NOTES

ONE. Theories of Knowledge and Perception

1. Willard Farnham, The Shakespearean Grotesque (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), p. 159; for a further consideration of the grotesque in Dryden’s work, including The Tempest, see Jean Hagstrum’s excellent article “Dryden’s Grotesque: An Aspect of the Baroque in His Art and Criticism,” in John Dryden, ed. Earl Miner (London: G. Bell and Sons, 1972), pp. 90—119. The grotesque in the seventeenth century, as it was in the Renaissance, is frequently an exaggeration of the qualities of the second and third souls, with an omission of the highest. The grotesque is also combined, for example, with forces of evil, unnatural unions, and monsters. Naturalistic man feeding on passions and appetites with no check by the highest soul is a monster. Since much of what Farnham discusses as grotesque has its origins in distorted conceptions or depictions of the human soul, the political implications connected to the low life of The Tempest, which Hagstrum discusses, are also associated with lack of control by the highest soul over the passions and appetites of the members of that debased kind of society. The figure of Satan in Guido’s St. Michael also is depicted as the embodiment of such characteristics. The idea of the evilness of passion is embodied in the lines from Dryden and Davenant’s Tempest (which Hagstrum quotes) : “The Monsters Sycorax and Caliban more monstrous grow by passions learn’d from man” (IV, iii, 270-71).

2. Louis Martz, The Poetry of Meditation (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1954), p. 128.

3. F. N. Coeffeteau, Table of Humane Passions With Their Causes and Effects, trans. Edward Grimeston (London, 1621; first pub. 1615). The whole work is not readily available. The original is at the Houghton Library, Harvard University. The pages in the Preface are not numbered. The Preface alone, however, may be found in an out-of-print book, Prose of the English Renaissance, ed. J. Wm. Hebel, H. H. Hudson, R. R. Johnson, and A. W. Green (New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 1952), pp. 581-88. Coeffeteau, for example, agrees with Robert Burton, whose medical treatise The Anatomy of Melancholy (1621) develops the same ideas in some detail. Burton goes on at some length to describe and to analyze passions of all kinds (as does Coeffeteau) as causes of illness. See also Thomas Wright, who also agrees: The Passions of the Minde in Generall (London, 1620). Burton refers briefly to Wright’s book; Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy, ed. F. Dell and P. Jordan Smith (New York: Tudor Publishing Co., 1948), p. 358. Coeffeteau (1574-1623) was an Aristotelian and a Thomist—as reflected in his Tableau des passions humains, des leurs causes et de leurs effets (1615)—and a celebrated theologian and preacher; for his numerous publications, see Alexandre Cioranescu, Bibliographie de la littérature française du dix-septième siècle, 3 vols. (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1966); for a resumé of his distinguished life and writings, see the Nouvelle Biographie générale, ed. De. M. Le Dr. Hoefer (Paris: Didot, 1856), pp. 31-33. His most famous works are Tableau des passions, Histoire romain, and L’Êpitomé de Florus. The Florus is evaluated by several writers in Adrien Baillet, Jugemens des savans (edition of 1722), III, p. 121, as having a style that was good for its day but a diction that had since dropped out of fashion. Another work that mentions Coeffeteau’s prose style is Abbé Ch. Urbain, N. Coeffeteau, dominican, évêque de Marseille, un des fondateurs de la prose française (1893). The notable Jean-Louis Guéz de Balzac says that Coeffeteau was his master (letter written August 1630); see Letters, Translated and Collected by Several Hands (London, 1655). He is also mentioned by La Bruyère, Les Caractères (1688). A favorable estimate of Coeffeteau appears in Jeremy Collier, Great Historical, Geographical, Genealogical, and Poetical Dictionary (London, 1701), largely a translation from Louis Moréri, Le Grand Dictionnaire historique (1681).

4. This explanation of learning leads directly to John Locke’s ideas, as expressed in his well-known An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, ed. Alexander C. Fraser, 2 vols. (New York: Dover Publications, 1959; first pub. 1690), and correlates closely with any other Baroque theory of learning and the soul; see, for example, Walter Charleton, A Brief Discourse Concerning the Different Wits of Men (1664; pub. London, 1669).

5. Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan, Parts I and II, ed. Herbert Schneider (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1958; first pub. 1651), p. 36. The disagreement is of great importance. For the relation of statements of great weight on the subject by Richard Hooker and St. Thomas Aquinas, see Peter Munz, The Place of Hooker in the History of Thought (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1952), pp. 182-86. For another important statement, specifically against Hobbes, see Antoine Arnauld, The Art of Thinking, trans. James Dickoff and Patricia James (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1964), pp. 29-43, 293-320; first published as L’Art de pensée (1662).

6. See, for example, Perry Black, Physiological Correlates of Emotion (New York: Academic Press, 1970). We can observe the phenomenon in ourselves (as did the ancients). When we become angry, our blood pressure rises. See also Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy, p. 219.

7. G. P. Lomazzo, A Tracte Containing the Artes of Curious Paintinge, Carvinge, and Building, trans. Richard Haydocke (London, 1598), Book II, chap. VI, p. 15; first published in Italy as Trattatto dell’arte della pittura, scultura, et architettura (1584). The idea that improper education, which encourages the exercise of the passions, alters the soul for the worse is important through the seventeenth century. The view is expressed by Shaftesbury (Characteristicks [1711]), who believes that human beings at birth are innately good, and by Jeremy Collier (Essays Upon Several Moral Subjects [London, 1697], Part I, p. 222), who says that the prejudices of education affect our reason.

8. See Collier, Essays Upon Several Moral Subjects, p. 19; the same idea is expressed in the song “Musick’s the Cordial of a Troubled Breast,” in John Blow, Amphion Anglicus (Ridgewood, N.J.: Gregg Press, 1965; facsimile of 1700 ed.), pp. 117-22; see also Pompeo Batoni’s drawing An Allegory of Music, in Anthony Blunt and Hereward L. Cooke, Roman Drawings at Windsor Castle (London: Phaidon, 1960). Mars approaches the musical scene from the right with a gesture of humility, his spear left behind, his warlike passions extinguished. See also Erica Harth, “Exorcising the Beast: Attempts at Rationality in French Classicism,” PMLA 88 (1973) : 21. There are some complicating ideas, however. In general, wind instruments were thought to raise passions, while strings, which were more elevated morally, were supposed to induce harmony within the soul; see Emanuel Winternitz, Musical Instruments and Their Symbolism in Western Art (New York: Norton, 1967), esp. chap. XIV, “Musical Archaeology of the Renaissance in Raphael’s Parnassus.”

9. Ernest Barker, ed., “Galen,” Greek Medicine (New York: J. M. Dent and Sons, 1929), pp. 166-69; Plato, The Republic, trans. H. D. P. Lee (Baltimore: Penguin, 1955), pp. 383-86.

10. I do not have to trace the origins of ideas concerning the soul’s harmony. Leo Spitzer does this in a thorough way in his Classical and Christian Ideas of World Harmony (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1963); see also Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy (1621), on humours, for a seventeenth-century explanation.

11. Dryden, for one example, in 1693 calls the epic “the greatest work of human nature” (in Of Dramatic Poesy and Other Critical Essays, ed. George Watson [New York: Everyman, 1962], II, p. 96; see also II, p. 223). In 1695, he also calls The Aeneid the most perfect poem, with the most perfect idea (in Watson, II, p. 186). Since the epic was supposed to appeal to the understanding, “to form the mind to heroic virtue by example” (1697; in Watson, II, p. 224), tragedy becomes, despite Aristotle, a lesser genre. The purpose of tragedy is to raise and afterward to calm the passions (1697; in Watson, II, p. 227). A tragic hero became more imperfect than an epic hero. Oedipus himself was, of course, imperfect (1695; in Watson, II, p. 185). Although it was translated, adapted, and performed in the seventeenth century in both England and France, Oedipus Rex was not as highly regarded as The Aeneid. Dryden also associates Raphael with Virgil (1695; in Watson, II, p. 195), and Dryden always lists him before Titian (see for examples Watson, II, pp. 182, 192). Titian as he expresses passion was thought of as a colorist (1695; in Watson, II, p. 204). Evelyn criticizes Titian for lack of decorum in John Evelyn, trans., “To the Reader” An Idea of the Perfection of Painting, by Roland Fréart de Chambray (London, 1668).

12. For the history of ideas connecting the cosmos and the soul, see Spitzer, Classical and Christian Ideas of World Harmony.

13. Barker, pp. 233, 242.

14. See, for a single example among many, Henry Peacham, Minerva Britanna (1612; reprint ed., London: Scolar Press Ltd., 1966), pp. 96, 191.

15. Boethius, “The Second Edition of the Commentaries on the Iogoge of Porphyry,” in Selections from Medieval Philosophers, Book I, ed. Richard McKeon (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1929), pp. 70-71. The fact that his De consolatione Philosophiae was translated in 1593 by Queen Elizabeth herself emphasizes the importance of Boethius to the English Renaissance. See Early English Text Society Publications, O.S., no. 113.

16. Michael Montaigne, Essays, trans. Charles Cotton (London, 1685), II, 256. I use the Restoration translation rather than the earlier one by John Florio.

17. Ibid., I, p. 202.

18. Pierre Charron, Of Wisdom, trans. Sampson Lennard (London, 1651), I, p. 43. This book also was printed in England in 1608, 1630, 1658, and 1670; it was first published in France as De la sagesse (1603). Such an organization of the soul may have something to do with ideas of meditation. Simon Vouet, for instance, has a painting called L’Intelligence, la memoire, et la volonté ; see Yves Picart, La Vie et l’oeuvre de Simon Vouet (Paris: Cahiers de Paris, 1958), Part I. Memory is not usually included in the highest soul, but Vouet seems to think it should be. Our understanding of the painting and of Charron may be helped by the knowledge that these are the three faculties Ignatius Loyola recommended in his famous Ejercicios espirituales (1548).

19. René Descartes, Traité des passions (les passions de l’âme), ed. Françoise Mizrachi (Paris: Union Générale, 1965; first pub. 1650), art. 47, p. 64. For other important explanations of the soul, see Baldasar Castiglione, Il Cortegiano (Venice, 1528), Book III; Thomas Wright, The Passions of the Minde in Generali (London, 1620); the stoical Martin Le Roy, sieur de Gomberville, La Doctrine des moeurs tirée de la philosophie des stoiques, representee en cent tableau et expliquée par M. de G. P. (Paris, 1646); and Thomas Willis, Two Discourses Concerning the Soul of Brutes, trans. S. Pordage (London, 1683; first pub. as De anima brutorum in 1672). For a history of ancient psychology, see George S. Brett, History of Psychology, Ancient and Patristic (London; Macmillan, 1962; first pub. 1912). For an interesting explanation of Elizabethan faculty psychology, see John Bamborough, The Little World of Man (London: Longmans, Green, 1952).

20. Jean-Louis Guéz de Balzac, Letters, Translated and Collected by Several Hands (London, 1655). Balzac, according to his own testimony, was a “scholar in the French tongue under Master F. N. Coeffeteau” (letter written August 1630). Balzac was widely read and emulated in England as well as France. He influenced Shaftesbury, and La Bruyère praises him several times in Les Caractères (La Bruyère also praises Coeffeteau); see The Characters and Manners of the Last Age, Translated by Several Hands (London, 1699; first pub. in France, 1688), pp. 19, 20, 30; for another reference, see The Spectator (No. 408, 18 June 1712), which may be by Alexander Pope.

21. Hobbes, Leviathan, p. 25. Other references to Hobbes are to his “Answer to Davenant’s Preface to Gondibert” and “Preface to Homer,” in Critical Essays of the Seventeenth Century, ed. Joel Spingarn (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1963; first pub. 1908), II, pp. 54-76; see also Walter Charleton, Physiologia (London, 1654), and A Brief Discourse Concerning the Different Wits of Men (London, 1669; first pub. 1664).

22. See also Clarence D. Thorpe, The Aesthetic Theory of Thomas Hobbes (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1940).

23. Thomas Mace, Preface, Musick’s Monument (London, 1676), p. 38.

24. Locke, Essay Concerning Human Understanding (1690), I, pp. 203—204.

25. For Shaftesbury’s scientific influences, which come mostly from the Restoration, see Ernest Tuveson, “Shaftesbury on the Not So Simple Plan of Human Nature,” Studies in English Literature 5 (1965): 403-34.

26. Shaftesbury, “The Moralists,” Characteristicks (1711), ed. J. M. Robertson (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1964), II, p. 133.

27. See R. G. Collingwood, “Plato’s Philosophy of Art,” in Essays in the Philosophy of Art, ed. Alan Donagan (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1964), pp. 155-83; first published in Mind: A Quarterly Review of Psychology and Philosophy, n.s. 34 (1925): 154-72.

28. Jeremy Collier, Essays Upon Several Moral Subjects (1697), pp. 215—22; see also idem, A Short View of the Immorality and Prophaneness of the English Stage (London, 1698). A sentimental view of art like Collier’s easily melds with a materialistic view of human nature.

29. See Louis I. Bredvold, “The Gloom of the Tory Satirists,” Eighteenth Century Literature (New York: Oxford University Press, 1959), pp. 3-20.

TWO. Instruction and Delight in Art

1. See Jean Hagstrum, The Sister Arts (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1958), pp. 190-95. Hagstrum makes clear the importance of the motif of Hercules choice, referring also to other scholarly works on the subject. Hagstrum is correct when he says that the motif permeates the period: there are many paintings of it, and much scholarship has been devoted to showing that the motif is important to understanding art of the period. The motif has been applied to Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra, Milton’s Samson Agonistes, and Dryden’s heroic plays (to name only a few instances). Hagstrum uses Dryden’s All for Love as an example; see Eugene Waith, The Herculean Hero (New York: Columbia University Press, 1962); see also Erwin Panofsky, Hercules am Scheidewege und andere antike Bildstoffe in der neueren Kunst (Leipzig and Berlin: B. G. Teubner, 1930).

2. John Dryden, “Absolom and Achitophel” (1681), in The Poetical Works of Dryden, ed. George R. Noyes (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1909; reprint ed., Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1950), p. m, 11. 163-64.

3. For Dryden’s literary portrait of the Duke of Buckingham, see ibid., p. 116, ll. 544-68; for the standard late seventeenth-century view of religious fantasies, see Meric Casaubon, Treatise Concerning Enthusiasm (London, 1655).

4. The seminal view is Plato’s in Book X of his Republic. He says that unthinking entertainment arouses irrational elements in the human soul (anger, pity, fear), which lead toward madness and which should be suppressed rather than exercised. Galen, the medical authority, says the same thing. His theme in “On the Passions” is that we should sublimate or purge them, and he says that if we restrain the passions they will moderate (see Ernest Barker, ed., Greek Medicine [New York: J. M. Dent and Sons, 1929], pp. 165-69). Meric Casaubon’s Treatise Concerning Enthusiasm (1655) further expresses later patterns for disapproval of enthusiasm (or the divine afflatus, or false inspiration); see also Jonathan Swift’s satirical treatment of the subject in A Tale of a Tub (written ca. 1696, pub. 1704), sects. VIII, IX, in Prose Works of Jonathan Swift, ed. Herbert Davis (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1939), I.

5. See A. D. Nuttall, Two Concepts of Allegory (New York: Barnes & Noble, 1967), p. 159.

6. See Simon Goulart, A Learned Summary Upon the Famous Poem of William of Saluste, Lord of Bartas . . . , trans. Thomas Lodge (London, 1621), p. 264; for a fascinating discussion of air and music, see Gretchen Finney, “Music and Air: Changing Definitions of Sounds,” Musical Backgrounds for English Literature: 1580-1650 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, n.d.; articles pub. 1940—1960), pp. 139-58. She says that Dr. Helkiah Crooke in Body of Man (London, 1615) describes the process of how music gets into the soul (p. 144). She also quotes the passage from Lodge, pointing out the history of the phrase “aeriall nature” as it comes from the Neoplatonist Marsilio Ficino. See studies by D. P. Walker “Musical Humanism in the Sixteenth and early Seventeenth Centuries,” The Music Review 2 (1941), 1-13, “Ficino’s ‘Spiritus’ and Music,” Annales Musicalogiques 1 (1953), 131-32, and Spiritual and Demonic Magic from Ficino to Campanella (London, Warburg Institute, 1958).

7. See Michael Murrin, The Veil of Allegory: Some Notes toward a Theory of Allegorical Rhetoric in the English Renaissance (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969), p. 3. Murrin agrees that Renaissance poetry did not even exist until it was read. He refers to Ficino’s statements on the subject.

8. See Henry Purcell, Orpheus Britannicus (Ridgewood, N.J.: Gregg Press, 1965; facsimile of 1721 ed.; first pub. 1698), II, p. 43.

9. David G. O’Neill, “The Influence of Music in the Works of John Marston,” Music and Letters 53 (1972); 400-410.

10. Jeremy Collier, “Of Music,” Essays Upon Several Moral Subjects (London, 1697), p. 21.

11. Joseph Addison, The Spectator (No. 405, 14 June 1712); see also ibid. (No. 630, 8 December 1714), wherein only music “employed at the altar” is reasonable.

