The Classical Biblical Epic in England

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THE CLASSICAL BIBLICAL EPIC IH ENGLAND

by Thomas Farroil, Jr.

A dissertation submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy In th© Department of English In th© Graduate College of th© State University of Iowa flefrmmyy I960

ProQuest Number: 10902156

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uest ProQuest 10902156 Published by ProQuest LLC(2018). C opyright of the Dissertation is held by the Author. All rights reserved. This work is protected against unauthorized copying under Title 17, United States C o d e M icroform Edition © ProQuest LLC. ProQuest LLC. 789 East Eisenhower Parkway P.O. Box 1346 Ann Arbor, Ml 4 8 1 0 6 - 1346

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ACKNOWIiKDOMSMT

This dissertation, commenced at the suggestion and under the direction of Professor E. N. S. Thompson, was completed under the supervision of Professor John McGalliard, and with the assistance of Professor Baldwin Maxwell and Professor Rhodes Dunlap.

iii

TABLE OF CONTENTS Chapter

Pag© INTRODUCTION................................ 1

I

ANGLO-SAXON BIBLICAL EPICS ................

4

II

FROM OVID TO THE BIBLE

III

CONTINENT'AL BACKGROUND , ................... 30

,. , . ..............18

Choice of Subject . ................. p. Verisimilitude andthe Marvelous . . . .

31 36

Epic Characters .

...........

Unity of Action .

.................... 49

Adornments

44

............. . 5 4

Versification

..................... 55

S t y l e ............................... 57 Diction Names

.........

58

...............

Details of Composition . . . . . . . . . Beginning

61

................... 62

Order Variety

59

................. 63 ...........

Invocations .

67

..................... 70

Minor d e v i c e s ...................... 71 ^

Conclusion

72

Iv

TABUS OF COlfTENTS (Continued) Chapter

Fag©

IV

ENGLISH C R I TICS.............................. 74

V

DUBABTAS* JUDITH .

VI

DELQNEY*S CANAANS CALAMITIE.................104

VII

DUBARTAS* SEFMAIHBS........................ 114

VIII

COWLEY* S D A V X DBIS...........................135

......................... 84

CONCLUSION.................................. 151 FOOTNOTES * ............

162

APPENDIX ................................... 190 BIBLIOGRAPHY............................... 191

1

IJTCRQD&CTXOH

In studies of th© seventeenth century it is generally assumed that many of th© epics produced in that period were th© result of poets turning from profane to sacred subjects and simply presenting them in a form inher­ ited from Homer and Vergil.

That th© classical Biblical epic

was a special form evolved through several centuries of critical discussion is not always recognized.

Nevertheless,

it is a separate species for which was forged a set of requirements distinct, though not altogether different, from those formulated for profane epics* No literary form which has been developed in a particular ethos is easily adapted to the material of another culture, but one so distinctive as the classical epic, evolved out of a special attitude, could be accomodated to Biblical subjects, in so many ways opposed to the whole spirit of the classics, only after considerable readjustment. Tracing the development of critical rules and examining those poems published in England before 1660 will provide at least an historical account of the theory and practice of the classical Biblical epic before Milton. English interest in this type of poem developed in th© seventeenth century for various reasons.

Those purely

2 literary ones which are th© subject of this essay are four: th© fundamental English predilection for sacred narratives; th© poets* desires for grander scope than th© little epics allowed;

th© reaction against the Ovidl&n epic;

and th©

coincident development on th© Continent of adequate critical theory.

The first may b© made manifest by a review of th©

Anglo-Saxon Biblical ©pics;

the second by an examination

of the sixteenth century little epics;

and th© third by an

account of the objections mad© to th© Ovidian narratives. Th© last requires more complex presentation.

Th© earliest

European critical works were attempts only to define and to prescribe rules for the classical epic.

Then began a suc­

cessful attempt to justify a classical Christian epic.

Only

after the first two objectives had been accomplished were the rules formulated for a classical Biblical epic. The results of applying these laws creatively may be seen in the poems of DuBartas, Deloney, and Cowley.

Each

was published in England, those of DuBartas and Cowley being accorded considerable acclaim, end each contributed, by its . merits and its defects, to the growing acceptance of the new genre.

Each, therefore, will be examined, to discover th©

poet*s method and to evaluate it critically,

'

It is intended that In this essay may be found the history of th© development of bothTthe theory and th© 'T

3 practice of the classical Biblical epic to the time when Milton was composing Paradise host to present to a public quite prepared to receive it*

4

Chapter I ANGLO-SAXON BIBLICAL EPICS Anglo-Saxon poets formed Biblical material Into epic© like thoa© of th© seventh century called the Cae&monian poems.

Examination of some of them will make manifest the

early and continuing interest of th® English in Biblical ©pics and will relate th© earlier to the later productions. Th© seventh century Gaedmonlan poems are the earliest native examples*

Of th© form of Genesis tfAf>, only

th© beginning and a concluding fragment, a total of nearly 23G0 lines, are extant, Saxon epic elements! thanes^;

Th© introduction contains Anglo*

God Is an over-lord;

angels are

Heaven is organized as were the political units in

seventh century England;

disregard of the fealty owed to

the "god cyning” is Satan's sin; him as their lord.

hia followers have chosen

Then "A" ends®, to be resumed^ with a

collection of brief tales about Cain and Abel, Noah, Abraham, and Lot.

This fragment has th© unity only of a chronological

narrative of events already well known;

there is no organiza­

tion pointint to a general climax, although each incident Is developed to on© of Its own.

Like other Anglo-saxon writers,

the poet of "A" particularizes excitingly about a bad sea4 B voyage , about battles , and about conferences among the 0

chief men .

5 Genesis nBM is formed.

Th© poet, conceiving the

fall of man as th® climax of a series of ©vents, set th© stag© well.

Like Adam in Paradis© Lost, Man is placed in

th© center of a conflict between Satan and God.

He exists

before the Angels sin, and enjoys Paradise without concern about the injunction against eating fruit of "that one tree0. This is an artistic choice.

!,A” has it that God created man

to replace th© rebel© evicted from Heaven.

MBff recites th©

rebellion and describes Hell in affecting detail. temptation is well motivated.

The

As vengeful Satan writhes in

chains, a fiend volunteers to avenge their defeat by luring man to disobedience.

The characters of Satan, Adam, and Eve

are individualized, and the incidents complicate and develop the plot to th© climax of Adam's fall.

Th© temptation, and

fall are recorded without theology or moralizing, although the author wonder® that God allowed man to be imposed upon 7 with lies told by a fallen angel . The style of WBW is interesting. realistically depicted:

The revolt is

Satan is the upstart chieftain who

refuses proper allegiance to his over-lord.

Physical details

in th© description of Satan chained in Hell and of the suffer­ ing of heat and cold stimulate ©mpathic reaction®. Sympathy for Adam and Eve is aroused: not intentional sinners. has directed h©r to do it.

they are seduced transgressors,

Bv© eats because she believes God She convinces Adam that he has

v©rxially sinned by doubting th© "messenger", and must ©at at God's command*

Their fault is one perfectly understand­

able to th© tribal Anglo-Saxons:

they were beguiled by th©

forged credentials and th© apparent veracity of their inform­ ant. Evil.

Man has been overcome in the battle between Good and Th© poet achieves verisimilitude.

Circumstances are

those which the raider-setilers in England could understands "In that land they had a® yet no settled home, nor knew they aught of pain or sorrow;

but they might have prospered in

the land if they had don© God's will"®.

The Bible story is

intrinsically interesting, and the poet adds climactic con­ struction and moving lines in terms that his auditors will understand.

Th© versification is accentual and alliterative,

th© figures non-allusiv© metaphors.

The grandness of the

subject is not developed, but its importance to each indi­ vidual is intensified by particular reference to details in the lives of the auditors.

Th© form is straight-forward

narrative, without compression;

for example, from Adam and

Eve a dramatic shift is mad© to the fall of Satan, directly, without a device to hold th© basic scene on earth while that of th© incident shifts to Heaven and then to Hell.

Genesis

WBW presents the reason for th© existence of Good and Evil In life;

Adam live® and acts In conditions natural to th©

ninth century;

and he faces a crucial problem.

The poet

has mad© it clear that th© demons’ revenge upon God and th©

7 fate of mankind hang In the balance. Exodus Is a vivid narration of the Biblical story In Anglo-Saxon terms. stated thus3

At th© beginning of th© argument Is

The code given to Moses was wondrous, and the

Lord was good to th© Jews, for he sent Moses to lead them out of captivity and Into the land where they can start afresh In freedom^. of th® Jews.

Th© plot Is unified around th© escape

Suspense is developed as the early doubt

whether they will be freed is intensified by the appearance of th© Egyptian army.

At the moment of dawn, the array

described and th© battle lines drawn, th© Jews cross th© divided Red Sea, and th© waters reunite to drown th© Egyp­ tians in their bloody depths. ending in itself Is strong. home;

A moral is drawn, but the The wayfarers have found a new

life will be hard there, with much to overcome, but

^thelr foes, the greatest of armies, lay still In that place of death,” while the Jews look forward to making a new life. The style of Exodus Is more sophisticated than that of either Genesis. The poet directs his plot to th© climax*

Th© compass of the main action Is restricted;

th®

plagues are only mentioned, and other enrichments ar© intro­ duced by means of dramatic narration, as when Moses reminds 10 th© Jews of Abraham and Noah in a sermon . Th© main story begins with th© flight of the Jews to the Red Sea and ends with their ©scape;

supplementary episodes are related, but

8 they do not interfere with the movement of the main plot, Th© interruptions occur at natural points - Moses is ex­ pected to say something - and the effect is heightened by the digression.

The Anglo-Saxon lov© of catastrophe is

clear in the detailed, somewhat repetitious, description of th© drowning.

War has its usual place;

the sounds of the

host are described, the presence of ravens and wolves is remarked, and th© movement of th© armies adds to th© con­ fusion,

Battle is not joined, so there is no place for

individual handplay, but the descriptions of nature and of the fighting men are prominent.

The figures are still

metaphors:

God protects the wanderers by covering the sun 11 with a sail of which no man may see th© sall-ropes . In th© development of th© English classical ©pic, th© remark­ able parts of Exodus are th© use of the "flash-back" and the careful unity which is developed to a well defined climax. The plot of Daniel is little more than a homi­ letic paraphrase of the Bible story with occasional paeans on th© protective mercy of God.

The action is unified

around the cor© of th© Incident of th© three youths in th© furnace.

Background is concisely reviewed, th© conflict

between th© king*© orders and th© youth’s actions is fully developed, and th© climax comes quickly.

Oddly, however,

th© poem continues, whether with a discursive coda or with

a movement to another climax and a strong conclusion can only be guessed.

The lines move forward well?

they may

have been designed consciously to lead to the moment when Daniel was thrown to the lions, but that is speculation. The poem is an interesting on© for the relation of the Hebrew story In th© details and th© attitudes of the AngloSaxons, but it offers nothing new concerning epic form or content. Chrlst and Satan, th© last of th© C&edmonian group, Is different in structure and in devices from the other®. Th© story of the Resurrection interested th© poet, as it did Milton for a brief time, and he relates it a® a symbol of faith in th© ultimate freedom of man from Evil in th© world. The piece is lyric and dramatic, but it tells a story, has a great central character, and a grand subject; may perhaps be called an epic*

hence it

The poem commences with a

description of th© torments and sufferings in Hell, implying those of Adam and Eve, and of th© other good men and women who had died before th© Redemption.

The fiends bewail

their pain and sorrow, but they have sinned against their Lord, and must suffer for it.

This chorus sketches the fall

of angel® and th© development of th© fiends1 desire for revenge.

Abruptly th© poet changes the point of view as

Christ liberates the good men who had died before He re­ deemed them.

Dialogue carries the story:

Fve explains her

10 slxi, and her torments;

Christ explains why He sent man to

Hell, and why He was sent as a Redeemer for him; Peter cries out at th© sight of the Cord; ment Day is foretold;

Simon

th© coming Judg­

and th© damned shriek and wail,

Th©

event is discussed rather than narrated, but th© grandness of ©pic movement is achieved.

Th© last section, out of

chronological order for no apparent reason, dramatises th© temptation of Chris.t during his forty days in the desert. Christ dismisses Satan to measure with his hands the full torment of Hell. out;

When Satan arrives ther®, th© fiends cry

”Lo, thus may evil be upon the© always;

not wish for good,w

Thou didst

With this moral judgment, the poet

closes his curiously constructed ©pic.

Unity of feeling and

coherence

in th© central idea exist In the poem, but the

struetur©

is episodic and th© movementdiscontinuous.

Like

the other Anglo-Saxon poems, Christ and Satan contains much detail which comes from the dally lives of the people, and so realizes th© Biblical story in terms of the auditors. The pains and torments could have been suggested by the climate of England; are those

the

relationships among th© characters

which obtained In Anglo-Saxon

England. Th© new

device in construction shows a sophistication in the art of poetry, but nothing in th© minor devices or figures is new, although all ar© fresh and appropriate.

XX Judith, variously dated from th© end of the seventh century to the middle of the ninth, is apparently a fragment from a longer poem.

What the complete ©pic was

like cannot even be guessed, for there are no clues In the .fragment we possess.

The episode as w© have It begins after

a brief statement of them© with Holofernes' feast before the night of his death, described with Anglo-Saxon realistic details and infused with a sense of Impending doom,

Holo-

fernes is often called evil and is manifestly a powerful chieftain, but, except for merely stating that the pagan is an enemy and that h© intends to take Judith's virginity, th© poet has done little to manifest Judith's motivation for killing him.

The incident seems to have been celebrated

because a woman brought victory to her tribe by murdering th© powerful leader of the opposing warriors, certainly a reason satisfactory enough for an Anglo-Saxon and probably the paramount one for the Hebrew narrator of th© original story. After th© wlne-feast, Holofernes goes to his bower where Judith has been brought but falls Immediately into a drunken stupor.

She, with no hesitation beyond a brief

prayer, kills him with his own sword, and with her maid carries his head to Bethulia.

There sh© inspires her own

warriors to rout th© "Assyrians'* with terrible slaughter.

12 Th© writer simplifies th© story considerably, perhaps because it was a digression in a longer poem, perhaps merely to emphasise th® deed of Judith.

H© has narrated it

very rapidly, one realistically detailed seen© after another in chronological order, emphasizing some few parts by means of set speeches repeating what has already been related. For him, Holofernes* death is obviously not th© climax, for it occurs after less than on© third of the poem Is completed, and it is used as a means for arousing th© Hebrew warriors to battle the Assyrians, point away.

12

Th© climax comes, rather, at the

at which the heathen® throw down their arms and run Consequently, the poem looks' unity, for It begin® as

If Judith*s deed were th© main action, but it is climaxed by the victory of the Jews,

Th© one apparently unifying element

Is that Judith is th© main factor In th© victory.

Had she

directed or led th© attack, as well as stimulated it, th© narrative would have had the unity derived from on© principal character, but would have been about an action different from the on© for which eh© is usually celebrated,

Th© poet*s

expansions are those in which his auditors would delight: 15

14

the wine-feast *^; th® decapitation ; th® torments in 15 Hell 5 Judith*s speeches to the people of Bethulia, rous16 TV ing them to battle* ; and the slaughter . His style is lively and spare, adorned only with k.ennings and the

13 occasional repetition of an idea for emphasis. Th© poem is an heroic narrative presented in the Germanic ©pic style, but it is chiefly interesting as evidence of late Anglo-Saxon Interest in the Biblical, ©pic* It is no mere paraphrase, for th© poet has selected and expanded the material in order to fit it to hi® own purpose. However, except for minor devices interesting for their individuality, there is nothing in the technique of the author remarkably different from that of other Anglo-Saxon Biblical ©pic poets, Cynewulf*s Christ is a moving poem divided into throe sections, th© Nativity, the Ascension, and th© Pay of IB Judgment . Like Christ and Satan, the Christ is a lyrical epics

th© story of th© Immaculate Conception and the birth

of Christ Is related In a series of hymns celebrating these events and singing of th© goodness of God who sends a Redeemer to suffer for the sin® of mankind.

Th© first

section la a hymn based on th© metaphor that Christ Is th© rejected keystone later found by th© workers to b© essential to the hall.

In this part, as throughout the poem, the

details are taken from the life of the times.

Although the

source Is th© Bible, the story is told, not In Hebrew term® and conditions, but in those of th© Anglo-Saxons of the • t eighth century. In the first Fassus, the poet demonstrates that devices like his use of the narrator, usually labelled

14 classical, may grow up independently:

the prophet Isaiah

is Introduced as one about whom the author has read, and then is quoted to explain how th© Lord convinced him that immaculate conception is possible. At the ©nd of the first 19 section , th® poet continues th© metaphor with which he com­ menced by saying that Mery is the wall door through which Christ entered the world.

In section two, "The Ascension11,

th© poet hymn® the goodness of God In freeing man from the shackles of sin by sending Christ as a Saviour. Christ Is / metaphorically compared with a noble bird who flew to Heaven, to Earth, and to Hell.

Th© writer briefly describes

Christ1s harrowing of Hell, but in less detail than did th© Caedmonian poet.

Section three presents a wonderfully cir­

cumstantial description of "The Day of Judgment". Details and Ideas are richly piled ups

th© punishment of the

damned is described, the worst being that they are deprived of the sight of God.

At th© end

20

, Christ recounts his

birth and passion to the wicked who ha%»® refused to follow Him, th© same device as that of Odysseus reporting his trials or of Aeneas describing the fall of Troy.

Once again

the figures are metaphors, the verso alliterative, and the details selectively appropriated from the ordinary life of the Anglo-Saxon.

The poem ends on a note of hop®, with a

description of th© Joys in Heaven for those who follow th©

15 commands of the Almighty. These seven poem®, written over a space of two centuries, Indicate an English tradition of the Biblical epic in which Paradise Lost is the culmination. mere paraphrase, even if the plot be.

Hon© is a

The writer of each

reshape® the story by using new or unusual forms, by Inserting devices vhich permit compression of time without violation of unity, and by drawing detail® and circumstance® from th© daily life of his time.

The construction is not

that of classical epics, even when independently invented devices, like the Mflash«ba©ktt, are similar,

The form and

manner change through an interesting progression from the strict narrative of Genesis

through the frequent paeans

*-n Christ and Satan to the narrative hymn® of Christ. Perhaps the later poems are more lyrical In method and form than is usually allowed In an ©pic, but all have the virtues of genuine feeling and true poetic quality in verse, figure, and detail, whereas th© same type of poem, written by DuBartas and translated by Sylvester, becomes in the Divine Weekes a mere recital ornamented with monotonous rhythms and dull figures, Although paraphrases were continually made in the 21 centuries after Cynewulf , th© genuine ©pic skill In Bibli­ cal themes lay dormant until it was developed again during

16

the seventeenth century, and the us© of Biblical material was left to miscellaneous vers® and to th© native drama. Most of th© cycle plays were Biblical5

some other more

elaborate dramas, like the Latin AntiChristug and like Adam, now extant In an Anglo-!fprman-Pr®nch text and probably the work of a Herman-English author in th© twelfth century also deal with Biblical stories.

go

,

So late as 1677 John Crown®

published a play on The Destruction of Jerusalem, which was 23 successfully produced at the Theatre Royal in London This experience of English poets with dramatic presentation of Biblical matter affected th© regenerate Biblical ©pic. Wh&t each seventeenth century poet learned and used can best b© discovered in the discussions of separate poems, but an indication of th© effects can be seen in the devices for making a Creator a character, in th© comparatively greater Individuality of Satan, in the recognition of the necessity for compression of th© main plot by means of episodic narra­ tion of associated ©vents, in th® dramatic form given to the supplementary events, in th© increased use of th© marvelous, and in th© greater separation of description and action. Sixteenth and seventeenth century interest in Bible stories, then,was not new, but renascent.

Anglo-Saxon poets had

been attracted to Biblical themes, and they had attempted to create epics about Biblical subjects, although not in the

classical form.

The poems of Anglo-Saxon times illustrate

what the early English were capable of doing with Biblical material and the epic form*

In conjunction with the con-

.

tinning tradition of paraphrasing and dramatizing Biblical stories, th© early ©pics prove a latent, fundamental English interest in hexameral literature, an interest which may be questioned in the French and the Italians*

This English

interest, perhaps latent but certainly existing, explains that the seventeenth century acceptance of Biblical epics rested upon a characteristic of the English race.

18

Chapter IX PR.CM OVID TO THE BIBLE In England, the rediscovery of the ©pic form and th© development of the classical style began In Elizabethan times.

An avid interest in narrative stimulated poets to

search for original ways of telling stories.

Their luxuri­

ous revelling In sensuous decoration set them vying with each other, amplifying and ornamenting their verses to captivat© readers with ebullient, diverting, and Ingenious fancies.

As a core of action around which to wind their own

unique plots interwoven with bright figures and idyllic descriptions, the romances available from Ovid were most happily adaptable, so when Marlowe and Shakespeare enchanted the public with their ”little epics” based on Ovid, a fashion was set.

Some other poets combined the delights of sensuous-

ness Inherent in th© Ovidian tale® with the instruction from a moral conception or didactic effusions, but many blind mouths degraded wantonness and salacity into pornography and obscenity.

Through their improvising on the conventions

of amatory verse, poets developed facility of narration and felicity of imagery, and naturalized th© classical epic style, by their practice with ©pic devices and formal

19 construction.

Furthermore, th© a t o m of objections raised

by the Indecency of many of the poems helped to lead English poetry back to the center of the stream,

A reaction set in,

reinstating in poetry the Christian tradition which had existed from Anglo-Saxon times and advancing th© Scriptures as a source of subjects, ornaments, and allusions. The popularity of the first ”Qvidian ©picsn was immediate,

Marlowe had commenced Hero and hgander before

his death In 1595, and it circulated in manuscript prior to its publication in 1598*

Completed and republished in the

same year by Georg© Chapman, it was reprinted nine times 1

before 1638 .

The vogue was fixed when Shakespeare, while

the theatres were closed during 1592-94, used his leisure to compose Venus and Adonis (1593), of which there were seven editions by 1602 and thirteen by 1636, and the Rape 2

of Lucrece (1594), reprinted six times by 1624 . of the two poets were prompt and numerous.

Followers

Chapman had

already capitalised on the popularity of Marlowe’s manu­ script by publishing in 1595 his own Ovid1a Banquet of Sense in which an appeal to each of the five senses is superimposed upon the apochryphal tale of a guilty associa­ tion between Ovid and Julia, daughter of Augustus Caesar and mistakenly identified with Corinna, mistress in Ovid’s love poems.

Constable wrote the delightful Shepherds Song,

so of Venus and Adonis*

It begins suggestively, and th©

transition "Philomel records pleasing harmonies” is an original, picturesque image?*

Throughout th© narrative the

pictures are flashing mood sketches:

"His face is turn’d

away” describes Adonis unmoved by Venus* passionate Impor­ tuning , although: "Water1® gentle murmur Craved him to love her”** The passion, the sensuality, and th© direct narrative style of Ovid are recaptured in this poem, without pornography. Phineas Fletcher composed his well-wrought Venus and Anchlses probably sometime before he entered the ministry in 1616®, 1®

His technique is classical.

The plot

firm, the expansions properly placed at interludes in

th© action, and th© descriptions are restrained within pro­ portion.

To avoid obscenity, he confine® his details about

both to their heads, mentioning th© other parts in general. He bring© the two together naturally, filling th© necessary interval with description of the grove, and th© reader watches Venus through Anchises* eyes.

On© of his expansions

is a classical description of the games of Venus* nymphs. Moralizing, on th© other hand, about the unhappi­ ness of those who err was from th© first honestly didactic rather than meretriciously pandering,

paniel conscien­

tiously wrote The Complaint of Rosamond (1692) to warn

21 against ooncuplscenco, although he did include the Inter­ esting detail® of Henry*s wooing and winning.

More 0vidian

than most of the®© poems, the Complaint contains th© epic device of the insertion of stories of Heptune and Anemone and of Jov© and lo as has reliefs on the casket sent to Rosamond by Henry.

He continued his moral teachings with

A Letter From Qctavla to Marcus Antonius (1599), expressing warn sympathy for Octavia and upholding the moral standards which Anthony had violated6 . His restrained, sincere con­ demnation is more compelling than any diatribe against Cleopatra and her lover.

The pictures of Home and the

explanation of the political crisis, which she gives a® she explains that sh© has been a good wife, lend reality as well as diversity.

Anthony and Cleopatra are described and

characterized through Octavia*s eyes and by events, very temperately and credibly, and Daniel can weave in their actions by means of Octavia*s relating what proof of Antho­ n y 1® infidelity was produced before she would believe it. By means of her dream, which sh© writes to Anthony as an omen, Daniel concludes with a prophecy of what will happen to Home because of Anthony*s adultery, a classical device and a strong enforcement of the poet *s moral. From these brief descriptions, it can be seen that poets were developing a narrative technique by imitating

2& Ovid.

Th© digression was recognized as a legitimate expan­

sion, if properly Introduced, and in Gvidlan tales the classical devises of dream®, reminiscences, pictures, and prophecies were practiced so that poets developed skill in using them.

They treated the marvelous more naturally,

also, as they became familiar with methods of lending reality to it, and this, of course, enhanced the verisimilitude. Two of the most conspicuous developments were the long and graphic descriptions of nature and the abundant, detailed, and striking similes.

Furthermore, the firm structure

employed in these highly polished narratives produced a classical unity, for the single action around which all else was woven required close integration.

Lastly, the need for

quickly catching interest, as well as allowing for expansion, taught the poets to begin in media® res, to follow classical devices for flash-backs to the beginning, and to dramatize many of the incidents.

Since Ovid*s little epic® were based

on the grand epic, his imitators learned much which was use­ ful to them after they began to chafe at the narrow limit® within which these shorter poems confined their narrative skill. of the

To the middle of the seventeenth century the vogue 0 vidian

epics continued, but the writers were generally

apologetic in their later years for having "misused" poetry. Throughout this period th© "little epic" had to

fight its way against the critic© who called it, and fre­ quently all poetry, immoral, and so early as 1600 poets and critics, not affected by the ethical charges, were com­ plaining of satiety.

John Davies makes his clear paper

complaini ”Another (Ah, Lords help©) m© villlflee With Art of Love, and how to subtilise.11” Nicholas Breton, in The Wll of Wit, says 111 will give over 8 Artem Amandl and I will with the© to some more worthy study” ;

and again: ”In Ovid*© Metamorphosis X read there of a spring. Whereby Narcissus caught his bane, Only with looking.,*• If this be false, blame Ovid then That such a tale would write.”® Wo Whipping©, No Tripping© (1601) is explicit: ”Let Ovid, with Narcissus idle tale, Wear© out his wits with figurative fables, Old idle Histories grow to b© so stale, That clowns almost have bard them from their tables, And Phoebus, with his horses and his stables, Leave them to babies: make a better choice Of sweeter matter for the soules reoiee;”^ and Kobert Chester wrote in Loves Martyr (1601): f,Away fond riming Ovid, lest thou writ© Of Prognes murtber, or Lucretias rape.”-*-* It is quite possible that staleness more nearly accounts for the change In subject matter mad© by English poets notorious­ ly indifferent to mandates from critics than do the latter*s

24

voluminous dicta. Objection® had boon voiced for centuries;

even

while Ovid lived, he was arraigned as immoral, and his banishment certainly was not unconnected with his licentious poetry.

Subsequent critical study of his work is filled

with objections to his readers.

sensuality, and to its effect on

Moralized as he was throughout the Middle Ages,

he was as often denounced for his immorality by those who thought more clearly, and the English of the Renaissance were even less affected by the justifications of allegoriz­ ing.

Ascham inveighed against "It&li&nate poems” because

they corrupt morals and subvert true religion^*2 ;

George

Whetstone in his Roeke

of Regard® makes Bianca Marla ex-

plain her evil life as

a result of:

”The Art of Love for exercise I redde. And thus my life in Venus court I ledde .” 1 3 Stephen Gosson was prepared to ban poetry because of the outrage to moral ideas found in Ars Amandi and the Meta­ morphoses :

”Ovld bestlrreth himself to paint out his

Flea,... (He shows) his cunning In the inceste of Myrrha, and that trumpel of baudrie, the Craft of Love.”^

Lodge*'®,

Sidney^, and Hash©^, in their replies to Gosson, were forced to admit that much in Ovid is obscene, and the latter 18 railed at the modern poets who followed him , Other defender® of poetry mildly or stringently criticised Ovid

28 and Gvidian tales.

