It is a widely accepted commonplace in Marlowe criticism that the character of Tamburlaine was essentially created by Marlowe himself. From this assumption it was easy to advance a step further and declare that in creating this character the dramatist was actually drawing his own spiritual portrait, so that we may accept the figure of the Tartar conqueror as a faithful expression of Marlowe's own personality. Indeed, from this point of view Tamburlaine, being free from the hampering restrictions of flesh and blood, might be regarded perhaps as more genuinely Marlowe than Marlowe in the flesh.

The news of Tennyson's death affected Bradley profoundly, propelling her back to a pastoral, “Victorian” past that seems remote from her urban fin de siècle world of the Underground and rapid-cycle tabloid news. Bradley is returned, she writes, to “days when ‘The Miller's Daughter’ bounded my horizons.—My way of looking at the universe was unquestionably determined by Tennyson” (Field, Works 5: 5).

There is fairly concerted agreement among Romance scholars that the word nuance had as its antecedent a verb nuer constructed on the noun nue ‘cloud,‘ which is derived from the Latin word nubes through the Vulgar Latin form *nuba. Diez (ii-c, 648), Hatzfeld and Darmesteter (s.v. Nue, Nuer), Meyer-Lübke (REW 5974), and Bloch and von Wartburg (s.v. Nue) concur in this etymology, which has been most recently summarized by Dauzat. The path of derivation which Dauzat describes is essentially as follows : 1) an archaic verb nuer, conveying the meaning of the modern verb nuancer, and now used only as a technical term, was derived, through the suggestion of the varied tints of clouds, from the noun nue (attested in the twelfth century [Littré, s.v. Nue]); 2) the verb nuer is attested in the year 1352 in the expression or nué, according to Bloch and von Wartburg, and appears in the works of d'Aubigné in the sixteenth century; 3) from the verb nuer is derived the noun nuance, which is attested in 1611 in Cotgrave; 4) the verbal form nuancer appears in the works of d'Aubigné as nuancé in the sixteenth century, and is attested in the 1701 edition of the dictionary of Furetière; and 5) the verb nuancer superseded the archaic verb nuer.

Many a man of letters who has been accounted great in his own time and whose work has had no little influence on the world's literature has ceased to be a person of any interest in later years, and his works are no longer read. Few such men have left so little record of themselves, or have inspired in these latter days of research so little interest, so little desire to make inquiry into their lives and personalities as has Nicholas Grimald. Nevertheless, John Bale, the first writer of English literary history, tells how renowned he was in that day, and calls him the foremost alumnus of Cambridge and not the least glory of his time. Indeed, he might well be regarded as such. Next to Sir Thomas Wyatt and Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, he was the principal contributor to the first anthology of English poetry, then known as Songes and Sonnettes, now known as Tottel's Miscellany, a book which enjoyed astonishing popularity. A second edition of it appeared within a month of the first, and eight editions appeared within twenty years. His name is here joined to those of two men who are still remembered. Another reason for the interest of posterity is that two of Grimald's poems in this volume, “The Death of Zoroas,” and “Marcus Tullius Ciceroes Death,” were the first compositions in blank verse to be published in the English language. The credit, to be sure, is commonly given to Surrey for having written the first blank verse, for although the translation in that poetic form which he made of the second and the fourth book of the Aeneid was published June 21, 1557, a little over two weeks later than Songes and Sonnettes, it must have been written at least ten years before, as Surrey died in 1547. Nevertheless, it is not improbable that Grimald's compositions in blank verse were done even before Surrey's, for in 1547 he was appointed lecturer in rhetoric at Christ Church, Oxford. Warton suggests that Grimald's verses were “prolusions or illustrative practical specimens for our author's course of lectures in rhetoric.” But he had previously been engaged in literary work for some years. His poetic drama, Christus Redivivus, which was published in 1543, was written about 1539, when, as he says in its dedicatory epistle, he was about twenty. In 1548, he published his Archipropheta, which shows him to be a master of a variety of verse forms.

