Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Droeshout Figures Author's Rhetorical Self-Disfigurement

 Droeshout as Figure. Rhetorical Disfigurement through Vices/Deformities of Style - A Disarticulate/Disjoined Shakespeare:

Disarticulating Fantasies: Figures of Speech, Vices, and the Blazon in Renaissance English Rhetoric
Grant Williams

 ...In his section on ornament, Puttenham suggests the process by which figures permit the subject to gain an illusory ascendancy over the self: they equip the writer or speaker with the means to burnish and fashion his language into a “style” (119), which amounts to nothing less than “the image of man [mentus character] for man is but his mind” (124). This argument about style being the image of the speaker/writer is a popular topos in Renaissance writing and finds its most lucid expression in Jonson’s Timber, or Discoveries, a text, like Puttenham’s, which conjoins rhetoric with poetry. Quoting in the margin Vives’s terse expression “Oratio imago animi,” that is, “speech is the image of the soul,” Jonson asserts,

No glasse renders a mans forme or likeness, so true as his speech. Nay, it is likened to a man: and as we consider feature, and composition in a man; so words in Language: in the greatness, aptnesse, sound, structure, and HARMONY of it. (78)

The implications of this Renaissance topos are obvious: since style is the self, the instruments for shaping, controlling and beautifying that style – the figures – empower the individual to fashion his own identity.


Or have it fashioned for him:

To the Reader.
This Figure, that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut,
Wherein the Graver had a strife
with Nature, to out-doo the life :
O, could he but have drawne his wit
As well in brasse, as he hath hit
His face ; the Print would then surpasse
All, that was ever writ in brasse.
But, since he cannot, Reader, looke
Not on his Picture, but his Booke.



Letter 114. On style as a mirror of character  
CXIV. On Style as a Mirror of Character1. You have been asking me why, during certain periods, a degenerate style of speech comes to the fore, and how it is that men's wits have gone downhill into certain vices – in such a way that exposition at one time has taken on a kind of puffed-up strength, and at another has become mincing and modulated like the music of a concert piece. You wonder why sometimes bold ideas – bolder than one could believe – have been held in favour, and why at other times one meets with phrases that are disconnected and full of innuendo, into which one must read more meaning than was intended to meet the ear. Or why there have been epochs which maintained the right to a shameless use of metaphor. For answer, here is a phrase which you are wont to notice in the popular speech – one which the Greeks have made into a proverb: "Man's speech is just like his life."[1] 2. Exactly as each individual man's actions seem to speak, so people's style of speaking often reproduces the general character of the time, if the morale of the public has relaxed and has given itself over to effeminacy. Wantonness in speech is proof of public luxury, if it is popular and fashionable, and not confined to one or two individual instances. 3. A man's ability[2] cannot possibly be of one sort and his soul of another. If his soul be wholesome, well-ordered, serious, and restrained, his ability also is sound and sober. Conversely, when the one degenerates, the other is also contaminated. Do you not see that if a man's soul has become sluggish, his limbs drag and his feet move indolently? If it is womanish, that one can detect the effeminacy by his very gait? That a keen and confident soul quickens the step? That madness in the soul, or anger (which resembles madness), hastens our bodily movements from walking to rushing?


The Magnetick Lady - Jonson

 Pro. The Boy is too hard for you. Brother Damplay,
best mark the Play, and let him alone.
   Dam. I care not for marking the Play: I'll damn it,
talk, and do that I come for. I will not have Gentle-
lose their Privilege, nor I my self my Prerogative,
for ne'er an over-grown or superannuated Poet of 'em
all. He shall not give me the Law: I will censure,
and be witty, and take my Tabacco, and enjoy my
Magna Charta of Reprehension, as my Predecessors have
done before me.
   Boy. Even to licence, and absurdity.


Absurd  - Musically, inharmonious, jarring, out-of-tune; adaptation of Latin surdus, inharmonious, tasteless, foolish, [and] surdus, deaf, inaudible, insufferable to the ear. also dull, silent, mute 


Anagrammata in Nomina Illustrissimorum Heroum (1603) By Francis Davison


1350-1400; Middle English armonye < Middle French < Latin harmonia < Greek harmonía joint, framework, agreement, harmony, akin to hárma chariot, harmós joint, ararískein to join together


 Out of joint Figure:

Notes to Horace, Art of Poetry:

The word PRODIGIALITER apparently refers to that fictitious monster, under which the poet allusively shadows out the idea of absurd and inconsistent composition. The application, however, differs in this, that, whereas the monster, there painted, was intended to expose the extravagance of putting together incongruous parts, without any reference to a whole, this prodigy is designed to characterize a whole, but deformed by the ill-judged position of its parts. The former is like a monster, whose several members as of right belonging to different animals, could by no disposition be made to constitute one consistent animal. The other, like a landscape which hath no objects absolutely irrelative, or irreducible to a whole, but which a wrong position of the parts only renders prodigious. Send the boar to the woods, and the dolphin to the waves; and the painter might show them both on the same canvas.
Each is a violation of the law of unity, and a real monster: the one, because it contains an assemblage of natural incoherent parts; the other, because its parts, though in themselves coherent, are misplaced and disjointed.