Wsbbe allowed that Ovid, even when

allegorized, might tend 11to the vayn© delights of love and 19 dalliance." The "undeeent stories11 listed by Puttenham are Ovidian

20

.

sir John Harington objects to "Cupldo"

(lasciviousness) in poetry23*.

In his reply to Hash®, Gab­

riel Harvey unwittingly agrees with Hash© when he storms at the Italian ribald who "vomits out the infectious poyson of the world” and is copied by an English author who like an "English horrel-borrel must lik it up for a restorative and attempt to putrify gentle minds with the vilest Impostures of lewd corruption,”2 2

In 1595, Robert Southwell, a Jesuit■,

commending his Saint Peter1s Complaint to ”his loving cousin”, stated the conventional complaints

”Po©ta, by abusing their

talents, and making the follies and faynings of love the customarie subject of their base endevours, have so dis­ credited this facultle, that a poet, a lover, and a Iyer, are by many reckoned but three words of on© signification." In his address to the reader he makes his objection more specific: "Still the finest wits are*stilling Venus rose, In Paynim to yes the sweetest valns are spent: To Christian workes few have their talents lent." This Is by some critics thought, because of the closeness of dates, to refer to Shakespeare and to Venus and Adonis and 24 The Bape of Lucrece . In the poem proper h© lays his

m

strictures even mors roundly on* "Ambitious heads, dream© you of Fortune* s pride, Fill volumes with your forged goddess©*a prays© }■ You Fanci©*s drudges, plung1d in Follie*s tide, Devote your fabling wits to lovers* lays,” and recommends that men of virtu© should turn to writing of 25 the love of God . Fhineas Fletcher, in line eight speak­ ing from experience, decried the taste for

0 vidian

tale® in

graceful verses preliminary to Giles Fletcher*s Christ*® Victory and Triumph (1610): "Fond lads that spend so fast your posting time, (Too posting time, that spends your time as fast) To chant light toyes, or frame some wanton rhyme, Where idle boys may glut their lustful taste: Or else with praise to cloath some fleshly slime With virgins* roses and fair lilies chaste} While itching bloods and youthful cares adore it} But wiser men, and once yourselves, will most abhor it. But thou (most near, most dear) in this of thine Hast proved the muses not to Venus bound."**o "With Virgins* roses and fair lilies chaste" very aptly synthesize® the style of most of the poets who remade Ovid*s plain narratives into "Jewelled stanzas" in imitation of Marlowe*s and Shakespeare*a. Giles Fletcher, in the poem to which Phineas prefixed his verses, scathingly denounces poets who dedicate themselves to Venus* delights:

27 "Go© giddy braines, whose witta art thought so

fresh, Pluck all th® flowers that nature forth doth throw®, Go® stick© them in th© cheekes of wanton flesh; Poor© Idol, (forc’t at one® to fall and grow©) Of fad!ng rose®, and of melting snow©: Tour songs exceed® your matter, this of mine, The matter, which It sings, shall make divine, As starree dull puddles guild, in which their beauties shine,”*' Th© triplet draws th® issue clearly and expresses th© change which was occurring in the attitudes of most poets. had prayed, in the beginning of the

11Second

Sylvester

Week®" in the

Divine Weekes and Workes of DuBartaa s ”0 ! furnish me with an unvulgar stile, That I by this may wain our Wanton IDE From OVID’S heirs, and their unhallowed spell Heer charming senses, chaining sould in Bell,” and had stated his hope that Spenser, Daniel, and Drayton, whom he names, rtMay change their subject, and advance their wings Up to these higher and more holy things.” 2 9 Other writers continued the denunciations.

Like

Augustus Caesar, William Vaughan wished to ostracize lewd po poets . William London, In his Catalogue of the Most Vendible Books in England (1657), expressed suspicion of poetry as being "of iat© too much corrupted in th© praise of Cupid and V e n u s , R o b e r t Anton, In Philosophers Satyrs 51 (1616), speaks of Ovid as a writer of Bawdy vers© 5 John Davies calls Venus and Adonis, in A Scourge for Paper-

Persecutors, a book women read to learn bawdy practices;

32

and Thomas Cranley shows that poem in th© whore*$ library 53 in his play Amanda or the Reformed fhore (1635) . Objec­ tions reached their zenith when the tales of Ovid were denounced in th© "Boot and Branch Petition" to Parliament of *%A 1640 as "lascivious, Idle, and unprofitable Book®*.*.1* The portents of change were strong*

Wot only was the moral

public clamoring, but the writers themselves were being con­ verted.

To those poets like Drayton, Daniel, Phlneas

Fletcher, and Cowley, who began by emulating th© two masters who revived the Ovidian vogue, their own early work became abhorrent, and many, such as Sylvester and Giles Fletcher, began their writing careers with praises of God, Nevertheless, these Ovidian epics had for a while captivated both poets and public.

Of course, anything so

popular must sooner or later surfeit both writers and readers, and these poems did.

However, poets in their practice with

the form became more skilled in narrative technique and learned to us© many classical devices for unifying, expand­ ing, and adorning their stories.

Once their skill and their

ambition transcended the rather narrow confines of the little epic, they naturally turned to th© grand ©pic, and, since their narrative techniques were classical, they turned as a matter of course to the classical epic.

29 Meanwhile, th© reaction to the impudicity of the Ovidian tale®, combined with social and religious forces outside the scope of this essay, influenced poets to attempt serious poems which would redound to the glory of God.

The

fundamental English interest in Biblical stories reasserted itself.

Consequently, several English poets did attempt the

classical Biblical epic, after they found a critical theory defending and guiding this kind of composition.

30

Chapter III COHTIHEHTAL BACKOROtJHD

The renewed popularity of Biblical stories in seventeenth century England and th© reaction against the limitations and the sensuality* of the "Ovidian epic" prompted poets to search for a narrative form which would permit a greater scop© and for matter which would allow a higher tone,

These requirements were met by th© classical

Biblical epics which had been produced on the Continent during a century of critical progress* Early in the Renaissance principles of classicism had been reestablished in Italy. Aeneld

.By th© example of Vergil’s

and th© authority of Aristotle’s Poetics the general

form of the ©pic had been fixed.

In Franc© somewhat later,

Seallger's Poetics (1561), canonizing Vergil and deifying Aristotle, had effected "un coup d ’etat dans la republlque des lettres1*^ to bind th© French to classical tradition. Almost immediately the critical war raging in Italy spread to France, and th© fledgling critics of th© English nation wer© treated to the spectacle of Internecine conflict among critics fundamentally agreed concerning th© genre of th© classical ©pie but enthusiastically divided over details.

31

Such matters as the choice of subject, necessity for verisi­ militude and propriety of the marvelous, epic characters and decorum, unity of action, appropriate adornments, and details of construction were defined, and their relations to the ©pic were expounded.

An historical presentation of the theories

about each will show that first critics were concerned to define and to prescribe for th© classical epic, but that later the conception of a Christian ©pic developed, and out of that grew the idea for a Biblical ©pic.

As in every­

thing concerned with art, so In the history of epic theory there Is no progressive,,unidirectional flow.

Th© stream

la meandered with backloops into previous positions and bifurcated into channels which lead In opposite directions. It is necessary to record the positions through the years, first of those whose theories aided th© development, then of those who opposed It, to avoid misrepresentation, since there exists no comprehensive review of continental theories concerning the ©pic, but it will be seen that there is a kind of intermittent movement by surges towards general acceptance of the Biblical epic.

First in both time and importance was the question of what subject a poet might choose for his ©pic.

There was

32

agreement that th© scop© must b© broad, th© style high, and

2 th© them© grand , but definition and specification betrayed differences.

Taking for granted that battles are th© main

eonjponent of an epic, Vida declared In 1527: 11Yet

non© of all with equal honors shin© (But those which celebrate th® Power divine) To those exalted measures, which declare * The deeds of heroes and the sons of war.”®

If we may deduce his Inferences from his Illustrations, Vida considered th© Aeneld and the Odyssey, as well as the Iliad, epics of national ware.

It Is true that for the Christlad,

the first Christian classical epic, Vida chose a scriptural theme at the command of Pop© Leo X, but that proves only that he accepted It as a possible, not a requisite, subject. His practice Is counterbalanced by his unqualified approval of Vergil’s ”©pic of national wars” . Modification of this point of view began when instruction became generally acknowledged as the end of poetry.

Danlello (1536) suggested that ©pic poetry be

written about men not only valorous in arms but also mag­ nanimous, to show what ought to b©^.

Glraldi CInthio

(1540), emphasising that Instruction is the end of poetry, fi

recommended choosing a subject for its didactic value j Trisalno demonstrated that doctrine in Italia Liberate (1548), which he proudly claimed would be useful in all

mt future wars®,

7 and repeated It in his Poetiea (1565) j

and

Hobortelll (1548) stated that the subject must inculcate an 0 admiration for the good . Minturno (1559) developed for the first time th® idea that the epic may treat other than WarIQ like subjects , but maintained th© importance of instruction, and Scaliger (1561), with the reservation that war Is an 10 important element , stated that th© ©pic is history ideal­ ized to teach an ethical lesson^*. Growing insistence upon ’’truth” in the epic was combined with that upon Instruction#

Torquato Tasso con­

cluded that, if ”th© subject of an heroic poem should then be derived from true history and from religion that is not i, 12 false, the ©pic must have a Christian subject . But Tasso excluded Biblical narratives, because a poet may not add or change sacred history, and he warned against dealing with any article of faith or dogma, since those were fixed at the 13 Council of Trent (1563) . The Christian subject might have been established then as the only acceptable one, if the Gerusalemme Liberate (1575) had been otherwise unexceptionable. However, th© widespread controversy aroused by 14 Tasso’s poem divided critics on such a multitude of new Issues that agreement on th© choice of subject was impossible. Yet, to many the Biblical epic seemed the only possible kind. DuBartas In his preface to Judit (1574) appealed to poets to

34 celebrate sacred stories In epio strains, proudly stating ♦

that he was the first in Franc© to treat "d© chose© sacreea”^ .

The.last spokesman of th© Pleiad©, Vauquelin

(1605), opposed the stand of th© HSev©nM by prescribing a Biblical subject* "Si 1© b Grecs, comm© vous, Chrestiens eussent escrit, ^ 1 1 s eussent lea hauts faits chant© de lesus Christ."16 Chapelaln (1683) argued th© superiority of th© Biblical subject

17

.

Antoine Godeau (1655) strongly urged th© us© of

scriptural history In heroic poetry, seeing th© hour at hand 18 in which the Muses would become entirely Christian • Scudery, Perrault, and Desmarets, the last of whom quarreled 1q with Boileau over th® question , were proponents of the Biblical epic.

By 1655, the Biblical subject had been ac­

cepted widely enough for LeMoyn© to congratulate the Muses on their conversion to Christianity, exaggerating only to an extent permissible in a partisan, and to write, if not a Biblical at least a Christian epic, Saint Louis.

Among

the ton or more truly Biblical epics which appeared during s 20 this period in Franc® is th© Moya© Sauve© . In it SaintAmant daringly manipulated a few unimportant historical facts from th© Bible, and introduced some additional 21 characters Th© change was slowly being made, but against

35

direct opposition which was never completely oversome. Pelletier (1556) thought that for ©pic poetry "The subject of war is the most worthy and the most grand of all in Poetry, because of th© great personages, Princes and Kings, and because their followers are all kinds of persons, the poem can speak of all sorts of matters,1,22

Ronssrd (1565),

speaking for the Plliade, pronounced war the only proper subject, although he thought the high office of th© poet was to lead men to virtu© by delightful examples25. Castelvetro (1570) and Masson! (1572) attempted to arrive at acceptable conclusions by re-examining the basis of Renais­ sance criticism.

The former determined that the end of

poetry Is not to instruct but to delight the minds of the 24 common people and that f,th@ plot of ©pic and tragic poetry ought to comprise not only human action, but indeed human action magnificent and of a king*"2^

The latter

declared Imitation the end of poetry, delight Its result, with th© corollary that any secular subject, even science and history, Is proper for ©pic poetry2^.

He denounced

S&nnazaro and Vida for choosing a scriptural subject which should have been sacred from th© bold addition of 27 fantasies . But the individualism of Castelvetro and Mas­ son! was too much at variance with current critical attitudes to b© very influential.

On th© other hand, Soileau's

go

36 reiteration (1663) of the Ploinde* a recommendation of a wholly pagan ©pic represented a widely accepted opinion?®. Th® influence of the early Renalasane© conception of th© ©nd of poetry as instruction, partly inherited from th© Middle Agee and partly proffered as a defense against medieval and Renaissance antagonism toward literature, Initiated the trend towards a Christian subject in ©pic poetry.

Later pressure from the doctrine that the subject

of an epio must be literally ”tru©w led Italian and French critics, many of whom individually approved Christian sub­ jects, almost to the point of universal acceptance of scriptural subjects.

This was prevented only when, in the

poets* security of acceptance, th© basis of literary criti­ cism was shifted to aesthetics. Verisimilitude and th© Marvelous Both those who merely accepted the Biblical subject and those who denounced any other, as well as many of those who opposed the use of scriptural stories, rested much of their cases on arguments for the necessity of Mverisimilitude” or

11truth”

and on those concerning the propriety of th©

Mmarvellous” .

Whether they thought instruction the ©nd of

poetry, or delight, or only imitation, they recognized th© necessity of maintaining what was later defined as a nwilling suspension of disbelief”. Vida based on probability” his

injunction! nSince fiction© arc allowed, be sure, ye youths, Tour fictions wear at least the air of truths. Although ultimately Aristotle is responsible for these opinions, the Poetics had not greatly affected critical theory when these lines were written*

Vida was casually

allaying the remnants of medieval distrust of poetry, treat­ ing fictions as acceptable and harmless expansions for the delight of knowing readers.

In th© Chrlstlad he mixed pagan

and Christian stories and deities, apparently without thought of impropriety.

This attitude obtained for some time among

critics who defended imaginative additions and the use of the marvelous.

Aristotle had approved both, explaining that

a likely Impossibility is always preferable to an unconvinc­ ing possibility, and his authority In 1565 was made absolute by the Counoil of Trent, which gave to his doctrines the same degree of authority over literature as Catholic dogma over life.

Danlello (1556) first mentioned the term!

’’Poetry Is a narration, according to verisimilitude, of human actions,"3^ without defining it, but his usage Indicates a meaning of only "resemblance to th© true"3^, for he later contrasted literal history and the ©pic, say-

53 Ing "Poetry Is not history, so it must have verisimilitude," and he defended a mixture of fact and fiction because "th© poet deals with what ought to be .1,34

Verisimilitude was so

38 important to Paccius (1536) that he was dubious about th© marvelous in tragedy*

However, he allowed marvel® in th©

©pie, because, with the ©pic hero less in the ©yea of th© beholder, verisimilitude can b© more easily maintained Building upon this reasoning, Robortelli (1548) required verisimilitude, or things as they ought to be, in mundane affairs, and supported th© marvelous with th© theory of paralogism

*

A credible marvelous was demanded by Trlssino

(1565), who, recalling Aristotle's caution, objected to romances because they dealt with improbabilities, although he required only general, not literal, truth in th© subject. Verisimilitude was becoming th© touchstone by which epics were to be judged*

It had been the determining quality in

th© choice of subject and it cam© to rule th© us© of the marvelous and the type of style* The term was further delimited when Giraldi Cinthlo (1540) approved th© ''historical” (biographical) epic above 37 others, because it contained more of the literally true He objected to th© use of the Christian marvelous, which he 58 thought violated decorum , although he admitted th© pagan device, on th© authority of Aristotle^.

Hia predilection

for the "true11 led him to define th© verisimilar as that which had happened, although, again on th© authority of Aristotle, he somewhat reluctantly allowed the term to

59 include accepted conventlons

.

Obviously, Cinthio* ©

allegiance was divided between tradition and the modern spirit* Henceforth, this modern attachment to truth Is Implicit In every discussion of thes* Issues#

It may be

referred to a belief that the end of poetry i® Instruction or imitation, or it may be related to rational and practical application of the principle of reality in art, but, whatever its source, it strengthened th© demand for Christian themes in epic poetry, and helped to prepare for the acceptance of Biblical subjects,

Pigna (1554) rejected Cinthlo*g reluctant

concession to Aristotle, saying that conventional acceptance was insufficient; verisimilar4^.

only what had happened satisfied him as

Somewhat less rigidly, Minturno defined the

verisimilar as the correspondence of things narrated with persons, places, times, and causes4^.

The marvelous, he said

with Vida, violates verisimilitude, but as an ornament is a 45 source of pleasure if skillfully used . However, h© sug­ gested that the Biblical story of th© Christian religion offered subjects in which is available all th® machinery necessary for marvel® which are true and for perfect verisi44 militude . He required that, whatever had been th© practice of th© ancients, th© modern poet must teach only the truth in general and as much as possible in the particular.

40

Minturno *a argument greatly affected Tasso.

Th©

latter1® theory, that th© epic shall contain only true history and that it must be founded In true religion^, is th© logical extension of th© former’s reasoning.

Th® appar­

ent paradox that verisimilitude, actual fact in Tasso’s usage, and the marvelous ar© th© essence of poetry was resolved when he explained that only scriptural marvels, supernatural facts, wer© conceivable in an epic written by a Christian.

Pagan deities, known to be false, could not be

mad© to seem true.

Tasso stated for th© Christian epic a

complete theory based on verisimilitude defined as fact. Th© subject must be historical, for it is impossible that, if a hero has done great deeds, history should have no record of them, while, if he has not accomplished them, there can b© no actuality, so verisimilitude will be impossible.

By the

same reasoning, the marvelous, an essential of the epic, can be credited only if it be branded by Satan or stamped with the seal of the On© True God, so that its truth creates veri simlli tud©^® * On th© opposing side, Pelletier recommended an 47 imaginary subject rather than an historical on© , because h© believed in an artistic truth higher than mere actuality, 43 h® asserted . Even more willing to credit readers with imagination, Scallger required for verisimilitude only

41 probability, and considered th© marvelous an important source of delight*®.

A more incisive counterattack against

Minturno*s precepts was expressed for the Pleiad© by Rons&rd. He argued that th© poet is not to follow truth like an his50 toriographer , but is to make us© of verisimilitude, that 51 is th© actual, the possible, or What th© ancients believed , earning praise by his inventions

.

In direct opposition

to Minturno, h© declared that only th© pagan marvelous may be used without blasphemy®*®.

Like Ronsard, Castelvetro

54

praised invention in a poet

, demanding truth in no more

than the general outline of th© plot.

He was willing to 55 approve any marvelous as a source of delight , demanding 56 only the credibly possible for verisimilitude • For him, th© purpose of telling a story was ”to delight its auditors by the narration of certain circumstances which could possibly happen but have not actually happened”

.

Masson!

agreed that, by its nature, poetry, "because of the credible, which is its subject,... is many times obliged to admit th© false”®®.

He prescribed that th© marvelous be pagan to

avoid blasphemy, and that verisimilitude be imaginative irai59 bating of the credibly possible . This reaction, however, was only an ©ddy in the steady current towards a require­ ment of the literally true in poetry. Th© movement toward equating verisimilitude and

42 fact, with th® corollary that only miracles attested by the Bible, or clearly ascrlbabl© to the Devil, could be veri­ similar, culminated In Tasso1 s theories.

Had the Perusalemm®

Liberata become accepted as standard, ©pic poets would have had to wait for an iconoclast more Promethean than their heroes to dispel the shadow of its mortmain. Fortunately for artistic originality, the poem aroused spirited objections as well as fulsome praise, and, while its proponents contin­ ued the tradition, even they were free, after th© controversy, to disagree on subsidiary matters with th© leading exponent of the completely Christian narrative. Nevertheless, many French critics and poets con­ tinued to develop the theory of the Biblical ©pic based on a verisimilitude conceived as th© actual or as scrlpturally attested miracles, and adorned with a marvelous drawn from Christian supernatural ©vents.

DuBartas had taken his ma­

chinery for th© marvelous from th© Bible, depending for veri­ similitude, in that and in hi© narration, on the analogy An AT with his source . Vauquelin explained that Christian machinery in Christian poems would identify the interests * vX of poetry with those of religion and of the age, although h© demanded th© suppression of the pagan marvelous as either false or irreligious6^.

H© would substitute the

Christian miracles, which, he said, ”wi!l be credible be­ cause tru©”6^.

Chapelain advocated the marvelous as

43

essential to the epic, and the Christian marvelous as neces­ sary for verisimilitude8^.

Scudery, whose ”Preface” to

Alaric is largely plagiarised from Tasso4® Dlscorao del Poema Heroioo, though h© denied any debt to the Italians

65

,

gained some prominence as an original critic by opposing Ronaard’s view that an epic should be more invented than true.

He maintained that "every epic poem Is founded on 66 two principless verisimilitude and the marvelous”

Because Imaginary gods are not actualities, he excluded ftn the pagan marvelous as opposed to verisimilitude , With the addition of Desmarets, who by proving the exclusive truth of th© Christian religion was thought to have demon* atrated the superiority of Christian poetry and the neces­ sity of th© ”m®rvelll©ux Chretien”88, the roll of French critics is heavily scored on the side of supporters of Christian narratives.

Moreover, they are nearly unanimous

that the marvelous and verisimilitude are essential to the epic, and in defining th© latter as the "actual” *

Even

Boileau agreed that ”RIon n 1eat beau quo le vrai”

, almost

as Seudery had stated it, and he demanded th© marvelous, as 70 th© only way to Involve our hopes and fears . ?felherbe carried th© point to its extreme.

H© hated poetic fictions,

and found beauty only in actuality7**-. So th© theory of the Christian epic, as th© demand

grew for a marvelous which would not destroy a verisimili­ tude approximating actuality, became for a large majority \

of seventeenth century critics th© only on© a good Christian in those times of sensitivity about religion could honestly hold about th© modern ©pic

170

, Arguments for it were extended

to cover th© strictly Biblical epic, which had few objectors among the proponents of the Christian epic. Epic Characters Throughout the Renaissance, the consensus regard­ ing the purpose of poetry and the restrictions on imaginative creation stimulated critics to formulate rules for conceiv­ ing and developing epic charactera

Traditions about the

actions proper to each type were consolidated into th© prin­ ciple of decorum, obeyed by nearly everyone, but the quali­ ties of the protagonist and the kinds of characters permitted in an epic remained in dispute throughout the period. The principle of decorum was developed from Aristotle*s "second point” that characters should be appropriate. For ©very character there were proper qualities; him others was a breach of decorum.

to assign

Vida was explicits

"In every state They paint mankind - their humors, sex, and age", warning that:

45

ttI nauseate all confounded characters,”7^ Panlello Insisted upon the same propriety in manners and actions and judged the verisimilitude of th© ©pic by the 75 decorum of its characters . Cinthio, with surprising historical sens©, broadened the limits to allow anything suitable to times, places, and persons

,

Minturno and

Scaliger, both of idiom fixed formulas for th© development of characters'7,7, followed Aristotle verbatim in founding rta decorum on th© necessary and th® verisimilar . Tasso required appropriateness to sex, class, and age7®* Among th© French general agreement obtained. Ronsard required gods and m©n as characters, both drawn 80 according to principles of decorum . Chapelain approved th© characters in Ado no for having "convenanc© at bout©”8'*', and developed his own In La Fucelle according to a simple 82 formula of propriety , Decorum was so early conventional­ ized and so strongly enforced In drama that slight individ­ ual differences in ©pic theory are not worth recording. Variations occurring between th© times of Vida1© statement -■J Q1 * and Soileau1© "Conservez a chacun son propre caraeter©” are negligible. However, when applied to the questions of th© qualities of th© protagonist and of th© kinds of characters appropriate In an ©pic, th© principle of decorum did not

46 produce completely reconcilable resulta.

Vida seems to limit

the characters to gods,, kings, heroes, and remarkable women, since he mentions only those84,

of their characteristics he

speaks only by example, but among them he includes both good end bad, appearing to require only a grandness of result in order to accept the quality as appropriate to the epic*

But

almost Immediately insistence upon instruction had it® ef­ fect, and heroes were expected to conform with the Christian ideal.

Danlello, Clnthio, and Capriano would allow only

great men, the protagonist an emperor or valorous man-atarms, performing virtuous actions85, Robortelli agreed, and added that the poet, when describing a particular person, should have in mind the universal exemplar85, linturno was the first to include the lower orders of men, on the grounds that the epic should deal with all of human life, but h© reserved the position of protagonist to a great general or Q« a king, because only they would have heroic qualities . This preference for martial virtues, however, did not remain the rule. Varchl allowed heroes in either peace OQ or war , Figna permitted a few men of lower classes, but only a® supporters to his heroes88, nho were, like Caprlano 1b

90

, Illustrious men in either peace or war.

Scaliger

thought both virtuous and vicious deeds in peace should b© narrated, to teach virtue, the heroes including generals,

4? kings, and citizens, but the position of protagonist reserved for a klng^x ,

Tasso agreed that good and bad deeds

should be Included, insisting only that "The ©pic hero must b© the type of perfection, the acme of all virtues”®®.

But

he raised a literary tempest by admitting a woman, Clorinda among his heroes.

H© defended himself with the precedent of

Vergil’s Camilla®^ and explained that women warriors were not unknown in antiquity. In this, the French followed a somewhat different tack.

Even earlier than Tasso, DuBartas braved the critics

with a heroine, whom h© mad© the protagonist of Judlt (1574). Little critical stir was caused;

Judith represented piety,

submission to God, and patriotism, and th© French were chiefly concerned, as regards character, with th© nobility of the virtues portrayed.

”Civil virtues” in Adone were

similarly approved, and Chapelain rested his whole case In th© "Preface” to La Pucelle, after a bow to the Amazons of antiquity, on the argument that heroism rests of moral virQC ^ tue . These leas martial qualities also engaged SaintAmant®^ and Godeau^7, who praised the Christian saintliness of Job, as Milton later was to do in calling the Book of Job a little epic.

Desmarets celebrated in Mary Magdalene

and Esther two scriptural heroines famour for moral strength. However, the pendulum swung back to characters like AlarIc

,

48

and Charlemagne.

Both the Seuderys and L&Bourer presented

heroes pios, valorous, and prudent, good Christians hut more warlike than had been popular Just previously# Concerning these points there is no real consensus. Decorum demanded, it is true, oareful characterisation, but its application depended upon the type to b© portrayed#

Very

early th® modern ©pic was expected to present only Christian heroes, and the protagonist to be a renowned personage.

But

the choice of virtues ranged from the warriorrs valor to a saintfs patience, and th® ©lection to chief character from emperor to peasant girl#

As concern with war lessened, per­

sons from lower classes were more generally included to broaden th© representation of human life.

Perhaps th© general

drift was away from choosing a character presumed capable of displaying heroic virtues, toward selecting virtues for which a character who possessed them was subsequently discovered. At least Judith, Charlemagne, and Jeanne d*Arc were thus accounted for by their epic biographers.

Since virtues in

th© service of God and country were popular, these charac­ ters were selected because they had displayed piety and patriotism. During th© discussions previously reviewed, th© Christian religion, the moral basis of criticism, and th© Renaissance spirit of rationalism were consolidated into a

foundation upon vihlch all agreed, so that, depending upon K&iich side of th® cornerstone the critic turned Up, he was able to build a monolithic argument agreeing with others who began fro© th® same premise.

Desmarets could say that

Christian themes, Christian miracles, and Christian charac­ ters should be used because seventeenth century poets were Christians who should teach Christian virtues, and their readers were realists who could not be duped with fictions. In reply, Boileau alleged that no good Christian should tamper with sacred history, that stories of any great deeds inspire virtu®, and that only when personified do inanimate forces become sufficiently anthropomorphic to b© meaningful to a realist.

Th© followers of each ratified these general

opinions of their leaders, but no such clear division was possible on questions more purely technical, bnlty of Action Decisions about the necessity for unity, and its definition, depended entirely upon the critic's artistic sense,

Neither Horace nor Vida was helpful.

The first

generalized: lft*efc all you w i t © b© on© and of a piece

;

th© second even more vaguely suggested: "To on® just scope with fixed design go on"^.

These statements allowed for either a single great action or for many coordinate actions executed by on© ma'n.