12. See Finney, Musical Backgrounds for English Literature, p. 24; there she argues that music from 1580 to 1640 delighted and instructed. She points out, however, that rationalist church reformers saw nothing in music but the purpose of raising the wrong kind of emotions, citing as evidence the words of William Perkins, Works (London, 1612), I, p. 38; John Cotton, Singing of Psalmes a Gospel Ordinance (London, 1647), p. 6; and Ludovick Bryskitt, A Discourse of Civill Life (London, 1606), p. 147. For an argument that Platonic notions of musical instruction through harmony were dominant in France until the eighteenth century, see Robert Isherwood, Music in the Service of the King (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1973), p. 11. The harmony of the dance also is allied to that of music (p. 10), which could be didactically used (p. 4). For an English example, see John Milton, Of Education (London, 1644). Isherwood thinks that Marin Mersenne, who wrote L’Harmonie universelle (Paris, 1636), was the main link to seventeenth-century musical Neoplatonism in France (p. 33); see also Heinrich Glarean, “The Dodecachordon” trans. Clement A. Miller (Ph.D. diss., University of Michigan, 1950), p. 63, on mundane music. Glarean follows the Neoplatonist Boethius.

13. Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy, ed. F. Dell and P. Jordan Smith (New York: Tudor Publishing Co., 1948).

14. John Dryden, Of Dramatic Poesy and Other Critical Essays, ed. George Watson (New York: Everyman, 1962), I, p. 2.

15. See Samuel H. Monk, “A Grace beyond the Reach of Art,” Journal of the History of Ideas 5 (1944); 131-50.

16. John Davies, trans., Preface to The Extravagant Shepherd, Anti-Romance, or the History of the Shepherd Lysis, by Charles Sorel (London, 1653).

17. See H. James Jensen, A Glossary of John Dryden’s Critical Terms (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1969), pp. 39, 66-67, 87-88;

18. See Joseph Wood Krutch, Comedy and Conscience after the Restoration, rev. ed. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1949; first pub. 1924); for corroborative arguments on Hobbes’s influence on Restoration comedy, see Thomas Fujimura, The Restoration Comedy of Wit (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1952), pp. 39-57; and Virginia A. Birdsail, Wild Civility (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1970).

19. Robert T. Petersson, The Art of Ecstasy: Teresa, Bernini, Crashaw (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1970), p. 45.

20. Leon Baptista Alberti, the Renaissance Neoplatonist, for example, says in his Architecture (ca. 1485), “We can in our thoughts and imagination contrive perfect forms of buildings entirely separate from matter” (I, p. i); see Alberti, Architecture, trans. James Leoni (London, 1739).

21. See Anthony Blunt, Artistic Theory in Italy: 1450-1600, rev. ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1968; first pub. 1940), p. 136.

22. Louis Martz, The Poetry of Meditation (New Haven: Yale University Press), pp. 129-30; see also his comments on p. 83.

23. See Blunt, Artistic Theory in Italy.

24. Ibid; see also John Sheffield, earl of Mulgrave, marquis of Normanby, and duke of Buckinghamshire, “An Essay on Satire” (1680), in The Poetical Works of Dryden, ed. George R. Noyes, p. 914, 11. 1-30; and René Rapin, Treatise de Carmine Pastorale, trans. Thomas Creech (London, 1684), p. 48.

25. René R. Le Bossu, Traité du poème épique, 3 vols. (Paris, 1665) I, p. 37; Baxter Hathaway, in The Age of Criticism (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1962), says that Paolo Beni (1552-1625) makes the same point earlier in his “Comparazione di Omero, Virgilio, e Torquato,” in Tasso, Opere (Pisa, 1828), XXII, p. 46; Joseph Addison, in The Spectator (Nos. 70 and 369), paraphrases Le Bossu and supports the same point.

26. John Dryden, “A Parallel Betwixt Poetry and Painting,” in Watson, II, p. 186.

27. Roland Fréart de Chambray, An Idea of the Perfection of Painting, trans. John Evelyn (London, 1668), p. 4.

28. Ruth S. Magoun, The Letters of Peter Paul Rubens (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1955).

29. Thomas Mace, Musick’s Monument (London, 1672), p. 234.

30. Marin Mersenne, L’Harmonie universelle: contenant la théorie et la practique de la musique (Paris, 1636).

31. Ibid., pp. 374—424.

32. Thomas Rymer, Preface, Monsieur Rapin’s Reflections on Aristotle’s Treatise of Poesie (London, 1694). Note that many of Dryden’s wild, heroic dramas were set in a kind of fashionable, Arabic background.

33. Voltaire, “A Discourse on Tragedy” (prefixed to Brutus [1731]), trans. Barrett H. Clark, in European Theories of the Drama, ed. Barrett H. Clark and rev. Henry Popkin (New York: Crown, 1965), pp. 235—36.

34. For the extension of this idea in music and dance, see Isherwood, Music in the Service of the King.

35. Thomas Morley, A Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke (1597), Shakespeare Association Facsimile no. 14 (London, 1937).

36. Jacques Gohory, Preface to A Brieffe and Plaine Instruction to set all musicke of eight divers tunes in tableture for the Lute, by Adrien Le Roy, trans. unknown (London, 1574; first pub. in France, 1557).

37. Morley, A Plaine and Easie Introduction.

38. Sir Thomas Browne, Religio Medici (London, 1642), in Works, ed. G. L. Keynes, rev. ed. (London: Faber & Faber, 1964; first pub. 1928-31); Christian Huygens, The Celestial Worlds Discovered (London, 1698), pp. 83-91; see also Leo Spitzer, Classical and Christian Ideas of World Harmony (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1963), pp. 3-43, et passim; Hathaway, The Age of Criticism, pp. 434-35; Plutarch, “On Music,” Moralia, trans. Benedict Einarson and Philip H. DeLacy (London: W. Heinemann, 1967), XIV, pp. 385-447; for thorough discussions of music and literature, see Finney, Musical Backgrounds for English Literature.

39. G. P. Lomazzo, A Tracte Containing the Artes of Curious Paintinge, Carvinge, and Building, trans. Richard Haydocke (London, 1598).

40. Mersenne, L’Harmonie universelle (1636).

41. Ferrand Spence, Preface, Miscellanea (London, 1686), pp. 65-66.

42. Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, trans. Martin Oswald (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1962), pp. 285-86. This view of pleasure is much different from the connotations associated with the phrase “man of pleasure.” In The Spectator (No. 151, 23 August 1711), Sir Richard Steele says that the man of pleasure “has given up the delicacy of his passions [Steele thinks higher passions are innately good] to the cravings of his appetites [or baser urges or passions].”

43. Laurence Lipking, The Ordering of the Arts in Eighteenth Century England (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970), p. 31; the English translation of Franciscus Junius, De pictura veterum (Rotterdam, 7), was The Painting of the Ancients (London, 1638).

THREE. Rhetorical Theory and Practice

1. See, for example, Vincent M. Bevilacqua, “Ut Rhetorica Pictura: Sir Joshua Reynolds’ Rhetorical Conception of Art,” Huntington Library Quarterly 34, no. 1 (1970): 59-78.

2. See Philip C. Ritterbush, “Organic Form: Aesthetics and Objectivity in the Study of Form in the Life Sciences,” in Organic Form, ed. G. S. Rousseau (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1972), pp. 25-59; Ritterbush refers to Nehemiah Grew, The Anatomy of Plants (London, 1682), as well as to a number of other works. Our frame of reference often has to be revised. We need to adjust ourselves constantly to images of growth, not only to scientific definitions of growth but also to the relationship of man’s soul to plants and the part people thought God played in endowing all living things with innate capacities.

3. Charles Sorel, The Extravagant Shepherd, Anti-Romance, or the History of the Shepherd Lysis, Translated Out of the French by John Davies (London, 1653; first pub. in France, 1627). For selected texts on rhetoric in education, see L. H. D. Buxton and S. Givson, Oxford University Ceremonies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1935); Donald L. Clark, John Milton at St. Paul’s School (New York: Columbia University Press, 1948); Lillian Feder, “Dryden’s Use of Classical Rhetoric,” PMLA 69 (1954); 1258-78; Harris F. Fletcher, The Intellectual Development of John Milton, 2 vols. (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1956); Charles Hoole, New Discovery of the Old Art of Teaching School, ed. E. T. Compagnac (Liverpool and London: The University Press, 1913; first pub. 1660); Wilbur S. Howell, Logic and Rhetoric in England: 1500-1700 (New York; Russell & Russell, 1961); Miriam Joseph, Shakespeare’s Use of the Arts of Language (New York: Columbia University Press, 1947); John Mulder, The Temple of the Mind: Education and Literary Taste in Seventeenth Century England (New York: Pegasus, 1969); Walter J. Ong, Ramus: Method and the Decay of Dialogue (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1958); Foster Watson, “A Bibliographical Account of Education in England: 1500—1660,” Notices of Some Early English Writers on Education (Washington, D.C.: Annual Reports of the U.S. Commissioner of Education, 1903).

4. Mulder, The Temple of the Mind, pp. 35-36; see also pp. 37-41. For further understanding of how rhetoric relates to allegory in the Renaissance, see Michael Murrin, The Veil of Allegory: Some Notes toward a Theory of Allegorical Rhetoric in the English Renaissance (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969); and Louis Martz, The Poetry of Meditation (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1954); see also Paula Johnson, Form and Transformation in Music and Poetry of the English Renaissance (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1972), who briefly mentions that analogues between music and poetry are rhetorical (p. 38) and that rhetorical devices were used by madrigal composers (p. 40). John M. Steadman, in Milton and the Renaissance Hero (New York: Oxford University Press, 1967), says that seventeenth-century heroic poetry had to “instruct, delight, and move” and that “wonder was the characteristic effect” (p. 2). Jeffrey B. Spencer, in Heroic Nature: Ideal Landscape in English Poetry from Marvell to Thomson (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1973), mentions that painting genres are rhetorical in origin.

5. See Roger Des Piles, The Principles of Painting, Translated by “A Painter” (London, 1743); published as Cours de peinture par principes avec une balance des peintures (Paris, 1708). Des Piles uses the categories of invention, disposition, and design. After design, Des Piles goes on to discuss actio, coloring, and shade. He points out that painting and poetry differ in practice and in performance only (p. 267). The only differences, therefore, among the arts are in the media themselves (see also p. 269). He says further that poets, orators, and painters all proceed in the same way (p. 32) but use various styles.

6. See Marcus Fabius Quintilian, Institutio oratoria, trans. H. E. Butler, 4 vols. (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1958-60; see also these three books by Marcus Tullius Cicero, Brutus and Orator, trans. H. M. Hubbell (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1939), De oratore, trans. A. S. Wilkins (London: Oxford University Press, 1895), and De inventione. De optimo genere oratorum. Topica, trans. H. M. Hubbell (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1949); for a discussion of figures of speech in a work attributed to Cicero but now thought not to be written by him, see Rhetorica ad C. Herrennium, rev. and trans., with introduction and notes, by Henri Bornèque (Paris: Gamier Frères, 1932).

7. John Dryden, “An Account of the Ensuing Poem” (1667), in Of Dramatic Poesy and Other Critical Essays, ed. George Watson (New York: Everyman, 1962), I, p. 98. We have to keep in mind, however, that the imagination must be kept under control by the judgment. Dryden also says (1664): “For imagination in a poet is a faculty so wild and lawless that like a high ranging spaniel it must have clogs tied to it lest it outrun the judgment,” (in Watson, I, p. 8). See Watson’s history of the image of the spaniel (I, p. 8). The image was a commonplace. Watson sees the spaniel image in Juan Huarte (Examen de ingenios: The Examination of Men’s Wits, trans. from the Spanish by Camillo Camilli, trans. into English by Richard Carewe [Gainesville: Scholar Facsimiles and Reprints, 1959; first English trans. 1594]) and in Thomas Hobbes (Leviathan, Parts I and II, ed. Herbert Schneider [Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1958; first pub. 1651], p. 34). Note also this passage in Aristotle’s Rhetoric, trans. Lane Cooper (New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 1960; first pub. 1932): “In these special regions the orator hunts for arguments as a hunter pursues game” (p. 155). See Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy, ed. F. Dell and P. Jordan Smith (New York: Tudor Publishing Co., 1948; first pub. 1621), p. 13 (“running wit,” or imagination, is like a spaniel). Roger Des Piles (Principles) implies the gathering and the use of classical learning and experience in Dryden’s terms when he talks about historical invention, his first category of invention. He says, “Invention simply historical ... is more or less valuable according to the quality of its matter, the nature of its choice, and the genius with which it is managed” (p. 34). His three categories of invention are historical, allegorical, and mystical (p. 33).

8. See G. P. Lomazzo, A Tracte Containing the Artes of Curious Paintinge, Carvinge, and Building, trans. Richard Haydocke (London, 1598), Book II, chap. XXI, p. 86, wherein he talks about hair. See the use of hair, for example, in Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini’s Moor in the Fontano de Moro in the Piazza Navona in Rome (1653-55). Rudolf Wittkower, in Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini (London: Phaidon Press, 1966), says that the figures accessory to the Moor were “replaced by copies in the nineteenth century” (p. 226).

9. See Aristotle, Rhetoric, Book II, sects. 22-24, ^on topoi (or topics) or “commonplaces.” Topoi means “place” or “commonplace” in the sense either of a literal place or of a commonly accepted belief, category, or saying. In invention you can go to a place where you find accepted divisions of an argument, for example, or for an idea. “Places” or “commonplaces” are important to Baroque conceptions of invention. Milton, for example, had a practice of keeping commonplace books to jot down ideas or topics for later use. Dryden used rhetorical “places” for the topics in his poems “Eleanora” (1692) and “Ode to the Pious Memory of . . . Mrs. Anne Killigrew . . .” (1685); see comments in The Works of John Dryden, ed. Earl Miner (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969), III, pp. 317-19, 491-95. Dryden’s rhetorical places of panegyric in the “Ode to . . . Mrs. Anne Killigrew” are (1) “Worthy origins or ancestry”; (2) “Superiority to one’s fellows”; (3) “Striking achievements”; (4) “Comparison with great predecessors”; (5) “Manner of death”; and (6) “Apotheosis.” All of course are found in paintings and/or musical settings. See also a discussion of Dryden’s types in Steven N. Zwicker, Dryden’s Political Poetry (Providence: Brown University Press, 1972).

10. Robert Isherwood, Music in the Service of the King (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1973), p. 169; there are other examples besides those in Isherwood: Charles Le Brun’s Alexandre et Porus (1673) is often said to have received at least part of its inspiration from Jean Racine’s Alexandre le grande (1665), and it is surmised that Le Brun in his Les reines de Perse aux pieds d’Alexandre, ou la tente de Darius (1660—61) imitated Nicholas Poussin’s Coriolanus (1648).

11. See Kenneth Clark, Landscape into Art (Boston: Beacon Press, 1961; first pub. 1949), p. 30.

12. The piece was first published in 1725 but was played before that time; see Walter Kolneder, Antonio Vivaldi, trans. B. Hopkins (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1970; first pub. 1965), pp. 90—91.

13. John Dryden, “A Parallel Betwixt Painting and Poetry” (1695), in Watson, II, pp. 189—90; see also Dryden’s “Preface to an Evening’s Love,” in Watson, I, p. 146.

14. See also Baxter Hathaway, The Age of Criticism (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1962), p. 27.

15. Ibid.

16. The number of the quartet is K 464; it is written in C; see Louis Biancolli, The Mozart Handbook (New York: World Publishing Co., 1954)-

17. See John D. Boyd, The Function of Mimesis and Its Decline (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1969).

18. Plato’s well-known example of the bed occurs in the first part of Book X of The Republic.

19. Plotinus, The Enneads, trans. Stephen MacKenna and B. S. Page (London: Faber & Faber, 1962), IV, p. 174 (Ennead V, viii, 1). See also Giovanni Pietro Bellori, The Lives of Modern Painters, Sculptors, and Architects (1672), in Elizabeth G. Holt, A Documentary History of Art (New York: Anchor, 1958), II, pp. 94-106. Bellori says the same thing about Phidias that Plotinus says and he quotes from Cicero’s similar statement “that Phidias worked from an idea” (p. 97). Nicholas Poussin refers also to Phidias in the same way in his “Observations on Painting,” in Holt, II, p. 144. Likewise, Frederigo Zuccaro’s desegno interno is the idea existing in the mind. The work of art is the form the idea takes when it assumes a form visible to the senses. The desegno interno comes first; see F. Zuccaro, The Idea of Sculptors, Painters, and Architects (1607), in Holt, II, pp. 87-92. Roger Des Piles’s comments show a different orientation, one that is more theologically dogmatic. He calls the second kind of invention allegorical (Principles, p. 34). He mentions personifications, the subject or motif (or topic) of Hercules’ choice, and The School of Athens, the specific painting he also thinks of as mystical. To Des Piles, allegories, through the apparatus of conventions, represent what in fact they are not (pp. 34-36). The third kind of invention Des Piles calls mystical: mystical invention “instructs us in some mystery, grounded on scripture, incarnation . . . ecclesiastical history” (pp. 36-46).

20. H. James Jensen, A Glossary of John Dryden’s Critical Terms (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1969), p. 102.