Disarticulating Fantasies: Figures of Speech, Vices, and the Blazon in Renaissance English Rhetoric
Grant Williams

In English Renaissance rhetoric manuals, the figure personifies language through a devious imaginary process. A common Renaissance appellation for figure, ornament, signals rhetorics sartorial capacity to dress language up as a desirable body. English rhetoricians regularly conceptualize the figure in terms of an ornament beautifying clothing; for example, in Henry Peacham, figures garnish speech just as perarls adorn “a gorfious Garment “ (f, A#); and in George Puttenham, the poet is like an embroiderer who sets a “stone and perle” or “passement of gold” upon “a Princely garment: (115). According to this logic, ornaments are inessential embellishments by which an already precious garment acquires an aesthetic enhancement, without threatening the garment’s originary autonomy. Yet, upon further inspection, the ornaments adorning these passages on ornaments betray their foundational, rather than subordinate, relationship to the ornamented speech. It is precisely the ornamented garement that permits speech to have an identity above and beyond the ornament.(…)The speech as a desirable object is likewise the imaginary effect of the figure as ornament.

However, ornament, congruent with Renaissance usage, may signify not only the embellishment on the garment but also the garment itself. For example, in Thomas Wilson, figures dress the actual speech in appropriate or inappropriate clothes (195). The slippage from “ornament on the clothing” to “ornament as clothing” suggests once more the figure’s constitutive function in conceptualizing speech. The figure can become anything the speech is, simply because the speech has been nothing but a figure. Language folded back onto itself, the sartorial figure quite literally  echoes a famous fashion statement: “the clothes make the man.” By dressing up in fancy attire, the speech becomes a desirable body.

In the Renaissance discourse of rhetoric, the figure involves itself in identity formation in two fundamental ways: it may reflect or project the writer/reader’s ego. With respect to an egocentric reflection, figures treat language as a site where the subject can master himself. Attempts at mastering language correspond to attempts at self-mastery, since “English rhetoricians are profoundly cognizant of the fact that language constitutes the domain of identity, although, as mentioned, they tend to domesticate the symbolic order, failing to move beyond the imaginary dialectic of self and other. In his section on ornament, Puttenham suggests the process by which figures permit the subject to gain an illusory ascendancy over the self: they equip the writer or speaker with the means to burnish and fashion his language into a “style” (119), which amounts to nothing less than “the image of man [mentus character] for man is but his mind” (124). This argument about style being the image of the speaker/writer is a popular topos in Renaissance writing and finds its most lucid expression in Jonson’s Timber or Discoveries, a text, like Puttenham’s , which conjoins rhetoric with poetry. Quoting in the margin Vives’s terse expression “Oratio imago animi,” that is, “speech is the image of the soul,” Jonson asserts,

No glasse renders a mans forme or likeness, so true as his speech. Nay, it is likened to a man: and as we consider feature, and composition in a man; so words in Language: in the greatness, aptnesse, sound, structure, and harmony of it. (78)

The implications of this Renaissance topos are obvious: since style is the self, the instruments for shaping, controlling and beautifying that style – the figures – empower the individual to fashion his own identity.

 Shadow - another name for Figure or Rhetorical Type:

This Shadow is renowned Shakespear's? Soule of th' age
The applause? Delight? The wonder of the Stage.
Nature her selfe, was proud of his designs
And joy'd to weare the dressing of his lines,
The learned will confess his works as such
As neither man, nor Muse can praise to much
For ever live thy fame, the world to tell,
Thy like, no age, shall ever paralell (1641 Folio)


Facade is thought to have come to English from the Vulgar Latin facia, meaning “face.” Along the way it passed through both Italian, as faccia, and French, as _façade. The earliest meaning of the word in English was in reference to the front portion of a building, it’s “face,” so to speak (and face itself is sometimes used to describe this part of a structure as well). Somewhere along the way _ facade_ took on a figurative sense, referring to a way of behaving or appearing that gives other people a false idea of your true feelings or situation. This is similar the figurative use of veneer, which originally had the simple meaning of a thin layer of wood that was used to cover something, and now may also refer to a sort of deceptive behavior that masks one’s actual feelings (as in, “he had a thin veneer of politeness”).

