Book 1 — CHAPTER VI. BYZANTINE CRITICISM.

PHOTIUS—DETAILED EXAMINATION OF THE ‘BIBLIOTHECA’—IMPORTANCE OF ITS POSITION AS A BODY OF CRITICAL JUDGMENTS—TZETZES—JOHN THE SICELIOTE.

If the word Byzantine is not quite such a byword as it once was, it still has for the most part an uncomplimentary connotation. How far that connotation is justified in reference to our special subject can hardly be better set forth than by exposition of three books of the middle and later Byzantine period.^[242] The first shall be the remarkable and in a way famous Bibliotheca^[243] of Photius in the ninth century; the second, the Homeric Allegories of Tzetzes in the twelfth; the third, that commentary on the περὶ ἰδέων of Hermogenes by John the Siceliote in the thirteenth, which preserves to us our earliest reference to what is almost certainly the Περὶ Ὕψους, and assigns it to Longinus.

The first is in its way unique. The author, it may be barely necessary to say, was Patriarch of Constantinople for a period |Photius.| of nearly thirty years, though with an interval of ten, during which he was deposed or deprived (858-867, 877-886), in the latter half of the ninth century. He was originally a lay statesman, and, from causes no doubt political as well as religious, was much engaged in the disputes which led to the final separation between the Eastern and Western 176Churches. His birth- and death-dates are not known; but he was, in the year last mentioned—886—banished by Leo VI. to a monastery in Armenia. The Bibliotheca purports to be an account or review of books read during an embassy to Assyria, written for the benefit, and at the request, of the author’s brother Tarasius. There is no reason for questioning the excellent Patriarch’s veracity; but if he actually took with him the two hundred and eighty authors (some of them very voluminous) whom he summarises, he must have had one of the largest travelling libraries on record. The form is encyclopædic, each author having a separate article beginning Ἀνεγνώθη, “there was read:” and to a great extent these articles consist of summaries of the matter of the books. This, as it happens, is fortunate. Photius seems to have had a special fancy for giving précis of narrative, whether ostensibly historical or avowedly fictitious; and he has thus preserved for us all or almost all that we know of things so interesting as the Persica of Ctesias, and the Babylonica or Sinonis and Rhodanes of the romancer Iamblichus. Naturally enough, a good deal of his matter is theological, and his abstracts here are seasoned with a sometimes piquant, but seldom strictly critical, animus. But he by no means confines himself to mere summary, and we have in his book what we have nowhere else—a sort of critical review of a very large portion of Greek literature. Pretty full abstract after his own manner, and some extract of this, will be the best basis possible for considering the state of literary study and taste at what was perhaps the only cultivated capital of Europe, if not (putting the dimmer East out of the question) of the world, at the time when the classical languages were almost half a millennium past their real flourishing time, and when as yet only Anglo-Saxon to certainty, and some other Teutonic dialects probably, had arisen to represent the new vernaculars in any kind of literary performance.

Photius observes no order in his notices, which would appear to be genuine notes of reading; and most of his earliest entries are short, and devoted to writers possessing at best interest of matter. The first that has struck me as possessing the interest of literature is Art. 26, on Synesius. The characterisation 177of the good Bishop of Ptolemaïs runs thus: “As for phrase, he |Detailed examination of the Bibliotheca.| is lofty and has ὄγκος” (the word we encounter so often and find so hard to translate), “but swerves off to the over-poetical.” “His miscellaneous epistles” (the judgment just quoted is on his philosophical treatises on Providence, on Monarchy, &c.) “drip with grace and pleasure,^[244] not without strength and substance^[245] of thought.” The rest is personal and religious, but extremely interesting.

Art. 44 deals with Philostratus and his famous life of Apollonius of Tyana. The bulk of the notice, as we should expect, both from the Patriarch’s fancy for analysis of narrative and from his religious bent, is busied with the matter; but we have some actual criticism. He is as to his phrase “clear, graceful, and aphoristic, and teeming with sweetness;^[246] bent on obtaining honour by archaism and the fashionableness [or new-fangledness] of his constructions.”^[247] Josephus has Art. 47. He is “clean in phrasing, and clever at setting forth the intention of his speech distinctly and pleasantly; persuasive and agreeable in his speeches even if occasion compels him to speak in different senses; fertile in enthymemes on either side, and with gnomæ at command if ever any man had them; also most competent to infuse passions into his discourse, and a proved hand at awaking compassion and softening the reader.” All which (observe the strict rhetorical form of it) is very handsome towards that Ebrew Jew. The note (49) on Cyril of Alexandria, that he “keeps the character and idiom of the appropriate speech,” that “his style is fashioned and, as it were, forced to express idiosyncratic idea,”^[248] and “is like loose poetry that disdains metre,” is itself thoroughly idiosyncratic, and speaks Cyril very well. Two others, 55 and 75, of a somewhat acrid character, on Johannes Philoponus (“Matæoponus rather,” quoth our Patriarch), are, though acrid, by no means uncritical. All these are late and mainly ecclesiastical writers, though of a certain general literary interest. The first author, at once 178of considerable age and of purely literary value, to be very fully handled is the above-mentioned Ctesias, and we have only fragments whereby to control Photius’s criticism of him. But the paragraph which comes at the end of the abstract of the Persica, and applies both to that and to the Indica, is itself worth abstracting. “This historian is very clear and simple in language, so that his style is mixed with much pleasure. He uses the Ionic dialect, not throughout, like Herodotus, but partially. Nor does he, like that writer, divert his story to unseasonable digressions. But from the mythical matters with which Herodotus is reproached neither does Ctesias abstain, especially in the book called Indica. Still, the pleasure of his history consists chiefly in the arrangement of his narrative, which is strong in the pathetic and unexpected, and in the variation of it by dint of the mythical. His style is slipshod more than is fitting, often falling into mere vulgarity. But the style of Herodotus, both in this and other respects of the power and art of the Word, is the canon of the Ionic dialect.”

Appian’s Roman History and Arrian’s Parthica come in for successive notice, but there is nothing about the latter’s literary character till the much later and fuller notice of his Alexander-book at 91, where Photius, as is specially his wont with historians, gives a full appreciation. The pupil of Epictetus, he thinks, "is second to none among those who have best drawn up histories, for he is both first-rate at succinct narration, and he never hurts the continuousness of his history by unseasonable divagations and parentheses.^[249] He is original [“new-fangled,” the usual translation of καινοπρεπὴς, has a too unfavourable twist in it], rather by the arrangement of his words than by his vocabulary; and he manages this in such a fashion that hardly otherwise could the tale be told more clearly and luminously. He uses a vivid, euphonious, well-turned style, and has smoothness well mixed with grandeur.^[250] His neologisms are not directed to mere innovation 179à perte de vue,^[251] but close and emphatic, so as to be real figures of speech and not merely change for ordinary words.^[252] Wherefore clearness is his companion, not merely in this respect, but most of all in the arrangement and order and constitution of his style, which is the very craft-secret of clearness. For the use of merely straightforward periods is within the power of mere uncultivated persons,^[253] and, if it be maintained without admixture, brings the style down to flatness and meanness, whereto Arrian, clear as he is, has not approached. And he makes use of elliptic figures not in respect of his period but of his diction, so as never to become obscure: if any one should attempt to supply what is wanting, it would seem to tend towards the superfluous, and not really to complete the ellipse. The variety of his figures is also one of his strongest points—not changing at once from simple usage, but forming themselves gently and from the beginning, so as neither to annoy with satiety nor to worry by overcrowding. In short, if any be set against him in the matter of historical composition, many even of the old classics^[254] would be found his inferiors in taxis."