21. See Jensen, “Last Perfection,” Glossary, p. 72; see also Des Piles’s rating of all the painters (Principles). Des Piles considers Raphael and Poussin among the best of all painters. He rates both very high in composition, design, and expression but considers neither very good in the least important part, coloring (which corresponds to elocutio). Poussin was thought of as the French Raphael, and Raphael was thought of as the greatest of all painters. See Jeremy Collier, The Great Historical, Geographical, Genealogical, and Poetical Dictionary, The Second Ed. Revis’d, Corrected, and Enlarg’d to the year 1688 (London, 1701). This work is translated from Louis Moréri, Le Grand Dictionnaire historique (first pub. Lyon, 1674). Moréri’s book was published also in 1681, 1691, 1699, 1712, 1725, 1732, and 1759 and in languages other than French and English. In the discussions of Raphael and Poussin Moréri expresses the same opinions that Des Piles does.

22. John Dryden, “The Life of Plutarch,” in Watson, II, p. 10.

23. See Ong, Ramus.

24. Jean-Louis Guéz de Balzac, “Letter No. 12, August 3, 1624,” The Letters of Monsieur de Balzac, trans. William Tirwhyt (?) (London, 1624), p. 116.

25. See Holt, II, pp. 143-44.

26. See Quintilian, Book XI, chap, iii, sect. 6.

27. The same thing is true, of course, for other painters; for corroboration, see Lomazzo, Book II, which is specifically on actions and gestures; for other theorists of art, see Charles Le Brun, Méthode pour apprendre à dessiner les passions (Amsterdam, 1698); and André Félibien, Entretiens sur les vies et sur les ouvrages des plus excellens peintres anciens et modernes (Paris, 1666), III. The other works covering rhetoric that I have previously footnoted explain in more detail what I am saying here. On gesture, see Des Piles, Principles (1708), pp. 162 ff. Addison, in The Spectator (No. 407, 17 June 1712), comments on gesture, saying that Englishmen (middle-class Englishmen, his audience) should learn more about them.

28. Roger Des Piles (1635-1709), Principles, pp. 103 ff. Des Piles is, and was considered, one of the most important theorists and historians of his time. See also Félibien, Entretiens (1666), III, pp. 215 ff.

29. See Lomazzo, Books II and III. Book II is “Of the Actions, Gestures, Situation, Decorum, Motion, Spirit, and Grace of Pictures”; Book III is about colors. Lomazzo goes into a great deal of detail, showing how the external, rhetorical devices express the parts, attitudes, and passions of the mind. See also Félibien, Entretiens (1666). In Volume IV, he describes the Marie de’ Medici paintings. As to the Education of Marie de Medici, he calls Mercury the god of eloquence (p. 100), and he says that “Ce tableau . . . [est] un des principaux de la gallérie.” He covers Rubens on pp. 92-128.

30. Peter Paul Rubens, “To Francis Junius,” in Holt, II, p. 197.

FOUR. Rhetorical Theory and the Arts

1. The discussion of the passions and how to raise them starts with Aristotle, Rhetoric, trans. Lane Cooper (New York: Appleton-Century Crofts, 1960; first pub. 1932), Book II. Considerations of rhetoric and rhetorical considerations of art are everywhere in theory and practice. John Donne, for example, employed rhetoric; see Brian Vickers, “The ‘Songs and Sonnets’ and the Rhetoric of Hyperbole,” in John Donne: Essays in Celebration, ed. A. J. Smith (London: Methuen, 1972), pp. 132-74. Heinrich Glarean talks about grammar, rhetoric, and music; see “The Dodecachordon,” trans. Clement A. Miller (Ph.D. diss., University of Michigan, 1950), pp. 126 ff. Roger Des Piles, The Principles of Painting, Translated by “A Painter” (London, 1743), points out that painting teaches both the ignorant and the learned (p. 271) through deception (p. 257). In other words, paintings instruct while they divert (p. 258). The rhetorical purpose of painting leads André Félibien to say that painters need not know the nature and the causes of color, they need know only their effects; see Félibien, Entretiens sur les vies et sur les ouvrages des plus excellens peintres anciens et modernes (Paris, 1666), III, p. 26.

2. Anthony Blunt, Nicholas Poussin (New York: Pantheon, 1967), I, p. 78.

3. See, for example, John Hollander, The Untuning of the Sky (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1961). Hollander points out that as a result of affective theories early seventeenth-century theories of music were identified with rhetoric. The parallels between tropes and figures of music and poetry became common. In Germany there was almost complete identification, and in Italy, too. Each element of music was analyzed as a figure of rhetoric.

4. Claude Perrault, Essais de physique (Paris, 1680), II, Part 3, pp. 377 ff; see also Joseph Addison, The Spectator (No. 416, 27 June 1712).

5. Such similar effects lead to comparisons among the arts, some by sensitive, appreciative connoisseurs of the arts; see, for example, Roy Daniells, Milton, Mannerism, and Baroque (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1963).

6. See The Spectator (No. 633, 15 December 1714).

7. George Puttenham, The Arte of English Poesie (Kent, Oh.: Kent State University Press, 1970; facsimile ed. of 1906 reprint; first pub. 1598), Book I, chap, iii, p. 24.

8. Ibid., p. 22.

9. Cicero’s docere (to teach), conciliare (to persuade), and movere (to move), the three aims of speaking well, apply clearly to rhetorically conceived art of all kinds; see by Marcus Tullius Cicero, De oratore, trans. A. S. Wilkins (London: Oxford University Press, 1895), and Brutus and Orator, trans. H. M. Hubbell (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, ^I939)The concepts were used in almost all subsequent theories of rhetoric; see also St. Augustine, On Christian Doctrine (Indianapolis: BobbsMerrill, 1958; written ca. A.D. 396), p. 136; see also Gretchen Finney, Musical Backgrounds for English Literature: 1580-1650 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, n.d.), p. 96.

10. René Le Bossu, Monsieur Bossu’s Treatise of the Epick Poem, trans. W. J. (London, 1695; first pub. in France, 1675), p. 4. Elsewhere, Le Bossu tries to distinguish between a rhetorician and a poet. The distinction lies in elevation of purpose: the rhetorician seeks only to persuade; the poet also seeks to instruct or to improve his audience (p. :68).

11. René Rapin, Reflections (London, 1674), trans. Rymer, pp. 9-10.

12. Henry Peacham, The Compleat Gentleman (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1906, first pub. 1622), p. 103.

13. See Richard A. Lanham, A Handlist of Rhetorical Terms (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969).

14. Thomas Mace, Musick’s Monument (London, 1676), p. 118; note Mace’s reference to “the internal [sensible part of the soul], intellectual [the reasonable part], and incomprehensible [vegetable] faculties of the soul.”

15. Ibid., p. 234.

16. G. P. Lomazzo, A Tracte Containing the Arts of Curious Paintinge, Carvinge, and Building, trans. Richard Haydocke (London, 1598), Book III, p. 95.

17. Marin Mersenne, L’Harmonie universelle: Contenant la theorie et la practique de la musique (Paris, 1636), p. 93.

18. Camus de Mézières, Le Génie de l’architecture ou l’analogie de cet art avec nos sensations (Paris, 1780), p. 31.

19. Longinus, On the Sublime, trans. A. O. Prickard (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1961; first pub. 1906), pp. 45-47.

20. Jean-Philippe Rameau, Treatise on Harmony, trans. Philip Gossett (New York: Dover Publications, 1911; first pub. 1722), p. 154.

21. Dryden wrote “A Parallel Betwixt Poetry and Painting” (1695), in Of Dramatic Poesy and Other Critical Essays, ed. George Watson (New York: Everyman, 1962), II, pp. 181-208. John B. Bender, in Spenser and Literary Pictorialism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972), says that “Dryden and du Fresnoy [whom Dryden translated] are only late examples of the pervasive Renaissance embellishment of illustrative comparisons made by ancient authorities” (p. 8). Dryden and Du Fresnoy’s parallels are primarily rhetorical, equating the sequence of compositional acts. Invention, disposition, and elocution in writing become invention, disposition (arrangement), and coloring in painting. The third rhetorical element is what differs from one art to another. Roger Des Piles, in his Principles, notes the similarity among the arts that the rhetorical sequence of composition imposes; he says about painting, “Composition implies both invention and disposition; it is one thing to invent objects and another to place them rightly” (p. 31).

22. Lomazzo, Book III, p. 112.

23. The opposite tendency also occurred. Not only was music like spoken expression, but poetry was like music. Thus Puttenham says in The Arte of English Poesie: “Poetical proportion . . . holdeth of the musical, because as we said before Poesie is a skill to speak and write harmonically: and verses or rime be a kind of musical utterance, by reason of a certaine congruitie of sounds pleasing the eare, though not perchance so exquisitely as the harmonicall concents of the artificial Musicke, or that of melodious instruments, as Lutes, Harpes, Regals, Records, and such like” (p. 79). For the equation of music, poetry, and rhetoric, see also Joachim Burmeister, Musica poetica (Rostock, 1606); for comments also see C. S. Brown, “The Relation between Music and Literature as a Field of Study,” Comparative Literature 22 (1970): 97-107.

24. For writings on the subject published over a range of years, see Thomas Morley, A Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke (1597), Shakespeare Association Facsimile no. 14 (London, 1937); Mersenne, L’Harmonie universelle (1636); Rameau, Treatise on Harmony (1722); and Camus de Mézières, Le Génie de l’architecture (1780).

25. Plato, Republic, trans. H. D. P. Lee (Baltimore: Penguin, 1971), Part III, p. 139.

26. Aristotle, Politics, trans. Benjamin Jowett, in On Poetry and Music, ed. Milton C. Nahm (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1956), Book VIII, p. 46.

27. Plutarch, “On Music,” Moralia, trans. Benedict Einarson and Philip H. DeLacy (London: W. Heinemann, 1967), XIV, pp. 385-454.

28. Bertrand Bronson, “Some Aspects of Music and Literature,” Facets of the Enlightenment (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968; first pub. 1953), pp. 91—118.

29. Mézières, Le Génie de l’architecture, John Evelyn, trans. A Parallel of Architecture Both Ancient and Modern, by Roland Fréart de Chambray (London, 1680).

30. Roland Fréart de Chambray, The Whole Body of Ancient and Modern Architecture, trans. John Evelyn (London, 1680); first pub. 1650), p. 36; see H. James Jensen, A Glossary of John Dryden’s Critical Terms (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1969) for the definition of beauty.

31. Fréart, p. 63.

32. For later seventeenth-century English usages, see Jensen, Glossary: agreeable, ballad, beautiful, expression, figure, harmony, numerous, numerousness, proportion, smooth, sound, and sounding; these words have to do with verse.

33. See Plato, Republic, Part III, pp. 138-39.

34. Nicholas Poussin, Lettres, ed. Pierre Du Colombier (Paris: À la Cité des Livres, 1929), letter of 24 November 1647.

35. See Elizabeth G. Holt, A Documentary History of Art (New York: Anchor, 1958), II, p. 156.

36. See Holt, II, pp. 143-44; Jacques Gohory says the same things about music in his Preface to A Brieffe and Plaine Instruction to set all musicke of eight divers tunes in tableture for the Lute, by Adrien Le Roy, trans, unknown (London, 1574); see also Lomazzo.

37. In Blunt, Nicholas Poussin, p. 223; Blunt says the quotation is from Correspondance de Nicholas Poussin, ed. C. Jouanny (Paris, 1911), p. 21.

38. Blunt, Nicholas Poussin, p. 223; Baptism is in the National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. (Samuel H. Kress Collection).

39. See Jeremy Collier, A Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stage (London, 1698). In rhetorical theories, thoughts and expressions are two elements of style. They usually are called the “colors” of rhetoric, or figures and tropes. Abraham Fraunce, in The Arcadian Rhetoricke (London, 1588), for example, considers figures of words (expression) as delighting and figures of thoughts as persuading.

40. For an excellent study of effect in the Cornaro chapel, see Robert T. Petersson, The Art of Ecstasy: Teresa, Bernini, and Crashaw (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1970).

41. The important work in the consideration of the sublime for us is not Longinus’s Peri Hupsous (see Longinus, On the Sublime, trans. A. O. Prickard [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1906]) but Boileau’s Traité du sublime (1674), in N. D. Boileau, Oeuvres completes, ed. Charles-H. Boudhors, 7 vols. (Paris: Société la Belles Lettres, 1939-52). His translation influenced English thought from Dryden on; see Samuel H. Monk, The Sublime (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1960; first pub. 1935); see also Jensen, Glossary, for the formal introduction in 1677 of sublime into English critical vocabulary.

42. N. D. Boileau, A Treatise of the Loftiness or Elegancy of Speech, trans. J. P. (London, 1680; first pub. 1674).

43. See Walter J. Ong, Ramus: Method and the Decay in Dialogue (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1958), pp. 92 ff. Alexandre Maurocordato, La Critique classique en Angleterre (Paris: Didier, 1964), pp. 72 ff. John D. Boyd, The Function of Mimesis and Its Decline (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1968), pp. 111 ff.; Miriam Joseph, Shakespeare’s Use of the Arts of Language (New York: Columbia University Press, 1947); John Mulder, The Temple of the Mind: Education and Literary Taste in Seventeenth Century England (New York: Pegasus, 1969), pp. 32 ff. As Mulder says, “John Milton wrote A Fuller Institution of the Art of Logic arranged after the method of Peter Ramus” (p. 33). Antoine Arnauld shows his affinity for Ramistic theory in his assertion that rhetoric contributes little to thought, expression, or embellishment. He thinks its practical use is to avoid bad style. Arnauld obviously conceives of thought and its arrangement as falling under logic, which is Ramus’s primary idea. Antoine Arnauld, The Art of Thinking, trans. James Dickoff and Patricia James (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1964), p. 22.

44. John Dryden, Dedication to the Indian Emperor, in Works of John Dryden, ed. Sir Walter Scott and rev. George Saintsbury, 18 vols. (Edinburgh: William Patterson, 1882-93), II, p. 286.

45. See Lomazzo, Book III, p. 112.

46. Jensen, Glossary, p. 26.

47. For Le Brun, see Holt, II, pp. 161-63 and figure 7; for Dryden, see Works, ed. Scott-Saintsbury, V, p. 5.

48. Charles Le Brun, Methode pour apprendre à dessiner les passions . . . (1698), in Holt, II, p. 162.

49. Gotthold Lessing, Laocoön, trans. E. A. McCormick (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1962; first pub. 1766), p. 11.

50. See Jensen, Glossary, pp. 27-28.

51. Dr. Samuel Johnson, “Dryden,” The Lives of the English Poets, ed. George Birkbeck Hill, 3 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1705; first pub. 1779-81), I, p. 461.

52. Morse Peckham, Man’s Rage for Chaos (New York: Schocken, 1969; first pub. 1967).

53. John Hughes, The Spectator (No. 541, 20 November 1712). What is interesting also about this passage is that it is adapted directly from Cicero’s De oratore. The idea is not original with Hughes. We have seen in Chapter III what Poussin did with the idea; see also André-Félibien, Entretiens, II, p. 366; see also Glarean’s consideration of the modes, pp. 114 ff.

54. André Félibien says the same things as Le Brun in Entretiens, III, pp. 215 ff. His descriptions of emotions as they are supposed to be depicted corresponds almost exactly to Le Brun’s; Lomazzo’s Book II is full of descriptions of how to draw passions; see Charles Le Brun: 1619—1690, ed. Ministère d’État/Affaires Culturelles (Paris: Recherches et Réalizations Graphiques, 1963), pp. 70-73, 88-90, 302-307, in which we can see a passion in graphic form and its subsequent use in specific paintings.

55. Roger Des Piles, Principles, pp. 73 ff. Notice also how close his ideas are to those of John Dennis, except for the idea of religious enthusiasm, which Dennis makes the source of the sublime. Notice in Des Piles the rhetorical nature of the sublime as opposed to the genuineness of enthusiasm. It is this kind of conception of enthusiasm that causes the trouble in eighteenth-century considerations of art as imitation of nature. See E. W. Hooker, ed., The Critical Works of John Dennis (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1939-43).

56. For corroboration of this idea, see Lessing, Laocoön, chaps. IV—XXI.

57. Jeremy Collier, after he says that music rules reason (p. 21), describes what happens in Dryden’s “Alexander’s Feast” (p. 22); see Jeremy Collier, “Of Musick,” Essays Upon Several Moral Subjects (London, 1697).

58. Puttenham, The Arte of English Poesie, pp. 199-202.

59. All are, of course, translating what Boileau says in his Chapter XVII, and Boileau is interpolating Longinus’s On the Sublime section XX. In Longinus the figure named is asyndeta, or disorder. Boileau emphasizes the homeopathic effect of disorder more than does Longinus. The idea, however, still means that the disorder is a part of the author’s intention. There is method in it. It is the kind of effect that Hamlet has on Polonius in Act II, scene ii, to which Polonius says, “Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t” (II, ii, 204), see William Shakespeare, The Complete Works (Baltimore: Penguin, 1969), p. 946.

60. Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy, ed. F. Dell and P. Jordan Smith (New York: Tudor Publishing Co., 1948).

61. For an excellent, thorough discussion of Louis XIV’s use of art, particularly music, see Robert Isherwood, Music in the Service of the King (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1973).

