the student’s own country, it was time for him to take the whole of that literature, to compare it with the whole of the classics, and, so far as he possibly could, with the whole of foreign modern literature as a third standard. That is practically what we have been doing for nearly two hundred years past, more or less—for more than a hundred years past, pretty steadily and with a will. It is not done yet; and it never can be done wholly, because every generation and every country adds, in its varying measure and degree, fresh supplies of matter which cannot be digested all at once, but which must sooner or later be added to the rest, and may affect conclusions drawn from that rest, as vitally as did the work of Dante or that of Shakespeare. But it has been done, and is being done, after a fashion in which, before the time of these two Italian historians, it had hardly been done by anybody.
The promise, however, of this group—the elder of whose members almost belong to the seventeenth century, while the youngest does not come below the middle of the eighteenth—was not fulfilled. [Sidenote: _Further decadence of Italian Criticism._] Hardly a single person among the other (and chiefly later) Italian critics of the time has achieved, or, so far as I have been able to inform myself, has deserved to achieve, any great reputation. Tiraboschi indeed continued the merely historical part of Crescimbeni’s labour with an industry probably unparalleled in any other country. [Sidenote: _Metastasio._] Metastasio, in his later days, occupied himself a good deal with criticism, and at an earlier time his _Estratto dell' Arte Poetica d’Aristotile_[724] would have deserved a good deal of attention from us. At his own date Metastasio is partly an eminent example of that halting between two opinions which has been so often mentioned, partly an inheritor of others’ thoughts. He is in hardly any sense a Romantic; yet he observes, against the Dacierian extension and hardening of Aristotle’s definition of poetry, that if this be so “it will be very difficult to find any writer who is not a poet”, and a little farther he has excogitated, or borrowed from the æestheticians, the all-important doctrine that the object of the sculptor is “not the illusion of the spectator but his own victory over the marble.” But these things are late, transitional, and, perhaps, as has been hinted, borrowed. The earlier critical work of the polygraphic, polyglottic, and polypragmatic Marquis Scipione Maffei has no distinction: and the very names[725] of Palesi, Salio, Denina, Zanotti are unknown to all but special students of Italian literature, and probably to not a few of these. We must come to quite modern times—to times indeed so near our own that the rule of silence as to living contemporaries may often come into operation—before we can find any heirs to the glory of Castelvetro and Patrizzi, if we can find them then.
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Footnote 724:
It fills the greater part of the 12th and last vol. of the Paris ed. (1782). The passages quoted are at pp. 29, 30, and 57 of this.
Footnote 725:
For instance, of these four only Denina occurs in Dr Garnett’s excellent _Short History of Italian Literature_ (London, 1898), and that for his historical, not his literary, work.
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The singularity which in so many ways besets Spanish literature shows itself, perhaps not least, in the fact that the establishment of the neo-classic creed in Spain does not take place till that creed is beginning to be, in one way or another, deserted or undermined in other countries. [Sidenote: _Neo-classicism triumphs in Spain._] It must be admitted that there was some excuse for Don Ignacio de Luzán Claramunt de Suelves y Gurrea, whose _Poética_ in 1737 argued Spain’s poetry away, far more actually than Cervantes had ever laughed away her chivalry. It has been usual to represent Luzán as a mere populariser of Boileau in Spain: but this is not just. Any one who has followed the course of reading which this book represents will see that it was the _antiqua mater_ of Spanish criticism, Italy, which really started Luzán’s inquiries—that Muratori, and perhaps Gravina, rather than Boileau and the French schoolmen, were his masters. Indeed it seems that he had actually sketched, in Italian and in Italy (or at least Sicily), certain _Ragionamenti sopra la Poesia_, nearly a decade before his Spanish book appeared.
There was, it has been said, some excuse for him. [Sidenote: _The absurdities of Artiga._] We have seen in the last Book that, though isolated expressions and _aperçus_ of remarkable promise and acuteness appear in Spanish criticism of the seventeenth century, it was always _impar sibi_, and was constantly aiming at the establishment of a kind of illegitimate compromise between the national drama, which the critics would not give up, and the general theories of literature which they did not dare—perhaps did not wish—to impugn. In fact, this state of compromise, by yet another of the anomalies above referred to, anticipates the similar things which we see in England and in France, in Italy and in Germany, much later. At the same time, Spain had been a special victim, with Gongorism and Culteranism and Conceptism, of those contortions of the Romantic agony which, all over Europe, invited the tyranny of neo-classicism. Also its great creative period had closed for some considerable time. Lastly, there had survived in Spain a kind of childishly scholastic rhetoric, which the rest of Europe, with some slight exceptions in Italy, had long outgrown. Ticknor, the most amiable of Historians (when Protestantism is not in point), calls by the name of “a really ridiculous book” the _Epitome de la Eloquencia Española_ of Don Francisco José Artiga or Artieda, to which he gives the date of 1725, but of which the British Museum copy bears a date more than thirty years earlier.[726] People are apt to be so unkind to technical _Rhetorics_ and _Poetics_ that I own I had a faint hope, before I actually read this book, of being able to remonstrate with the Ticknorian judgment: but _no puede ser_. The work is dedicated to Francesco Borgia, Duke of Gandia—the tragic elder associations of the name serving, to those who are susceptible to such things, as a sort of heightening of the farce. It consists of verse-dialogues, in octosyllabic quatrain, between a _Hijo_ and a _Padre_ by way of question and answer. Eloquence is angelic, celestial, ethereal, elementary, mixed, dumb, and several other things. Receipts and formulas are given for all sorts of compositions down to visiting cards: and the style of exposition may perhaps best be appreciated from an extract of two quatrains—
_P._ La Imágen o Icon se haze, bosquejando una pintúra de algúnas cosas con otras con propriedád y hermosúra.
And a little later the Hijo says—
_H._ En entrambos ejempláres resplandecen las figúras: mostradme, si [la Apostrofe] la Adversion encierra tanta hermosúra.
One is too apt to forget, in censuring eighteenth-century flippancy and superficiality in regard to the past, that all over Europe, more or less, this kind of childish stuff was still actually taught.
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Footnote 726:
Huesca, 1692, 12mo.
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Luzán is at least not childish, though he betrays the insufficient historical examination and the hasty generalising which beset the whole school. [Sidenote: _Luzán._] He devotes the principal attention of his folio,[727] after generalities avowedly taken from Muratori, to Epic and Tragedy, and while using complimentary words to Lope and Calderon, indicates, without doubt or hesitation, that his heart is with Corneille and Racine. It is true that he is himself—as all these Eighteenth-century “classics” are without exception, save the mere school dogmatists or the obstinate reactionaries like La Harpe—inconsistent. Mr Fitzmaurice Kelly[728] goes so far as to say that there is hardly a proposition in his book which is not contradicted elsewhere in it. But that he at least meant to be a neo-classic, a Unitarian, a Nicolaitan, there can be no doubt, nor any that he met with no markworthy or effectual resistance.
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Footnote 727:
Published at Saragossa, date as above. A later edition is said to be garbled.
Footnote 728:
_Op. cit._, p. 348.
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The rest of the Spanish criticism of the eighteenth century has, save for special students of Spanish literature, and perhaps even for them, very little interest; [Sidenote: _The rest uninteresting._] and it is noticeable that, from this point, even the accomplished and indefatigable historian of the subject[729] practically breaks away from Spain itself, and gives a history of æsthetic ideas, not as they arose, and developed, and changed, and fell there, but rather as they went through these phases in Europe at large. The better known names of Spanish authors of the time, such as Isla and Feyjóo, have a certain right to figure here, but their literary critical work is only a part, and not a very important or interesting part, of the extension of the _Aufklärung_, especially in the forms which it assumed in France, to the most bigoted and conservative (except its sister Portugal) of European countries. This process, though perhaps necessary, is not in any department, political, religious, or other, particularly grateful to study; for Spain lost venerable and fascinating illusions—if illusions they were—to gain a very shallow, dubious, and second-rate civilisation and enlightenment. And this was almost more the case in literature than anywhere else.
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Footnote 729:
Señor Menéndez y Pelayo, as cited before, in vols. 5 and 6 of his _History_.
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Feyjóo’s _Teátro Crίtico_, a series of Essays published between 1726 and 1738, and his _Letters_, which after a short interval he began in 1742, and continued at intervals for eighteen years more, are more philosophical and “moral,” in the French sense, than literary. [Sidenote: _The rest uninteresting._] But the “Spanish Hotel de Rambouillet”—the “Academy of good taste” which met about the middle of the century at the house of the Countess de Lemos—included not only Luzán, but another _littérateur_ of high rank, Luis José Velasquez, Marquis of Valdeflores, with Nasarre y Ferriz, and others. The whole school was rather anti-national, but Gregorio Mayáns y Siscar, their contemporary, did great service to Spanish literature by publishing the _Origins_, to which we have been indebted above,[730] and some by compiling a _Rhetoric_, traditional enough, but not specially “Gallo”-Classic. The famous Father Isla not only attacked the remnants of extravagant style, which had sought refuge in the Spanish pulpit, in _Fray Gerundio_, the one Spanish book of this time, which became a European possession, but left unpublished other critical work, especially in his poem of _Ciceron_, much of which is satirically critical of literature. Isla was probably more of a patriot than of a critic in his well-known attempt to claim _Gil Blas_ for Spain, not merely in suggestion but in direct original. Nor should we omit to mention with honour, as members of that invaluable class of restorers of ancient literature which arose in almost all countries in the latter half of the century, Sedano of the _Spanish Parnassus_, Sanchez of the _Poesias Anteriores al Siglo_ XV, and Sarmiento, the first general Historian of Old Spanish Poetry. Their work was, if a somewhat slow, a sure and certain antidote to the Gallicism of Moratin (Luzán’s chief successor) and others of the later time.[731]
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Footnote 730:
P. 333.
Footnote 731:
This Gallicism was not universal. As Mr Ticknor (III. v., opening) says, while Moratin spoke contemptuously of the ballad of “Calaynos,” his opponent Huerta pronounced _Athalie_ fit for nothing but its original purpose of being acted by schoolgirls.
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Despite some exceptions (which only prove the rule rather more than is usual), and despite the immense dead-lift which at one time they gave, or helped to give, to criticism, the Germans have never been very good critics. [Sidenote: _Rise at last of German Criticism._] There has always been too much in them of the girl in the fable who jumped on the floor to hunt mice, instead of attending to the more important business and pleasure of the occasion. And though that dead-lift which has been referred to began extremely early in the eighteenth century, its history belongs to our next volume. It is, indeed, less easy to effect the separation which our plan demands here than anywhere else; for hardly had German vernacular criticism begun to exert itself once more, after its long inertia since Opitz, than the double current of abstract æstheticism, and of study of Romantic literature, began to appear. But it would be impossible to omit from a gallery or panorama of Neo-classicism such a typical specimen of the _perruque_ as Gottsched, such an eminent example of the “man who looks over his shoulder” as Gellert. And though we must leave substantive dealings with Bodmer, Breitinger, and their fellows and followers to that early division of the next volume in which, with leave of Nemesis, Germany will be compensated for the little pride of place she has hitherto enjoyed, it will be very proper here at least to mention the singular and interesting process of novitiate by which the Germans vindicated their character as the good boys of technical education; and, by sheer hard study and omnivorous reading, put the national abilities into a condition to turn out a Lessing and a Goethe.
The means—sufficiently obvious, but not often resorted to save by those nations which have not “decayed through pride”—were those of abundant translation from the more forward vernaculars, as well as from the classics. [Sidenote: _Its school time._] The German _Sammlungen_ of the first half of the eighteenth century[732] are very interesting things. From French, from English, from the Latin writings of the previous century, they selected, and batched together, critical tractates which they thought might do them good, taking these to heart with Aristotle and Horace, with Boileau and Vida. That the assemblage had sometimes something of a “Groves of Blarney” character—that people like Camusat[733] find themselves jostling Pope and Addison among writers of Belles-Lettres, and Vossius and Casaubon among scholars, mattered not so very much. Manure, seed, patterns (to take various lines of metaphor) were what the German mind wanted; and it received them in plenty, and certainly not without good result.
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Footnote 732:
One of the most important works of the Swiss school itself is Bodmer’s _Sammlung Kritischer Schriften_, 1741, but this is for another time. Nicolai’s _Bibliothek der Schönen Wissenschaften_ (Berlin, 1757) and _Literaturbriefe_ (ibid., 1759-66) perhaps show the movement best.
Footnote 733:
I did not think it worth while to mention Camusat in the French chapter, though he is not quite a contemptible person. He was one of the tribe of French men of letters who, for this reason or that, settled in Holland. He has the not small credit of being one of the first to attempt a _Literary History_ (Amsterdam, 1722, 3 vols.) _of France_. He edited part of the literary contents of Chapelain’s letters, and did other things. But the Germans seem to have been particularly attracted by a _Lettre sur les Poètes qui ont chanté la Volupté_, which he wrote, I think, in connection with the work of Chaulieu, but which I have only read in German. It may have had, for them, the attraction of elegant naughtiness; but it has in reality very little either of the adjective or of the noun.
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There are some very good authorities[734] who do not see much difference between Gottsched and his adversaries of the Swiss school, Bodmer and Breitinger. [Sidenote: _Classicism at bay almost from the first: Gottsched._] I am not able to agree with them. That there are characteristics in common nobody can deny,—that Gottsched is of the evening and Bodmer and Breitinger of the morning of the same day on the older arrangement, I do most sincerely think. And “the German Johnson”—so _echt-deutsch_ and so little Johnsonian—is much too characteristic and agreeable a figure not to have some substantive place here. It is interesting no doubt—and it would give an excellent subject for one of the many not-to-be-written _excursus_ of this history—that he, the analogue, to some extent, in Germany, of Johnson himself in England and of La Harpe in France, comes far earlier than these representatives of the neo-classicism which “makes an end” in countries far more accomplished in literature. But this is natural. The seventeenth century in Germany had but been one long fallow, producing nothing but not unfascinating weeds, like Lohenstein and Hoffmanswaldau, or wildings like Grimmelshausen. But, as in other cases of fallow, the rains of heaven had descended, and the winds had blown, and the worms had done their work of breaking up, and the soil, if technically “foul,” was also fertile. Its production was necessarily mixed; but it was at any rate not subject to the desperate hook of the preceptist weeder, or to the traditional courses of the orthodox agriculturist. The German man of letters of 1700-1750 had the “Y” before him as few men of letters have had.
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Footnote 734:
_E.g._, my friend Professor Elton, in his _Augustan Ages_ (Edinburgh, 1899), p. 348. It is, I trust, not immoral, I am sure it is not illiberal, to edit a book without absolutely indorsing all its opinions, or insisting that all these opinions shall be one’s own.