Boiardo

and Ariosto seemed to have complied with these dicta, and were esteemed, until Aristotle's "The truth Is that, just as In the other imitative arts one imitation is always of one thing, so in poetry th® story, as an imitation of action, must represent on© action, a complete whole, with its sever­ al Incidents so closely connected that the transposal or withdrawal of any one of them will disjoin and dislocate th© whol©"^^ forced the critics to question whether there was unity In the two Orlando©. Then criticism was tenta­ tively advanced.

The question of th© necessity of unity

implied no open doubt of the validity of Aristotle*® state­ ment, except perhaps in th© individualistic Castelvetro.

As

late as 1571 he denied that th© ©pic poet need concern him­ self with the beginning, middle, and end of an action, so long as he delights his audience, adding that, since the epic Is only imaginative history, It has no need for unity of action, and that, since many actions are more pleasurable 101 than one, a multitude of actions Is best . Usually th© discussion followed this course:

Aristotle had related th©

pleasures of art to delight in Imitation^®; In th© romances!

many delighted

was It not then proper to believe that

they were a type of epic which did not require unity?

51

Another point of view suggested that th© romance was a type, either of th® epic or of a narrative other than th© epic, Invented since Aristotle, so that he had not analysed it. Suggestions were as numerous as writers.

Some said th© ro­

mances had unity, either a biographical integrity^®® or a Singularity of purpose

104

, each a unity outside the action,

but one fitting into Aristotle1s ”episodic plot” 105. Others admitted that th© romances lacked unity, but thought It unimportant.

Cinthio

defended romances as a kind un­

known to Aristotle, not an ©pic but another form of heroic 10*7 poetry, and delightful as they were. Pigna agreed, and Bernardo Tasso, originally a supporter of the classical epic, was Induced by Cinthio to conpose the Am&digl as a romance and to defend th© typ©^^. Reduced to th© ultimate, however, th© argument was not whether unity is necessary or unnecessary beeause Aris­ totle had or had not said so, but whether it is an essential quality of art,

Minturno said it Is, declared that th® epic

must have a single action, and set for It a limit of one year

109

.

Trissino refused to disagree with Aristotle and 110

introduced only a single action Into Italia Liberata , ill Sperone, too, demanded unity . Th© influence of these critics drew their successors after them, and th© second stage of th© debate commenced.

52 Italian critics discovered that exact definition of an abstraction Is Impossible,

Aristotle had tried, by

giving examples and by mentioning limits, to be clear in his us© of the term r’a single action” , but the whole matter had to be re-argued.

Torquato Tasso, while defendIng roman­

tic matter In th© ©pic, demanded organic unity, which he defined as that of th© human body**^.

Capriano, a lone

voice in 1555, had already reasoned that far, and Cinthio had used th© sara© figure out of Aristotle, but both had been silenced by th© din of th© earlier Issue. with general agreement.

low, Tasso met

Organic unity followed considerable

narrative scop© but required reasonable restraint within comprehensible limits^®.

For achieving that, Pellegrini 114 praised th© Perusal©mm© Liberates so did Paolo Beni * Salviati disagreed, and Speroni criticized Tasso for marring th© unity of his plot with the story of Rinaldo

115

Thus one argument in the great controversy over th© first Italian Christian epic was begun. Tasso defended the unity . 116 of hie poem , and henceforth It was th© reference point in att©mpt$ to define unity.

Ronsard and Y&uquelln, proba*

bly following Minturno rather than criticizing Tasso, re­ stricted the action more narrowly by setting a limit of one year

, although Ronsard spoke of th© organic unity of th© 118 human body, after Cinthio, as th© disideratum In an ©pic

S3

Hereafter, the French advanced ©pie theory very little.

Even for Boile&u, the ©pic was vaguely wun vast©

reelt d*un© longue aetlon,,:i:i‘9 f

Unity was acknowledged as

a requirement of the plot, hut was variously Interpreted in practice.

In theory, much was said of th© nice judgment

required to prevent variety from dissipating unity. Chapelaln (1625) discussed the point. sincerity in defending Adone

120

His questionable

does not affect th© cogency

of his argument that episodes must contribute to the main action in th© true ©pic, for he reiterated in his MPreface” Pucelle (1650) that th© epic must have a single action around which secondary actions may b© grouped subordinately 121 enough that the unity can be perceived at once , This position is representative of critical opinion in Prance. 122 Saint-Amant (1653) subscribed to It . Both Georges and Madelain® d© Scudery agreed, limiting th© duration to one "I year* . Sometimes the unity is so specious that it Is not apparent to modern ©yes, as In Clovia (1654), but Desmarets insisted upon that quality, and specially mentioned that h© had integrated his poem by moans of his theme of the triumph 124 of Christianity .

Later, he defended himself against th© / 125 charge that hi® Incidents were a melange . His opponents

found no fault with his principle, but Boulllet and Furetier© 126 censured him for failing In his attempt to achieve unity

the theory of organic unity, diversified with subsidiary but related incidents, is simply repeated by LeMoyne (1666). For more than on© hundred year®, no significant addition was made to Capriano1a revival of Aristotle’s dictum,

Hearly

all discussion revolved around the success of each poet’s attempt to dispose his episodes about th© central plot so aa to diversify his poem without disrupting th© unity of his main action. Adornments Th© problem of defining unity, and others concern-* lng the subject, verisimilitude, the marvelous, and th© characters, were recognised and attacked by Renaissance critics as fundamental to an adequate theory of th© epic. As they worked to describe the classical epic, many of them found that their general principles concerning literature led them to

rescribe a Christian epic.

From that, later

poets and critics developed the classical BIbllcdl epic. But there was greater Interest and more assurance when each turned to offer technical directions for composing an epic. In that phase of th© discussions they were dealing with matters more tangible.

Before them were the examples of

Vergil and Homer, still acceptable and praiseworthy, about which they might allow their wit to play, discovering new facets, without th© danger of being lured into th© mazes of

55 & metaphysical or theological disquisition.

Consequently,

there are as many shades of opinion about appropriate adorn­ ment© and details of composition as there are critical essays, for even th© same writer would express slightly altered ideas in successive publications*

Out of this

fecunity, it will b© possible only to extract th© chief points in dispute and to sketch conflicting opinions. term adornments included many species.

Th©

Versification, style,

figures, diction, and names are the most prominent. Versification As with most Benaissanc© Issues, the discussion of whether vers© Is essential to poetry stemmed from the Poetics. Aristotle had denied that Mth© metre they write inH entitled 1ST men to be called poets , and his opinion was accepted as final authority until Scaliger rejoined that an artist was called ^poet*’ because he mad© verses^®8 .

However, critics

quickly observed that Airbtotle* s statement is not logically complete, and hastened to make it s© by pronouncing upon whether metre is ©saential to poetry.

Danielio thought it 129 necessary, but not that which mad© th© composition poetry Hobortelli admitted that th© best poetry was expressed In 130 verse, but said metre was not essential to lesser kinds . VarchI, though Including among poets those who Imitated in prose, required the most serious kind of vers© for th©

50 ©pic

151.

.

Capriano demanded vers© for all poetry;

Castel-

votr©”* ^ and Minturno^^ accepted it as the proper "clothing"; and Sc&liger, though he spoke of Helidorous* pros© romance as a model epic, said in another place that an imitation, to b® poetry, must be adorned wi th verse-*-*^. becoming the sine qua non of poetry.

Verse was

Mazzoni*s definition,

"poetry is an imitation, mad© with harmony, with rhythm, and with verse,” stated the position finally taken by later critics. With verse securely & prerequisite, th© issue was shifted to ancillary questions*

If verse is not the essence

of poetry, what is?

What kind of versification Is most

proper to the epic?

Both were answered at one© by Dsnlello.

H© recommended an eleven syllable verse closed in ©very third line, on th© authority of D&nt© and Petrarch, and stated that the choice of words, sentences, and figures 155 rendered the subject matter grave, sublime, and poetic Fracastoro thought poetry inherent in th© perception and 156 . Hendecaexpression of th© true beauties in things syllabic lines, rimed, was Cinthio’s recommendation, and strict attention to subject matter th© essence of poetry 137 for him . Plot and fiction, and th© hexameter, Luislnus 138 answered , and Trissino and Cast©lvetro agreed that imagi139 nation is th© essential quallfit&tion of a poet . For the

57 French critics, Imaginative creation was almost uniformly considered of the essence.

Their recommendations concern"*

Ing prosody were confined to the hexameter, the deca­ syllabic , and th© Alexandrine.

The discussion of metres

has little import for the English epic, but th© seriousness and th© sublimity which each critic was attempting to ensure by his suggestions are qualities fundamental in the Kenaissance conception of ©pic poetry.

So, too, the

acceptance of invention as essential to poetry Is important, for it counteracted what might otherwise have been the blighting insistence upon literal truth in the epic.

That

demand for verisimilitude as actuality had been the main argument for th© Christian epic, but had it been allo?/©d to rule,

it would have killed all poetry*

Style Other considerations, of style and of ornamenta­ tion,

were treated as details which each critic discussed

as fully or a® briefly as h© wished.

Decorum and high

seriousness form the rule by which the fitness of each is measured.

Comparisons, metaphors and similes, ar© the fig­

ures most commonly mentioned.

The usual attitude is that

expressed by Frac&sotro in 1555, Hornaments merely bring out the true beauties In t h i n g s , a n d reiterated by LaXi&boureur in 1664, "good style is to express the thought

58 or feeling truthfully In well turned phrases and representsn jin

tiv© figures’*

■.

Some warnings were off ©red against excess* 142 Tasso denounced difficult or obscure conceit® and Bonsard, recognizing that comparisons rightly used are th© very nerves and tendons of poetry, cautioned that, if, instead of perfecting and clarifying, they obscure or con­ fuse the idea, they are ridiculous*^®.

In th® composing of

figures, invention was approved, but a poet was applauded for borrowing selectively.

Minturno, recommending imitation

of the best authors, directed that th© poet rephrase glean­ ings from a m o d e m or from a classic in his own language, but advised a word-for-word translation from an ancient or 144 a foreigner . Except for an occasional objector like 1,c Castelvetro , critics generally subscribed to Minturno*a conclusion, thinking it a conquest to naturalize a choice foreign or antique felicity. Diction Much less unanimity obtained in opinions concern­ ing diction.

Among th© Italians there were few differences,

one© th© use of the vulgar tongue was established, but the French, largely because of the Pleiad©*s eagerness to re­ form their language, were much concerned about proper word®. DuBellay began th© movement with his suggestions that

59

French poets use classical ornaments and borrow terms from Spanish, Italian, Latin, and Greek146.

Pelletier objected,

denouncing all ’’useless ornament and bombast”14*^.

Vauquelin

followed Ronsard and DuBellay In urging the use of neologisms and dialect words, th© employment of terms and comparisons from th© mechanic arts, and other linguistic Innovations

148

In opposition to the Pleiad©, Malherbe recommended the 11ving and present usage of th© court149. The controversy continued to the end of th© period.

DuBartas coined and

compounded words16^, and Desmarets reminted obsolete words and grammatical forms151.

Th© Pleiad© and their followers

were not pursuing a factitious novelty.

Patriotically

yearning for a French ©pic, they strove to enrich their lan­ guage that it might be capable of the high style required in heroic poetry.

The Italians set the same standard, but

considered their language capable of sustaining It.

Names An interesting minor discussion did Involve critics of both nations.

Ihether to use true or invented

names was disputed from Vida to Boileau.

Th© former

recommended choosing actions of men whose names are euphon­ ious, but cautiously implied that changing a name slightly to produce this desirable quality might not be unforgivable

152

60

Even more circumspectly, leaving the poet to infer that he ought to invent rather than fail, the latter warned! "Sometime the name, being well or ill applied* Will th® whole fortune of your work decide. In the years between the two, the question was variously answered.

Aristotle had seemed to prefer true names, toe-

cause "what convinces is the possible", yet he had admitted that Agathon*s Antheus contained both Invented incidents t* .154 and names "and it is not less delightful on that account" Robortelli, concerned that verisimilitude approach the actual, required that the epic employ true names155.

Indig­

nant that anything but* th© actual should to© included in the ©pic, Pigna thought that fictitious names must b© used as a 1 Cfi mark of fictitious incidents . In contrast, C&stelvetro, exponent of th© theory of delight, recommended that the poet beguile with the true names of kings who did great deeds, isy but that he invent others as he wished . Opposed to mere historiography in th® epic, Hansard praised imagined addi­ tions and suggested that invented names be avoided so that 158 fictions might pass unnoticed . Saint-Amant, like Boileau, was most Interested In the euphony of names, caring little whether they were true or Invented

.

The course of

this discussion follows closely that about verisimilitude. Each critic reached a conclusion in accord with his

61

attitude towards th® major question and was concerned to th® degree that he was involved In the other argument*

For

those who accepted th© credible as verisimilar, the choice was inconsequential, but those who demanded the actual con­ sidered that names other than true ones were covert falsehoods* Details of Composition More fundamental principles also guided critics* recommendations of methods of narration.

Classical epics

embodied a set of conventions which all accepted, but the manner in which they were to be adapted was never settled. Each critics allegiance to his basic conclusions about the end of peotry, the proper subject, th© meaning of unity and verisimilitude, and admission of the marvelous determined his attitudes about details of composition.

Those involved

in th© ferment are the beginning, the order, th© methods of providing variety, the propriety of invocations, and the best period from which to draw th© action.

On these matters

th© Poetics contained few hints, so the practice of Vergil and th© precepts of Horace were authoritative.

Comments

from a few critics will suffice to illustrate the relation­ ships of each point with larger issues.

Th© method of beginning a poem was recognised as of prime importance.

Vida, prescribing from th© Aeneid,

suggested a quiet beginning with a general statement of theme and an epitome of th© main argument*®^. generally commended*

This rule was

Delores cautioned against a beginning

too full or too bombastlc^*®^. Llonardi recommended ear© for 1flg the beginning . In contrast to Vida and Delores, Scaliger suggested a grand beginning with soraethig cognate to the them®, although h© agreed with them that an epitome should 163 be offered early , For a time after this, care for th© beginning was rather tak©n for granted.

Poets observed it

and critics noticed it, but the necessity for it seemed so self-evident that few discussed it.

Desmarets mentioned,

in another connection, that the beginning of his poem con­ tained a general statement of theme, but offered no explana164 tion . Th© same unquestioning acceptance is patent in Soileau*s brief and conventional recommendation of a quiet, plain beginning which introduces the main argument themat­ ically^®.

In those essays pretending to completeness of

prescription, th© device was reexamined.

A few critics

suggested modifications, but most writers, ©specially the theorists, simply accepted it without discussion.

63 order

Far more pressing was the problem of ordering the narrative*

Again Vergil and Horace offered what authority

was available.

Aristotle had declared that 11a well-

constructed plot, therefore, cannot either begin or ©nd at any point one likes;

beginning and end in it must be of "I >»/s

th© forms described”

* However, a ”beginning which is not

itself necessarily after anything elae”^®^ can be construed to accomodate either in madias res or ab ovo.

Critics mad©

their choice between th© two methods according to their more general decisions about the type of action. Proponents of the history of many actions favored the chronological method of beginning ab ovo. Defending the romance and the biographical ©pic, Cinthio said that, if avherofss early years be interesting, M s whole life 168 should be narrated from the beginning . Madius objected to beginning Hin th© middle”. He maintained that, with first on© and then another narrating, only the chronological 169 order could prevent confusion . Minturno, close follower of Aristotle, understood "beginning, middle, and ©nd” literally to mean that th© poet must begin ab ovo, and rtf\ refused to consider other forms of order . Equally Aristo­ telian, Castelvetro approved beginning ab ovo.

His apparent

Intention was to make clear his indifference to th©

64

classical rule. was!

The true situation, as he expressed It,

f,In telling a story, we need not concern ourselves

whether It has beginning, middle, or end, but only whether It is fitted to Its true purpose, that Is to delight its 171 auditor©.... . In spite of Castelvetro*s and Mlnturno*s agruments, and In spit© of strong support from admirers of romances, th© historical method gave place to the necessities of variety within unity, and beginning ab ovo, with Its con­ sequent chronological order, was not seriously advanced again as a narrative method for the epic. Georges de Scudery, attempting to vary his regular practice, began Alarlc ab ovo, but was criticized, and apologized for It

172

L©Moyne observed that there were two modes of arrangement, the f!droit et naturel" and th© **artificial et renverse”, 173 according to which the events in an ©pic might be ordered , but he chose the second for Saint Louis and defended himself 174 with classical precedents . On© of his attackers, Mambrun, questioned that LeMoyn© had followed the plan of an epic in Saint Louis.

Mambrun admitted that many Romans had recom­

mended in medlas res, but declared that since Airstotle and his interpreter Mlnturno demanded Chronological arrangement, he, too, would support it.

This opinion might be taken more

seriously if Mambrun had not later praised Saint Louis when It was published.

Strong suspicion is entertained that the

65 "attack” was really Intended as a friendly advertisement

1f*p? .

Rejection of the chronological order was not ob­ viously , due to lack of support for it.

Neither was it th©

result of mere neveration for the practice of the ancients, although that attitude supported the decision.

Cinthio

approved beginning in th© middle for ©pics written In the classical manner simply because that was th© classical tradition, but he porposed and defended th© direct order for the two other "tew" forms, th© romance and the biograph176 leal epic . With a distinction so simple, he needed no additional reasons for his divided opinion.

Others who felt

they must for&e a single theory of th© ©pic always related to major principles their decisions regarding technique. Because long romances had proved to be diffuse, Bonsard, wishing to prevent disunity, directed that a poem of such scope as the epic must begin in the middle and be well joined**^.

DuBartas entertained a similar opinion.

He con­

sidered the classical method more delightful in total effect than the historical order in the Bible, so he rearranged the story of Judith to conform with the practice of Homer and 178 Vergil . More officiously than these later critics, prob­ ably because he was embroiled in the concluding phase of the battle over th© romance, Scaliger dictatorially forbade poets to begin ab ovo. in spite of his belief that th© ©pic

66

was simply idealised history*

Form h© thought a means for

accomplishing instruction, and unity a prerequisite to that end.

Tasso also approved th© classical form, and believed 179 he had observed it in Geraulemm© Liberate . His claims were disputed, particularly by Sperone and Salviati, but on grounds of failure to accomplish his purpose, not on those of validity of his theory^®.

Whether he did begin in the

middle was a matter of controversy then, and much later th© question still had not been settled. he had^®^;

Saint-Amant thought

Scudery that he had only partly^-99; Desmarets

* 183 censured him for not having don© so at all .

But, Tasso1s

support of in mediae res, whatever his success in using it, contributed much toward the general acceptance which it hence­ forth enjoyed. The French critics usually followed Scaliger and the later Italians.

Even those who mentioned the chronolog­

ical order approvingly were more favorable to the classical arrangement.

Chapelain allowed that Aden©, because It was

short, might properly begin ab ovo, but he required that 104 other epics commence in raedlas res . In his own La Pucelle h© began in th© middle, and reiterated the rule In 180 the preface . LeMoyne described both methods, but followed 136 Vergil and Homer, defending that order as the better Seudery apologised for using th© chronological method In on©

67 poem

187

, and generally followed the artificial mode.

His

sister unequivocally stated that the epic poet must begin in the middle "to give some suspense to the reader, even from the first opening of the Book"^*®8 .

By the time of

Boileau, it was so completely the rule that h© doe® not mention it in L'Art Foetlque. Thus the discussion of th© proper order finally concluded with general acceptance of the precept of Horace, especially after Scaliger explained that It was not in op­ position to Aristotle*s observations.

The matter received

careful attention, for it is an essential narrative device, Identified with the cause of unity, and the debate over it was Intensified by its relation to th© primary issue. Variety Variety, either to delight, or to broaden the scope, or to do both, was recogniaed as an indispensable element of the epic, but how it was to b© attained and what was to provide it engaged many writers.

Vida devoted most

of his second book to prescriptions concerning methods and materials: "For *tls variety that gives delight"'*'8®. He explained the need for a "just design" and for careful association of each digression both to the main theme and to the point of departure.

For "new objects to relieve the

©8 mind" he recommended description® of nature, of household economy, of social functions, and of emotional states.

Epi­

sodes he would introduce by various means, such as pictures, banquet tales, songs, and memories.

Praises of rural pleas­

ures and similar delights he admired, but he insisted upon careful articulation without apparent strain.

Artistry in 190 narrative method was the basis for his directions The romances taught succeeding Italian critics to appreciate especially th© episode as a means of diversifying ©pic poems. turno

Danlello191, Bobortelll19®, Cinthio193, Min-

, and Tasso

particularly defended the matter of

romance as epic material. were mentioned.

However, other forms of diversity

Daniello allowed m©n*s thoughts to be Intro­

duced, and didactic passages enforcing th© truths of God and nature-*"9®,

Castelvetro also permitted the thoughts of men to

be expressed.

But he Imposed limits on diversification, inter­

dicting simultaneous unrelated actions, successive unrelated actions, and many simultaneous or successive related actions, even if part of a greater action, because the main actions would then be dlsunified

197

, Trissino suggested and used

descriptions of garments, arms, palaces, methods of build198 Ing camps, and military arrangements and exercises Scaliger preferred military councils, tempests, wars, routs, 199 and various other artifices . All of these critics

cautioned against the danger inherent In variety, advising constant care so that unity might not be destroyed, French critics held the same opinions.

DuBartas

amplified with his own invention bar© statements in th© Bible, and proudly explained his expansion as an achieveHe also used th© classical list, ©numerating the friend® and th© enemies of th© Faith®0^. Indicated the need for variety, ter at some length.

Other critics

Scudery discussed th© mat­

He maintained that the epic must have

episodes, but emphasized th© importance of connecting them with the main story so that diversity does not overwhelm unity2^®.

Into Alarlc he introduced conferences to charac­

terize heroes and to allow moral observations illustrating the wisdom of the poet.

For additional variety he included i

battles, episodes, love scenes, farewells, and descriptions' Desmarets subscribed to the tenet that episodes should 204 abound, but should not swamp unity . Chapelain defended abundance of digressions and descriptions.

He explained

that h© included a review of Captains in La Fucelle because it was traditional and would b© missed if not presented, although h© realized that no on© wouild read it.

More posi­

tively, h© also made use of games, a banquet, and a number 2 OS ing of th© army for the pleasure of variety , Most of th© critics, both Italian and French, were aware of th©

70 matter and the methods of diversity in classical poems, and they approved their os© as long as th© result was not a con­ glomeration of ©vents and descriptions Ilk© th© romance. Unity had been recognized as of primary importance, and no critic would permit any secondary value to usurp its place. Invocations A different principle underlay mother of the discussions of epic technique.

Th© classic poets had mod­

estly and reverently called upon th© gods for assistance in their endeavours.

Modern critics were forced to judge the

propriety of this practice, which was related to the problem concerning the marvelous.

Vida, untroubled by the broader

question, recommended imploring the aid of th© Muses, of tutelary powers, and of Jove, not once, but each timei "When objects rise that mock your toil and pain Above the labor and the reach of man'1206# After the issue was clearly drawn, Lionardi, an adherent of the pagan marvelous, repeated Vida’s suggestion. But he did not merely follow tradition.

He believed that to

call upon one’s own Muse was merely a recognition that poets 207 were dependent upon inspiration . Much more skeptical, but firmly attached to the marvelous, Christian or pagan, Castelvetro recognized the invocation to the Muses as a device for suggesting ©pio scope, and re comm ended, that it be

71 QQA used wherever appropriate*^ .

On the contrary, Ronsard, a

reverent person, who believed that a poet must be a good man and deeply religious, restricted invocations to appeals to the Christian Cod, although he supported the pagan mar* velous, to retain an essential ©pic element without the danger of blasphemy.

More advanced than theologians con­

temporary with him, he permitted that Gad be addressed under any name, His Own, Apollo’s, or a Muse’s, so long as the poet meant the Christian Deity under the classical guise®^.

DuBartas, insistent upon the Biblical ©pic,

invoked God directly, although he defended using ’’Mars, Venus, and Vulcan” as metonymies for natural forces and for 210 various aspects of the Divinity -*” . These examples illus­

trate the varying recommendations of critics as regards the use of Invocations.

Writers continued to approve &nd to

us© them, in one or another of these ways, throughout the Renaissance. Minor devices There were other minor matters under discussion which cannot be fully reviewed because the comments upon them are usually casual, Indicating only recognition of a device, and sometimes suggesting a new way of using It. Vida, for example, denounces exact repetition of a King’s

72 words because of an exaggerated respect for majesty

211

DuB&rt&s, on the other hand, adopts the practice in present­ ing verbatim the word® God had earlier spoken in the poem. A second such matter is the period of the epic.

Tasso con­

sidered the temporal setting critical for invention and verisimilitude.

H© chose a time long enough past for

details to have been forgotten but recent enough for the event to be still remembered2^2 . Bonsard specified that the action must be at least three or four hundred years old

213

.

LaLaboureur condensed Tasso*s explanation into the

statement th&t the time must be not too remote nor too near. In general, this opinion ruled, for most poets preferred to work in a period about which memory was hasy. Conclusion The problems which were most often discussed were the choice of subject, verisimilitude and the marvelous, epic characters and decorum, appropriate adornments, and details of construction.

Upon the eventual solution of

these in favor of the supporters of Christian themes rested the development of the theory of the classical Biblical epic. The Christian subject was preferred by mo®t critics and poets.

This led to a Biblical on©, shortly, because the

material was so readily available.

Verisimilitude,

73

particularly ass regards the marvelous, required that much of matter of the epic come from the Bible, so the steps to a Biblical ©pic were not great.

Even the characters soon

became Biblical, because they more certainly represented the Christian virtues which th© ©pic was now expected to inculcate.

So, the early concern of critics with the

classical ©pic soon shifted to the Christian epic, and it was only a step then, for men like DuBartas and Saint-Amant, to the classical Biblical ©pic. Meanwhile, the English were closely following the®© discussions.

Elizabeth read and admired Ronsard

pi 4

.

Sidney, at the French court, had been an acquaintance of Ronsard^^.

In his catalogue of reading for 1609, Drummond 216 lists French poets and critics . DuBartas was enter­

tained at the court of James VT and urged to remain perma217 nently . Moreover, in both Elizabethan and Stuart 213 periods, educated people read widely in the French and Italian

literatures.

Their interest is reflected in

th© popularity of translations of Christian and Biblical poetry, in th© critical essays they wrote, and in their own attempts to produce Biblical epics.

74

Chapter IV ENGLISH CRITICS Contemporaneous with the popularity among Eliza* bethans of the secular "little ©plc,f was an active interest In Biblical stories and In th© classical epic.

The earliest

English critics took for granted that poetry concerned with God or His manifestations was th© finest, and they accepted the classical as th© perfect type of epic.

Even the idea

of embodying Christian subjects In classical form was not new to them.

They probably did not know the Anglo-Saxon

Biblical epics, but they certainly had th© Chrlstiad. were conversant with the Italian and French discussions of the propriety of the combination, and appreciatively read Gerusalerome Liberate. However, they were too much engrossed in construc­ ting a system of metrics, in developing laws of versifica­ tion, and in defending poetry in general to undertake to deduce and propose techniques for a specific type.

Further­

more, there was no known English ©pic to arouse discussion, as there were English plays to stimulate dramatic criticism. Their statements concerning ©pic subjects, verisimilitude, th© marvelous, decorum, characters, unity, adornments, and details of construction were remarks Interspersed

75 unsystematically throughout essays devoted to topics far more general.

Ascham broadly recommended the classical matter

and manner^*

Whetstone incidentally equated verisimilitude 2 with the actual , Lodge abstractly proved that th© ©pic is th© finest kind of poetry and Homer th© greatest of epic

poets*5. Hi chard Stanyhurst4 and Sir Philip Sidney5 general­ ised that poetry is an Imitation to teach and to delight. Consequently, added Sidney, ’’The chief both in antlquitle and excellenci© were they that did imitate the inconceivable excellencie of God”5 .

He placed divine poetry first, hero-

leal poetry with it when it sang of gods, and just after it when it celebrated great men *

It was probably this regard

for sacred subjects that led Sidney to translate DuBartas1 8 First Week .

Sir Philip, of course, discoursed on tech­

niques more concretely than did his contemporaries, other than th© metricists.

He discussed verisimilitude, declaring 9 that if the application be true th© fable may be false , and he ©numerated epic characters, limiting them to gods, princes, and noble men

1 ft

.

