Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres: Lecture XXXV — Comparative Merit of the Ancients and the Moderns — Historical Writing
I have now finished that part of the course which respected oratory, or public speaking, and which, as far as the subject allowed, I have endeavoured to form into some sort of system. It remains, that I enter on the consideration of the most distinguished kinds of composition, both in prose and verse, and point out the principles of criticism relating to them. This part of the work might easily be drawn out to a great length; but I am sensible that critical discussions, when they are pursued too far, become both trifling and tedious. I shall study, therefore, to avoid unnecessary prolixity; and hope, at the same time, to omit nothing that is very material under the several heads.
I shall follow the same method here which I have all along pursued, and without which, these lectures could not be entitled to any attention; that is, I shall freely deliver my own opinion on every subject; regarding authority no farther than as it appears to me founded on good sense and reason. In former lectures, as I have often quoted several of the ancient classics for their beauties, so I have also, sometimes, pointed out their defects. Hereafter, I shall have occasion to do the same, when treating of their writings under more general heads. It may be fit that, before I proceed farther, I make some observations on the comparative merit of the ancients and the moderns; in order that we may be able to ascertain, rationally, upon what foundation that deference rests, which has so generally been paid to the ancients. These observations are the more necessary, as this subject has given rise to no small controversy in the republic of letters; and they may, with propriety, be made now, as they will serve to throw light on some things I have afterwards to deliver, concerning different kinds of composition.
It is a remarkable phenomenon, and one which has often employed the speculations of curious men, that writers and artists, most distinguished for their parts and genius, have generally appeared in considerable numbers at a time. Some ages have been remarkably barren in them; while, at other periods, nature seems to have exerted herself with a more than ordinary effort, and to have poured them forth with a profuse fertility. Various reasons have been assigned for this. Some of the moral causes lie obvious; such as favourable circumstances of government and of manners; encouragement from great men; emulation excited among the men of genius. But as these have been thought inadequate to the whole effect, physical causes have been also assigned; and the Abbe du Bos, in his reflections on poetry and painting, has collected a great many observations on the influence which the air, the climate, and other such natural causes, may be supposed to have upon genius. But whatever the causes be, the fact is certain, that there have been certain periods or ages of the world much more distinguished than others, for the extraordinary productions of genius.
Learned men have marked out four of these happy ages. The first is the Grecian age, which commenced near the time of the Peloponnesian war, and extended till the time of Alexander the Great; within which period, we have Herodotus, Thucydides,
Xenophon, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Demosthenes, iEschines, Lysias, Isocrates, Pindar, iEschylus, Euripides, Sophocles, Aristophanes, Menander, Anacreon, Theocritus, Lysippus, Apelles, Phidias, Praxiteles. The second, is the Roman age, included nearly within the days of Julius Caesar and Augustus; affording us Catullus, Lucretius, Terence, Virgil, Horace, Tibullus, Propertius, Ovid, Phaedrus, Caesar, Cicero, Livy, Sallust, Varro, and Vitruvius. The third age is, that of the restoration of learning, under the Popes Julius II. and Leo X.; when flourished Ariosto, Tasso, Sannazarius, Vida, Machiavel, Guicciardini, Davila, Erasmus, Paul Jovius, Michael Angelo, Raphael, Titian. The fourth comprehends the age of Louis the XIV. and Queen Anne, when flourished in France, Corneille, Racine, De Retz, Moliere, Boileau, Fontaine, Baptiste, Rousseau, Bossuet, Fenelon, Bourdaloue, Pascall, Malebranche, Massillon, Bruyere, Bayle, Fontenelle, Vertot; and in England, Dryden, Pope, Addison, Prior, Swift, Parnell, Arbuthnot, Congreve, Otway, Young, Rowe, Atterbury, Shaftesbury, Bolingbroke, Tillotson, Temple, Boyle, Locke, Newton, Clarke.
When we speak comparatively of the ancients and the moderns, we generally mean by the ancients, such as lived in the two first of these periods, including also one or two who lived more early, as Homer in particular; and by the moderns, those who flourished in the two last of these ages, including also the eminent writers down to our own times. Any comparison between these two classes of writers, must be necessarily vague and loose, as they comprehend so many, and of such different kinds and degrees of genius. But the comparison is generally made to turn by those who are fond of making it, upon two or three of the most distinguished in each class. With much heat it was agitated in France, between Boileau and Mad. Dacier, on the one hand for the ancients, and Perrault and La Motte, on the other, for the moderns; and it was carried to extremes on both sides. To this day, among men of taste and letters, we find a leaning to one or other side. A few reflections may throw light upon the subject, and enable us to discern upon what grounds we are to rest our judgment in this controversy.