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Gottsched took the classical branch of the letter unflinchingly, and quarrelled with others, like a good party man, as he realised that they were taking the Romantic. [Sidenote: _The_ Versuch einer Critischen Dichtkunst.] His _Versuch einer Critischen Dichtkunst_[735] is frontispieced with a striking picture of Apollo, and the Muses, and Pegasus looking benignly at Bellerophon(?), whom he is just pitching off, and Mercury, probably flying, but in appearance rather tumbling, down the Holy Hill, with a copy of Horace in his hand, and a group of critics and poets and personified Kinds of poetry waiting to receive it in ecstatic attitudes at the bottom. It has three separate dedication-pages, in the largest print, to three fair ladies of the same family,—the high-born Countess and Lady, Lady Ernestine Wilhelmine, widowed Baroness von Plotho, born Reichsgräfinn von Manteufel, “my especially gracious Countess and Lady”; the high-born Countess Johanna Henrietta Constantia, born the same, “my especially gracious Countess”; and my ditto the high-born Countess Louisa Marianne, born the same,—not to mention a beautiful Ode, several Prefaces, an Introduction, and the full text, with translation in German Alexandrines, of the _Ars Poetica_ itself. If writer and reader do not feel themselves safe under the convoy of all these charming spells and periapts, it is surely a pity.
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Footnote 735:
My copy is the third edition, Leipsic, 1742. The first is, I think, of 1730.
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It would, however, be most uncritical, and entirely unjust to Gottsched, to assert or insinuate that his apparatus is mere matter of parade. [Sidenote: _Its chief idea._] On the contrary, the preface to the second edition first enumerates as “the greatest connoisseurs and masters of Poetic,” Aristotle, Horace, Longinus, Scaliger, Boileau, Bossu, Dacier, Perrault, Bouhours, Fénelon, Saint-Evremond, Fontenelle, La Motte, Corneille, Racine, Callières, Furetière, Shaftesbury, Addison, Steele, Castelvetro, Muralt, and Voltaire. For all of whom, except where (like Béat de Muralt, for instance) they have been reserved for reasons,[736] reference may be made to other pages of the present History. It afterwards specially alleges, as additional authorities, Riccoboni’s history of the Italian Stage, an anonymous _Paragone della Poesia Tragica d' Italia con quella de Francia_ which I have not seen, Rapin, Brumoy [spelt Brumo_is_], Hédelin, Rémond de Saint-Mard, an English _anonymus_[737] on _The Taste of the Town_, Ramsay, Pope, Casaubon, Heinsius, Voss, Rappolt, and Sebastian Regulus his Imitations of the First Book of the _Æneis_ (which last I have not read and do not think I intend to read). In the Preface to the Third Edition his quarrel with the Swiss school breaks out. We shall see in future, I trust, what this school taught; it is here of chief, if not of only, import to know what, according to Gottsched, the “Zürichers” (_i.e._, those about Bodmer) did _not_ teach and he did. “While I,” he says in mingled pride and indignation, “after treating of poetry in general, have dealt with all its Kinds, and given its own rules to each, so that beginners may turn them out impeccably, the Zürich poetic has nothing of the sort.” “Man would,” adds Gottsched incredulously and detesting, “thereout neither an Ode nor a Cantata, neither an Eclogue nor an Elegy, neither a Verse Epistle nor a Satire, neither an Epigram nor a Song of Praise, neither an Epic nor a Tragedy, neither a Comedy nor an Opera to make learn!”[738]
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Footnote 736:
Callières, a diplomatist and Academician, who wrote a good deal on various subjects, in his later years, has been referred to under Swift (p. 450). For more on him and his _Histoire poétique de la guerre des A. et des M._, _v._ Rigault, _op. cit._, pp. 213-217. As to Furetière, the agreeable author of the _Roman Bourgeois_ seemed to me to lie too far outside any possible limits here, though, of course, there are critical touches in his work. Some might even reckon, as an important if rather excessive testimony to the rise of the novel, the curious picture of the girl Javotte—pretty but innocent to the verge of idiocy—turned into an accomplished and intelligent young lady by the mere reading of the _Astrée_. Furetière even defends this representation by serious argument (_Roman Bourgeois_, i. 171 _sq._, ed. Jannet, 2 vols., Paris, 1878).
Footnote 737:
This was James Ralph—the “Ralph to Cynthia howls” of Pope. It appeared in 1731, and deals with public amusements, from the theatre (which it defends from Prynne and Collier) to cock-fighting, auctions, and “Henley’s oratory.” It is rather amusing, and by no means, as Mr Pope calls its author, “wholly illiterate.”
Footnote 738:
It is notable that, since the beginning of the twentieth century, critics of the youngest school have been found Gottschedising in this sense, and proposing to judge the worth or worthlessness of criticism on similar cookery-book lines. I have seen an excellent critic rebuked by a reviewer for not “showing how to _do_ something”—as if he were a dancing-master.
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The Slurk-and-Pott objurgation which follows concerns us little. But the passage just quoted has real weight. For it shows how, to the absolute and half-incredulous horror of one party, and probably by the not entirely conscious or intentional purpose of the other, the battle of Rule-poetic against Appreciation-poetic had begun. To Gottsched the Art, or Science, or what-not, of Poetry is a huge schedule, which may be quite emptied of actual contents and yet retain its pre-established compartments and the rules for filling them; to his adversaries Poetry itself is a library, a treasury, a new world full of things and persons that cause, or do not cause, the poetic pleasure.
It would be unnecessary to analyse this not quite “the poor last” of Classical _Poetics_. [Sidenote: _Specimen details._] It may be sufficient to say that Gottsched has his first or general and his second or particular book, the first dealing with the origin and growth of poetry, the character and taste of a poet, the species of poetic imitation, the Wonderful in poetry, the Admirable in poetry, and the like, the second with the usual Kinds in regular order. His occasional utterances are, at this stage of the history, of far greater importance. We find (p. 86) the sonnet classed with madrigals, rondeaux, and other “little things which are worth little.” The old German _Heldengedichten_ are (p. 88), if not so good as Homer, Virgil, and Voltaire, yet not so bad as Marino, Ariosto, Chapelain, Saint-Amand, and Milton.[739] Later (p. 109), “Among Englishmen, who are specially inclined to excessive fantasy, Milton in his _Paradise Lost_ has exhibited everything that man can possibly do in this kind of _schwärmerei_.” It is well to remember that the detested Zürichers were special admirers of Milton; but there is no reason to suspect Gottsched of being unduly biassed by this, either here or in the longer examination which he gives to Milton’s sins afterwards. He is almost as severe on Ariosto (p. 209), arguing with unruffled gravity that the discoveries of Astolfo (which he sums up as solemnly as a judge) are not probable, and finishing with the sad observation that the Italian’s fantasies are really more like a sick man’s dream than like the reasonable inventions of a poet.
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Footnote 739:
Gottsched, like a true _Klassiker_, dislikes and distrusts romance, ancient as well as modern, prose as well as verse, in and for itself. “Romance writers,” he says (at p. 167), “know as little of the rules of poetic imitation as of true morality.”
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The good Gottsched, in fact, is an apostle not so much even of classicism as of that hopeless _prosaism_ to which classicism lent itself but too easily.[740] Even Voltaire is not sufficiently _wahrscheinlich_ for him; and he asks (pp. 183, 215) in agitated tones whether Herr Voltaire, who has elsewhere such sound ideas on the Highest of Beings, has not made a mistake in the magic scenes of the _Henriade_? He is, however, no friend to prosaic diction, and stoutly defends what he calls (p. 263) “good florid expression,”[741] giving some better examples, from poets like Amthor and Flemming, than those who regard the German seventeenth century as a mere desert might expect. So long as he can get these flights under the recognised Figures, and so long as they do not outstep “the rules of prudence” (273), all is well. But the outstepping, as may be guessed, is not very far off. He finds it, under the guidance of Bouhours, in Malherbe of all remarkable places, and naturally much more in Hoffmanswaldau and Lohenstein, as well as in Ariosto and Marino and Gracián,—being as severe on _galimatias_ and “Phébus” as he had previously (and quite justly) been against that medley of German-French which Opitz had long before condemned. There is, in fact, a good deal of sense as well as of minuteness in Gottsched’s particular rules, both as to poetry in general and as to the Kinds. In dealing with these last he gives very extensive examples, and since these are taken from a division of poetry not much in most readers’ way, they are distinctly interesting. But we must not follow him into these details; nor is it at all necessary to do so. The neo-classic critic has at least the virtue of adhering to his own rules, and observing his own type, with Horatian strictness. There is little danger of finding in him a politic Achilles, a prudent youth, or an old man who is good-humoured and does not praise the past. Gottsched says of Epic and Romance, of Comedy and Tragedy, exactly what we should expect him to say, if not exactly what we may think he ought to have said. He cannot understand how Tasso could hope to “unite this Gothic taste of chivalrous books” (p. 682) with the Greek rules of Heroic poetry; and he makes so bold as almost to rebuke the great Voltaire for according the name of Heroic poem to the _Lusiad_ and the _Araucana_. But there is a characteristic note in the words, “It is time to leave the historic-critic part and come to the dogmatic,” which, it seems, we shall find—all of it—in Aristotle, Dacier, and Le Bossu. It is, in a different relation, like Balzac’s _passons aux choses réelles_—“Never mind the Poems: come to the Rules!”
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Footnote 740:
Thus we are to divide the Wonderful in Poetry (p. 171) into three parts—like _omnis Gallia_! One may hesitate whether to emend “three thousand” or “three million.”
Footnote 741:
He quotes a passage which he calls _ein Muster des guten verblümten Ausdruckes_.
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Gellert, a pupil of Gottsched, at any rate for a time, and a pretty poet in his own way, betrays that tendency to compromise, if not actually to capitulate, which we have seen in parts of French Classicism. [Sidenote: _Gellert: he transacts._] His principal critical tractate[742] carries a confession in its very title, “How far the Use of the Rules extends in Rhetoric and Poetry,” and the confession is emphasised in the text. It comes to this—that the Rules are useful, but only generally so, and with a “thus far and no further.” It is evident that, when this point is reached, the Oppression of Gwenhidwy is on the eve of descending upon the land of Gwaelod, the dykes are bursting, and the sea is flowing in.[743] We saw just now Gottsched’s indignant horror at the idea of writing upon poetry without giving rules to anybody how he shall do anything. He must have been more horrified still, because there is an element of treacherous surrender instead of bold defiance in it, at this other view of the rules as not bad things in their way—to be followed when it is convenient and when you please, and broken or left behind when it is convenient, or when you please again. In fact, any such admission at once reduces the whole Neoclassic system to an absurdity. A law which may be obeyed or not exactly as people choose—a sealed pattern which is followed or not at the taste and fancy of the tailor or other craftsman—you surely cannot too soon repeal the first and throw the second into the dustbin. And this was, as we shall see, what Germany very speedily did.
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Footnote 742:
In the 7th vol. (pp. 117-154) of his _Works_, 10 vols., Berne, 1774-75.
Footnote 743:
See _The Misfortunes of Elphin_.
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INTERCHAPTER VI.
§ I. THE NEMESIS OF CORRECTNESS. § II. THE BALANCE-SHEET OF NEO-CLASSIC CRITICISM.
I.
In the present Interchapter, as in that at the close of the former volume, it seems desirable to make the summary twofold: in the first place, with reference to the Book which the chapter immediately follows, so as to provide a corresponding view to that given by the Interchapters of the two earlier Books in the volume itself; in the second, surveying the State of Criticism—with a look before and after—at the period which we have reached. This survey is here of even more importance than it was on the former occasion because of the greater—in fact the almost absolute—homogeneity of the subject. But it comes second in order, and for the moment we must busy ourselves only with that portion or side of Eighteenth-Century Criticism itself which has been considered in the last three chapters.
In one way Eighteenth-Century criticism has a very notable advantage over Seventeenth and Sixteenth. In the earliest of the three, as we saw, criticism exists almost without a critic. Its authorities are either men of something less (to speak kindly) than the first rank as men of letters, or else they devote only a slight and passing attention to the subject. In the Seventeenth this is not quite so, for Dryden is a host in himself, and Boileau, to name nobody else, is no common man of letters.
But in the Eighteenth the case is far more altered. English and French, the two leading literatures of Europe, are copiously and intensely critical, if not entirely according to knowledge. Addison, Johnson, Pope, Voltaire, are all dictators of literature, whose fame and authority, in the case at least of the two last, go far beyond their own country—and they are all critics. In another country, though in a division, for reasons, not yet noticed, Goethe, who, if any one, is the representative man of letters in his own nation, is a critic. The second class of names—mentioned or to be mentioned—Vico, Shaftesbury, Lessing, Gray, Buffon, Diderot, and others, approaches very nearly, if it does not sometimes reach, the first rank. Moreover, criticism has enormously _multiplied_ its appearances and opportunities of appearance: it has, in a manner, become popular. The critical Review—the periodical by means of which it is possible, and becomes easy, to give critical account of the literature, not merely of the past but of the present—becomes common. The critic as such is no longer regarded as a mere pedant; he at least attempts to take his place as a literary man of the world. If Italy and Spain fail—even allowing for the remarkable Italian critical group at the beginning of the century—to justify their old reputation, Germany, on the other hand, begins that career of critical hard labour to which she has apparently sentenced herself in perpetuity, and relieves it with more excursions into the fairer letters than of late. The French, though subject more severely than men of any other country to the idols of the time, continue to justify themselves both in the lighter and the severer critical work.
But the contribution of England is the most interesting of all. Our position at the time may be compared, with some advantage and no danger of straining, to that of Spain at a somewhat earlier period (see pp. 338-350). We do not indeed find, in any English critic after Dryden, formal expressions of such weight and pregnancy in the Romantic direction as those which the sharp-sightedness and patience of Señor Menéndez y Pelayo have extracted from the Spanish Preceptists. But the general tendency is even more comprehensive, if not yet catholic. In consequence, very mainly, of Dryden’s own magnificent championship of Shakespeare and Milton, it was, by the beginning of the eighteenth century, felt in England that these two at any rate had to be reckoned with; while Chaucer also had the same powerful recommendation, and Spenser had never lost the affection of the fit, though for a time they might be few. With these four to be somehow or other—by hook or by crook—taken into consideration, it was impossible for the worst harm to be done; and the peculiarities of English character, combined with the more vigorous condition of English creative literature, made the compromise work far better than that which had been in a manner entertained in Spain on the subject of Lope and Calderon. It might have been dangerous if Johnson had written the _Lives_ at the age which was Pope’s when he wrote the _Essay on Criticism_; but this danger also the Fortune of England—kindest of Goddesses, and most abused in her kindness, yet justified of Fate!—averted.
We shall, it is to be hoped, be able to show in the next volume how these conditions of Classicism in the several countries affected the rise or resurrection of Romanticism. For the present we must confine ourselves to the way in which they affected Classicism itself.
For the purpose we need not repeat, or even recapitulate, what has been said of its fortunes in Germany, Italy, and Spain, save to say that in the first-named country it only appeared to disappear, while in the other two it suffered increasing decrepitude. England and France are much more important and interesting subjects of consideration and comparison.