Appian has earlier had less elaborate praise, as being terse and plain in phrase, as truth-loving as possible, an expounder of strategic methods, and very good indeed at raising the depressed spirit of an army, or soothing its excitement, and exhibiting passion by means of speeches. It is odd enough, after the exaltation of Arrian—a good writer but no marvel—to the skies, to come across the following brief and grudging estimate, inserted in the shortest of summaries, of a man of the highest genius like Herodotus. Photius here, as elsewhere, does justice to the Halicarnassian as a canon of Ionic. “But he employs all manner of old wives' fables and divagations, 180whereby an intellectual sweetness runs through him,^[255] though these things sometimes obscure the comprehension of the history and efface its proper and corresponding type, since truth will not have her clearness clouded by myths, nor admit divagations (parecbaseis) further than is fitting.” This is rather dispiriting for the first really great writer whom we meet; and the long judgment upon Æschines, which follows shortly, makes little amends, because the orators had been criticised and characterised ad nauseam for a thousand years. Later we have no ill criticism of Dion Cassius—indeed Photius seems more at ease with post-Christian writers, even if they be non-Christians, than with the classics proper, or ἀρχαῖοι as he calls them. The careful and somewhat artificial style of this historian, his imitation of Thucydides, and some other things, are well but briefly noted.

It is evident that the good Patriarch was no sparing or infrequent novel-reader, for, as has been said, he is copious both on some novels that we have and on one that we have not. The somewhat monotonous form, however, of the Lower Greek Romance gives him more room for analysis of story than for criticism of art. He justly extols the propriety of Heliodorus, is properly shocked by the looseness of Achilles Tatius, and puts the lost Iamblichus between them in this respect. His criticism of the Æthiopica—of many million novel reviews the interesting first—may be given, apart, of course, from the argument of the book, which, as is usual with him, and not uncommon with his followers to-day, forms the bulk of the article.

“The book (syntagma) is of the dramatic kind [this is noteworthy], and it uses a style suitable to the plan, for it abounds in simplicity and sweetness, and in pathetic situations actual or expected. The narrative is diversified and unexpected, and 181has strange chance salvations^[256] and bright and pure diction. If, as is reasonable, it sometimes indulges in tropes, they, too, are brilliant, and exhibit the matter in hand. The periods are symmetrical and, on the whole, arranged with a view to succinctness. The plot and the rest are correspondent to the style. His yarn^[257] is of the love of a man and a woman, and he shows an anxious and careful observance of propriety of sentiment.”

In Art. 77, on the not very interesting subject of Eunapius, we have the familiar phrase “New Edition” in its literal Greek form.^[258] A fresh example of the interest he takes in history appears under the head of Dionysius of Halicarnassus, and in Art. 90 Libanius supplies him with occasion for criticising a rhetorician pure and simple. He is, he thinks, exhibited to the best advantage^[259] in his “plasmatic” [speeches written on imaginary topics] and gymnastic discourses rather than in his others, for by his excessive elaboration and busybodyness^[260] in these others he has hurt the grace and charm of the,^[261] as one may say, naïf and impromptu style, and deprived it of verisimilitude, causing frequent obscurity by insertions, and sometimes even by abstraction of the necessary. “But in other respects he is a canon and standard of Attic speech.”

Lucian and the mysterious Lucius of Patræ seem to have occupied him together, and he discusses the authorship of the Ass with some acumen, recognising in Lucian a merely satiric intention, in Lucius a serious belief in magic and marvels. As for Lucian himself (respecting whom he has preserved for us the great epigram quoted above), he acknowledges the universality of the Samosatan’s satire of all things Greek, their god-making and their Aselgeia, the extravagances of their poets and their political mistakes, the emptiness and pretentiousness of their philosophy. In fact, says Photius, in an approach at least to the true Higher Criticism, “his whole pains are spent on producing a prose Comedy of Greek things. He himself seems to 182be one of those who worship nothing seriously; he scoffs and mocks at other’s doxies, but lays down no creed of his own, unless one should say that it is a creed to be creedless. In style he is of the very best, brilliant and classical, and signally distinguished in diction, and of all others a lover of good order and purity, with a clear and symmetrical magnificence. His composition is arranged so that the reader seems not to be reading prose, and as though a very pleasant song, without distinct musical accompaniment, were dropping into the ears of the hearers. And altogether, as we said, his style is of the very best, and ill-matched with the subjects at which he chose to laugh.”

Photius is not lavish of the word aristos, and it is only fair to say that, for its day and way, this criticism is not far itself from deserving the epithet.

After some shorter notices, including a good many of Lexicons (Photius himself, it need hardly be said, was a lexicographer), we come, at Art. 159, to Isocrates, on whom the Byzantine judgment is again noteworthy. He has more, Photius thinks, of the sophist than, like the other Nine, of the actual advocate. “His readers can see at once that he employs a distinct and pure style, and shows a great deal of care about the craftsmanship of his speeches, so that his order and his care overreach themselves a little and become excessive. In fact, this excess of apparatus does not so much provide genuine arguments as tasteless ineptitude.”^[262]

“Again, he is wanting in ethical character and truth and nervousness of style (γοργότης.) Of sublimity, so far as it suits political discourses, he mixes a very good dose, and suitably to his clearness. But his style is more languid^[263] than it ought to be. And he is not least blamed for attention to trifles, and a balancing of clauses^[264] which disgusts. But we say this in reference to the excellence of his speeches, pointing out what fails, 183and is exceptional in them, inasmuch as in comparison with some of those who have made bold to write speeches, even his shortcomings would appear to be excellence.”

Immediately before this article on Isocrates there is a very shrewd note (and one which is “for thoughts” to any one who has ever written books) on the Sophistike Paraskeue of Phrynichus. “This writer, if any ever was, is fullest of various knowledge, but otherwise redundant and garrulous: for when it was open to him to have got the matter completely finished off, without missing a single important point, in not a fifth part of his actual length, he, by saying things out of season, has stretched it out to an unmanageable bulk; and while he has collected for others' use the matter of a good and suitable treatise, he cannot be said to have made much use of it himself.”