I start with the obvious starting point: the gap between teaching and scholarship. For the most part, the conceptions of the arts and sciences which are presented to children in school are not those that contemporary scholars regard as being in fact the elementary principles of those subjects as now conceived. I think it was the mathematicians who first realized that the elementary mathematics taught in schools reflected conceptions of the subject that were centuries out of date. They have begun to do something about this, and to try to develop a curriculum for mathematics which will present, in a logical sequence, a contemporary view of what mathematics is. Other subjects, including English, remain uncoordinated, based on what are at best ad hoc principles. At one end there are the techniques for teaching children to read, which are said to be very efficient when they work, and at the other there are the survey courses of the first year in university, designed to give a student some notion of the chronological order in which the great classics got written. I think it should be possible to work out a curriculum for the intervening stages which will treat literature as a progressive and systematic study, and which will furnish the student with something of tangible and permanent value at whatever stage he drops out of it. It seems to me that, as with mathematics, the first procedure is to make sure that the literary sequence makes sense in itself, regardless of its relations with other subjects, even in elementary school. The relation with other subjects is certainly important and essential, but must come later in consideration.

There are approximately six billion people living in the world today, of whom roughly one billion are well off (living at or near Western standards) while three billion live on less than two dollars a day; two billion are in between, though even the most fortunate among them are at least fifty percent below the standards of the top one billion (Summers). The trend, unfortunately, is toward more wealth at the top, more poverty at the bottom, and the population is growing fastest where needs are greatest (estimates for population growth by 2050 range from about eight to nearly twelve billion). The United Nations Population Fund report from which these facts are taken furthermore points out that the

One does not have to be a prophet to predict large global crises—military, political, migratory, environmental, health-related, concerning international law, and so forth—that will affect if not us, then surely our students' generation.

In a previous article I criticized at some length the various approaches to the problem of cultural generations or age-groups in German thought from Goethe to the present day. As pointed out there, it was Wilhelm Dilthey who really developed this concept as a methodological principle. In this connection he once recommended the application of statistical methods to literary research. In spite of the great amount that has otherwise, particularly in recent years, been written on the subject in Germany, this suggestion of Dilthey's has never been followed up. To be sure, some authors, e.g. Hans von Müller, have given us long and laboriously compiled catalogues of authors listed according to their birth dates and on that basis periodized in age-groups. But neither the selection of names nor the dividing lines between the groups are based on any objective principle. Müller imposes a self-devised system of periodization on a self-selected list of representative writers. Nor is such subjectivity limited to this particular case. The entire methodological idea of age-groups based on birth dates has therefore widely fallen into disrepute as an unsound subjective fantasy. In my above-mentioned paper I expressed the hope of enhancing the validity of the age-group principle by trying to establish a truly objective basis. This problem had first presented itself to me in connection with studies in very recent German “Geistesgeschichte” and had led me to a statistical approach even before I was aware of Dilthey's demand for such.

Karel Čapek's novel Hordubal is the first part of a trilogy which embodies a definition of human individuality and of the relation of the individual to the social order. As René Wellek has observed, the trilogy “centers around problems of truth and reality and constitutes one of the most successful attempts at a philosophical novel in any language.”

Beowulf confronts the limits of knowledge in various forms: the unknowability of death, the secretive behavior of the poem's monsters, the epistemological distance of the past, and our inevitably fragmentary understanding of the poem itself. In the process, the poem also tells us something important about the methods and possibilities that it imagines for the work of discovery and literary interpretation more broadly. Scholars commonly address the poem as a text whose secrets need uncovering, but the poem's engagement with the mechanics of secrecy can be a cue for thinking through our own methods as literary critics in encounters with texts of the past. If we take Beowulf's treatment of secrecy as a guide for the poem's hermeneutic potential, then we find that the poem invites a kind of reading that rigorously, yet humbly, acknowledges how little we can actually know.

The romantic tale of Gul o Sanaubar ‘Rose and Cypress’ is one of the traductions de l'Hindoustani which Garcin de Tassy printed in 1876. In his avertissement the translator explains :

j'ai réuni dans ce volume quelques-unes de mes traductions .... de récits .... publiés anciennement et depuis longtemps épuisés.... Je n'ai reproduit ni les textes, ni les préfaces, ni les notes d'érudition qui accompagnaient les premières éditions de quelques-unes de ces traductions.....

This report of recommendations on modern foreign languages is the second part of a six-year sequence in curriculum study of the National Association of Secondary-School Principals. Within the six-year period, it is planned to portray the components of a balanced secondary-school curriculum.

