1. ORATIONS, LETTERS, DIALOGUES
Renaissance classicism is most obvious in adoption of prose forms. Orations, letters, dialogues, first in Latin, then in the vernaculars, studiously conform. Orations were none the less a preoccupation because they had little to do with affairs. Actual Renaissance conduct of government soon left little room for moving the people to action by oratory. Legal pleading, as always, had its special technic. But the oratory of occasion, that third type which marks anniversaries, extols achievements, and commemorates great men, was invited widely and cultivated classically. It embraces most of the published oratory of the Renaissance, and was practiced by most of the humanists in Latin. Leonardo Bruni of Arezzo (Leonardo Aretino) is typical both as official orator of Florence and in his early imaginary orations. Agostino Dati of Siena delivered an encomium of Eusebius (De laudibus D. Eusebii presbyt. Stridonensis et Ecclesiae maximi doctoris, in ejus solemniis publice habita, anno 1446). The funeral of Cardinal Bessarion at Rome had a Latin oration by the Cardinal Capranica. Jacopo Caviceo cast his congratulatory address to Maximilian on the victory (1490) over King Ladislaus of Bohemia in the form called prosopopoeia, that is, of imaginary addresses by Babylon, Troy, Byzantium, Carthage, and Rome (Urbium dicta ad Maximilianum Federici Tertii Caesaris filium Romanorum regem triumphantissimum, Parma, 1491). The Cologne collection, Orationes clarorum virorum,[13] made such oratory available for study and imitation.
Of the Italian orations collected by Francesco Sansovino (Venice, 1561, including some translations) as representative of his time, only one fifth are political, and these only to the extent of being hortatory. The rest are all occasional: nine funeral orations, a Christmas address, two before an academy, a call to high aim, a praise of Italian, four congratulations, and four imaginary addresses (prosopopoeiae). Claudio Tolomei has two imaginary orations, one for, the other against.[14] Such oratory, of course, is perennial. Its Renaissance vogue is distinctive only in being almost exclusive and in being imitative. Bartolomeo Ricci records[15] that on two occasions in his office of public orator at Ferrara he imitated specific orations of Cicero. The habit was general. The desire to sound classical led even to the lifting of Augustan phrases and cadences. Similar conditions had led the decadent Greek oratory called sophistic[16] into archaism as a means of display. Renaissance oratory, even when it was not led further into the sophistic sacrifice of the message to the speaker, was thus habitually literary. In Latin especially it was less often a means of persuasion than an imitative literary form.
What the Latin oration might nevertheless attain was exhibited by the lectures of Poliziano and again in the range of Marc Antoine Muret (Muretus, 1525-1585). From a conventional praelectio on the Aeneid (1579) Muret turned to Tacitus (1580), not only with lively vigor, but with penetrative suggestion and urgent sentences. When he returned to official oratory for the feasts of St John Evangelist (1582) and the Circumcision (1584), he kept the suggestiveness within the obligatory pattern. True to their kind, models of conciseness, these have also their own appeal. Occasional oratory in the Renaissance, then, might be a literary achievement and a literary progress. More generally it was but one evidence of the Renaissance preoccupation with rhetoric.
No less inevitable among the published works of the humanists are their collected Latin letters. Since these had been carefully composed and revised, they might serve not only history, but literature. Sometimes in effect essays, sometimes almost orations, they are sometimes themes. The favorite model is Cicero; and in extreme cases the letter seems to consist of style. It is hardly a letter; it is an exercise. But thus to label Renaissance letter-writing generally would be grossly unfair. Poliziano’s letter to Paolo Cortesi is admirable as a letter, and comes into literary history on that ground. For so letters have entered literature in any time. A Latin letter of John of Salisbury[17] lifts the heart and fills the eyes. Its cadences are studiously conformed to the cursus of the Curial dictamen; its diction is expertly chosen to strike always by appeal and suggestion, never by violence; its hazardous course steers between Scylla and Charybdis because it is constantly shaped to its goal. For all this skill is spent singly on making the truth prevail. A less important, but more famous English letter, Dr Johnson’s to the Earl of Chesterfield, is no less studious of style, no less expertly adjusted, even to the phrasing of the obligatory subscription, and no less single in its aim. Those who make light of such delicacy as mere style have much to learn both of letters and of literature. Among the works of Erasmus none is more important than his collected letters. The Renaissance did well to study Latin letters, and learned much. But it was mistaken in thinking that a letter reaches posterity except by reaching its original address and aim. The Latin letters of the Renaissance often betray a tendency to regard classical style as an end in itself. Such letters, written to be literary, give the impression that the Latin letter is a Renaissance literary form.