It would be possible to extend these excerpts and abstracts very considerably from my notes of reading the great mass of the Bibliotheca; though the larger part of that mass is itself made up, not of literary criticisms at all, but, as has been said, of summaries, abstracts, and extracts. In not a few cases the longest articles deal with commentaries or anthologies, the Platonic studies of the rhetorician Aristides, the meletæ or declamations of Himerius, the Bibliotheca of Diodorus, the fortunately still extant Commonplace-books of Stobæus, and the like. But the foregoing pages have probably given sufficient foundation for a study of the Photian position, which may be taken, without rashness, as a very favourable representative of Byzantine criticism generally.^[265]

In making this estimate we must first of all take note of |Importance of its position as a body of critical judgment.| certain limitations, which may be accidental but which also may not. It is at least curious that he never deals directly with a poet. Even his indirect references, borrowed from his authors, to the greater Greek verse-writers are few, and, speaking with the reserves due in the case of so voluminous and peculiar a 184compilation as the Bibliotheca, I do not remember any independent poetical criticism of his. On the other hand, such criticisms as those which have been quoted above on Lucian, on Isocrates, on Phrynichus, and others, show, in the first place, no contemptible critical acumen, and in the second place, a critical attitude which is worthy of a good deal of attention. For the literary characteristics of his authors Photius distinctly “has a good eye”: he can see a church by daylight and a little more also. We may even say that he shows a good deal more detachment, more faculty of seeing his man in the round, than any purely classical critic displays. Here and there, as in his eulogy of Arrian, he is a little too technically rhetorical, and has evidently not got rid of the notion of the Figures as things possessing a real existence. And there is more than a trace in him of the growth of that critical jargon which has been noticed above, certain phrases recurring rather too often, like “gusto” with old-fashioned critics, and divers terms, which it is not necessary to mention, with new-fangled ones. But technicalities are, at their worst, an evidence that the techne exists. Further, it would be, as has been seen, extremely unjust to regard Photius as a mere phrase-monger. His criticism of Lucian is as comprehensive as it is shrewd, it is “criticism of life” as well as criticism of literature; that of Isocrates shows that he was not to be caught by mere scholastic elegance; that of Phrynichus, that he had an eye for method; his notices of the Romancers, that he could appreciate and relish kinds out of the beaten track of classical literary classification and practice; the remark on “merely straightforward periods” is a just and shrewd one. Not only would Photius have made an exceedingly good reviewer, but we may say that he is almost the patriarch of reviewers in two senses, that he is the first of all such as have dealt practically with literature from the reviewer’s point of view.

To say this is of course not to give unmitigated and indisputable praise. There is no lack of advocates of the devil who will say that the reviewer’s point of view is not easily found in a very original age, or by a very original genius. It may be so—the age of Photius himself was certainly not a very original 185age, except in countries where the point of view of the reviewer was as certainly quite unknown. But this is not the question for us; the question for us is, Have we met this attitude? Have we come upon any one occupying this point of view before? And the answer must, I think, be, “No; we have not.” Dionysius, of all our writers, comes nearest to it, for Quintilian is too summary, and Longinus is considering rather a single quality of literature, as shown in divers authors, than divers authors by themselves, and as presenting a combination of qualities in each case. What we would give almost anything for is a collection of such reviews by Aristotle; and we have not got them. We do not know that Aristotle ever thought of such a thing,^[266] though he might well have made it as a preparation for the Rhetoric and the Poetics, just as he made his collection of “polities” as a preparation for the Politics.

The absence of poetical criticism from Photius is specially to be regretted, because it leaves us in doubt as to his power of recognising and analysing, not merely the finer subtleties of form, but the more complex and interesting kinds of literary matter. His own interests, it is pretty clear, were, though he had the liking for novels which is often found in men of science and business, chiefly scientific, historical, and philosophical, including, of course, religion in philosophy. There is probably no Greek writer, whose subject in any way admitted of it, who has said so little about Homer. In dealing with Stobæus he has the patience (though, as has been seen, he is far from being a mere enumerator) to enumerate all the heads of the Florilegium and the Eclogæ, and all the authors, hundreds of them as there are, whom the anthologist has laid under contribution. But he is tempted into no critical asides about them. He is essentially positive—frankly busied with matter, or with the more material side of form.

Yet to the historian of criticism he has a singular interest, because of that position of origin which has been noted. Cicero and Pliny in their libraries were in a position to do much the same thing; had, as we shall see, a kind of dim 186velleity of doing it now and then, but did it not. Athenæus, if he had cared less for cooks and courtesans, more for literature; Aulus Gellius and Macrobius, if mere philology on the one hand, and mere folk-lore and mythology on the other, had not drawn them aside, would probably have anticipated him. But no one actually has; none has applied to the library or its prose division the process which goes to the making of a catalogue raisonné in painting. No doubt Photius leaves a good deal to be done, independently of his silence on poetry and drama. His comparison is so limited as to be almost non-existent; it is much if he can compare Heliodorus, Iamblichus, and Achilles Tatius in reference to the treatment of matters erotic; Ctesias and Herodotus, on the score of resisting, or succumbing to, story-telling digression. But even in this there is the germ, the rudiment, of the great Comparative Method. So again the other great Lamp of Criticism, the historical estimate, still has its shutter drawn for him. A vague distinction between the ἀρχαῖοι and the moderns is indeed not uncommon; but we have, so far as I have noticed, no distinct line drawn between the two, and both are huddled and jumbled together. Photius has not yet risen to that highest conception of criticism which involves the “grasping” of each author in his complete self, and the placing of him in the general literary map or genealogy (whichever phase may be preferred) of the world. And lastly, the silly old etiquette of silence about Latin still seems to weigh, if unconsciously, on him. He does indeed allude to the birth-year of Virgil. In his notices of historians of Rome he necessarily has to mention some Roman matters, and he mentions that Cicero was slain while reading the Medea. But my memory, assisted by Bekker’s excellent index, traces no critical remark, comparative or independent, about any great Latin writer, and nothing more than the barest mention of one or two by name. Yet, with all these drawbacks, the niche we have indicated is securely his, though he has scarcely yet been established in it.^[267]

187If an example be required between Photius and John, it may be found (of no encouraging character) in the almost contemptible |Tzetzes.| Homeric Allegories of Tzetzes^[268] written in that dreary “political” verse, the only consolation of which is the remembrance that, whether as origin or echo, it has sometimes been connected with the charming Meum est propositum metre of the Latin Middle Ages. In Tzetzes, the allegorical method neither reaches its pinnacle of fantasticality as in the Romance of the Rose,—there is often something faintly fascinating there,—nor attains to the rather imposing mazes and meanderings of fifteenth-century personification, but stumbles along in pedestrian gropings of this kind^[269] (on Il. i. 517 sq.): “The groaning of Zeus signifieth a puff of wind moving the eyebrows of him, and conducting the thickness of clouds. The downcoming of Thetis indicates that there was rain, which is also a kind of consentment of assistance. And the coming of Zeus to his own home is the restoration of the atmosphere to its former condition, having thinned out the thickness of the cloud to rain. The rising up of the gods from their seats is the confusion and disturbance of the elements,” &c., &c. The much-ridiculed allegorical morals of the Gesta Romanorum are sense, poetry, piety, to this ineffably dull and childish attempt to substitute a cheap pseudo-scientific Euhemerism for the criticism of literature. If Allegory had not too profitably assisted at the cradle of Greek literature, she certainly infested its death-bed in her most decrepit and malignant aspect.