In both, as we saw, Neo-classicism is undoubtedly the accepted orthodoxy of the time. If that draft confession of Faith, which has been sketched in a former page, had been laid before an assembly of the leading men of letters in both countries, many might have taken exception to its actual form; but as for its spirit, there is hardly a Frenchman who would have refused to accept it, while not many Englishmen would have done so. At the same time—until, towards the later years of the century, the “alarums and excursions” of the Romantic rising recalled the orthodox to strictness—a more searching examination would have revealed serious defections and latitudinarianisms. Pope was perhaps the most orthodox neo-classic, in criticism as in creation, of the greater men of letters of the time; but Pope was fond of Spenser. Addison had never thoroughly cleared his mind up about criticism; but many things in him point the Romantic way, and we know that some of the more orthodox thought him weak and doubtful. Voltaire, at one time, had considerable leanings towards both Shakespeare and Milton; and we have seen how Johnson, though he resisted and recovered himself, was at least once within appreciable distance of that precipice of “judging by the event,” over which, when a Classic once lets himself slip, he falls for ever and for ever through the Romantic void.
Of lesser men we need not speak much—reference to what has been said above of the escapades of Fontenelle and Marmontel, of Steele and Kames, is sufficient. But all these things were as the liberalities of a securely established orthodoxy, estated and endowed, dreading no disturbance, and able to be generous to others—even to indulge itself a little in licence and peccadillo. Everywhere but in England the vast majority of men, and even in England all but a very small minority, had no doubt about the general principles of the Neo-classic Creed. They still judged by Rules and Kinds; they still had the notion that you must generalise, always generalise; they still believed that, in some way or other, Homer and Virgil—especially Virgil—had exhausted the secrets of Epic, and almost of poetry; and, above all, they were entirely unprepared to extend patient and unbiassed judgment to something acknowledged, and acknowledging itself, to be _new_. On the contrary, they must still be vindicating even things which they liked, but which appeared to them to be novel, on the score of their being so very like the old—as we saw in the case of Blair and _Ossian_.
The Nemesis of this their Correctness, as far as creation is concerned, in prose to some extent, but still more in verse, has been described over and over again by a thousand critics and literary historians. The highest and most poetical poetry they could not write at all—except when they had, like Collins, and Smart, and Blake, a little not merely of _furor poeticus_, but of actual insanity in their constitution, or when they violated their own rules by transgressing into pure nature-poetry or into intense realism of anthropology. In their own chosen way they could at best achieve the really poetical rhetoric, but at the same time strictly rhetorical poetry, of Pope, and, in a lower range, of Akenside.[744] For prose they had the luck to discover, in the Novel, a Kind which, never having been to any great extent practised before, was a Kind practically without rules, and so could make or neglect its rules for itself. In another, not quite so new, their performance gave striking instance of their limitations. The Periodical Essay was a thing of almost infinite possibilities: but because it had happened at first to be written in a certain form by persons of genius, they turned practice into Kind and Rule once more, and for nearly the whole century—not merely in England—went on imitating the _Spectator_.
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Footnote 744:
I take these examples all from English merely to avoid confusion. The case in French is even clearer.
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In Criticism itself the effects were not wholly different, though of course to some extent apparently dissimilar. We have seen how, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the necessary and ineluctable set of the critical current towards full and free “judging of authors” seems to have been resisted by a sort of unconscious recalcitrance on the part of critics; yet how they are drawn nearer and nearer to it, and, in Dryden’s case at any rate, achieve admirable results. By the eighteenth, in all countries, the tendency becomes irresistible. The interest in literature, the bent and occupations of men of letters great and small, the new institution of periodicals—all combine to strengthen it: and every kind of critical estimate, from the elaborate literary history to the brief review, begins to be written, and is written, ever more copiously.
This was what criticism wanted; and it could not but do good. Yet the results illustrated, as mere abstract treatises never could have done, the deficiencies of the common critical theory. The writers save themselves, as a rule, from the worst mistakes by simply ignoring that of which they are ignorant. But in regard to the things with which they do deal the inadequacy and the hamper of their theory are sufficiently apparent.
Of course the deficiencies of Eighteenth-century criticism are to be easily matched with other, and sometimes opposite, deficiencies in other times. It takes considerably more pains to get at something like a real appreciation of its subject, something more than a bare reference to schedule, than had been the case, either in ancient times or in the two centuries immediately preceding. It is very much better furnished with a critical theory (whether good or bad does not at the moment matter) than has usually been the case with Criticism from the early years of the nineteenth century to the early years of the twentieth. It is not even intentionally ignorant—its ignorance only proceeds from a mistaken estimate of things as worth or not worth knowing; and there is rarely to be found in it the bland assumption that “I like this,” or perhaps rather, “I choose to say I like this,” will settle everything, which has been not entirely unknown later. But it combines, in a fashion already perhaps sufficiently illustrated, the awkwardness of dogmatism and of compromise; and it is perhaps more exposed to those two terrible questions, “Why?” and “Why Not?” which are the Monkir and Nakir of all critics and all criticism, than the criticism of any other period. It is difficult to see how a critic such as Dennis could give any reasons for admiring Shakespeare at all, save ethical ones; and it is quite certain that a persistent _Te sequar_ with the “Why Not?” will dispose of almost all the stock eighteenth-century objections both to Shakespeare and to all other suspected persons. In a certain way La Harpe had the advantage of all his predecessors, for he was at least consistent.
The theory not merely of the _authades kallos_, the “head-strong beauty,” but of the “monstrous beauty”—the beauty which is beautiful but has no business to be so, the miracle-working power which does work miracles, but is to be forbidden as _magia nigra_, because it does not work them according to the rules—may seem itself so monstrous as to be a patent _reductio ad absurdum_. In fact it acted as such. Yet the logic of it is undeniable. It had all along been the unspoken word, but the word that ought to have been spoken, and had to be spoken some day. Nor need we grudge the admission that it was in a certain sense better than the practice (which had been often resorted to before, and which has not seldom been resorted to since) of absolutely denying the beauty altogether, with the possible result of being, after a time, honestly unable to see it.
A certain number of points, affecting the criticism and the taste of the Eighteenth century in particular, remains to be noticed briefly before we pass to the consideration of the Neo-classic Dispensation generally.
In the first place, both could not fail to be influenced most powerfully by the constant growth of literature in volume; by the appearance, almost for the first time in large numbers, of the man of letters by profession; and, lastly, by certain changes in general education, and so in the quality of writers and readers. To say that the general reader first made his appearance about 1660, in what were to be thenceforward the two great literary countries of Europe, would be an exaggeration, but only an exaggeration, of the truth. He certainly increased and multiplied in both thenceforward; and, by an inevitable consequence, at once created the vocation of the writer and determined the cast and quality of the things written. Matters like the continued _engouement_ of the French court and French society for literature, and the alternate exaltation and depression, the Secretaryships of State and the Grub Street kennels, for it in England, only concern us indirectly; but they do concern us. Prosperity and patronage enticed the literary man to work; poverty and contempt drove him to it, if only to hack-work. Influences came, too, from the subdivision of Kinds, the specialisation of study required, the reduction of mere erudition among those who were not specialists. I should suppose that, taking the average reading of those who had any reading at all, the late sixteenth century, with a great part of the seventeenth, was the most erudite time in the known history of the world. The level of general erudition has been constantly declining since, though with some fluctuations; and it was at a specially low level during the later eighteenth century. Although it is an auxiliary on whose aid Romantic criticism—or rather that catholic criticism which is neither Classic nor Romantic exclusively, but both and more than both—can by no means pride herself, there is little doubt that the increasing neglect of the classics did help to discredit the criticism which chiefly appealed to them; while the constantly growing attention to certain kinds of physical science could not but tell upon the purely literary estimate. The historical studies which were so great a characteristic of the later century could not, again, but be powerful unsettlers of the fixed point of view; the ever-growing popularity of the novel was constantly lifting into greater prominence a kind of which the ancients had practically taken no notice at all; the equally constant development of the newspaper was always adding writers, who knew little of ancient rules, on subjects of which the ancients had never thought. Even without the special literary influences which we may hope to consider in the next Book, the general trend of habit and event made for a change in criticism; and such a change was imperatively called for, at once by that _reductio ad absurdum_ of neo-classic strictures, and by that illogical tolerance of certain great writers of the past, to which we have given the joint name and status of its Nemesis.[745]
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Footnote 745:
One word to guard against a possible supposition that the writer supposes Classicism dead. Nothing in literature dies: things only wane and wax, retire and come forward again. At this very moment there is even a sort of Classical reaction, which has shown itself in France for a long time and is showing itself in England now. When people are asking, not whether _Old Mortality_, and _Vingt Ans Après_, and _Esmond_, and _Westward Ho!_ are good _books_, but whether the Historical novel is a good _Kind_,—when they argue, not that a play is decent, or sensible, or brilliant as literature, but that it is a “problem”-play, and therefore sacred—John Barleycorn is going to get up again, not to the surprise at all of historical students.
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II.
We now have before us the more important, but also the more difficult, task of summing up the achievements and the shortcomings of the whole period covered by this volume—the _only_ period, be it remembered, in which Criticism was regarded from the point of view of a commonly accepted, if not very commonly understood, orthodoxy. This of itself is an advantage, which, though it has not recently counted for very much, will never be overlooked by true critics. Even if we drop the _quod semper_, the _quod ubique, quod ab omnibus_ has a weight which leaves it wholly for the other side to show case and cause against. Orthodoxy may be really right—really _ortho_dox; on that head it has at least an even chance against any of its opponents. Even if it is not, it has merits which they can rarely claim. It has no temptations for the clever fool, who is perhaps on the whole the most pestilent, intellectually, of human beings. It demands a certain amount of self-abnegation, which is always a good thing. It does not perhaps really offer any greater temptation to the merely stupid than does the cheap heterodoxy of other times. Above all, it directly tends to a certain intellectual calmness—to an absence of fuss, and worry, and pother, which is certainly not one of the least characteristics of the Judge. At all times the wise man would rather be orthodox than not; and at most times, though not quite at all, the wisest men have been orthodox, if only because they have recognised that every opinion has some amount of truth in it, and that this truth, _plus_ the advantages of orthodoxy just mentioned, is greatest, and should prevail.
This will be recognised by all fair-minded persons as a handsome allowance in any case; it is surely a particularly handsome allowance when the arbiter happens not to be a partisan of the orthodoxy in question. And it is quite sincere. The present writer has emerged from the serious and consecutive examination of “classical” critics, necessary for the writing of this volume, with a distinctly higher opinion of them generally, with a higher opinion in most cases in particular, than he held previously on piecemeal and imperfect acquaintance. It is only in such a case as that of Boileau—where an almost consummate faculty of expression masks really small critical gifts, and where the worst faults of the critical character, personal rudeness and spite, are continually lurking behind what seem to be systematic judgments—that the result of the reading has gone the other way. At the same time, if we take the true reading of _illud Syrianum_, “Judex damnatur [_capitis_ cum [_in_]nocens [_culpatur vel minime_],” then the case of the criticism with which we have been dealing becomes somewhat parlous. It is all the worse because its worsening is gradual and continuous. The sins of the earliest Renaissance criticism are sins chiefly of neglect, and are not as a rule aggravated by commission; while its merits are very great. We could have done nothing without it: at best we should have had to do for ourselves all that it has done for us. But the bad side of the matter betrays itself in the code-making of the seventeenth century; it is but imperfectly and unsatisfactorily disguised in the compromises of the earlier eighteenth; and it appears in all its deformity in the La Harpian recrudescence.
The fault of the whole is undoubtedly but an aggravation of what in Ancient Criticism could hardly be called with justice a fault at all, though it was even there a serious defect—the absence, that is to say, of a wide enough collection of instances from the past, and of an elastic and tolerant system of trial and admission for the present and future. We may _now_[746] use the word “fault” almost without qualification, proviso, or apology. The Greek could not, and the Roman until very late days could only to a most limited extent, exercise the proper sweep of observation and comparison; the man of the earlier Middle Ages was, from different causes, prevented from doing so to any effect. But the contemporaries of Lilius Giraldus who knew (or knew of) Chaucer and Wyatt—still more, in the next generation, those of Patrizzi who knew Ronsard and the Pléiade—could plead no such exemption or excuse. They had recovered the exacter knowledge of the remoter past which the Middle Ages lacked, the critical spirit which during the Middle Ages was asleep: and they had accumulated and were accumulating treasures, of completed mediæval work and of modern work constantly accruing, enough to give them every comparison, without exception, that they could have wanted. Their guilt was deepening daily as their opportunities increased.
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Footnote 746:
Cf. vol. i. p. 485.
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For they neglected these opportunities, they “sinned” these mercies, almost without exception. If England in any way deserved the good fortune that fell to her at the close of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth, it was because she had never wholly denied either Chaucer or Spenser, either Shakespeare or Milton. But the just men who thus saved her were wofully few, and they were almost all of them followers of Naaman, who extorted a permission to bow in the house of Rimmon, rather than of the glorious Three Children, who would do obeisance to no graven image that any king set up. If Germany had the honour of leading the way—or very nearly leading the way—in the Critical Reformation, it was because, from the very beginning of her really modern literature, she had put faith in her _Heldenbuch_ and her _Bergreihen_. But even this faith was rather hesitating for a long time, and it had no foothold in courtly, and curial, and academic places. The men who were the real pioneers in the revival or commencement of that universal study of literature which alone can lead to a universal criticism, were as a rule mere scholars and antiquaries, men like Oldys and Capell, La Monnoye and Sainte-Palaye, Sanchez and Sedano. Gray, the greatest man of letters by far who at least fumbled with the key of the enchanted garden, did but fumble with that key: and his successors Percy and Warton, who opened what they could, were not great men of letters at all. Abroad, and especially in France, their analogues, such as Marmontel, never got so far even as they did. In Spain it became fashionable to deny Lope if not Cervantes: in Italy Dante-worship was too often, if not in most cases, lip-worship only.
The spectacle of these centuries is almost infinitely interesting and surprising. I cannot, after having, with not a little pains, attained to some Pisgah-sight of it, exhaust my own wonder, especially in regard to the Eighteenth, or disentangle myself from that fatalism which I have already—with the result of some misunderstanding in the house of no un-friends—announced at the end of the First volume. We can understand the Sixteenth century, with its vernaculars hardly yet fully formed, with their greatest literature coming and to come, with an almost excusable distaste for the immediate past, and with the full eagerness—the honeymoon intoxication—of their intercourse with the classics upon them—we can understand this being excessive in admitting, in continuing, in caricaturing, the critical principles of the classics themselves. We can also, if not quite so fully, understand how the dwindling enthusiasms of the Seventeenth, with its still greater sense of “the petty done, the undone vast” in the matter of mere erudition, and its thick-coming concerns of party politics, material progress, physical science, rivalry of nations, and the like—we can understand its sinking, in mid-journey or thereabouts, to an “age of prose and sense,” where the prose was as certain as the sense was sometimes problematical. But the Eighteenth was beginning to be disengaged, to specialise, to take stock, to disuse the Chronicle and begin the History. How, we must ask ourselves, could men like Muratori and Gravina, like Addison and Johnson, like Fontenelle and Du Bos, rest even partly satisfied (for wholly, as we have seen, some of them at least were not) with literary sealed patterns which admittedly would not fit the greatest admitted literature of all their respective countries except France, and which presented, to the not insufficient self-sufficiency of Frenchmen, the proposition that, for hundreds of years, French men of letters had been barbarians, if not idiots?