The timetable of this report began when an Ad Hoc Committee of national experts and administrators met in November 1958 to agree on a statement of position on modern foreign languages in junior and senior high schools. The tentative paper they formulated was submitted for analysis and discussion by principals attending the 43rd Annual Convention in Philadelphia, February 7-11, 1959. In light of the comments and suggestions made by these principals, the statement was revised and then resubmitted to the Ad Hoc Committee. Thereafter, further revisions were made. The report now appears in completed form and is believed to represent the informed judgment of thousands of secondary-school leaders and modern language specialists throughout the nation.

The Committee on Curriculum Planning and Development officially adopted these recommendations and the Executive Committee officially approved them, May 7, 1959.

In one form or another, the issue of the Querelle des Anciens et des Modernes is forever recurring in French literature. Whether the various forms of literature, and in particular poetry and the drama, shall follow the models offered by classical antiquity or shall resolutely draw their inspiration from contemporary civilization, is a question that has more than once caused passionate argument and unloosed floods of eloquence. The problem rose again toward the middle of the last century. It has been customary to say that there was at that time a reaction against the romanticists (i. e. the moderns) resulting in the establishment of the Parnassian school whose spirit was largely classical. That, however, is not the whole truth. At the time when Leconte de Lisle, Ménard, and others were struggling for recognition as poets, there existed also a group which, far from condemning the romanticists as too modern, considered them not sufficiently modern, and called for a reform in French poetry through a utilization of modern industry as a source of inspiration. The contrast between this group and the Parnassians is even more striking than that between either of them and the romanticists. The chief object of this article is to show how the suggestion of a rapprochement between poetry and modern industry came to be made, and to relate the controversy which followed. The latter centered in a book little known today: Les Chants Modernes by Maxime Du Camp. The secondary object of this paper is, therefore, to place Les Chants Modernes in their true historical light.

The early Elizabethan conception of a line of poetry is best illustrated by Puttenham, who compares it to a day's journey in which the traveler rests twice, at noon and at night.” The end-stopped line which results from this conception gives increased importance to the rime; indeed, Puttenham considers it the equivalent of classical “currantnesse” of foot, which “passed the whole verse throughout, whereas our concordes keepe but the latter end of every verse.” Rime is even placed above meter: “your concordes containe the chief part of Musicke in your meetre.” The preference is clearly for rich heavy rimes, with an echo. For this reason monosyllables are most desirable; since “in them, if they finish the verse, resteth the shrill accent of necessitie, and so doth it not in the last of every bissilable, nor of every polisillable word.” Rime is not merely good or bad; it has its own decorum: some words an i figures are suitable for one style but not for others, and the same is true of “concord and measure.?” Thus rimes which fall on the last syllable are “sweetest and most commendable”; those falling on the penultimate syllable are “more light and not so pleasant”; and those upon the antepenultimate syllable are “most unpleasant of all, because they make your meeter to light and triviall, and are fitter for the Epigrammatist or Comicall Poet.” ? Light endings are for light verse; even Daniel seems to agree with this opinion when he says that feminine rimes are “fittest for Ditties.”