If any one, at this day, in the eighteenth century, takes upon him to decry the ancient classics; if he pretends to have discovered that Homer and Virgil are poets of inconsiderable merit, and that Demosthenes and Cicero are not great orators, we may boldly venture to tell such a man, that he is come too late with his discovery. The reputation of such writers is established upon a foundation too solid, to be now shaken by any arguments whatever; for it is established upon that almost universal taste of mankind, proved and tried throughout the succession of so many ages. Imperfections in their works he may indeed point out; passages that are faulty he may show; for where is the human work that is perfect? But, if he attempts to discredit their works in general, or to prove that the reputation which they have gained is on the whole, unjust, there is an argument against him, which is equal to full demonstration. He must be in the wrong; for human nature is against him. In matters of taste, such as poetry and oratory, to whom does the appeal lie? where is the standard? and where the authority of the last decision? where is it to be looked for, but, as I formerly showed, in those feelings and sentiments that are found, on the most extensive examination, to be the common sentiments and feelings of men? These have been fully consulted on this head. The public, the unprejudiced public, has been tried and appealed to for many centuries, and throughout almost all civilized nations. It has pronounced its verdict; it has given its sanction to those writers; and from this tribunal there lies no farther appeal.
In matters of mere reasoning, the world may be long in an error; and may be convinced of the error by stronger reasonings, when produced. Positions that depend upon science, upon knowledge, and matters of fact, may be overturned according as science and knowledge are enlarged, and new matters of fact are brought to light. For this reason, a system of philosophy receives no sufficient sanction from its antiquity, or long currency. The world, as it grows older, may be justly expected to become, if not wiser, at least more knowing; and supposing it doubtful, whether Aristotle, or Newton, were the greater genius, yet Newton’s philosophy may prevail over Aristotle’s, by means of later discoveries, to which Aristotle was a stranger. But nothing of this kind holds as to matters of taste; which depend not on the progress of knowledge and science, but upon sentiment and feeling. It is in vain to think of undeceiving mankind, with respect to errors committed here, as in philosophy. For the universal feeling of mankind is the natural feeling; and because it is the natural, it is for that reason, the right feeling. The reputation of the Iliad and the iEneid must therefore stand upon sure ground, because ‘it has stood so long; though that of the Aristotelian or Platonic philosophy, every one is at liberty to call m question.
It is in vain also to allege, that the reputation of the ancient poets, and orators, is owing to authority, to pedantry, and to the prejudices of education, transmitted from age to age. These, it is true, are the authors put into our hands at schools and colleges, and by that means we have now an early prepossession in their favour; but how came they to gain the possession of colleges and schools? Plainly, by the high fame which these had among their own cotemporaries. For the Greek and Latin were not always dead languages. There was a time when Homer, and Virgil, and Horace, were viewed in the same light as we now view Dryden, Pope, and Addison. It is not to commentators and universities, that the classics are indebted for their fame. They became classics and school-books, in consequence of the high admiration which was paid them by the best judges in their own country and nation. As early as the days of Juvenal, who wrote under the reign of Domitian, we find Virgil and Horace become the standard books in the education of youth.
Quot stabant pueri, cum totus decolor esset
Flaccus, haereret nigro fuligo Maroni.* Sat. 7.
From this general principle, then, of the reputation of the great ancient classics being so early, so lasting, so universal among all the most polished nations, we may justly and boldly infer that their reputation cannot be wholly unjust, but must have a solid foundation in the merit of their writings.