Origin and Etymology of face
Middle English, from Anglo-French, from Vulgar Latin *facia, from Latin facies make, form, face, from facere to make, do — more at do

Disarticulating Fantasies: Figures of Speech, Vices, and the Blazon in Renaissance English Rhetoric
Grant Williams

...As with all imaginary constructions, the fantasy engineered by figures proves

fascinating less for those moments when it succeeds in seducing subjects than
for those moments when it decomposes, disorienting and unsettling subjectiv-
ity. Because figures, far from being repressed in Renaissance writing, play a
prominent role in aestheticizing language, scholars informed by poststructuralism
should not confuse them with unconscious structures, but consider them as mecha-
nisms of repression. Consequently, when such mechanisms do not work, fantasy
fails to crystallize in language, forbidding any (mis)recognition of a unified de-
sire. What then decomposes fantasy, constituting the return of the repressed within
Renaissance writing? Anxieties over the breakdown of style center on a group
of figures excluded from rhetoric proper, figures that on their own comprise a
heterological rhetoric. The voiding of heterological rhetoric systematically oc-
curs in Quintilian's Institutes, which significantly influenced English rhetori-
cians. Before discussing ornament, Quintilian announces, "I must first touch
upon its opposite, since the first of all virtues is the avoidance of faults".
These opposing faults are the vices: the vitiated figures. In order to warn stu-
dents, Quntilian enumerates and defines the vices as though he were surveying a
vast, alternative oratorical field. Indeed, he refers students to an entire work he
has written on the malaise: De causis corruptae eloquentia-now lost. Although
the vices are purged from rhetoric, they still haunt the authorized figures, be-
cause style, susceptible to corruption in the same number of ways as it may be
adorned, may confound the two types: "where ornament is concerned,
vice and virtue are never far apart." At once repudiating and acknowledge-
ing a heterological rhetoric, Sherry, Puttenham, and Peacham reserve separate
sections for the vices in their treatises too.' Though Sherry and Peacham pardon
their sparing use in poetry, both deem vices insufferable in prose or oratory;
Puttenham, taking a slightly less generous view, warns, "all which partes are
generally to be banished out of every language, unless it may appeare that the
maker or Poet do it for the nonce". Officially abjected from rhetorical
practice yet always threatening to return to speech and writing, the vices are the
unconscious correlatives to the familiar figures.
Disarticulate (1830) first use – synonym disjoint

 De Shakespeare nostrat. I remember, the Players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing, (whatsoever he penn'd) hee never blotted out line. My answer hath beene, would he had blotted a thousand. Which they thought a malevolent speech. I had not told posterity this, but for their ignorance, who choose that circumstance to commend their friend by, wherein he most faulted. And to justifie mine owne candor, (for I lov'd the man, and doe honour his memory (on this side Idolatry) as much as any.) Hee was (indeed) honest, and of an open, and free nature: had an excellent Phantsie; brave notions, and gentle expressions: *wherein hee flow'd with that facility, that sometime it was necessary he should be stop'd*: Sufflaminandus erat; as Augustus said of Haterius. His wit was in his owne power; *would the rule of it had beene so too*. Many times hee fell into those things, could not escape laughter: As when hee said in the person of Cæsar, one speaking to him; Cæsar thou dost me wrong. Hee replyed: Cæsar did never wrong, but with just cause: and such like; which were ridiculous. *But hee redeemed his vices, with his vertues*. There was ever more in him to be praysed, then to be pardoned. 


Letter 114. On style as a mirror of character  
CXIV. On Style as a Mirror of Character

...Just as luxurious banquets and elaborate dress are indications of disease in the state, similarly a lax style, if it be popular, shows that the mind (which is the source of the word) has lost its balance. Indeed you ought not to wonder that corrupt speech is welcomed not merely by the more squalid mob but also by our more cultured throng; for it is only in their dress and not in their judgments that they differ. You may rather wonder that not only the effects of vices, but even vices themselves, meet with approval. For it has ever been thus: no man's ability has ever been approved without something being pardoned. Show me any man, however famous; I can tell you what it was that his age forgave in him, and what it was that his age purposely overlooked. I can show you many men whose vices have caused them no harm, and not a few who have been even helped by these vices. Yes, I will show you persons of the highest reputation, set up as models for our admiration; and yet if you seek to correct their errors, you destroy them; for vices are so intertwined with virtues that they drag the virtues along with them. Moreover, style has no fixed laws; it is changed by the usage of the people, never the same for any length of time. Many orators hark back to earlier epochs for their vocabulary, speaking in the language of the Twelve Tables. Gracchus, Crassus, and Curio, in their eyes, are too refined and too modern; so back to Appius and Coruncanius! Conversely, certain men, in their endeavour to maintain nothing but well-worn and common usages, fall into a humdrum style. These two classes, each in its own way, are degenerate; and it is no less degenerate to use no words except those which are conspicuous, high-sounding, and poetical, avoiding what is familiar and in ordinary usage. One is, I believe, as faulty as the other: the one class are unreasonably elaborate, the other are unreasonably negligent; the former depilate the leg, the latter not even the armpit.

17. Some individual makes these vices fashionable – some person who controls the eloquence of the day; the rest follow his lead and communicate the habit to each other. Thus when Sallust[15] was in his glory, phrases were lopped off, words came to a close unexpectedly, and obscure conciseness was equivalent to elegance.