Perhaps the most popular of ancient prose forms in the Renaissance was the dialogue; for it was used even oftener in the vernaculars than in Latin, and became a favorite form of exposition. The Middle Age, of course, had many dialogues, but not of this sort. Débat, estrif, conflictus, amoebean eclogue were often allegorical and generally forms of poetry. Renaissance dialogue is typically prose discussion. Its vogue was evidently stimulated by the increasing availability of Plato in both translation and Greek text; but its method is not often his. The Platonic dialogue typically conveys the illusion of creative conversation. As Sperone Speroni observes,[18] it is a sort of prose that takes after poetry. It invites the reader to join a quest for truth, to feel his way with the speakers, to measure this objection, respond to that hint; and often it leaves him still guessing with them, still questing. The other ancient literary type of dialogue is Cicero’s De oratore. This is less conversation than debate with definite argument, rebuttal, and progress to a conclusion.[19] Cicero’s dialogue is not a quest; it is an exposition of something already determined, and it unfolds that by logical stages. Renaissance dialogue, having generally his object, turns oftener to his type; but it does not forget Plato. The more dramatic grouping of friends in converse appealed widely to Renaissance imagination. It was imitated in Platonic academies as well as in writing; and its form of dialogue opened more opportunities for exhibiting one’s literary acquaintance and bringing forward one’s literary friends. Further Renaissance dialogues did not often go with Plato. They stopped with the Platonic setting, or used challenges merely for transition. Even the most popular of them all, Castiglione’s Cortegiano, though its personae are unusually distinct, and though it concludes upon Platonic love, is evidently framed upon the De oratore. Platonic dialogue must be easy to read; it is by no means easy to write; witness the failure of many imitations, both Renaissance and modern. It is a very delicate adjustment of poetic to rhetoric. The grafting of Plato on Cicero demands long preparation. The usual Renaissance compromise of letting Plato introduce the speakers and Cicero rule their discourse was practically sufficient for the better Renaissance dialogues. The inferior ones have nothing but the externals of either. Their rejoinders, neither conversation nor debate, become tedious ceremony;[20] and their composition lacks the Ciceronian sequence. But even these show how widely the dialogue form was imitated from antiquity.
2. CICERONIANISM
The pervasive humanistic imitation was not adoption of forms; it was borrowing of style. The logical extreme of the humanist cult of Augustan Latin is the exclusive imitation of Cicero as the ideal of prose style. In 1422 Gherardo Landriani, Bishop of Lodi, drew from a long-forgotten chest in the cathedral library a complete manuscript of the principal works of Cicero on rhetoric. The De oratore and the Orator are the most mature and suggestive treatment of oratory by the greatest Roman orator. “Summe gaudeo, I have the greatest delight,” wrote Poggio on receiving the news in London; and Niccolo de’Niccoli of Florence promised a copy to Aurispa in Constantinople. So widely was the world of scholarship stirred. For the recovery of the greater Cicero directly stimulated Renaissance classicism. In the Middle Age Cicero had been rather a name of honor than a literary influence. His De inventione, a common source of medieval rhetoric, is only a youthful compend. What was usually added for further study, especially of style, the Rhetorica ad Herennium, was ascribed to him quite erroneously. His greater works on rhetoric were appreciated doubtless here and there, as by John of Salisbury, but not generally. Hence the recovery of the De oratore in 1422 was indeed an event in the history of literature. This and Orator are fine encomia of the higher function of oratory, and of the orator as leader. Neither is a manual. Both in Cicero’s intention are contributions to the philosophy of rhetoric. Without very original or even very specific doctrine they are eloquently persuasive. What did the Renaissance do with them?
Most obviously it carried classicism to the extreme of Ciceronianism, that exclusive imitation which made Cicero the ideal of Latin prose, the perfect model. The doctrine involves certain characteristic assumptions: (1) that Latin, or any other language, attains in a certain historical period its ideal achievement and capacity, (2) that within such a great period style is constant, (3) that a language can be recalled from later usage to earlier in scholastic exercises, (4) that such exercises can suffice for personal expression, (5) that a single author can suffice as a model, even for exercises.