At the same time, we must not be too contemptuous of Byzantine criticism. Had the vast mass of the later rhetorical |John the Siceliote.| scholiasts yielded nothing to the sifting but the quotation in John the Siceliote (though as from the Philological Homilies, not the Περὶ Ὕψους), by name, of the Longinian censure on the Orithyia, it would almost be justified in existing, not to mention references in others, one of which 188shows us that in the same collection Longinus gave a discussion (the tendency of which we can easily guess) on the stomphodes or “mouthy.”^[270] But the siftings are not quite limited to these two.

John, who appears possibly, if not at all certainly, to have had the surname of Doxopater, and to have been sometimes designated by it, appears also to have been a monk. He must (on his own authority) have observed the virtue of Poverty much better than some of his fellows, and few of them can have more avoided the vice of laziness. His voluminous works devoted to Rhetoric are ranged by Walz^[271] under eleven titles: to wit, Prolegomena and Homilies on the Progymnasmata of Aphthonius, General Prolegomena to Rhetoric, Commentaries on the States, Inventions and Ideas of Hermogenes, Epideictic speeches on the Horse and against the Saracens, a destructive discussion of the myth of Prometheus, a “Basileios” and a “Politikon.” These works contain some personal details and complaints, which, if he subsequently became Patriarch of Constantinople, were heard by Fortune in her less savage mood; and he seems to have busied himself with theology and history, as well as rhetoric. But it is very difficult to place either his patriarchate, or consequently his life, chronologically. He might have been the John Glycas who held the dignity from 1316 to 1320, when he abdicated; but Glycas seems to have been married. So perhaps he was John Camater, an earlier occupant (under the Latin Empire) of the see in 1204.

All this, it will be seen, is a rather unsubstantial pageant; but John’s works are solid enough. Even the Prolegomena (taking them as his) of Doxopater, and the Commentaries on the Ideas (to which alone we have access), fill five hundred pages. It is in the latter that we are to look for anything touching our subject. They are rather wide-ranging, to which character of theirs we doubtless owe the Longinian citation.

Neither did John always observe that scrupulous accuracy which is so dear to the heart of a certain class of critic, that, like a true altruist, he would have every one, except himself, possess 189it. At the opening he writes “Themistocles” for “Miltiades.” But his erudition is considerable, and his qualities in other respects not contemptible. It is, however, very noticeable that he is as much inclined to the general and disinclined from the particular as if he had lived fifteen hundred years earlier. Although he is no slavish Platonist (he has somewhere the happy phrase Πλάτων Πλάτωνος ἀναξίως. “Did Plato? the less Plato he”), he is fully Platonic in his scorn of the μερικαὶ ἰδέαι, of the mere “characterising” speeches, Lysiac and Isocratean, and so forth, and aims at the “circumprehensive and comprehensive” idea and phrase which transcends all these. Thus we are once more face to face with that putting of the cart before the horse which has met us so often—with that discussion of δεινότης and γλυκύτης which is no doubt a capital thing in its way, but which ought to be preluded and, as military men say, “prepared” by a long, by an almost infinite, examination of the individual exponents and practitioners of the Vigorous and the Sweet.

It is, of course, fair to remember that he is annotating Hermogenes, and that he can hardly be expected to follow methods different from those of his text. But it necessarily follows that his loyalty leads him away from the fields most likely to be fertile for us, and, when he does approach them, directs him mainly to the Orators, and to them chiefly, if not wholly, from the strictly rhetorical point of view. Yet he is by no means ill to read, though a little technical and abstract, on rhythm (opening of Bk. i. chap. i.); and if he has gone no further in reference to φαντασία than all before him except Philostratus, that is no great reproach to him. Undoubtedly, however, his chief—as at the same time his most tantalising—attraction is his reference to things which, in his comparatively modern period, must have still existed, but which seem now to be irrecoverably lost. Such is his quotation, p. 93, of certain remarks of Longinus on the poet Menelaus.^[272] We may doubt whether definite poetical criticism from the excellent John would have been satisfactory, when we find him assigning 190“out-and-out”^[273] poetical quality to the soft inanity of Isocrates, and the want of it to the rough fire of Thucydides. Yet in the lower and “composition-book” kind of criticism he is not to seek—the synopsis of clearness at p. 173 being a very workmanlike composition.^[274]

And so, without further minute examination of this curiosity, we may take some general view of it as the last words—or fairly representative of the last words—of Greek rhetorical criticism, unaffected by mediæval literature, unaffected even by Latin, to any considerable, or at least avowed, extent, but turning round and round the long-guarded treasures of its own special hoard, like the dragons of fable. To us, perhaps, the hoard does not seem very inviting. The enormous apparatus of distinction and terminology is set to work, almost exclusively, on matter which has neither the attraction of the highest æsthetic problems, nor the practical interest and profit of direct literary criticism of particulars. There is abundance of learning, and by no means a dearth of mother-wit. But the worst side of Scholasticism—the side which was long unjustly taken for the whole, but which is a side thereof—makes itself almost universally felt. Sometimes one almost thinks of one of the keenest, if not the most generally delectable, strokes of Rabelaisian satire, the duel of signs between Panurge and Thaumast. This -tes and that -ia hurtle through the air almost without conveying understanding, though they may darken a good deal. With sufficient pains and goodwill, you may disinter many a shrewd remark, many a really useful definition, many a scrap of precious information, by no means unintelligently used. But on the whole, the impression is as of the ghost of Rhetoric struggling against being re-embodied as the soul of Criticism.

191

INTERCHAPTER I.

We have endeavoured, in the foregoing Book, to survey—from the actual texts, and admitting no conjectural or theoretical reconstruction—the history of literary criticism in Greece and the Greek Empire till its fall. It is our duty in this first halt to survey this survey—to see what results it actually gives us, to classify and arrange them, to account for them as philosophically as possible, and, without digressing into the quicksands of theory, to lay down the solid road of logical and historical perspective.

We have seen that criticism in Greece began from two different sources, neither of which, perhaps, was, or could have been expected to be, likely to supply it in an absolutely unmixed condition. There was, in the first place, the strong Greek philosophising tendency, working upon the earliest documents (the most important, then as now, identified with the name of Homer), and subjecting them to processes which oftenest took the form of a kind of rationalising allegory. The second was the invention, for more or less practical purposes, of the art of Rhetoric or Persuasive Composition. As, in the first place, the collection of written literature was very small, and as the oratorical character impressed itself more or less strongly upon nearly all literature in the process of publication, this dominance of Oratory was long maintained, and continued, almost to the latest times, to prevent Rhetoric from assuming its proper etymological position as “speech-craft” in the widest sense, as the art of artificially arranged language.

But this inconvenience, always more or less existing, was mitigated by practice in divers ways. As actual literature, 192both prose and verse, mustered and multiplied, and as it was more and more enjoyed by the keen Greek appetite for pleasures of all kinds, it at the same time presented more and more temptation to the equally keen Greek aptitude for philosophical inquiry. Larger and larger treasuries were made available for quotation and imitation; more and more kinds of literature were presented to the student for investigation, classification, inquiry into sources, methods, effects. And so after a century, or a century and a half, of progress and exercise, of which little remains to us except the brilliant, but from this point of view wayward, work of Plato, we are confronted, in the work of Aristotle, with an Art of Poetry, incomplete in certain ways, but singularly mature in its own way, with an Art of Prose which, though it has not yet by any means recognised its real nature and estate, and persists in regarding itself as an Art of Persuasion merely, has yet accumulated many valuable observations, and has made the paths of future investigators fairly straight and smooth.