 [His art doth give the fashion - Jonson on Shakespeare]

Ruling/Restraining Shakespeare's Quill:

From 'To the Deceased Author of these Poems' (William Cartwright)
by Jasper Mayne 

... For thou to Nature had'st JOYN’D Art, and skill.
In Thee Ben Johnson still HELD SHAKESPEARE'S QUILL:
A QUILL, RUL'D by sharp Judgement, and such Laws,
As a well studied Mind, and Reason draws.
Thy Lamp was cherish'd with suppolied of Oyle,
Fetch'd from the Romane and the Graecian soyle. (snip)

 Shakespeare's Open and Free Nature

licentiosus - full of freedom

liberal (adj.)
mid-14c., "generous," also, late 14c., "selfless; noble, nobly born; abundant," and, early 15c., in a bad sense "extravagant, unrestrained," from Old French liberal "befitting free men, noble, generous, willing, zealous" (12c.), from Latin liberalis "noble, gracious, munificent, generous," literally "of freedom, pertaining to or befitting a free man," from liber "free, unrestricted, unimpeded; unbridled, unchecked, licentious," from PIE *leudh-ero-, probably originally "belonging to the people" (though the precise semantic development is obscure; compare frank (adj.)), and a suffixed form of the base *leudh- "people" (cognates: Old Church Slavonic ljudu, Lithuanianliaudis, Old English leod, German Leute "nation, people;" Old High German liut "person, people").

With the meaning "free from restraint in speech or action," liberal was used 16c.-17c. as a term of reproach. It revived in a positive sense in the Enlightenment, with a meaning "free from prejudice, tolerant," which emerged 1776-88.

 Jonson, Timber, or Discoveries

 No glasse renders a mans forme or likeness, so true as his speech. Nay, it is likened to a man: and as we consider feature, and composition in a man; so words in Language: in the greatness, aptnesse, sound, structure, and harmony of it. (78)


Aretino and Michelangelo, Dolce and Titian: Femmina, Masculo, Grazia
Fredrika H. Jacobs

Non so che, that indefinable something associated with aesthetic grace (grazia) and charming elegance (leggiadria), was the acknowledged essence of love and beauty. In I libri della famiglia Alberti describes non so che as a "certain something... which attracts men and makes them love one person more than another." Many later critics and theorists, including Lodovico Dolce, agreed. As Cropper, Sohm and other scholars have noted, Dolce's use of non so che may be understood as the ineffable beauty of Petrarch's Laura. Indeed, the indeterminate and unbounded nature of sensible beauty that is part and parcel of non so che is implicit in the term vaghezza, which is related to vagare, meaning to wander or move about without a specific destination. Equicola captures the essence of the allusive indeterminacy in his discussion of the visual apprehension of grazia.

He begins by repeating the often noted observation that perfect beauty cannot be found in one place: "la singular grazia in una non ritrovarse." It is scattered and, therefore, must be collected and combined or reconstituted.


Because la perfetta bellezza cannot be found in one place, a man of total perfection ("uomo in tutta perfezzione") is a composite whole made of diverst parts. Danti explained the preferred compositional method advocated by Renaissance writers. Seeking the assistance of nature, the artist should "make use of various men, in each of whom some particular beauty is to be seen. And having taken this and that from this and from that man, they have composed their figures with more perfection than is possible in [nature].


 ‘Master of Courtship’ Edward De Vere - Intro, Castiglione's Courtier:

For what more difficult, more noble, or more magnificent task has anyone ever undertaken than our author Castiglione, who has drawn for us the FIGURE and MODEL of a courtier, a work to which nothing can be added, in which there is no redundant word, a portrait which we shall recognize as that of a highest and most perfect type of man. And so, although NATURE herself has made nothing perfect in every detail, yet THE MANNERS OF MEN exceed in dignity that with which NATURE has endowed them; and he who SURPASSES others has here SURPASSED himself and has even OUT-DONE nature, which by no one has ever been SURPASSED.

Greville, An Inquisition vpon Fame and Honour.

Who worship Fame, commit Idolatry,
Make Men their God, Fortune and Time their worth,
Forme, but reforme not, meer hypocrisie,
By shadowes, onely shadowes bringing forth,
Which must, as blossomes, fade ere true fruit springs,
(Like voice, and eccho) ioyn'd; yet diuers things.


That I not MIX thee so, my brain excuses:

Style and Gender in Public Performance
Amy Richlin
in Roman Eloquence: Rhetoric in Society and Literature

(ed. William J Dominik)

If one major source of anxiety about style was the danger of effeminacy, another - and related - source was the danger of resembling an actor. The sexuality of actors was itself suspect and actors (partly on that account) suffered a diminished status as infames - much like men marked as MOLLES. William Fitzgerald has suggested that poetry, as a public performance, might have been seen as itself akin to acting, hence tending to cast a shadow on the sexual integrity of poets. Certainly this was the case for oratory; the handbooks are full of insistent disclaimers explaining how orators, though as talented as actors, though very like actors, are really not like actors at all.