Likewise, Sir John Harlngton applied Aris­

totelian standards In his criticism, and accepted the Aeneld as th© model of ©pic poetry.

However, he approved Ariosto

above Vergil in the on© respect that Orlando Furloso con11 tained the Christian spirit . Sidney, insisting less upon Christian and more upon ethical variety, was satisfied that

76 the heroical poetry of Homer and Vergil moved reader® to high 1© truth . Both, obviously, agreed with their Italian proto­ types that instruction was the end of poetry. William Webb©, continuing th© tradition, asserted that even a Prince could learn virtuous actions from Homer and that th© best poets were those who "with delight... may evermore adiogne commodltie to theyr Headers

Thomas

Hash©, upholding Tasso as his standard of th© best poetry, 14 which teaches as It delights , emphasized, like Stanyhurst and Harington, the preferability of th© Christian spirit in a poem written in th© Christian era.

Puttenham was even

more speoific, on this and on some other topics.

He thought

th© first kind of poetry that in praise of the gods, th© second In praise of princes and h e r o e s , and he suggested that English poets praise God, as David had.

As for th©

marvelous, Putteriham saw no Incongruity in using heathen 16 gods figuratively or mystically , for epic poets "writ© long histories of th© noble gests of Kings and great Princes intermeddling the dealings of th© gods, half-gods, or Heroes of the gentiles, and th© great and weighty consequences of 17 peace and warre" . Concerning verisimilitude, he thought that, although heroical poetry was largely history, it could and should simulate reality rather than copy actuality. Homer*s method of combining the false with the true h©

77 recommended, with the Aristotelian qualifications that the fiction should not be Incredible10. However, hi® liberalism did not extend to character®.

In contradiction to Sc&liger,

Putieriham permitted only gods, half-gods, heroes, and princes, and he explicitly denied that the deeds of ”mean or base persons” would ”s©rve a® fit”1^.

Surprisingly, after

this stricter classicism, he refused to set rules of dtecorum, because his historical sens© recognised Lt as a matter of taste in each time

,

After Puttenham's relatively compen­

dious discussion, Gabriel Harvey appears rather preoccupied. Like his friends of th© nAreopagus”, he thought instruction the end of poetry, and approved th© Christian subject* Praise of DuBartas for his style and matter, and for his 01 moral teaching , was the extent of his digressing from his absorbing metrical theories. The consensus among sixteenth century English critics was that divine poetry and heroical poetry, by their essence containing high moral teachings, are the two finest kinds;

that a Christian suibject is to be preferred

for Christian poets;

that verisimilitude is essential, but

not confined within actuality;

that the marvelous is a

source of delight which should appear In poetry; decorum Is indispensable, but relative;

that

and that the char­

acters of an epic poem should b© god®, kings, and heroes.

78 Critics often mentioned unity as fundamental, but none pre­ scribed how to attain It In an epic.

Homer, Vergil,

Ariosto, and Tasso were apprlciatively reviewed indiscrimi­ nately, apparently without regard for the question of unity Twitch divided the Italian and French, proponents of each. Yet th© English were not oblivious to the contention, for op they had studied the disputants . Puttenham quoted Scaliger as an authority®®, and Chapman reproved him for preferring Vergil to Homer2 4.

Sidney1& ApoloRle is an

application of Italian criticism to English and classical literature

25

.

So th© inference may be drawn that matters

of technique and construction were tacitly Ignored by early English critics until what they regarded as more fundamental problems had been

solved.

lical epics could Bartas * Judit and

Poets

whoconsidered

writing Bib­

expect them to

be praised, as

were Du­

Sepmalnes, but

forsuggestive

analyses and

prescriptive theories they had still

to turn to th© Italians

and the French. Early seventeenth century critics were rarely more particular, unless they were poets defending their own pro­ ductions, but they generated a climate of opinion most fecund for this hybrid of pagan classicism and Christian supernaturalism.

Nearly all were agreed upon the necessity

for moral instruction in any acceptable literary work, and

79 many were imbued with a militant religious spirit.

The

aegis of King James, patron and first translator of DuBartas26, spread beneflclently over all orthodox moral and religious creeds2^ .

Bacon proclaimed that ?,Falned Historie

... serveth and conferreth to Magnanimitle, Moralitie, and to delectation

itS3

.

Ben

Jbnson, who believed one must be a nq good man to be a good poet , said that the end of poetry was to move men to the good®^, that the object of poetry was both pleasure and profit®^.

He approved the classical

devices for epic as well as for dramatic poetry, recommend­ ing that a poet Imitate the content, materials, and methods 32 of his predecessors . In addition, the spirit of classi­ cism had become stronger, albeit narrower.

Jonson's leader­

ship is well known, but there were other advocates.

Peacham

proclaimed poetry the vehicle for presenting philosophy and other learning, and showed particular interest in Biblical •XJZt poetry because It presented dlvin© mysteries . But he did not neglect the beauties of Vergil®4 , following Sealiger, he said

35

, in estimating the Aeneld very highly.

Drayton

was another classicist who offered general approbation.

He

extolled Sylvester, for his translation of DuBartas, with Vergil, Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, and Jonson®6 . More specific advice was offered by critics later in the century, in addition to.their reiteration of th©

80 thesis repeated by their predecessors.

Reynolds sensibly

allowed that heathen moral philosophy had sufficed until the true religion became known, but such matter he thought unfit for poetry in an era when Christian subjects were available to a Christian poet.

He insisted that, although

th© ancient pagans might properly present only what was ascertainable by common sense, modern Christians should ex37 pound their received religious truths . Sir William Alexander, assuming a national preference for Christian themes In England as In Scotland, progressed to detailed consideration of techniques.

H© denied th© French equation

of verisimilitude with actuality and affirmed that an epic might b© wholly fictitious, so long as th© poet, "soaring above th© course of Hatur©11, recommended virtue and discour­ aged vie©.

For th© protagonist, he required a character,

actual or imaginary, who was pre-eminent In all human qualities58. An interesting divergence from the general acceptance of classical practice and standards was abortively propogated by Davenant and Hobbes.

The former promulgated

the doctrine that a "new ©pic poet should make new discov­ eries*’, rather than imitate Homer5®, and he expunged DuBartas1 name from th© list of eminent poets because he 40 used classical devices . Then he indicted Tasso for

81 miscegenation of th© fabulous with his Christian subject, Nevertheless, Ilk© Tasso, he chose to make his person® Christians, because that characterization "conduced more to explicable virtue” and contributed to verisimilitude by means of its familiarity41, and h© decided to set the action In an ancient time, to be free of the shackles of an histo­ rian,

However, In defiance of tradition, Davenant construc­

ted his epic as a flve-act drama, offering a new type to new times4®,

Hobbes supported Davenant’s unconventional theory,

arguing that, since the only difference between Heroic Narra­ tive (Epic) and Heroic Dramatic (Tragic) poetry was that the first Is spoken by one, th© second by many, therefore the "figure” should be the same4^. differed,

On some details th© two

Hobbes would not confirm Davenant*s objection to

Invoking the aid of the Muses even at th© beginning of th© 44 undertaking . On others they agreed. The marvelous was close to the religious beliefs of the ancients, and was a legitimate adornment for their poetry, but because it was currently recognized as outside th© range of possibility in 45 Nature, It was too improbable for modern epic© Directly opposed in both theory and practice to these Innovations of the philosopher and the playwright were the opinions of Abraham Cowley.

Curiously, he praised

Davenant, In hi® folio of 1656, because in the first two

as books of Oondibert h e : 11Doth drive th© monsters end the charms”46^

gods

thence, and

and because he Introduced a new form for the epic^7. Yet, in the wPrefaceM to the same volume, he stated that M s own Da vide! s was designed in twelve parts after Vergil4^®, and h© supported his projected ending as classical,w .•.(as we see by th© example of Homer and Vergil, whom we should do ill to foresake to imitate o t h e r s ) T h e

Davidels

was the first epic written in English to be planned wholly on the pattern established by the Aeneid, and the notes explaining and justifying passages, allusions, and devices are a hornbook in Vergilian technique.

However, in the

matter of the Christian subject, Cowley not only agreed with his friends, Davenant and Hobbes, but went beyond them, declaring that Holy Scripture afforded all th© matter a poet should use, and arguing that Bible stories are superior to pagan ones^.

Later critics, like Howard, Sprat, and Rymer,

agreed with Cowley, but, since their statements reflected rather than created the milieu in which Paradise Lost was conceived, it is unnecessary to record them. Almost without exception, English critics agreed that th© end of poetry was Instruction, either with or N through delight; that in th© Christian epoch this objective

85

at least permitted, if It did not demand, a Christian sub­ ject;

that th® highest form of th© epic was attained by-

Homer and Vergil;

and that imitation of the classics was

th© surest, some said th® only, method of writing good epic poetry.

These dicta, and the high praise of DuBartas,

Drayton, Alexander, and Cowley for their Biblical "epics", encouraged seventeenth century poets to attempt classical Biblical ©pics.

In addition to th© religious and social

ferment stimulating them to new ways, they were impelled toward change by th© renascent English interest in religious poetry, their own desire to escape the confinement of th© little ©pic, the public and critical objections to the Ovidian epics, and th© considerable body of Continental critical theory urging and directing the composition of Christian epics. >

Since th© Bible was so highly popular,

since the chief contemporary successful epics were Biblical, and sine© th© material, particularly the marvelous, was so suitable, many poets quit© naturally turned to Biblical subjects.

The four attempts at classical Biblical epics

which reached the English people before Paradise Lost will b© examined.

B4

Chapter ? DTJBARTAS* JUDITH One of the earliest classical Biblical ©pica presented to English readers was DuBartas Judlfc, published 1 In Franc© in 1574 . Popular as French poetry was in England, probably the Judlt reached there quickly, but th© public had not long to wait before it was available In translation. In 1584^ Thomas Hudson published in Edinburgh The Historle of Judith "In Form of a Poem©. 0* Salust, Lord of Bertas.

Penned by th© Hoble Poet,

Englished by Tho. Hudson",

widely It circulated has not been determined.

How

However,

others published In Scotland, such as Alexander's poems and James VI*s PemonoIOKie, reached a large audience, so it may be assumed that, through the patronage of James which Hudson enjoyed, the translation reached England.

Furthermore, in

the second edition of Bartas: his devlne weekea and workes. "Translated by J. Sylvester", published by Humphray Lownes in 1608, was included the Hudson translation of Judlt. Again, in the 1621 edition of DuBartas1 His Divine Weekes and Workes "With a Complete CollectiST of all th© other most delight-full Workes and written by ^ famous Philomusus Josuah Sylvester Gent.", Lownes Included Hudson*s Judith with

as a brief note, ”Th© Printer to the Header” , explaining that DuBartas* popularity would make welcome ”Thist Flee®” , though ”Indeed no part of his incomparable Weekea (neither ido to Aeneas

IQ

.

Among other things, Judith has stitched a tapestry

in which are worked the incidents of Lot, Susanna, Joseph,

95 and Jeptha

17

*

This digression, which contributes little

to th© ©pic quality of th© poem and seems to have been added merely as a required expansion, fills most of the book, which is closed with the meeting of Judith and Holofernes.

Her beauty, and its effect on Holofernes, are

reminiscent of th® meeting of Aeneas and Dido construction of this whole episode,

, as is the

Holofernes1 burnings

of love for Judith at the beginning of Book Five ar© much 19 like Dido's for Aeneas , and his recital of his campaigns, throughout the rest of Book Five, is a digression and a flashback to the beginning of the grand action of the poem in the same manner as Aeneas* recital of his adventures®^, from th© fall of Troy to th© time of his landing at "new-­ built Carthage” .

In Holofernes* narrative are Included two 21 geographical lists ; a description of a battle and of his op deeds in it**; and an oration by Holofernes before a battle®®. variety.

All of these are classical devices for obtaining This digression, the kind used classically to

enhance the fame of the epic hero, Is wasted on the villian Holofernes.

In addition, the tapestries which Judith sees

hanging on the walls of Holofernes* tent and which depict: r%A

”...Persian kings, of Mods, and Syrian stories"**1 are modelled on the pictures seen by Aeneas in Dido's 25 temple

96

The sixth hook, containing the climax, Is not classical.

It opens with a feast, not an epic one at which

stories are told, but a Biblical one used to show the syba­ ritic heathes as gluttons, so that Holofernes is made as disgusting as possible.

He is to die in his bed by a

sword, but his death is to be a degraded and horrible homi­ cide, not like the noble and tragic suicide of Dldo2^. When the tyrranlcide Is accomplished, the pagans routed, and Judith’s hymn of thanksgiving sung, the book closes, 07 and the poem. Like the death of Turnus , th© murder if Holofernes is th© climax of th© Judlt» coming near th© ©nd of the tale. It is apparent that DuBart&s has recast the Bibli­ cal narrative Into the form of a classical epic by beginning In the middle;

by relating, in a flashback told by

Holofernes, what th© Bible tells first;

by introducing

other digressions In the forms of speeches and of pictures; and by modeling much of th© main incident on the story of Aeneas and Dido in th© Aeneid.

Some of the ornaments Bu-

Bartas used hav© been noted, such as th© epic lists of early Jewish heroes and of th© tribes In Holofernes* army.

Others

may be pointed out. The marvelous directly plays only a small part in the poem, but indirectly pervades the whole in the sure

97 knowledge that God will protect his people through an Instrument of hi© own choosing.

This Is made clear at the

very beginning when the high-priest Joachim In prayer re­ minds the Lord that the Jews have not forsaken Him for other gods and that th© Ark of the Covenant must be pro­ tected from sacrilege.

Aside from this assurance of an an­

thropomorphic God brooding over His people, which finally Is focused in the strength He gives Judith to kill Holofernes, there are two other appearances of the marvelous.

The first,

in Lord Ammon’s chronicle of th© Jews, occurs in th© stories of Abraham and Isaac, of Moses* miracles before Pharao and the plagues he brought down on Egypt, of the crossing of th© Bed Sea, of God’s feeding th© Jews in the Wilderness, and of 538 His assistance to Joshua before Jericho . The other is in the miraculous guidance Judith receives in turning th© pages of her Bible 1 '’She (not by h&sard) happened on that place, Where th© lame handed Ahud (for disdain To se© th© Jewes the Heathen yock sustain) Smote Eglon with a dagger to the h©ft...,rS®. And again: "While Judith thus with Judith did debate A puff© of wind© blew down that leaf© by fafcej Discov’ring up th© story of Jaell, how She drove a nail into Sisaras brow, And slew that Pagan sleeping in her bed, Who from the Hebrew furious host was fledH^u . DuBartas apparently believed that the only marvelous which

might be introduced Into a Biblical epic was the Christian, for non© appear® in th© narrative digression introduced through Holofernes* speeches.

In them, th© action® are

limited to those of human beings.

But th© poet obviously

agreed with those who said that the marvelous is a delight­ ful adornment which should not be omitted from the ©pic. Hia practice indicates that he believed It would not destroy verisimilitude as long as it was condos©d of miracles attested by the Bible. His diction i® simple, generally, without the flaws which mar his later work, as can be seen from the example quoted earlier, from a highly ©motional scene, and from this passage describing the uproar In the heathen camp when the Jews attacked and Bagos discovered that Holofernes had been murdered: "Lors 11 ront ses cheveus; II ront aes vestements: II fait jusques au ciel monter ses hurlemens. Mals il fremit de rags, alors qui’l trouve vuyde La chambre, ota se tenoit la merurtrier© Isaclde; Puls sortant, insens^, du sanglant pavilion, Jette tels cris par-mi I ’ethnique bat&Illon: *Mai*hour, mal-heur sur nous! un© esclave maudlte, En tuant Holoferne, a tue I ’exercit© Dompteur de l ’univers.* Cest© nouvell© peur, Joint© a I ’effroi premier, glace si fort Is coeur Des plus braves guerriers, qu© tous jettent li. terre Ft dard, ©t brant, ©t picqu©, ©t targe, ©t cimeterr®, v Fuyant par montz et vaus, ou leur mal’heureus sort, Pour trop craindr© la mort, less mein© & pire mort.,,SI

99 His style Is adorned with similes and with references to classical myths, but not richly. In th© grand manner.

Th© similes are long and

Joachim, the high-priest who must

lead the frightened Jews into battle against Holofernes, is likened to a pilot calmly commanding his vessel in a great 32 storm , The heathen host, angry at Achior’s admiring chronicle of Jewish history, is said bo b© like the sea tumultuous in storm®®, and th© variety of people in th© host is compared with the flowers In a meadow in May®^. Many are based on Vergil1 s.

The arming Jews are compared

With honey bees working35, as are th© building Tyrians30, and the elements in the descriptions of the bees are alike in both.

Holofernes says that the fall of th© Median King

Arphaxat was like the fall of a great oak

3 *7

, a simile close­

ly translated from Aeneasr description of the fall of «Q Troy , But some of them are poor. When Achior, Lord of Ammon, is banished as a traitor and carried bound from the heathen army, he is compared with a chicken in the clutches of a kit©

39

, a ludicrous suggestion.

The simile in itself

is prominently classical, used to degrade by association and Implication, but this was not DuBartas intent, or at least should not have been since it does consort with his delineation and use of Achior, there and elsewhere.

Again,

th© Ephremites, apostates from Juda, are compared with

100 frogs which stop croaking when the water is disturbed^.

Here th© simile is not apt, becans© the two elements have no real point in common*

In general, however, DuBartas

added beauty and grandeur with his similes, and he followed th® classical manner in constructing them.

The additional

richness of association which he obtained by means of his classical allusions is another source of true pleasure In his style.

A few examples will make this plain. The sun 41 42 I® called Phoebus , the moon Fhoebie . The winds are

represented by their classical god®^. Aurora4^*

Dawn is called

Agamemnon la mentioned^, so that the pall of

his tragedy hangs over the passage. Judith is compared 46 with Helen , recalling another great siege. Our feeling against Holofernes as he lusts for Judith Is intensified i 47 by references to Ixion, Promethus, and Tantalus . In Du4 Bartas didactic passages as h© moralizes on Judith's great deed are mentioned as symbols Proteus, Achelous, Circe, 48 Priam, Castor, Myrrha, Canace, Semlramis, and Hercules j and in the description of the meeting between Judith and 40 Holofernes Venus is mentioned • With each of these allusions DuBartas intensified the ©motions he hoped to raise, but he used them at th© same time as only obviously syjjjbollc references so that h© did not destroy what he considered verisimilitude by th© introduction of a false

101 marvelous * In developing his characters, DuBartas followed the rule of decorum which had become generally accepted* That is, first, all of the characters In his epic are noble, except for the necessary mald5^, slave6***, and common soldiers.

Holofernes Is a great general52, a noble55, and

Viceroy of the King Hebuchadnezzar5^.

Judith is the

daughter of Mer&rl, a Jewish noble of great estate55, and ClfZ

relict of the noble and rich Manasses cn

* Achior is Lord go

of Ammon

Joachim is a hlgh-prieat 5 and Cambrls and CO C&rmis are two noble k n i g h t s . Second, each character has

all of the qualities which pertain to hi® rank and to his place in the story. «rt

virtues0^. lustful

64

Judith possesses all graces und all cl

Holofernes is cruel**4', sybaritic

, valiant

fie

, and knightly

valiant in word

, gluttonous

67

.

Cambrls is

fiQ

and deed

gg

. Achior Is faithful

to the Jewish God he thinks so powerful g o

go

M A

, Carmis is equally so

.

Third, each acts according to his station. Holofernes 71 leads his troops wisely and, because he is heathen, takes his pleasures In delights of the flesh, going to bed, on 7S his death night, drunk and lusting'*6. Judith, feminine, physically weak, but morally and religiously strong, over73 comes Holofernes by heaven-inspired guile . Achior de74 fends Bethulia with Ch&mbris and Carmis .

,

102 Only in th© matter of his choice of a heroine did DuBartas fall to follow current theory.

The protagonist

was described by all critics a® a man, a great king, or a great general, a heroic warrior, a paragon of virtu©. Judith Is certainly virtuous, and she is heroic in her piety, her submission to God, and her patriotism, but she lacks th© other prescribed characteristics.

Of course,

she had to be th© heroine in this story, If the Biblical account were not to be misrepresented, and DuBartas had 75 been commanded to write her tale , This justifies his choice, but it does not esqplain the absence of critical objection.

Perhaps this can be accounted for by th© French

attitude expressed then and later that th© nobility of the virtues of the protagonist was of greater Importance than the person. Popular as It was in England, Judith contributed to the development of the classical Biblical ©pic there. Without offending th© most tender conscience, DuBartas recast the Biblical narrative into th© more dramatic epic form.

He combined the unity of a single action with the

variety of related episodes, by means of various classical devices, and he adorned his style with th© classical similes, lists, descriptions of dawn, and allusions to ancient stories, so that the manner as well as the matter

103 was raised to a level as high as his genius was capable of attaining.

His characters were drawn according to th©

best classical theories of the time, and his incident© were closely knit and well ordered.

If engrossment in th©

main action prevented his properly relating it to the grand action;

if hi® style does not elevate the story to pro­

foundly moving heights; and universality;

if he falls to attain epic scop©

if his characters seem more typical

symbols than individual persons;

if all of these faults

deny to the poem the aesthetic quality of an epic;

still,

Dubartas performed a mighty tour de force when he acceptably recast the Biblical story Into the form and manner of the classical epic.

From his attempts were learned lessons

which later made possible a successful classical Biblical ©pic.

104

Chapter VI DELOKEY* S CANAAWS CALAMITIE Th© first poem in Elizabethan England which re­ told Biblical material in a manner modelled after that of the classical epic was Canaan© Calamitie, registered in 1 1597/8 . Th© poem was very popular* going though at o least three editions between 1618 and 1677 . It cannot b© called a classical Biblical epic, for its conception, structure, and style are much closer to those of the "little epic”, but it is interesting because it shows that the desire for a more dignified manner and a broader scop© had 43 reached down even to the "poet general of the people and that a ballad-maker whose master so completely was the public4 recognized a popular renascent interest in poetry 5 based on Biblical narratives , The poem ha® not always been ascribed to Deloney. Hazlitt and Grosart, on account of th© Initial® "T.D.", 6 attributed It to Thomas Pekker , but F. 0, Mann in 1912 proved as conclusively as such things can be settled that 7 Canaane Calamitie was written by Thomas Deloney . Mann ©1so showed that the probable source which Deloney used Is Josephus* de Bello Judaico.

Although it was not "Englished”

105 by Lodge until 1602, two other translation® are registered, one in 1577/8, th© other In 1591®, and Deloney’s working knowledge of Latin original

10

„

would have allowed him to go to th©

The poem does bear a close resemblance in many

details to Josephus’ history, so it is quite probable that at least the primary source is de Bello Judaico, for Deloney 11 credits Josephus as having told the story . However, Deloney completely remade th© narrative, not only shortening it, but also completely reorganising it and adding a Biblical cast to It.

What h© has done is very

interesting in the history of the development of the Bibli­ cal epic in England.

Josephus’ apology for Titus and

Vespasian is a prose classical epic.

It has epic sweep and

fire in the narrative, and its subject, as Josephus stated it, Is "... that these men's frenzy Involved th© whole people in their ruin"*®.

Commencing in me&jag res, It moves

almost to the climax before turning back to recount the 13 background and th© beginning of the siege of Jerusalem Although a full examination of d© Bello Judaico is not necessary here, some of Its other marks of the classical narrative style may be mentioned. descriptions of the arrny^®; an ©pic h e r o ^ • gressions

20

;

There ar© epic orations

geographical descriptions^1®;

epic incidents^®;

and th© marvelous

21

battles^®;

epic dl-

, Thu®, Deloney had In

14

•

xoe hi® source many classical devices to draw from, as well as those in th© little ©pics of the time and in th© AoneId* That he made use of them with conscious Intention may be seen In an examination of his poem* Deloney*s first method for raising his ballad style to the dignity of the ©pic was to imitate th© versifi­ cation of Shakespeare* s Venus and Adonis, an Ovldian epic^ very popular during this time.

Canaan® Calamitie is written

in six line stanzas of iambic pentameter riming ababcc. Comparison of his verses in the ballad Christs Teares over Jerusalem with those in Canaan® Calami tie will show the great advance in versification which Deloney made in composing the latter*

The ballad sings: ’’When thus they had diapatcht, th© living Lord of might, Pull safely then they thought themselves, from Sorrow, car© and strifes But within few years space, as Christ before had told T■■■■>© mighty emperor of Borne, came thither with courage bold. And with a mighty Host h© did besiege them round, By Sword and Famine ©*re he went he did them quit© confounds Yea, Dogs and Cats they ©at, Mice, Rats, and everything, For want of food, their Infants young into th© Pot they bringM0s.

Th© more ambitious poem expresses th© same idea with greater dignity, much detail, and considerable immediacy:

107 "Full fortie yeares after Christes passion, Did the®© proud people live In peace and rest, Whoa© wanton ©ye® seeing no alteration, Christs words of truth, they turned to a jest3 But when they thought themselves the surest of all, Lo then began their never raised fall. Their mounting minds that towred past their strength Scorning subjection to the Remain© state, In boyling hatred loath*d their Lord® at length, Dispi8,d the Bmperour with a deadly hates Rejecting his authorltle each howre, Sought to ©xpell the pride of forrain© power. Which foul© contempt the Errperours wrath inflam'd, Mighty Vfcsp&tlan hot reveng did threat, But all in vain© they would not be reclaim'd; Relying on their strength and courage greats And hereupon began the deadly jarre, And after followed bloody wofull warr©" , Th© diction in th© second passage is less colloquial and more suggestive.

There is less padding for th© sake of

metre, and ©ach idea which Is presented adds to the whole. Th© second line of: "But when they thought themselves th© surest of ali, Lo then began their never raised fall,” completes th© idea of the first line;

that of!

"Full safely then they thought themselves, from Sorrow, ear® and strife," In th© ballad simply repeats the implication of th© first line without augmenting the ©motion by Its specification; It i® apparently added only to round out the rhythmic phrase-

A thoroughly Elizabethan concept of the tragic

10® fault of the Jews lo expressed In th© two best lines of th© poem, linos of which no poet need be ashamedi "Their mounting minds that towred past their strength sg Scorning subjection to the Rom&ine state11 Th© metre of the whole poem Is rather too marked, and the rhythm somewhat too "riding” for the gravity of th© epic, but for all that th© poet of th© people has here offered to them a poem in which the mechanics are carefully handled. His ornaments, outside of occasional alliteration suGh as may be noted in the two lines Just discussed, are similes and metaphors. undistinguished*

They are short, usually apt, but

Th© simile with which he opens th© poems

"hike to a Mourner clad in dolefull black, That.sadly sits to hear© a heavie tales So must my pen proceed to shew th© wrack. That did with terror Syon hill assail©,1**® is not a great flight, but it is on© which would b© clear to his readers and it does suggest, though perhaps with a con­ ventional Image, the tragedy to be unfolded. however, he coins a figure which Is very good.

Sometimes, The metaphor

describing th© streets of Jerusalem during the civil war among the three factions is Just and broad enough to suggest at least three levels of meaning: "Their weeping ©yes did to their hearts unfold A mappe of Murder at their trembling feete"®^.

109 Alliteration adds to th© effect, and th© image is reenforced by the two adjectives "we©pint” and ”trembling” « Deloney1® conception was, at least originally, on© quite adequate for an ©pic.

To Josephus* history he

added Christ's warning to Jerusalem that It would be razed for refusing to recognize Him, so that Canaan® Calamitl© was to present not only the destruction of th© Holy City as a symbol of Homan conquest of a once independ­ ent race but also God*a retribution upon the Jews for scorning, torturing, and crucifying His Son.

This theme

Is stated in the short prologue which precedes th© narrative SB proper , and more explicitly after Christ*s prophecy at the beginnings "This dreadfull Prophesi© spoken by our Lord, Th© stubborn© people naught at all regarded, Whose Adamantine hearte® did still accord, To follow sinne, which was with shame rewarded! They flouted him for telling of this stori^. And cruclflde In spit© th© Lord of glori©"^®. and at the end! "Thus Christs prophesi© truely came to passe, Which Forty ye&res before he had expressed, But with the Jevres of small account it was, Till they did find© themselves so sor© distressed! He ©ought,their life, his death they wrought with spite, Wishing his blood on them and theirs to light. The which according to their own© request, Th© Lord in wrath did perfectly fulfil, There channels ran with blood and did not rest, Their blood was spilt, that Jesus blood did spills

110 God grant w® may our hat©full sins forsake* And by th® Jewes a Christian warning tak©n*0. This also gives to the poem the apparent character of a Biblical story, because it is made to seem a continuation, derived from Josephus, of that which was begun In three of th© gospels

31 .