Medieval Latin had departed from classical usage because it was a living language, so widely active in communication as to grow. Men used it without being disconcerted by changes from place to place, from time to time. Such changes are inevitable so long as a language is used generally. Denotations are extended or contracted, connotations are modified or superseded, even by written use. Oral use adds changes in cadence. From the seventh century on through the Middle Age Latin was accentual. The speech tune of Cicero had faded; and no one had tried to resuscitate what had been supplanted by other cadences. The Latin hymns had carried medieval measures to the heights of poetry. Not till the seventeenth century did humanism succeed in having them revised classically; and fifty volumes have since been spent in recovering their medieval forms.[21] The extreme form of Renaissance classicism, by ignoring the historical development of language, tended to inhibit the use of Latin in immediate appeal.
So rigid a doctrine did not, of course, enlist all Renaissance humanists. The more judicious were content to select certain expert habits, especially Cicero’s strong and supple wielding of sentences. But the extremists, such as Christophe de Longueil (Longolius, 1488-1522), got fame; the doctrine continued in teaching and in practice; and as late as 1583 there was point in Sidney’s scornful allusion to “Nizolian paper books.” His readers knew that he meant the use of the Cicero thesaurus as a handbook for composition. Even where it did not enlist devotees, Ciceronianism confirmed the prevalent idea of the standard diction of the great period. Yet before the end of the fifteenth century both the general assumption and the particular cult had been exploded by Poliziano. As university teacher, in the introductory lecture (praelectio) of his course at Florence on Quintilian and Statius, he challenged the doctrine of the ideal classical period by a plea for the pedagogical value of later Latin.
Finally I would not attach undue importance to the objection that the eloquence of these writers was already corrupted by their period; for if we regard it aright, we shall perceive that it was not so much corrupted and debased as changed in kind. Nor should we call it inferior just because it is different. Certainly it shows greater cultivation of charm: more frequent pleasantry, many epigrams, many figures, no dull realizations, no inert structure; all not so much sound as also strong, gay, prompt, full of blood and color. Therefore, though we may indisputably concede most to those authors who are greatest, so we may justly contend that some qualities which are earlier attained and much more attainable [i.e., by students] are found in these [minor authors]. So, since it is a capital vice to wish to imitate one author and him alone, we are not off the track if we study these before those, if we do some things for their practical use.... [So, he adds, did Cicero himself when he turned from the Attic orators to the Rhodian and even to the Asiatic.] So that noble painter who was asked with what master he had made the most progress replied strikingly “With that one,” pointing to the populace; yes, and rightly too. For since nothing in human nature is happy in every aspect, many men’s excellences must be viewed, that one thing may stick from one, another thing from another, and that each [student] may adapt what suits him (Opera, Gryphius edition, Lyon, 1537-1539, III, 108-109).
Perhaps nothing else so pointed and telling against Ciceronianism was written during the Renaissance as Poliziano’s letter to Paolo Cortesi.
Nor are those who are thought to have held the first rank of eloquence like one another, as has been remarked by Seneca. Quintilian laughs at those who shall think themselves cousins of Cicero because they conclude a period with esse videatur. Horace declaims against imitators who are nothing but imitators. Certainly they who compose only by imitation seem to me like parrots or magpies uttering what they do not understand. For what they write lacks force and life, lacks impulse, lacks emotion, lacks individuality, lies down, sleeps, snores. Nothing true there, nothing solid, nothing effective. But are you not, some one asks, expressing Cicero? What of it? I am not Cicero. I am expressing, I think, myself. Besides, there are some, my dear Paul, who beg their style, as it were bread, piecemeal, who live not only from the day, but unto the day. Thus unless they have at hand the one book to cull from, they cannot join three words without spoiling them by rude connection or disgraceful barbarism. Their speech is always tremulous, vacillating, ailing, in a word so ill cared and ill fed that I cannot bear them, especially when they pass judgment on those whose styles deep study, manifold reading, and long practice have as it were fermented. But to come back to you, Paul, of whom I am very fond, to whom I owe much, whose talent I value very highly, I am asking whether you so bind yourself by this superstition that nothing pleases you which is simply yours, and that you never take your eyes from Cicero. When you have read Cicero—and other good authors—much and long, worn them down, learned them by heart, concocted, filled your breast with the knowledge of many things, and are now about to compose something yourself, then at last I would have you swim, as the saying is, without corks, take sometimes your own advice, doff that too morose and anxious solicitude to make yourself merely a Cicero—in a word risk your whole strength (Opera, Gryphius edition, Lyon, 1537-1539, I, 251).
The writer of that letter, in spite of his youthful triumphs in the vernacular, gave his mature years to the writing of Latin and the teaching of Latin and Greek literature. Unfortunately his expert Latin did not move Renaissance classicism to abandon either the practice of Ciceronianism or the theory of the ideal great period.