While, however, the oratorical preoccupation prevented Rhetoric from attaining the development which might otherwise have been expected, both Rhetoric and Poetics were very seriously obstructed by the unequal growth of literary kinds within Greek itself, and by the absence of any other literature with which to compare such kinds as existed, and by which to discern the absence of those that did not exist. The whole of Greek Poetic was prejudicially affected—and the affection has continued to be a source of evil in all criticism since—by the accidental lateness of prose fiction in Greek literature; just as the whole of Greek Rhetoric was prejudicially affected by the accidental predominance of Greek oratory. The habit—in the main a sound one—of generalising from the actual facts, led to very arbitrary theories of more literary kinds than one. It was assumed that what we may call “periodic” Epic was the only kind; and Romance, which may be very fairly called a “loose” Epic, was barred as improper. Still more was the same distinction ignored in drama; where a single, though in its way very perfect, form of Tragedy was arbitrarily assumed to be the only one possible or permissible. So the accidental and easily 193separable extravagances and licences of the Ancient Comedy were allowed to obscure its merits, and depress its rank, in the eyes of the critic. Lyric—perhaps the very highest of all literary kinds, as it must be the oldest, and is the most perennial—became a mere appendage to tragedy. The great kind of History, in which Greece had already produced such magnificent examples, was in the same way regarded as a sort of baggage-waggon to oratorical Rhetoric; and the dialogic form which was preferred in philosophy, partly owing to the habits of the nation, and partly owing to the towering eminence of Plato, was in the same way, or much the same way, allowed or forced to attach itself to the same train.

But these mischiefs, though sufficiently considerable, and assisted by the ignorance (changed latterly in the worse days to a contemptuous ignoring) of other languages, were by no means the equals of those caused directly by this ignorance, while they were aggravated by it in every way. If, while we are certainly not superior to the ancients in most branches of literature, where comparison is possible, we may challenge them more safely in criticism, it is due almost, if not quite wholly, to what has been called the illegitimate advantage of our possession of an infinitely larger stock of accumulated literature, and of the fact that this literature is distributed over the most various times, nations, and languages. It is the rarest thing at any time to find a critic of the first class who is not acquainted with literatures besides his own; and it is almost invariable to find that the mistakes which great critics make arise out of ignorance or forgetfulness of other literatures besides their own. But even in antiquity there is no critic of, or approaching, this first class, except Aristotle, who suffered the full exposure to this disability. As a “tongue of comparison” Longinus knew Latin: Dionysius and Quintilian, who, if not critics of the first class, are not far off it, knew, the one Latin, the other Greek. But Aristotle (unless the legends about Alexander having sent him Indian communications have any basis, and unless we take the references of Plato and others to Egyptian stories as having much more solid ground than there is any reason to accord them) had none, and could 194have had none: while, even if he had been stocked with Egyptian and Sanscrit, these would have done him but little good, though they might have corrected his delusions as to the necessary connection of poetry and fiction. It must always be reckoned as one of the most fatal proofs of the literary inferiority of the Roman genius that the younger literature, though it enjoyed the bilingual advantage to the full, made so little advance on the older in criticism.

For the three centuries between Aristotle and Dionysius we are but ill provided with original texts. But both from what we have, and from such notices as are trustworthy, we can be tolerably sure that attention was almost entirely devoted, on the one side to the verbal or material criticism of the Alexandrian and Pergamene schools, on the other to technical Rhetoric. Now the former, though a most necessary ancilla to literary appreciation proper, is always to be kept in proper subordination to her mistress; and the conditions of the latter, though in one sense favourable to criticism (inasmuch as the stock of actual literature was always increasing, and the temptation to turn to it from mere declamation-making might at least be expected to be always stronger), was in itself becoming more and more a futile technique. Symbouleutic oratory (above vestry rank) was killed and kept dead by the petty tyrants, the less successors of Alexander, and lastly the Roman rule. Judicial Rhetoric tended to confine itself to minor causes. Only Epideictic, the most dangerous of the kinds, began to flourish more and more, and resulted by degrees, as we have seen, in the creation of a singular profession or pseudo-profession, the members of which had about them something of the travelling lecturer, something of the popular preacher, something—nay, a good deal—of the hack book-maker, and not a little of the journalist pure and simple. Their own study of literature, unless they kept to the stock passages of the textbooks, must have been fairly thorough; but literature was to them partly what Burton’s Anatomy was to Captain Shandon, a mere dictionary of quotations, partly a collection of patterns. Very rarely did they take it by itself even for the canvas of one of their show-orations, and when they did it was seldom or 195never from the point of view of appreciation of strictly literary beauty.

For about half a century before and a century after the Christian era the record, even putting Latin criticism aside altogether, is a more distinct one. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Plutarch, and Dion Chrysostom, give us a good deal more material than we have yet had. But the results of the inspection of it are not wholly satisfactory. Dionysius of Halicarnassus is, as has been said, perhaps our typical specimen of the literary critic of antiquity. He has far less force and method and originality than Aristotle; but then he is a student confining himself to Rhetoric and History, not a world-philosopher, taking up the philosophy of literature merely as part of a whole. He has far less genius than Longinus; but he is also far more copiously preserved. We read him with respect; we meet just and acute observations in him, we can even occasionally compliment him on something like (never quite) the “grasp” of the comic fragment. But he is still partly under the limitations of his technical rhetoric, partly under others less easy to describe exactly; and he neglects Latin literature, by his time a very considerable entity. He cannot wholly bring himself to regard literature as literature. With Plutarch the case is much worse, for it is evident that he will not do this at all. It is an educating and ethical influence; a convenient storehouse of fact and example; a respectable profession; but not a great, a sovereign, and an infinitely delightful art. As for Dion (the most literary of the pure rhetoricians, and a favourable example of them), he is only an entertainer, the showman of another art, which is not quite coarse, but is certainly not in the highest sense fine. Lucian, somewhat later, is a true artist, a true man of letters, and occasionally a critic, endowed with unerring eyes and the very Sword of Sharpness itself,itself, but he is this only at times, and even at those times he is too negative.