Let us guard, however, against a blind and implicit veneration for the ancients in every thing. I have opened the general principle, which must go far in instituting a fair comparison between them and the moderns. Whatever superiority the ancients may have had in point of genius, yet in all arts, where the natural progress of knowledge has had room to produce any considerable effects, the moderns cannot but have some advantage. The world may, in certain respects, be considered as a person, who must needs gain somewhat in years. Its improvements have not, I confess, been always in proportion to the centuries that have passed over it; for, during the course of some ages, it has sunk as into a total lethargy. Yet, when roused from that lethargy, it has generally been able to avail itself more or less, of former discoveries. At intervals, there arose some happy genius, who could both improve on what had gone before, and invent something new. With the advantage of a proper stock of materials, an inferior genius can make greater progress, than a much superior one, to whom these materials are wanting-
Hence, in natural philosophy, astronomy, chemistry, and other sciences that depend on an extensive knowledge and observation of facts, modern philosophers have an unquestionable superiority over the ancient. I am inclined also to think, that in matters of pure reasoning, there is more precision among the moderns, than in some instances there was among the ancients; owing perhaps to a more extensive literary intercourse, which has improved and sharpened the faculties of men. In some studies too, that relate taste and
* “ Then thou art bound to smell, on either hand,
As many stinking lamps, as school-boys stand,
When Horace could not read in his own sully’d book,
And Virgil’s sacred page was all besmear’d with smoke ' Drydes fine writing, which is our object, the progress of society must, in equity, be admitted to have given us some advantages. For instance, in history; there is certainly more political knowledge in several European nations at present, than there was in ancient Greece and Rome. We are better acquainted with the nature of government, because we have seen it under a greater variety of forms and revolutions. The world is more laid open than it was in former times; commerce is greatly enlarged; more countries are civilized; posts are every where established; intercourse is become more easy; and the knowledge of facts, by consequence, more attainable. All these are great advantages to historians; of which, in some measure, as I shall afterward show, they have availed themselves. In the more complex kinds of poetry, likewise, we may have gained somewhat, perhaps, in point of regularity and accuracy. In dramatic performances, having the advantage of the ancient models, we may be allowed to have made some improvements in the variety of the characters, the conduct of the plot, attention to probability, and to decorums.
These seem to me the chief points of superiority we can plead above the ancients. Neither do they extend as far as might be imagined at first view. For if the strength of genius be on one side, it will go far, in works of taste at least, to counterbalance all the artificial improvements which can be made by greater knowledge and correctness. To return to our comparison of the age of the world with that of a man; it may be said, not altogether without reason, that if the advancing age of the world bring along with it more science and more refinement, there belong, however, to its earlier periods, more vigour, more fire, more enthusiasm of genius. This appears indeed to form the characteristical difference between the ancient poets, orators, and historians, compared with the modern. Among the ancients, we find higher conceptions, greater simplicity, more original fancy. Among the moderns, sometimes more art and correctness, but feebler exertions of genius. But, though this be in general a mark of distinction between the ancients and moderns, yet, like all general observations, it must be understood with some exceptions; for in point of poetical fire and original genius, Milton and Shakspeare are inferior to no poets in any age.
It is proper to observe, that there were some circumstances in ancient times, very favourable to those uncommon efforts of genius which were then exerted. Learning was a much more rare and singular attainment in the earlier ages, than it is at present. It was not to schools and universities that the persons applied, who sought to distinguish themselves. They had not this easy recourse. They travelled for their improvement into distant countries, to Egypt, and to the East. They inquired after all the monuments of learning there. They conversed with priests, philosophers, poets, with all who had acquired any distinguished fame. They returned to their own country full of the discoveries which they had made, and fired by the new and uncommon objects which they had seen. Their knowledge and improvements cost these more labour, raised in them more enthusiasm, were attended with higher rewards and honours, than in modern days. Fewer had the means and opportunities of distinguishing themselves; but such as did distinguish themselves, were sure of acquiring that fame, and even veneration, which is, of all other rewards, the greatest incentive to genius. Herodotus read his history to all Greece assembled at the Olympic games, and was publicly crowned. In the Peloponnesian war, when the Athenian army was defeated in Sicily, and the prisoners were ordered to be put to death, such of them as could repeat any verses of Euripides were saved, from honour to that poet, who was a citizen of Athens. These were testimonies of public regard, far beyond what modern manners confer upon genius.
In our times, good writing is considered as an attainment neither so difficult, nor so high and meritorious.
