John Dryden's Use of Classical Rhetoric

PMLA ◽  
1954 ◽  
Vol 69 (5) ◽  
pp. 1258-1278
Author(s):  
Lillian Feder

In The Senecan Amble (London, 1951), George Williamson, attempting to account for the innovations in prose style in seventeenth-century England, uses the term “anti-Ciceronianism” to describe the movement toward the new simplicity. Yet more than thirty years ago, Morris Croll, in one of his essays on this subject, made it clear that the term “anti-Ciceronianism” is “open to several objections,” one of which is that “it may be taken as describing a hostility to Cicero himself, in the opinion of the new leaders, instead of to his sixteenth-century ‘apes,‘ whereas in fact the supreme rhetorical excellence of Cicero was constantly affirmed by them, as it was by the ancient anti-Ciceronians whom they imitated.” Certainly Cicero and Quintilian were read and studied in the seventeenth century. Their influence continued to be a strong one during the very period in which the new critical movement was directed against those of their followers who, during the Middle Ages and Renaissance, had debased the study of oratory to a mere concern with the tricks of declamation.

1990 ◽  
Vol 41 (1) ◽  
pp. 24-43 ◽  
Author(s):  
Kristian Jensen

One of the most remarkable changes to take place at German Protestant universities during the last decade of the sixteenth century and the first twenty years of the seventeenth century was the return of metaphysics after more than halfa century of absence. University metaphysics has acquired a reputation for sterile aridity which was strengthened rather than diminished by its survival in early modern times, when such disciplines are supposed deservedly to have vanished with the end of the Middle Ages. Nevertheless, this survival has attracted some attention this century. For a long urne it was assumed that German Protestants needed a metaphysical defence against the intellectual vigour of the Jesuits. Lewalter has shown, however, that this was not the case.


1980 ◽  
Vol 15 (3) ◽  
pp. 372-378 ◽  
Author(s):  
John Burgess

In a region of sparse population and little culture it is hardly surprising that organised religion has never been strong in Cumbria. During the Middle Ages the Church's main influence was via the several monastic settlements, particularly the powerful Furness Abbey, which possessed a real economic empire. The influence of the clergy was restricted when population was so dispersed and parishes so massive, and the conclusion must be that Roman Catholicism possessed only a tenuous hold at any point in its history. That the Cumbrians so easily and swiftly on the surface adopted the new Anglican Establishment of the sixteenth century did not reflect the attractions for the new faith or the coercion of authorities; it was simply that no Christian denomination was taken to heart by the native Cumbrians. By the mid-seventeenth century it has been estimated that there were about 500 Roman Catholics in the whole of Cumbria out of a population of towards 100,000. A number of prominent Cumbrians retained the old faith—the Stricklands of Sizergh (who suffered greatly for it) and most of the Howards of Corby and Naworth (who enjoyed considerable honours) and their households being the most prominent. Generally, the remaining Catholics were left alone, though in case of emergency their loyalty might be questioned.


1993 ◽  
Vol 43 (1) ◽  
pp. 302-319 ◽  
Author(s):  
Stefania Fortuna

During the sixteenth century Galen'sDe constitutione artis medicae(i.224–304 Kühn) enjoyed a great success: in about fifty years it received four different Latin translations and three commentaries. Certainly this is also true of other medical classical texts, but such success is surprising for a treatise which did not have a wide circulation either in the Middle Ages or in the seventeenth century and later. In fact it is preserved in its entirety in only one Greek manuscript (Florence, Laur. plut. 74.3 = L of the twelfth or thirteenth century, with later corrections = L) and in a Latin translation by Niccolò of Reggio, who worked mainly for King Robert I in Naples in the first half of the fourteenth century. Furthermore, in his edition of 1679 René Chartier made a mistake, which the humanistic editors of the Greek Galen had avoided. The last part of theDe const, art. med.itself enjoyed a considerablefortunaas an independent tract on prognosis in the Greek and Latin manuscript tradition. The editors of the Aldine and the Basle editions knew such anexcerptum, at least in the manuscript Par. gr. 2165 (= P) of the sixteenth century, and rightly decided not to print it. Chartier found it in the manuscript Par. gr. 2269 of the fifteenth or sixteenth century, and published it in the wrong belief that it was a new treatise of Galen's (vol. ii. 170–95 = viii.891–5). He was followed by Carl Gottlob Kühn in his edition of 1821, who printed theDe const, art. med.in the first volume (289–304) and theDe praesagiturain vol. xix.497–511. The error was not publicly detected until Kalbfleisch in 1896.


2020 ◽  
Vol 76 (1) ◽  
pp. 1-19
Author(s):  
Alessandra Foscati

Abstract The caesarean section performed on a living woman to save both mother and baby is first considered in gynaecological texts in the late sixteenth century after the treatise by the French physician François Rousset. It is included alongside descriptions of the post-mortem caesarean section, already practised in the Middle Ages in order to save the baby. The early seventeenth-century work by the Lusitanian physician Rodrigo de Castro is often referenced on this subject, seen as critical of Rousset's theory. Castro is cited above all for formulating a new suggestion – operating on a woman in the throes of death – because he was convinced that the post-mortem caesarean section was pointless. This article provides thorough analysis of Castro's work, comparing it to Rousset’s treatise and medical texts by other authors to reveal its originality and its real contribution to the interpretation of the two different caesarean sections.