There is no explanation but Grandgousier’s, eked a little by the remembrance that—as we shall, it is to be hoped, see in the next volume—there _was_ a searching of hearts, a moving of the waters, not very late, in fact very early, in the Eighteenth century itself. But, as we have seen already, the creed of the majority, the orthodoxy of the time, admitted no hint of this. It made a few concessions or extensions—till it found them obviously unsafe—in the direction of amiable but illogical compromise in particulars. It yielded up no jot of the general creed. It was still matter of breviary _circa_ 1780, as it had begun to be _circa_ 1580, that the Fable was the Poem (let us say that if Homer had written an argument of the _Iliad_, and had left off there, he would have done all that was actually necessary); that you must follow Nature by following the ancients; that you must not use epic verse in non-epic poetry, and so forth. In all countries, or almost all,—the extreme literary poverty and disarray of Germany here serving her in good stead,—these general assumptions, and the many others which have been noticed in the foregoing pages, had narrowed down to yet others of the particular kind—that the pause in an English verse must be absolutely within a syllable or two of the middle; that a French Alexandrine must not have the impudence to overflow into its neighbour; and the like. And the whole sums itself up all the more strikingly—because of the doubtful and argumentative tone of the passage—in that memorable decision of Johnson’s which has been discussed above, the decision justifying Rymer, justifying La Harpe, that we must not “judge by the event,”—that the presence of the fig is no proof of the nature of the fig-tree.
No very elaborate indications of the faults inseparable from this style of criticism can be necessary. That if carried out rigorously (as in some instances at least it was) it would simply have sterilised and petrified the literary production of the world, is of course obvious. That journey _au fond de l’inconnu pour trouver du nouveau_, which, with whatever success or failure it may meet, however dangerous it may be in some high functions and departments of Life and Thought, is the motive principle of Art, was barred by it at once. It was no question of “progress” in the very likely chimerical sense of improvement; there was to be not even any _difference_. “To-morrow” was not, according to the proverb, to be “a new day”: if the men of this school did not go as far as Musette and pronounce that _Demain, c’est une fatuité du calendrier_, they held that it was to be as yesterday, and much more also. It is equally obvious that this doctrine positively invited indulgence in some of the worst faults of criticism. The critic who nowadays compasses all the reference shelves of the British Museum in order to find one discrepancy with his author, and then triumphs over him, is mostly confined to dates and names, or to more or less transparent erections of personal opinion (or personal ignorance) into standards, which the fairly intelligent reader takes for what they are worth. A hundred and fifty years ago the child of Momus had much better cards in his hand. The “exact scales of Bossu” were not only infinitely complicated and elaborate, but people in general, however intelligent, were by no means inclined to find any fault with them or question their justice. He had a hundred chances, to one that he now has, of catching his author tripping under statute, and without any actual garbling or dishonesty.
But between the dangers on the great scale and the dangers on the small, which have been indicated in the last paragraph, there were many of intermediate kinds. Without absolute distrust of novelty or unfamiliarity as such on the one hand, and without a mere peddling tendency to pick holes on the other, a critic under this dispensation might, and almost must, find himself distracted, hampered, wellnigh mantrapped, in his critical investigations. A dreamlike network or chain of obsessions was upon him. To submit himself frankly to the effect of the work and judge it as he would a prospect or a picture,[747] a vintage or a face, was forbidden him. It was his duty, in the first place, if the author openly classed his work in any Kind, to decide whether it really belonged to this or to another; if the author had omitted that ceremony, to determine the classification sedulously for himself. Then he had to remember, or look up, the most celebrated ancient examples of the Kind, or those modern ones which had obtained the credit of being most like the ancients; and to decide whether the resemblance was sufficient in general. And then he had to descend—if descent be possible in this process of grovelling—to particulars, and see if _they_ were “according to Cocker.” If everything were entirely _en règle_, he was at liberty to admire and enjoy, supposing that, after the preliminaries, he had any disposition towards admiration and enjoyment left in him.
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Footnote 747:
In judging pictures he would, indeed, have been almost equally liable to be “connoisseured out of his senses,” but the interference was less authoritative. Towards the end of the century the prophets of the Picturesque tried to invade prospects also with their preceptism: but Nature laughed at them too obviously.
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This is not a caricature; it is absolutely exact according to the “regulation” theory: and as the examples quoted before will have shown, and as hundreds of others might be produced to show, it is by no means untrue to practice. A critic, great, or generous, or happily both, might transcend his brief, be better than his creed, as in that noble eulogy of Gray’s _Elegy_ which makes up for much in Johnson’s _Life_ of the poet. But these were works of supererogation; and it is not quite certain that the exercise of them was entirely orthodox. The “stop-watch” _was_ orthodox: it was the very centre and pulse of the machine of neo-classic criticism.
I do not think that it is part of my duty as a Historian to support this view by any further argument. I have given the strongest possible, in a minute, and I believe faithful, exposition of the _actual_ survey, the _actual_ opinions, the _actual_ processes and judgments of neo-classic critics. If it is necessary to say any more, let it be this only. The weakness of their position is sufficiently shown by the fact that it could not bear the light of a historical knowledge of literature. There was none such, so long as it lasted: and when that light shone, it fell. The coincidences may not be causative; but it is for others to show that they are not.
If, however, any one should conclude from these strictures that, in the view of the present writer, the critical work of these three centuries was only evil continually, he would make a very great mistake. Moreover, putting all personal views out of the question, it is certain that this could not be the case. In almost all arts and even sciences, but in Art even more than in Science, the task set before the human faculties is a gigantic “Rule of False,” as the older arithmetic books called it, in which, by following out certain hypotheses, and ascertaining how and to what extent you are led wrong by them, you at last discover the right way. The most grotesque error is thus a benefit to Humanity, which, indeed, sometimes shows itself conscious enough of the beneficial character to perform the experiment over and over again. And further, in all arts and in all sciences, but especially in the higher division of Art, the reward of these excursions is not confined to the somewhat negative advantage of discovering that man need go that way no more. Corollaries and episodes—wayside windfalls of the Muses—await, not so thinly spread, the adventurous and single-hearted practitioner of Allegory as of Alchemy, on the acrostic as on the astrolabe. And considering the secondary or parasitic character which so specially belongs to Criticism, it is inevitable, not merely that these “bonuses,” these “extras,” should be more abundant here than anywhere else, but that the regular profits of the ordinary work should be considerable. Unless the critic is utterly incompetent and bad—unless he is a very Rymer, I do not say a Dennis, much less a Boileau—his mere contact with a new work of art must result in something useful, in a critical datum and fact for the future. It is very unlikely—if he is a person of even rather more than average brains it is practically impossible—that the exact equation or conjunction of his temperament, and his equipment, and the character of the work, will ever recur. It is, _ex hypothesi_, quite certain that it can never have occurred before. That he judges under a certain system, even a wrong one, will not detract from the value of the result, save in quantity. There will still be the actual fact—acquired to the stock of critical data for the future—that a critical power, say A, applied under the restrictions of system _m_ or _n_, to work B, has resulted in the judgment _x_. And this result, in its own line and sphere, is as much a “thing,” and a thing of interest, to the critical student of literature, as a new beetle to the man of science, or a new judgment of the House of Lords to the man of law. Nay, to such a student it has a higher interest still: it is in rank and line (_mutatis mutandis_ again) with the work criticised, with a picture, with a sonata, as a thing of art itself.
And critics in these centuries, from these points of view and others, estated criticism more richly than it could have hoped to be endowed when the Humanists began once more to attack and defend Poetry, or when Daniello a little later set himself down to write the first treatise of criticism proper in a vernacular language. They attempted, and to the best of their power arranged, the more general questions of the Art, always with zeal, if not always with discretion; they did valuable, if also somewhat and sometimes mistaken, work in its intermediate regions; and slowly, grudgingly, but surely, they set themselves to the apparently humbler but really fruitful work of actual critical examination of literature, at first as it had been provided and already criticised long ago, at last as it was being provided by the flying day. Their own theories, right or wrong, they worked out with altogether admirable patience and thoroughness, applying them, too, with a faithfulness which must excite admiration, if it cannot command agreement. And, as we have taken all fair pains to show, they not unfrequently strayed and stumbled upon outside truths, leant over the border of their somewhat narrow world and pried into others, after a fashion which, when the due time came, was sure to start more adventurous discoverers on wider paths of exploration.
It would be superfluous to extend this already long volume with any list of selected specimens of individual achievement and excellence. I hope, indeed, that this book may attract or help attention to some critics—Capriano, Cinthio, Patrizzi, Ogier are a very few examples—who are at present very little known: and to others, unnecessary to specify, whose claims have, as it seems to me, been underrated or misunderstood. But I have included, I think, no one of all the hundreds appearing in this volume who is not profitable in some way, for example, or for correction, or for reproof—who has not done something, if it be only in the way of warning, to help the student of all time.
We may also advantageously compare this balance-sheet with the balance-sheets of Ancient Criticism as given before, and of Modern in an anticipated draft. As compared with the former, Neo-Classicism has the disadvantage that, with at least equal if not greater narrowness, it is almost entirely destitute of the same excuse for being narrow. The Greeks of the great age wrote with nothing but Greek literature before them; those of the decadence and the Romans with nothing but Greek literature and Roman, which was for the most part a pale copy of Greek. The men of the eighteenth century, had they chosen, could have compared, with the practice and the theory of these two literatures, not merely the vast, the interesting, and, as “correcting” classicism, the inestimable literature of the Middle Ages, but at least four substantive and important literatures of modern times, those of France, Italy, England, and Spain. They not only did not do this as a matter of fact, but they invariably in practice, and not seldom as a matter of express theory, flouted and scouted the bare idea of doing it. They persisted in applying a travesty of the system of Horace, itself travestied from Aristotle, to these totally different products. Sometimes this resulted in the bland absurdity of the _Battle of the Books_ attitude, sometimes in the hardly less ludicrous compromise which, by stretching the faults-and-beauties doctrine to its farthest possible extent, allowed critics to make room, as it were by sufferance, for Shakespeare and Milton, for Dante and Cervantes. They could laugh heartily at a dinner in the style of the ancients, and their common-sense would at once have pronounced any one fit for Bedlam who attempted to journey from London to York bareheaded, clothed in a toga, and with sandals on foot; but in theory, and even partly in practice, they imposed the classical uniform on literature.
Still, they show, at least in some respects, better beside their modern successors than it is the fashion to think. We have opened the road which they barred, and permitted the exploration of the countries which they forbade; but it is rather a question whether we have profited as we should by this gain. It is still the very rarest thing to find a critic who, by equipment or even by inclination, is himself disposed to take a really catholic view of literature; and those who do endeavour to take such a view are constantly regarded with distrust by the general, and with a rather comic rancour by specialists. It follows that the modern critic is, taking each on his own scheme, very much less well prepared as a rule than the critic, not merely of the eighteenth century, as has been said above, but of our period generally, and very nearly as liable as that critic was to take hasty sweeping views in condemnation of whole provinces of his subject.
Excesses, moreover, of this kind, which critics from the Renaissance onwards committed, are a natural result of reaction in all histories. And in the History of Literature a hundred years of something approaching to Anarchy are perhaps not too much to balance three hundred of mistakenly experimental Order. We shall see the causes and the faults, as well as the excuses and the gains, of the Anarchy later. For the present it is fitting to conclude, with an acknowledgment anew of the merits of the Order also, in respect to the faults of which we have been so frank. They are the merits of a remarkable industry, of a commendable freedom from mere dilettantism, of the discovery of not a few sound critical principles, and the registration of not a few sound critical judgments, of an experimentation and accomplishment which, even if it went wrong, serves as an invaluable warning to other ages not to pursue the paths which have so misled. And, yet once more, let us recognise that adjustment of criticism to creation—mysterious or simply natural as it may seem to different temperaments and different systems of thought—which we have observed before, in the cautious check of Renaissance criticism on the heady exuberance of the great Renaissance creation, in the support given by Seventeenth-century classicism to such mediate powers and dispositions as those of Corneille and even Racine, of Dryden and even Pope; in the salutary deterrence of Eighteenth-century orthodoxy, which saved us from more Beatties and more Anne Radcliffes when the time was not ready for Keatses or for Scotts. For so also in literature—and even in that, as some would have it, not divinest part of literature, Criticism—do all the works of the Lord, the lesser as well as the greater, praise Him and magnify Him for ever.
INDEX.