Scribimus indocti, doctique, Poemata passim.*
We write much more supinely, and at our ease, than the ancients. To excel, is become a much less considerable object. Less effort, less exertion is required, because we have many more assistances than they. Printing has rendered all books common, and easy to be had. Education for any of the learned professions can be carried on without much trouble. Hence a mediocrity of genius is spread over all. But to rise beyond that, and to overtop the crowd, is given to few. The multitude of assistances which we have for all kinds of composition, in the opinion of Sir William Temple, a very competent judge, rather depresses, than favours, the exertions of native genius. “It is very possible,” says that ingenious author, in his Essay on the Ancients and Moderns, “that men may lose rather than gain by these; may lessen the force of their own genius, by forming it upon that of others; may have less knowledge of their own, for contenting themselves with that of those before them. So a man that only translates, shall never be a poet; so people that trust to others’ charity, rather than their own industry, will be always poor. Who can tell,” he adds, “ whether learning may not even weaken invention, in a man that has great advantages from nature? Whether the weight and number of so many other men’s thoughts and notions may not suppress his own; as heaping on wood sometimes suppresses a little spark, that would otherwise have grown into a flame? The strength of mind, as well as of body, grows more from the warmth of exercise, than of clothes; nay, too much of this foreign heat, rather makes men faint, and their constitutions weaker than they would be without them.”
From whatever cause it happens, so it is, that among some of the ancient writers, we must look for the highest models in most of the kinds of elegant composition. For accurate thinking and enlarged ideas, in several parts of philosophy, to the
* “ Now every desp’rate blockhead dares to write;
Verse is the trade of ev’ry living wight.”
Francis moderns we ought chiefly to have recourse. Of correct and finished writing in some works of taste, they may afford useful patterns: but for all that belongs to original genius, to spirited, masterly, and high execution, our best and most happy ideas are, generally speaking, drawn from the ancients. In epic poetry, for instance, Homer and Virgil, to this day, stand not within many degrees of any rival. Orators, such as Cicero and Demosthenes, we have none. In history, notwithstanding some defects, which I am afterwards to mention in the ancient historical plans, it may be safely asserted, that we have no such historical narration, so elegant, so picturesque, so animated, and interesting, as that of Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, Livy, Tacitus, and Sallust. Although the conduct of the drama may be admitted to have received some improvements, yet for poetry and sentiment we have nothing to equal Sophocles and Euripides; nor any dialogue in comedy, that comes up to the correct, graceful, and elegant simplicity of Terence. We have no such love elegies as those of Tibullus; no such pastorals as some of Theocritus’s; and for lyric poetry, Horace stands quite unrivalled. The name of Horace cannot be mentioned without a particular encomium. That “ Curiosa Felicitas” which Petronius has remarked in his expression; the sweetness, elegance, and spirit of many of his odes, the thorough knowledge of the world, the excellent sentiments, and natural easy manner which distinguish his satires and epistles, all contribute to render him one of those very few authors whom one never tires of reading; and from whom alone, were every other monument destroyed, we should be led to form a very high idea of the taste and genius of the Augustan age.
To all such, then, as wish to form their taste and nourish their genius, let me warmly recommend the assiduous study of the ancient classics, both Greek and Roman.
Nocturna versate manu, versate diurna.*
Without a considerable acquaintance with them, no man can he reckoned a polite scholar; and he will want many assistances for writing and speaking well, which the knowledge of such authors would afford him. Any one has great reason to suspect his own taste, who receives little or no pleasure from the perusal of writings, which so many ages and nations have consented in holding up as objects of admiration. And I am persuaded it will be found, that in proportion as the ancients are generally studied and admired, or are unknown and disregarded in any country, good taste and good composition will flourish, or decline. They are commonly none but the ignorant or superficial, who undervalue them.
At the same time, a just and high regard for the prime writers of antiquity is to be always distinguished, from that contempt of every thing which is modern, and that blind veneration for all that has been written in Greek or Latin, which belongs only to pe-
* “ Read them by day, and study them by night. ”
dants. Among the Greek and Roman authors, some assuredly
deserve much higher regard than others; nay, some are of no great value. Even the best of them lie open occasionally to just censure; for to no human performance is it given to be absolutely perfect. We may, we ought therefore to read them with a distinguishing eye, so as to propose for imitation their beauties only; and it is perfectly consistent with just and candid criticism, to find fault with parts, while, at the same time, it admires the whole.
After these reflections on the ancients and moderns, I proceed to a critical examination of the most distinguished kinds of composition, and the characters of those writers who have excelled in them, whether modern or ancient.
The most general division of the different kinds of composition is, in those written in prose, and those written in verse; which certainly require to be separately considered, because subject to separate laws. I begin, as is most natural, with writings in prose. Of orations, or public discourses of all kinds, I have already treated fully. The remaining species of prose compositions, which assume any such regular form, as to fall under the cognizance of criticism, seem to be chiefly these: historical writing, philosophical writing, epistolary writing, and fictitious history. Historical composition shall be first considered; and, as it is an object of dignity, I purpose to treat of it at some length.