Comments on the theatre by other writers explain what underlies these [caveats]. Columella, who wrote on the quintessentially Roman and manly art of agriculture in the mid-first dentury CE, begins his book with a classic locus de saeculo that includes the following comment on the theatre (1 pr. 15): 'Astonished, we marvel at the gestures of effeminates (effeminatorum), that, by womanish movement, they counterfeit a sex denied to men by nature, and deceive the eyes of the spectators.' But both dancing and the theatre were extremely popular in Roman culture, even that hero of Roman conservatism, Scipio Aemilianus, 'moved that triumphal and military body of his to a rhythmical beat' (Sen. Tranq.17.4).

If Scipio was a manly dancer, this oxymoronic state seems to have been the precarious goal of the Roman orator. Quintilian's treatment of actio ('movement') is full of cautions about lapses in masculinity. Effeminate actio repels him (Inst. 4.2.390: 'They bend their voices and incline their necks and flail their arms against their sides and act sext (lasciviunt) in their whole style of subject matter, words and composition; finally, what is like a monstrosity (monstro), the actio pleases, while the case is not intelligible.'
Amy Richlin con't - In an extended passage (2.5.10-12), he [Quintilian] complains that 'corrupt and vice-filled ways of speaking' (corruptas et vitiosas orationes) find popular favour out of the moral degradation of their audience; they are full of what is 'improper, obscure, swollen, vulgar, dirty, sext, effeminate' (impropria, obscura, tumida, huilis, sordida, lasciva, effeminate). And they are praised precisely because they are 'perverse' (prava). Instead of speech that is 'straight' (rectus) and 'natural' (secundum naturam), people like what is 'bent' (deflexa). He concludes with a lengthy analogy between the taste for such speech and admiration for bodies that are 'twisted' (distortis) and 'monstrous' (prodigiosis) - even those that have been 'depilated and smoothed', adorned with curled hair and cosmetic, rather than deriving their beauty from 'uncorrupted nature' (incorrupta natura). 'The result is that is seems that beauty of the body comes from bad morals.'
 The bad body, in Quintilian's book, is that elsewhere associated with the cinaedus [catamite]; bad speech is effeminata, good speech is 'straight' and natural, tallying with the common assertion that the actions of the cinaedus are 'against nature'. The effeminate body stands both by metonymy and synecdoche for the kind of speech that Quintilian rejects; bad speech is both like such bodies and produced by such bodies.

(see Speculum Tuscanismi for Oxford's 'bad body' - Harvey
 Shakespeare - Sonnet 121

'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed,
When not to be receives reproach of being;
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed
Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing:
For why should others' false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Which in their wills count bad what I think good?
No, I am that I am, and they that level
At my abuses reckon up their own:
I may be straight though they themselves be bevel;
By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown;
   Unless this general evil they maintain,
   All men are bad and in their badness reign.

 Jonson, Ode to Shakespeare First Folio

Look how the father's face

Lives in his issue, even so the race

Of Shakespeare's mind and manners brightly shines

In his well-turned, and true-filed lines;

In each of which he *seems* to shake a lance,

As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance.
Soul of the age!
The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage!
MY Shakespeare, RISE!

Sweepings and Heaps:

Imitation and Praise in the Poems of Ben Jonson
By Richard S. Peterson

...Men should, Crites says [Jonson-type character in Cynthia’s Revels], ”Studie…/An inward comelinesse…that may conforme them…/To Gods high figures, which they have in power: (V.iv.643-6; IV, 158), and this is the goal the poet holds out to his living subjects in the poems. The moral outline or shape Jonson produces is an ideal one, charged with a sense of potential, movement, and change, to which the subject ought actively to conform his soul or mind – or simply continue to conform it, in the most admirable cases – by his own efforts and with the poet’s educative help. What Jonson says in Timber of the poet’s effect on his readers – adapting Quintilian on the orator’s effect on his listeners (Inst. Orat. II.5.8) – ideally applies to praised subjects as well: he “makes their minds like the thing he writes” (ll. 792-3; VIII, 588). His Platonic (or Socratic) and stoic strategy in this respect is perhaps clearest in instances where the collaboration between the poet and the owner of the soul proves an unequal one. If he has occasionally praised his subjects too much, Jonson declares in his epistle to Selden (according to the rhetorical mode of laudando praecipere, “praising to teach”) It was “with purpose to have MADE them such” (Und. 14, l.22) Even more revealing is Jonson’s sharp complaint “To my Muse”:

Away, a leave me, thou thing most abhord,
That hast betray’d me to a worthlesse lord;
Made me commit most fierce idolatrie
To a great image through thy luxurie.