(_Dates in the following entries are only given in the case of critical writers actually belonging to the period dealt with in the volume. To economise space, also, the kind of writing practised is only indicated where confusion is possible._)
_Abrégé de l’Art Poétique_, 121. Academic _Éloges_, 533, 534. Academy, the French, 256 _sq._ _Account of the English Dramatic Poets_, 400, 401. _Account of the greatest English Poets_, 438, 439. _Adagia_ of Erasmus, the, 11. Addison, Joseph (1672-1719), 271, 325, 415 _note_, 432 _sq._, 437-448, 463, 541, 561 _sq._ “Admiration,” 52, 270. _Adone_, 259. _Advancement and Reformation of Modern Poetry_, 433 _sq._ —— _of Learning_, 191 _sq._ _Advice to a Young Poet_, 452. Æneas Sylvius Piccolomini—Pope Pius II. (1405-64), 18. Æschylus, 61, 77. _Æthiopica_, 77, 131. _Agamemnon_, the, 262 _note_, 313. Agrippa, Cornelius (1486-1535), 17 _note_, 28, 29, 352 _note_. _Agudeza y arte de ingenio_, 349, 350. Aguilar, Francesco López de, 346. _A King and No King_, Rymer on, 394. _Alaric_, 257, 265. Alexander, Sir William, Earl of Stirling (1567?-1640), 196, 197. _All for Love_, Preface to, 384. _Almanack des Grands Hommes de nos jours_, 534. _Ambra_, 24 _sq._ _Amour Tyrannique_, 266. Amthor, 556. Amyot, 139. _Ana_, the, 274-277. Anacreon, 522. _Anacrisis_, 196, 197. Anchères, Daniel d', see Schélandre, Jean de. _Ancient Mariner, The_, 497 _note_. “Ancients and Moderns,” 270, 320-322, 324, 327, 401, 412, 457, 503 _sq._ André, Père, 513 _note_. _Andromeda_, 161. _Anecdotes_, Spence’s, 332, 454. _An Evening’s Love_, Preface to, 383. _Annus Mirabilis_, Preface to, 375. _Anticlaudianus_, 67, 96. _Antigone_, the, 256, 432. _Antiquity of the English Tongue, The_, 452. _Apollo, The British_, 406. Apollonius Rhodius, 393, 531. _Apology of Heroic Poetry_, 384. —— _for Poetry_, 171 _sq._ —— _for Smectymnuus_, 366. _Apophthegmata_ of Erasmus, the, 11. Apuleius, 14, 254 _note_, 532. Aquinas, 20. _Araucana_, the, 348. Arber, Professor, Bk. IV., ch. vi., _notes passim_. Arbuthnot, 450 _sq._ _Arcadian Rhetoric_, 186 _note_. _Architrenius_, 67, 96. Aretino, L., see Bruni. —— C., 66. Argensolas, the (Lupercio, 1565-1613; Bartolomé, 1566-1631), 346 _note_. Arias Montano, Benito (1577-98), 336. Ariosto, 53 _sq._, 64, 85, 91, 293 _sq._, 303, 555. Aristophanes, 54, 254 _note_, 151, 308. Aristotle, 6, 37, 38, 40, 41, 52 _sq._, 60 _sq._, 70, 80 _sq._, 97 _sq._, 103, 106, 213, 219, 413, 454 and _passim_. Arnold, Matthew, 144-146, 219, 272, 277, 437, 462 _note_, 489 _sq._, 493 _sq._, 506, 512. Aromatari, Giuseppe (1588-1660), 328, 329, 411. _Arte de Trobar_, 333. _Arte Nuevo de Hacer Comedias_, 50 _note_, 332, 343-346. _Arte Poetica_, Minturno’s, 51 _sq._ —— Muzio’s, 46. Arthurian Romances, Ronsard on, 124, 125. —— Chapelain on, 260. —— Montaigne on, 139. Artieda, M. A. Rey de (1560-1625), 346 _note_. Artiga, Francesco José (_fl. c._ 1690), 547, 548. _Art of English Poesy_, Puttenham’s, 176 _sq._ _Art of Poetry_, Bysshe’s, 426 _sq._ —— Gildon’s, 429 _sq._ _Art of Rhetoric_, Wilson’s, 148-151. _Art Poétique_, Boileau’s, 281 _sq._ —— La Mesnardière’s, 265. —— Laudun’s, 127, 128. —— Pelletier’s, 117 _sq._ —— Vauquelin’s, 128 _sq._ _Artus_, 124, 125. Ascham, Roger (1515-68), 9, 46, 113, 148-162, 193, 224 _sq._ Asselineau, M., 255. _Athalie_, 298. _Athenæum_, the, 40 _note_. _Athenian Mercury, The_, 406. _Athenian Oracle, The_, 406. _Athenian Sport_, 406. Atterbury, Francis, Bishop of Rochester (1672-1732), 449. Aubignac, F. Hédelin, Abbé d’(1604-76), 241, 308-310, 357, 369 _note_. Aubigné, Agrippa d', 505. _Aurengzebe_, Prologue to, 384. _Autre Art Poétique_, 111 _note_. Avellaneda, 347 _note_. Averroes, 20. Axon, Mr W. E. A., 29.
Bacon, Sir Francis, Lord Verulam (1561-1626), 191-196, 206, 232, 318 _note_. Bacon-Shakespeare theory, 207 _note_, 318 _note_, 486. Baillet, Adrien (1649-1706), 102 _note_, 107 _note_, 241, 316, 317-319. Balzac, J. Guez de (1594-1655), 241, 252-254, 257. —— Honoré de, 557. Barbauld, Mrs, 497 _note_. _Barbon, Le_, 254. Barreda, Francesco de la, 346 _note_. Bartas, Du, 199, 505. _Basia_, 68. Bath-Easton Vase, the, 240. Batteux, Charles, Abbé (1713-80), 522-525, 536 _note_. _Battle of the Books, The_, 450. Baudelaire, 87. Bausset, Louis Francois, Cardinal de, (1748-1824), 304 _note_. Bayle, Pierre (1647-1706), 316, 317, 363, 364. Béat de Muralt, 553. Beaumont and Fletcher, 378 _sq._, 393 _sq._ _Beaux Arts réduits a un même Principe, Les_, 523. Beccadelli, 63, 66. Beddoes, 87. _Bee, The_, 498. Behn, Afra, 426. Bellay, see Du Bellay. Bembo, Pietro (1470-1547), 49, 455. Ben, see Jonson. Beni, Paolo (1552-1625), 107, 324, 325. Benserade, Isaac de (1612-91), 254. Bentley, Richard (1662-1742), 24 _note_, 392, 400, 401, 450, 451. Béranger, 87, 539. Bergerac, Cyrano de (1619-55), 285 _note_, 297. _Bergreihen_, 569. Berni, Francesco (1490-1536), 29. Bertaut, 281. _Biographia Literaria_, 52. Blair, Hugh (1718-1800), 419, 462-465. Blake, 391 _note_, 426. Blanchemain, M. Prosper, 120. Blankenburg, 329, 330 _notes_. Blount, Sir Thomas Pope (1649-97), 404, 406. Boccaccio, 7, 8, 22, 43, 334. Boccalini, Trajano (1556-1613), 329, 330. Bodmer, J. J., 551. Boileau, Nicolas B. Despréaux (1636-1711), 29, 34, 70, 241, 247, 278 _note_, 280-300, 321, 389, 390, 411, 455 _sq._, 517, 526 _sq._, 567. Bolingbroke, 332. Bolton, Edmund (1573?-1633), 187. Boscan, Juan (1500-43), 337. Boswell, 474. Bouhours, Dominique, Abbé (1628-1702), 308, 315, 316, 330, 417. Bourgoin, M., 240 _note_, 256, 258, 268, 287 _note_, 301 _note_, 304 _note_, 319 _note_. Boyl, Carlos, 346 _note_. _Bradamante_, 132. Breitinger, J. J., 551. —— M. H., 44 _note_. Brocense, El, see Sanchez, F. Brossette, Claude (1671-1743), 247 _note_, 290 _note_. Brown, John (1715-66), 476, 477. Browne, Sir T., 272, 326. Browning, Mr, 404 _note_. Brumoy, Père Pierre (1688-1742), 509. Brunetière, M. Ferdinand, 113 _sq._, 144, 280. Bruni, Leonardo (often called L. _Aretino_ (1369-1444), 20. Bruno, Giordano (1549-1600), 95 and _note_, 97 and _note_, 101. Brunot, M., 243 _note_, 251 _note_. _Bruttezza_, Tassoni on, 327, 417, 418. _Buch von der Deutschen Poeterei_, 360-363. Buckhurst, see Dorset. Buehler, J., 355. Buffon, Jean Louis Leclerc, Comte de (1707-1788), 202, 519-521. Burns, 87, 539. Burton, R., 326. Butcher, Prof., 61. Bysshe, Edward (_fl. c._ 1700), 107, 426-429.
Cæsar, 152. Calcagnini, Celio, 62. Calderon, de la Barca, &c., Pedro (1600-81), 349. Callières, François de (1645-1717), 450. Camoens, 497 _note_, 516, 553 _note_. Campbell, George (1709-96), 470-473. Campion, Thomas (?-1619), 187-189, 199, 366. Camusat, Denis François (1695-1732), 551 _note_. _Canons of Criticism_, the, 497 _note_. Capell, 569. Caporali, Cesare (1531-1601), 344 _note_, 347 _note_. Capriano, G. P. (_fl. c._ 1550), 47, 48, 219. _Caprice au Seig. S. Nicolas_, 129 _sq._ “Car of Cambridge”—_i.e._, Carr, Nicholas (1524-68), Greek Professor? 193. _Caractères, Les_, 301 _sq._ Carlyle, Mr, 526. Caro, Annibale (1507-66), 49, 91. Carvallo, Louis Alfonso de (_fl. c._ 1600), 341. Cascales, Francisco (?-1640), 338. Castelvetro, Lodovico (1505-71), 17, 22 _note_, 31 _note_, 57, 80-89, 90, 91, 101, 215, 219, 233, 244 _note_, 265, 273 _note_, 326, 331, 341. Castiglione, 93. _Castle of Indolence_, the, 495. _Catiline_, Rymer on, 396. Catullus, 45, 81, 531. Caxton, William (1442?-91?), 145. Celtes, Conrad, 28. Cervantes, Miguel de (1547-1616), 347-349. Chamfort, Sebastien Roch Nicolas (1741-94), 534 _note_. _Champfleury_, 110 _note_, 135. Chapelain, Jean (1595-1674), 249 _note_, 252, 256-261, 297, 387 _note_, 393, 417. Chapman, 199, 384, 387. _Character of Saint-Evremond_, 271, 385 _note_. Chaucer, 6, 63 and _note_, 146 _sq._, 150, 158 _sq._, 179 _sq._, 388, 390, 393, 438, 561. Cheke, Sir John (1514-57), 148, 151-153. Chénier, M. J., 525 _note_. Chester, Thomas, 6. Chesterfield, Philip Dormer Stanhope (1694-1773), 476 _note_, 514 _note_. _Chevræana_, 274 _note_. _Chevy Chase_, 173, 443. _Choice_, the, 488. Christopher North, 496. _Christus Patiens_, 357 _note_. Churchill, 517. Cicero, 11, 12, 40, 48 and _note_, 53 _note_, 59, 150, 471. _Ciceronianus_, 10-12, 193, 276. _Cid_, the, and the censure on it, 257 _sq._ _Cigarrales de Toledo_, 332, 342, 343. _Cinna_, 379. Cinthio Giraldi, Giambattista (1504-73), 58-62, 81, 84, 90-92, 101, 214, 219. _Cisne de Apolo_, 341. _Citizen of the World_, the, 498. “Classical Metres,” 157 _sq._ Claudian, 384, 405. Claveret, 258 _note_. Cleveland, 235, 377, 387, 421. Cœlius Rhodiginus, 405. Coleridge, 52, 145, 202, 532. Colet, John (1467-1513), 15, 63. Colletet family, 286 and _note_. Collier, Jeremy (1650-1726), 392, 402-404, 433 _sq._, 451. Collins (the poet), 490 _sq._ _Colloquies_ of Erasmus, the, 11, 13, 14. “Columbarius, Julius,” 346. _Comical Gallant_, the, 434. _Comparaisons_, Rapin’s, 310 _sq._ _Comus_, 490. _Conceptismo_, 350. _Concio, sive Merdardus_, 13. Condorcet, M. J. A. N. Caritat, Marquis de (1743-94), 525 _note_. _Conflictus Thaliæ et Barbariei_, 13. Congreve, 403. Conrart, Valentin (1603-75), 240, 278. Conti, Armand de Bourbon, Prince de (1629-66), 402 _note_. _Conversations with Drummond_, 198 sq. _Convivium Poeticum_, 13. Cook, Prof. A. S., 30. _Cooper’s Hill_, 375, 500. Corneille, Pierre (1606-84), 54, 258, 261-264, 297, 304, 378 _sq._, 419, 504 _sq._, 522. —— Voltaire’s Commentary on, 516. —— Thomas (1625-1706), 316 _note_. Correa, L. (_fl. c._ 1590), 107. Costar, Pierre (1603-60), 278. Cotin, Charles, Abbé (1604-82), 282, 287 _note_, 297. _Cours de Littérature_, 530 _sq._ Courthope, Mr, 444 _note_, 453 _note_. _Courtier_, the, 93. Cowley, Abraham (1618-67), 366, 367, 393, 404, 438, 439, 450, 481, 488 _sq._ Cowper, 87, 476 _note_. Coxe, Leonard, 148 _note_. Craik, Sir Henry, 398 _note_. Crashaw, Pope on, 453 _note_. Crébillon, Fils, 536 _note_. Creed, attempted summary of the Neo-Classic, 216, 217. Crescimbeni, Giovanni Maria (1663-1728), 218 _note_, 324, 542. 324, 542. Crinitus, Petrus (Pietro Riccio, 1465-1505), 27. _Critical Review_, the, 497. Croy, Henri de, 110. Crusca, Ac. della, 92 _sq._ _Culteranismo_, 346 _sq._ _Cultismo_, 346 _sq._ _Cursor Mundi_, 230. _Cynthia’s Revels_, 198 _note_.
Dacier, André (1651-1722), 81, 84. —— Madame (Anne Lefèvre) (1654-1720), 508. D’Alembert, Jean le Rond, _called_ (1717-83), 518. Daniel, Samuel (1562-1619), 189-191, 199, 226, 366. Danielle, Bernardo (_fl. c._ 1530), 42-44, 213, 219. Dante, 6, 8, 34, 40 _note_, 82, 160, 313 _note_, 334, 369, 372, 373, 405, 532 _sq._, 534 _sq._, 540. —— Rivarol’s _Preface_ to, 534 _sq._ Darmesteter and Hatsfeld, MM., 112 _note_. Davenant, Sir William (1606-68), 365, 367, 371. _Davideis_, 367 _note_. _De Arte Poetica_, Viperano’s, 103. _De Augmentis_, 192 _note_. _De Divisione et Utilitate Omnium Scientiarum_, 21 _note_. _De Genealogia Deorum_, 7. _De Honesta Sapientia_, 27. _De Imitatione Poetica_, 102. _De Ludicra Dictione_, 254 _note_. _De Perfecta Poeseos Ratione_, 107. _De Poemate Epico_, 265-268. _De Poeta_ (Minturno’s), 51 _sq._ _De Poetis Latinis_, 27. _De Poetis Nostrorum Temporum_, 63 _sq._ _De Quincey_, 47 _note_, 98, 219. _De Re Poetica_, 353 _sq._ _De Scientiis_, 21. _De Tragœdiæ Constitutione_, 356, 357. _De Vanitate Scientiarum_, 28, 29. _De Vulgari Eloquio_, 40 _note_, 112, 160, 328, 540. _Deca Disputata, La_, 95 _sq._ _Deca Istoriale, La_, 95 _sq._ _Dedication of the Æneis_, 385. —— _of the Spanish Friar_, 384. _Defence of Poesy_, 170 _sq._ _Defence of Rhyme_, 189-191. _Defence of the Epilogue_ (to _Conquest of Granada_), 383. _Défense du Poème Héroique_, 277. _Défense et Illustration de la Langue Française_, 111 _sq._ Defoe, 277. _Degli Autori del Ben Parlare_, 328. Deimier, Pierre de (1576-1620), 251 _note_. _Dell’ Imitatione Poetica_, 47 _note_. _Della Bellezza del Volgar Poesia_, 542. _Della Crusca_, see Crusca. _Della Difesa di Dante_, 105. _Della Lingua Toscana_, 47 _note_. _Della Perfetta Poesia Italiana_, 541, 542. _Della Poesia_, 106, 107. _Della Ragion Poetica_, 538 _sq._ _Della Storia e della Ragione d’Ogni Poesia_, 542-545. _Della Vera Poetica_, 47, 48. _Delminio, G. C._, 329. _De l’Origine des Romans_, 274, 275. _De l’Universalité de la Langue Française_, 534 _sq._ Denham, 439. Dennis, John (1657-1734), 387 _note_, 431-437. Denores, Jason (_fl. c._ 1570), 106, 107, 219. Derby, Lord, 433. Descartes, René (1596-1650), 221, 278. Deschamps, Eustache (? 1340-? 1410), 109. _Deserted Village, The_, 297. Desmarets de Saint-Sorlin, Jean (1595-1676), 257, 277, 278, 369. Desportes, Philippe (1546-1601), 242 _sq._, 281, 366 _note_, 450. “Despréaux,” 450, and see Boileau. _Dialogo contra i Poeti_, 29. _Dialogo de la[s] Lengua[s]_, 335. _Dialogues des Dieux_, 510. —— _des Morts_, 503. —— _sur l’Eloquence_, 305 _sq._ —— _sur les Héros de Roman_, 292. _Dialogus in Defensionem Poetices_, 27, 28. _Dictionnaire Philosophique_, 517. Diderot, 518 _sq._ _Difesa di Dante_, 105. _Digressions sur les Anciens et les Modernes_, 506. _Dionysius Areopagita_, 22. _Discorsi_, Cinthio’s, 581 _sq._ —— Summo’s, 108. —— Tasso’s, 92 _sq._ _Discours de Réception_, Buffon’s, 519 _sq._ _Discours des Trois Unités_, 262 _sq._ _Discourse of English Poesy_, 176 _sq._ _Discourse on Medals_, 439. —— _on Music, Painting, and Poetry_, 473 _sq._ —— _on Satire_, 385. —— _on the Grounds of Criticism in Tragedy_, 384. _Discoveries_, Jonson’s, 198 _sq._ _Dissertation on Ossian_, 464. —— _on Phalaris_, 401, 402. —— _on the Rise of Poetry and Music_, 474. _Dissertation sur le mot “Vaste,”_ 269 _sq._ Donatus, Ælius, 6 _note_, 48 and _note_, 59, 345. Donne, 199, 489. Dorset, Earl of, 376 _sq._, 439. Douglas, Gavin, 218. Drant, Thomas (_d._ 1578?), 162 _sq._ Drayton, 199, 498. Drummond (of Hawthornden), 198 _sq._, 356 _note_, 399. Dryden, John (1631-1700), 56, 93, 119, 121, 144, 232, 237 and _motto_, 262, 264, 271, 300, 314 _note_, 322, 332, 344, 347, 369, 371-391, 393, 403, 411, 413, 416, 417, 425 _sq._, 432, 438, 439, 449, 454, 472 _note_, 485, 489 _sq._, 503, 560. Du Bartas, 313, 369. Du Bellay, Joachim (1524-60), 111-116, 221, 233, 369. Du Bos, Jean Baptiste, Abbé (1670-1742), 511-513, 542 _note_. Dunton, John (1659-1733), 406. Du Pont, Gratien (_fl. c._ 1540), 110. Dyer, Sir Edward, 165. —— John, 421, 478.