Furthermore, he emphasizes in the tale those

elements #ilch Christ warned about in his prophecy*

The

mothers who have suckling children do rue it, false prophets do arise, and, between the Romans and th® Jews, no two stones ar© left joined together in Jerusalem.

Thu®, although he

found the story itself in Josephus, Deloney carefully re­ lates it to the Bible, and he at least begins with a concep­ tion that is certainly ©pic. However, he is unequal to the task of epic con­ struction.

The burden of carrying such weight was. too much

for the wings of his genius, and h© soon commences to abridge Josephus.

Nevertheless, he makes use of some epic

techniques which are worth noting.

The general statement of

theme at th© beginning has already been mentioned.

Sine© the

beginning is ab ovo, recommended by a few critics but not in accord with prevailing opinion nor with the practice of Vergil and Homer, it need not b© discussed. chronological.

The order is

All of th© background of intrigue and rebel­

lion, which Josephus gave as episodes and digressions in four of his aeven books, Deloney compressed by reference to

ux Christ1s lamentation over Jerusalem, found not In de Bello Judaico, but in the Gospels.

.The plot is well unified

around th© single action of the siege and fall of Jerusa­ lem.

No devices introduce the digressions concerning the

internecine conflict raging among th© Jews, hut th© tech­ niques are sound.

They are narrated as happening between

the time when Titus lands on th© coast and when he finally assaults the city.

Th© same is true of the digression

describing th© suffering within th© besieged city and the bathetic and horrible incident of th© starving mother eat­ ing her son.

Technically, this is an ©pic expansion, but

in neither ton© nor content does it conform with epic dignity.

However, an ©pic description of th© temple and

an explanation of its place in the hearts of Gentiles as well as Jews is inserted by means of th© ©pic device of a speech given by Titus while he fights th© fire consuming the temple*

Every incident has its place in th® development

of the plot to the climax of th© destruction of Jerusalem, and the denouement, including th© deaths of Sehimlon and Jehocanan, is quickly concluded. Th© characters are all noble, the protagonist th© son of th© Emperor.

He has all of the Christian virtues,

in fact is sometimes treated as a Christian despite Josephus 33 but h© shows, ©specially, respect for God , magnanimity to

32

,

112 the conquered

34

, end pity for the distressed

35

• He Is also

just in the punishments he meted out to the two rebel chleftains

56

.

Schlmion and Jehoeanan are Jewish Captains, nobles

in charge of armies^*7, nobly born

.

The Lady is noble^® and her son is

So Deloney conformed with the classical epic

theory of th© time as regards his characters, and he did the same with the marvelous.

As Christ had promised in his

prophecy, omens warn Jerusalem that th© city is about to b© destroyed.

The first is a star with a bushy tail, which

looks like a two-edged sword^®. host of men seen in th© sky

41

.

Th© second is a battling Th© third is that th© brass Ap

gate of the temple opens of its own accord

;

a calf giving birth on the altar to a larab4S;

the fourth, the fifth,

a disembodied voice crying "Let us go henc®.,.”^ *

and the

last, the young boy-Caesandra, son of Ananias, running about 45

th© streets of th© city prophesying doom

.

These are all

“historically attested" in that they are all described by Josephus, whose book was accepted as true history In Eliza­ bethan times'^.

Thus, he does not violate verisimilitude

with his marvelous, and he adds to it greatly throughout the poem by means of his careful attention to realistic detail. All of these are techniques for rendering the direct narrative more dramatic.

They are classical epic

113 devices, although not those which, were used to expand the poem so as to accrete many stories about the core of the single action.

Deloney’s purpose, as was seen in his ab­

stracting much of Josephus, was to compress what he found Bello Judaico into a poem much shorter than th© origi­ nal prose epic.

His readers demanded a simple, sensational,

and moving story, and he gave them one.

The poem, however,

has great interest in the history of th© development of the classical Biblical epic In England, because it transformed what purported to be Jewish history into a continuation of Christ’s prophecy in the Hew Testament, because he attempted a style appropriate to an epic narrative, and because he used some of the devices and technique® which were becoming so naturalized into English narrative poetry that they had reached down even to the wpoet general of th© people".

114

Chapter VII DUBARTAS* SEPMAIWES DuBartas* Sepm&lnes, th© first "Week** of which appeared in 1578^ and the second in 1584®, did much to promote the acceptance of the Biblical ©pic on the Conti­ nent and in England. CC

praised th© work ,

Catholics as well as Protestants In addition, Sylvester* s translation,

published complete in 1608^, popularized in England both its original and the use of Biblical themes.

England* s

Parnassus In 1600 quotes DuBartas 189 times, 121 from Sylvester’s earlier partial publications.

Only Spenser

and Drayton rank ahead of DuBartas In number of quotations .

The poem, however, Is not ©pic, but panegyric, a

recital of the majesty of Cod in the grand style.

In

essence, it is a paraphrase of th© Bible, but one so vast, yet so selective, and so re-formed that it Is also an original poem, a lyric encyclopedia of the science, the philosophy, and the theology of the sixteenth century as evidence of the glory of Cod in His works: T,Dleu, qui ne peut tpmber es lourds sens des humaines, S© rend comm© visibl© ea oeuvres de ses mains, Fait toucher a nos dolgts, fl&lrer a nos narines, Couster a nos palais ses vertus plus divines;

116 Parle a nous a tout© heure, ayant pour Iruchemens Des pavilions astrez les reglez mouvemens#*1® and: w0r, M e n qu© d© mon nom la naisaante memoir© D© nos neveux attend© ou rien ou peu de gloire, C© remps^que la pluspart des escrivalns frangois Despond a courtiser l^s dames ©t les rois, Despendr© je 1© veux a rendre a to us nofcoir© Par ses puisaans effects du Tout-puissant la glaire."' DuBartas projected, it appears, a De Rerum Nature Naturamque Supra to celebrate the graciousness of God in creating a world so perfectly suited to the needs of man: ”D© mesme L 1Eternal ne bastist l funivers Pour les hostes des bois, des ondes et des airs, Ains pour celuy qui peut, ores jettant sa veue Sur les regnes salez, ores sur I ’estendu© De la terr© blediere, or© devere les yeux Qui d ’un ordr© sans ordre esclairent dans les cieux, Admirer, comme il faut, 1*admirable artifice De celuy qui parfeit un si bel edifice.w® His efforts were not wholly vain:

Sylvester’s version for a Q time was used in England as a handbook of science . Quite

possibly the poet originally intended to compose, perhaps thought for a time that he had composed, an ©pic*

Later, he

admitted, when accused of violating the rules of Aristotle and of other authorities, that his Second© Sepamlne was no more wholly epic than was the Premier©* but that both were part panegyric, part heroic, part prophetic, and part di10 daotic . The poem, therefore* is interesting primarily

11© because it augmented the increasing popularity of Biblical subjects, but it also offers evidence that the classical epic affected the practice of poets in that time. The subject is obviously epic:

what offers broader

scope than the creation of our world and the history of our earliest progenitors?

At the earn© time it had immediacy,

for it was believed that th© deeds of the first men had directly affected th© lives of all succeeding generation®. Furthermore, for men living in the sixteenth century under what they interpreted to be identical supernatural laws, th© godly way of life was reflected in the vicissitudes and successes of the Old Testament heroes.

Wo other subject

could be at once so grand and so intimately moving, and at that time it was so unquestionably historical that verisi­ militude, by now essential to an epic, was inherent,

These

qualities strongly recommended the Biblical subject to many critics and poets. In such partly hexameral narratives, if a charge of blasphemy were to be avoided, the protagonist could only b© God, a figure certainly heroic.

Nice critics might

object today that a reader could hardly Identify himself with his Creator, but, In an age of mystical religious experiences and one accustomed in miracle and morality plays to poetic religious anthropomorphism, that was not true, and

117 th© Almighty1a deeds were often enough those which man would do if he could, so that empathy was not impossible.

With

other of DuBartaa* characters, Adam, Moses, David, and Foah, identification was easy.

As the fathers of men, they pos­

sessed all the characteristics of heroes, save that of martial valor.

Even in David, belligerence was the result more of

Divine inspiration than of human courages ”Dieu change ©n fier lyon 1© cerf 1© plus craintif, En aigl© 1© pigeon, ©n vainquer 1© fultif. II fait qu*un due hebrieu, ©t qu'un Sisare sente La vainqueresse main d fune femme impulssante. l ’lmmortel ©st me force; en vain, done, & mon Hoy, Crains-tu pour Israel, en vain crains-tu pour moy. Mes promesses ne sont temerairement valnes, J*ay de son chef tranche des arres trop certain©s.wl° Since this virtue had for so long been considered cardinal, yet was afterward so curtly, though not completely, excluded by Milton, its absence In DuBartas* characters is worth con­ sidering.

The Jehovah of the Old Testament might well have

been emphasised., had th© poet wished to do so.

Apparently

he felt that the age considered other qualities pre-eminent. Proponents of Job and later of Jeanne d*Arc rested their cases on the argument that obedience and resignation required greater moral strength than did fighting.

Furthermore, like

Milton, DuB&rtas lived among warring sects, and for a time in 1576 fought h i m s e l f H e

explained In 1574 that he had

omitted many things from Trlomfe de 1© Foi so as not by a

118 partial style to agitate the spirit of contemporaries who already had been sufficiently embittered in controversies over religion*

He hoped that these differences might be 12 quickly composed and soon forgotten * Like Homer and

Vergil, DuB&rtaa and Milton inculcated virtues proper to their times.

They portrayed nobility, loyalty, patience,

and obedience, but avoided as distasteful to their ages those qualities regarded more highly in th© anarchical society of heroic times.

Ho longer was any man a law unto himself were

he mighty enough to enforce it, and this social attitude was naturally reflected in poets* conceptions of their heroes. The prime virtue of the human characters in th© Sepmalnes, therefor©, is submission to th® Will of God.

In other

respects both th© protagonist and other persons in the narrative conformed with classical requirements. Moses, Samuel, Saul, David, Solomon: their names is evidence enough.

Adam,

th© mere mention of

Each was noble, mighty, a

doer of great deeds for his nation.

God, of course, was all

virtues. The fabl© in which they play their parts, however, has not the classical unity of a single great action embellished with closely related episodes.

In the two

Sepmalnes there is th© logic of a straight line, a contin­ uous narrative concerned with on© subject, the creation and

119 th© early history of th© world.

This poem has not th©

unity of a concentric flat spiral found in Homer and Vergil. DuBartas offered unity of theme, the unity, in a sense, of a biography of God, th© articulated by tangential coherence which romances had substituted for th© classical integrated and organic development about the cor© of a single action. The whole poem commences with the first day of the Creation, moves through full explanation of what was made each suc­ ceeding day, relates th© story of the Fall of Man, and narrates th© subsequent history of the Old Testament down through Jeremiah to th© Captivity.

In th© Premiere Sep-

malne there is the unity of one character, but in the Seconds, except for a brief attempt in the "First Day" to adumbrate the vicissitudes of human life in the ills conse­ quent upon Adamfs sin, there is only the coherence of history. Week*

On© pauses over th© "First Day" of the Second

Possibly Milton, examining the poem with the eye of

a classicist, observed both that no successful epic can b© God-centered and that BuBartas had pointed th© way to compose an anthropocentric poem by relating the later history in the "Second Day" to the sin of Adam.

After it has been

done, It is easy to se© that, in a Biblical epic constrained within th© frame of a living religion, th© single action must b© Adam*s fall, on th© brink between Tim© and Eternity.

120 To this core by means of classical devices can be welded other Scriptural episodes, for each takes all human mean­ ing from its relationship to that tragic moment. DuBart&s had small need for many epic narrative devices, because of th© nature of his fable.

He Introduced

some extraneous actions, more as example than as epic epi­ sodes for variety.

In the First Week, the stories of good

angels in the "First Day"^$ make plain Godfs reason for creating them;

the on© of Noah in th© "Second Day"**

describes, as proof of a watery element in Heaven, how God mingled it with the waters of th© Earth to make th© Flood; that of the effect of th© Moon on sick people, in the 1K "Fourth Day" , exemplifies his theory that the planets affect human lives.

The nature of his conception, to

celebrate the Creation of something out of nothing and to chronicle subsequent events, required that he follow chrono­ logical order and that he begin ab oyo, which obviated the classical flash-back.

Battles have no place at all in the

First Week, and non© in the Second, except for a brief description of David*s subduing Goliath, in the "Trophies" and for one heroic book, the "Captains".

16

In this latter

section DuBartaa makes use of several epic narrative devices; 17 an oration by Joshua to his legions ; a description of the arms and armor of th© Prince of Hal and a report of his

121 oration to his soldiers before battle'*'®;

the noise and

turmoil of general battle before Gabaon^j

the inter­

vention of supernatural personages: God*s assistance with 20 a cloud of hailstones , and nature’s appearing before God 21 to plead that Joshua b© restrained ; an epic list of champions:

Joshua

op

, Sang&r

23

» Deborah

24.

, Barac - who has

a shield on which is engraved "The (won and lost) Battalia pa 26 27 of Israel” , Gideon and Jeptha , and Samson . There is OQ also an assembly in which are debated the best interests of the state and the virtues of democracy, aristocracy, and monarchy.

In

this single Book areto b© found more epic

narratives

than In all the others together. Of other classical devices, DuBartas has made some

very interesting use®.

Hie invocations represent a nice

compromise between Rons&rd’s dictum that only classic dei­ ties can b© mentioned in epic poetry and the position later championed by Tasso that such personages must all be Christian.

The opening prayer, to "Toy qui guides le cours du d e l port©-flambeaux, Qui, vray Heptune, tiens 1 © molte frein d©s eaux, Qui fais trembler la terre, et d© qui la parol© Serre et lasche la brid© aux postilions d ’AEole, Esleve a toy mon ame, ©spur© mes ©sprits, Et d ,um docte artifice enrichy mes e s c r i t s y

le addressed to God the Father.

H© is also called "I’Archer

du tonnerre*1®® and H© is the One Who "transports® dans

122

1 1ardant© charette” as Phoebus*^.

By applying classical

names to God, His angels, and His people, DuBartas enriched the associations in M s verses without danger of the charge of blasphemy. Victorian

It is not

apparent that he anticipated the

recognition of One God under whatever name,

for

his references, like the one to ”Tru© Heptune”, always carry the implication that Christianity alone offers the correct explanation of the mysteries of Mature which pagans had misinterpreted in superstitious fablesi "Poetes des Payens qui, hardis, faites glolre D^bscurclr par vos vers l*et©rn©lle memoir© Des ouvrages de Dieu, H fall©z plus louanger D*un discours fabuleuxd*Elis© Xe verger Que vous avez tire surun si beau modelle Pour en avoir appris quelqu© sourd© nouvell© Venant de pare en fils; car MOuvrier troisfois saint 33 A mieux fait son jardin quo vos 1© vostre feint.” This Christianizing, quite different from Milton*s consigning even classical deities to the service of fiends, appears in other ways.

The marvelous, accepted by all critics as a

necessity in an epic, is made wholly Christian, by the same two means that Tasso used.

The duties of good angels are

to give mankind assistance^,

and the revenge of bad angels 54 is to set traps of false miracles . God also contributes to the marvelous by performing prodigies both to show that

He can turn Mature upside down if He chooses and to wafh

mankind by mean® of omens

55

.

These explanations are ex­

emplified throughout the poem In the angelic assistance to Koah, Moses, and David;

in the snares of Satan;

in

the Flood, the destruction of Sodom, and the portents pre­ ceding the fall of Jerusalem;

and in the guidance of God

extended by means of the influences of the planets on mortal life.

By using miracles attested by the Bible, DuBartas was

able to preserve verisimilitude, and, whenever he used any marvelous not in the Bible, It appeared credible through paralogism.

On© of th© most interesting adaptations is the vet redaction of Ovidfs tale of Arion . On th© back of the dolphin this sweetest of Roman singers offers a Christian hymn to th© Almighty, Who calms the sea and rescues th© 5*7 suppliant In adorning his style, DuBartas traced the same Independently imitative course* of his diction.

French erltlcs complained

Even his idol Ronsard knew his faults.

They objected to his Gaseonisms, to his neologisms, to his reduplication, and to his borrowings®8 . let he was but fol­ lowing the suggestions of contemporary theorists: had practiced th© last three;

Rons&rd

DuBellay recommended them;

and Henri Estienn© formulated rules for eachu ,

Exception

was also taken to DuBartas* choice and placement of words, and to his metaphors*

These faults have been so thoroughly

124 discussed by Holmes that they need only be mentioned here

40

These faults are not so apparent In Sylvester*a translation.

He borrows a few words, explaining that he

does so only when there ar© no comparable English words

.

Dialect forms ar© never introduced, there ar© no coinages, and reduplication occurs Infrequently,

"And still-still

mounting as they do mount"^®, is an interpolation by Sylvester.

wDu Jug© c r i m i n a l I s rendered "The Chief-

Chief Justice*^.

"Wo-wofull" Is th© only form recurring

often enough to b® annoying. faithful.

Th© translation Is generally

A few passages ar© Inserted by Sylvester to

point the moral specifically to England, like: "Or like our own (late) Xork and Lancaster, Ambitious breathers of that ¥iper-war, Which did the womb of their own Dam devour, And spoiled the freshest of fair England’s Flowr; When (Whit® and Bed) Bos© against Bose, they stood. Brother ’gainst Brother, to th© knees in blood; While Wakefield, Barnet and S. Alban*s streets Were drunk with deer blood of Plantagenetss Whore, either Conquer*d, and yet neither won; 4g SIth, by them both, was but their Own© undon," but they are clearly indicated by italics.

He had not too

much poetry in his original, and his English version adds little.

The style has none of the epic sweep in phrasing;

rather It seems to plod along, happy that th© feet and the rhyme come out rights "Or should I ©ay, each morning, on th© ground Wot common deaw, but Manna did abounds

That never gutter-gorging durty muds Defil’d th© cry®tall of smooth-sliding floods, Whose waters past, in pleasant taste, th© drink That now In Candia decks Cera thus brink: That shady Groves of noble Palm-tree sprays, Of amourous Myrtles, and Inmortall Bays Hever un-l©&vrd; but ©vcrmor©, their new Self-arching arms in thousand Arbours grew: Where thousand sorts of birds, both day and night, Did bill and woo, and hop about, and play; And marrying their sweet tunes to th* Angels layes, Sung Adams bliss and their great Makers prays©. For then, the Crowes, night-Rav’ns, and Howlet® noise Was like th© lighting©!® sweet-tuned, voy ce; And MIghtingals sung like divine Arlon, 4g Like Thracian Orpheus, Linus, and Amphlon." This compares very poorly with what Satan saw In Paradise Lost: "So on he fares, and to the border comes Of Eden, where delicious Paradise, How nearer, crown with her enclosure green, As with a rural mound, the champ ain head Of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild, Access denied; and overhead up-grew Insuperable highth of loftiest sha.de, Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, A sylvan scene, and, as th© ranks ascend Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops The verdurous wall of Paradise up-sprung; Which to our general Sire gave prospect large Into his nether empire neighbouring round. And higher than that wall a circling row Of goodliest trees, loaden with fairest fruit, Blossoms and fruits at one© of golden hues Appeared, with gay enamelled colours mixed; On which th© sun more glad Impressed his beams Than In fair evening cloud, or humid bow, When God hath showered the ©arth: so lovely seemed That lantsklp. And of pure now purer air Meets his approach, and to th© heart inspires Vernal delight and joy, able to drive

126 All sadness but despair* How gentle gale©, Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense Hutlv© perfumes, and whisper whence they stole Those balmy spoils. Th© diction, it can be seen in this comparison, is flat and prosaic.

There Is non© of the richess or sonority that is

found in Milton1s words.

The word placement is not re­

arranged for rhetorical effect# What change there is from the natural order la, obviously done to achieve metrical regularity or to secure rimei "Or should I say, each morning, on th© ground Hot common deaw, but Manna did abound"^®. Occasionally lines are padded for one or the other of the two reasons mentioned: "Falling down dead, doth with his weighty Fall Crush him to death, that caus!d his death, withall"*9 . Th© frequent elision, a practice never commended in English poetry, detracts from the dignity of a line, even though it allows the scansion to come out rights "Th 1 old Heathen Schools about th© Heav’ns number" Some of the worst elements of the ©uphuistic style are apparent in Sylvesters lines.

Th© pure trickery of th©

repetition of "That" in th© first eight lines of the description quoted abov© is an @$®®ple.

Another is the bad

127 word play ins ”And so became, of meer immortally raort≪ Thereby to make frail mortall Man, immortal!™!, as a reference to Christ's coming as a Redeemer ia nothing but th© merest persiflage.

r,these are, of course, minute

concerns as compared with the translation as a whole. Unfortunately, it can be called no more than pedestrian. Contrast th® temptation of Bv© in Sylvester: ”As a false Lover, that thick snares hath laid T'intrap the honour of a fair young Maid, When she (though little) llstning ear affords To his sweet, courting, deep-affected words, Feels som asswaging of his freezing flame, And sooths himself with hope to gain his game; And rapt with Joy, upon this point persists, That parleing City never long resists: Even so the Serpent, that doth counterfet A guilefull Call failure us to his net; Perceiving Eve his flattering gloze digest, He prosecutes, and Jocund, doth not rest, Till h© have try'd foot, hand, and head, and all, Upon th© Breach of this new-battered wall. Ho, fair (quoth he) beleev© not, that th© care God hath, mankind© from spoyling death to spare, Makes him forbid yoti (on so strict condition) This purest, fairest, rarest Fruits fruition: A double fear, an ©nvie, and a hate, His jealous heart for ever cruciate; Sith the suspected vertu© of This Tree Soon shall disperse the cloud of Idiocy, Which dims your ©yes; and further, make you seem (Excelling us) even ©quail Gods to him. 0 Worlds rare glory! reach thy happy hand, Reach, reach, I say: why dost thou stop or stand? Begin thy Bliss, and do no fear th© threat Of an uncertain God-head, onely great Through self-aw'd zeal: put on th© glistring Pall

180 Of Immortality! do not fore-stall (As envious stepdame) thy posteritie The soverain honour of Dlvinltie11*® , to the tension and the symbolism of the same event In Milton: r,Th© Tempter, all impassioned, t us began! rQ sacred, wise, and wisdom-giving Plant, Mother of science! now I feel thy power Within me clear, not only to discern Things In their causes, but to trace the ways Of highest agents, deemed however wise. Queen of this Universe! do not believe Those rigid threats of death Ye shall not die. How should ye? By the Fruit? it gives you life To knowledge. By the Threatener? look on me, Me who have touched and tasted, yet both live, And life more perfet have attained than Fate Meant me, by ventring higher than my lot. Shall that be shut to Man which to the Beast Is open? or will God incense his ire For such a petty trespass, and not praise Bather your dauntless virtue, whom the pain Of death denounced, whatever thing Death be, Deterred not from achieving what might lead To happier life, knowledge of Good and Evil? Of good, how just! of evil - If what is evil Be real, why not known, since easier shunned? God, therefore, cannot hurt ye, and be just; Not just, not God; not feared then, nor obeyed! Your fear itself of death removes the fear. Why, then, was this forbid? Why but to awe, Why but to keep y© low and ignorant, His worshipers? He knows that in the day Ye eat thereof your ©yes, that seem so clear, Yet are but dim, shall perfetly be then Opened and cleared, and y© shall be as Gods, Knowing both good and evil, as they know. That y© should b© as Gods, since X as Man, Internal Man, is but proportion meet I, of brute, human; ye, of human, Gods. So y© shall die perhaps, by putting off Human, to put on Gods - death to b© wished, Though threatened, which no worse than this can bring! And what are Gods, that Man may not become As they, participating godlike food? Th© God® are first, and that advantage use

129 On our belief, that all from them proceeds• I question It; for this fair Earth X see, Warmed by th© Sun, producing every kind; Them nothing. If they all things, who enclosed Knowledge of Good and Evil in this Tree, That whoso ©ats thereof forthwith attains Wisdom without their leave? and wherein lies The offence, that Kan should thus attain to know? What can your knowledge hurt him, or this Tree Impart against his will, if all be his? Or Is It envy? and can envy dwell In Heavenly breasts? These, these and many more Causes import your need of this fair Fruit. * Goddess humane, reach, then, and freely taste!” ® 15 The poetry, then of Sylvester's translation cannot b© acclaimed.

It is only versifying, as was th© original.

However, Sylvester presented to the English people DuBartas' panoramic and encyclopaedic description of the Universe as God's Work, and thereby contributed towards the popularity of the classical Biblical ©pic.

For that he deserves our

gratitude. For other adornments, DuBartas used th© classical form but not always the content.

His similes are the long,

detailed, mannered, and expansive figures conventional in th© classical epic, but th© matter In them is nearly always drawn from his own time and place.

Perhaps research may

show that h© has taken the content from Gascon or Provencal poetry, but on© looks in vain for th© customary b@e®^, cr e

wolf

cii

, hurricane

rni

, oak

rri

, flood

, and the other compari­

sons so familiar in the ancients and in their imitators.

130 Th© descrtptidn of Goliath®^, an exception to th© usual manner, follows th© pattern set in that of the Cyclops®^, even to his spear hug© »s a tree6 1 an& to his looking like a cypress

go

.

But most of th© similes are quite different.

The construction rises by stages to a high pitch, so that on©

Ismoved to the awful mood aroused by grandeur, although

the

element compared has a set of associations quite dif­

ferent from those found in Classical poetry.

For example,

the birth of th© world Is likened to the birth of a childs HCe n'estoit done 1© monde, ains 1* unique matler© Dont il devoit sortir, la riche pepiniere Des beautez de c© Tout, l ’embryon qui devoit Se former en six jours en l festat qu*on le void. Et de vray ce monceau confusement ©norm© Estoit tel que la chair qui s'engendre, difforme, Au ventre maternal, et par temps toutesfois Se change en front, en yeux, en nez, ©n bouche, en dougts, Prend icy forme longue, icy large. Icy rond©, Et d© soy peu a peu fait naistr© un petit mond©. Mais cestuy par 1 © cours d© nature se fait D© laid beau, de mort vif, ©t farfait d^imparfait; Et 1© monde jamais n !©ust change d© visage, Si du grand Dieu sans pair le tout-puissant langage JPeust comm© syringu^ dedans see membres morts J© n© s^ay quel esprit qui meut tout c© grand corps*1* ^ Both are grand events, but th© latter would conjure for Greek and Roman readers images of the horrible contraptions used to assist parturition and so carry connotations hardly consonant with ©pic grandeur.

By the time of DuBartas,

131 obstetrics had been advanced beyond that prim tiv© stage, so the figure had more propriety.

Most of DuBartas*

figures contain a second element fresh from his own era rather than derived from th© classics.

Qod’s forming the

elements being likened to a bear licking Its cub into shape is another case in point*. "De safesse ©t oouvoir 1*inespuisable source En formant l'unlvers fir done ainsi qu@ l fourse Qui, dans L 1Obscure grotte, au bout de trente joura, Un® masse dlfform© enfante au lieu d’un oursj Et puis en la 1©chant ores ©lie faconn© Ses deschirantes mains, or 1 sa tests felonne, orf ses pieds, or 1 son col, et d ’un monceau si laid Son Industrie anime un animal parfalt."64 Still another difference is that of relationship. Usually In classical epics mundane things are related to others more universal or more metaphysical. is more often DuBartas1 purpose. example.

The opposite

Th© bear-cub simile Is an

Another is the comparison of the ruling element

in each sphere of th© Universe with the ruling Monarch of CE a Uation . The associations around the latter, of course, are very effective, but in both the simile has been used to realize the universal In the particular rather than to raise th© concrete into th© general.

Another example of his ref­

erence to very commonplace matters Is a comparison of th© condition of an angler overcome by the "Torpedo" fish with

132 the bad dream of a man sick from over-eating6®.

Tasteless

as it is, it does bring the unfamiliar down to the familiar in life.

On th® other hand it lacks completely the sub­

limity expected in an ©pit figure.