Some forty years after the destructive analysis of Poliziano, Ciceronianism was still active enough to draw the satire of Erasmus in the Dialogus Ciceronianus (1528). This reductio ad absurdum, beginning with the error of using a Cicero thesaurus as a handbook for composing, proceeds to the affectation of using for the Christian religion the terms proper to classical paganism: Jupiter Optimus Maximus for God the Father, Apollo for the Christ. Erasmus amuses himself by thus rewriting the Apostles’ Creed in Ciceronian terms. His point is not merely the pedantry of such paganism, nor its irreverence, but its unreality. Only the words can be taken over; the meaning or the suggestion, in one direction or the other, is violated. The point had been made more forcibly, because more practically, by Poliziano. Preoccupation with past usage thwarts the expression of actual present things and thoughts. Further Erasmus makes his Ciceronian admit that the cult is illusory, a dream which according to its own adepts has never quite come true. Incidentally the names thus brought up in the dialogue are not only of those Ciceronians who had at least a transient fame, but also of some whom history does not even know.
In spite of this destructive satire, Giulio Camillo reaffirmed Ciceronianism with undisturbed simplicity.
Latin is no longer spoken, as our vernacular is, or French; it has been shut up in books. Since we are limited to gathering it not from actual speech, but from books, why not rather from the perfect than from the inferior? Let us first recall the language to the state in which we may believe it to have been while Vergil wrote it, or Cicero, and then confidently use that, even as Vergil did, or Cicero? (Trattato della imitatione, 1544.)
In 1545 Bartolomeo Ricci, tutor to Hercole d’Este’s son Lorenzo, closed his treatise De imitatione with a Ciceronian credo and a long defense of Longolius. Ciceronianism, then, survived both rebuttal and satire. As late as 1580 Muret, having renounced his own early Ciceronianism, attacked its major premise, the doctrine of the ideal great period. His argument is not, as Poliziano’s a hundred years before, pedagogical; it is a direct challenge to Renaissance competence in judging Latin style. His previous praelectio had urged the distinctive claims of Tacitus: practical philosophy, finished economy of style. This second lecture on Tacitus deals with objections. The preference for Suetonius he merely dismisses. But Tacitus is accused of inaccuracy. By whom? By Vopiscus; and who is Vopiscus? Tacitus is hostile to the Christian religion. Shall we rule out all the pagans? The rest of the lecture deals with style.
There remain two objections brought against Tacitus by the inexpert: that his style is obscure and rough, and that he does not write good Latin. When I hear complaints of the obscurity of Tacitus, I reflect how easily people transfer their own faults to others. [I remember the anecdote of the man who complained that the windows were too small, when the real trouble was his own failing sight. So a deaf man was heard to complain that people did not speak distinctly.]
But Tacitus, says another, is rough. Alciati, praising his friend Jovius, has not feared to call the histories of Tacitus thorny. Well, praising Jovius shows as much judgment as blaming Tacitus. No two could be more different. Tacitus could not but displease a man who made so much of Jovius.... For Jovius is all smooth; he has not a trace of that roughness which offends Alciati in Tacitus. He not only flows; he overflows.... As Alciati is afraid of roughness, I am sick of silliness. Sirup for babes; but let me have a bowl of something with a tang.
Finally, those who grant to Tacitus his other qualities still deplore his bad Latin. The first movers of this calumny, each of whom had spent much pains in expounding Tacitus, were Alciati and Ferret. If they themselves wrote Latin as well as they think, perhaps we might be disturbed by their authority. Do you make bold, some one may say, to judge such men? They have made bold to judge Tacitus.... [If we can know Latin (as Camillo says) only from books (and, we may add, from comparatively few books), we have the less warrant for judging Latin usage.]... Who dare affirm for certain today, when “the old authors” are so extolled, that the questioned phrases of Tacitus were never used by these “old authors?” (Leipzig ed. of 1660, vol. II, pp. 108-112.)
Even now, perhaps, though the name of the heresy has long been forgotten, the Ciceronian perversion of imitation is not extinct. But if this kind of imitation is not valid, what kinds are valid? Imitation of style may be suggestive when it remains subconscious, not the recalling of words, but the adaptation of remembered rhythms. The deliberate conformity proposed by Ciceronianism can be useful only as exercise, as the learning of certain effects by trying them. Once learned, these become an added resource in revision. In composing, in the creative process of bringing one’s message to one’s audience, deliberate imitation of style has no warrant. It would at least interrupt, and might deviate or inhibit. In so far as Ciceronianism confuses two processes normally separate, composing and revising, it tends to make style stilted.
