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 Julius Caesar’s Self-Created
Image and Its Dramatic Afterlife

i
 Bloomsbury Studies in Classical Reception

Bloomsbury Studies in Classical Reception presents scholarly monographs

offering new and innovative research and debate to students and scholars in
the reception of Classical Studies. Each volume will explore the
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Greek and Roman Classics in the British Struggle for Social Reform,
edited by Henry Stead and Edith Hall
Imagining Xerxes, Emma Bridges
Ovid’s Myth of Pygmalion on Screen, Paula James
Victorian Classical Burlesques, Laura Monrós-Gaspar

ii
 Julius Caesar’s Self-Created
Image and Its Dramatic Afterlife

Miryana Dimitrova

Bloomsbury Academic
An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

LON DON • OX F O R D • N E W YO R K • N E W D E L H I • SY DN EY

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To my parents Radostina and Stefan, with love and gratitude

v
vi
 Contents

Acknowledgements ix

Introduction. Caesar Is Dead. Long Live Caesar! 1

The commentaries 5
The plays 8
Lucan and the historiographers 14
Structure and scope of the book 20

1 ‘I Am He’: Aspects of Caesar’s Self-Representation in the

Commentaries 29
An overview of the enemy 30
Speed/efficiency 35
Rationality and benevolence 40
Author–character interaction 46
The Caesarean world beyond the narrative – the author-character
and his audience 56
Coda: the continuators 62

2 Efficient Benevolence, the Shadow of Hubris and an

Eastern Infatuation 67
Celerity or furor? 68
Practical and merciful 71
Caesar’s greatness against the rhetoric of the vanquished 74
A balancing act – ruthless but honourable 77
Caesar’s hubris is in the eye of the conspirator 87
The Cleopatra subversion effect 94

3 ‘For Always I Am Caesar’: Performative Actualization of

Caesar’s Self-Styled Image and Illeism as a Marker of
Self-Institutionalization 115
The world is a stage 119

vii
viii Contents

The power of the name 127

Degrees of self-institutionalization 130
The political role 140

4 Transhistorical and Quasi-Divine: Caesar Connecting the

Threads of Time 155
Embodying past, present and future 159
Supernatural à la Lucan and a descendant of Venus 166
Ghostly presence 171
The human side of greatness 178

Epilogue 193
Notes 203
References 217
Index 233
 Acknowledgements

This book is the revised version of my PhD thesis, completed under the
supervision of Professor Edith Hall. I am deeply grateful to Edith for believing
in me and for her inspirational energy and passion for research, which provided
me not only with consistent academic guidance but also with invaluable
moral support. I would also like to thank Mike Ingham for his enduring
interest in my work, his willingness to discuss my ideas at various stages, and
his comments and efficient copy-editing. I have benefited greatly from the
competence and patience of the editorial team at Bloomsbury. Last but not
least, special thanks to Lyubo, my tower of strength and comfort, whose love
and knowledge about tigers have changed my world.

ix
x
 Introduction
Caesar Is Dead. Long Live Caesar!

Julius Caesar (100–44 BC ) played a decisive role in the shaping of the geo-
political and cultural map of Europe and has become an iconic figure
ubiquitously recognizable, revered and judged since his own lifetime to this
day. The intellectual brilliance of his commentaries on the Gallic and civil
wars, together with Cicero’s first-hand impressions, the rich historiographic
accounts of Cassius Dio, Appian and others, and, above all, the biographies of
Suetonius and Plutarch, have shaped Caesar’s multi-layered image of an
enigmatic and contradictory persona. Charismatic leader, devious politician,
womanizer, Caesar is also a symbol of autocracy and personifies the sea change
in Roman history: the transition from Republic to Empire. Popular in medieval
times as a personification of chivalry and prowess, he was the only Roman
included in the collection of perfect warriors, the ‘Nine Worthies’, alongside
the ancient Greek heroes Hector and Alexander the Great. With the rise of
Renaissance humanism, his life and career became the centre of political
discourses and evaluations of European systems of government in terms of
their Roman predecessors. The emergence of the term ‘Caesarism’, related to
Napoleonic power, bound Caesar to the nineteenth-century political taxonomy,
while in his monumental oeuvre Römische Geschichte (1854–56) Mommsen
hailed him as the most successful of all Romans.1 In the twentieth century,
notwithstanding the feeling of disillusionment with great leaders after the
Second World War, Caesar’s fame did not diminish; rather, it entered a new
phase of liberation from the rigidity of the binary model he had belonged
to for centuries – great statesman, founder of monarchy, on the one hand,
autocrat and annihilator of republican ideals on the other. Caesar entered the
twenty-first century wearing the crown of his military and literary achievements