In both of these char­

acteristics it is representative of th© figurative adorn­ ments invented by DuBartas. From this examination of DuBartas1 practice can be determined those critical principles to which he gave allegiance, at least at th© time of composition of th© two Sepmaines.

Obviously h© believed, even urged, that Christian

poets should us© Biblical themes.

In a full seal© Biblical

©pic, h© thought that God should be th© protogonist and that other characters should b© the great men of the Bible* Common men have no place In his poem.

The characteristics

of the heroes were to be all virtues, particularly nobility, loyalty, patience, and obediencej to be omitted. necessary;

but martial valiance was

Th© unity of a single great action was not

the coherence of history sufficed.

Variety was

a necessity, to be gained chiefly by tales offered as ex­ amples of his own statements.

Chronological order was quite

satisfactory artistically, beginning at th© beginning and proceeding without flash-baeks.

Battles and war were un­

necessary for adornment, or as a subject.

However, if they

had occurred, they were not to be avoided, for an epic poet

133 must offer a compendium of all knowledge of his time, histor­ ical, theological, philosophical, and scientific,

Th©

marvelous must be included as a source of delight, but it must be those miracles attested by the Bible or by general acceptance, so that verisimilitude be unviolated, militude, It seems, he ©quated with th© actual.

Verisi­ However,

the associations of the classical marvelous might b© insinu­ ated into th© poem by reference, provided it be clear that these were mistaken explanations of natural and supernatural phenomena offered by th© pagan ancients.

The classical

invocation was a necessity, if a poet were to enjoy Bivin© inspiration, but of ©ours© it must be offered only to the true Christian God.

To provice the grand style of the ©pic,

DuBartas thought th© Alexandrine th© best line;

words com­

pounded, reduplicated, and borrowed th© finest dictionj

and

extended and detailed comparisons of great things to those common to his time th© most fitting epic similes.

Seldom did

he borrow the content of classical similes, but always the manner. As a consequence of his practicing these principles, DuBartas created ”une vast© recit** which is not ©pic.

It

must be respected for th© vast collection of information con­ cerning th© ideas of his tim®, and for the sheer bulk of its verses, many of which show some originality and invention.

134

But it la not an engrossing narrative* pleas®.

Its ornaments do not

And, Its versification, in the original or In

Sylvester*a translation, is ’uninspiring,

Th© conception

Is neither striking nor novel, and there are neither Ideas nor passages which can be praised as transcendent or sublime. It Is interesting chiefly as a station along th© rough way to th© summit of the development of th© classical Biblical epic, and it deserves, as it ha® been accorded ever sine© th© middle of the seventeenth century, that decent obscurity which it has earned.

135

Chapter VIII CQIfLESPS P&VtDSXS In the literary climate which had been warmed by the popularity of Sylvester's DuBartas, some English pro­ ductions might be expected to have burgeoned, and the Davidels of young Cowley did*

He began it about 16581

and, according to hie "Preface" of 1656®, at this time set down all that he ever composed*

lethercot speculates^ that

the fourth book was added while Cowley was in prison in 1655, but, although this is not the place to argue it, th© case is not convincing,

The worth and the reputation of the

Davidels have been adequately, though quite disparately, 4 5 6 *7 estimated by Spratt , Johnson , ®rpsart , Hetheroot , and Q Loiseau . Our concern is rather with th© poem as a classi­ cal Biblical epic,

Cowley's reasons for choosing th© sub­

ject will b© adduced, his method of handling It will be discussed, and th© positions he ehos© to take on controver­ sial issues will b© demonstrated, Cowley chose a Biblical subject because? "When I other bright lik© nature, proffers, as

consider this, and how many and magnificent subjects of th© the Holy Scriptures affords and It were, to Poesie, In the wise

136 managing and illustrating whereof, th® Glory of God Almighty might be Joyned with the singular utility and noblest delight of Man­ kind©; It is not without grief and indignation that I behold that Divine Science employing all her Inexhaustible riches of Wit and Eloquence, either in the wicked and beggarly Flattery of great persons, or the wretched affectation of scurril Laughter, or at best on the confused antiquated Dreams of senseless Fables and Metamorphosea,1t® He selected the career of David because! For what worthier subject could have been chosen among all the Treasuries of past times, then the Life of th© young Prince; who from so small beginnings, through such infinite troubles and oppositions, by such miraculous virtues and excellencies, and with such incomparable variety of wonderful actions and accidents, became the greatest Monarch that ever sat on the most famour Throne of th© whole Earth? Whom should a Poet more Justly seek to honor, then th® highest person who ever honored his Profession? whom a Christian Poet, rather then th© man who had that sacred pre-eminence above all other Princes, to b© the best and mightiest of that Hoyal Race from whence Christ himself, according to the flesh, disdained not to desc©nd? n1 0 Perhaps there were other reasons.

In that age of uncer­

tainty, when th© secure foundations of personal philosophy inherited from the Renaissance had crumbled and each man groped benightedly through a no longer neatly anthropocentric universe, David, as well as Job, seems to have been a poetic symbol for the man of faith who clung to the hand of God through all doubts and trials to ultimate

157 Self-Integration.

So Sylvester treated h l m ^ , as did

Thomas Fuller^ and E l w o o d ^ . Whether Cowley1a subject and. his hero ar© to be considered ©pic depends upon the validity of the inter­ pretation that David 13 story represents a good man hero­ ically doing what God gives him to do, and rising above all difficulties to become a Man of God,

The theory of

the Biblical ©pic, denying the necessity for a national subject, asserted th© breadth of scop© and the Immediacy of appeal of the triumphs of Christianity.

Yet a merely

internecine quarrel between two Hebrew kings could not enlist English sympathy for one side, nor could the story reach common emotions unless it touched universal human instincts.

Perhaps th© Davidels lacked appeal to author

and readers because it fell short of Gowley*s intention, but he must have had at least an intuition that this story symbolized, in no allegorical sense, Man*s spiritual Aeneid. As the first truly classical Biblical epic projected in England, th© Davidels is a worthy precursor of Paradise Lost.

Clearly, Cowley had considered the

dicta of critic®, for in his notes he refers to Ducan, Statlua, Horace, Ducretiua, Nemesianus, Aristotle, Seneca, and Soaliger, In that order.

As regards the issues

138

concerning the structure and the content of a contemporary epic, he had reached definite decisions which he not only consistently followed in practice but also defended In notes.

Be thought that a Christian poet should dedicate

himself to sacred subjects; historical;

that an epic poem should be

that the Bible offered subjects equal In

every way to those In traditional profane sources;

and

that the protagonist should have the Christian virtues of patience and faith in Cod as well as th© nobl© and heroic qualities of loyalty, courage, and martial prowess.

H©

believed that th© epic must be unified about a single great fable which in itself covered not too much action; that it must b© amplified with additional related episodes, with disquisitions on profound themes, and with digressions which enhance the significance of the poem;

that it must

begin quietly in th© middle of th© main action, develop suspense immediately, and move through many broad vistas to a classical conclusion within sight of, but not reach14 ing th© goal ; that it must be ornamented with rime, with figures, and with all the classical devices which the ingenuity of th© poet could modify sufficiently to natural­ ise into his own milieu;

and that it must contain, both as

an aesthetic delight and as a means for dramatizing the universality of th© theme, a marvelous, but on© which was

139 wholly Christian and largely Biblical, so that verisimili** tud© should not b© shattered by incredibility* As th© fabl© is outlined in the "Preface"^*, and as it appears in the unfinished poem, it Is focused In Saul 1 s anger, after the Iliad*

Cowley intended to carry

David through all of his trials to the point just before he was crowned,- like th© ancients, to com© within sight of, 16 but not up to, the goal . Although he carried him only into his flight, as far as his stay with the king of Moab, there is enough of the poem, taken with his "Preface11, to se© that his design was vast and ©pic. anointed by God through Samuel; appointed by God through Samuel;

Saul is King,

David, his successor, both ar© Hebrews.

Saul

is angry that David*s house is to supplant M s own, so he persecute© and pursues David, who ©scapes and dodges.

The

outline is clearly historical, but wide latitude is allowed the invention of th© poet in th© design, in the Interpola­ tion of episodes, and in th© arapliflcation of incidents. Both in the poem and In the plan, David*s experiences, associated with striking episodes from th© whole Biblical, apochryphal, and actual history of the Jews, were to 17 supply variety within unity . From the beginning of th© poem, Cowley fully exercises his license:

there is th©

description of Hell, both physical and social, and of a

140 convocation of fiends**"®;

to this is contrasted almost

point for point a picture of Heaven and of an assembly of hymning angels^-®.

Then David1s song to soothe Saul Is on

inserted as an Ode

, followed by th© interesting descripSi tion of a prophets1 college . Book Two contains a digresgo

sion on Love

;

a most Imaginative episode amplifying th©

forty-two verses in Chapter Twenty of I Samuel, which tells of David and Jonathans attempts to appease or to outwit 23 Saul ; and David*s vision of Hebrew history from his own time down to th© birth of Christ

04.

, which an angel

fasions for him as Vulcan fashioned th© history of Home on the shield of Aeneas^®, or as Anehises speaks It to Aeneas in Hades

26

.

Equal freedom is practiced in Book Three:

the

narrative of David*a flight is continued, but soon Is expanded by a classical list of captains and by a descrip27 tion of Moab’e kingdom . Then th© tale is interrupted 28 for a digression on the history of Lot , after which Joab relates, in a flash-back with considerable amplifica29 tion, all that preceded th© opening of th© poem , as a means of Introducing David to Moab, much as Ilioneus eulogizes Aeneas to Dido side the main them©:

30

.

Book Four is completely out­

David, explaining to Moab the reasons

for th© new government In Israel, chronicles Hebrev/ history

141 from th© Exodus to th© present, with a detailed account of Saul*8 election and reign, as Aeneas recounts to Dido 31 the fall of Troy . So the poet’s Imagination was not circumscribed, either in his flights of pure fancy or In his artistic composition, by th© bounds of historical records, even though he followed, In general, the Biblical books. The scope of th® narrative, it is evident, Is broad enough to be epic, but the cor© does not enlist us on a side to which we are attached by atavistic ©motions, as it should in an epic.

Only when Saul is looked upon as th©

tool of evil, disruptive, God-denying forces, as Cowley makes him -when Envy comes from Hell to insinuate Into his 30 sleeping mind a blind hatred of David * only when David Is conceived as the obedient servant of the Almighty, under His special guidance, as he Is when God sends an angel to 33 warn him of Saul*s machinations • only then is it possible to give our sympathy wholly to David and to feel that here, in David*s struggle to live In th© world according to God’s dictates, w© are concerned in an action so vital to mankind as to be epic.

Furthermore, it is war, as th© critics

demanded, war of a kind in which th© outcome is never certain and in which men are so Immediately eng,aged that they feel pity and fear.

In these senses, the subject of

142 Pfrvldels 1® epic. But, that th© warfare In which he participates is ©pic does not guarantee that the protagonist Is, ex officio, an ©pic hero.

It was generally agreed that his

characteristics were high ©state, bravery, noble virtues, success in arras, and offensive engagement in some great action.

David, of course, was the eponymous king of the

House into which Christ was born.

His courage had been

proved upon Goliath, and was unquestioned after he slew his ten thousand to Saul's thousand were ascribed to hlmi _

„.

the King's est^®.

36

. Th© highest virtues

h© wa® God's loyal servant

. He was patient and gentle

H© was a true friend®^.

*57

35

,

and

. He was mod*

In arms he had earned

great renown^®.

Yet throughout th® fragment h© plays only

a pasaiv© roles

Saul attacks and David flees.

He appar­

ently was to owe his life and his throne to his ability to elude pursuit.

This is not th© function traditional in an

epic hero.

It would seem, from th© descriptions of David 41 and from the character given him in th© episodic actions , that Cowley intended him to be the customary martial figure,

but David's passive stoicism, his waiting upon God's direc­ tion, leaves him a mere tool, in contrast to the portrayal In the Bible in which the tactical decisions of a bellig­ erent chieftain accord, ex post facto, with th© Will of

143 God*

In the Devidele there is no hint of the savagery of

th© struggle to grasp and to hold mastery in a barbaric tribal society which is the very breath of life in the Old Testament.

Cowley seems, then, to have conceived David as

a warrior fighting in an epic struggle against Evil, but was betrayed by his poetic symbolism and by his overempha­ sis of the similarity of David to plus Aeneas into portray­ ing his chief character as a puppet manipulated by an anthropomorphic Deity.

However, he recognized that even a

Biblical epic must contain warfare, that the hero must b© a great and noble character, and that the treatment of the conflict, If it were to appeal to a sophisticated age with­ out appearing blasphemous, must represent a good man's struggle against evil in his day.

This, of course, was the

essence of th© Bible story, and Cowley could hop© only to translate it into modern idiom and symbols and to recast it into a new and living form. The classical ©pic was ready to hand, the rules of construction codified, and Cowley was steeped In Homer and Vergil.

Even his minor decision about th© length of his

poem, twelve books, was made ’’not for the Tribes' sake, but after th© Patern of our Master Vergil1*^®.

The fable he

chose reached a climax at a point in Christian history so important that the story could easily support in unity an

144 accretion of the whole of sacred and profane Hebrew history. Just as in Book Four it Is natural to present an explana­ tion of Saul*s kingship, so throughout th© story of David there ar© other points at which background might be inter­ posed.

Thus Cbwiey might plan? w ...to interweave upon several occasions, With most of th© illustrious stories of th© Old Testament, and to embellish with th© most remarkable Antiquities of th© Jews, ^ and of other Nation© before or at that Age”

Through a design both simple and vast,.variety within unity was to be achieved. elements;

A fable was to carry the diverse

the Davidels, no more than its Vergilian proto­

type, was to be a biographical epic, achieving only coher­ ence.

It was planned to be firmly molded and anchored to

an adequate cor© of plot. The fable forgiving David.

commences in media© res, with Saul’s

This is

a good beginning.

It clearly

defines the forces which are to be opposed. It is quiet, yet It contains th© seeds of th© whole plot.

More than

that, it is peace after conflict, just as the opening of “ k*1©

Aeneid is quiet after storm, a time for

and

for explaining, which Cowley does. This

stock-taking method was

recommended by Horace, represented in the Renaissance by Vida and his followersi

145 11Shock not your reader, ;or begin too fierce, Mor ©well and bluster in a pomp of v e r s e " 4 4 . A quick change can follow, and does:

Saul, misguided by

Bnvy, hurls his spear at David, and th© issue is joined. This anti-climax provide® Immediate action, clearly defined conflict, and suspense, yet it reaches no such height of Intensity that the poet can neither sustain it nor reach it again. The incident is well planned to allow the most effective use of classical conventions.

Th© first twelve

lines of th® poem recite the epic argument, line on® a respectful reminiscence of "Arma virumqu© cano".

Lin©

thirteen commences a classical invocation to "Thou, who didst David*s royal stem adorn*1, in which Cowley d©dicates his "Magdalene" Muse to Christ, and argues briefly for what the French had called "a conversion of the Muses to Chris­ tianity".

A slight, but significant, deviation from the

classical is notable here.

This Is not a prayer to Calliope.

It is a plea that Christ assist Cowley*s muse, clearly a term for the quality of genius.

Vergil naturally, though

perhaps not literally, had invoked a goddess. boldly to name a "Heavenly Muse".

Milton was

Covdey, in mid position,

could not conceive a Christian mythology, but deliberately avoided th© pagan. The marvelous is introduced, after a brief

146 description of the nations! Joy with which the agreement between David and Saul was greeted, by means of a descrip­ tion of Hell, with a classical assembly of supernatural beings*

Of course, the convocation had to be held In Hell,

to allow discussion, because In Cowley*s theology there could be no choice of methods in Heaven: be law*

God’s Word would

Envy is chosen as the representative of the fiends:

she is at once a personification of Saul’s motives and a symbol of one form of Evil in the world.

Her imposition

upon Saul is modelled closely on that of Alectofs upon Amata^, even to the device of the insidious snake. Opposed to the forces of Hell is an angel sent to David, with a promise that God will protect and guide him.

Both of these

supernatural elements are introduced with realistic and credible circumstances* similitude.

Ho one might object to lack of veri­

Satan and God, though not human^®, were actual

beings to Christians of seventeenth century England, Simple, naive credence In anthropomorphism Is stamped on the whole poem, much as it seems to be on the Iliad.

In this Cowley

was closer to Homer than to Vergil, in spit® of his prefer47 @nc© for the judgment of the Latins , for in the Davldels Iliad the supernatural forces seem directly con­ cerned as characters, while in the Aeneid they appear to be devices and abstractions.

Throughout the rest of the

147 fragment, the marvelous Is represented, as here, by miracles attested by the Bible, so that, although he found mea&ns for using poetic Invention In amplification and description, Cowley could not be accused of destroying verisimilitude with his marvelous. The minor devices and ornaments of th© Davideis are modeled closely on the Aeneid, as Cowley*s notes explain.

It is the adornments, of course, which present

the poet’s work to his readers.

No matter what magnificent

conception or fine elements lie behind or within a poem, It. will be successful only to th© degree that the versification, the style, and th© ornaments make It so* failure.

Here Is Cowley’s

He has himself described the method of a poet! "As first a various unform’d Hint w© find Rise in some god-like Poet's fertile Mind, 'Till all the Parts and Words their Places take, And with just Marches Vers© and Mustek mak©"4®.

It has been noted that his plans and his organization, so far as the "Preface" and the fragment permit judgment, were excellent, and that his us© of the major elements, such as the fable and th© marvelous, was highly competent.

But,

when he bodied them forth in the dress of verse and imagery, he fell short of epic achievement. The work seems contrived. There can be no excuse for!

Bines are metre-ridden.

148 "Crost by a Shepherd1s Boy? And you yet still Flay with your Idle serp en ts here?ff^ The plague of elisions and contractions Indicate either a paucity of vocabulary or a weakness In phrasing.

Few

verses are natural, fewer felicitous or Inevitable.

The

rimed couplets are jingling and monotonous in a poem so long, although this fault may be ascribed as much to the usually end-stopped lines as to the rime.

There is little

plasticity in the verses, although Cowley inserted, and defended, an occasional Alexandrine to vary th© metrical pattern5^,

The diction is orotund where it should be

thunderous s "Kill him? Yes. mighty Ghost, th© Wretch shall die"51; flat where it should be simples "This is that Jonathan, the Joy and Grace The beautiful1 st, and best of Human Race”5^. Epic similes are inserted almost by recipe, in structure and often in content copies from Vergil, but remaining earth-bound: "Well did he know, How a tame stream does wild and dangerous grow By unjust Force; he now with wanton Flay, Kisses the smiling Banks, and glides away, But his known Channel stopt, begin to rore, And swell with Rag©, and buffet the dull Shore, His mutinous Waters hurry from afar.

149 Then scorns h© such weak Stops to his fro© Source, And over-runs the neighb1ring Fields with violent Course1'®3 , cannot compare with its prototypes "Hon sic, aggerlbus ruptia cum spumeus annis exit oppositasque evicit gurglte moles, fertur In arva furens cumulo oamposqu© per omnls cum stabulls armenta trahlt"®^. Yet Cowley must be commended for some of his ornaments.

His description of Hell may lack the realistic

detail of Milton’s topography, but the vague and repeated mention of the absence of light suggests a fearsomely oppressive, cavernous darkness

66

.

The digression on Love,

beginning; "What art thou, Love, thou great mysterious thing? Is a sincere poetic expression of the Christian-Platonic Idea that God is Love, and that love between man and man is purer than that between man and woman. a passage of good poetry;

It is not alone

It enhance® and deepens the

dramatic effect of the relationship between Jonathan and David.

So, too, the classical ©numeration of warriors, to

which Cowley adds "delightful and various Descriptions of the Persons"5^ » Is & device which colorfully enriches, by means bothoof detail and of allusion to past events, the description of the court of an oriental monarch.

On© of

150 his most successful ornaments Is the "Room with golden tapestry" in Moab’s palace, in which is depicted th® destruction of Sodom, with th© affecting detail of Lot’s wife, half woman, half atone, striving to speak to her husband.

Although in a different order, this picture can

b© compared favorably with its prototype, the tenple bas reliefs of Dido^6 . On the whole, the Da.videl.e, incomplete though it is, is a very successful naturalisation of two ancient traditions into the seventeenth century intellectual climate. It forecasts to students that there must appear a later, greater classical Biblical ©pic, for both the theory and the practice had benignly conjoined In readiness for It.

151

COHCLUSIO* The significance of this study lies in an exposition of a small part of the milieu in which Milton wrote his epic.

It has long been recognized that Paradise Lost

is a continuation of the tradition begun by Homer,

More­

over, it is now taken for granted that each of our three greatest Western ©pics grew out of its time, and that each represents th© poet '& synthesis of conventional intellectual and ©motional attitudes In his era.

Consequently, critics

have attempted to recreate for modern readers, whose intel­ lectual climate differs so greatly from that of the seven­ teenth century, th© composite of ideas and emotions implicit In the artifacts of that period,

Milton has been described,

for example, in th© Puritan revolution, in th© rise of neoclassicism, and in th© development of democracy. It has been th© purpose of this study to show that by 1660 th© classical Biblical epic had attained general acceptance among both writers and readers,

Milton

not only was guided by a theory of the classical Biblical epic, but h© also was stimulated by writers' ambitions to produce a grand work of art and by readers' desires for profoundly moving Biblical history.

The English, from

152 Anglo-Saxon times onward, had. produced, read, and admired Biblical ©pics and other sacred poems.

In their general

reaction against th© licentiousness of the Ovidian ©pic, they demanded that poetry b© returned to the service of God.

Seventeenth century poets concurred, and, desiring a

challenge to their narrative skill greater than the little epic afforded, turned to th© classical Biblical ©pic. Meantime, a considerable body of critical theory concerning this type had grown up on the Continent and in England.

A

current literary convention, a coalescing critical doctrine, and a cogent public demand was before Milton.

Is It to be

wondered at, with these and the many other influences at work upon him, that he forsook Arthur to glorify God? Although th© Anglo-Saxon Biblical epics were probably inknown to the immediate predecessors of Milton, th© narrative techniques and conventions developed In that early period are discernible in succeeding productions. Perhaps the shift of interest from epic to drama accounts for the mere poetic paraphrasing which followed the great period of Anglo-Saxon poetry.

However, the early mystery

and miracle plays, less sophisticated in their genre than the highly artistic Anglo-Saxon Biblical epics, kept alive English Interest In hexameral literature.

Down through the

Elizabethan period of highly developed dramatic productions,

153

many of the cycle plays remained mar© ©pic than dramatic in structure, preserving the techniques which th© early poets had learned.

Fruitful research might be done to discover

th© quantity of epic tradition carried down the centuries in these plays and to identify what Milton either borrowed or altered.

Th© Anglo-Saxon Biblical ©pic poems indicate

the attractiveness of the subject to English narrative poets and to English readers. The critical justification and the practical theories of creation of this new type had been long in the forging.

Early Continental critics had begun with the

Aeneld as a model of construction, and had added to their deductions the dicta of Artstotl© when the Poetics became available.

Through centuries of discussion, the rules were

formulated and, in this state, were accepted by English critics. First, the subject of th© poem must b© serious and of broad significance.

Sacred history can of course

provide such subjects, but in a successful Biblical epic the central action must have profound meaning to men in their relationship to God, and the event must have a direct, rather than merely a symbolic, bearing upon the lives of Christians.

Thus the Book of Buth, the Book of Jonah, and

the Book of Amos are immediately ruled out under th© first

154 requirement.

But the second also renders unfit incidents

like those in the Book of Judith and th© Book of Esther. As was apparent in the ultimate fat© of .DuBartas * Judlt> the crucial point In th© affairs of one Jewish tribe could hold public interest for a time by virtu© of its symbolic meaning, but it was not a matter of direct, and therefor© not of con­ tinuing, concern.

On the other hand, no subject other than

a Biblical one was likely to b© universally, or even widely, accepted,

Men of taste were cosmopolitan.

Even a Christian

subject, then, unless it inherently could meet the test of universality, unless its hero was a figure of the western world and not of a nation only, and unless its significance transcended cultural boundaries, would not suffice.

Obvious-

iy. in the seventeenth century civilisation, only th© Bible offered subjects which could surmount the divisions between Catholic and Protestant, English and French, and feudal noble and crescent bourgeois.

Milton, realizing the full

significance of this requirement, chose to justify the ways of Cod to men, certainly an endeavor serious enough, and to present the causes and the results of th© Fall of Man, obviously a subject bearing directly on the lives of all Christians. Second, th© structure must be that of the classic­ al ©pic in order to achieve unity.

The action must b© single,

155 Th© romances, although winning their place as a legitimate form of narrative, proved that the single Impact of a great, rather than an entertaining, work of art could be effected only by focusing everything in one major event.

In th© vast

and generally commendable Sepaalnes, there Is no unity. Th© impact is diffused, or broken into many minor impacts, throughout many passage®.

This, too, Ivlilton must have

learned or confirmed by observing with Honsard and other French and English critics that DuBartas* God-centered poem was hardly a successful epic.

Consequently, he made Para­

dise Lost anthropocentric and developed all of his minor episodes out of occasions provided within hi® central action. Then, to allow th© single action to dominate, th© poem begin in media® res.

must

The chronological order, beginning &b

ovo, contributed little towards focusing events on the main incident, while commencing in th© middle placed the reader immediately in th© ©vent and he, as well as the author, naturally related everything subsequently narrated to th© central action,

$ot only might Milton sea the success of

this method in Homer and In Vergil, but he also could ob­ serve in th© romances and in the French Christian epics the failure of beginning ab ovo, which helps to explain his opening in th© dungeon of uttor darkness.

But no single

action In itself could offer sufficient scope for narration

156 nor breadth of significance, so around the central incident must b© accreted as many relevant additional actions as possible*

By this means a poet might achieve true univer­

sality, but only certain devices, It had been learned from experience, might b© used without destroying the Illusion of verisimilitude.

Consequently, Milton does not allow

Satan on his voyage to observe a war on Olympus, to meet Aeneas wandering among the shades, nor to discover gold hidden In th© earth as an Instrument for Inducing men to sin.

Those whom he does meet produce germane description

and provide a justly proportioned time Interval, without misleading either poet or reader into irrelevant digression. The devic© of a journey had been misused in romances to allow the introduction of incidental occurrences, but the classical rules required more controlled techniques.

Scenes

might b© depicted on tapestries and on shields, stories might be related at a banquet by a character in the main action, and songs might be inserted for variety.

These

methods afforded sufficient opportunity for the poet to expand his work and to show his invention, yet they restrained him within the limits of credibility. Third, the adornments proper to th© epic were determined*

It was agreed that th© marvellous was a

necessity, but that it must be Christian and either based

1B7 on Biblically attested miracles or constructed with obviously symbolic personification.

Milton’s Satan,

physically, is derived from medieval tradition, and his personifications of Sin and Death are clearly symbolic. Descriptions were recognized as a means for producing the illusion of reality and as a legitimate form of expansion. To this admission of descriptive passages we are indebted for some of Milton’s loveliest poetry, 1.11c© the picture of Paradise in Book Four.

Invocations, also were accept­

able, and Milton makes use of them not only at the begin­ ning, but also whenever he feels that the flight he i® about to take requires that he have assistance.

For

adorning his style, th© poet was permitted the long and detailed simile, grand and sonorous diction, and a digni­ fied versification.

So much ha© been written about the

magnificent quality of Milton's style that it is un­ necessary to proffer examples of his fulfilling these requirements. Fourth, most of the characters, if not all, must be aristocratic, the protagonist no less than a great leader, if not a king.

It was a clearly defined and

generally held belief of the time that only men of the upper classes could have noble virtues.

What argument

158

there had been about the Inclusion of common Men had been concerned, not with th© possibility of their owning such qualities, but with th© propriety of depicting all form® of life.

General agreement was finally reached that the

epic should contain only th© nobl© virtues and their mighty opposites, which summarily confined th® characters to the upper classes.

In Paradise Lost ©ven Adam and Eve,

who are at once historical progenitors and symbolic Everyman and Everywoman, are what Tsfilton considered noble human beings.

Milton approached the common man

in little Abdiel, perhaps reached him symbolically;

yet,

though he is not of much consequence, he is still an angel. Fifth, and probably most important because it underlies the decisions about all the other requirements, was the demand for verisimilitude, usually defined as actuality. age.