Further, Ciceronianism narrows imitation by a theory of perfectionism. The Imitatio Christi (about 1460) is the direct appeal of an author preoccupied with his message. Sébastien Châteillon (1515-1563) rewrote its spontaneous Latin in Ciceronian cadences. It was imperfect; he would make it perfect. If this was pedantic, even absurd, wherein? If the Pilgrim’s Progress should not be rewritten in the style of Hooker or of Sir Thomas Browne, why? Because the one ideal style is an illusion.
Finally, imitation need not be of style; it may be of composition; and for writing addressed to an actual public this is at once more available and more promising. For real writing, that is for a message intended to move the public, imitation generally risks less, and gains more, in guiding the plan, the whole scheme, the sequence. Renaissance preoccupation with style and tolerance of published themes tended to obscure the larger opportunity.
But there is no Ciceronianism in Castiglione’s adopting the form of Cicero’s De oratore for his Cortegiano. Though he naturally shows awareness of Cicero’s expert periods, he is bent not on conformity of style, but on focusing the typical man of his own time in the literary frame used by Cicero for the typical Augustan Roman. Renaissance imitation of Vergil’s style was often futile; but Tasso’s Jerusalem was animated and guided by Vergil’s epic sequence. Robert Garnier, imitating the style of Euripides, missed the dramatic composition; but Corneille caught the whole scheme of a Greek tragedy. Such larger imitation imposes no restraint on originality. Its recognition of ancient achievement is in practical adaptation to one’s own conception and object and time. In this direction the classicism of the seventeenth century became more fruitful than that of the sixteenth.
3. RHETORICS
Manuals and treatises on rhetoric published in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries exhibit marked differences in tradition, scope, and tendency. They range from narrow concentration on style to a full treatment of the five parts of rhetoric. They exhibit sophistic as well as rhetoric. Some persist in medieval preconception as others recover the classical heritage of Aristotle and Quintilian. The works mentioned below are typical of the many Renaissance manuals.
The Rhetorica (1437?) of George of Trebizond shows in brief the whole classical scope:[22] inventio, the exploration of the subject and the determination of its status; dispositio, plan and order; elocutio, style; memoria, the art of holding a point for effective placing; and pronuntiatio, delivery. He is most expansive on the first, which had been both neglected and misapplied by the Middle Age.[23]
The presentation of rhetoric by Juan Luis Vives (De ratione dicendi, Bruges, 1532; reprinted in Vol. II of the Majansius edition of his works) is both meager and vaguely general.
Vives urges that rhetoric is not a study for boys, and that it should not be confined to diction. But he himself offers hardly anything specific about composition. Book I deals mainly with sentences (compositio), e.g., with dilation and conciseness as in the Copia of Erasmus, and with the period. Book II offers brief generalizations on type or tone of style, on the conventionalized measure of native ability against study and revision, on consideration of emotions and moral habits, on the threefold task of instructing, winning, and moving, and on appropriateness. Book III deals with narration (history, exempla, fables, poetry), paraphrase, epitome, commentary. History as composition is hardly even considered.
His incidental discussion of rhetoric in De causis corruptarum artium and De tradendis disciplinis (Vol. VI of the collective edition) is no more satisfying. In Book IV of the former Vives so far misconceives the classical inventio as to rule it out of rhetoric altogether. Thus he practically ratifies the procedure of those Renaissance logicians who classified inventio and dispositio under logic. The classification was not a reform; it merely recorded tardily the medieval practice of reducing rhetoric to style by relying for all the active work of composition on debate. Yet Vives pays repeated homage to both Aristotle and Quintilian.
On the other hand the concise manual of Joannes Caesarius (Rhetorica, Paris, 1542) returns to the full classical scope. The source cited most explicitly and quoted most frequently is Quintilian.
But that later ancient tradition called sophistic, which had deviated the rhetoric of the Middle Age, had also its Renaissance revival. Giulio Camillo (1479-1550), known in France as well as in Italy, published together a treatise on the orator’s material, the oratorical fund, and another on imitation (Due trattati ... l’uno delle materie che possono venir sotto lo stile dell’eloquente, l’altro della imitatione, Venice, 1544-1545). His constant preoccupation is with the topics, headings, commonplaces (loci) which guide the writer’s preparation. Such are the headings of the sophistic recipe for encomium: birth and family, native city, deeds, etc. But sophistic had elaborated such obvious suggestions for exploring one’s material into a system applicable both to material and to style. Camillo’s source is:
the Ideas of Hermogenes, who in each considers eight things: the sense, the method, the words, the verbal figures, the clauses, their combination, sentence-control (fermezza), and rhythm. But my method is perhaps easier, since I proceed not from the forms (forme) to the materials, but from the materials to the forms.... I have sought how many things can combine to produce the forms, and I find (as I have argued in my Latin orations) not eight things, as Hermogenes writes, but fourteen which may enter to modify any material. They are these: conceptions, or inventions (Trovati), passions, commonplaces, ways of speaking (le vie del dire), arguments, order, words, verbal figures, clauses, connectives, sentence forms, cadence (gli estremi), rhythms, harmonies.