1
2 Julius Caesar’s Self-Created Image and Its Dramatic Afterlife

but also enjoying universal popularity and appeal through a rich cultural
afterlife.
This vision of greatness, deep-seated in our Western culture, however, certainly
did not appear as stable or positive during Caesar’s lifetime as it is now, when seen
in hindsight and multiplied by centuries of reverence, debate and re-imagining.
Caesar was certainly one of the brightest stars of the late Republic but his life and
career were, ultimately, a constant struggle to reach the top and then to remain
there. It is within this context that his commentaries were composed. The
Caesarean corpus consists of seven books on the Gallic war (58–52 BC) and three
books on the civil war, covering the period between Caesar’s invasion of Italy and
ending, abruptly, with the beginning of the Alexandrian war in 47 BC.2 Caesar’s
associate, Aulus Hirtius, added Book 8 of the Gallic War describing Caesar’s
last year in Gaul (51 BC). Anticipating the beginning of the Civil War, the end of
Book 8 becomes an interesting external link that creates a seamless transition
between Caesar’s own narratives. Three additional accounts of the Alexandrian,
African and Spanish wars, were composed by Caesar’s ‘continuators’, or, in Cluett’s
words, ‘those men in Caesar’s army who took it upon themselves to complete
Caesar’s campaign narratives’ (2009: 192). Hirtius is seen as the one responsible
for the editing and preparing the final version of the Civil War narrative, as well
as some chapters of the Alexandrian War. The issue of the authorship of the latter
has been eloquently debated by Gaertner and Hausburg (2013), who convincingly
demonstrate that the various peculiarities pertinent to different sections of the text
could be seen as indicative of different authorships; although they accept Hirtius’s
input, they also suggest other possible contributors, including Caesar himself.3
Caesar’s prime motive for the creation of a meticulously self-authored
character, ferocious in his defence of the interests of Rome and his personal
dignity but at the same time compassionate and reasonable, was to justify his
actions during his extensive proconsulship in Gaul and, later, during the civil
war against Pompey. He may or may not have expected his accounts to outlast
him. Luckily for us, they did. Basking in their creator’s fame, the Gallic and the
civil war commentaries have become more than the signature trait of Caesar’s
character – through them, Caesar speaks with a voice that is still heard today.
Due to their comprehensible prose, they have long been part of the Latin
school curriculum across the Western world. The Gallic War also stands out as
an invaluable historical document, providing an almost exclusive account not
 Introduction 3

only of Caesar’s Gallic campaign but also of the geography and topography of
the vast territories explored and conquered by the General.
Above all, the commentaries are a fusion of propaganda and self-promotion,
at the heart of which lies the re-creation of Caesar as a full-bodied literary
personality. In this book, I endeavour to demonstrate the significance of this
act of self-expression for the representations of Caesar in the English dramatic
canon. I argue that a range of texts – beginning with the plays of Shakespeare
and his contemporaries, through Handel’s baroque opera Giulio Cesare in
Egitto and concluding with Bernard Shaw’s late Victorian Caesar and Cleopatra
– epitomize a cultural reception of the personality of Julius Caesar, which
ultimately derives from Caesar’s forceful promotion of his own achievements.
The plays I discuss belong to a tradition of active reception of Caesar that,
although never waning since the dictator’s lifetime, was rekindled in the
Renaissance with the emergence of the Caesarean editio princeps in 1469. The
commentaries acquired a great importance as historical documents and a
literary achievement, and were integral to the early modern interest in Roman
culture, sparked by the re-discovery of a great number of classical texts in the
1500s that were circulated across Europe either in their original Latin or Greek,
or in translation. In England, the commentaries were published in London in
the original Latin (1585, 1590) but also in English by Arthur Golding, who
translated the Gallic War in 1565 (re-printed in 1590). Clement Edmunds’s
Observations upon Caesar’s Commentaries the First Five Bookes of Caesar’s
Commentaries, Setting Fourth the Practise of the Art Military, in the Time of the
Roman Empire was first published in 1600 and its subsequent editions included
additional books of the Gallic War and the Civil War. During the eighteenth
and nineteenth centuries more translations became available, and a considerable
variety of the editions (selected books, compendia) were designed to appeal to
the British readers from all walks of life.
Caesar’s oeuvre contributed to its author’s huge popularity as a controversial,
yet admired role model. Caesar appeared in discourses on political and
ethical values; opinions on his actions, which effectively paved the way to
Augustus’s one-man rule and the birth of the Roman Empire that European
monarchs saw themselves heirs to, ranged from commendable to condemnable.
It is this fascination that lies at the heart of the myriad plays created across
Europe during that period. The large number of English plays attests to the
4 Julius Caesar’s Self-Created Image and Its Dramatic Afterlife

relevance of Caesar’s life, and importantly his death, to a society appreciative of