As it is the office of an orator to persuade, it is that of an historian to record truth for the instruction of mankind. This is the proper object and end of history, from which may be deduced many of the laws relating to it; and if this object were always kept in view, it would prevent many of the errors into which persons are apt to fall concerning this species of composition. As the primary end of history is to record truth,—impartiality, fidelity, and accuracy, are the fundamental qualities of an historian. He must neither be a panegyrist, nor a satirist. He must not enter into faction, nor give scope to affection: but, contemplating past events and characters with a cool and dispassionate eye, must present to his readers a faithful copy of human nature.
At the same time, it is not every record of facts, however true, that is entitled to the name of history; but such a record as enables us to apply the transactions of former ages for our own instruction. The facts ought to be momentous and important: represented in connexion with their causes, traced to their effects, and unfolded in clear and distinct order. For wisdom is the great end of history. It is designed to supply the want of experience. Though it enforce not its instructions with the same authority, yet it furnishes us with a greater variety of instructions, than it is possible for experience to afford, in the course of the longest life. Its object is to enlarge our views of the human character, and to give full exercise to our judgment on human affairs. It must not therefore be a tale, calculated to please only, and addressed to the fancy. Gravity and dignity are essential characteristics of history; no light ornaments are to be employed, no flippancy of style, no quaintness of wit. But the writer‸ must sustain the character of a wise man, writing for the instruction of posterity; one who has studied to inform himself well, who has pondered his subject with care, and addresses himself to our judgment, rather than to our imagination. At the same time, historical writing is by no means inconsistent with ornamented and spirited narration. It admits of much high ornament and elegance; but the ornaments must be always consistent with dignity: they should not appear to be sought after; but to rise naturally from a mind animated by the events which it records.
Historical composition is understood to comprehend under it, annals, memoirs, lives. But these are its inferior subordinate species: on which I shall hereafter make some reflections, when I shall have first considered what belongs to a regular and legitimate work of history. Such a work is chiefly of two kinds, either the entire history of some state or kingdom through its different revolutions, such as Livy’s Roman History; or the history of some one great event, or some portion or period of time which may be considered as making a whole by itself; such as, Thucydides’s History of the Peloponnesian War, Davila’s History of the Civil Wars of France, or Clarendon’s of those of England.
In the conduct and management of his subject, the first attention requisite in an historian, is to give it as much unity as possible; that is, his history should not consist of separate unconnected parts merely, but should be bound together by some connecting principle, which shall make the impression on the mind of something that is one, whole, and entire. It is inconceivable how great an effect this, when happily executed, has upon a reader, and it is surprising that some able writers of history have not attended to it more. Whether pleasure or instruction be the end sought by the study of history, either of them is enjoyed to much greater advantage, when the mind has always before it the progress of some one great plan or system of action; when there is some point or centre, to which we can refer the various facts related by the historian.
In general histories, which record the affairs of a whole nation or empire throughout several ages, this unity, I confess, must be more imperfect. Yet even there, some degree of it can be preserved by a skilful writer. For though the whole, taken together, be very complex, yet the great constituent parts of it, form so many subordinate wholes, when taken by themselves; each of which can be treated both as complete within itself, and as connected with what goes before and follows. In the history of a monarchy, for instance, every reign should have its own unity; a beginning, a middle, and an end, to the system of affairs; while, at the same time, we are taught to discern how that system of affairs rose from the preceding, and how it is inserted into what follows. We should be able to trace all the secret links of the chain, which binds together remote, and seemingly unconnected events. In some kingdoms of Europe, it was the plan of many succeeding princes to reduce the power of their nobles and during several reigns, most of the leading actions had a reference to this end. In other states, the rising power of the commons, influenced for a tract of time the course and connexion of public affairs. Among the Romans, the leading principle was a gradual extension of conquest, and the attainment of universal empire. The continual increase of their power, advancing towards this end from small beginnings, and by a sort of regular progressive plan, furnished to Livy a happy subject for historical unity, in the midst of a great variety of transactions.