This bewildering cross-division might serve as the reductio ad absurdum of the system of bringing on eloquence by topics if Camillo had not gone even further in a grandiose symbolistic scheme entitled L’idea del theatro (Florence, 1550). The theater here is not any actual stage; it is the manifold pageant of the world presented allegorically by topics for all literary purposes.
Starting from the medieval, or perhaps the neo-Platonic, premise that sacred things are not revealed, but figured, he divides his book into seven gradi. Seven is the perfect number; e.g., seven planets, Isaiah’s seven columns, Vergil’s terque quaterque, etc. Each grado is named after a planet, whose attributes are a mixture of astrology and mythology, as in the Middle Age, but again with a suggestion of orientalized Platonism. This general scheme constitutes the first section. The second is entitled Il convivio; the third, l’Antro; etc. A figure may appear in more than one grado.
Referring to this book in his treatise on imitation, he says: “By topics and images I have arranged all the headings that may suffice to group and to subserve all human conceptions.” In the same treatise he even thinks of painting and sculpture as proceeding by topics: genus, sex, age, function, anatomy, light and shadow, attitude and action, adaptation to place. Topics can no farther go. Camillo’s system, moreover, hardly touches composition; all its manifold application is to style. Thus the more readily he accepts the common Renaissance confusion of poetic with rhetoric.
Another Ciceronian treatise on imitation is Bartolomeo Ricci’s (Bartholomaei Riccii de imitatione libri tres ad Alfonsum Atestium Principem, suum in literis alumnum, Herculis II Ferrariensium Principis filium ... Venice, 1545). Written ostensibly for the guidance of his pupil Alfonso, it is a discussion, not a textbook; but in the back of the author’s mind is the prevalent conception of writing Latin as writing themes. The examples quote prose and poetry side by side without distinction of poetic from rhetoric. The usual complimentary references to contemporaries and to recognized previous humanists give the schoolmaster opportunity to exhibit his wide acquaintance. Poliziano is cited as challenging imitation; but his arguments are not given, nor the fact that his challenge was of Ciceronianism. Instead of citing his letter to Cortesi, Ricci merely praises Cortesi’s reply as elegant. The Ciceronianus of Erasmus is similarly dismissed as an attack on Longueil. The progress of the book is generally from definition of imitation (I) through application of it in composition (II) to application in style (III). Ciceronianism, implied throughout, first in classicism, then by increasing use of Cicero as a model, is explicitly declared in III and supported by a long defense of Longueil.
I. Imitation, practiced in all human activities, is accepted in literature. Though Catullus in the marriage of Thetis and in the desolation of Ariadne said the last word and every word, nevertheless Vergil imitated him in Dido; and each has his own merits. [The Catullus passages are stock citations of the period.] Cicero and Vergil both counseled and practiced imitation. Why reduce following nature to following yourself? Following nature demands no more than being natural, i.e., verisimilitude. [The quibble here between nature in the sense of human nature and nature in the sense of one’s own nature (ingenium) is unpardonable. Further, it is not clear what either has to do with imitation.] Imitate the best authors, each in his own kind. There follows a summary of Latin literature. [The book supplies no distinct definition of imitation as a means of advancing literary control. It shows, quite superfluously, that imitation is prevalent in the arts; it does not define the limits and the methods of practicing it in writing.]
II. A review of the revival of Augustan diction in a long list of humanists proves nothing specific concerning imitation, much concerning pride in humanistic Latin. Scholars, however, are not well paid. Doctors and lawyers write bad Latin. Teachers are incompetent. The vernacular has come even into the schools; and even Cicero is translated. Let us all combine to save Latin style. Imitation is not repetition, not copy; there must be variation. Imitation with Plautus and Terence was the taking of Greek plots [a very inexact account]. Vergil imitated Homer even to the lifting of passages, and made a better tempest. Cicero imitated the Greek orators. Vergil used the Pharmaceutria of Theocritus. [He did not imitate it.] Vergil’s use of Cato and Varro adds beauty of style. [Is this imitation, or simply use of material?] Sallust’s Catiline is admirable; but it did not preclude Cicero’s. So, even after Lucretius, Ovid and Vergil treated the gods. [Here is mere confusion. Cicero did not imitate Sallust; he wrote on the same subject.] The exposure of Andromeda is told by Manilius, Ovid, and Pontanus; and the last did it best. Comparison of Vergil’s Dido with the Ariadne of Catullus is followed by another comparatio without enlightening us as to the nature or the method of imitation. Rehearsal of literary forms (history, exposition, pleading) leads to the assertion that Cicero is the best model in all three styles.