the story of the mighty General’s fall and the revenge of his supporters, a
society that found the story instructive but also entertaining.
Two lines of reception of the commentaries were available to the playwrights
whose works I consider. The first line entails the direct borrowing of material.
Although the use of Caesar’s texts as direct sources may appear tentative due
to the arguable lack of evidence, there are instances, albeit incidental, of such
interaction. These are indicative of the enduring interest in the commentaries
and facilitate the second, indirect, line of reception, namely, the appreciation
of the works as an inspiration and a sort of Caesarean repository for themes,
imagery and qualities. The different ways the playwrights handled this
repository are what this book is about.
Caesar’s complex existence as a character within a self-authored narrative
exercised a twofold influence over drama: he was unique in his popularity as a
subject but also as an author who wrote the account of his own exploits. The
notion of authorship is integral to the understanding of the impact of the
commentaries put forward in this book. The relationship between author and
character creates a fruitful soil on which questions about Caesar – notably, his
depiction as an efficient, brilliant commander who is rational, ruthless, but also
benevolent – find their dramatic elaboration.
An exploration of the aspects of Caesar’s self-representation in drama,
which relies on the premise that dramatic Caesar has been influenced by the
writings of his historical counterpart without the latter necessarily acting as
textual sources, is a convoluted and somehow holistic approach. It necessarily
involves a consideration of numerous works, which are the de facto sources of
the plays. Inspiring and informative, the biographical and historiographic
accounts of Suetonius, Plutarch, Appian, Cassius Dio and others, plus Lucan’s
epic poem Civil War were consulted by the dramatists either in the original or
in English translations. I argue that, drawing on these works as its major
sources, drama continued this process of resonation with Caesar’s own vision
of himself remaining as a strong undercurrent, the influence of which extended
even to representations that do not concern the events described in the
commentaries. Thus, the aim of this study is to build bridges connecting
obliquely related material and as a result to re-frame the established perception
of Caesar as a character in drama and the impact of his writings as a source. To
 Introduction 5

this end, I have organized my study around three different layers of reception:
the commentaries, Lucan and ancient historiography, and the dramatic works.
The next section introduces in more detail each of these links; it is followed by
a chapter outline and finally by a discussion of the scope of the study, its
framework and omissions.

The commentaries

A fluid genre, the ancient commentaries ranged from private papers to public
reports and incorporated the conventions of the historiographic tradition.
They were produced by individuals of different political and social rank and
could either remain as records of events or be edited and shaped in the form of
a historical narrative. Notably, among the prominent figures in the late Republic
who employed the medium were Sulla, whose writings are preserved in
fragments, and Cicero, who planned a history of the Catilinarian conspiracy to
be written on the basis of his commentaries.
As the only preserved work authored by Caesar and the only example of the
genre existing in its entirety, Caesar’s opus has somewhat become the norm,
especially in the popular understanding of the genre. The shared final aims of
the commentarii and the res gestae to leave a record of deeds for posterity have
provoked Cleary (1985: 347) to suggest that Caesar combined the two and
invented a new literary genre. Regardless of whether we take Caesar’s work to
be innovative in terms of merging genres, the fact that the commentaries blend
a claim for historical accuracy with a pronounced autobiographic aspect
renders them the perfect vessel for self-presentation of Caesar, who notably
combined remarkable leadership skills with those of a leading grammarian
and a gifted rhetorician. Cicero famously comments on Caesar’s consummate
style in his Brutus (Cicero, Brutus 75.262); Caesar’s work De Analogia, possibly
produced as a parallel piece to his polemic Anticato, was notable for its defence
of the Attic style that favoured the linguistic clarity and purity to which its
author adhered.4 Furthermore, Caesar composed a tragedy on Oedipus and a
poem called Iter; although these remained subject to private enjoyment and
criticism, they indicate Caesar’s interest in literary-dramatic experiments,
typical for the aristocratic circles.5
6 Julius Caesar’s Self-Created Image and Its Dramatic Afterlife

Caesar was familiar with the works of Xenophon, and his influence is
revealed particularly in the battle descriptions as well as in the use of the third
person, Caesar’s signature mode of expression. In a comprehensive overview of
the sources likely available during Caesar’s time, Gruen (2011: 141–7) discusses
the established Gallic stereotypes which, combines with acknowledgement
of the barbarian prowess found in the works of Polybius and Posidonius
might have been used by Caesar to enrich the descriptions of his first-hand
knowledge of the Gauls.
Certainly, the commentaries stand out as the strongest and only real evidence
of Caesar’s literary skills. Modern scholarship celebrates the lucidity of their
prose but also exposes Caesar’s use of language as integral to his propagandistic
strategies employed to advance his political and military career and to dispel
the controversies surrounding it. Caesar’s syntax is ‘more sophisticated than
anything written previously, apart from oratory’ (Hall 1998: 16); his language is
‘spare yet muscular’ (Brown 1999: 337); ‘in Caesar’s hands, stylistic nudity is
indeed a costume’ (Kraus 2009: 164). More apologetic treatments consider the
linguistic sophistication of Caesar’s statements as a cause of misinterpretation
by his contemporaries (Morgan 1997), while Bourne (1977: 422) sees Caesar’s
clarity as part of his Epicurean stance, since the Epicurean view holds that
literature should be ‘direct, clear, unadorned, and easily understood by all’.
The achievements of Caesar as an author have been evaluated in numerous
studies; notable are those by Adcock (1956) and Batstone and Damon (2006),
the latter analysing in detail the Civil War, taking into account characterization
and narrative structure. The connotations of Caesar’s propaganda and self-
representation are studied by Yavetz (1983) and Will (2008); Henderson (1996)
and the volume edited by Welch and Powell (1998) scrutinize Caesar’s ways of
using his writing skills to create a highly elaborate justification and validation
of his deeds.
Although showing no naiveté regarding the agenda of Caesar the
propagandist, more recent insightful contributions by Riggsby (2006), Grillo
(2012) and Peer (2015) reveal an important tendency to broaden the perspective
on the multi-faceted Caesarean phenomenon by establishing new links between
form, content and final aims, and putting a strong emphasis on Caesar’s artistic
and aesthetic decisions. They imply that, without disputing the commentaries’
function to justify and promote Caesar’s greatness, their value as literary works
 Introduction 7