Of all the ancient general historians, the one who had the most exact idea of this quality of historical composition, though, in other respects not an elegant writer, is Polybius. This appears from the account he gives of his own plan in the beginning of his third book; observing that the subject of which he had undertaken to write, is, throughout the whole of it, one action, one great spectacle; how, causes, all the parts of the habitable world became subject to the Roman empire. ‘This action,’ says he, ‘is distinct in its beginning, determined in its duration, and clear in its final accomplishment; therefore, I think it of use, to give a general view beforehand, of the chief constituent parts which make up this whole.’ In another place he congratulates himself on his good fortune, in having a subject for history, which allowed such variety of parts to be united under one view; remarking, that before this period, the affairs of the world were scattered, and without connexion; whereas, in the times of which he writes, all the great transactions of the world tended and verged to one point, and were capable of being considered as parts of one system. Whereupon he adds several very judicious observations, concerning the usefulness of writing history upon such a comprehensive, and connected plan; comparing the imperfect degree of knowledge, which is afforded by particular facts, without general views, to the imperfect idea which one would entertain of an animal, who had beheld its separate parts only, without having ever seen its entire form and structure.*
Such as write the history of some particular great transaction, as confine themselves to one era, or one portion of the history of a nation, have so great advantages for preserving historical unity, that they are inexcusable if they fail in it. Sallust’s histories of the Catilinarian and Jugurthine wars, Xenophon’s Cyropcedia, and his retreat of the ten thousand, are instances of particular histories, where the unity of historical narration is perfectly well maintained. Thucydides, otherwise a writer of great strength and dignity, has failed much, in this article, in his history of the Peloponnesian war.
Polyb. ilistoi Vrim.
No one great object is properly pursued, and kept in view; but his narration is cut down into small pieces; his history is divided by summers and winters; and we are every now and then leaving transactions unfinished, and are hurried from place to place, from Athens to Sicily, from thence to Peloponnesus, to Corcyra, to Mitylene, that we may be told of what is going on in all these places. We have a great many disjointed parts and scattered limbs, which with difficulty we collect into one body; and through this faulty distribution and management of his subject, that judicious historian becomes more tiresome, and less agreeable than he would otherwise be. For these reasons he is severely censured by one of the best critics of antiquity, Dionysius of Halicarnassus.*
The historian must not indeed neglect chronological order, with a view to render his narration agreeable. He must give a distinct account of the dates, and of the coincidence of facts. But he is not under the necessity of breaking off always in the middle of transactions, in order to inform us of what was happening elsewhere at the same time. He discovers no art, if he cannot form some connexion among the affairs which he relates, so as to introduce them in a proper train. He will soon tire the reader, if he goes on recording, in strict chronological order, a multitude of separate transactions, connected by nothing else, but their happening at the same time.
Though the history of Herodotus be of greater compass than that of Thucydides, and comprehend a much greater variety of dissimilar parts, he has been more fortunate in joining them together; and digesting them into order; hence he is a more pleasing writer, and gives a stronger impression of his subject; though, in judgment and
* The censure which Dionysius passes upon Thucydides, is, in several articles, carried too far. He blames him for the choice of his subject, as not sufficiently splendid and agreeable, and as abounding too much in crimes and melancholy events, on which he observes that Thucydides loves to dwell. He is partial to Herodotus, whom, both for the choice and the conduct of his subject, he prefers to the other historian. It is true, that the subject of Thucydides wants the gayety and splendour of that of Herodotus; but it is not deficient in dignity. The Peloponnesian war was the contest between two great rival powers, the Athenian and Lacedemonian states, for the empire of Greece. Herodotus loves to dwell on prosperous incidents, and retains somewhat of the amusing manner of the ancient poetical historians; but Herodotus wrote to the imagination. Thucydides writes to the understanding. He was a grave reflecting man, well acquainted with human life; and the melancholy events and catastrophes which he records, are often both the most interesting parts of history, and the most improving to the heart.
The critic’s observations on the faulty distribution which Thucydides makes of his subject, are better founded, and his preference of Herodotus in this respect is not unjust—ytv tois %°ovoi; XK-ohisBcev, cT g t olio tu>v
Dionysius gives Thucydides the just praise of energy and brevity; but censures him on many occasions, not without reason, for harsh and obscure expression, deficient in smoothness and ease.
accuracy, much inferior to Thucydides. With digressions and episodes he abounds; but when these have any connexion with the main subject, and are inserted professedly as episodes, the unity of the whole is less violated by them, than by a broken and scattered narration of the principal story. Among the moderns, the President Thuanus has, by attempting to make the history of his own times too comprehensive, fallen into the same error, of loading the reader with a great variety of unconnected facts, going on together in different parts of the world; an historian otherwise of great probity, candour, and excellent understanding; but through this want of unity, more tedious, and less interesting, than he would otherwise have been.
What has our author now finished;