Es ist bekannt, daβ der ältere Nietzsche mit den schärfsten und bittersten Gegnern Martin Luthers gehört, die bis heute gegen ihn und die deutsche Reformation auf den Plan getreten sind. Weniger bekannt scheint zu sein, daβ der junge Nietzsche, der Verfasser der Geburt der Tragödie, der Bildungsanstaltenvorträge und der unzeitgemäβen Betrachtungen, für den deutschen Reformator und sein Werk warme, ja wärmste Worte der Verehrung gefunden hat. Plötzlich und scheinbar unvermittelt wendet sich dann der Nietzsche des Menschlichen-Allzumenschlichen gegen den eben noch öffentlich gepriesenen Luther und verbrennt, was er, wenn auch nicht angebetet, so doch emphatisch gelobt und gutgeheiβen hatte. Zweifellos ist nun das Sonderproblem des Umschwungs in Nietzsches innerer Einstellung zu Luther nur ein Teil des Allgemeinproblems des groβen Wandels überhaupt, der sich in Nietzsches Denken seit etwa der Mitte der siebziger Jahre bemerkbar macht. Ohne diese wesentlichen Zusammenhänge des hier zu behandelnden Spezialproblems mit der Gesamtwandlung Nietzsches aus den Augen zu verlieren, hat es dennoch etwas ungemein Verlockendes, den Sonderfall ‘Nietzsche-Luther’ aus dem ganzen Problemkomplex einmal behutsam herauszulockern, ohne ihn vollständig herauszulösen. Es wäre sogar nicht ausgeschlossen, daβ bei solch induktivem Vorgehen möglicherweise neues Licht auf die m. E. immer noch nicht befriedigend beantwortete Grundfrage nach den tieferen Ursprüngen des zweiten Nietzsche fiele. Wie konnte es geschehen—so soll das vorliegende Individualproblem formuliert werden–-, daβ aus dem Lutherverehrer in kurzer Zeit ein Lutherfeind wurde? Wie schon angedeutet, ist dies nur ein Teil und zwar ein dem Nichtfachmann wohl kaum in die Augen springender Teil der Gesamtfrage, wie aus Nietzsche dem Metaphysiker und Kunstjünger der wissenschaftlich-theoretische Mensch wurde, aus dem Wagnerverehrer der Wagnerfeind. Was unsere Spezialfrage angeht, so ist vorerst unter Heranziehung aller Tatsachen genau zu untersuchen, wie sich das Lutherbild des jungen Nietzsche eigentlich entwickelt hat und wie umfassend und tiefgehend es wirklich gewesen ist. Mit andern Worten, es soll festgestellt werden, welcher Art der Luther war, den der frühe Nietzsche verehrte und bald darauf verwarf.

Flaubert's representation of the 1848 revolution in L'éducation sentimentale brings irony and the sublime into a relation of simultaneous opposition and dependency. An uncertain irony constructs the revolution as an aporia: as both an impoverished imitation of 1789 (a cliché) and a tragic modern apocalypse. Particularly in the famous Fontainebleau episode, where the rhetorical violence of irony is enacted in the analogy between the awesome turbulence of nature and the chaos of a nonteleological historical process, irony gives rise to the affects of fear and transport characteristic of the sublime. And the turn from an uncanny irony to the countermode of self-empowerment is set in motion by the same fear of death that haunts the novel's historiographical intertext, the Micheletist cliché of resurrection. But while the Micheletist sublime constructs a version of historical and ontological truth, the Flaubertian sublime transforms meaninglessness itself into power. Reified as ideology, that power would be neither inflexible nor monolithic, for it emerges and recedes repeatedly in the context of a self-interrogating and fundamentally ironic narrative. (VKR)

Friedrich Vogt fasste seine Ausführungen über Carl von Kraus' bahnbrechendes Reinmarwerk wie folgt zusammen (AfdA. 40 [1921], 126 f):

To students of the classics the Roman practice of declamation has long been known as an influence on Roman satire and drama and on the early Greek romance. Apparently this rhetorical exercise is less well known to students of English drama, for in the standard histories and editions there is little to be found on the subject. Yet the controversia, the most important form of declamation, affected English drama early and late. A Renaissance imitation of a controversia furnished the plot of the earliest surviving secular play in English, Henry Medwall's Fulgens and Lucrece (1497?), and some of the Roman originals provided the most fashionable dramatists of the Jacobean era with plots for a number of plays. Of these, Massinger and Field's The Fatal Dowry (1618-19?), whose source has not previously been identified, is an unusually fine example of the transformation of controversia into drama. The early interlude and the later tragedy, examined side by side, reveal much of the operation of this special branch of classical rhetoric. I shall suggest that the controversia gave much more than plots to the English playwrights—that it influenced literary theory, method, and style.

Scholars have for many years been showing how responsive Walt Whitman was to the world around him and how his writings reflect his interest in the affairs and ideas of mid-nineteenth-century America. Not only are the rhythms and tones of contemporary opera and oratory incorporated in his poetic style, but so also are contemporary scientific, social, and cultural interests scattered throughout the content of his prose and the imagery of his verse. My purpose here is to show Whitman's indebtedness to the contemporary fad of animal magnetism, especially concerning its appearance in the phraseology and nature of many of his poetic images and in his conceptions of the poet and the leader.