may go beyond propaganda as raison d’etre. Riggsby accentuates the apolitical

nature of the work, while also noting that its use for ‘immediate self-promotion
seems to have been a later and marginal development’ (2006: 146). In the
introduction to his equally deft analysis, Grillo postulates that the Civil War is
‘not a piece of propaganda, but a work of literature’ (2012: 7) and a consideration
of the works in their complexity as literature defines his approach in the entire
study. Finally, Peer stands against the dismissal of the commentaries ‘as a kind
of pamphlet of questionable literary worth’ (2015: 1) thus boldly undertaking
the task to argue that each of the three books of the Civil War has an underlying
strategic value for the creation of a manipulated literary reality, in which
Caesar’s actions are justified.
In this book, I acknowledge the value of Caesarean self-representation as
means of communicating a propaganda-charged message to the community
and his political rivals, but depart from contextual analysis and transpose the
effects of this self-representation from their original context to an intermedial
reception in drama. Thus, my study aims to contribute to these valuable and
progressive discussions by suggesting an expansion of the scope, as it were, of
the literary merits of the commentaries that these authors evaluate.
Within the field of classical reception, three studies have successfully
encompassed the sheer scope of the cultural reception of Caesar: both the
volume edited by Wyke (2006) and her monograph (2007) focus on the reception
of specific stages of Caesar’s life from antiquity to present day; the companion,
edited by Griffin (2009), includes entries on Caesar’s career and reputation in his
own lifetime as well as a comprehensive discussion of various strands of his
reception. However, although they mention plays and their production history,
particularly that of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, these studies do not consider
any possibility of connections between the commentaries and Caesar’s character
in drama as integral to the process of transition from historical to dramatic
representation. Plays about Caesar have been widely discussed in relation to
their authors, contexts and sources. Recent studies by Chernaik (2011), as well as
Cox Jensen (2012), have aptly demonstrated the importance of the figure of the
Roman dictator on the early modern English stage. Yet, the relationship between
the themes and characterization in Caesar’s self-representation and his
subsequent portrayal in drama has not received enough attention, an issue that
this book aims to remedy.
8 Julius Caesar’s Self-Created Image and Its Dramatic Afterlife

The plays

William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, performed during the year of the opening
of the Globe theatre (1599),6 has become the true ‘evil genius’ of historical
Gaius Caesar, a superb demonstration of the ability of drama not only to engage
with classical history but to determine new ways of perceiving the original.
It establishes a two-way reception of Caesar’s personality or, to paraphrase
Martindale’s remark that ‘since Virgil, no reading of Homer, at least in the West,
has been, or could be, wholly free of a vestigial Virgilian presence’ (1993: 8),
our appreciation of Caesar as a historical personality has been conditioned by
Shakespeare’s tragedy.7 Probably among the best examples of the assumptions
arising from the play and ingrained in popular ideas about Caesar are his deaf
right ear and, most importantly, the immortal ‘Et tu, Brute?’ (3.1.77). Caesar’s
utterance ‘you too, my son’ is noted by the ancient writers Suetonius and Dio
and, as Pelling (2009: 267) points out, the line had been used earlier in The True
Tragedy of Richard Duke of York in 1595. Nevertheless, the emblematic
exclamation of shock and despair is echoed in numerous other works and
exists in the popular imagination as both Shakespearean and Caesarean.
Just over a century after the first performance of Shakespeare’s tragedy,
Georg Frideric Handel created the baroque operatic masterpiece Giulio
Cesare in Egitto (1724), written for the Royal Academy of Music and premiered
at the Haymarket in 1724. The libretto, by Nicolo Haym, is based on earlier
versions by Francesco Bussani, who wrote his libretto for Antonio Sartorio’s
opera in 1677. It presents the events of Caesar’s arrival in Alexandria and his
struggle against the Egyptians and focuses, not surprisingly, on the love affair
with Cleopatra, celebrated in virtuoso arias and heroic action. In his extensive
analysis of the history of the two librettos, Monson (1985: 319) observes the
alterations introduced by Haym who aimed at expunging various comic
elements as well as toning down the role of Cornelia, Pompey’s widow, as the
love interest of Achilla and Ptolemy in order to focus more on the Caesar–
Cleopatra relationship. As a result, Handel’s rendition became not only one of
his most famous works in his time but has also sustained its fame ever since.8
Written in 1898, George Bernard Shaw’s Caesar and Cleopatra received its
first, so-called ‘copyright’, performance at the Theatre Royal in Newcastle in
March 1899; it was published in 1901 in Three Plays for Puritans together with
 Introduction 9