62. See Anthony Blunt, Artistic Theory in Italy: 1450-1600, rev. ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1968; first pub. 1940).

63. André Félibien, Des Principes de l’architecture, de la sculpture, de la peinture, et des autres arts qui en dependent (Paris, 1690), pp. 104—106. Gothic was a pejorative term. Lomazzo in Book II says that astonishment comes from hearing or seeing “some strange matter” (p. 15).

FIVE. Passions, Rhetoric, and Characterization

1. William Shakespeare, “The Rape of Lucrece,” Complete Works, ed. Alfred Harbage (Baltimore: Penguin, 1969), p. 1424, 11. 485-501.

2. The carry-over is in the same way similar to that of references to the Ptolemaic universe. We still, for instance, say we watch the sun set or rise. In each case, the diagrammable images are dead for us. In our language, we do not see images of the mind in terms of imagination or judgment, nor do we see a scheme of the Ptolemaic universe. They are practical observations, observable by the senses, that are so much a part of the language that learned scholars say that a modern novelist appeals to our imagination, that he constructs imaginative worlds (Neoplatonic) that express the ideas in his very soul. It would seem that the Freudian psychology is awkward for most people explaining art. I suggest that we consider the artist’s idea of how he created or made art or analyzed character, that we avoid the old terms for writers who use modern concepts and eliminate the anachronisms that result from applying Freudian thought to older works.

3. See Leo van Puyvelde, Van Dyck (Brussels: Elsevier, 1959), p. 143 and plate 28. The painting is in the Brussels Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts. There is a copy after Poussin of The Triumph of Silenus in the National Gallery, London. See Anthony Blunt, Nicholas Poussin (New York: Pantheon), II, plate 90. There are also two paintings by Rubens (1577-1640): The Drunken Silenus (The Hermitage, Leningrad) and The Dreaming Silenus (Akademie, Vienna). See by Hans E. Evers, Peter Paul Rubens (Munich: F. Bruckmann, 1942), p. 97, plates 44-45, and Rubens und sein Werk (Brussels: London, 1944), pp. 220, 256; and see R. A. M. Stevenson, Ruhens: Paintings and Drawings (New York: Macmillan, 1931), plate 138. The van Dyck painting shows the body of Silenus, those by Poussin and Rubens show the body and the face; for both, see also the Baroque painter Pietro da Cortona, ceiling of the Palazzo Barberini, Rome. John Dryden, “Essay of Dramatic Poesy” (1668), in Of Dramatic Poesy and Other Critical Essays, ed. George Watson (New York: Everyman, 1962), I, pp. 70-71.

4. Thomas Otway, Venice Preserved (1682); references are to British Dramatists from Dryden to Sheridan, ed. G. Nettleton and A. Case and rev. G. W. Stone, Jr. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1969), pp. 113-47: “Venice Preserved was enormously popular. ... It was acted 337 times between 1703 and 1800. With the sole exception of the 1771—72 season, it was played in some theater in every year of the eighteenth century” (p. 114).

5. Sir William Davenant, “Preface to Gondibert” (1650), in Critical Essays of the Seventeenth Century, ed. Joel Spingarn (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1963), II, pp. 17—18; see also Thomas Rymer, Critical Works, ed. C. Zimansky (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1956), P. 61; Frank Warnke, Versions of Baroque (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1972), says that he can see no form in Venice Preserved (pp. 203—204); Derek W. Hughes sees a Hobbesian influence in the play, saying that its central motif is man’s reverting to a “primitive and animal state as a result of the triumph of physical impulse over the rational faculties” (“A New Look at Venice Preserved,” SEL 11 (1971): 437—38; the article is on pp. 437-57.

6. William Congreve, The Mourning Bride (I, i, 1). Purcell’s song in praise of music’s power to calm the passions is in what historically was called the tender and gay key of G.

7. For a highly allegorical depiction of the sense of smell, for example, see Jan Breughel’s The Sense of Smell (Prado, Madrid).

8. Henry Peacham, The Garden of Eloquence (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1906; first pub. completely 1634), p. 96.

9. Thomas Mace, Musick’s Monument (London, 1676), p. 30. We find the same opinion stated in Castiglione’s The Book of the Courtier (1516): “He who does not take pleasure in [music] . . . can be sure that his spirit lacks harmony among its parts.” See Baldasar Castiglione, The Book of the Courtier, trans. Charles S. Singleton (New York: Anchor, 1959), P. 76.

10. Jean de La Bruyère, The Characters and Manners of the Age, translated by Several Hands (London, 1699), p. 17; first published as Les Caractères (Paris, 1688).

11. Thomas Shadwell, The Complete Works of Thomas Shadwell, ed. Montague Summers, 5 vols. (London: Fortune Press, 1927), IV, Act II.

12. Edward Dent, The Foundations of English Opera (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1928), p. 8.

13. See Aristotle, Politics, in On Poetry and Music, ed. Milton C. Nahm (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1956), Book VIII, chap. 6; Plutarch, “Life of Alcibiades,” Moralia, trans. Benedict Einarson and Philip H. DeLacy (London: W. Heinemann, 1967), XIV, chap. 2. In the Baroque era there are many paintings of ordinary people playing instruments; for example, Jacob Jordaens’s Three Wandering Musicians, in which the flute player is depicted as a person of low birth. See also Philip D. Stanhope, fourth earl of Chesterfield, Letters, 6 vols. (New York: Viking Press, 1932), letter of 19 April 1749.

14. Rosamond Tuve, “Sacred Parody of Love Poetry, and Herbert,” Studies in the Renaissance 8 (1961): 249-90.

15. Vincent Druckles and Franklin B. Zimmerman, Words to Music (Publication of the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library, University of California, Los Angeles, 1967), p. 20.

16. Ibid. Gretchen Finney, in Musical Backgrounds for English Literature: 1580-1650 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, n.d.), points out that to the Florentine musicians, Neoplatonists all, words were most important (p. 128). Mellers says that the human voice was the most important instrument. Thus, words and music became close. When music became divorced from words, he thinks, it became divorced from life. See Wilfrid Mellers, “Words and Music in Elizabethan England,” in The Age of Shakespeare, ed. Boris Ford (Baltimore: Penguin, 1960), pp. 389-90. The human voice is most important because it expresses the word as thought by someone. This idea goes along very nicely with the idea of Neoplatonic “humanism.” But Corneille in the Preface to Andromède (1650) says that nothing concerning the understanding should be put into songs in plays because the words are too hard to understand—only the emotions are important; see also E. W. White, The Rise of the English Opera (London: E. Lehmann, 1969), p. 35; Dryden says essentially the same thing in his Preface to Albion and Albanius (1685), in Of Dramatic Poesy and Other Critical Essays, ed. George Watson (New York: Everyman, 1962), II, p. 35; see also John H. Long, Shakespeare’s Use of Music (Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 1955), p. 43; for examples of Dryden’s use of conventions of music, see his Secret Love or the Maiden Queen (1668; IV, iii), Cleomenes (1692; II, ii), and The Assignation or Love in a Nunnery (1673; II, ii).

17. See Robert Isherwood, Music in the Service of the King (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1973), pp. 12-24, for a development of the idea of Ficino; see also Finney, chaps. I-VI.

18. See Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy (1621), ed. F. Dell and P. Jordan Smith (New York: Tudor Publishing Co., 1948), pp. 478 ff.

19. For a brief explanation of Boethius’s three kinds of music, see Isherwood, pp. 13-14.

20. Dent throughout his book indicates the key of a particular piece of music. He does so often enough to make us suspect he thinks there is a reason for a specific key but does not know that reason (for examples, see pp. 182, 189, 197-200). Yet, a minor key, he says, indicates voluptuousness, which it often does.

21. See also Don Smithers, “Seventeenth Century English Trumpet Music,” Music and Letters 48 (1967); 358-65. Smithers has much interesting information but says at one point that most of Purcell’s trumpet music is in D. A glance at the Orpheus Britannicus would dispute this claim: there are only two or three songs, primarily for trumpets, written in D; there is one song in E-flat and another in G. Smithers is mostly correct, however, in saying that there is no difference between C and D thematically. Actually, C, at least to Purcell, is more versatile. To John Blow (1648-1708) there apparently is no difference between the two keys. See Henry Purcell, Orpheus Britannicus, 2 vols. (London, 1721); John Blow, Amphion Anglicus (London, 1700); and Emanuel Winternitz, Musical Instruments and Their Symbolism in Western Art (New York: Norton, 1967). There are modern editions of Purcell and Blow that are facsimiles of the volumes cited in this note: Henry Purcell, Orpheus Britannicus, 2 vols. (Ridgewood, N.J.: Gregg Press, 1965; facsimile of 1721 ed.); John Blow, Amphion Anglicus (Ridgewood, N.J.: Gregg Press, 1965; facsimile of 1700 ed.).

22. Smithers says Purcell’s trumpet parts compare most favorably, of any English composer’s, with those of the northern Italians (p. 361); he points out that the usual scheme of English trumpet pieces is like that of the Bolognese (p. 364); see also Anthony Lewis, “Purcell and Blow’s ‘Venus and Adonis’,” Music and Letters 44 (1963), pp. 266-69, who says, “The relationship between Blow and Purcell is one of the most important in English music” (p. 266).

23. See also Jean-Philippe Rameau, Treatise on Harmony, trans. Philip Gossett (New York: Dover Publications, 1911; first pub. 1722). The classifications are thus: C, mirth and rejoicing; D, mirth and rejoicing, grandeur and magnificence; E, tenderness and gaity, grandeur and magnificence; F, tempests and furies; G, tenderness and gaity; A, grandeur and magnificence, mirth and rejoicing; B, tempests and furies; c, tenderness and plaints; d, sweetness and tenderness; e, sweetness and tenderness; f, tenderness and plaints, mournful songs; g, sweetness and tenderness; a, none listed; b, sweetness and tenderness, mournful songs. The dividing line is largely between major and minor keys.

24. See Heinrich Glarean, “The Dodecachordon,” trans. Clement A. Miller (Ph. D. diss., University of Michigan, 1950), for another version of the modes. The hypoionian mode, for example, is in G or C and includes morning songs, love songs, elegies, and frivolities. The trumpet, he says, is used here. Again, the classification is very general.

25. Roger Des Piles, The Principles of Painting, Translated by “A Painter” (London, 1743), pp. 102-106.

26. See, for example, the frontispiece of Jean-Baptiste Lully’s Amadis tragédie (ca. 1709). The frontispiece shows everyone with the expression of étonnement (astonishment) at the thunder and lightning so graphically illustrated (and corresponding to the effects presented at the beginning of the first act).

27. See Charles Le Brun: 1619-1690, ed. Ministère d’État/Affaires Culturelles (Paris: Recherches et Realizations Graphiques, 1963), pp. 308-15.

28. André Félibien, Conférences de l’académie royale de peinture et de sculpture (Amsterdam, 1706); see also his Entretiens sur les vies et sur les ouvrages des plus excellens peintres anciens et moderne (Paris, 1666).

29. Pan, of course, personifies the appetites of the second soul. For examples, see Poussin’s The Triumph of Pan (1635-36) and Pan and Syrinx (1637).

30. Such a portrait or type was made to be broken, and Shakespeare shows how a soldier can be like Iago. Everyone in Othello thinks of Iago as a typical soldier, but he is only partially so. He is full of arrogance, hatred, and anger but lacks the typical bluffness, honesty, and boldness. Rymer, in his criticisms, misses the point, arguing that Shakespeare should be condemned because he upset probable truth.

31. In the Musée de Nantes; see Yves Picart, La Vie et l’oeuvre de Simon Vouet (Paris: Cahiers de Paris, 1958), Part II, plate 8.

32. In the Musée National, Versailles; Charles Le Brun: 1619-1690, pp. 70-73.

33. In the Louvre, Paris; see Blunt, Nicholas Poussin, I, plate 225.

34. The idea of perceiving the painter’s soul in his work is equivalent to the idea of the ethos of the orator, whose character is revealed by his speech. Aristotle, for example, maintains that “Character [ethos] is the most potent of all the means to persuasion.” (Rhetoric, trans. Lane Cooper [New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 1960; first pub. 1932], pp. 1-2).

35. In Holt, II.

36. See the catalogue of the degrees of perfection in the several parts of painting in Roger Des Piles, Principles (1708); Des Piles gives Raphael the highest rating in expression.

37. Félibien, Entretiens (1666), V, p. 68, also thinks them vulgar; for a discussion of ideas of “decency” in painting as derived from the Council of Trent and the succeeding Counter-Reformation, see Anthony Blunt, Artistic Theory in Italy: 1450-1600, rev. ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1968), pp. 103-36.

38. Nicholas Poussin, “A Chantelou” (1647), Lettres, ed. Pierre de Colombier (Paris: À la Cité des Livres, 1929); Chantelou is Roland Fréart de Chambray’s brother, Paul.

39. Sir Joshua Reynolds, “Discourse Nine” (1798), Discourses on Art, ed. Stephen O. Mitchell (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1965), pp. 142-44; first published as a single work in 1797.

SIX. Rules Criticism and Aesthetics

1. John Dryden, “Essay of Dramatic Poesy,” in Of Dramatic Poesy and Other Critical Essays, ed. George Watson (New York: Everyman, 1962), I, p. 56.

2. For more detailed studies of French criticism, its precepts, terms, and influence, see for example, René Bray, La Formation de la doctrine classique en France (Lausanne-Geneva: Librairie Payot, 1931); E. B. O. Borgerhoff, The Freedom of French Classicism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1950); Joel Spingarn, ed., Introduction, Critical Essays of the Seventeenth Century (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1963; first pub. 1908); Robert Hume, Dryden’s Criticism (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1970); Hoyt Trowbridge, “The Place of the Rules in Dryden’s Criticism,” MP 44 (1946): 84-96; A. F. B. Clark, Boileau and the French Classical Critics in England: 1660-1830 (Paris: E. Champion, 1925); Thomas Hanzo, Latitude and Restoration Criticism, Anglistica XII (Copenhagen, 1961); Alexandre Maurocordato, Le Critique classique en Angleterre de la Restauration à la mord de Joseph Addison (Paris: Didier, 1964); Louis Charlanne, L’Influence française en Angleterre au XVII^e siècle (Paris: Société Française, 1906); H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., The Theory of the Epic in England (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1944).

3. This posture is ironic because, of course, it is the scientific imagination that brings together disparate ideas to produce discoveries. In this way, scientific thought is like every other kind of inventive thought. As an example of the way in which imagination works in mathematic invention or discovery, see Henri Poincaré, “Mathematical Creation,” in The Creative Process, ed. Brewster Ghiselin (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1952). Although it is true, however, that in many ways mathematics, unlike the other sciences, is naturally aligned with Neoplatonism, with the magic of numbers (see Frances Yates, Theatre of the World [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969]), the use of imagination holds true for other fields as well, especially in theoretical work.

4. Abraham Bosse, Traité des practiques geometrales et perspectives (Paris, 1665), also calls perspective a rule (p. 11) and says that the rules governing geometry are absolutely necessary to painting and designing (p. 121), and accordingly he likes the orderly planes he sees in Poussin. Bosse commends Palladio, Leonardo, Raphael, Poussin, Domenichino, and Correggio, among others, but never mentions the Neoplatonist Michelangelo, whose exuberance did not rate high in seventeenth-and eighteenth-century French taste.

5. Emile Bréhier, The Seventeenth Century, trans. Wade Baskin (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966), p. 10; first published in France, 1938.

6. See David M. Knight, Natural Science Books in English: 1600-1900 (London: B. T. Batsford, 1972); Paul H. Kocher, Science and Religion in Elizabethan England, Huntington Library Publications (Los Angeles, 1953); Madeleine Alcover’s excellent book La Pensée philosophique et scientifique de Cyrano de Bergerac (Paris: Librairie Droz, 1970); and Sir George Clark, The Seventeenth Century, rev. ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1970; first pub. 1929). Clark’s book covers most aspects of the seventeenth century.

7. See Robert Wienpahl, “Modality, Monality, and Tonality in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries,” Music and Letters 52 (1971): 407-17; he charts the change from modality to monality—the change in favor of monality is steady from 1500 to 1700 as music becomes more affective. Michael Murrin, in The Veil of Allegory: Some Notes toward a Theory of Allegorical Rhetoric in the English Renaissance (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969), sees the same kind of development in terms of the decline of Neoplatonic allegory.

8. See Herbert M. Scheuller, “The Quarrel of the Ancients and the Moderns,” Music and Letters 41 (1960): 313.

9. See Gretchen Finney, Musical Backgrounds for English Literature: 1580-1650 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, n.d.), chap. VII.