… … …
But I repent me: Stay. Who e’re is rais’d,
For woth he has not, He is tax’d, not prais’d.
[Epig. 65 1-4, 15-16]

This description recalls not only Sir Epicure Mammon’s “most fierce idolatrie” in wooing Dol Common, as he “talke[s] to her, all in gold” (Alchemist IV. i.25-39; V, 360), but the “great image” of gold, Nebuchadnezzar’s symbol, which he dreams about and sets up to be worshiped (Dan. 2:31-8, 3:1-15) Failing a response, the noble shape raised by Jonson becomes merely a “great image” hollow or inert at its core [Rise! My Shakespeare}, and his worship of its potential, mere tribute paid to an idol – a strong contrast, as we shall see, to Jonson’s justifiable near-idolatry of the “full” and animated inner shapes that inhabit the cabinet which is Uvedale.
The sense of potential, of conduct as raw material from wish a shapely life of soul should be fashioned and raises like a statue, is forcefully conveyed in Jonson’s epistle to Sir Edward Sacvile (Und. 13). There the poet shows an accumulated “heape” of virtuous manners being effortfully raised to “stand” as a triumphal arch, which is then metamorphosed, as we watch, into the implied human figure of a colossus, a “wonder” of the world and a landmark (“marke”) or “note” of virtue:

‘Tis by degrees that men arrive at glad
Profit in ought; each day some little adde,
In time ‘twill be a heape; This is not true
Alone in money, but in manners too.
Yet we must more than move still, or goe on,
We must accomplish; ‘Tis the last Key-stone
That makes the Arch. The rest that there were put
Are nothing till that comes to bind and shut.
Then stands it a triumphal marke! Then Men
Observe the strength, the height, the why, and when,
It was erected; and still walking under
Meet some new matter to looke up and wonder!
Such Notes are virtuous men.

The parallel we have traced earlier between the need to gather in and transform in conduct as in literary activity holds true here. In describing how the individual soul fashions its heaped stock of manners into a towering form of virtue, the poet himself accumulates a generous heap of material from Plutarch (and from Hesiod, whose heap of money Plutarch has turned to a heap of virtue) and transforms the whole by adding a keystone from Seneca (Epist. 118, secs. 16-17): “one stone makes an archway – the stone which wedges the leaning sides and hold the arch together by its position in the middle. … Some things, through development, put off their former shape and are altered into a new figure” (quaedam processu priorem exuunt formam et in novam transeunt).
Indeed, Jonson’s works abound with “heapes.” These are admirable enough when they indicate bounty or a plentiful supply of raw material to be shaped. This in Jonson’s masque TheGypsies Metmorphos’d (1621), King James, on approaching the country house  of the Duke of Buckingham, is invited to “enter here/ The house your bountie hath built, and still doth reare/ With those highe favors, and those heapd increases: (ll. 11-13; VII, 565). And in a brief later elegy (Und. 63) Jonson consoles King Charles and his Queen for the loss of their firstborn by a reminder that “God, whose essence is so infinite, /Cannot but heape that grace, he will requite.” But on most occasions, heaps serve as symbols of inert material which is unable to stand or empty of animating, shaping spirit – the very antithesis of Jonson’s ideal. [Men stand, heaps ‘rise’?) A nameless, vicious courtier is “A parcel of Court-durt, a heape, and masse/ Of all vice hurld together” Und. 21), hardly distinguishable from the excrement in Fleet Ditch, “heap’d like a usurers masse” (“On the Famous Voyage,” Epig. 133, l.139); whole a lord fond of flatter is “follow’d with that heape/ That watch, and catch, at what they may applaud” (Und. 15, ll. 156-7). The healthy gathering instinct Jonson describes in the epistle to Sacvile is in sharp contrast to the hoarding of substance, unanimated by any generous impulse, described in the epistle to Sir Robert Wroth: “ Let that goe heape a masse of wretched wealth,/……/And brooding o’re it sit, with broades eyes,/Not doing good, scarce when he dyes: (For. 3, ll. 81-4). A house, too, lacking an indwelling owner, like a body without a soul, becomes a mere heap…(snip)
If the repugnance of the inert “heap” lies in its resistance to shaping, its lack of any inner impulse that could raise it to stand, conversely it is possible to stand and yet be hollow. Consider Jonson’s startling picrue (Und.44) of the ruined form of virtue, unhoused and dispossessed, beseechingly holding up her broken “Armes” (in an evocation of a defaced antique statue combined with a deft pun on the military target of the satire, the refusal of contemporary nobility to bear arms) to the empty “moulds” which have cast her out:

I may no longer on these picture stay,
These Carkasses of honour; Taylors blocks,
Cover’d with Tissue, whose prosperitie mocks
The fate of things: whilst totter’d virtue holds
Her broken Armes up, to the emptie moulds. [ll. 98-102]

Other forms, empty yet nevertheless ambulatory, are seen moving woodenly through the world of the Epigrammes. Of “English Mounsieur” (Epig. 88), with his Frenchified attire, the poet remarks: “is it some french statue? No: ‘T doth move,/ And stoupe, and cringe. O then, it needs must prove/ The new French tailors motion [puppet], monthly made, /Daily to turned in PAULS, and helpe the trade”(…)

Vituperation: My Shakespeare-Heap, Rise!