Edgeworth, Miss, 97, 348. Edwards, Thomas (1699-1757), 497 _note_. _Ejemplar Poético_, 338, 341. E. K., 224. _Eléments de Littérature_, 526 _sq._ _Elements of Criticism_, the, 465-470. _Éloges_, D’Alembert’s, 519. —— Fontenelle’s, 506. —— Other, 529, 533. Elton, Professor, 552. Encina, Juan del (1468-1534), 335. _English Parnassus_, the, 426 _note_. _Entretiens d’Ariste_, 308. _Ephemerides of Phialo_, 169 _note_. _Epistle to Augustus_, Pope’s, 453 _sq._ _Epistles_, Ovid’s, Dryden’s Preface to, 384. _Epistolæ Obscurorum Virorum_, 14 _note_. _Epitome de la Eloquencia Española_, 547, 548. Erasmus, Desiderius (1467-1536), 9-16, 61, 65, 75, 85, 193, 276, 352 _note_. _Ercolano, L’_, 49. Eschenbach, Wolfram von, 230. Espinel, Vicente (1544-1634), 337. _Essai sur la Poésie Epique_, 516. —— _sur le Beau_, 513 _note_. —— _sur le Goût_, 514, 528. —— _sur les Éloges_, 529. —— _sur les Romans_, 527. _Essay of Dramatic Poesy_, 332, 376-382. —— _of Heroic Plays_, 383. —— _on a New Species of Writing_, 497 _note_. —— _on Criticism_, 453 _sq._ —— _on Modern Education_, 452. _Essay on Poetry_ (Temple’s), 401. —— _on the Genius of Shakespeare_, 434. —— _on Translated Verse_, 404. —— _upon Poetry and Painting_, 497 _note_. _Essays_, Collier’s, 404. —— _Critical_ (Scott’s), 500. —— Montaigne’s, 138 _sq._ —— _Moral and Literary_, 499. _Estimate of the Manners and Principles of the Times_, 476. _Estratto dell’ Arte Poetica d’Aristotile_, 546. Etherege, 463. Euphuism, 225 _sq._ Euripides, 14, 54. _Evening’s Love, An_, Preface to, 383. _Examens_, Corneille’s, 262 _sq._ _Expostulatio Spongiæ_, 346.
_Fables_, Dryden’s, Preface to, 386. Fabri, Pierre (_fl. c._ 1520), 110. Fabriano, see Gilio. Fabricius, Georgius (1515-71), 108, 181, 353-355. _Faerie, Queene_, the, 168. “Fatura,” 63. Fauchet, Claude (1530-1601), 101, 135. Feillet, M., 258. Feltre, Vittorino da, 20. Fénelon, Francois de Salignac de La Mothe (1651-1715), 241, 272, 301, 304-308. Feyjóo y Montenegro, Benito Geronimo (1701-64), 549. “Fidenziano,” 540 _note_. Fielding, 349. _Filosofia Antigua Poética_, 338-340. _Fingal_, 464. Flaubert, G., 12, 302. Flecknoe, 377. Flemming, 556. Fletcher, 378 _sq._ _Floriant et Florete_, 394 _note_. Folengo, 540. Fontaine, Ch. (1513-88?), 116. Fontenelle, Bernard le Bovier de (1657-1757), 292, 416, 419, 423 _motto_, 501-507. Fracastoro, Jeronimo (1483-1553), 44-46, 67, 88, 90, 214, 217, 219. _Franciade_, Preface to the, 120 _sq._ Fraunce, Abraham (_fl. c._ 1590), 186 _note_, 199. _Fray Gerundio_, 550. Froissart, 141. Froude, Mr, 5. Fulgentius, 8, 397. _Fureteriana_, 274 _note_. Furetière, Antoine (1620-88), 553, 554 _note_. “Furor Poeticus,” 97 and _note_, 267, 268, 295, 340, 410, 420.
“Gallo-Classic,” the term, 411. Gambara, F. (_fl. c._ 1580), 107 _note_, 278 _note_. Garbett, Rev. J., 298 _note_, 372 _note_. Garnett, Dr, 546 _note_. Gascoigne, George (1525?-77), 162 _sq._, 177, 226, 429. Gautier, Th., 282 _note_, 519 _note_. Gayley and Scott, Professors, 195 _note_, 329 _note_. Gellert, Christian Furchtegott (1715-69), 557. _Gentleman’s Magazine_, the, 497. _Gerusalemme Liberata_, 18, 87 _sq._ Gibert, Balthasar (1662-1741), 319, 320. Gifford, 198 _note_, 534. Gildon, Charles (1665-1724), 429, 430. Gilio da Fabriano Antonio (_fl. c._ 1580), 104. Girac, Paul Thomas de (?-1663), 278 _note_. Giraldi, Cinthio, see Cinthio. Giraldus, Lilius, see Lilius. Goethe, 356, 372, 560. Goldsmith, Oliver (1728-74), 429, 498. _Gondibert_, Preface to, 365, 367-371. Góngora y Argote, Luis de (1561-1627), 349. Gongorism, 331, 414. Gonzales de Salas (_fl. c._ 1630), 341, 342, 349. _Gorboduc_, 173, 206, 374, 503. _Gorgias_, the, 82. Gosson, Stephen (1555-1624), 169-171. Gottsched, Johann Christopher (1700-66), 552-557. Gournay, Mlle. de, 251, 253, 254. Gower, 146 _sq._, 179 _sq._ Gracián, Balthasar (1584-1658?), 349, 350. Granada, Luis de (1504-81), 336. Gravina, Gianvincenzo (1664-1718), 272, 324, 513, 538-541. Gray, 461, 478, 479, 487, 491 _sq._, 500, 569. Grazzini, Ant. Francesco ["Il Lasca"] (1403-83), 48, 59. Grévin, Jacques (1538?-70), 127. Grimmelshausen, 552. _Grongar Hill_, 488, 500. Grosart, Dr, 196 _note_. Grotius, 359. _Grundlicher Bericht des Deutschen Meistergesangs_, 360 _note_. Guarini, Battista (1537-1612), poet, 107, 199. Guarino (?-1460), humanist, 18. Guest, Dr, 178, 188. Guicciardini, 331.
Habington, 485. Hamelius, Herr, 425 _note_, 432 _note_, 448 _note_. Hamilton, Anthony, 502. Hannay, Mr David, 332 _note_, 341, 350. Hardy, Alexandre (1560-1631), 255 _note_. Harington, Sir John (1561-1612), 183 _note_, 186, 199. Harris, James (1709-80), 473-476. Harvey, Gabriel (1545-1630), 148, 165 _sq._ Hawes, Stephen (?-1523?), 146, 147. Hazlitt, 145, 219, 372 _note_, 496. _Heads of an Answer to Rymer_, 373 _note_, 397 _note_. Hédelin, see Aubignac. Hegel, 274, 527 _note_. Heinsius, Daniel (1580-1655), 356, 357. _Heldenbuch_, 569. Heliodorus, 77, 131. _Henriade_, the, 514 _note_, 522, 526. _Henry IV._, Dennis on, 434. Herbert, G., 87. Héricault, M. Ch. d’, 112 _note_. _Hermaphroditus_, 66 _note_. _Hermes_, 473. _Hermogenes_, 319, 329. _Hero and Leander_, 74. “Heroic Play,” the, 367 _sq._ “Heroic Poem,” the, 367 _sq._ Hessus, Eobanus, 14, 28. Heywood, Thomas, 398 _note_. _Histoire du Théâtre Français_, Fontenelle’s, 505. —— the Frères Parfait’s, 527. _Historia de las Ideas Estéticas en España_, 331-351 _passim_. _History of the Rise and Progress of Poetry_, 476. —— _of the Royal Society_, 398. Hobbes, Thomas (1588-1679), 40, 367-371. Hoffmanswaldau, 552. Home, Henry, see Kames. Homer, 25, 31-35, 47, 52, 74, 86, 99, 122-126, 130-132, 141, 310 _sq._ Horace, 6, 9, 129 _sq._ and _passim._ Howard, Edward, 367 _note_. —— Henry, see Surrey, Earl of. —— J., 367 _note_. —— Sir Robert (_d._ 1698: his birth-date and those of his brothers E. and J. are very uncertain), 376 _sq._ Howell’s _Letters_, 371 _note_. _Hudibras_, 513 _note_. Huerta, Vicente Garcia de la (1730?-87), 550 _note_. Huet, Pierre Daniel (1630-1721), bishop of Avranches, 274, 275. _Huetiana_, 275. Hugo, Victor, 87. Hume, Alexander, 209 _note_. —— David, 462. Hunt, Leigh, 372 _note_. Hurd, 469. Hutten, Ulrich von (1488-1523), 352 _note_.
Iago, Rymer on, 395, 396. _Ibrahim_, 265. _Idler_, the, 484. _I Fiori della Poesia_, 107. _Il Castellano_, 40. “Il Lasca,” see Grazzini. _Il Sogno_, 106, 107. “Imagination,” Addison on, 443-448. “Imlac,” 484, 485. _Impartial Critic, The_, 432. _Indian Emperor, The_, Preface to, 382. _Inés de Castro_, 507. _Inquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe_, 498. _Institutiones Oratoriæ_, Voss’s, 358-360. —— _Poeticæ_, Spanmüller’s, 355. _I Romanzi_, 63. Isidore (of Seville), 8, 334. _I Simillimi_, 38. Iskra, Augustinus, 360, 361. Isla, José Francisco, Father (1703-81), 550. _Istoria del Volgar Poesia_, 542. _Italia Liberata_, 38.
James the First (1566-1625), 177, 178. Jerome, St, Erasmus on, 15, 16. _Jeronimo_, 235. Johannes Secundus, 27. John of Garlandia, 14. —— of Salisbury, 8. Johnson, Samuel (1709-84), 145, 375, 429, 434, 437, 458, 465, 474, 477-496, 512, 552, 561, 571. Jonson, Ben (1573-1637), 42, 71, 138, 144, 156, 185 _note_, 197-209, 227 _sq._, 233, 262, 271, 367, 368, 370 _sq._, 393 _sq._, 486 _note_. _Journal des Savants_, 316. _Jugements des Savants_, 276. —— —— —— _sur les auteurs que ont traité de la Rhétorique_, 319, 320. _Julius Cæsar_, Rymer on, 396. —— Dennis on, 434. Juvenal, Dryden’s Preface to, 385.
Kames, Henry Home, Lord (1696-1782), 465-470. Käsenbrot, see Olmucensis. Keats, 280, 412, 485. Keble, 87, 312 _note_, 372 _note_. Kelly, Mr J. Fitzmaurice, 332 _note_, 335 _note_, 348 _note_, 350. Kelton, Arthur (_fl. c._ 1550), 542 _note_. Ker, Mr W. P., 93 _note_, 332 _note_, 373 _sq._ Kingsley, Ch., 124, 161. Knox, Vicesimus (1752-1821), 499.