III. Let us take Cicero, then, for our model. Proverbs, epigrams, definitions may be lifted as familiar enough to be common property. How to make variations on the model is exemplified abundantly in sentence form and in diction by both prose and verse. The book closes with many analyzed examples from Longueil, to rebut the charge that his writing is mere cento, or pastiche, and to exhibit him as the perfect Ciceronian. Ricci appends a practical hint from his own experience. His habit is to start boys with Terence because the plots are interesting, then to add some Cicero, and finally to give them Cicero alone.
The demonstration of Longueil’s eloquence is rather an epilogue than a conclusion. It does not suffice to justify Ciceronianism, much less to explain imitation. The character of imitation, its limits, its profitable methods, are left still vague.
Of the same year is Bernardino Tomitano’s Discussions of Tuscan (Ragionamenti della lingua toscana ... Venice, 1545). The sub-title goes on: “wherein the talk is of the perfect vernacular orator and poet ... divided into three books. In the first, philosophy is proved necessary to the acquisition of rhetoric and poetic; in the second are set forth the precepts of the orator; and in the third, the laws pertaining to the poet and to good writing in both prose and verse.”
A dialogue in form, with an academy setting, this is largely a monologue by Speroni with interruptions, and is devoted mainly to “the perfect orator and poet.” The book is a stilted and diffuse digest of conventional rhetoric jumbled with poetic, with examples under each conventional heading. Petrarch is made the exemplar of everything, even of argumentation. The idea of poetic as a distinct mode of composition never even enters.
I. Sperone Speroni, the protagonist, is made to repeat his contention that language study is not the gateway to philosophy and his epigram: “things make men wise; words make them seem so.” Tomitano apparently takes him to mean that philosophy feeds style, not style philosophy; for Tomitano goes on to exhibit Petrarch as full of philosophy and perfect in style. Dante is less careful, but Petrarch is a treasury for all writers.
II. The anxiety to exhibit Petrarch leads to strange rendering of the conventional divisions of rhetoric. Inventio, “first of those five strings on which the orator makes smoothest harmony,” is “imagining things that have truth, or at least verisimilitude,” and is forthwith confused with dispositio (compartimento). Petrarch exemplifies not only exordium and narratio, but even proof and rebuttal. Of the “three styles” of oratory the highest is Boccaccio’s in Fiammetta, the median in the Decameron. But since among verse forms the highest are canzone, sestina, and madriale; the plainest, ballata, stanza, and capitolo; the sonnet, Petrarch’s favorite form, must be median. Under style the doctrine of “tone-color” is easily reduced to unintentional absurdity.
III. The distinction of poet from orator is discovered at great length to be—verse. The Ferrarese are best in comedies, the Venetians in sonnets, the Marchigiani in capitoli, they of Vicenza in ballate, the Romans in odes and hymns, the Paduans in tragedies, the Florentines in blank verse. Inventio in poetry is the rehearsal of myths, of which the poet is lord and guardian. An interruption! How can you put Petrarch above Dante when you began by urging that the poet should be a philosopher? Answer (240): Petrarch had all the philosophy he needed, and used it more poetically. Though Dante was the greater philosopher, Petrarch was the better poet. When Aristotle calls Sophocles more perfect than Euripides, he does not mean in style [!]. In poetry dispositio is evenness, consistency, harmony; and narratio has the same rules as in oratory. Horace’s precepts, to begin in mediis, to combine instruction with charm, to seek advice, and to revise, are all repeated. On a request for more about style follows a discussion of words, simple and compound, proper and figurative, new and old. Finally the company joins in citing many examples.
Having run out of headings, Tomitano thus runs down. He had not in the least profited by the revival of Cicero and Quintilian.