10. Clark, The Seventeenth Century, p. 246.

11. Ibid., pp. 219-21.

12. Robert Isherwood, Music in the Service of the King (Ithaca, N.Y. : Cornell University Press, 1973), pp. 40, 103; see also André Félibien, Des Principes de l’architecture, de la sculpture, de la peinture, et des autres arts qui en dependent (Paris, 1690). Félibien, unlike some litterateurs, was a great supporter of Le Brun, Lully, and Colbert, among others. This book, very much a manual on making and techniques, is dedicated to Colbert, as are his Conférences de l’académie royale de peinture et de sculpture (Amsterdam, 1706) and his great work, Entretiens sur les vies et sur les ouvrages des plus excellens peintres anciens et modernes, 5 vols. (Paris, 1666). Félibien knew from whence patronage comes: Colbert was the central figure for the arts and academies, at least for a while (Isherwood, p. 151). The first academy for a specific art was the Académie Royale de Danse (1661), then came others: Académie des Inscriptions, Medailles, et Belles-Lettres (1663), Académie de L’Architecture (1671), Académie de Peinture et Sculpture (1663), and Académie Royale de Musique (1669). Colbert was the protector; Cassagne, director; Charles Perrault, chief director. Charles Le Brun was an important figure. Arnold Hauser, for example, says Le Brun was art dictator of France for twenty years; see Hauser, The Social History of Art: Renaissance, Mannerism, Baroque (New York: Random House, n.d.; first pub. 1951), II, p. 197. Lully, because of his monopoly of opera and dance became the wealthiest composer in history and the most powerful, at least in modern times (Isherwood, pp. 157-59, 194). The rigidity of the French rules and ideas can be found everywhere. Fréart de Chambray, in Evelyn’s translation of An Idea of the Perfection of Painting (London, 1668), for example, admiringly points out that in Le Brun’s Les reines de Perse aux pieds d’Alexandre (1660-61) every person is depicted and placed according to rank, age, and other such criteria (p. 73); see Plate 14.

13. See Knight, Natural Science Books in English, p. 40; Clark, The Seventeenth Century, p. 337.

14. Kerry Downes, English Baroque Architecture (London: Zwemmer, 1966), p. 1.

15. Victor Fuerst, The Architecture of Sir Christopher Wren (London: Lund Humphries, 1956), p. 177; see also Stephen Wren, Parentalia: Or the Memoirs of the Family of Wrens (London, 1750).

16. See Clark, The Seventeenth Century. The economic development of England is closely linked to that of the Netherlands. The Dutch were preeminent in finance and technology, both predominantly middle-class occupations (Clark, p. 91). The English, however, were more interested in spiritual matters than were the Dutch, and Clark points out the extensive ramifications of such an interest in economic matters, specifically in the settlement of colonies. He says that the settlement of New England was not economic but spiritual. More English than Dutch preferred to live in America with less physical comfort so long as they had spiritual freedom, the right to worship, for example (p. 205).

17. H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., “Rules and English Critics of the Epic: 1650-1800,” SP 35 (1938): 566-87.

18. In the eighteenth century, there are generally three overlapping categories of English critical thought that evolve from ideas expressed in England in the seventeenth century. The first is through the sublime and what produces it, as in the critical writings of John Dennis and in Addison’s more placid statements in “The Pleasures of the Imagination.” The second is the unification of French taste, science, and English Neoplatonism, illustrated by the influential third earl of Shaftesbury. The third is the so-called commonsense school, which leads to Dr. Johnson and his pragmatic, individualistic style of criticism. John Dryden is really the precursor of all three English movements in one way or another, and he certainly made speculation possible through his creation of a critical vocabulary with an English perspective.

19. For general support of this idea, see Pierre Legouis, “Corneille and Dryden as Literary Critics,” Seventeenth Century Studies Presented to . . . Sir Herbert Grierson (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1938), pp. 269-91; Frank L. Huntley, On Dryden’s Essay of Dramatic Poesy, University of Michigan Contributions to Modern Philology no. 16 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, March 1951), pp. 1-67; John M. Aden, “Dryden, Corneille, and the Essay of Dramatic Poesy,” RES n.s. 6 (1955): 147-56; Baxter Hathaway, “John Dryden and the Function of Tragedy,” PMLA 58 (1943): 665-73; R. V. Le Clerq, “Corneille and an Essay of Dramatic Poesy,” Comparative Literature 22 (1970): 319-27; Robert D. Hume, Dryden’s Criticism (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1970), and “Dryden on Creation: ‘Imagination’ in the Later Criticism,” Review of English Studies 21 (1970): 295-314.

20. The Cambridge Neoplatonists, for example, are, as Douglas Bush says, “the descendents of Grocyn, Colet, More, Linacre, Latimer, Lily, and others” (Douglas Bush, The Renaissance and English Humanism [Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1939], p. 71). They were also, of course, avid readers of the Florentine Platonists and of Plotinus. See also Gerald Cragg, ed., The Cambridge Platonists (New York: Oxford University Press, 1968); and C. A. Patrides, The Cambridge Platonists (London: E. Arnold, 1969).

21. The edition of Dryden cited is Of Dramatic Poesy and Other Critical Essays, ed. George Watson, unless otherwise indicated.

22. Ralph Cudworth, The True Intellectual System of the Universe, chap. V, in Cragg, The Cambridge Platonists, p. 208; see also Plotinus, The Enneads, trans. Stephen McKenna and B. S. Page (London: Faber & Faber, 1962), II, p. 31 (Ennead III, ii, 16).

23. John Smith, The Excellency and Nobleness of True Religion, chap. I, in Cragg, p. 96. The equating of the poet with God is an important concept in English literature. In “Myth and Symbol,” Northrop Frye mentions it: “When Shelley quotes Tasso on the similarity of the creative work of the poet to the creative work of God, he carries the idea a great deal further than Tasso did. The fact of this change in the Romantic period is familiar, but the trends that made it possible are still not identified with assurance.” (Northrop Frye, “Myth and Symbol,” in Myth and Symbol: Critical Approaches and Applications, ed. Berenice Slote [Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1970; first pub. 1963], pp. 16-17). The same kind of idea moves Clark, in The Seventeenth Century, to say, “Imaginative literature is nearer akin to religion than to science” (p. 341).

24. In France, according to Isherwood, affective theories of music took over at the end of the seventeenth century (p. 328). These theories led to the idea of Du Bos (1670-1742) that the main purpose of art is to combat ennui; see Jean-Baptiste Du Bos, Critical Reflections on Poetry, Painting, and Music, trans. Thomas Nugent (London, 1748); first published in 1719 as Réflexions critiques sur la poésie et la peinture. Isherwood maintains that until then Plato provided the “underpinning” for seventeenth-century French music (p. 170). Jeremy Collier’s rather confused musical theories tell us about English dilemmas (see “Of Music,” Essays Upon Several Moral Subjects [London, 1697]). He says he relies on the Neoplatonist Glarean for theory (see Heinrich Glarean, “The Dodecachordon,” trans. Clement A. Miller [Ph.D. diss., University of Michigan, 1950]), yet he says that music “takes hold of the highest part of the affections” (p. 25). Collier pays lip service to Neoplatonic religious theories of music, yet intellectually he subscribes to affective theories of music.

25. See Baxter Hathaway, The Age of Criticism (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1962).

26. See Anthony Blunt, Artistic Theory in Italy: 1450-1600, rev. ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1968; first pub. 1940).

27. We have talked earlier of the general extent of Neoplatonism in England; see also Yates, Theatre of the World.

28. See Watson, I, p. 25.

29. See Spingarn, Critical Essays of the Seventeenth Century; Volume I covers the period 1605-50; lively never appears in this volume.

30. In Spingarn, I, p. 127 (1622).

31. The term lively is connected to a matrix of related concepts: fire, force, vehemence, passion, manners, humours, breath, affection, spirit, soul, animation, inspiration, imagination, fancy, movement, to move, to raise, agitation, motion, and wit in its most elevated sense. Fire, of course, is life to the Neoplatonist Paracelsus; breath is very much a Neoplatonic term also and is closely allied to the notion of spirit; Finney discusses these relationships at some length in Chapter V: “Music, the Breath of Life.” Bush points out that while “Aristotle deals with the nature of things, he, Ficino [the great Florentine Neoplatonist, teacher of Michelangelo, deals] with the nature of men” (The Renaissance and English Humanism, p. 56). All the terms associated with lively concern human life.

32. Les Instructions pour l’histoire comes from Port Royal; its author is anonymous. Cioranescu says the author is René Rapin (1667); see Alexandre Cioranescu, Bibliographie de la littérature française du dixseptième siècle, 3 vols. (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1966).

33. Robert Midgley, trans., The Modest Critick (London, 1688), pp. 48, 49; the translator of The Modest Critick is unnamed; Robert Midgley is listed on the flyleaf as having registered the work on 9 October 1688.

34. John Davies of Kidwelly, trans., Instructions for History (London, 1680), p. 46.

35. Hobbes, for example, makes the connection between quick and lively; see Thomas Hobbes, English Works, ed. Sir William Molesworth (London, 1839), III, pp. 57, 61.

36. See also C. S. Lewis, “Life,” Studies in Words, 2d ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967), pp. 269-305.

37. See H. James Jensen, A Glossary of John Dryden’s Critical Terms (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1969), pp. 70-71. I had originally toyed with the idea of associating enargeia with justness and energia with lively. Enargeia, however, really is a rhetorical term connected with oratory and is not opposed to energia, which is related to lively. For a discussion of the two terms as they are used in the English Renaissance, see John Bender, Spenser and Literary Pictorialism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972), pp. 9 ff.

38. Sir William Temple, “Of Poetry,” in Spingarn, II, p. 81.

39. In Spingarn, II, p. 21. For the primary connection of the word truth with reason, judgment, and understanding, see Jensen, p. 118. It is true that in some cases lively is associated primarily with judgment, as in Sir Richard Blackmore’s Preface to King Arthur (1695), in which it is used to describe poetry (see Spingarn, III, p. 227) and later is equated with delightful (ibid., p. 238), which in Blackmore’s usage is associated with judgment. Still, Charles Gildon uses lively in his “Vindication of Paradise Lost” (1694) in the same way that Dryden, Wolseley, and Temple use it (ibid., p. 199).

40. F. N. Coeffeteau, A Table of Humane Passions With Their Causes and Effects, trans. Edward Grimeston (London, 1621), p. 71.

41. Roland Fréart de Chambray, An Idea of the Perfection of Painting, trans. John Evelyn (London, 1668), pp. 10, 14-17; see also Bernard Le Bovier de Fontenelle, Dialogues of the Dead, trans. John Hughes (London, 1708), p. 32; first published in France, 1683: “Passions among men are the winds that are necessary to give all things motion, tho’ at the same time they occasion many a hurricane.”

42. Coeffeteau, in his Table of Human Passions (p. 7), also parallels the motions of the planets to the motions of passions in man; later he says that planets have power over motions of the body (p. 90). These are both Neoplatonic notions. G. P. Lomazzo says the same thing in A Tracte Containing the Artes of Curious Paintinge, Carvinge, and Building, trans. Richard Haydocke (London, 1598), Book II, pp. 17-18. All are a part of Hermetic philosophy, astrology, and so on. Finney talks about exactly the same idea (p. 108). Robert Burton, in The Anatomy of Melancholy (1621), ed. F. Dell and P. Jordan Smith (New York: Tudor Publishing Co., 1948), talks about Ficino and the idea of stellar influences on passions (p. 660) and notes that the planets, sun, and other bodies all dance to the music of the spheres (pp. 710-11). A play is thus similar to a dance in a Neoplatonic sense, and Dryden in the quoted passage is expressing this similarity. We can easily recognize the Neoplatonic notion of the microcosm as an image of the macrocosm, a work of art as an image of the cosmos. Ficino has been called the main channel for the entry of musical ideas from antiquity into the Renaissance, and his ideas on the planets and dancing and artistic creation, as derived from Plotinus, are everywhere in the Renaissance. They are important to an understanding of Dryden and of the Baroque age as well. For Neoplatonic ideas in France, see Isherwood on Ronsard and Margaret of Navarre, for example (pp. 1 ff.); Isherwood relies to a certain extent on works by Frances Yates. See also Poussin’s paintings; in his numerous paintings on the dance, he embodies Neoplatonic ideas of harmony (in good dances) or of sensual abandon (in low dances).

43. Hobbes, Works, III, pp. 41-42.

44. Ibid., p. 56.

45. Thomas Rymer, trans., Reflections on Aristotle’s Art of Poesie (London, 1694), p. 41.

46. Ibid., p. 121. That semi-rhetorician, semi-Neoplatonist Bernini also relies to a great extent on rhetorical movement. Gaulli, who painted the ceiling at Il Gesu, says that the most valuable thing he learned under Bernini is that “every rendering of the human figure should, if possible, express movement.” See Robert T. Petersson, The Art of Ecstasy: Teresa, Bernini, and Crashaw (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1970), p. 75. The Neoplatonic side of Bernini is exemplified not only by his fascination with the mysticism of St. Teresa but also by his idea that he breathed life into a statue the way God breathed life into “substance” (Petersson, p. 50).

47. Cudworth, in Cragg, pp. 195-96. The materialistic idea that man is only an animal leads directly to rhetorical, affective theories of the arts because the senses take precedence over all the other faculties. Cudworth of course does not view man as either animal or machine. He tries, among other things, to reconcile atomism (like Hobbes’s particles) with the belief that man has an immortal soul; see, for example, Knight, Natural Science Books in English, p. 37.

48. For examples of preferences for the liveliness of Shakespeare and Homer over the more pedestrian correctness of Virgil and of the French, see John Dryden, Works, ed. Sir Walter Scott and rev. George Saintsbury, 18 vols. (Edinburgh: William Patterson, 1882-93), XVII, p. 235; Watson, I, pp. 64, 70, 161-62, 171; ibid., II, pp. 167, 186, 275; and Spingarn, III, pp. 82-83.

49. Their secondary importance is borne out by Dryden’s idea that the last perfection of art is elocution, last in time and last in importance; see Jensen, Glossary, p. 72. This idea is further substantiated in Dryden’s criticism of Shakespeare (1679; in Watson, I, p. 257); Dryden says that Shakespeare’s passions are good but that “he often obscures his meaning by his words.”

50. It is true that imaginative flashes of insight can be developed by others, but the question of unity of perception also arises. An individual mind imposes unity on chaotic materials in a way impossible for several people to do together. If the unity is there, others can further substantiate or bring other ideas under the umbrella of that unity. We do not usually see good poems as the result of team writing, but we do see the advantage of scientific research being done by teams. At the same time, a scientific breakthrough of immense proportions needs as much imagination as judgment and is akin to a poetic vision. There has to be a guiding mind, however. Both Descartes and Arnauld, among others, believe that the mind of one person can do more than the minds of many. This places them outside the mainstream of French thought. See René Descartes, Discourse on Method, trans. F. E. Sutcliffe (Baltimore: Penguin, 1968), p. 35; first published in France as Discours de la méthode (1637); and Antoine Arnauld, The Art of Thinking, trans. James Dickoff and Patricia James (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1964), p. 287; first published as L’Art de pensée (1662).

51. John Milton, The Works of John Milton, ed. F. A. Pattison, 20 vols. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1931-38), I, p. 29.

52. See Spingarn, II, p. 271.

53. Shakespeare himself was strongly influenced by Neoplatonism. The point is obvious but perhaps too much taken for granted. Sister Miriam Joseph, in Rhetoric in Shakespeare’s Time (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1968; first pub. 1947), shows how his early training probably came from rhetorical stylists versed in Ramistic theories of rhetoric. Ramus’s division of elocution from the rest of rhetoric is Platonically inspired; see, for example, Peter Munz, The Place of Hooker in the History of Thought (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1952), pp. 152-53. The Tempest is obviously Neoplatonic. Love’s Labour’s Lost is set in the court of Margaret of Navarre, one of the centers for the dissemination of Neoplatonic ideas. Shakespeare has fun ridiculing the Neoplatonic notions of Berowne and his friends in a tone similar to that of Gilbert and Sullivan in Patience but this posture hardly makes Shakespeare an anti-Neoplatonist: he often makes fun in one place of ideas that he uses seriously somewhere else. Wilfrid Meilers says, “Shakespeare’s greatness cannot be separated from the mature and profound reconciliation he effected between ideas of order inherited from the Middle Ages and the humanists’ intensifying concern with the individual consciousness.” The Renaissance in a way is a product of Neoplatonic consciousness. See Wilfrid Mellers, “Words and Music in Elizabethan England,” in The Age of Shakespeare, ed. Boris Ford, 2nd rev. ed. (Baltimore: Pelican, 1960; first pub. 1935), p. 386.

54. Raphael and Poussin concentrate more on clarity of passion; Michelangelo is more copious. Compare the different passions and kinds of people in Shakespeare’s King Lear with those in Racine’s Phèdre. Bernard Weinberg says, for example, that the play, classically about perfect, is the augmentation of a single passion; see Bernard Weinberg, The Art of Jean Racine (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963), pp. 266 ff.

55. C. A. Du Fresnoy, The Art of Painting, trans. J. Dryden (London, 1716), pp. 225-26; Dryden worked from the translation of Roger Des Piles (1668); see also Roger Des Piles, The Principles of Painting, Translated by “A Painter” (London, 1743).

56. For Richardson’s appreciation of Paradise Lost, see Jonathan Richardson, father and son, Explanatory Notes and Remarks on Milton’s Paradise Lost (London, 1734).

57. Sir Joshua Reynolds, “Discourse Five,” Discourses on Art, ed. Stephen O. Mitchell (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1965), pp. 63-64; the whole work was first published in 1797.