There the poet shows an accumulated “heape” of virtuous vicious manners being effortfully raised to “stand” as a triumphal arch, which is then metamorphosed, as we watch, into the implied human figure of a colossus monster, a “wonder” of the world and a landmark (“marke”) or “note” of virtue vice:

 Jonson's 'Monstrous' Encomium:
Tri'umph, my Britain, thou hast one TO SHOW
To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe.
He was not of an age but for all time!

  Another archaic definition of monster found in the OED is “to exhibit” or “to point out as something remarkable.” This usage is true to the Latin origin monstrāre, meaning “to show” or “point” (“monster”).-- Brumley, Mark Elliott


Declamation And Dismemberment: Rhetoric, The
Body, And Disarticulation In Four Victorian Horror Novels. (2015).

...Declamation, therefore, was originally a rhetorical training exercise that engaged students’ imaginations and asked them to adopt personas to deliver formal speeches. This training, Thomas Habinek writes, taught students to “impersonate a wide variety of characters, from slaves to gods, foreigners to Roman heroes, male and female, young and old, indiscriminately” (68).
Some of these characters and situations were disturbing, if not horrifying. In this way, rhetorical training exercises helped forge an enduring link between declamation and monstrosity.
Fully understanding this link requires readers to momentarily set aside associations of monstrosity with something frightening, freakish, unnatural, or large. The word monster has had multiple definitions throughout the years, and many of those definitions found their way into nineteenth-century culture. A forerunner of the modern word monster in the Old French of the twelfth century was mostre, which meant a “prodigy”or “marvel,” according to the Oxford English Dictionary. One correspondence found in the OED is an obsolete early modern definition of monster as a verb meaning “to assume the appearance of greatness.” Here is a clear connection to declamationas the act of assuming the persona or a great historical figure to deliver a formal speech. The links, however, do not end with one possible meaning. Another archaic definition of monster found in the OED is “to exhibit” or “to point out as something remarkable.” This usage is true to the Latin origin monstrāre, meaning “to show” or “point” (“monster”).
The same word is the origin for the French montrer, and the English “demonstrate” (“demonstrate”). As Michel Foucault points out in Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason, “monsters” are “etymologically, beings or things to be shown” (68).
Foucault refers specifically to the practice of publically exhibiting insane people, a practice that continued in England until the early nineteenth century. Foucault writes that accordingto a House of Commons report, “lunatics” at the hospital in Bethlehem were being exhibited on Sundays, with spectators being charged a penny. The annual revenue from the displays totaled nearly 400 pounds, indicating 96,000 visits per year (66). The insane people in these shows come closer to the modern sense of the word monster as something abnormal or deformed, something freakish. Yet another meaning for the word monster is suggested by the Latin word monēre, which means “to warn”(“monster”).
The meaning of monster as a warning is explained by Chris Baldick: “In a world created by a reasonable God, the freak or lunatic must have a purpose: to reveal visibly the results of vice, folly, and
unreason, as a warning” (10). So, both “declamation” and “monstrosity” can be construed generally as a display involving the body intended to send some sort of message. In this sense, “declamation” and “monstrosity” approximate the meaning of epideixis, the root of epideictic, whose “nearest equivalents in English are ‘display’‘show’‘demonstration’” (Carey 237).
Hawhee writes that “epidexis primarily meant a material or bodily display...,” one that “becomes manifest via discourse” (175).This link to epidexis adds another consideration, which is that no display is possible without an audience and its reaction. Hawhee cites Simon Goldhill’s point that “‘epidexis requires an audience’’” (qtd. in 175). She also states that “viewers ... are not passive recipients of the display and the knowledge it produces....” (176). Drawing on other scholarship, Hawhee writes that epideictic requires observation and judgment: “...epideictic discourse demands an active evaluation and response” (176).This is an important concept for this study, which claims that nineteenth-century horror fiction uses epideictic to produce fear in audiences by depicting characters’ encounters with monstrosities such as Frankenstein’s creature, Dracula, Edward Hyde, the Beast People, and Dorian Gray. Epideictic is evident in the characters’ negative reaction to the monstrosities, their inability to express it effectively in speech, and their transformations after the encounters.


The epideictic oratory, also called ceremonial oratory, or praise-and-BLAME rhetoric, is one of the three branches, or "species" (eidē), of rhetoric as outlined in Aristotle’s Rhetoric, to be used to praise or blame during ceremonies. (Wikipedia)

 Conceits, Clinches, Flashes and Whimzies (1639)

A foolish Gentleman, deformed likewise in his person, was called by one a monster. Nay, surely, said another, the Gentleman is merely naturall.