La Boétie, E. de, 71. La Bruyère, Jean de (1645-96), 241, 300-304, 355, 521. _Labyrinthus_, 8, 24, 64, 231. La Casa, 93, 167 _note_, 512, 540 _note_. La Croze, J. Cornand de (not to be confused with his contemporary, M. Veyssière de la Croze, a learned but fantastic philologist and antiquary), 406 _note_. La Cueva, Juan de (1550-1606), 338, 340, 341, 355. La Fontaine, 293 _sq._, 298, 519, 521. La Harpe, Jean François de (1739-1803), 530-533, 564, 571. Lamb, Charles, 145, 496. La Mesnardière, Hippolyte Jules Pelet de (1616-63), 265. La Monnoye, Bernard de (1641-1728), 273 _note_, 316 _note_, 527 _note_. La Mothe le Vayer, F. de (1588-1672), 251. La Motte, A. Houdard de (1672-1731), 321, 507-509. —— Charles (?-?), Irish divine and critic, 497 _note_. _Lancelot_, 124, 260. Landi, Ortensio (1501-60), 29. Langbaine, Gerard (1656-92), 400, 401, 430. Langlois, M. G., 109 _note_. Langhorne, 449. Langland, 179 _sq._ La Place, translator of Shakespeare, 527, 528. Lasca, Il, see Grazzini. La Taille, Jacques de (1541?-62?), 127. —— Jean de (1540?-1608), 127. Latimer, 150. Laudun, Pierre de (1575-1629), 127, 128. Le Bossu, René (1631-80), 300, 314, 315. Le Clerc, Jean (1657-1736), 276, 277, 363, 364. _Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres_, 462 _sq._ Lee, Mr Sidney, 400 _note_. Lemaître, M. Jules, 259 _note_. Lemercier, N., 530. Le Moyne, Père, 257, 393, 505. Lessing, 219, 356, 410. L’Estrange, 392, 451. _Le Tre Sorelle_, 93. _Letter to a Young Clergyman_, 452. _Letters on Chivalry_, 469. _Letters_, Pope’s, 453. _Lettre de M. de la Visclède_, 517. _Lettres aux Auteurs de la Gazette Littéraire_, 517. _Lettres Galantes et Philosophiques_, 510. _Lettres Persanes_, 514. _Lettres sur les Anglais_, 516. Lilius Gregorius Giraldus (1478-1552), 63-68, 96 _note_, 413. Lilly, William, 65. _L’Infarinato_, 92. “L’Infortuné,” 110. Lionardi, Alessandro (_fl. c._ 1550), 47. _Lives of the Poets_, Heywood’s, 398 _note_. —— Johnson’s, 480 _sq._, 486 _sq._ —— Winstanley’s, 400. Locke, John (1632-1704), 53, 446 _sq._, 468. Lodge, Thomas (1558?-1625), 170, 171. Logic and Poetry, 20 _note_. Lohenstein, 552. Longfellow, 87. Longinus, 6, 34, 206, 220, 288 _sq._, 302, 319, 373, 430, 435. Longolius (Christophe de Longueil), (1490-1522), 11, 67, 276. Lope de Vega Carpio, Felix (1562-1635), 332, 343-347, 380 _note_. _Love’s Labour’s Lost_, Collier on, 403. Lucan, 199. Lucian, 24 _note_, 330, 402. Lucilius, 254 _note_. Lucretius, 33, 40, 88, 139, 140, 202. _Lutrin, Le_, 290. Luzan Claramumt de Suelves y Gurrea, Ignacio de (1702-54), 347, 350, 414, 541, 546, 547. _Lycidas_, 490, 500. Lydgate, 146 _sq._, 179 _sq._
Macaulay, 320, 391 _sq._, 401 _sq._, 492, 498. Machiavelli, 54. “Machines” and “Machinery,” 369 _sq._, 435. Mackenzie, Sir George, 320. Macpherson (_Ossian_), 464. Macrobius, 22 _note_. Maffei, Francisco Scipione, Marquis (1676-1755), 546. Maggi, 41, 42. Mairet, Jean (1604-86), 115. Maistre, Joseph de, 327. Malebranche, Nicolas (1638-1715), 279 and _note_, 514. Malfilâtre, 519. Malherbe, François de (1555-1628), 115, 241-251, 257, 283, 303. Malory, Sir Thomas, 6, 155. Mambrun, Pierre (1600-61), 266-268, 410. _Manière de Bien Penser dans les Ouvrages d’Esprit_, 315, 316. _Manto_, 24 _sq._ Mantuan, 66. _Marinism_ and Marino, 331, 393, 414. Marlowe, 205, 399. Marmontel, Jean François (1723-99), 287 _note_, 525-529. Marot, Clément (1497-1544), 110 _note_, 137, 281, 304. Marryat, 34. Martianus Capella, 42. _Martinus Scriblerus_, 452. Masson, Professor, 195 _note_. Matamoros, Alfonso Guida, 336. Maucroix, François de (1619-1708), 278. Mayáns y Siscar, Gregorio (1699-1781), 333 _note_, 549. Mazzone da Miglionico (_fl. c._ 1590), 107, 108. Mazzoni (_fl. c._ 1550), 105. _Meditation on a Broomstick_, 451. _Mémoire sur les Occupations de l’Académie Française_, 305 _sq._ Ménage, Gilles de (1613-92), 160, 273, 317, 321 _note_. _Ménagiana_, 53 _note_, 273 _sq._, 321 _note_. Menéndez y Pelayo, Señor, 331-352, _passim_. _Mercure Galant_, 316. Meres, Francis (1565-1647), 187. _Merry Wives of Windsor_, Dennis on, 434. Mesa, Cristóbal de (1540-1620), 338 _note_, 346 _note_. Meslier, le Curé (1678-1733), 515 _note_. Metastasio (Pietro A. D. B. Trapassi), (1698-1782), 545, 546. Mickle, 449. Millar, Mr J. H., 486 _note_. Milton, John (1608-74), 7, 45, 54, 56, 93, 262, 365, 398, 399, 402, 411 _note_, 435 _sq._, 439, 443 _sq._, 449, 467, 480 _sq._, 516, 532, 555, 560. “Minim, Dick,” 484. Minturno, Ant. Sebastiano (_fl. c._ 1560), 50-57, 90, 129 and _note_, 215, 219. _Miscellanies_, Dryden’s Preface to, 384 _sq._ Mitford, W., 164 _note_. Molière, 261, 273, 298, 303, 307, 322 _note_, 378 _sq._, 521. Molinet, Jean (_d._ 1507), 110. Mondragon, Hieronimo de, 337 _note_. Montagu, Mrs, 240. Montagu (Lord Halifax), 439. Montaigne, Michel de (1533-92), 138-142, 205, 232, 254, 279, 514. Monte-Melone (Chiodino da), 329, 330. Montesquieu, Charles de Sécondat, baron de la Brède, et de (1689-1755), 513, 514. _Monthly Review_, the, 497. Moratin, Nicolas Fernandez de (1737-80): to be distinguished from his son and successor in classicism, Leandro Fernandez de M., (1760-1828), 550. More, Sir T., 63. Morel-Fatio, M., 50 _note_, 332 _note_, 343 _note_, 346 _note_. Morley, Prof. H., 162 _note_. _Morte d’Arthur_, the, 155. Mulcaster, Richard (1530?-1611), 209 _note_. Mulgrave, John Sheffield, Earl of, later Duke of Buckinghamshire (1649-1721), 402. “Mumpsimus,” 15. Muratori, Ludovico Antonio (1672-1750), 80 _note_, 324, 541, 542. Musæus, 74. Mutius, Macarius, 326. Muzio, G. (_fl. c._ 1550), 46.
Nasarre y Ferriz, 549. _Naturaleza_, 342 _sq._ _Naugerius sive de Poetica_, 45, 214, 217. Navagero, Andrea (Naugerius) (1483-1529), 45, 66, 81. Nebrija, Antonio de (Nebrissensis) (_fl. c._ 1530), 336. _New World Discovered in the Moon_, the, 198 _note_. Nichols, Mr, 14 _note_, 15. Nicolai, Christoph-Frederich (1733-1811), 551 _note_. Nisard, D., 114. _Notes of Instruction_, 162 _sq._ _Nueva Idea de la Tragedia Antigua_, 341, 342. _Nutricia_, 24 _sq._
_Obscuri Viri_, the, 9. _Observateur Littéraire_, 527. _Odyssey_, the, 58, 267, 532. _Oedipus_, the, 263. _Of Studies_ (Bacon’s), 192. Ogier, François (_fl. c._ 1630), 254-256, 259, 346, 347, 409. Oldys, 457. Olmucensis, Augustinus Moravus (Käsenbrot, _c._ 1500), 17 _note_, 27, 28, 218, 352 _note_. Opera, Saint-Evremond on, 271. Opitz, Martin (1597-1639), 17, 360-363, 556. _Orbecche_, 58, 60. _Origenes de la Lengua Española_, 333 _note_. _Origines de la Poésie Française_, 101. _Orlando Furioso_, 85, and see Ariosto. _Ossian_, 464 _sq._, 532. _Othello_, Rymer on, 395. Ovid, 384.
Panigarola, Francesco (1548-94), 329. _Paradise Lost_, 325, 443 _sq._ _Paradossi_, 29. _Paragone della Poesia Tragica_, 554. _Parallel of Poetry and Painting_, 385. _Parallèle des Anciens et des Modernes_, 321 _note_. Parfai(c)t, François (1698-1733) and Claude (1701-77), 527. Paris, M. Gaston, 110 _note_. _Parnassus, The English_, 426 _note_. _Parrhasiana_, 276, 277. Partenio, B. (_fl. c._ 1560), 102, 103. Pascal, Blaise (1623-62), 279 _note_. Pasquier, Etienne (1529-1615), 135-138, 224 _note_, 232. _Pastor Fido_, the, 107, 108. Patin, Gui (1602-72), 272, 273, 316 _note_. Patrizzi, Francesco (1529-97) [not to be confused with the Siennese Bp. of Gaeta, in the generation before, who wrote on politics, &c.], anti-Peripatetic philosopher and critic (half-title of Bk. IV.), 57, 61, 63, 90, 93, 94-102, 107, 215, 219, 230, 233, 320 _note_, 329, 413. Patru, Olivier (1604-81), 277, 291. Pazzi, Alessandro de (_fl. c._ 1530), 41. Peacham, Henry (1576?-1643?), 187. Pecock, Reginald (1395-1460), 151. Pellegrino, C., 100. Pel(l)etier, Jacques (1517-82), Pléiade poet and critic, 117-119. Pel(l)etier, Jacques (_fl. c._ 1660), 17th cent. poet, 291. Pellissier, M. Georges, 110 _note_, 129 _sq._ Pellisson, Paul (1624-93), 273. Peña, Don P. M., 339 _sq._ _Pensieri Diversi_, Tassoni’s, 326 _sq._ Pepys, 377 _note_, 522. _Perceforest_, 160. Percy, 479. _Peri Bathous_, 452. Perrault, Charles (1628-1703), 285, 293, 321, 418, 419. —— Claude (1613-88), 285. —— Pierre (1608-80), 285. “Person of Quality,” the (who rewrote Spenser), 416 _note_, 561. Petit de Julleville, M., 110 _note_. Petrarch, 44 and _note_, 82, 199. Petronius, 27, 201 _note_, 254 _note_, 284. Phalaris, the Pseudo-, 24 _note_, 401, 402. Phillips, Edward (1630-96), 398, 399. _Philological Enquiries_, 473 _sq._ _Philosophia Rationalis_, 330. _Philosophical Arrangements_, 473. _Philosophy of Rhetoric_, 470-473. Piccolomini, Æneas Sylvius, see that name. —— Alessandro (1508-78), 103, 104. Pico della Mirandola (1463-94), 22, 23. Pigna, Giovanbattista (_fl. c._ 1550), 58 _sq._, 62, 63, 81, 84, 155, 214. Pinciano, Alfonso López, called El. P. (150-?-160-?), 338-340. Pitt, Christopher (1699-1748), 29 _sq._ Plato, 6, 9, 38, 71, 82, 154, 213, 220, 514. _Pléiade_, the, 110 _sq._ and Bk. IV., ch. iv., _passim_. Plotinus, 9. Plutarch, 22, 71, 99, 154. _Poemata Selecta Italorum_, 29 _note_, 45 _note_. _Poetaster_, the, 198. _Poetics_ (_Poetica, Poética, Poétique_), of Aristotle, 6 and _passim_. —— of Daniello, 42-44. —— of Denores, 105, 106. —— of Luzán, 548. —— of Scaliger, 69-80. —— of Sibilet, 111, 112. —— of Trissino, 38-41. —— of Vida, 29-37. —— of Viperano, 103. Poetry and Logic, 20 _note_. Poggio Bracciolino (1380-1459), 6 _note_. Politian (Angelo Ambrogini, surnamed Poliziano) (1557-94), 15, 23-26, 66, 402, 455. _Polyeucte_, 379. Pomfret, John, 488, 495. _Pompée_, 379. Pontanus, J. (Spanmüller) (1542-1626), 353-356. —— J. J., 66. Poole, Joshua (_fl. c._ 1650), 426 _note_. Pope, Alexander (1688-1744), 29 _note_, 45 _note_, 247, 413, 415, 421, 429, 432 _sq._, 438 _note_, 452-461, 490 _sq._, 561. Possevino, Antonio (1534-1611), 325, 326. _Prælections Academicæ_, Garbett’s, 298 _note_, 372 _note_. —— Keble’s, 312 _note_, 372 _note_. —— Trapp’s, 462. _Pratique du Théâtre_, 309, 310. _Principes de la Littérature_, 522 _sq._ Prior, 306, 415, 428, 429. _Promos and Cassandra_, Preface to, 186 _note_. _Proposal for Correcting the English Tongue_, 452. _Pucelle, La_ (Chapelain’s), 257. Puritan objection to Literature, the, 7, 10. Puschmann, Adam (1532-1600), 360 _note_. Puttenham, George (_fl. c._ 1580), 104, 182-186.
Quadrio, Francisco Xavier (1695-1756), 324, 542-545. _Quatre Poétiques, Les_, 522. Quevedo [y] Villegas, Francisco Gómez de (1580-1645), 339 _note_, 349. _Quintil Horatien, Le_, 116 _sq._ Quintilian, 6, 130, 151 _note_, 198 _sq._, 455, 471 and _passim_.
Rabelais, François (1495-1553), 135, 141 _note_, 150, 304, 455, 516. Racan, H. de Bueil, Marquis de (1589-1670), 242 _sq._ Racine, Jean, 54, 290 _sq._, 298, 504 _sq._, 511, 522. Racine, Louis (1692-1763), 511. _Ragguagli di Parnasso_, 329-331. Ralph, James (1605?-62), 430 _note_, 554 _note_. _Rambler, The_, 480 _sq._ Rambouillet, the Hôtel, 240. Ramsay, Allan, 457. —— Andrew Michael, (Chevalier) (1686-1743), 305, 544 _note_. Rapin de Thoyras, P. (1661-1725), 247 _note_. —— Nicolas (1535-1608), 247. —— René (1621-87), 247 _note_, 310-314, 321 _note_. —— Rymer’s Preface to, 310 _note_, 392 _sq._ Rappolt, 554. _Rasselas_, 480 _sq._ _Recherches de la France_, 135 _sq._ _Réflexions Critiques sur la Poésie et sur la Peinture_, 510-513. —— _Critiques sur quelques Poètes_, 521. —— Rapin’s, 310 _sq._ —— _sur la Critique_, 508. —— _sur la Poésie_, 510, 511. —— _sur la Poétique_, 310. —— _sur Longin_, 292 _sq._ Regnier, Mathurin (1573-1613), 242-251, 284. Regulus, Sebastian, 554. _Rehearsal, The_, 415 _note_. _Relapse, The_, Collier on, 463. _Religio Medici_, G. Patin on, 272. _Remarks on Italy_, 439. —— _on the Rape of the Lock_, 435. Rémond de Saint-Mard, see Saint-Mard. Renaissance, the term, 4 _note_. Rengifo, Juan Diaz _or_ Diego Garcia [they were brothers: the book appeared under the name of the first, and is now attributed to the second], 337, 338. _Return from Parnassus_, 97 _note_. _Reulis and Cautelis_, K. James’s, 176 _sq._ Riccio, Bartolommeo, 81. —— Pietro, see Crinitus. Riccoboni, Antonio (1541-99), 50 _note_. Rigault, M. H., 240 _note_, 388 _note_, 502. _Rime Diverse_, 46. Rinaldini, Carlo (_fl. c._ 1680), 330. _Rival Ladies_, Preface to, 374. Rivarol, Antoine, Comte (?) de (1753-1801), 534, 535. Robortello, Francesco (1516-67), 41, 42, 49 _note_, 50, 345. _Rodogune_, 263. Rollin, Charles (1661-1741), 509. _Rollo_ (B. and F.’s), Rymer on, 394. _Roman de la Rose_, 160 _note_. _Roman Bourgeois_, 553 _note_. _Romanzi_, the critical dispute on, 55 _sq._ _Romeo and Juliet_, Ronsard, Pierre de (1524-85), 63, 119-126, 137, 162 _note_, 222, 223, 233, 244 _note_, 257 _note_, 258, 264, 304, 307, 313, 362. Roscommon, W. Dillon, Earl of (1633-85), 404, 439. Rousseau, J. B., 522. —— J. J., 518. Rücktaschel, Herr, 110 _note_, 127. Ruskin, Mr, 496. _Rusticus_, 24 _sq._ Rymer, Thomas (1646-1713), 357, 391-397, 405, 432 _sq._, 571.