58. See Joseph Addison, The Spectator (No. 160, 3 September 1711), in which he mentions by name the works of genius and the geniuses who are the opposite of “les bel-esprits” and who sometimes miss decorum but rise to the sublime: Homer, the Old Testament, Shakespeare, and Pindar. For a French critic who exceptionally defines the term liveliness, see Saint-Évremond, “Reflections Upon the French Translators,” Miscellaneous Essays (London, 1692; first pub. 1663), pp. 174-88. Saint-Évremond dislikes Aeneas, thinking him too pious, unlike a soldier. He says of characterization, “I find those of Homer as enlivening, as those of Virgil are flat and insipid” (p. 187). These ideas are not new: Sperone Speroni compares Virgil to Titian, saying that both lack imagination; and Castelvetro, paralleling Speroni’s ideas, compares Michelangelo and Homer, both of whom have greater genius; see Hathaway, The Age of Criticism, pp. 196-97.

SEVEN. Social Correctness and Taste

1. See Sir George Clark, The Seventeenth Century (New York: Oxford University Press, 1970).

2. In Critical Essays of the Seventeenth Century, ed. Joel Spingarn (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1963; first pub. 1908), II, p. 112.

3. See Dryden, “Defense of the Epilogue: Or an Essay on the Dramatic Poetry of the Last Age” (1673), in Of Dramatic Poesy and Other Critical Essays, ed. George Watson (New York: Everyman, 1962), I, pp. 169-83.

4. John Dryden, the most important critic and writer of the time, probably has more in common with the Frenchman Nicholas Boileau than he does, for example, with John Bunyan. The close relationship with the French also is true for other important writers connected with the court, such as John Wilmot and Sir George Etherege.

5. Dryden gives us the arguments for French drama in the “Essay of Dramatic Poesy” (1668), in Watson, I.

6. It is interesting to note how rapidly the French critics grew away from the Italians and came to rely on a rationality they thought of as their own. A. F. B. Clark, in Boileau and the French Classical Critics in England: 1660-1830 (Paris: E. Champion, 1925), points out the French anti-Italian tendency (p. 337) and says that Nicholas Boileau’s (1636-1711) contempt for Italian literature has its source in utter ignorance (p. 338). Earlier attitudes are different: Jean-Louis Guéz de Balzac (1597-1654), from the preceding generation and one of the original forty of the French Academy, sounds like a member of the English Restoration court talking about Frenchmen: “I extreamly approve your stay in Italy [to Jean Frederich Gronovius], and the desire you had to understand and observe the deportment of the most rationall people of the world” (letter of 1 October 1640); see Choise [or Choyce] Letters (London, 1658), p. 219. For the importance and complexity of Italian thought, see Baxter Hathaway, The Age of Criticism (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1962); and Marvels and Commonplaces (New York: Random House, 1968); Joel Spingarn, Literary Criticism in the Renaissance (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1963; first pub. 1899); and Bernard Weinberg, A History of Literary Criticism in the Italian Renaissance (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961).

7. Stephen Wren, Parentalia: Or the Memoirs of the Family of Wrens (London, 1750), p. 202.

8. Roger Des Piles, The Principles of Painting, Translated by “A Painter” (London, 1743), pp. 297-300.

9. Oliver Millar, “Charles II and the Arts,” The Age of Charles II (London: Royal Academy of Arts, 1960), p. ix. Millar comes to this conclusion after noting that “the magnificent exhibition at the Royal Academy last winter [on the tercentenary of May 1660] showed how eagerly Italian pictures were bought and commissioned by English collectors in the age of Charles II” (ibid.). Charles II even commissioned Benedetto Gennaro to paint portraits of his mistresses and bastards as the Madonna and Child or John the Baptist (p. v). The court was decidedly secular. See also Oliver Millar, “Painting and the Age of Charles II,” Connoisseur 147 (1961): 3-7; he argues that painting in England during the reigns of Charles II and James II, although not at a very high level, is in a formative period (p. 7).

10. The treatment of the madrigal in England resulted in the nationalization of an Italian style; see Gustave Reese, Music in the Renaissance (New York: Norton, 1964), pp. 815 ff. E. D. Mackerness, in A Social History of English Music (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1964), says that the musical interchange between England and France started in 1471. He thinks that “from this period the status of English minstrels declined” (p. 52), but he also says that the golden age of English music is 1570-1645 (p. 60). Rosamond Tuve also says the Renaissance English adapted Italian techniques to their own purposes; see R. Tuve, “Sacred Parody of Love Poetry and Herbert,” Studies in the Renaissance 8 (1961): 249-90. See also Paula Johnson, Form and Transformation in Music and Poetry of the English Renaissance (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1972). After 1580, she says, Italian madrigals took England by storm (p. 132) and she points out that Yonge’s Musica transalpina (1558) and Thomas Morley’s adaptations of Italian ballets and canzonets from 1593 urged English composers to compose secular music (that is, music to raise the passions). Note, however, that even in Shakespeare there are social classifications as to who sings or likes what music. In Twelfth Night, Sir Toby Belch is not as sophisticated as Olivia or Duke Orsino. In The Winter’s Tale, it is the country rogue and swindler Antolycus who shows us his lack of the highest discriminating powers and also his penchant for “country” music. See also Mackerness, A Social History of English Music. Gretchen Finney, Musical Backgrounds for English Literature: 1580-1650 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, n.d.), says that the decline in English instrumental music from 1600 on in large part results from the importance of words (p. 136); but this explanation covers only a small part of that development.

11. The first exception occurs in the last act of King Arthur (1691), “Harvest Home,” in which stout English yeomen are presented as a part of the panoply of English life. The other is the rather risqué song “As Alexis Lay Pres’t” in Marriage à la Mode (1673): here the song is presented as Italian.

12. See Joseph Addison, The Spectator (No. 18, 21 March 1711; No. 19, 22 March 1711; No. 314, 29 February 1712). The ironic part about French taste in music and dance is that it was catered to, and further developed, mainly by Jean-Baptiste Lully, a Florentine. In other words, French music was not overcome by Italian, and the kind of music written by Lully determines to a great extent the style of Rameau (in the next century). Lully, who wrote for all classes of French people (see Robert Isherwood, Music in the Service of the King [Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1973], p. 194), catered to the French preference for the dance and for simple melodic lines, which also corresponded to the tastes of Louis XIV. In England, the distance between the court and the general population was too great, especially since the court’s tastes had been molded on the Continent. Of all the countries in Europe, only France resisted Italian music. Mazarin’s introduction of Italian opera in the 1640s failed miserably. The French had enough self-confidence in their own tastes to turn elsewhere. Isherwood (p. 134) gives us reasons. They disliked another language, and they found the recitative and the florid arias disorderly, unbalanced, and boring. They disliked the irrational absurdities of Italian opera, preferring ballet and uncontaminated classical drama. Their own operas, subsequently, are combinations of ballet and classical drama. Lully’s Ballet de la raillerie (1659) is even a dialogue, a debate, between French and Italian music (see Isherwood, p. 131).

13. See Edward Dent, The Foundations of English Opera (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1928). Dent states that Purcell and Blow really pave the way for English operatic composers, but no one is able to follow them; he says that Blow’s Venus and Adonis (ca. 1685) is a real opera and a good work for the stage, albeit a chamber opera. Dent says further that Henry Purcell’s Dido and Aeneas (1689-90), although it has strong Italian influences (pp. 180-88), is decidedly English and is the only real opera Purcell ever wrote (p. 188). It is difficult, however, to assess exactly what Dent means by real opera because later he says King Arthur (1691) is a classic example of an English opera (p. 215). Anthony Lewis echoes the importance of Purcell and Blow in “Purcell and Blow’s ‘Venus and Adonis’” Music and Letters 44 (1963): 266. Dent’s idea is supported by Stoddard Lincoln, who says that opera sung all in Italian first came to England in 1705, that Thomas Clayton wrote the recitative in English for Arsinoe (1705), and that no Englishman wrote music for opera thereafter until John C. Smith did The Fairies (London, 1755); see Stoddard Lincoln, “The First Setting of Congreve’s Semele” Music and Letters 44 (1963): 103.

14. John Dryden, Preface to Albion and Albanius (1685), in Watson, II, p. 39; Dent thinks the Preface an important contribution to the development of English opera (p. 161).

15. Dent has nothing good to say about Louis Grabu. He ascribes the failure of Albion and Albanius to him and then proves him incompetent by analyzing the text and by citing contemporary critics’ opinions of his music. Purcell and Blow apparently have nothing good to say about him either (see pp. 161, 165 ff).

16. See Henry Purcell, Sonnatas of III Parts (London, 1683); the unsigned Preface even explains certain “Italian Terms of Art.”

17. Only occasionally does traditional English music appear in sophisticated art, as in John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera; but Gay is writing a conscious parody of the prevailing musical art form, Italian opera. For a survey of patronage and the arts, see Michael Foss, The Age of Patronage (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1972).

18. See Mackerness, A Social History of English Music, p. 84. F. B. Zimmerman also says that English music succumbs to the Italian invasion and that English music dies; see Franklin B. Zimmerman, “Sound and Sense in Purcell’s Single Songs,” Words to Music (Publication of the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library, University of California, Los Angeles, 1967), p. 78. Arthur Hutchings presents supporting evidence. In his article “The Seventeenth-Century Music in the Durham Cathedral Library,” Durham University journal 56 (1963-64): 23-30, he points out that from 1630 to 1690, and later, the music in the Durham Cathedral Library is represented only by the kind played by provincial amateurs (p. 25).

19. George Etherege, in “Letter to Mr. Jepson (1687-88), The Letterbook of Sir George Etherege, ed. Sybil Rosenfeld (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1928), pp. 336-39, says: “Though I have given over writing plays I should be glad to read a good one, wherefore let Will. Richards send me Mr. Shadwell’s when it is printed [The Squire of Alsatia,1668], that I may know what follies are in fashion. The fops I know are grown stale, and he is likely to pick up the best collections of new ones.” For other seventeenth-century evidence of Shadwell’s realism, see John Wilmot, earl of Rochester, “Horace, The Tenth Satyr or the First Book,” Poems, ed. Vivian de Sola Pinto (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1953), ll. 44-47:

See also Peter Motteaux, The Gentleman’s journal or the Monthly Miscellany, November 1692, p. 21. For twentieth-century evidence, see Albert S. Borgman, Thomas Shadwell: His Life and His Comedies (New York: New York University Press, 1928); Russell J. Smith, “Shadwell’s Impact upon Dryden,” Review of English Studies 200 (1944): 29-44; P. F. Vernon, “Social Satire in Shadwell’s Timon,” Studia Neophilologica 35 (1963): 221-26; and Gunnar Sorelius, “Shadwell Deviating into Sense,” Studia Neophilologica 36 (1964): 232-44. For Shadwell’s explicit interest in music, see John Dryden, “Mac Flecknoe,” in The Poetical Works of John Dryden, ed. George R. Noyes (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1950), p. 137, ll. 209-10; see also Thomas Shadwell, “To Sir Charles Sidney,” in “The Tenth Satyr of Juvenal,” in The Complete Works of Thomas Shadwell, ed. Montague Summers, 5 vols. (London: Fortune Press, 1927), pp. 291-94. Edward Dent in The Foundations of English Opera has much to say about Shadwell’s ability. He is a musician and a composer who shows his knowledge of music in his Psyche (1673), an imitation of the French Psyche (1671) by Molière, Quinault, and Lully. Dent says that the first part is all Shadwell and that the play, machines, and music are all of a piece (p. 115). In typical Shadwellian fashion, however, the excellence starts to break down. Dent says that toward the end Shadwell borrows more from Molière, and the whole performance becomes “scrappy” (p. 115); for extensive general comments on Shadwell’s musicianship, see Dent’s listings in his Index.

20. See Isherwood, p. 138. French public dancing was modeled on Louis XIV’s own practices; from his youth, until he lost his agility, he danced many performances (see Isherwood, pp. 136 ff.). Performing in public was not the sort of thing done in England.

21. The question of the violins is interesting. They were a new kind, like modern violins, complete with bridge. The older kind have a melodious sound but lack the potential virtuosity. They are what we correctly call fiddles, and in the following pages when fiddlers are mentioned they are using the older kind of violins. Versions of the older kind are still used in rural areas, for instance, in Norwegian folk music. Thomas Mace, the rather old-fashioned English musical theorist, disapproves in Musick’s Monument (London, 1672) of the “new fangled” violins as well as of modern Italian music; see also Hutchings, “The Seventeenth-Century Music in Durham Cathedral Library,” p. 26; see also Mackerness, A Social History of English Music, p. 85. Jean-Baptiste Lully ran Louis XIV’s violinists with an iron hand, making them play with precision. Louis’s violinists were important and innovative primarily because of their discipline; whereas Italian violinists usually improvised and embellished as they saw fit.

22. Jeremy Collier, “Of Music,” Essays Upon Several Moral Subjects (London, 1697), p. 19.

23. Thomas Shadwell, Complete Works , ed. Montague Summers (London: Fortune Press, 1927), IV, p. 329.

24. A shawm, an obsolete instrument apparently like a primitive oboe, had a double reed and probably a similar, albeit cruder, sound; a bandore is an instrument similar to a lute but with only three strings.

25. See also Sir Philip Sidney’s comments on “Chevy Chase” in his “Apology for Poetry” (1595), in Criticism: The Major Texts, ed. Walter J. Bate (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1972), p. 94; Joseph Addison, The Spectator (No. 70, 21 May 1711; No. 74, 25 May 1711).

26. See Donald Wing, Short Title Catalogue of Books Published in England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, and British America, and of English Books Printed in Other Countries: 1641-1700 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1945), and A Gallery of Ghosts: Books Published between 1641-1700 Not Found in the Short Title Catalogue (New York: Modern Language Assoc. of America, 1967); in these volumes he lists seventy-two editions of various books by John Playford alone, thirteen by Henry Purcell, and twenty-one by Henry Playford.

27. See John Dryden’s portrait of Og (Shadwell) in “Absolom and Achitophel, Part II,” in The Poetical Works of Dryden, ed. George R. Noyes (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1950), pp. 143-44, ll. 457-509.

28. Dryden, Preface to the Fables (1700), in Watson, II, p. 281.

29. Ibid., pp. 284 ff.; Dryden is very fond of Chaucer and rates him higher than Ovid; see below for the association of Scottish, Irish, and English country music.

30. Samuel Pepys, Diary, ed. Mynors Bright (London: Everyman, 1953), III, p. 293 (23 October 1668). Thetford is in Norfolk; its musicians apparently were well known in this period. Note Sir Humphrey Noddy’s reference (Shadwell, Complete Works, IV, p. 329). The Thetford fiddlers were country musicians playing English fiddles and would have been unfamiliar, except indirectly, with London sophistication in music and instrumentation.

31. Pepys, Diary, I, p. 114 (20 November 1660). Singleton is a well-known English musician; note Sir Humphrey Noddy’s reference to him (Shadwell, Complete Works, IV, p. 329).

32. Sidney, “Apology for Poetry” (1595), p. 94; Addison, The Spectator (Nos. 70, 74).

33. See Sir Wilful Witwoud’s English drinking song in The Way of the World (IV, i, 435-97); see also Dryden’s liking for Scottish tunes (which he parallels with his liking for Chaucer) in Preface to the Fables (1700), in Watson, II, p. 281. See also Sidney’s and Addison’s liking of “The Ballad of Chevy Chase”: Sidney, “Apology for Poetry” (1595); Addison, The Spectator (Nos. 70, 74). Addison tries to justify the poem by equating it with the work of Virgil, the epitome of correctness and judgment.

34. See Philip Bate, The Trumpet and Trombone (New York: Norton, 1966), p. 109.

35. Watson, II, p. 161; the issues of imagination and judgment are laid out in Dryden’s “Essay of Dramatic Poesy” (1668), in Watson, I, pp. 18-92.

36. Ibid., p. 160 (1693).

37. See, for example, Sir William Temple, “Of Poetry,” in Spingarn, III, pp. 103-104; John Dennis, “The Impartial Critic,” in Spingarn, III, pp. 196-97.

38. Watson, I, pp. 243-61. Michael Murrin, in The Veil of Allegory: Some Notes toward a Theory of Allegorical Rhetoric in the English Renaissance (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969), points out that you cannot expect poetry that is allegorical to be unified, whether the medium is drama or something else, in action (plot) the way Aristotle says it should be in his Poetics (p. 73); see Aristotle, Poetics, trans. Leon Golden (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1968), pp. 15-16.

39. The change from an expression of universal truths to the raising of local emotions in regard to depictions of Antony and Cleopatra leads fairly evenly to Giambattista Tiepolo’s fashionable, elegant paintings and drawings of the two lovers; for the location of his paintings, see Everett Fahy, “Tiepolo’s Meeting of Antony and Cleopatra,” Burlington Magazine 113 (1971): 736-39; on music, see Robert Wienpahl, “Modality, Monality and Tonality in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries,” Music and Letters 52, no. 4 (1971): 407-17.

40. Arnold Hauser, The Social History of Art: Renaissance, Mannerism, Baroque (New York: Random House, n.d.; first pub. 1951), II, p. 200.