The Devil’s Disciple and Captain Brassbound’s Conversion. The first professional
production took place in Berlin in 1906, followed by a performance in New
York. The German premiere was produced by Max Reinhardt, who had the
ability to create the elaborate naturalist staging and set essential for the play. In
1907 Caesar and Cleopatra opened in Leeds, and in November it finally reached
its London audience at the Savoy theatre. The play was initially written with the
part of Caesar designated for Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson, who performed
at the London premiere.9 Caesar and Cleopatra depicts Julius’s arrival in Egypt
in pursuit of Pompey, his military exploits, most notably the capture of the
Pharos lighthouse and, of course, his liaison with Cleopatra, which takes the
shape of a platonic tutor–disciple relationship with Caesar instructing Cleopatra,
characteristically younger than her historical counterpart, in the ways of
governing and authority.
The play is to a large extent a reaction to what Shaw saw as Shakespeare’s
failure to depict Caesar’s true greatness. In his preface to Three Plays for
Puritans, the dramatist writes: ‘Shakespear [sic], who knew human weakness
so well, never knew human strength of the Caesarian type; [. . .] it cost
Shakespear no pang to write Caesar down for the merely technical purpose of
writing Brutus up.’10 In a review of a production of Julius Caesar, Shaw opines:
‘It is impossible even for the most judicially minded critic to look without a
revulsion of indignant contempt at this travestying of a great man as a silly
braggart, whilst the pitiful gang of mischief-makers who destroyed him are
lauded as statesmen and patriots’ (quoted by Wisenthal 1988: 61).
Shaw’s intention is to reveal the true heroic Caesar, very much the
Mommsenite character embodying Roman greatness (Mommsen’s Römische
Geschichte was extensively consulted by Shaw). His Caesar is an intelligent
realist, amoral but nevertheless benevolent. Most importantly, since he is
often at the heart of comic situations and is capable of self-irony, the play
uses theatrical conventions of history and romantic plays in order to subvert
them.11
The works of Shakespeare, Handel and Shaw are by far the brightest stars in
a magnificent constellation of English Caesar-related plays; however, a more
comprehensive picture of Caesar’s dramatic afterlife would not be possible
without taking into account the remarkable number of plays created in the
early modern period. Although, with some exceptions, the subject matter is
10 Julius Caesar’s Self-Created Image and Its Dramatic Afterlife

commonly restricted to either the Ides of March or his relationship with

Cleopatra, the dramatic potential of the two plotlines and the diversity of
subgenres and structures contribute to a fascinating array of Caesars.12 Some
texts were written in the tradition of closet plays while others were performed
either in an academic context or on the London mainstream stage. However,
even those that have been performed are nowadays subject to academic
interest rather than that of theatre practitioners and enjoy less or almost none
of the popularity of the works continuously re-imagined on stage. Shedding
more light on the unique variety of interpretations of Caesar they offer will
hopefully demonstrate that their neglect is often undeserved.
Although appearing only in the final act of Thomas Kyd’s Cornelia (1594, a
translation of Robert Garnier’s Latin play, Cornélie, printed in 1574), Caesar’s
presence in the text is palpable thanks to his portrait drawn by hostile Cornelia,
suffering for her husband Pompey’s death at the hands of the Egyptians, and
other Pompeians, including Cicero, who laments the atrocities of the civil war.
Although this closet play is constructed as a neo-Senecan narrative of largely
rhetorical interaction between the characters, it embodies the beginnings of
the question crucial for the reception of Caesar, namely the tension between
his self-representation and the image of hubris constructed by his enemies.
The anonymous Caesar’s Revenge was performed by the students at Oxford
in the late 1590s; subsequently entered in the Stationer’s register in 1606, it was
published in 1607. The text is a detailed account of Caesar’s exploits in Egypt
and his assassination, and concludes with the conspirators’ defeat at Philippi.
An extension of the didactic agenda of university drama, the play also engaged
actively with the commercial theatre tradition and thus occupied the liminal
position aptly described by Walker (2008: 3), who maintains that academic
theatre entailed ‘the connections and competitions between the academy and
popular theatrical venues as institutions of formal and informal education’.13 In
this dynamic system, in which dramatists with university educations were
producing plays for the commercial playhouses in London, their works could
also influence the academic stage.
The second closet play considered in this study is Sir William Alexander’s
Julius Caesar (1607). Alexander focuses on the conspiracy and Caesar’s
assassination, but does not take the action of the play beyond the Ides of
March, choosing instead to conclude with grieving Calphurnia who hears
 Introduction 11

about the assassination that has notably taken place off stage. Alexander, a
Scottish cultural émigré who joined King James I in England, was influenced
by the closet dramas of the Sydney circle,14 and possibly drew on material he
found in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, which in turn might have been influenced
by Caesar’s Revenge. The issue of the interconnections between these three
plays will be considered in more detail throughout the book.
George Chapman’s Caesar and Pompey was written in c. 1605 but the idea
that the text was actually performed is called into question in Chapman’s own
dedication of the play’s quarto, first published in 1631: ‘this martial history [. . .]
never touched it at the stage’.15 The 1653 edition states that the play has been
performed at the ‘Black-fryers’. This claim, together with the existing stage
directions, has led to the assumption that the play might have been rehearsed
at the Blackfriars, but perhaps never performed; the possibility that it may have
been performed after 1631 has also been contested.16 The play is centred on the
civil war, its culmination at the battle at Pharsalus and the consequences of
Caesar’s victory, Pompey and Cato’s deaths, the latter arguably seen as moral
victory. The popularity of the subject and the text’s quick pace compensate for
the somewhat heavy wording and even Cato’s lengthy monologues do not
deprive the play of its performative potential, thus rendering plausibility to
Brown’s claim that although the play was probably never presented, ‘it was
written in the tradition of the commercial theatre and should be visualized on
its stage’ (1954: 469).17
Issues such as the lack of clearly defined tragic hero, the inconsistency of
the characters of both Pompey and Caesar and the rigidity of Cato’s character
have contributed to the play’s neglect; the text is often bypassed as an example
of the minor play of a playwright whose literary fame was earned exclusively
by his translations of Homer. The tragedy is accused of failing to transmit an
‘impression of an important and world-changing march of events’ (MacLure
1966: 152). There are critics, however, who have attempted to bring the play’s
importance back into the academic limelight by pointing out that it offers ‘fine
dramatic moments and raises compelling questions’ (O’Callaghan 1976: 319).
The False One (c. 1619–20?), published in the 1647 Beaumont and Fletcher
first folio but authored by John Fletcher and Philip Massinger,18 presents an
account of the events in Alexandria, closely following the historical sources,
including Lucan’s Civil War. In this play, belonging to the tradition of
12 Julius Caesar’s Self-Created Image and Its Dramatic Afterlife