If we advance a little in point of time and turn our attention to the strict teaching and practice of Rhetoric itself, from the second century onward, and probably backward almost to the very time of Aristotle, the spectacle is even less satisfactory. 196The work, of which Hermogenes and Aphthonius are the coryphæi, leading an innumerable chorus of followers and commentators, who continue for more than a thousand years, is not exactly contemptible work. Work conducted with extreme diligence and also, at any rate in some cases, with remarkable alertness and acuteness of mind, can never be wholly contemptible. But it is work disappointing, unsatisfying, and even irritating to the last degree. The technical Rhetoric, always arbitrarily limited in subject and perversely conventional in method, has practically lost all chance of exercising itself in the noblest of its three divisions. Deliberative oratory is dead, except in exercises and make-believes, and the bread-winning chicanery of forensic, the frivolities (hollow except as also bread-winning) of epideictic, have usurped the whole room. It might be thought that in this bereaved condition the art would bethink itself of that profitable, dignified and delightful application which it had always more or less directly practised, but which had seemed less dignified than Persuasion—the art of literary criticism proper. But it does nothing—or but little—of the kind. The remarks of Hermogenes on Frigidity are not bad; the doubtful Demetrius, in his study of Interpretation, is not far from the true kingdom others approach it here and there. The invention of that critical “lingo,” to which reference has more than once been made, is something, though a something liable to abuse, and capable of standing in the way of better things. But, on the whole, the endless procession of some fifty generations, from the author of the Rhet. ad Alex. to John of Sicily, busies itself either on the one hand with endless distinctions, systematisations, and terminologies, with everlastingly twining strands of new colour into the rope that lets down the bucket into the empty well, and varying the staves and hoops of the bucket itself; or on the other with the provision of cut-and-dried patterns for the use of the brainless, with telling tongue-tied sophists what they are to say at the funeral of a fifth cousin, and how to make the most of a harbour which is dry for three-quarters of every tide.

197Amidst all this desert and chaos of wasted industry there stands the great rock of the Περὶ Ὕψους with its shade and refreshment in the weary land of its own contemporaries, and with its brow catching the dawn which was not to shine fully for more than fifteen hundred years, and is hardly noon-day yet. In the section devoted to it we have examined, as thoroughly as our limits permitted, the special merits and defects of this great little book; it is only necessary here to lay a slight additional stress on the fact that if it be not the sole book of antiquity—the sole book, except Dante’s, of antiquity, the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, and the earlier modern times—to set forth that critical ideal which comprehends the formal and the material, the verbal and the ideal merits of literature, it exhibits this comprehension as no other book does. To confine ourselves to our present special subject—the criticism of Greek antiquity—Plato may alternate noble flights with curious crotchets about literature; Aristophanes may criticise from the point of view of robust common-sense which is yet not in the least Philistine; Aristotle may have almost a mathematical grasp of his own notions of form, and a generous enthusiasm for certain kinds of dignity in subject and proportion; Dionysius may show that adherence to technique (and a rather vicious technique too) is quite compatible with genuine literary appreciation. But all these, and much more others, have their eyes mainly off the object. Aristotle himself at times, lesser men like Plutarch, who have misread their Plato, continually, seem to think it rather vain to look at that object at all. The intelligent enjoyment of literature; the intimacy with it, at once voluptuous and intellectual; the untiring, though it may be never fully satisfied, quest after the secret of its charms, never neglecting the opportunity of basking and revelling in them—these things, till we come to Longinus, are rare indeed. And when we do meet them, the rencontre is of a sort of accidental and shamefaced character. When we come to Longinus there is no more false modesty. “Beautiful words are the light of thought.” These words themselves are the lantern of criticism.

198Elsewhere it gleams more faintly; though it would be as ungrateful as it would be Philistine to ignore the debt which we owe to others, from Aristotle himself downwards. It is characteristic of Greek criticism—and it is the secret of its weakness as well as of its strength—that it is more busy with kinds than with authors, with authors than with books. And when it is busy with authors at all, it is hardly ever busy with them as wholes, as phenomena occupying an individual place in the literary cosmos; but almost always as examples of this or that quality, as supplying illustrations of this or that Figure, as giving a good pattern for such-and-such a progymnasma, a model for dealing with such-and-such a stasis. Proceeding in this way, criticism attempts—and fails—to be scientific; it renounces its right to be artistic, and effects the renunciation. The individual ethos of the poet, the more solid but not less individual ethos of the proseman, flies off and melts away, when each is merely regarded as an example of “todetes” or “tallotes” as a lecturer’s cabinet, in which you put your hand to draw out an illustration of Anadiplosis or Palillogia. Almost may the most idealist of metaphysical students think of turning to sheer Hobbism, of blaspheming “nesses and tudes and ties,” when he sees them dragged in and abused after this fatal fashion, which even Aristotle does not wholly escape, and in which others indulge as if it were their sole and legitimate business.

It follows that, except for the stock contrast of Herodotus and Thucydides, in respect of the Orators (the exception being there due to an obvious reason), and to a less extent of the Three Tragedians, we have very few studies at once comprehensive and comparative of authors in Greek, and that, out of Longinus, such studies as we have are scrappy, technical, and altogether lacking in that critical συνάρπασμα which the great locus of Simylus requires. There is really no second passage in Greek which can be put alongside of the Longinian estimate of the Iliad and the Odyssey, agree or disagree as we may with the details of this.

Another and a very important matter (which it is fairer and more philosophical to call rather a defect of our understanding 199than a defect of the matter presented to it) lies in that impossibility of attaining the Greek standpoint as to certain rhythmical and verbal matters, which has been more than once glanced at, and which is instanced in the case of Longinus himself. Few among the wiser even of those who have paid special attention to the subjects of Greek music and Greek pronunciation would, I think, assert, that they thoroughly understand the passages relating to prose rhythm, and the special suitableness of the cretic and some of the pæons as the base-feet for it. And it is practically admitted by most sober and well-instructed critics that both Aristotle and Longinus make strictures upon things as “frigid” and in bad taste, that they ostracise metaphors and ban conceits which to any modern criticism (putting aside mere assentation) seem perfectly harmless, if not positively admirable. The same thing occurs in English and French to this day, although in this case all the difficulties which beset us in relation to Greek disappear, except the radical difference of national (not now even of temporal) ear and brain. A phrase of Bossuet, which seems to French ears even of to-day the ne plus ultra of majestic melody, will strike very well-instructed Englishmen as a rhetorical jingle and French critics of enthusiasm and enlightenment will see no difference between the music of Moore and that of Shelley, or rather prefer the former. In the other sphere, what is to an Englishman a piece of dry humour will appear to a Frenchman a saugrenu monstrosity; and a Frenchman’s ideal of manly eloquence, dignified or passionate as the case may be, will seem to an Englishman to show nothing but the maudlin pathos of a drunkard, or the petulant braggadocio of a child. Yet here there are innumerable side-lights, a long course of partially identical history, literature, and religion, the experience of persons of both nations who have lived in and with the other, to guide us. No wonder that, when we have none of these things, we should be puzzled. Yet the quarrel, such as it is, with the Greek critics, is not so much that their estimates, low or high, differ from ours, as that they have given us so few documents from their own side to help out the contrast. Even one essay, on both the literatures, by a Greek to set over 200against the invaluable survey by Quintilian would be not merely something for which we could gladly exchange most of the Greek writers on Rhetoric, except Aristotle, but something in consideration of which we would gladly read all these writers, and make no complaint of them. As it is, we have to go to Photius, a representative of a time and thought far more alien from those of the Greeks proper than is Quintilian himself, for full review of even Greek writers, and he also is silent about Latin.