Jonson, on Shakespeare:
That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses,
I mean with great, but disproportion'd Muses,
For if I thought my judgment were of years,
I should commit thee surely with thy peers,
And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine,
Or sporting Kyd, or Marlowe's mighty line.


Horace Of the Art of Poetry - transl. Ben Jonson

...Most writers, noble sire and either son,
Are, with the likeness of the truth, undone.
Myself for shortness labour, and I grow
Obscure. This, striving to run smooth,
and flow,
Hath neither soul nor sinews. Lofty he
Professing greatness, swells; that, low by lee,
Creeps on the ground; too safe, afraid of storm.
This seeking, in a various kind, to form
One thing PRODIGIOUSLY, paints in the woods
A dolphin, and a boar amid the floods.
So shunning faults to greater fault doth lead,


Video meliora, proboque, deteriora sequor. I see better things, and approve, but I follow worse. Book VII, 20

 Hamlet - Strict Jonsonian in taste. Anti-Shakespearean in spirit. 'Scholar' Prince with his Horatio/Horace.

SCENE II. A hall in the castle.
Enter HAMLET and Players
Exeunt Players


Jonson, Magnetick Lady

CHORuS changed into an E P I L O G u E
to the K I N G.

Ell, Gentlemen, I now must under Seal,
      And th'
Author's charge, waive you, and make my
To the Supremest Power, my
Lord, the King;
   Who best can judge of what we humbly bring.
He knows our weakness, and the
Poets faults;
   Where he doth stand upright, go firm, or halts;
And he will doom him. To which Voice he stands,
   And prefers that, 'fore all the Peoples Hands.


The Poetics of Primitive Accumulation, Richard Halpern

Looking back somewhat sourly on the culture of the sixteenth century, Francis Bacon wrote that it was marked by

An affectionate study of eloquence and copie of speech, which then began to flourish. This grew speedily to an excess; for men began to hunt more after words than matter; and more after the choiceness of the hrase, and the round and clean composition of the sentence, and the sweet falling of the clauses, and the varying and illustration of their works with tropes and figures, than after the weight of matter, worth of subject, soundness of argument, life of invention, or depth of judgement…Then did Car of Cambridge, and Ascham, with their lectures and writings, almost deify Cicero and Demosthenes, and allure all young men that were studious unto that delicate and polished kind of learning…In sum, the whole inclination and bent of those times was rather towards copie than weight.

What concerns Bacon here is not an imbalance within literary style but the proliferation of stylistic elegance throughout all of serious discourse. Paradoxically, the very autonomy of style allows it to colonize and dominate all other discursive functions; and as if to illustrate this peril, Bacon’s own language falls temporarily under the spell of style, succumbing to a delight in the “round and clear composition of the sentence, and the sweet falling of the clauses.” This sudden access of eloquence is not a return of the repressed, however, but a witty tribute to the lures of a humanist tradition from which Bacon only halfheartedly tried to extricate himself.
     In assailing what one critic has called the “stylistic explosion” [Richard Lanham] of the sixteenth century, Bacon questions the values of the English literary Renaissance itself. Ciceronianism was only one small part of this movement, but more than any other it came to represent a mysterious addiction to style. Gabriel Harvey famously described his own bout with Ciceronianism in the confessional manner of a recovering alcoholic:

…..I valued words more than content, language more than thought, the one art of speaking more than the thousand subjects of knowledge; I preferred the mere style of Marcus Tully to all the postulates of philosophers and mathematicians; I believed that the bone and sinew of imitation lay in my ability to choose as many brilliant and elegant words as possible to reduce them into order, and to connect them together in a rhythmical period.

It is no accident…that Erasmus, who reorganized the teaching of Latin around the concept of style, also wrote the first modern book of manners. De civilitate morum puerilium (1530) taught children the codes of civil behaviour as a natural complement to the achievements of “lyberall science”; social manners and literary style thus cooperated to produce a subject “well fasshyoned in soule, in body, in gesture, and in apparayle.” The cultivation of a good Latin style now appears as part of a larger process of “fashioning” subjects – a process that submits not only language but also manners, dress, and comportment to ideal of “exactness and refinement.” If it is clear that stylistic pedagogy is a form of social discipline, it is equally certain that discipline is becoming stylized. For in defining civility as “outward honesty of the body” (externum…corporis decorum), Erasmus transforms a set of social behaviours into a bodily image. The “well-fashioned” or civil subject is an aesthetic ideal that expands the concept of “style” to cover the whole range of social bearing. To produce a civil subject is to produce a “style” – of manners, dress, and discourse. And social style, like the literary style that is now a part of it, is developed not through obedience to rules but through the mimetic assimilation of models. Thus De civilitate supplements a juridical approach to manners – the prescription and proscription of behaviours – with an imaginary logic. (snip) p32


Light and ornament

Light – lumina

Great brilliance – lumina magnum

Embellish – illuminare

Exornationes – ornament can also be thought of as ARMAMENTS as well as embroideries. Can be stripped away like clothes.