2017 ◽  
Vol 59 ◽  
pp. 63
Author(s):  
Eivind Weyhe

<p><strong>Úrtak</strong></p><p>Tað upprunaliga danska mansnavnið <em>L</em><em>agi </em>breiðir seg í miðøld til Norra (og Svøríkis). Úr Norra tykist tað vera komið til Føroyar, men eftir øllum at døma bara til Fugloyar, í seinasta lagi í endanum á 16. øld. Í 17. øld kemur navnið aftur til Føroyar, men nú í tí danska sniðinum <em>Lauge</em>, seinri skrivað <em>Lave</em>. Tað verður í 18. øld brúkt í Tórshavn og Suðuroy sum seinri liður í tvínevninum <em>Peder Lave</em>. Í 19. øld gerst <em>L</em><em>ave </em>fast eftirnavn. Í Tórshavn verður tað eisini til húsanavnið <em>Á Lava</em>, og fólk í (ella úr) tí húsinum verða nevnd við viðurnevninum „á Lava“. Í 20. øld fáa summi teirra sær „á Lava“ sum eftirnavn. Greinarhøvundurin viðger málsøgulig, ljóðfrøðilig, bendingarlig og dialektal viðurskiftir í sambandi við navnið.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><strong>A</strong><strong>bstract</strong></p><p>The  male  forename <em>Lagi</em>, originally  Danish, spreads to Norway (and Sweden) during the Middle Ages. From Norway it seems to have reached the Faroes towards the end of the sixteenth century at the latest, but is only documented on Fugloy. In the seventeenth century the name arrives in the Faroes once more,  but  now  in  the  Danish  form  <em>Lauge</em>, later written <em>Lave</em>. It is used in Tórshavn and Suðuroy in the eighteenth century as the second element of the compound forename <em>Peder Lave</em>. In the nineteenth century <em>Lave </em>becomes an established surname. In Tórshavn it is also incorporated into the name of a dwelling in the prepositional form <em>Á Lava </em>‘at Lava’, and people living there (or originating from the house) are given the by­name „á Lava“. In the twentieth century some of them take „á Lava“ as a surname. The author treats language­historical, phonetic, morphological and dialectal aspects of the name.</p>


2021 ◽  
pp. 1-15
Author(s):  
Peter M. Solar

Historical GDP estimates for China by Broadberry, Guan, and Li are problematic because of an implausible series for government expenditure. Revised estimates reduce GDP per capita, mainly during the Ming, by up to a third. Two peaks in income now stand out: the Song efflorescence and the years around 1700. If the latter peak is real, comparisons of the Yangzi delta with leading European countries show a Great Crossing in the Middle Ages, a Great Convergence in the seventeenth century, and a Great Divergence in the eighteenth. Otherwise, the Great Divergence may date from the sixteenth century.


1946 ◽  
Vol 61 (7) ◽  
pp. 484
Author(s):  
H. Carrington Lancaster ◽  
Nathan Edelman

1952 ◽  
Vol 12 (1) ◽  
pp. 1-20
Author(s):  
Thomas C. Smith

As in the Middle Ages in the West, so in Tokugawa Japan (1600–1868) men were fond of explaining the hierarchical society in which they lived by comparing it to an organism. Social classes, Confucian scholars said, were like parts of the body: each had a vital function to perform, but their functions were essentially different and unequal in value. In this scheme the peasants were second in importance only to the ruling military class. Just as the samurai officials were the brains that guided other organs, so the peasants were the feet that held the social body erect. They were the “basis of the country,” the valued producers whose labor sustained all else. But, as a class, they tended innately to backsliding and extravagance. Left alone they would consume more than their share of the social income, ape the manners and tastes of their betters, and even encroach upon the functions of other classes to the perilous neglect of their own. Only the lash of necessity and the sharp eye of the official could hold them to their disagreeable role. They had to be bound to the land; social distinctions had to be thrown up around them like so many physical barriers; and, to remove all temptation to indolence and luxury, they had to be left only enough of what they produced to let them continue producing.


2019 ◽  
pp. 244-272
Author(s):  
Jennifer Ferriss-Hill

This epilogue traces the themes and concerns of the previous chapters throughout the Ars Poetica's considerable reception history. If the Ars Poetica's poetic qualities have not always been clear to scholars of literature, they seem to have been more evident to the practicing writers who, inspired by Horace's poem, wrote artes poeticae of their own. Indeed, practicing poets have long discerned what many literary scholars have not: that the poem's value lies not so much in its stated contents as in its fine-spun internal unity; in its interest in human nature and the onward march of time; in the importance of criticism—both giving and receiving it—to the artistic process; and in the essential sameness of writing, of making art, and of living, loving, being, and even dying. The argument made in this study for reading the Ars Poetica as a literary achievement in its own right may therefore be viewed as a return to the complex, nuanced ways in which it was already read in the Middle Ages, through the sixteenth century, and into the twenty-first. The authors of the later works examined in this chapter read the Ars Poetica as exemplifying and instantiating the sort of artistry that it opaquely commands, and they reflected this in turn through their own verses.


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