But “something sealed the mouths of these Evangelists.” It is perhaps not unphilosophical to think that this silence was the price the world had to pay for the confident and magnificent advance which it made under the guidance of the Greek genius. If that genius had been less confident, if it had assumed less cavalierly that no other literature could be worth taking into account, if it had hesitated and faltered about systematising boldly whatever had been produced by itself, and allowing everything else (if anything else existed) to go κατ’ οὖρον, what we have would probably not have been vouchsafed to us. And in that case we should, as probably, never have made up the loss. The estimable but not wise persons who try to make out that the undoubtedly rich and great languages and literatures of Modern Europe can supply substitutes for those of Greece and Rome overlook, ignore, or perhaps are honestly ignorant of, the fact that the very strong points of these modern languages and literatures, their Romantic ebb and flow, their uncertainty, their complaisance to the vagaries of the individual, their lack of logical system and ordonnance, make it impossible that they should ever give us the principles of fixity which we find in the Classical tongues. Those of us who, far more by chance and good fortune than by any deliberate and virtuous proairesis, happen to be acquainted pretty equally with both Ancient and Modern Literature, know that neither will do alone, but that for the education both of the world at large and of any epoch of it, the Ancient is even more necessary than the Modern.

Some idea of the positive extent of our debts to Greek is necessary to this history, though a résumé of them is no easy 201thing to give. In the first place has to be reckoned the laying of the foundations of mere grammar—the preliminary to every kind of graphica lexis. This must have been done pretty early, and there is no language in the literary record with which it could be done for the first time to so much advantage as with Greek.Greek. Some languages, as Latin and its daughter French, have a sort of peddling tendency to purely arbitrary rule, and to enforced observance of it. Others, the chief example of which is English, have had too haphazard a history, and are too much of ingrained rebels to strict convention, to admit of elaborate grammar, despite the athletic attempts which are sometimes made to discover it in them. Between these two, Greek presents not so much the happy mean as the consummate union of all the best qualities. It evidently possessed, from the remotest time at which we have any traces of literature, an innate sense of proportion and grammatical symmetry to guide it, first into unconscious and then into conscious symmetry of accidence and syntax, besides a native melody at once sweet, vigorous, and disciplined, which made it the ideal raw material for prosody. On the other hand, the intense philosophical spirit of the Greeks, and their love of liberty, saved them from the hard and fast irrationality of the grammars of some languages, and from the tendency, not merely to make arbitrary rules, but to insist on their observance with absolute rigidity. The result was a grammar which to this day is the pattern grammar of the world—as flexible as it is symmetrical, as intelligently free as it is philosophically policed,—an eternal harmony of idiom and rule.

We have glanced in the above paragraph at Prosody, but something more must be said on this head, for the debt of literary criticism to Greek in this respect is almost the mightiest item of the total account. The mathematical element, which distinguishes this part of Grammar, enables a people with a suitable language, and a sufficient stock of experiments in it, to discover something much more like a universal calculus than is possible in Accidence and Syntax; and the Greeks discovered this. Prosody is a science which, in its pure, though of course not in its applied, divisions, as regards strictly metrical writing, they practically found out once for all.

202There are systems of rhythm—early Latin probably, early Teutonic certainly—to which this prosody does not apply, except partially, if it applies at all. But all poetries that depend upon metre—that is to say, on the arrangement of equivalenced syllabic values in certain recurring orders—are governed by the laws which the Greeks discovered, and which the Greeks exemplified. On this side, therefore (and it is a most important side), the literary critic owes them everything. They have furnished him with every tool that he requires for taking to pieces the mechanism of the Ancient Mariner, as well as of the choruses, of the Agamemnon, of the odes of Hugo as well as of those of Pindar, of the Nordsee of Heine as of the fragments of Sappho and Alcæus. And it is not at all improbable that if we possessed more of their work on prose rhythm, that subject also, and the kindred one of the so-called accentual rhythms of Latin and early Teutonic verse, would be almost as much facilitated.

When we pass beyond these elements and come to the general subject of Rhetoric (which, it must be remembered, in at least some places is recognised as covering the whole of graphica lexis) and Poetics, the advances in both departments, but especially in the latter, are still very great, if not so great proportionately. We have only one poetical kind—that of Tragedy, as understood by the Greeks themselves, and practised by the three great tragedians—which has been subjected to a thorough critical examination in extant text. But then this examination is so thorough that, in reference to the particular kind, hardly anything has been added since. We have, in reference to the capital example of another kind, Epic (again as understood by the Greeks), a large variety of treatments, from Aristotle to Longinus, which, if they do not give as firm and systematic a theory of this as of the former, yet go far towards doing so. Of the remaining divisions of poetry we learn, it must be confessed, less from the Greeks; and even in examples we are, except in so far as the Ode and the Idyl are concerned, very lamentably ill supplied. But in the one case, as in the other, the fragments are precious. And it may in such a book as the present, be pardonable once more to point to the feather in the 203cap of Criticism furnished by the fact that, but for two critics, we should be destitute of these two great lyrics of Sappho which, outside the contents of drama, are the crown and flower of Greek lyrical poetry.

In prose the same complete examination was only given, and, in the special conditions so often referred to, could only have been given, to one, and that the least important of all the divisions of prose literature—to Oratory. Oratory is, after all, the prose literature of the savage. It is in no degree a contradiction to this that it should have reached its highest pitches at periods which were not at all savage—in the palmy days of Athens, in the agony of the Republic at Rome, in the England of the eighteenth century—for it is scarcely necessary to take into account the one period of modern times when savagery ruled once more supreme, the French Revolution, though Oratory certainly did then share the shameful throne. This confirms the doctrine just laid down simpliciter, the others confirm it indirectly. In the great age of Greece savagery was passing; but the efforts of civilisation were directed to making perfect what the savage ages had regarded as most important. The whole condition of Roman life tended to support oratory. And in eighteenth-century England it so happened that poetry was in abeyance; prose fiction was making its way half in the dark; history was but just rising and philosophy, though still much cultivated, had not got out of the strangling grasp of Locke. Even if these propositions be disputable, the fact of the predominance of oratory in Greece is not,not, nor is the thoroughness (surpassing even that of the treatment of tragedy) which was accorded to its study.

Inadequate, however, as was the treatment of prose kinds in general by the Greeks, even with such examples before them as Plato and Thucydides and Herodotus, they did treat them: and their treatment of the main critical aspects of prose was, if not always well directed, even more searching and thorough than their treatment of verse. They did not neglect rhythm as it was neglected, with rare exceptions, by all modern criticism till recently. They bestowed upon prose diction much of the sometimes to us not fully intelligible, but constantly fruitful, 204care which they had also bestowed on the diction of poetry. They hit at once on the great fundamental principle—that while ordinary language breeds clearness, language of an unfamiliar character (from whatever source that unfamiliarity may be derived) breeds the power of striking—which again not all modern critics, nor even the majority of modern critics, seem to have been able to grasp. And then they hit upon the Figures.