Renaissance Platonism, disputing Aristotle’s philosophy, attacked also his rhetoric. Francesco Patrizzi (1529-1597) published in his youth a collection of ten vernacular dialogues on rhetoric (Della retorica, dieci dialoghi, Venice, 1552), “in which,” the sub-title adds, “the talk is of the art of oratory, with reasons impugning the opinion held of it by ancient writers.” The Platonic dialogue, followed superficially, is quite beyond Patrizzi’s achievement. Discussing oratory (I) at large, he goes on to its materials (II, III, IV), its ornaments (V), its divisions (VI), the quality of the orator (VII), the art of oratory (VIII), the perfect rhetoric (IX), and rhetorical amplification (X). Evidently neither a logical division nor a sequence, these categories are rather successive openings for attack. Patrizzi appears not only as a Platonist, but as an anti-Aristotelian. His main quarrels are with the scope of Aristotle’s Rhetoric, with the doctrine of imitation, and with making rhetoric an art.
As to scope and materials Aristotle is inconsistent. He says both that the orator has no material and that he has all materials (25). Why, then, did he spend most of his Rhetoric on teaching the materials, slighting the ends, the ideas, the forms, the instruments, and omitting status? [The misinterpretation amounts to gross misstatement.] Perhaps we lack any clear definition of the orator because professors insist on including under a single word all sorts of discourse (27). Even the oratorical ornaments are not peculiar to the orator. His materials are the same as the economist’s, the historian’s, the poet’s (37). Having given oratory so much scope, how can Aristotle restrict it to three kinds? (60). [Evidently superficial, this is rather quarrel and quibble than refutation.]
As to imitation, Patrizzi holds that a painter represents not his conception (concetto), but the objects themselves [a heresy that reappeared as lately as Ruskin’s “pathetic fallacy”]. Taking no pains to understand what the Aristotelian imitation means, and ignoring the obvious fact that it is applied to poetic, he thus dismisses it by denial.
Similarly he finds that rhetoric is not an art because Plato says it is merely a skill (peritia).
The significance of this work is that in 1552 a Venetian seeking recognition at twenty-two could use some distinguished names in dialogues smartly rapping Aristotle, and even find a publisher.
The English rhetoric of Thomas Wilson (The art of rhetorique, for the use of all such as are studious of eloquence, set forth in English, London, 1553 [reprinted down to 1593; ed. G. H. Mair, Oxford, 1909]) covers the ancient scheme practically, using Cicero and Quintilian as well as the Rhetorica ad Herennium, and deriving much from Erasmus.
The Partitiones oratoriae (Venice and Paris, 1558) of Jacopo Brocardo is exactly described by its sub-title as elegans et dilucida paraphrasis of Aristotle’s Rhetoric. Now translating, now paraphrasing, it provides in its marginal headings a sufficient table of contents.
But the revival of the full classical tradition is most obvious in the comprehensive Italian rhetoric of Bartolomeo Cavalcanti (La retorica, 1555; second edition, Venice, 1558/9, reprinted Pesaro, 1574). Through 563 closely printed pages this is strictly and consistently a rhetoric of the classical character and scope. The exceptional avoidance of confusion with poetic appears in the bare mention of Vergil and in the ousting of Petrarch from his monopoly as exemplar of everything desirable in prose as well as in verse. Plato is rare; Plutarch, rarer. The main body of analyzed examples is from the orations of Cicero. Demosthenes is only less frequent. From Livy and Thucydides the examples are usually of the imaginary harangues to troops. All the examples that are not themselves Italian are translated. Hermogenes is cited some half-dozen times; Quintilian, twice as often; but the main source of doctrine is the Rhetoric of Aristotle and, next to that, his Logic. The book is constantly and consistently Aristotelian.
Instead of devoting himself after the Renaissance habit mainly to style, Cavalcanti gives it only one of his seven books (V). All the rest are spent on composition. Book I is a lucid survey of the field; II shows the ways of inventio in each of the three types of oratory; III deals with argument; IV, with appeal to emotion and to moral habit; V, besides the usual lists of figures, has an unusually definite treatment of sentence management (compositio) and a meager summary of dispositio; VI presents the typical parts of an oration, avoiding the common confusion of narratio (statement of the facts) with narrative; VII deals with confirmation and conclusion. Its incidental recurrence to dispositio is again vague. Cavalcanti had excuse enough in the ancient tradition, which is generally weakest in its counsels for sequence.
Fortunately Cavalcanti’s own plan is clear and fairly progressive; and his adjustment to his own time appears in the prominence given to the third of the ancient types of oratory, such speeches on occasion as were the main Renaissance field. His defect is the common Renaissance vice of diffuseness. Beyond its intrinsic value Cavalcanti’s Retorica has historical significance. It gave the wider audience a just and distinct view of classical rhetoric.
The sixteenth century closed with the full classical doctrine operative in the Ratio studiorum and in the Rhetoric of Soarez.