Sadolet, 455. Saint-Amant, M. A. de (1594-1661), 257, 297. Saint-Evremond, Ch. de M. de Saint-Denis, Seigneur de (1610-1703), 241, 268-272, 502. _Saint-Louis_, 505. Saint-Mard, Rémond de (sometimes incorrectly called Raymond de Saint-Marc) (1682-1757), 510, 511. Sainte-Beuve, 219, 257, 277 _note_, 278 _note_, 280, 320. Sainte-Palaye, 569. Salisbury, John of, 8. Sallust, Cheke on, 152. Salviati, Leonardo (1540-89), 41 _note_, 81 _note_, 91, 92, 103 _note_, 328. Sanchez, Alfonso, 346. —— Francisco, “El Brocense” (1523-1601), 336. —— T. Antonio (1732-98), 550, 569. Sannazaro, Jacopo (1458-1530), 51, 173, 174. Santillana, Iñigo López de Mendoza, Marquis of (1398-1458), 333, 334. Sarrasin, J. (1605-54), 260, 265 _sq._ Savonarola, Girolamo (1452-98), 20-23, 173, 213. Scaliger, Joseph Justus (1540-1609), 276. —— Julius Cæsar (1484-1558), 8, 12, 17, 42, 57, 69-80, 96 _note_, 215, 219, 233, 241 _note_, 267, 355, 375, 405. _Scaligerana_, 276. Schélandre, Jean de (1585-1635), 255. Schelling, Prof., 144 _note_, 200 _note_ and _sq._ _Schoolmaster, The_, 152 _sq._ _School of Abuse_, the, 169-171. Schosser, 353 _note_. _Science et Asnerye_, 13. Scott, John, of Amwell (1739-83), 499, 500. —— Professor, 519 _note_. —— Sir Walter, 88, 502. Scudéry, Georges de (1601-67), 256, 258, 265 _sq._ _Seconde Rhétorique_, 110. Secundus, see Johannes. Sedley, Sir C., 376 _sq._ Seebohm, Mr, 15, 22. Segni, 42. _Selecta Poemata Italorum_, 29 _note_, 45 _note_, 454 _note_. Seneca (L. Annæus?), the tragedian, 60, 61, 342, 433. _Sentiments du Curé Meslier_, 515 _note_. Servois, M., 303. Sévigné, Marie de Rabutin-Chantal, Marquise de (1626-96), 241, 273, 274. Shadwell, 271. Shaftesbury, 22 _note_, 514. Shakespeare, 177, 199 _sq._, 206 _sq._, 228 _note_, 262, 375, 378 _sq._, 393 _sq._, 399, 409 _note_, 434 _sq._, 454, 464, 480 _sq._, 485 _sq._, 516, 532, 560. —— Johnson’s _Preface to_, 480 _sq._. —— Pope’s _Preface to_, 453, 454. Shelley, 87, 426. Shenstone, 478. _Shepherd’s Kalendar_, 173. Sheringham, Robert (1602-78), 392 _note_. _Short View of the Profaneness and Immorality of the English Stage, A_, 402-404. _Short View of Tragedy, A_, 392 _sq._ Sibilet, Thomas (1512-89), 111, 112. Sidney, Sir Philip (1554-86), 7, 43, 45, 171-176, 199, 226 _sq._, 262, 348, 375, 409. _Siècle de Louis Quatorze_, 516. _Silent Woman_, The, 380. _Silius Italicus_, 59. Simylus, 203 _note_. Smart, Christopher, 562. Smith, Adam, 462. —— Mr Gregory, 27, 144 _note_, 426 _note_, 442 _note_, 510 _note_. —— Mr Nichol, 281 _note_. _Sofonisba_, 38. _Soirées de Saint-Pétersbourg_, 327. _Somnium Scipionis_, 22 _note_. Spanmüller, see Pontanus, J. Spence, Joseph (1698-1768), 332, 415, 438 _note_, 454, 455. Spenser, Edmund (1552-99), 165-169, 201 _sq._, 264, 369, 393, 399, 416, 438-448, 482 _sq._ _Spenser Redivivus_, 416, 561. Speroni, Speron(e), (1500-88), 55 _note_. Spingarn, Mr Joel Elias, 3 _note_, and Bk. IV. _passim_. Sprat, Thomas, Bishop of Rochester (1635-1713), 398, 405, 456. Stanyhurst, 167 _note_. Statius, 58, 59. Steele, Sir Richard (1672-1729), 448. Sterne, 205, 517. Strabo, 22 and _note_, 361. Sturm, Johann (1507-89), 153 _sq. notes_, 319, 353, 356. Suard, Jean Baptiste Antoine (1733-1817), 529. Suckling, 463. Summo, Faustino (_fl. c._ 1600), 108, 218, 219. _Sur la Lecture des Vieux Romans_, 258, 260. _Sur les Héros de Roman_, 292. Surrey, Earl of (1517?-47), 159 _sq._ Swift, Jonathan (1667-1745), 320, 449-452, 517. Swinburne, Mr, 426 _note_. _Sylvæ_ (Politian’s), 23-26. Symonds, Mr J. A., 25 _note_. _Syphilis_, 44 _note_, 99.
_Tale of a Tub, A_, 451. Tallemant des Réaux Gédéon (1619-92), 242 _note_, 273. _Tamburlaine_, 97 _note_. Tanneguy le Fèvre, 321 _note_, 405. Tasso, Bernardo (1493-1569), 47, 90. —— Torquato (1544-95), 47, 56, 89-94, 100, 219, 220, 233, 264, 278 _note_, 324, 369, 393, 516. Tassoni, Alessandro (1565-1635), 326-328, 417, 418. _Taste of the Town_, the, 554. _Tatler_, the, 439 _sq._, 450. Taylor (the Water-Poet), 201 _note_. _Temora_, 464. Temple, Sir William (1628-99), 401, 438 _note_, 450. Tennyson, 34, 262 _note_, 485. Terence, 303. Tertullian, 17, 279. Texte, M., 528 _note_. Thackeray, 77. _Théâtre des Grecs_, 509. _Theatrum Poetarum_, 398, 399. Theobald, 198 _note_. Théophile (de Viau), 291, 297, 303. Thomas, Antoine Léonard (1732-85), 529. —— Mr P. G., 18 _note_. Thomson, 478. Ticknor, 332 _note_, 335 _note_. Tiraboschi, Jeronimo (1731-70), 545. Tirso de Molina (Gabriel Tellez) (1585-1648), 332, 342, 343. Tolomei, 46. Tomitano, 47. _Topica Poetica_, 104. Tory, Geoffroy (1480-1533), 110, 135, 150. _Toxophilus_, 153 _sq._ _Tragedies of the Last Age_, the, 392 _sq._ Traill, Mr, 504. _Traité de la Construction Oratoire_, 522-524. —— _des Etudes_, 509. —— _du Poème Epique_, 308-310. Trapp, Joseph (1679-1747), 462. _Trimerone_, 100. Trissino, Gian-Giorgio (1478-1550), 38-41, 64. _Tritical Essay, A_, 451. Turia, Ricardo de[l] = Luis Ferrer de Cardona or Pedro Juan de Rejaule? see Morel-Fatio, _op. cit._ (_fl. c._ 1616), 346, 347. _Tyr et Sidon_, 255. Tyrius, Maximus, 22, 43.
Underhill, Mr, 406 _note_, 454 _note_. Unities, the Three, Books IV. and V. _passim_. See especially Scaliger, Castelvetro, Corneille, Ogier, Dryden, Johnson. “Unity of Interest,” 508. _Usefulness of the Stage_, the, 433.
“Vadius,” 273. Valdeflores, the Marquis of, 549. Valdés, Juan de (1500-44), 335. _Valesiana_ (written by Valois, Charles de (1671-1747), on his father Adrien), 275. Vanbrugh, 403. Varchi, Benedetto (1502-65), 49. Varro, 70. Vaugelas, C. F. de (1585-1650), 240 _sq._, 257. Vaughan, Sir W. (1577-1648), 187. Vauquelin de la Fresnaye, Jean (1535-1607), 128-134, 196, 220, 222, 223, 246, 278 _note_. Vauvenargues, Luc de Clapiers, Marquis de (1715-47), 521, 522. Vavasseur, François, 254 _note_. Vegius, M., 66. _Venice Preserved_, _Versuch einer Critischen Dichtkunst_, 552 _sq._ Vettori, Pietro = Petrus Victorius (_fl. c._ 1560), 41 _sq._ _Viaje del Parnaso_, 347. Vida, Marco Girolamo, Bishop of Alba (1480-1546), 26, 29-37, 66, 68, 70, 129 and _note_, 203, 213, 455 _sq._ _Vie de Corneille_, Fontenelle’s, 505. Vigneul-Marville, 275. Villena, Enrique de (1384-1434), 333. Villon, François (_fl. c._ 1460), 110 _note_, 281. Viperano (_fl. c._ 1580), 103, 128, 341. Virgil, 24-26, 30-35, 47, 52 _sq._, 74-78, 86, 122-126, 131, 139, 140, 310 _sq._, 415, 482. —— Dryden’s Preface to, 385. Visé or Vizé, Jean Donneau de (1640-1710), 316 _note_. Vittorino da Feltre, 18. Vives, Juan Luis (1492-1540), 336, 356. Vogelweide, Walther von der, 361. Voiture, Vincent (1598-1648), 246. Voltaire, François Arouet de (1694-1778), 287 _note_, 317, 513-518, 556. Voss, Gerard J. (1577-1649), 267, 356-360.
Wallace, Mr A. R., 532 _note_. Waller, 271, 322, 375 _sq._, 439, 449. Walpole, Horace, 479. Warton, Joseph, 321 _note_ —— Thomas, 179 _note_, 479. Watson, James (King’s printer in Scotland, 1711-22), 457. —— John (correspondent of Erasmus and Master of Christ’s), 14. —— Thomas, Bishop of Lincoln, 161. Webbe, William (_fl. c._ 1580), 178-182. Webster, John, 187. Welsted, Leonard (1688-1742), 430, 431. Wesley, Ch., 87. —— Samuel, 406. West, Gilbert, 482 _note_. Whately, 98, 470. Whetstone, George (_fl. c._ 1580), 186 _note_. _Wie weit sich der Nutzen der Regeln in d. Beredsamkeit und Poesie erstrecke_, 557. Wild, 377. Wilson, [Sir] Thomas (?-1581), 148-151. Winchelsea, Lady, 421, 478, 485. Winstanley, William (1628?-90?), 399, 400. Wither, 377, 399. Woodward, Mr, 18 _note_. Wordsworth, 72 _note_, 202. _Works of the Learned_, the, 406 _note_. Worsfold, Mr, 195 _note_, 437 _sq._ Wotke, Herr, 63 _note_. Wotton, 450. Wyatt, Sir Thomas (1503-42), 63, 159 _sq._ Wycherley, 543.
Xenophon, 59.
Yalden, 495.
Zabarella (Professor of Philosophy in latter half of 16th century; not to be confused with the scholastic Cardinal 150 years earlier), 50 _note_. _Zénobie_, 309. Zinano, Gabriele (_fl. c._ 1590), 106, 107. Zoilus, 397. Zürichers, the, 554 _sq._
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.
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Transcriber’s Note
There was no opening half-title in the source used to prepare this text.
Only the validity of index references to _footnotes_ have been checked. A number of them, listed below, were incorrect.
Index Notes
1: _Arte Nuevo de Hacer Comedias_ refers to a note on p. 50, but there is no mention there.
2: Camoens refers to a note on p. 553, but there is no mention.
3: Cotin should refer to the text on p. 287 not to a note.
4: Courthope refers incorrectly to a note on p. 444. It should be p. 449
5: Crescimbeni references a non-existent note on p. 218.
6 _De Vulgari Eloquio_ references a note on p 40. The nearest mention is in the text of p. 38.
7 John Dennis references a note p. 387, but should have been p. 278.
8 Donatus references notes on p. 48 which do not seem pertinent.
9: Herr Hamelius, refers to a note, apparently out of order, which should be p. 432, not p. 452.
10 Keble mentions a note on p. 312, where he is not mentioned. The same note is referenced in the entry for _Prælections Academicæ_.
11: La Casa should refer to the text on p. 540, not to a note.
12: _Roman de la Rose_ refers a non-existent note. It _is_ mentioned at p. 110n, p. 281, and p. 334.
13: _Romeo and Juliet_ has no references. The sole reference appears on p. 512.
14: Professor Scott refers to a note on p. 519. The note appears on p. 319.
15: _Syphilis_ should refer to the text on p. 44, not to a note there.
16: P.G. Thomas refers to a note on p. 18. The sole reference is to a note on p. 20.
17: _Venice Preserved_ has no references. It is mentioned on p. 442.
Corrections
Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.
19.21 SHORT [“/‘]PRÉCIS’ OF THE DIALOGUES Replaced. 63.33 [“]Fuere et in Britannorum Added. 125.49 [‘/“]Su tu veux faire mourir Replaced. 168.34 _[“]mea domina Immerita_ Added. 180.27 platform or Prosodia of versifying[”]: Added. 180.29 from their divine cogitations[”], Added. 198.34 I pray you[?] Added, 220.21 in that odd famil[i]arity Added. 228.3 the three centur[i]es Inserted. 235.1 a perpetual [“]Thou shalt not.” Restored. 291.39 for his public injustice[.] Added. 306.15 of the Acade[n/m]y Replaced. 331.34 (Ed. 2, 9 vols., Madrid, 1890-1896[)] Added. 431.9 more native and genuine population[.] Added. 516.13 Essai sur la Poésie [E/É]pique Replaced. 522.35 Les Beaux Arts r[e/é]duits à un même principe Replaced. 525.39 _[E/É]léments de Littérature_ Replaced. 526.3 _[E/É]léments de Littérature_ Replaced. 545.37 in any other country[.] Added. 588.16 Leandro Fernandez de M., [(]1760-1828) Added.