A good deal of evil—too much some may think—has here been spoken of the Figures: it will, at any rate, dispense us from saying any more in this place, though the occasion for doing so may recur. But the good of them as an exercise—as, in the language of their own curious technique, a progymnasma—cannot be exaggerated. Short of the merest rote-work, the consideration of them, the realisation of what they meant, the investigations necessary to refer to one or the other head the phrases of the great writers, were all of them critical processes, the defect rather than the excess of which is to be reproached upon most modern criticism. Exclaim as we may against the practice of ticketing a peculiarity of style as if it were an atom, scientifically isolated, foreordained from the creation of things, and merely gathered and applied by the writer—yet it required at least some exercise of the pure critical spirit to separate this atom, consider it, class it. Figure-hunting and figure-shaping may have been aberrations of the critical spirit, but they showed that spirit: they may have led too many to acquiesce in mere terminology, but they showed the way to something very different from any such acquiescence.

If, finally, we turn to the results of Greek criticism as applied to Greek authors, we come to a region necessarily of doubt, if not exactly of dread. The preoccupations of the writers in various directions, which have already been mentioned, and the occasional difficulty of placing ourselves at their point of view, make the necessary adjustments difficult, but they do not make them hopeless.

In Homeric criticism, the oldest, the largest, and in some respects at least the most interesting department of the whole subject, we find less difference from somewhat similarly situated 205bodies of criticism in other times than might be expected by some—as little as might be expected by others. As with Shakespeare, as with Dante, as with Cervantes, as with Molière, we find a vast body of unintelligent, if respectable, plodding, and of futile, if occasionally ingenious, crotchet and hypothesis. As in those cases, we find the phenomenon, curious if it were not so familiar, of a sort of personal partisanship or antipathy—two things the most unfavourable to criticism, yet the most frequently found in connection with it.^[275] What we do not find, in any satisfactory measure, is literary criticism, pure and simple. The critics are constantly drawn away to side questions, after a fashion which is only more excusable than similar conduct in modern times because of the very different relations in which Homer stood to the Greeks. We have talked (Heaven knows!) nonsense enough about Shakespeare as it is. How much more should we have talked if he had been at once the oldest and greatest of our men of letters, the most ancient literary repository of our history, and a kind of Scripture, a religious document, as well? To the Greek Homer was all this, and more than all this. To the student of language he presented the oldest literary exponent of it, to the lover of poetry the admittedly sovereign poet. But neither could bring himself to regard him merely in these lights. The Greeks cared less than the Romans, and very much less than most modern nations, for personal genealogy;genealogy; the personal grudge and jealousy which is the ugliest feature of the Greek character, but which is probably inseparable from small democratic societies, made too strongly against this. Very rarely do we find in Greeks any of the feeling which made Romans cherish the notion of being descended from the fabulous companions of Æneas, and from the perhaps not fully historical heroes of the monarchy and the early republic—which, to this day, makes all, save foolish fanfarons of freedom from prejudice, rejoice in the possession, or regret the absence, of a Crusading ancestor. On 206the other hand, local patriotism and local pride were as notoriously strong in the Greek breast; and to the latest periods we find, not merely Homer but even Herodotus, treated exclusively as if they were stores of flattering or unflattering particulars about the critic’s birthplace and its history. Again, most Greeks were religious, if not quite in our way, and almost all Greeks were interested in philosophy. With religious and even with philosophical questions Homer had been for ages (even at the beginning of the bulk of the literature that we have) so intimately associated that few could disentangle themselves from the associations. If we refuse to remember that the questions discussed resemble rather the questions of Original Sin, or of Innate Ideas, than those of Classic and Romantic, it may astonish us that age after age should busy itself unweariedly with the discussion of Homer’s moral or immoral purpose in depicting the scenes between Helen, Paris, and Aphrodite, between Zeus and Hera with the cestus, instead of dilating upon the character-force of the first scene and the voluptuous beauty of the second. But if we realise the motives which actuated them, we shall be less surprised to find so little literary criticism of Homer.

We have far more in regard to the Tragedians, and for obvious reasons: indeed we have more strictly literary criticism in regard to the drama than to any other division of Greek literary art. The estimates of the Three in general seem to have been not very different from what we should expect, but still somewhat different. The magnificence of Æschylus struck the scrupulous Greek taste as too often approaching bombast, and we look with surprised disappointment for so much as a single appreciation of his unequalled choruses (that of Dion, noted above, is slight and little to the point). With the Greek public generally Euripides seems, on the whole, and putting different times together, to have been the favourite of the three, and if the critics were less favourable to him, it was rather for extra-literary than for literary reasons. Public and critics together seem to have felt for Sophocles that special esteem, as distinguished, perhaps, from actual enthusiasm, which has descended to us moderns as a sort of venerable convention—to be acquiesced 207in even when we do not actively share it, and to be transformed occasionally into vehement championship. Only from Longinus do we learn that Sophocles was considered to be far from impeccable, but to atone for his faults by his beauties: and Longinus himself, unfortunately, does not tell us what the faults were.

The Orators have naturally been discussed with greater minuteness than any other group, nor have the results of the discussion been much interfered with by modern study. The pre-eminence of Demosthenes was as much “matter of breviary” with Dionysius as with Longinus, with Longinus as with Hermogenes: and if Aristotle says little about his mighty contemporary, we know what the great ox was that trod on his tongue. Necessarily the criticism bears largely—indeed almost entirely—on the oratorical effect; but this effect, narrowly studied as it was, in the hopes of, at any rate to some extent, reproducing it, was analysed into parts which had not a little to do with literature. And, except in Longinus himself (some of whose best remarks are on the orators), there is no chapter of Greek literary criticism richer than the commentaries of Dionysius on these orators generally.

In the same way, Plato seems to have early won, and easily kept, his proper place at the head of philosophers who are men of letters, while the more mannered graces of Isocrates seem, at least generally, to have been put in their proper position. That so obvious, and at the same time so complicated and tempting, a contrast as that of the historical manners of Thucydides and Herodotus should escape quickwitted students was of course impossible; but here those drawbacks, to which reference has been made above, are specially apparent. The animus of Dionysius against the one is as patent, though not quite so stupid, as that of Plutarch or the pseudo-Plutarch against the other; and on the whole the ancient critics seem to have stuck, with surprising want of energy and acuteness, in the commonplace contrast of the instructive and the amusing, instead of going on to the far more interesting contrast of strict literary manner which the two authors offer.

Of the other kinds we have much more scattered and less 208satisfactory observations. The Greeks were clearly not happy with their Comedy; they were half ashamed of Aristophanes, who might suffice for the glory of a whole literature; and they seem to have too often ranked the ingenious and fertile, but distinctly thin and “pretty,” talent of Menander above his. The same curious kind of mistaken belittling would appear to have hung upon Lyric. Both upon these and several other kinds, from Dithyramb to Mimiambics, they remind us of the apologetic remarks of our own eighteenth-century censors on the work of their own time, which, from the point of view of universal literature, will last longest and rank highest—fiction, essay, and the like. In fact, this mistaken calculus of appraisement of kinds is one of the main notes of the whole subject.

The punishment, as usual, has been adjusted to the crime; and the merit, as usual also, has met with its reward from the secure judgment of the world. The more a man knows Greek literature the more deeply will he be impressed with the inestimable services which, in criticism as elsewhere, the Greeks rendered to humanity. But the more he knows other literatures, besides Greek, the more will he be convinced of the necessity of enlarging, extending, and at the same time correcting, the Greek point of critical view.

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