The Renaissance was not an overly skeptical

No unwillingness to suspend disbelief prompted this

demand.

Rather it was th© result, directly from medieval

critics and indirectly from Plato, of the attacks on poetry as a lie. it tell truth.

One way to justify poetry was to make Furthermore, it was logically believed

that virtue could not be inculcated by an evil means. Sine© poetry was expected to instruct, and sine© an

159 Invented story was

1 1 ©,

therefor© poetry must deal with

truth in order to teach virtue.

This became axiomatic.

However, as DuB&rt&s proudly explained, there was no fault In amplifying bar© statements in the Blbl®.

Again,

what Milton did in this respect is too well known to require specification.

However, it is proper to comment

that, except to amplify and enrich it, h© did not toy with th© Biblical story.

Since all of the extraordinary

©vents were performed by acknowledged supernatural beings, and since descriptions and ©vents were based on received outlines, Paradise Lost was generally credited with veri­ similitude. On this last requirement, proponents of th© Christian epic usually rested their case.

Material from

Christian history, unquestionably true, was perfectly verisimilar.

Opponents urged th© danger of blasphemy,

but this was a two-edged argument, particularly as regards the marvelous.

The on© inviolable law of handling Bibli­

cal material was that it might not b© essentially mis­ represented.

As Instruction became more generally

considered to be the end of poetry, th© Christian epic, in turn, became more widely accepted as the proper vehicle for th© Inculcation of Christian morality.

The

160 Biblical ©pic, a species of the Christian ©pic and dependent for Its acceptance upon th© sam© reasoning as that used to defend the Christian ©pic, was attempted more often than the more general form, because in the Bible were available subjects which would be familiar, significant, and indubitably verisimilar. As the writing of Biblical epics continued, the classical manner and methods, familiar through practice with th© Ovidian epic, became more naturally associated with th© Biblical material.

Poets avoided

th© faults apparent In th© earlier attempts and tried new conceptions and new ways of construction.

Th©

development may be traced through the poems published In England, from DuBarta® 1 Judith through Deloney’s Canaans Calamltie,

DuBart&s* Weeks and Days, and Cowley*s

Davldels, to the magnificent structure of Milton’s Para­ dise host.

Each predecessor added a device or eliminated

a method, so that when Milton began to fit th© material of the Bible into classical form, he had their successes and failures as a guide.

Although Paradise Lost is the

product of the genius of on® men, It may be doubted that it could have been created so successfully before th© experiments of those who wrote its precursors.

Our

161 appreciation of Milton’s d&edalian fitting of Hebrew matter and spirit into classical form ©.m3 manner, and our critical admiration of his achievement are enhanced by knowledge of the slow and laborious evolution of th© type.

162

FGGTIOTES Chapter jC 1

,

The Junius Manuscript, ed. 1 1 . 8-15

2

.

Ibid., 1. 234

3.

Ibid., 1. 852

4.

Ibid., 11. 1365-1421

5.

Ibid., 11. 1060-2013

.

Ibid., 11. 2059-2095

6

7.

Ibid., 11. 595-598

.

Ibid., 11. 784-788

8

9.

0

. P. Krapp;

"Genesis",

Ibid., "Exodus’1, 11. 1-22

10.

Ibid., 11. 353-376

11.

Ibid., 11. 80-87

12.

Judith , ed. A. S. Cook; 1.290

13.

Ibid.. 11. 6-34

14.

Ibid., 11. 97-111

15.

Ibid.,

16.

Ibid., 11. 151-158 and 11, 177-198

17.

Ibid., 11. 212-350

18.

Cynewulf's Christ, ed. I. Gollanca: Introduction. Christ of Cynewulf, ed* A. S. Cook, pp.xvi-xxv. Th© Ppema of Cynewulf, ©d. Charles m?. Kennedy, pp. 9

1 1 . 112-121

163 1 9

*

! •

20*

Examples of later paraphrases, of which there are full accounts in J. E. Weila, A Manual of the Writings in Middle English, p. 317ff and l W f F 7 are*: Genesis and~lixoj£us7 The1r'Story of Joseph, Susannah, Th© South­ ern Temporal®, The Story of ’ H a m and Eve, Th© Life of

JesuFrS t" T a w lT n ¥ o n ^ o m r T C 6 ^ ,^ B a II¥ d ^ ------

twelfth Day, and The Woman of Samaria 81

•

ILld,,

11.

1361-1522

22.

Adam, Sarah F, Barrow, ©d. and tr.

23.

John Grown©, His Life and Works, ed. A. P. White

Chapter II

1.

Christopher Marlow©, Hero and L©ander, p. lv Shakespeare1a Works, ©d. Aldis Wright, pp. v-vili

3. Constable* g Foeme and Sonnets, ed. John Gray, p. 1 4. Ibid., p. 5 5. Phineas Fletcher, Venus and Anchises and Other Poems, ed. Ethel Seaton; p. xxiif Samuel Daniel *s Works, ©d. Alexander Grosart; vol. 1, hA Lett ©F^oraOctavfa to Marcus Antonius”, stanza 4 • Works of John Davies, ed. Alexander Grosart; vol. 2/ uPapers Complaint1*, p . 75 8

. Works of Nicholas Breton, ed. Alexander Grosart; vol. 2 7 “"The M r o f Wlt**, p. 1 2

9. Nicholas Breton, Beliconla, ed, T, Parke;

10 . No Whipping©, No Tripp Inge, ed. C. Edwards;

I, p. 188

11 * 9-15

11. Robert Chester, Love1s Martyr, ed, Alexander Grosart; New Shakespeare* s Society1 s Publi.cations, series viii, vol. 2 , p . 38

164

12.

Elizabethan Critical Essays, ed. G.G. Smith; vol. 1>

IS.

George Whetstone, Pocke of Regarde, pp. 2 0 - 2 2 '

14.

Clyde B. Cooper, Some Elizabethan Opinions of the Poetry and Character of Ovid, p. 18

15.

Smith, 0 £. pit., vol.

16.

Ihld., vol.

17.

Ibid., vol. 1, p. 75; p. 552

18.

> vol.

1

1,

, p. 75

p. 522

Ibid., vol. 1, p. 258

20.

Ibid., vol. 2, p. 177

21.

Ibid., vol. 2, p. 209 2

P. Collier;

, p. 186

19.

Ibid., vol.

1

ed, J,

, pp. 259-260,

25.

Complete Poems of Robert Southwell, ©d. Alexander Grosart; p7~4T

24.

Ibid.,p. 12, and footnote 2

25.

Ibid.,"Saint Peters Complaint",stanza

26.

Giles Fletcher, Christs Victory and Triumph, ed. W. Brooke; atanzMHTlind"!^ ''p". 29

27.

Ibid.,Bk. 2, st.

6,

p. 12

6

DuBartas Works, tr. J. Sylvester, p. 170 29.

Smitn,

o^» ^clt•, vol. 2, p. 326

30.

Louis B. Wright, Middle Clasa Culture in Elizabethan England, p. 8 6

31.

Ibid., p. 112

32.

Ibid.,

p. 113

165 2M & ' »

54.

Jbld#,

P• us

p. 235

Chapter III 1. Ralph C. Williams, ”Italian Influence on Ronsardrs Theory of the Epic” , p. 161 2*

R. C. Williams, MTh© Purpose of Poetry #••”, p. 7

3.

Th© Art of Poetry, ©d. A, lTT 33^36

4.

Williams,

0 £.

8 ,Cooks

Vida, Bk. I,

cit., p. 7

Literary Criticism, Plato to Dryden, ed, A. H, Gilberts p. 262 6,

Williams, op, cit*, p. 5

7.

Gilbert, ojc. clt., p. 213

8#

Williams, op. clt., p. 7

9.

Ibid., p. 12

10.

Ibid.,

p. 12

11.

Ibid..

p. 19

12.

Gilbert, op. cit#, p. 482

13.

Literary Criticism In theRenaissance, Spingarn, p . 160

14.

Parts of this controversywill be discussed later in relation to th© issues which concerned both th© participants and this study, A full discussion may be found in Chapter 20 of Solerti1s Vita dl Torquato Tasso ? Torinoe 1895

15.

Works of Guillam© de Sallust© Sieur Du Bartas, ©d. U T T T Holmes, Jr. , ©tTall p.~2l3

ed. J . E.

166

16.

Vauquelin, L* Art Poetlque, ed. Georges Pellieeier? Bk. Ill, i i T ~ M Ef I

17.

R. C. Williams, "The Merveilleux In the Epic", p. 41

18.

Ibid., p. 24

19.

Ibid., p. 72

20.

J . Duchesne, Histoire des ?oernes Eplques Francais du XVII Slecle, F T T s I ~

21.

Ralph C. Williams, "Two Studies In Epic Theory", p. 140

22.

W, F, Patterson, Three Centuries of French Poetic Theory..., p. 475

23.

Ibid., p. 590S

24.

Williams, "Th© Purpose of Poetry*..11, p. 3

25.

H. B. Charlton, Castelvetro1 s Theory of Poetry, p. 113

26.

Gilbert, o d . clt., p. 365

27.

Ibid., p. 390

28.

Although published after the completion of Paradise Lost, Soileau*s Art of Poetry Is thebest compendium ot the critical doctrTnes or his age, so his state­ ments are used to represent the Ideas current In his group during the time that Milton was composing the epic.

29.

Cook,

30.

Ibid., Vida, Bk. XI, 11. 304-306

31.

Charlton, op. cit., p. 31

32.

Williams, "Two Studies In Epic Theory", p. 136

33.

Charlton,

34.

Splngarn, o£. cit., p. 29

55.

William®, "Two Studies In Epic Theory", p. 144

0 £.

P*

595

clt., Boileau, Bk. IV,

0 £.

11.

91-96

cit*, p. 41

167

36*

Ibid.. p. 136

37.

Gilbert,

38*

Williams, The Merveilleux in the Epic, p. 14

39*

Williams, "Two Studies in Epic Theory”,p.

40.

Ibid*, p. 136

41.

Ibid.. p. 137

42.

Ibid., p. 137

43.

Ibid., p. 145

44.

Williams, The Merveilleux in the Epic, p* 15

45.

Gilbert, op. clt*, p . 482

46*

Williams, "Two Studies in Epic Theory”, p. 138; Spingarn, 0 £. cit*, p. 119ff

47.

Patterson,

48.

Ibid*, p. 478

49.

Ibid*, p. 629

50.

Ibid., p. 499

51.

Ibid., p. 593

52.

Williams, "Two Studies in

53.

Williams, The Merveilleux in the Epic, p. 18

54.

Gilbert,

55.

Williams, "Two Studies in Epic Theory", p. 145

56.

Ibid., P. 137

57.

Spingarn, og.. clt., p. 46

58.

Gilbert, o£. cit., p. 370

59.

Ibid., p. 390

0 £,

clt*, p. 262ff

0 £.

0£.

144

cit., p. 473

Epic Theory", p. 138

cit., p. 3Q5ff

168 60*

Holm©©, op. clt,, vol. 1, p. 212

61*

Williams, Hi© Merveilleux In the Epic, p.

62.

Williams, ”Two Studies in Epic Theory”, p. 146

63.

Patterson, oj>. olt., p. 711

64.

Williams, The Merveilleux In th© Epic, p, 41

65.

Williams, wTwo Studies in Epic Theory”, pp. 151-158

66.

Ibid., p. 133

67«

Ibid., pp. 139-140

68.

Williams, The Merveilleux in the Epic, p. 31

69.

Williams, ”Two Studies in Epic Theory”, p. 140

70.

Cook, o d . cit., Boileau, Bk. Ill, 11. 177-192

71.

Spingarn,

72.

Williams, Th© Merveilleux in the Epic, p. 138

73.

Aristotle*s Foetics and Longinus on th© Sublime, ©d. C. S. Baldwin; p. 27

74.

Cook, op. cit., Vida, Bk. II, 11. 255-295

75.

Williams, ”Two Studies In Epic Theory”, p. 142

76.

Gilbert, op. cit., p. 272

77.

Williams, ”Two Studies In Epic Theory”, p. 143

78.

Baldwin,

79.

Williams, ”Two Studies in Epic Theory”, p. 142

80.

Patterson, op. clt., p. 592

81.

G. Collas, Jean Chapelain, p. 30ff

82.

Ibid., p. 254

0 £.

0 £.

21

clt., p. 239

bit., p. 28

16©

83*

Cook,

0£.

olt., Bo1lean, Bk. Ill, 11. 103-123

84*

Vida, Bk. II, 11. 455-495

85.

Williams, "Purpose of Poetry...”, p. 3

86•

Ibid., p. 5

87.

Ibid., p. 12

88.

Ibid,, p. 9

89.

Ibid,, p. 12

©0.

Ibid., p. 12

91.

Ibid., p. 13

92.

Charlton, op. clt., p. 117

93.

Edward Fairfax, Godfrey of Bullolgne, Bk.II, stanza

94.

Vergil, Aeneld. tr. H, K. Fairclough}Bk. VII,

95.

Jean Chapelain, La Pueelle, p. 16 ff

96.

Oeuvres Completes d© Saint-Amant, ed.

97.

A, Godeau, Oeuvres Chrestlennes, p. iv

98.

Cook, op. cit., Horace, 1. 23

38ff

11.803ff

H. Livet

Ibid., Vida, Bk. II, 11. 160-161 100.

Baldwin, c>£. cit,, p. 17

101.

Charlton, op. clt.. p. 90

102*

Baldwin, op. cit., p. 7

103. B. C, Williams, "Methods of Treatment p. 211 ft 104.

ofthe Epic..,”,

Jean Desmaretr. de Saint-Sorlin, Clovis, ou La France Chrestienne, p. 11

105. Baldwin, ©£. clt., p. 19

170

106.

Spingarn,

107*

Ibid.. p. 115

108.

Ibid., p. 119

109.

Gilbert, ©j>. clt., p. 275

110.

Ibid., p. 115

111.

Spingarn,

112.

Helen M. Briggs, "Tasso* a Theory of Epic Poetry”, p. 471

113. 114. 115.

0 £.

0 £.

cit., p.

12

clt., p. 116

Ibid., p. 471 Spingarn,

0 £.

cit., p. 122

Ibid.. p. 122

116.

Briggs, op. clt., 457ff

117.

Williams, "Italian Influence on Ronsard*® Theory of the Epic , p. 162

118.

Ibid.. p. 163

119.

Cook,

120.

Collas,

121.

Chapelain, o£. clt.

122.

Livet,

123.

Georges de Scudery, Alaric, p.10; Scudery, Ibrahim

124.

Desmarets, op. cit.

125.

Rene Kerviler, JeanPesmaretg,p. 87

126.

Ibid., p. 87

127.

Baldwin, op. clt., p. 4

0 £.

clt., Bolleau, Bk. Ill, 1. 161

0 £.

0 £.

clt., p. 29

clt. Madelain de

171

108*

FI, C* Williams, "Metrical Form of the Epic.,*” , p. 465

129*

Ibid** p. 449

130*

Spingarn, p£. cit., p. 51

151*

Williams, "Metrical Form of

152*

Charlton, C£. cit,, p. 52

135.

Splngarn, Q£. cit*, p. 44

134.

Ibid., p. 36

135.

Williams, "Metrical Form of

136.

Spingam,

137*

Williams, "Metrical Form of

138*

Ibid*, p. 453

0 £.

the Epic..*”, p. 451

the Epic...”, p. 449

cit., p. 34 the Epic.*,”, p. 453

Ibid., pp. 453-455 140.

Splngarn, op« cit., p. 34

141.

Louys leLabourer, Charlemagne,

142.

Spingarn,

143.

Ibid., p. 218

144.

Gilbert, op. cit., p. 301

145.

Ibid.,

146.

Spingarn,

147.

Ibid.,

p. 217

148.

Ibid.,

p. 231

149.

Ibid., p. 238

160.

Desmarets,

151.

Holmes,

0 £.

cit., p. 57

p. 323 0 £.

0 £.

0 £.

cit., p. 216

cit.

cit., vol. 1, p. 122

172 152*r Cook,

0 |>*

cit., Vida, Bk* III, 11. 316-328

153.

Ibid., Boiloau, Bk. Ill, 11* 243-244

154*

Baldwin, oj>. cit., p. 18

155.

Williams, "Two Studies in Epic Theory", p. 149

1 5 6 ISM**

p* 140

1.57,

Ibid*, p* 149

ibS*

Ibid*, p* 150

159*

Ibid*, p* 150

160*

Cook, D£. eit*, Vida, Bk. II, 11. 17-50

161,

Williams, "Methods

162*

Ibid*,

p. 279

165.

Ibid*,

p. 281

164.

Desm&rets, op. cit.

165*

Cook, op. cit., Bolle&u, Bk. Ill, 269-286

166,

Baldwin, €>£, cit., p* 15

167,

Ibid;, p. IS

of Treatment

168.

Spingarn, o£, cit., p. 112

169.

Williams, "Methods

170,

Gilbert,

0 £.

of Treatment

of the Epic..*”, p. 277

of the Epic”,

p. 277

cit., p. 285

171*

Spingarn, op. cit., p. 46

172*

Georges d© Scudery, op. cit., p. 15

173.

Pierre 1©Moyne, Saint Louis

174.

H. Cherot, Etude aur la Vie et lea Oeuvres de JP. leMoyne, p. 258

175.

p. 285

173 176*

Spingarn, oj>, cit., p. 112

177.

Pierre de Rons&rd, Oeuvres, p. 458

178.

Holmes, o£. cit*, vol. 1, p. 215

179.

Briggs,

180.

Spingarn, a-. cit., p. 114

181.

Saint-Amant, on. cit.

182.

Georges d© Scudery, o£. cit., p. 15

183.

Saint-Am&nt, op. cit.

184.

Collas, o£. cit., p. 286

185.

Chap©lain, op. cit.

186.

Cherot, op. cit., p. 258

187*

Georges de Scudery, op. cit.> p. 15

188.

Madelain de Scudery,

189.

Cook,

0 £.

0 £.

cit., p. 471

0 £.

cit.

cit., Vida, Bk* XX, 11. 220-221

190.

Ibid., Vida, Bk. II

191.

Williams, "Purpose of Poetry..*", p. 7

192. Williams, “Methods of Treatment of the Epic...11, p. 277 193. Gilbert, op. cit., p. 269 194• Ibid., p. 276ff 195. Spingarn, op. cit., p. 117, p. 119 196.

Williams, "Purpose of Poetry...", p. 7

197.

Ibid., p. 7

198.

Ibid., p. 19

199.

Ibid., p. 19

200,

Holmes, op« cit «, vol. 1, p. 220 Ibld«, vol.

1

, p.

212

202.

George© d© Scudery, op. cit., p. 10

203.

Ibid., p. 1®

204.

Kerviler, op. cit., p. 76

205.

Collas,

206. 207.

0£.

cit., p. 233

Cook, op.cit.,Vida, Williams, "Methods p. 279

208.

Ibid., p. 283

209.

Ibid., p. 193

Bk. II, 11.17-29 of Treatment of

the Epic...",

210.

Holme©, op, cit,, vol. 1, p. 224

211.

Cook, op. cit., Vida, Bk* II, 11. 325-538

212.

Gilbert, o£, cit., p. 482

213.

Spingarn, Q£. cit., p. S12

214.

A. H. Upham, French Influence in English Literature, p. 41

215.

Ibid., p. 4

216.

Ibid., p. 8

217.

Holmes, op. cit., vol. 1, P » 90

218.

Hpham,

219.

Ibid., p. 102

0 £.

cit., p.

6

C h a p t a r iv

MnHMwMrt

1

.

a. a. Smith , Elizabethan Critical Eafiftyb , vol. 1,

2

.

Ibid,, vol.

p. 58

3.

Ibid., vol. i. p. 61

4.

Ibid., vol,

5.

Ibid., vol. X, p. 158

1

, p. 136

.

Ibid., vol.

1

. p. 158

7.

Ibid., vol,

1

, p. 17Sff

6

8

.

9.

Upham, 0 £. . cit ., p . 479. i-regisver in jlooo Smith, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 174

10.

Ibid.. vol.

11.

Ibid.. vol. 1,

p. 212

Xg *

Ibid.,vol. 1,

p. 179

13.

Ibid., vol. 1,

p. 234

14.

Ibid.. vol. 1,

p. 310

15.

Ibid..vol. 2,

p. 25

16.

Ibid.. vol. 2,

p. 30

17.

Ibid., vol.

18.

Ibid.,vol. 2,

19.

Ibid., vol.

20.

Ibid.,vol. 2,

p. 161

21.

Ibid.,vol. 2,

p. 265

22.

1

2

2

, p. 175ff

, p. 26 p. 216

, p. 41

Upham, ogu cit., p.

6

and p. 102

176

23.

Smith,

0 £.

cit., vol.

2

, p.

212

24- Ibid,, vol. 2, p. 301 25. Spingarn, op. cit., p. 257; T. G . Tucker, Foreign Debt of English Literature, p. 214 26.

Upham, Q£. cit., p. 150

27.

Ibid., p. 218

28.

Spingarn, Critical Essays of the Seventeenth Century, p* 6

29,

Ibid.

P.

30,

Ibid.

P- 28

31.

Ibid.

P« 29

32.

Ibid.

P* 54

33.

Ibid.

P* 117

34.

Ibid.

P-

35.

Ibid.

P* 128

36.

Ibid.

p. 134

37.

Ibid.

p. 164

38.

Ibid.

p. 186

39.

Ibid.

vol.

2

40.

Ibid.

vol.

2,

41.

Ibid.

vol.

2

, P* 9

42.

Ibid.

vol.

2

, P- 17

43.

Ibid.

vol.

2

, P* 55

44*

Ibid,

vol.

2

, p. 58

45.

Ibid.

vol.

2

, P* 62

12

120

, P*

2

P* 5

177

The Works of Abraham Cowley, @d, Alexander Orosart; VSI.T; P . T 4 1 7 T 7 T .-.

47,

Ibid., vol. 1, p. 144, 11.

CD

46.

Ibid., vol,

1

, p. cxxlx

49.

Ibid., vol.

1

, p. cxxlx

50.

Ibid., vol,

1

, p. cxxv

33 -34

Chapter V 1

.

Works of Guillame de Sallust© Sieur du Bertas, ed. U. Holmes, Jr., et &1., vol. 1, p. 1 0

2

.

A. H. Upham, French Influence In English Literature, p. 152 T "

5.

DuBartas Works, tr, J. Sylvesters

4.

Ibid., p. 738

5.

Holmes, op. cit., vol. 2, Bk. V, 11. 159-168

6.

Sylvester, op. cit., p. 678

7.

Ibid., p. 691

8.

Holmes,

9•

Sylvester, op« cit., p. 690, p. 693, p. 742

0 £.

cit., vol. 1, p.

10.

Ibid., p. 723

11,

Ibid., p. 699

12.

Holmes, op. cit., p. 212

13.

Sylvester, op. cit,, p. 715

14.

Ibid., p. 715

15.

Ibid., p. 711

p. 678

212

178 16*

Vergil’s Aeneid, tr. R. R, Fairclou h: 11, 335-56§

17#

Sylvester, op. cit., p* 725

18,

Fairclough,

19*

Ibid*, vol. 1, Bk. IV, 11. 1-128

20.

Ibid., vol. 1, Bks. II and III

21.

Sylvester, op. cit., p. 739 and p. 749

22.

Ibid., pp. 740-741

23.

Ibid., p. 743

24.

Ibid., pp. 737-738

25#

Fairclough, op. cit., vol. 1, Bk. I, 11, 455-493

26.

Ibid., vol. 1, Bk. IV, 11. 630-705

27,

Ibid., vol. 2, Bk. XII, 11. 919-952

28.

Sylvester, g£, cit., pp. 699-704

29.

Ibid., p. 719

30.

Ibid., p. 719

31.

Hpliaes,

32.

Sylvester, op. cit., p. 695

33.

Ibid., p. 706

34.

Ibid., p. 710

35.

Ibid., p. 696

36.

Fairclough, op. cit., vol. 1, Bk. I, 11. 450-436

37.

Sylvester, op. cit,, p. 742

38,

Fairclough, op. cit., vol. 1, Bk. II, 11. 626-631

0 £.

0 |>.

vol. 1. Bk.

cit#, vol. 1, Bk. X, 11. 586-756

cit., vol. 2, Bk. IV, 11. 245-258

179

39.

Sylvester

40*

Ibid.

p. 7X1

41*

Ibid.

P- 704

42 •

Ibid.

P* 712

43.

Ibid.

p. 706

44 •

Ibid.

p. 710

45.

Ibid.

p. 706

46.

Ibid.

p. 750

47.

Ibid.

p. 734

48.

Ibid.

P- 757

49*

Ibid.

P. 758

50.

Ibid.

P. 729

51.

Ibid.

P* 735

52.

Ibid.

P* 741

53.

Ibid.

P- 738

54.

Ibid.

P- 707

55.

Ibid.

P- 724

56.

Ibid.

p. 726

57.

Ibid.

P. 699

58.

Ibid.

p. 691

59.

Ibid.

p. 715

60.

Ibid.

PP

61.

Ibid.

P. 707

62.

Ibid.

P* 698

££• elt., p. 708

724 -729

180

65.

Ibid., p. 747

64.

Ibid., pp. 755-756

65.

Ibid , P. 741

66.

Ibid , p. 745

67.

Ibid , p. 706 and p. 708

68.

Ibid , p. 695

69.

Ibid , p. 715

70.

Ibid , p. 715

71.

Ibid , pp. 713-715

72.

Ibid , p. 749

73.

Ibid , p. 749

74.

Ibid , p. 724

75.

Holmes, op. cit.» p. 212

Chapter VI Deloney1 a Works, ed, P. 0. Mann; 2.

p. 594

Ibid., p. 595. Mann lists a© ’’Extant Editions” of Canaana Calamities ”T aT IGlSCanaans Calamitie Jerusalems Misery, or The dolefull destruction of fair© Jerusalem. ...At London, Printed for Thomas Bayly, ... noere adjoyning unto Staple Inne. 1618 (B) 1640 ... London, 1640 (Bodleian)

Printed by Tho. Badger,

(C) 1677 ... Printed by Tho; James for Edward Thomas at the Adam and Eve in Little Brittain 1677. 3.

Ibid., p. xiii

1S1

4.

Ibid *, p. xxxvill

5.

Josephus, History of tho Jewish War, tr. H. St. John Thackeray; vol. 2, p. 18"

6.

Mann,

7-

Ibid.. pp. 593-594

8

.

0 £,

cit., p. 593

Ibid., p. 595 Ibid., pp. vii-viii

10.

Ibid., p. 595

11.

Ibid., p. 420,

12.

Josephus,

13.

Ibid., vol. II, pp.

14.

Ibid., vol. II, p. 457;

15.

Ibid., vol. II, p. 597ff

16.

Ibid., vol. II, p. 591ff

17.

Ibid., vol. II, p. 575

18.

Ibid., vol. III, pp. 27-45;

19.

Ibid., vol. III, pp. 303-309;

20.

Ibid., vol. III, p. 435ff; p. 543

21.

Ibid., vol. Ill, pp. 461*469

22.

MThe simple tale of intrigue the Ovidlan love story ... consists in its primitive form of a very meager plot In which the lover in pursuit of a woman ... attains the fulfillment of his desires. Thus Ovid, # 1 0 had set down nothing more than simple principles of intrigue for the satisfaction of purely physical desires, logically sketched for future times the outlines of the *Ovidian tale1, in which a man seeks to win a woman, or the other way about, by follow** ing prescribed rules." SchevjHll, B., Ovid and the

0 £.

1

. 7;

p. 430, 1. 380

cit., vol. Ill, p. 375 1-10

p. 713

p . 153-199 pp. 381-402

102 Renas cence in Spain, p.

4

23.

Mann, op. cit* > P* 498, 11* 77-92

24 •

Ibid. , p . 422

11.

73-90

25*

Ibid. , p. 422

11.

79-80

26*

Ibid. , p. 420

11.

1-4

27*

Ibid. , p . 428

11.

297-298

28*

Ibid. , p. 420

1 1 . 1-12

29.

Ibid. , p. 421

11.

61-66

30*

Ibid. , p . 456

11.

1267-1278

31*

Matthew, 24:2 and 21:5-28

32.

Mann, op. cit » P* 442, 11. 793-810

33.

Ibid. , p. 443

11.

845; 11. 447-972

34.