41. Finney, p. 158. She quotes William Wotton’s “Reflections Upon Ancient and Modern Learning” (1694; in Spingarn, III, pp. 329-33): “Music is a physico-natural science. ... Its great end ... is to please the audience” (p. 157). She also says that the change from harmony divorced science from everyday understanding of the universe and life (p. 46; see also p. 138). This is a profound statement about a shift in beliefs that affected poetry and painting as well and was reflected in all people in all walks of life. The shift to a reliance on the senses and away from a feeling of participation in the harmony of the cosmos is still going on.

42. Douglas Bush, The Renaissance and English Humanism (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1939), p. 72. The problem is not one of whether there is Neoplatonism in this period, it is rather where and to what extent. And when we speak of extent, we mean a great extent. Thomism, for example, is present both actively and latently. After all, Hooker is an important thinker. Yet we do not consider Thomistic philosophy one of the important movements of the period, and it comes as quite a shock to see a drawing such as the one by Giuseppe Passeri (1654-1714) entitled The Triumph of St. Thomas Aquinas, an allegorical depiction of St. Thomas vanquishing philosophical and theological opponents of himself and the church; see Anthony Blunt and Hereward Lester Cooke, Roman Drawings at Windsor Castle (London: Phaidon, 1960), plate 62; for information on several facets of Neoplatonism, see also Arthur E. Waite, The Secret Tradition in Alchemy (London: Stuart and Watkins, 1969); The Hermetic Museum (twenty-two celebrated chemical tracts translated from the Latin of 1678) (London, 1893); and Murrin, The Veil of Allegory, especially his discussion of Henry Reynolds’s “Mythomystes” (1632).

43. See, for example, Robert Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy (1621), ed. F. Dell and P. Jordan Smith (New York: Tudor Publishing Co., 1948), pp. 113, 620-24, 660, 710-11. For excellent studies of the extensiveness of seventeenth-century Neoplatonic thought, see Frances Yates, Theatre of the World (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969). There is much in her book on Robert Fludd and Inigo Jones and on others. She also has other books: Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964) and The Art of Memory (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1966). See also Finney, Musical Backgrounds, and Isherwood, Music in the Service of the King. Isherwood often uses the work of Frances Yates but also develops extensively Neoplatonic backgrounds for music in France in the first part of his book. See also Elumed Crawshaw, “Hermetic Elements in Donne’s Poetic Vision,” in John Donne: Essays in Celebration, ed. A. J. Smith (London: Methuen, 1972), pp. 324-48; and Murrin, The Veil of Allegory, in which he talks at some length about Henry Reynolds’s “Mythomystes” (1632), which appears in Spingarn, I. It is interesting to note that Antoine Arnauld, in The Art of Thinking (1662), trans. James Dickoff and Patricia James (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1964), spends a comparatively larger amount of space disparaging Robert Fludd, Paracelsus, and van Helmont, among others (see, for example, pp. 25, 88), than he does Thomas Hobbes or Gassendi (see, for example, p. 256). One can conclude only that Neoplatonic thought seemed important enough to argue against. There are also translations of many, many books in the period, such as Giambattista della Porta’s Natural Magick, into English in 1658 (first pub. Naples, 1558). For an interesting but partial account of Renaissance Neoplatonism, see Emanuel Winternitz, Musical Instruments and Their Symbolism in Western Art (New York: Norton, 1967). In his Chapter IX, “Quatrocento Science in the Gubbio Study,” he discusses harmonic proportions and the great library of Federigo da Montefeltro. He notes the connections of Raphael and the great English Neoplatonist and mathematician John Dee to this center of learning. See also Winternitz’s Chapter XIII: “Muses and Music in a Burial Chapel: An Interpretation of Filippino Lippi’s Window Wall in the Capella Strozzi.”

44. Collier, Essays Upon Several Moral Subjects (London, 1697), pp. 17, 19-25; see also Arnauld, The Art of Thinking (1662), pp. 293, 295, 296, 319; see also René Descartes, Discourse on Method (1637), trans. F. E. Sutcliffe (Baltimore, Penguin, 1968), p. 58. Descartes, of course, does not believe like Hobbes that the soul of animals is like our own (p. 76), saying, “We perceive bodies only by the understanding that is in us, and not by the imagination, or the senses, . . . but only because we conceive them in thought” (p. 112). Yet, as the Cambridge Platonists finally perceive, the Cartesian separation of imagination from the perception of truth (imagination cannot conceive of truth, p. 106) reduces man to scientific contemplation of the phenomenal world, to a disbelief in absolutes of goodness, and so on, leading to the relativism we have inherited from seventeenth-century skeptical thought.

45. See Dryden’s “Essay of Dramatic Poesy” (1668), in Watson, I, pp. 10-92, for the best marshaling of arguments and counterarguments about the relative excellence of English, French, and ancient drama.

46. Clark, Boileau and the French Classical Critics in England, p. 232.

EIGHT. Continental Pressures and the
English National Culture

1. Douglas Bush in The Renaissance and English Humanism (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1939) affirms the international quality of ideas. We see this quality also in the international reliance on rhetoric and theories of the mind. Coeffeteau’s ideas in A Table of Humane Passions (1614) are the same as Burton’s in The Anatomy of Melancholy (1621), to name only two examples among many.

2. Pierre Legouis, “Corneille and Dryden as Literary Critics,” Seventeenth Century Studies Presented to . . . Sir Herbert Grierson (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1938), p. 287.

3. See Donald Wing, Short Title Catalogue of Books Published in England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, and British America, and of English Books Printed in Other Countries: 1641-1700 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1945), and A Gallery of Ghosts: Books Published between 1641-1700 Not Found in the Short Title Catalogue (New York: Modern Language Assoc. of America, 1967). Roland Fréart de Chambray, 2; Pierre Le Muet, 1; Vitruvius, 1; Sebastian Serlio, 1; Vincenzo Scamozzi, 4; Andrea Palladio, 6; and Giacom Barozzi, 2. William A. Gibson, “Literary Influences on the Early Architectural Theory of Robert Morris” (Paper delivered at the Midwest Modern Language Association Meeting, Detroit, 4-6 November 1971), lists other translations: Joannes Blum’s Quinque colummarum (Zurich, 1550; also 1608, 1635, 1660, 1668, and 1677); Vignola’s treatise on the five orders (1655, 1665, 1669, 1673, 1676, and 1694); Jean Barbet (1670); Julien Mauclerc’s abridged Vitruvius (1669, 1676, and 1699); and other works by Englishmen based on Continental treatises. Gibson, in this informative essay, points out that “the publication of comparatively sophisticated books on architecture coincided quite closely with the beginnings of the Palladian revival around 1715.”

4. See Wing, Short Title Catalogue and A Gallery of Ghosts. Roland Fréart de Chambray, 1; Charles Le Brun, 1; Andrea Pozzo, 1; an anonymous publication called “The Judgment of Hercules” (1641); and Charles Alphonse Du Fresnoy, 2.

5. See Wing, Short Title Catalogue and A Gallery of Ghosts. There are 4 editions of Charron’s De la sagesse; 6 of Jean-Louis Guéz de Balzac’s Lettres and Aristippus; 12 of various works by Descartes; 10 of Fontenelle; 10 of Gassendi; 13 of Paul Scarron; 18 of Madeleine de Scudéry; 7 of Charles Sorel; 9 of Saint-Évremond; and 23 of various works by René Rapin, only 2 of them religious. Besides, there are large numbers of other editions by writers such as Antoine Arnauld (9), d’Aubignac (1), René Le Bossu (1), Françoise Perrault (9), Jean Prechac (9), Nicholas Malebranche (7), Françoise duc de La Rochefoucauld (4), La Calprenède (21), Boileau (4), Bossuet (13), Bouhours (9), François Breval (16), Philippe de Comine (3), and many others on all subjects. See also Alexandre Maurocordato, Le Critique classique en Angleterre de la Restauration à la mord de Joseph Addison (Paris: Didier, 1964); A. F. B. Clark, Boileau and the French Classical Critics in England: 1660-1830 (Paris: E. Champion, 1925); and Louis Charlanne, L’Influence française en Angleterre au xvii^e siècle (Paris: Société Française, 1906).

6. See by John M. Aden, “Dryden and Boileau: The Question of Critical Influence,” SP 50 (1953): 491-509, and “Dryden, Corneille, and the Essay of Dramatic Poesy,” RES n.s. 6 (1955): 147-56; Legouis, “Corneille and Dryden as Literary Critics,” pp. 269-91; Arthur C. Kirsch, Dryden’s Heroic Drama (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1965); and H. James Jensen, “Sublime” and “Admiration,” A Glossary of John Dryden’s Critical Terms (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1969), pp. 20-21, 111-12.

7. In Critical Essays of the Seventeenth Century, ed. Joel Spingarn (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1963; first pub. 1968), I, p. 139. A Rugge-gowne is an outer garment made of a sort of coarse frieze, a rough, woolen material in common use. Obviously, it is not smooth, elegant, or fashionable.

8. For an opposing view of the spider and wit, see Jonathan Swift, “A Full and True Account of the Battel Fought Last Friday Between the Antient and the Modern Books in St. James Library” (1710), in A Tale of a Tub with Other Early Works: 1696-1707, ed. Herbert Davis (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1939), pp. 147-50. Swift introduces a spider who spins material out of himself, and his own poison, as a writer uses his own imagination. The whole passage denigrates the use of imagination instead of judgment and learning. Swift says, “Which is the nobler being of the two, that which by a lazy contemplation of four inches round, by an overweening pride, feeding and engendering on itself, turns all into excrement and venom, produces nothing at last, but flybane and cobweb; or that which, by an universal range, with long search, much study, true judgment, and distinction of things, brings home honey and wax” (pp. 149-50). The tendency to play down imagination and to elevate the understanding is very strong in Swift, as it is in many others.

9. Sir William Davenant, Preface to Gondibert, in Spingarn, II, pp. 20-21.

10. John Dryden, “An Account of the Ensuing Poem ... : Prefixed to Annus Mirabilis, The Year of Wonders, 1666,” in Of Dramatic Poesy and Other Critical Essays, ed. George Watson (New York: Everyman, 1962), I, p. 98.

11. Ibid., p. 167.

12. For explanations of other problems concerning Dryden’s critical vocabulary, see Jensen, Introduction and text of Glossary. See Émile Littré, Dictionnaire de la langue française, ed. Jean-Jacques Pauvert (Paris: Pauvert, 1956-58).

13. See Jensen, Glossary, pp. 5, 112-13; Nicholas Boileau, Oeuvres complètes, ed. A. Charles Gidel (Paris, 1873), IV, p. 141.

14. Gaston Cayrou, Le Français classique (Paris: Didier, 1924), p. 437; see also Jensen, Glossary, pp. 54-55, for a discussion of other words Dryden uses with French meanings, see Jensen, Introduction, Glossary, pp. 5-9, and words such as spirit (p. 110), genius (pp. 54-55), and sublime (pp. 111-12); for a discussion of other terms, see Barbara Strang, “Dryden’s Innovations in Critical Vocabulary,” Durham University Journal n.s. 3 (June 1959): 114-23; see also E. A. Horsman, “Dryden’s French Borrowings,” RES n.s. 1 (1950): 346-51; for a complete discussion of Dryden’s criticism, see Robert D. Hume, Dryden’s Criticism (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1970).

15. See Samuel H. Monk, The Sublime (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1960; first pub. 1935), chap. I on history of usage. He says, “Boileau’s translation was the turning point of Longinus’ reputation in England and France” (p. 21). That is undoubtedly true. Yet, there are no English comments before Boileau such as this one by Jean-Louis Guéz de Balzac: “The first discourse that I sent you of eloquence, shall be suddainly followed with a second, wherein I speak of the critick Longinus, and of his treatise Peri Hupsous, whereof the severall parts deserve consideration. ’Tis a subject wherewith I am much affected, and have great inclination to it in my fancy . . .” (Familiar Letters [London, 1654?]), Book VI, pp. 148-49 (letter of 12 March 1641). Balzac, as well as earlier Italian critics, knows the Peri Hupsous (On the Sublime) in a way unknown to the English of that time.

16. Sir Philip Sidney actually uses diction much earlier in his “apology for Poetry” (1595), in Criticism: The Major Works, ed. Walter J. Bate (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1972), but it never comes into common use; see Jensen, Glossary.

17. See Watson, II, p. 159 (1693).

18. Ibid., p. 178 (1694).

19. Ibid., I, pp. 209, 211, 218 (all 1677); ibid., II, pp. 48 (1690), 178 (1699), 272 (1700).

20. Charles Ward, ed. The Letters of John Dryden (Durham: University of North Carolina Press, 1942), pp. 13-14 (letter no. 6, “To Dorset”). Sometimes, we may conjecture that when Dryden addresses Dorset he expresses himself according to what he thinks Dorset wants to hear rather than tells the truth of what he thinks, whether in jest or otherwise; see, for example, “A Discourse Concerning Satire,” in Watson, II, pp. 79-82, in which Dryden, addressing himself to Dorset, places him on a level with Shakespeare and the greatest writers of antiquity.

21. See Spingarn, III, pp. 149, 152, 161, 166, 167, 176, 179, 180, 181, 196-97.

22. Spingarn notes Blackmore echoes Rymer; ibid., III, pp. 227, 229, 333.

23. Joseph Spence, Observations, Anecdotes, and Characters of Books and Men, ed. James M. Osborn, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), I, p. 205.

24. Rymer has only twelve editions of his works listed in Wing’s Short Title Catalogue and A Gallery of Ghosts, while Dryden has ten columns (three pages).

25. Adrien Baillet, Jugemens des savans sur les principaux ouvrages des auteurs, revised, corrected, and augmented by M. de La Monnoyne, 9 vols. (Paris, 1722; first pub. 1685-86).

26. In Thomas Blount, De re poetica (London, 1694), Rapin is cited 88 times, Dryden 83; then come Vossius (35), Julius Caesar Scaliger (34), Borrichius (31), Joseph Scaliger (26), and Rymer (24). After Rymer, Giraldus (18), Quintilian (17), Boileau (14), John Sheffield, earl of Mulgrave (14), Lipsius (13), Sir William Temple (12), Barthius (11), Erasmus (9), Cowley (9), Cicero (8), and then too many to enumerate. One hundred twenty-two English critics are mentioned two times or more (besides Dryden and Rymer).

27. Sir William Soames, “The Art of Poetry,” in The Poetical Works of Dryden, ed. George R. Noyes (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1950; first pub. 1909), pp. 916-25, ll. 115-20, 131-32, 822-26. Boileau’s original was first published in 1674; Soames’s translation (ca. 1680) was published in 1683. It does not matter to us whether Dryden revised Soames’s work. The same kind of conflict exists among English architects. Viktor Fuerst comments that Christopher Wren had to reconcile his heart and reason (p. 176), that “Baroque splendor is anti-pathetic to the rationalism which underlies Wren’s thought and age” (Viktor Fuerst, The Architecture of Sir Christopher Wren [London: Lund Humphries, 1956]). Wren, just as Dryden, was educated at Westminster by Dr. Busby (Wren: 1641-46; Dryden: 1644-49). Both indicated an interest in science. Wren was an astronomer, a mathematician; Dryden was an original member of the Royal Society. A parallel study of the work of such great English artists might possibly be interesting. See Kerry Downes, Christopher Wren (London: Allen Lane, 1971); Charles E. Ward, The Life of John Dryden (Chapel Hill, N.C.: University of North Carolina Press, 1961).

28. See Gerald Cragg, ed., The Cambridge Platonists (New York: Oxford University Press, 1968).

29. See John Dennis, Critical Works, ed. E. N. Hooker, 2 vols. (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1939-43).

30. See Meric Casaubon, Treatise Concerning Enthusiasm (London, 1655).

31. Charles de Saint-Évremond, “Of the English Comedy,” Miscellanea, trans. Ferrand Spence (London, 1686), p. 32.

32. But curiously enough, the English word humour changes to mean something more superficial than the inner reality of a human being. We can see this transformation in the changing meanings of the word. Dryden probably borrowed his meanings of humour from earlier English and French writers, and one can trace its development as a critical term through his use. Dryden starts by using humour to mean temperament, which agrees with the French usage (see Cayrou, Le Français classique, pp. 472-74; see also Jensen, Glossary, pp. 60-61) and then expands it to mean an overriding whim, a jest, a mood, or an extravagant habit. These are the common Restoration usages. In good satire, a humour and its depiction become more important than the character who displays it. A character thus literally displayed becomes a humour. It is an easy step to designate the kind of comedy that represents humours as “comedy of humours,” sometimes called “mechanic comedy” (when a low class of people, artisans or mechanics, is represented). Dryden’s last meaning is the expanded English connotation, which is recognized as different from the French.

33. Sir William Temple, “Of Poetry,” in Spingarn, III, p. 103.

34. Spingarn points out that the idea is repeated “by Congreve (1696) and many others from the 144^th Guardian in 1713 to Blair’s Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres in 1783” (III, p. 311).

35. Saint-Évremond, Miscellanea (London, 1686), p. 39; note his use of justness; see Dryden’s definition of a play as “a just and lively image of human nature,” in Watson, I, p. 25; lively is an important word, linked to the importance of the passions and the imagination.

36. Spingarn, III, p. 311; see also E. B. O. Borgerhoff, The Freedom of French Classicism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1950).