mainstream London theatre (produced by the King’s Men at the Blackfriars),

Caesar is duly captivated by Cleopatra, discovers the riches of Egypt and
defeats the Egyptians. In the prologue, the dramatists notably express their
wish to distinguish the play from familiar narratives about Caesar’s death or
the affair of Antony and Cleopatra. Unlike the superficial treatment of the
relationship in the anonymous Caesar’s Revenge, in which Cleopatra is just a
brief encounter, Fletcher and Massinger create a dramatic vision of opulence
and passion, with distinctively comic flavour.
Finally, another academic play, Jasper Fisher’s Fuimus Troes or The True
Trojans is a dramatization of Caesar’s invasion of Britain in 55–54 BC . The
play appeared in print in 1633 but it is known that it was performed in Oxford,
albeit with a hazy performance date ranging from between 1607 when Fisher
began his studies and 1625, the year of James I’s death.19 Infused with a
pronounced nationalist agenda, Fuimus Troes depicts the Britons’ resistance to
Caesar’s ambition but at the same time declares that the British and the Romans
share an ancestry going back to Troy, a belief originating in Geoffrey of
Monmouth’s twelfth-century History of the Kings of Britain.20 Caesar is the
antagonist but typically combines ruthlessness with greatness and even shows
a touch of compassion at the prospect of fighting fellow ‘Trojans’. Fisher does
not attempt to evade historical truths, but although Caesar is victorious his
Britons claim the moral victory and emerge as proud as ever in their faith in
the ability to stand against a superior foe.
For the majority of the works introduced above, including Shakespeare,
Handel and Shaw, arguing for too heavy a reliance on the commentaries would
be an extrapolation at best. However, there are exceptions in which borrowings
from Caesar’s works have been acknowledged. Fisher’s major source for Fuimus
Troes is Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History but the occasionally fanciful Galfridian
account is complemented by material taken from the Gallic War; to pay homage
to his sources, the playwright has even divided his list of characters into three
sections according to whether the source is Geoffrey, Caesar, or, indeed, Fisher’s
own imagination. Womersley (1987: 215–16) notes that possible proof for
Shakespeare’s direct engagement with the commentaries can be Caesar’s
description of unicorns (Gallic War 6.27) according to which these animals
(‘elks’) can only rest by leaning against trees because once fallen on the ground,
they are unable to get up; hunters cut the tree trunks in a way that leaves them
 Introduction 13

standing but only a small pressure is necessary to cause their fall – the animal is
tricked to lean on the trunk and soon finds itself helpless on the ground. This
description, Womersley plausibly contends, is comparable to Decius Brutus’s
remark that Caesar ‘loves to hear/That unicorns may be betrayed with trees’
(Julius Caesar 2.1.204–5). Monson (1985: 313) notes that Bussani, whose libretto
was re-worked by Haym for Handel’s Giulio Cesare, mentioned the Alexandrian
War alongside the staple sources of Plutarch, Suetonius, Appian and Dio.
Regardless of its authorship, the Alexandrian War has been attached to Caesar’s
literary corpus and this presumes knowledge of Caesar’s writings on Bussani’s
part.
The playbill of the first professional production (the copyright performance)
of Bernard Shaw’s Caesar and Cleopatra in Newcastle included a list of historical
sources and the playwright’s advice for the critics to consult ‘Manetho and the
Egyptian monuments, Herodotus, Diodorus, Strabo (book 17), Plutarch,
Pomponius Mela, Pliny, Tacitus, Appian of Alexandria and, perhaps, Ammianus
Marcellinus’. In his discussion of the above passage, Couchman (1973: 53) notes
the absence of influential authors, such as Lucan or Suetonius and the placing
of Plutarch amongst the lesser known sources, as well as adding Caesar’s own
Gallic War in a second list of sources recommended to the ordinary spectators.
Bernard Shaw did not label his Caesar and Cleopatra a comedy: in the standard
edition of his works, he gave it the subtitle ‘a History’; in the Mander and
Mitchenson edition the subtitle appears as ‘a history in four acts’ and the day bill
reproduced in the edition advertises the play as ‘a chronicle play in five acts’.21
Shaw’s classification supports his playfully notorious claim that history is to a
large extent a product of artistic creation. A remark in the playbill suggests that
the above writers have consulted their own imagination and that the author has
done the same. The list of ancient sources is rightly seen as a joke by Couchman,
who accepts the widespread opinion that Mommsen’s history should be taken
as the only real source of Shaw’s work.22 Although Valency (1973: 172) describes
Shaw’s Caesar as ‘a monumental figure, redeemed from rigidity by his humor
and his humanity’, he is critical of the play’s lack of direct contact with classical
sources and concludes that ‘in comparison with its historical basis the situation
depicted in Caesar and Cleopatra seems simple, reasonable, and relatively
comprehensible. Perhaps this is its chief shortcoming as drama’ (1973: 181).23
However, such criticism seems to be missing the point of creative interpretation
14 Julius Caesar’s Self-Created Image and Its Dramatic Afterlife