Ibid. , p. 443

11

839-840

35.

Ibid. , p. 442

11.

787-792

36.

Ibid. , p , 453

11.

1159-1164;

37.

Ibid. , p. 431

section heading

38.

Ibid. , p. 431

1

39.

Ibid. , p. 431

11.

421-422

40 *

Ibid., p. 423

11.

92-114

41.

Ibid. , p. 424

11.

139-150

42.

Ibid. , p. 424

I*3 . 169-180

43.

Ibid. , p. 425

11.

181-192

44.

Ibid. , p. 425

11.

193-195

Mark, 15:2;

. 398

m

Luke,

p. 4

183

45.

Ibid,» p, 425,11. 199-228

46, Ibid., p. 595

1•

Works of Guillame de Salluste Sieur du Bartas, ed. U .T ."Holm©s', Jr., et. al. t vol. 1 , p. 12

2, Ibid., vol. 1,

p, 18

5.

W. F. Patterson, Three Centuries of French Poetic Theory, p. 714

4.

George C. Ta-lor,

5*

Holmes, o£. cit., p. 538, vol. 1

6.

Ibid, , vol. 2,

p. 199,

’’Premier Jour”, 11. 129-134

7.

Ibid.,

vol. 2,

p. 306,

"Quatriesme Jour”, 11. 29-34

. Ibid., vol. 2,

p. 392,

"Slxlesme Jour”, 11. 419-426

8

9.

Milton1s Use of DuBartas, p. xlii

Louis B. Wright, Middle Class Culture in FIigab©than England, p . 556

10.

Holmes, op. cit., vol. 3, p. 339, ”Les Trophes”, 11. 165-172

11.

Ibid., vol.1,

p .11

12.

Ibid.,

vol, 2,

p. 218, ”Le Premier Jour”, 11, 667-766

13.

Ibid.,

vol. 1,

p. 216

14.

Ibid.,

vol, 2,

p. 262, "Second Jour”, 11. 1071-1160

I5 * Ibid.,

vol. 2,

p. 322, "Quatriesme Jour”, 11. 453-462

16*

Ibid.,

vol. 3,

p. 335, ”L©s Trophes”, 11. 39-350

1?*

Ibid., vol. 3, pp. 299-300, ”Les Capltaines”, 11. 39-60

184

18«

Ibid.t vol. 5, P. 306, ’’Leg Capitaines", 11. 255-2*

10.

-JaJn Ibid.• vol. 3, PP. K U.o &-313, "L©s Cap!fcalrtes”» 453-492

11.

SO *

Ibid., vol. V 456-492

PP. 312 *313, "L©s Capitaines”,

11.

SI.

Ibid., vol, 3, PP. 314 -315, "Leg Capitaines", 611-5501

11.

22.

Ibid., vol. 3, PP. 315 -316, "Les Capitaines", 561-578

11.

23.

Ibid,, vol. 3, PP. 318 -320, "Leg Capitaines", 637-702

11.

24.

Ibid., vol. 3, pp. 320 -321, "Lee Capit&ines", 703-726

11.

25.

Ibid., vol. 3, P * 321, "Les Capitaines®, 11. 727-72

26.

Ibid., vol. 3, PP. 321 -322, "Les Capitaines”, 731-766

11.

27.

Ibid., vol. 3, PP. 322 -323, ”L©s Capitaines", 767-796

11.

28.

Ibid., vol. 3, PP. 326 -353, ”Le s Capitaines”, 879^1116

11

29.

Ibid., vol.

30.

Ibid., vol. 2 , P* 203, "Premier Jour", 11. 236-237

31.

Ibid., vol.

32.

Ibid., vol.

33.

Ibid., vol.

2

, p. 218, "Premier Jour”, 11.

34.

Ibid., vol.

2

, p. 215, "Premi©r Jour”, 11. 587-610

35.

Ibid., vol.

2

, p. 252, "Second Jour”, 11. 779 -788

36.

Ovid* s Fasti, tr. Sir James 0. Frazier; 11. 79ff

2,

2

p. 195, "Premier Jour”, 11. 1- 6

, P. 304, "Quatriesme Jour”, 1.1 PP. 2-3 , "Eden” , 11. 49-56 666-688

Bk. II,

185

57.

39.

Holmes, op. cit*, vol. 2, pp. 353-356, ,fClnquiesme Jour1*# 1X7 437-528 Ikiit*» vol.

1

Holmes,

cit,, vol. 1, p. 172ff

0 £,

, p. 36:

Patterson, op. cit,, p. 713

5kM.*» vol. 1, Chapter Six Works of DuBartas, tr. J. Sylvester, p. 29 42.

Ibid., p. 45

43.

Holmes, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 207, "Premier Jour", I.368

44.

5>ylvester, oj). cit., p. 9

45.

Ibid., p. 117

46.

Ibid., pp. 171-172

47.

Complete Poetical Works of John Milton, ed. William V. Moody; p. 140. ftarad£ke“Toat, Bk. IV, 11* 1131-1159

48.

Sylvester,

49.

Ibid*, p* 117

50.

Ibid., p. 41

51.

Ibid., p. 108

52.

Ibid., pp. 192-193

53.

Moody, op. cit., p. 203; II. 678-732

54.

Vergil *s Aeneld, tr. H. P. Fairclough; 11. 930ff

55.

Ibid.,

56.

Ibid., Bk. II, 1. 416ff

57. Ibid.,

0 £.

cit., p. 171

Bk. IX, 11. 57ff

Bk. IV, 1. 441ff

Paradise Lost. Bk. IX, Bk. I,

186 68‘

*bld,. Bk* II, 1, 491ff

59*

Holmes, op. cit.* vol. 5, pp. 335-536, "Les Trophes", 11. 57-88

60.

Fairclough,

*

0 £.

cit., Bk. Ill, 613ff

Ibid*, Bk. Ill, 1* 659; Holmes, op. cit., vol. 5, p 7 “336, "Les Trophes", 11. '74-76

62.

Fairclough, o d . bit., Bk. Ill, 11. 679-681; Holmes, £R* cTt., voTT 3, p. 336, "Les Trophes", 11. 67-73

63.

Holmes, op. cit., Vol. 2, p. 204, "Premier Jour", 11. 259-174

64*

vo1* 2* P* 209, "Premier Jour", 11. 407-414

65.

Ibid., vol. 2, p. 225, "Second Jour", 11. 91-94

66.

Ibid., vol. 2, op* 345-346, "Clnquiesme Jour", 11. 225-256

Chapter VIII 1

.

Arthur H. Netheroot, Abraham Cowley, The Muse1s Hannibal, p. 49 Works of Abraham Cowley, ©d. Alexander Grosart, vol. 1, p . cxxx

3. Nethercot, op. cit., p. 153ff 4

.

Joel E. Spingarn, Critical Essays of the Seventeenth Century, vol. 2, p p r r n r r 4 « --------------- —

5.

Samuel Johnson, Lives of English Poets, vol. 1, pp. 1-69

6.

Grosart, oj>. cit., vol. 1, pp. ix-cxlii

7.

Nether cot, oj>. cit.

8

.

9.

Jean Loise&u, Abraham Cowley* s Reputation in England. Grosart, 0£. cit., vol. 1, p. cxxx

187 * VOl,

1, p * CXXX

11.

DuBartae; Worka, tr. J. Sylvester, pp. 885-950

12*

Thomas Fuller1a Poems and Trans la tiona, ed. Alexander Gro a& r t , Davldrs Halnoua Sin

13.

Thomas Elwood, Davideis

14.

Works of Abraham Cowley, ed. Alexander Grosart, vol. 1, p . cxxx

15.

Ibid., vol.

1,

pp. cxxlx-cxxx

16.

Ibid., vol.

1,

p. cxxx

17.

Ibid., vol.

1

18.

Ibid.* vol.

2,

11. 71-226, Bk. I

19.

Ibid., vol.

2,

11. 347-416, Bk. I

20.

Ibid., vol.

2

21.

Ibid., vol. s, 11. 483-515, Bk. I

22.

Ibid., vol, 9, Bk. 11, 11. 42-125

23.

Ibid., vol.

24.

Ibid., vol. s, Bk. II, 11. 460-781

25.

Fairclough, 0 £. cit., vol. 2, Bk. VXIX, 11. 407-453 and 1 1 . 626-TOL

26.

Ibid., vol. 1, Bk. VI, 11. 756-886

27.

Works of Abraham Cowley, ed. Alexander Grosart, vol. 2 , Bk. Ill, 11. 65-188

28. Ibid., vol.

2

, pp. cxxlx-cxxx

, 11. 661-884, Bk. I

, Bk. II, 11. 20-431

2,

Bk. Ill, 201-268

29.

Ibid., vol. 2, Bk. Ill, 303-1035

30.

Fairclough, op. cit., vol. 1, Bk. I, 520ff

31.

Ibid. , vol. 1, Bks. II and III

183 32,

Works of Abraham Cowley, ed. Alexander Grosart, vol. Bk. I 11, 68~3i0

33.

Ibid.

vol.

34.

Ibid.

vol. s, Bk. II, 11. 268

35.

Ibid.

vol.

2

, Bk. I, 11. 410

36.

Ibid.

vol.

2

, Bk. I, 11. 43-44

37.

Ibid.

vol.

38.

Ibid.

vol.

2

39.

Ibid.

vol.

2,

40.

Ibid.

vol. 2, Bk. 11, 11. 145-172

41.

Ibid.

vol.

2

, Bk. II, 11. 460ff;

42.

Ibid.

vol,

1

, P- cxxix

43.

Ibid.

vol. I, p. cxxx

44.

The Art of Poetry, ©d. A.S.Cook, Vida, Bk. 2, 11. 30-3F~

45.

Fairclough, op . cit., vol. 2, Bk. VII, 11. 341-353

46.

Works of Abraham Cowley, ©d. Alexander Grosart, vol. , and not© 24 p•

47.

Ibid. , vol.

48.

Ibid. , vol. s, Bk. I, 11. 447-450

49.

Ibid. » vol.

2

50.

Ibid. , vol.

2,

51.

Ibid, , vol.

2

52.

Ibid. , vol.’ 2 , Bk. IV, 11, 472-473

53.

Ibid. , vol. 2, Bk. I, 11. 51-60

2

, Bk. I, 11. 343-440

Bk. I, 11. 43ff , Bk. II, 1. 175ff Bk. II, 11. 1-431

Bk. Ill

p. 63, note 1

, Bk. I, 11. 136-137 Bk. I, 1. 354, and note 25

, Bk. I, 1. 329

189

54.

Fairclough, C£. cit., vol. 1, Bk. II,

11.

496-499

Works of Abraham Cowley, ed. Alexander Grosart, vol. 2, Sc. I,~T. 71ff 56.

Ibid., vol. 2, Bk. II, 11. 42-119

57.

Ibid,, vol. 2, Bk. Ill, 11. 65-124 and note

58.

Fairclough,

0 |>.

8

cit., vol. 1, Bk. I, 11-450-495

APPEHDXX

191

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Poetical Works of Sir William Alexander, ed, L . E * Kastner and H . B~ Charlton; Edinburgh: William Blackwood and Sons, Ltd., 1929. 2 vols. Spenser Society Publication

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Aristotle1s Poetics and Longinus1 on the Sublime, ed. C, S, Baldwin (I . Bywater transTationTj few York; Macmillan, 1930 Poems of Richard Barnfield, ed. Richard Arber; Westminster; Archibald bonstable and Co., 1846 Complete Poem3 of Joseph Beaumont, ed. Alexander Grosart; Edinburgh University Erass, 1880. Chertsey Worthies1 Library The Caedmon Poems, ed. and tr. by Charles W. Kennedy; London; George Routledge and Sons, Ltd.; Hew Yorks E. P. Button and Co., 1916 Jean Chap©lain, La Pucelle ou la France Dellyree; ed. Emile d© Molenes ; Far Is : ^la'irnnarroh,"X8'9T‘r

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Works of George Chapman, ed. Algernon Swinburne; London: Chatto and WIndus, 1904 Poems and Sonnets of Henry Constable, ed. John Gray; London: Baiian^'yne Press, 1907 Complete Works in Verse and Prose of Abraham. Cowley, ¥d. Alexander Grosart; Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1381. 2 vols. Chertsey Worthies* Library Christ of Cynewulf, ©d. A. S. Cook; Corapany, 1909

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Cynewulf *s Christ, ed. and tr. by Israel Gollancz; London: David Mutt, 1892 Poems of Cynewulf, ed, Charles W. Kennedy; Peter Smith, 1949

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Poems of Richard Cr&shaw, ed. L. C. Martin; Clarendon Press, 192^

Oxford:

The Works of Samuel Daniel, ed. Alexander Grosart; Londons Spenser Society, 1885. 4 vols. Spenser Society Publication Complete Poems of Sir John Davies, ed. Alexander Grosart; privately printed, 1869, Puller Worthies' Library Works of Thomas Deloney, ed. Francis 0. Mann; Clarendon Tress, l'9i2

Oxford:

Jean Desmerets d© Saint Sorlin, Clovis, ou la France Chrestlenne; Poeme Beroique; Paris; Bobln, 1666 Poems of Michael Drayton; Manchester: Charles E* Simms,"T8 8 8 , Spenser Society Publications, vol. 45 DuBartas His Divine Weekes and Workes with a Complete CollectTo of all the most delTgLT^ifull Workes Translated and written by ^ famous Philomusus Joauah Sylvester Gent; London: — Humphrey Lownes, 1621

193

Works of Guillaume de Sallust©, Sleur du Bartaa, eds. Urban TT/ftbim© s,'"'"Jr.; "John 3. Lyons; ""Robert W. Linker; Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1935. 5 vols. Julien Duchesne, Histoire des Poemes Epiques Francais du XVII Slocle; Paris, F."fEorin, 1875 Thomas Elwood, Davidels, ed. Walter Fischer; Heidelberg: Carl Winterfs Uni'versTEatsbuchhandlung, 1936. Reprint of the first edition of 1712 Thomas Elwood, The History of the Life of Thomas El wood, ed. S. SrsTve son; Lond on: HendTey '8 ro€h©rs, 1906 Edward Fairfax, Godfrey of Bulloigne; London: Rich, Chiswell, Rich. Bentley, Tho. Sawbridge, and George Wells (printed by T.M.), 1687 Foettdal Works of. Giles ahd Fhlneas Fletcher, ed. Cambridge: Dniversity Press, 1908. 2 vols. F. S. hoag ;

Giles Fletcher, Christ*» Victory and Triumph, ed. Brooke; London: G rif.fith',1'Farran, '0 fKeGen, and Welsh, 1888. The Ancient and Modern Library of Theological Literature Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, ed. Reverend Alexander Dye©; London: Edward Moxon, 1846 Fhineas Fletcher, Venus and Anchises and Other Poems, ed. Ethel Seaton; Oxford: Gxfo'rct IFniversit. Press, 1926 Poems and Translation of Thomas Fuller, ed. Reverend Alexander Grosart; Edinburgh: Crawford and M'Gab©, 1868. Printed for private circulation Literary Criticism, Plato to Dryden, Allan H. Gilbert; New York:’ American Boole Comp any, 1940 Anton C-odoau, Oeuvres Chrestiennes; Camusat, 1639

Paris: .Jean

Anton Godeau, Paraphrase des Pslaumes do David; Antoine LardenbTsTl^SF”

Paris:

Poetical Works of Patrick H&nnay, ed. David Laing; SlasgowT ”RS5ert Anderson, 1875 Poetical Works of George Herbert, ed. Reverend Georg© 3ilfillan*j Edinburgh: James Wichol, 1853 Thomas Heywood, Qenone and Paris, ed. J. Q. Adams; Washington, D. C.: Folger Shakespeare Library, 1943. 1594 edition Josephus, History of the Jewish War, tr. H. St. John Thackeray; LoncionI William Helnemann, Ltd.; New York: G. P. Putnam*s Sons, 1927. Loeb Classical Library Judith, ed. A. S. Cook;

Boston:

D. C. Heath, 1888

Junius Manuscript, ed. Georg© P. Krapp; New York: Columbia tihivers11y Press, 1931. Vol, 1 of the Anglo-Saxon Poetic Records Louys 1©Labourer, Charlemagne: Paris: Louys Bill alia©"," 1666 Pierre leMoyne, Saint Louis;

Poeme Heroiqu©;

Paris:

T. Jolly, 1666

The Works of Thomas Lodge; Glasgow: Robert Anderson 1883; 4 voXs~ Printed for the Hunterian Club Christopher Marlow©, Hero and Lean.der; London: Ftchells and Ma cdonal d , T9§’ 4T 'Ha si ©wood Reprints, • no. 2, the 1598 edition John Marston, Metamorphosis of Figmallon*s Image; Waltham St. Lawrence’: Gol’ den Cockre 1 Press^ 1926. 1598 edition Thomas Middleton, Ghost of Lucrec©, ed. J. Q. Adams; New York: Charies Scribners1 Sons, 1937. Facsimile from Folger Shakespeare Library Complete Poetical Works of John Milton, ed. William V Moody; Boston: H0ughton M'ifllVCo., '1924 Work© of Thomas Nash®, ed. R , B, McKerrow; M&gwlck andJackson, 1910; 4 vols.

London:

195

Publius Ovidiua H&so, Amoras, Grant Showerman, tr.; Haw York: G. P. Putnam1,s''"Sons, 1921. Loeb Classical Library Publius Ovidius Haso,. .Fasti, tr. Sir Jamas 0. Frazier; Hew Yorks G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1931. Loeb Classical Library Publius Ovidius Haso, Heroldes t tr. Grant Showerm&n; Hew Yorks G. P. Putnam^T*Sons, 1921. Loeb Classical Library Publius Ovidius Haso, Metamorphoses, tr. Frank J. Miller; Hew York! G . P. Putnam’s'"Sons, 1916; 2 vols. Loeb Classical Library Ovid’a Art of Love and Other Poems, tr. J. H. Mozley; Cambridge, lass.! Harvard tintverslty Press, 1939 Ovid, The Lovers * handbook, F. A. Wright, tr.; London: George Routledge and Sons, Ltd., n.d. Pierre de Fonsard, Oeuvres;

Paris, A. Lemerre, 1893

Oeuvres Complete de Saint^Amant, ed. M, Ch. L. Livet; Haris: P. Jannet, 18155 Poetical Works of George Sandya, ed. Reverend Richard Hooper; London: John Russell Smith, 1872; 2 vols, George de Scudery, Alarlc, ou Home Vaincue; Augustin Courb^, 165?> *

Paris:

Madeline de Scudery, Ibrahim, or the Illustrious Bassa, tr, Henry Cogan; London!* H"." Moseley, 1652 Complete Works of William Shakeapeare, ed. William A., YYright; London: Macmillan and Co., 1895 Dramatic Works and Poems of Jemes Shirley, ed* William Gifford and Reverend"Alexander Dyeel London: John Murray, 1833 Elizabethan Crl tl cal Bissays, ed. G. Gregory Smith; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1904; 2 vole.

196 Complete Poems of Robert Southwell, ed. Alexander ^rosfarFf XonSlonT "Dobson "and''"Eons, 1-372 Critical Essays of the Seventeenth Century, ed. Joel E. Spingarn; OxfordT ^Clarendon h e ’ ss",Y9Q8; 3 vols . Torquato Tasso, Jerusalem Delivered, tr. J. H, Wiffen: London: Georg© Bell and Sons,1893; fourth edition Works of John Taylor; Spenser Society, 1869. reprint of the Y o S ^ f olio

Folio

Jean de la Fresnaye Vauquelin, L*Art Poetlque, ed. George Pellissier; Paris: Gamier Freres, 1885. 1605 edition Publius Vlrgillus Karo, Aeneld, tr. H, Hushton Pairclough; New York:G . P. Putnam* s Sons, 1916; 2 vols. Loeb Classical Library Secondary Works Lascelles Abercrombie, The Epic; London: n.d.

Martin Seeker,

Chief Pre-Shakespearean Dramas, ed. J, Q,. Adams; Houghton Miflin Co., 1924

Boston:

Annette Andersen, Brief Epic Based on Ovid in Shakespeare*s Time; unpublished thesis: University of Iowa, 1922 A Literary History of England, ed, Albert C, Baugh; forks Appleton, Century, Crofts, Inc., 1948 C. M. Bowra, From Virgil to Milton; London: 1945

New

Macmillan,

Douglas Bush, English Literature in the Earlier Seventeenth Century; OxfordT ~CT&rend on Pre ss, 1945 H, B. Charlton, Castelvetro* a Theory of Poetry; University Press, 1913

Manchester:

H. Cbirot, Etude sur la vie et lea Oeuvres de P. I©Moyne; Paris: A. FTcard, 10Wf

197 0. K. Clark, The Later Stuart a 1660 - 1714; Oxford University"Press, 1934

Oxford:

John Clark, A History of Epic Poetry; Edinburgh! Oliver and Boyd, 1900; Londons Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent, and Co,, Ltd,, 1900 0, Collae, Jean Chap©lain;

Parisi

Perrin, 1912

Clyde B, Cooper, Some Elizabethan Opinions of the Poetry and Character of Ovid} ' 'Menasha. W1 sc,: CoTToglate Press, 1&14. ttniversITy or "Chicago dissertation William John Courthop©, History of English Poetry; Hew York; Macmillan and Co., 1895-19To; 6 vols, Margaret B, Crook, The Bible and Its Literary Associations; Hew York; Abingdon iPress, 19$7"' M. Marjorie Crump, The Epyllion; 1931

Oxford!

Basil Blackwell,

Godfrey Davies, The Early Stuarts 1603*1660; Oxford Uni vers 1 by Press, 1937

Oxfords

W, Macnelle Dixon, English Epic and Heroic Poetry; London; J. M. Dent and Sons, Ltd., 1912 Cornell March Dowlin, Sir William Dayenantfs Gondibert, Its Preface and HobbesT Answer, A Study X X EhAiish HeoClassicism; Philadelphia: X/nlveraity of Pennsylvania Press, 19&4 x Oliver Elton, An Introduction to Michael Drayton; Manchester; Charies K , Simms, 1895 & Middle English Leader, ed, Oliver Farrar Emerson; York: Macmillan Company, 1915

Hew

C. M. Gayley and E. P. Kurtz, Methods and Materials of, Literary Criticism; Boston; Ginn and Company, 1920 William Haller, Rise of Puritanism; 1914

London;

Macmillan,

Davis P* Harding, Milton and the Renaissance Ovid; Urban&> 111.; University of Illinois Press"7 1946

108 Illinois Studies in Language and Literature, vol. SO, no, 4 Charles Herring, A Comparlson of the David©!s of Abraham Cowley and Paradis© Tost; unpuETiVhed^dissert&TTons University of Iowa, 1933 W* P. Ker, Epic and Romance;

London;Macmillan,

Beni Kerviler, Joan Dosmaretz; 1879 1

Paris;

1397

J. B. Dumoulin.

Gerhard S. Kuhlmann, Milton* a Use of the Bible; thesis: University of* Iowa, 19^8

unpublished

Anna V, Larson, The Deity In ParadiseLost in the Light of Christian Doctrine an# 'tne^iblical Text; unpuETiaHeH”" thesis ? University of lowa",’"i‘^43 Jean Lolseau, Abraham Cowley* g Reputation in England; Paris; Henri Didier, 1931 John Malcolm Ludlow, Popular Epics in the Middle Ages; London and Cambridge; Macmilian and Companyi 186B; 2 vols, 11 Irene T, Meyers, A Study in Epic Developments Mew York; Henry Holt and Company, 1901. Yale Studies In English Ivar Lou Myhr, The Evolution and Practice of Milton* s Epic Theory; Nashville: Tfie Joint tlniversity Libraries, 1942. A Vanderbilt University Thesis Arthur H. Nethercot, Abraham Cowley, The Muse* a Hannibal; London; Oxford Uni versity"TresI, 1931 " Warner Forrest Patterson, Three Centuries of French Poetic Theory; A Critical History of the Chief Arts of Poetry In ff'rance~( 1328*163071 Ann Arbor; University of Michigan Press, 1^35"' ... Edward Kennard Rand, Ovid and His Influence; Marshall Jonee Co., 19SF*" Congers Read, The Tudors, London: 1931

Boston:

Oxford University Press,

R . Schevrll^ Ovid and the Renascence in Spain, Berkeley:

100

University of California Press, 1915 George Arnold Smithson, The Old English Christian Epic; A Study in the Plot Technique o f 'the ~Jullana,'''the Elene, theAndreas, angnESe~^rj cFTn"l?OBiparTsonfTth .the Beowulf and With the Latin Literature of theHBiddTe Agesi Berkeleys University of California Press, 1910. university of California Publications in Modern Philology, vol. 1 , no. 4 Theodor© Spencer and Mark Van Doren, Studies in Metafaysleal Poetry; Hew York: Columbia University'^ress, 939

?

Joel E. Spingarn, A History of Literary Criticism in The Renaissance; New York: Columbia University Press, 1Q§9 H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., The Theory of the Epic in England 1650-1800; Berkeley and LosT "Xngel es: University of California Press, 1944 George Coffin Taylor, Milton* s Use of DuBartas; Mass.; Harvard University Press, 1934

Cambridge,

Eustace M. W. Tillyard, The Miltonic Setting, Past and Present; Cambridge; University Press, 1938 G. M. Trevelyan, England Under the Stuarts; London: Methuen and Co., Ltd., '"1930. VoTT 5 of History of England, ed. Sir James Oman T. G. Tucker, The Foreign Debt of English Literature; London: GeorgeBell andSons, TW07 Alfred Upham, French Influence in English Literature; New York: Columbia University Frees, 1908 The Cambridge History of English Literature, ed. A. W. Ward and A. ft. Waller; Hew York and London: G, P. Put­ nam* s Sons, 1907 John Edwin Wells, A Manual of the Writings in Middle English; Hew Havens* Yale tJniversity Press, 1916 A. F. Whit©, John Crowne, His Life and Dramatic Works; Cleveland! Western Ffeserve University Press, Western Reserve University Bulletin, vol. 23, no. 7

200 Basil Williams, The Seventeenth Century Background; Chatto and Windus, 1954

Londons

Ralph C. Williams, The MervellXeux In th© Epics Librarie Anclenne Honor6 Champion, l¥S5

Paris:

Don M, Wolf®, Milton In th© Puritan Revolution; Thomas Kelson and 'Sons, T M 1

Hew Yorks

Louis B. Wright, Mlddle Class Culture in Elizabethan England; Chapel Hill: tj5iverWITjy^o'? Worth Caroliha Press, 1935 Article® L. P. Ball, "Background of th© Minor English Renaissance Epic115 English Literary History, vol. 1, no. 1, pp. 63-89; Baltimore: Tudor and Stuart Club, 1934 Helen M. Briggs, "Tasso's Theory of Epic Poetry"; Modern Language Notes, vol. 25, no, 4, pp. 457-493; Cambridge; Cambridge University Press, 1930 Sidney Lee, "Ovid and Shakespeare's Sonnets"; Quarterly Review, vol. 210, no. 4, pp. 455-476; London: John Murray, 1909 John McLaren McBryde, Jr., "A Study of Cowley's Davidels” ; journal of German!c Philology, vol. 2, no. 4, pp. 454-527; Bloomington, Ind. :- Gustaf E. Kersten, 1898 Ralph C. Williams, "Italian Influence on Ronsard's Theory of the Epic” ; Modern Language Notes, vol. 35, no. 3, pp. 161-165; Baltimore: Johns llopkins Press, 1920 Ralph C. Williams, "Methods of Treatment of th© Epic as Discussed by Sixteenth Century Critics”; Romanic Review, vol. 12, no. 3, pp. 276-285; lew York: Columbia University Press, 1921 Ralph C. Williams, "Metrical Form of the Epic, as Discussed by Sixteenth Century Critics”; Modern Language Notes, vol. 38, no, 8 , pp. 449-457; Baltimore! Johns Hopkins Press, 1921

201 Ralph C, Williams, "The Purpose of Poetry, and. Particularly th© Epic, as Discussed by Critical Writers of the Sixteenth Century in Italy"; Romanic Review, vol. 12, no. 1, pp. 120; Hew York: Columbia Wnlverslty Press, 1921 Ralph C. Williams, "Two Studies In Epic Theory"; Modern Philology, vol. 22, no. 2, pp. 133-158; Chicago: ’ Uni versity of* Chicago Press, 1924