37. Charles de Saint-Évremond, “Taste and Judgment,” Miscellaneous Essays, Translated by Several Hands, 2 vols. (London, 1692-94; first pub. 1686), I (1692), pp. 192-93.

38. Dryden, “Essay of Dramatic Poesy” (1668), in Watson, I, p. 64.

NINE. Comparisons of the Arts

1. For general works on ut pictura poesis, see Jean Hagstrum, The Sister Arts (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1958); Rensselaer Lee, “Ut Pictura Poesis: The Humanistic Theory of Painting,” Art Bulletin 22 (December 1940): 197-269; and Luigi Salerno, “Seventeenth Century Literature on Painting,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 14 (1951): 234-58. For an excellent later treatment of the subject, see John Bender, Spenser and Literary Pictorialism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972).

2. See Hagstrum, The Sister Arts, pp. 102, 236; Edmund Waller, “Instructions to a Painter,” in The Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham (Edinburgh: James Nichol, 1862), pp. 82-92.

3. G. H. Lessing, Laocoön, trans. E. A. McCormick (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1962; first pub. 1766), pp. 4, 5; Shaftesbury, “Notion of the Historical Draught or Tablature of the Judgment of Hercules” (1713), in A Documentary History of Art, ed. Elizabeth Holt (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1958).

4. Lessing, p. 78.

5. Ibid., p. 28.

6. See Paula Johnson, Form and Transformation in Music and Poetry of the English Renaissance (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1972), p. 1; see also E. H. Gombrich, “Moment and Movement in Art,” Journal of the Warhurg and Courtauld Institutes 27 (1964): 293-306; Victor Zuckerkandl, Sound and Symbol: Music and the External World, trans. W. R. Trask (New York: Pantheon Books, 1956); and Joseph Frank, “Spatial Form in Modern Literature,” The Widening Gyre (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1963), pp. 3-62.

7. Gerard LeCoat, “Comparative Aspects of the Theory of Expression in the Baroque Age,” Eighteenth Century Studies 5, (Winter 1971): 223.

8. James Merriman, in “The Parallel of the Arts: Some Misgivings and a Faint Affirmation,” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 31 (1972): 153-64, 310-21, says that rhetorical analysis is a real possibility (p. 312), although he is skeptical of parallels; he argues that there is too much subjective theorizing in parallels (p. 155).

9. Roger Des Piles, in The Principles of Painting, Translated by “A Painter” (London, 1743), p. 273, says that poesy and painting assist each other; Robert Petersson, in The Art of Ecstasy: Teresa, Bernini, Crashaw (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1970) agrees. The use of pictorial allusions in the period has hardly been touched; see, for example, Laurel Brodsley, “Butlers Character of Hudibras and Contemporary Graphic Satire,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 35 (1972): 401-404.

10. St. Guillaume is in the Dresden Museum; St. Louis, in the Musée des Beaux-Arts, Rouen; see Yves Picart, La Vie et l’oeuvre de Simon Vouet (Paris: Cahiers de Paris, 1958), Part II, plates 14, 48.

11. Rubens’s Buckingham is in Lord Jersey’s Osterley Park with another with variations in the National Gallery, London; see Loan Exhibition of Forty-three Paintings by Rubens and Twenty-five Paintings by Van Dyck (Los Angeles: Los Angeles County Museum, 1946), plate 40; see also, for example, the Apothéose de Henri IV.

12. See John Charleton, The Banqueting House (London: Whitehall, 1964).

13. Aristotle defines part of what we are supposed to feel. Pity is “a sense of pain at what we take to be [what vividly strikes us as] an evil of a destructive or painful kind, which befalls one who does not deserve it, which we think ourselves or someone allied to us might likewise suffer, and when this possibility seems near at hand. In order to feel pity, one obviously must be the sort of man who will think that some evil may befall either himself or someone allied to him—an evil such as we have mentioned in our definition, either resembling it or equally momentous.” Aristotle then elaborates. See Aristotle, Rhetoric, ed. Lane Cooper (New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 1960; first pub. 1932), pp. 120-23. Nicholas D. Boileau, “L’Art poétique,” in Oeuvres, ed. Georges Mongrédien (Paris: Garnier Frères, 1961), p. 185, ll. 101-107 (Chant IV).

14. William Shakespeare, Complete Works (Baltimore: Penguin, 1969).

15. Ibid., Venus and Adonis (1593), ll. 1057-1168.

16. Ibid., Romeo and Juliet (1596), III, ii, 57-137.

17. Ibid., Antony and Cleopatra (1607), IV, xv, 63-94; there are other laments, of course, such as Desdemona’s, but these will suffice.

18. Jean Racine, Phèdre, trans. Oreste F. Pucciani (New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, n.d.), pp. 61-2, (V, v, 12-17).

19. In the Dole Museum; see Picart, La Vie et l’oeuvre de Simon Vouet, Part II.

20. See Henry Purcell, Orpheus Britannicus, 2 vols. (Ridgewood, N.J.: Gregg Press, 1965; facsimile of 1721 ed.), I, pp. 170-75; Coypel’s painting is in the Musée Fabre, Montpellier.

21. See Vincent Druckles and Franklin B. Zimmerman, Words to Music (Publication of William Andrews Clark Memorial Library, University of California, Los Angeles, 1967), p. 10; Sigismondo d’India (ca. 1582-1627), for example, wrote “Infelice Didone,” a “soliloquy of despair.”

22. Charles Le Brun, ed. Ministère d’État/Affaires Culturelles (Paris: Recherches et Réalizations Graphiques, 1963), pp. 80—81.

23. Robert Isherwood, Music in the Service of the King (Ithaca, N.Y. : Cornell University Press, 1973), p. 284.

24. Le Triomphe de Flora is analyzed in detail by André Félibien, Entretiens sur les vies et sur les ouvrages des plus excellens peintres anciens et modernes (Paris, 1666), IV, pp. 327 ff; this painting is in the Louvre, Paris.

25. Le Brun also has a sketch Le Triomphe de David (1668), complete with chariot, trumpets, and so on.

26. See Jennifer Fletcher, Peter Paul Rubens (London: Phaidon, 1968).

27. At the beginning of Act III.

28. Orpheus Britannicus, II, pp. 129-31, 73-75; George Villiers, The Rehearsal, in Plays of the Restoration and Eighteenth Century, ed. Dougald MacMillan and Howard M. Jones (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1959; first pub. 1931), p. 76.

29. See Euripides’ The Bacchae for most of the information on the ancient cult of Bacchus; see William Arrowsmith, trans., The Bacchae, Euripides, vol. 4 of The Complete Greek Tragedies (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1959), pp. 542-610.

30. See Chapter II for definitions of admiration and astonishment.

31. If works of art try to make their receptors irrational, it is not surprising that both religious and political institutions try to regulate artistic ends, to control art for the purposes of state and religion, to impose a seemingly rational, manmade order on the apparent chaos of nature. Such an attitude arose from materialistic thought, as the belief in an ultimately harmonious universe as parallel to an harmonious soul waned, and as the belief that art is to depict or to reflect that harmony declined. Louis XIV tried to regulate French art for his own political ends. The Catholic church of the Counter-Reformation also tried to do so when possible, but for religious ends: witness the trial of Paul Veronese before the Inquisition in 1573 for inserting unsuitable objects into his painting of The Feast in the House of Simon (which he altered to The Feast in the House of Levi to placate his accusers) and the painting of draperies over the nude figures in Michelangelo’s Last Judgment (which alterations took a period of years). See Anthony Blunt, Artistic Theory in Italy: 1450-1600, rev. ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1968), chap. VIII. The change of attitude toward the affections had been occurring for some time. Claude Palisca, in Baroque Music (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1968), p. 4, says, “One of the masques of the carnival of 1574 in Florence was even called ‘The Affections.’ “

32. As Addison says in The Spectator (No. 183, 29 September 1711), “Pallas is only another name for reason.”

33. See H. James Jensen, A Glossary of John Dryden’s Critical Terms (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1969), “Allegory.”

34. See also Andrea Pozzo’s study for the vault in Rome (in the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Antica). There are vaults and ceilings for the Baroque period in which other artists have also tried to achieve a sublime scope and magnitude. Pietro da Cortona, for instance, painted the ceiling of the Palazzo Barberini in Rome; Gaulli, the vault of II Gesu. In England, Antonio Verrio painted Catherine of Braganza as Britannia (ca. 1678) in the queen’s audience chamber at Windsor; it is less impressive than the other examples we have mentioned but still Verrio has striven for the same scope and effect. Sir James Thornhill (1675-1734) tried to paint scenes from the book of Revelation. See Robert Wark, Early British Drawings in the Huntington Collection: 1600-1750 (Huntington Library, Los Angeles, 1969). In France, Charles Le Brun, in Dieu dans sa gloire (1672-76), tries to achieve the same kind of effect that Andrea Pozzo does. We have already referred to works by Rubens such as his Last Judgment that achieve a similar effect. Jeffrey B. Spencer in Heroic Nature (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1973) says that Tiepolo also tries to show movement through limitless space (p. 19). Petersson in The Art of Ecstasy says that the vault of the Cornaro chapel, although smaller than that of Il Gesu or Sant’ Ignazio, gives “the same sense of endless spiritual ascent” (p. 64). “It is Teresa’s apotheosis” (p. 65). Petersson then tries to show the same kind of mounting effect in Crashaw’s poetry (p. 124).

35. I could also have used for comparison trumpet works by Dryden’s friend and protégé Henry Purcell, such as his “Voluntary for Two Trumpets in C” (which is only tentatively attributed to Purcell). Purcell wrote much music for trumpets, and the same kind of analysis of imagery and intent would hold for his work, as it would for Handel’s trumpet parts and numerous works by many other Baroque composers. The Vivaldi piece merely serves as a clear example, and there is no problem of attribution.

36. Walter Kolneder, Antonio Vivaldi, trans. B. Hopkins (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1970; first pub. 1965), pp. 85-87; see also Marc Pincherle, Vivaldi, trans. Christopher Hatch (New York: W. W. Norton, 1957; first pub. 1953).

37. Marin Mersenne, L’Harmonie universelle: contenant la théorie et la practique de la musique (Paris, 1636), Book II, p. 39.

38. For a brief discussion of expression in music, painting, and poetry, see LeCoat, pp. 221-23; see also Mersenne, chap. IX.

39. Earl Miner has explicated the sources and analogues of the poem in his book Dryden’s Poetry (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1967), pp. 274-85; and Bertrand Bronson has analyzed Handel’s setting of the ode in his essay “Some Aspects of Music and Literature,” Facets of the Enlightenment (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968), pp. 91-118; for the meanings of the instruments used in the poem (which show the history of the world through music), see Emanuel Winternitz, Musical Instruments and Their Symbolism in Western Art (New York: Norton, 1967).

40. John Milton, “At a Solemn Music,” in Poems, ed. James Holly Hanford (New York: Ronald Press, 1936), p. 101; see also Thomas Mace, Musick’s Monument (London, 1676), Book I, pp. 265-70, for a further explanation of the equation of harmony with God and his power.

41. Des Piles, Principles, p. 52.

42. Mace, Musick’s Monument, Book I, pp. 265-70.

43. Dryden, of course, knows more of Rubens than the ceiling at Whitehall; he mentions him (and Michelangelo) as a history painter in his “Parallel Betwixt Poetry and Painting,” in Of Dramatic Poesy and Other Critical Essays, ed. George Watson (New York: Everyman, 1962), II, 182. Jean Hagstrum mentions what he calls Dryden’s “spiritual” affinities with Rubens in The Sister Arts, p. 207. I suggest that these affinities have to do with a similarity of vision or imagery and intent and that they help illuminate Dryden’s poetry. Dryden also, no doubt, saw Roland Fréart, whose An Idea of the Perfection of Painting, trans. John Evelyn (London, 1668), has a whole section written on Michelangelo’s Last Judgment (pp. 74-80). For a good comparison of different artists whose works are not directly connected, see Petersson. There are no direct links among the three creative persons he discusses (Crashaw, Bernini, and St. Teresa) and their works. As Petersson says, “[The] resemblances . . . transcend differences of individual temperament, nationality, and artistic medium” (Introduction). Bernini, for example, uses literary themes, as Petersson points out; Crashaw uses allusions to visual art to enlarge the scope of his poetry.

44. See “Sound” in Jensen, Glossary, p. 109. Although the quality of organ making varied from country to country, Dryden’s organ imagery could be based on the tones of the magnificent Baroque organ, an instrument which after a long period of neglect, craftsmen and musicians have recently started to construct along seventeenth-and eighteenth-century lines. From modern imitations, we may conclude that the image is indeed impressive; see E. Power Biggs, “The King of Instruments Returns,” Horizon 2 (March 1960): 72-80.

45. John Milton, “On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity,” in The Poems of John Milton, ed. J. H. Hanford (New York: Ronald Press, 1936), p. 65.

46. Philip Bate, The Trumpet and Trombone (New York: Norton, 1966). Blow’s reference is in “Welcome every guest, welcome to the muses’ feast: Music is your only cheer” (John Blow, Amphion Anglicus [Ridgewood, N.J.: Gregg Press, 1965, facsimile of 1700 ed.], pp. 1-5); Blow goes through all the instruments, ending on the glorification of the trumpet.

47. See Don Smithers, “Seventeenth-Century English Trumpet Music,” Music and Letters 48 (1967): 358-65, for comments on two English trumpet players, William Bull and Mathias Shaw (or Shore or Show or Shoar).

48. See Mersenne, L’Harmonie universelle, Book III, pp. 247-61, for further corroboration; see also Daniel Speer, Grund-richtiger kurtz leicht unnothiger Unterricht de musicalischen kunst (Ulm, 1687); for perhaps the most complete work on the trumpet, see Bate, The Trumpet and Trombone; Smithers talks about English trumpets, trumpeters, and trumpet music in “Seventeenth-Century English Trumpet Music.” See also Don Smithers, The Music and History of the Baroque Trumpet before 1701 (London: J. M. Dent and Sons, 1973).

49. See Bate, The Trumpet and Trombone, p. 110.

50. See also Mersenne, L’Harmonie universelle, Book III, p. 261. Mersenne says what Dryden implies in his poem: “Trumpets prepare the hearts and spirits of soldiers for going to war, for mounting attacks, and for hand-to-hand fighting” [(Trumpets) preparoient le coeur et les esprits des soldats pour aller à la guerre, pour aller à l’assaut, et pour donner les combats]. Later, Mersenne talks about Judgment Day. Rubens also uses trumpets as a spur to violence in his Rape of the Sahines.

51. See Claude Perrault, Essais de physique, 3 vols. (Paris, 1680), II, pp. 149 ff.; see also pp. 337, 343.

52. See Raymond Cogniat, Seventeenth Century Painting (New York: Viking, 1964), plate 92.

53. See Jean-Baptiste Lully, Amadis tragédie (Paris, 1709), p. 54.

54. See Orpheus Britannicus, II, pp. 129-31: “Sound Fame thy Brazen Trumpet sound.”

55. Charles Le Brun, pp. 112-15.

56. The imagery available to painters, musicians, and poets, as we have seen, is located in a kind of pool of ideas, the use of which comes from invention (or discovery). In other words, images are a part of the topoi (equivalent to the rhetorical term; see Aristotle’s Rhetoric, Book II). These images can come from other works as well as from nature. Thus, as late as 1769, Sir Joshua Reynolds, in “Discourse Two,” Discourses on Art, ed. Stephen O. Mitchell (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1965), p. 16, can say, “The more extensive therefore your acquaintance is with the works of those who have excelled, the more extensive will be your powers of invention.”

57. Winternitz, although he does not deal with trumpets in his valuable book Musical Instruments and Their Symbolism in Western Art, points out how to tell if an artist is presenting a musical instrument naturalistically and also says that in the Renaissance and in the Baroque “it was the painters, above all, who availed themselves of the symbolic character of musical instruments” (p. 18); poets certainly did, too, not to mention composers. Winternitz has a chapter on functional and nonfunctional instruments that are depicted in painting (chap. XVI).

58. See Winternitz, chap. XI, “On Angel Concerts in the Fifteenth Century: A Critical Approach to Realism and Symbolism in Sacred Painting”; see also Reinhold Hammerstein, Die Musik der Engel, Untersuchungen zur Musikanshauung des Mittelalters (Bern: Francke Verlag, 1962).

59. Fréart de Chambray, p. 77; John Evelyn, the English translator, in his “To the Reader” disagrees with Fréart’s low appraisal of Michelangelo and rates him highest, higher even than Raphael; Bate answers most of the problems concerning the history of trumpet embouchures.

60. John Dryden, “The Hind and the Panther,” Part I, in The Poetical Works of Dryden, ed. George R. Noyes (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1950) p. 219 ll. 66-67; this poem was published the same year as the “Song for St. Cecilia’s Day”; see also Sanford Budick, Dryden and the Abyss of Light (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1970). Dryden’s description could not, of course, be reproduced in paintings of the time because his “blaze of glory . . . forbids the sight.” But we are not comparing media. The image in the mind is in actuality the same, and the effects are supposed to be similar.

61. Henry Peacham, Minerva Britanna (London, 1612; reprint ed., Leeds, Eng.: Scolar Press, 1966), p. 204.

62. Mace, Musick’s Monument, Book II, pp. 265-70.