of a legendary historical personage such as Caesar. By his attitude towards

historical sources, Shaw consciously engages with the debate on objectivity of
history and in effect willingly subjects his own contribution to scrutiny.
Moreover, his attitude towards the plurality of source material is indicative of a
tendency, conscious in his case, but also evident in earlier playwrights, to create
a holistic image of Caesar based on various sources.

Lucan and the historiographers

In order to make sense of the implication of Caesar’s own works on the selected
plays despite the scarcity of direct textual borrowings, in this study I pay special
attention to the important intermediators: the ancient historiographers and
Lucan. The number and popularity of accounts of Caesar’s life and times reflect
the magnitude of the dictator’s fame and the majority of them became available
in print in the fifteenth century, together with Caesar’s own works. Throughout
the book, for the sake of convenience and simplification, I have adopted a
somewhat generic term ‘ancient historiographers’ but it is important to bear in
mind their heterogeneity: the immediate reception, as it were, by Caesar’s
anonymous continuators is evident in the Alexandrian War, African War and
Spanish War; the biographies of Suetonius and Plutarch are structured around
the sensational in the former and the moral evaluation in the latter; Velleius
Paterculus and Florus have written concise compendia while Appian and
Cassius Dio’s histories of the civil wars offer a detailed account of Caesar’s role
in the big picture of late Republican affairs. Many of these works drew on the
now lost accounts of Livy and Pollio, the latter a contemporary and associate
of Caesar, whereas the extant rich correspondence, speeches and writings of
Cicero are also an invaluable source that documents his very personal attitude
towards Caesar as an individual and as a political figure. Consulted to different
degrees but available as a kaleidoscope of impressions, these texts served as
groundwork of the plays and are an apt demonstration of drama’s receptiveness
towards the classical tradition.
Ancient historiography is joined by another hugely influential work and a
key source of inspiration for dramatists – Lucan’s historical epic Civil War. By
virtue of its genre, the poem acts as an interface between history and fiction,
 Introduction 15

and the author’s emotionally charged response to Caesar’s victories and his
legacy determines its special place in the study of the reception of Caesar;
therefore, it deserves a more detailed look in this Introduction.
Marcus Annaeus Lucanus (AD 39–65), the nephew of Seneca the Younger,
took an active part in social and political life during the reign of Nero who
appointed him to the posts of augur and quaestor. Lucan was awarded the
prize for poetry in the first Neronia in AD 60 but when, possibly due to artistic
jealousy, Nero banned the performance of Lucan’s works, the young poet took
part in the famous Pisonian conspiracy against the emperor. Upon the
discovery of the plot, he was forced to commit suicide, a fate that his uncle also
met in the same year.24
Although Lucan authored numerous works, his extant oeuvre consists
exclusively of the ten books of the Civil War. The poem includes the crossing of
the Rubicon, the Spanish campaign, the siege of Massillia, Caesar’s victory at
Pharsalus, and Pompey’s death in Egypt. Book 10 ends unfinished, Lucan leaving
Caesar at the beginning of the Alexandrian War, fighting against numerous
Egyptian troops, his future yet undecided.25
The Caesarean legacy, fully developed in its Augustan offshoot and resonating
in the Julio-Claudian dynasty, conditioned Lucan’s own life. Painfully aware of
this, Lucan accordingly extends his opposition to the Caesarean bias beyond
the limits of the narrative and sets his poem as a weapon against the prevailing
historical actuality – a literary desire, in Leigh’s words: ‘to induce his readers
to deny the truths of historical time’ (1997: 27).
The poem is saturated with a feeling of odium towards the civil war and
Lucan channels this emotional charge into a narrative of enormous scale, a
marked obsession with the irrational and the twisted, which reinforces the
catastrophic dimensions of the conflict. Despite his alleged Republican stance
and hatred for the authoritarian regime that he takes Caesar to symbolize, the
poet is nevertheless possessed by a perceivable, almost masochistic, urge to
depict his character as full of superhuman energy and ambition. This has led
commentators to see Caesar as ‘the emotional and narrative focus of the poem,
an attractive, if fearful, mixture of defiance and ruthlessness, epic grandeur and
impious heroism’ (Schiesaro 2003: 124), as the true muse of Lucan (Johnson
1987: 118). Even those who do not readily endorse Caesar as the main character
accept as evident ‘Lucan’s admiration for his skill, swiftness, and general
16 Julius Caesar’s Self-Created Image and Its Dramatic Afterlife

physical bearing’ (Holliday 1969: 14). Ahl (1976: 190) also agrees that although
Lucan loathed the regime brought by Caesar’s victory in the civil war, he could
not deny the General’s clemency and phenomenal military skill.
Not only does Caesar emerge as the driving force of Lucan’s poetics but the
two are engaged in a somewhat symbiotic relationship in relation to their fame.
While it is clear that Caesar and the civil war are an enduring subject that
guaranteed the interest in Lucan (thus Walde: ‘Lucan’s fame persists because he
made Caesar his principal character’ (2006: 47)), in his poetic self-confidence,
Lucan claims the ability to determine how the image of Caesar is perceived in
posterity.
Caesar has conditioned the historical reality of Lucan and the poet, in his
own aristeia, attempts to condition the representation of Caesar.26 To this end,
he actively and purposefully implicates his persona within the poem, using
apostrophic feats and establishing his work as a rival interpretation of the
events that historical Caesar describes. In his attempt to alter Caesarean reality
and to gag the demonic voice of history, at a moment when the presence of
the narrator is crucial, the battle at Pharsalus, Lucan refuses to describe the
atrocities of the war. This, as Johnson (1987: 98) remarks, is almost as if Homer
refused to describe the duel between Hector and Achilles. Masters (1992: 9)
describes Lucan’s strategy: ‘In the struggle between Caesar and Pompey, then,
lies the paradigm of Lucan’s narrative technique: the conflict between the will
to tell the story and the horror which shies from telling it.’ This poetic self-
denial is an alternative way to stop the action, which at the same time insists on
the demiurge powers of the poet, his ability to create certain events and to
deny others, a power used by Lucan to oppose Caesar’s control of history,
claimed by the commentaries.
In Book 9, Lucan breaks his silence and engages with Caesar apostrophically.
Caesar is transported to the remains of Troy, where ‘even the ruins suffered
oblivion’ (9.969) – in what seems almost like a comic relief episode, a rather
enigmatic, ghostly guide tells Caesar not to disturb the shade of Hector – the
General has stepped on his grave by accident. The eerie presence of the guide
is rightly suggested to be none other than the poet, who has been following
Caesar’s victorious advance like a shadow.27 Indeed, it is on the ancient
battlefield of Troy, where Lucan, with his poetic talent, challenges the power of
the dictator and god-to-be:
 Introduction 17

O how sacred and immense the task of bards! You snatch everything
From death and to mortals you give immortality.
Caesar, do not be touched by envy of their sacred fame;
[. . .]
The future ages will read me and you; our Pharsalia
Shall live and we shall be condemned to darkness by no era.
(9.980–86)

The importance of this episode lies in the blurring of the borders between
reality and fiction, the sublimation of the voices of narrator and poet, and the
resulting unification of epic and historical Caesar. Finally, there ensues a
sublimation of Lucan and Caesar as almost transcendental beings engaged in
battle for poetic and historical truth. This is made more poignant by the
manner Lucan chose to extend his resistance beyond the limits of the narrative:
forced to commit suicide, as the blood ran out of his opened veins, Lucan
recited lines from the Civil War (Suetonius Life of Lucan; Tacitus Annals 15.70).
His death is an ample demonstration of both his poetic self-esteem and desire
to transform the last moments of his life into a memorable performance, and
to add substance to his work by connecting it to a real battle against Caesarean
legacy.
Moreover, it is notable that the poem ends precisely at the same point as
Caesar’s Civil War and it seems plausible to suspect intentional structuring of
the work as a generic and stylistic antipode to Caesar’s opus. Caesar’s
commentaries should be accepted as a source for Lucan’s poem alongside the
accounts of Livy and Assinius Pollio28 and claims that Lucan’s work is a
deliberate counterpoise to Caesar’s opus are expressed by Feeney (1993: 274)
and Masters (1992), among others. Masters points out that in his account on
Lucan, Vacca does not mention that Lucan left his poem unfinished but rather
that the poem did not receive its final revision (1992: 222); Vacca’s claim that
three books were published during Lucan’s lifetime is seen by Masters to follow
traditional biographies of poets and many elements may be invented to fit the
model lives of Virgil (reciting three books of the Aeneid) and Ovid (incurring
the anger of the emperor) (1992: 220–1). Therefore, he concludes that the
poem was designed to have no end: ‘for a poem whose premise is the
impossibility of its resolution, the only possible ending is one which cuts us off
at that moment where nothing is resolved’ (1992: 253). Leigh (1997: 21)
18 Julius Caesar’s Self-Created Image and Its Dramatic Afterlife

supports this hypothesis by observing that ‘the narrative is studded with the
emotional refusal of an ending’.29
The reaction against Caesarean historical supremacy emerges as the guiding
principle of the poet’s creative process; consequently, the work becomes the ‘alter
ego’ of the commentaries and although Lucan should not be accepted as historical
source at its face value, his poem stands out as a crucial phase of the development
of Caesar’s character in historiography. For example, Appian (Civil Wars 2.75)
is most likely influenced by Lucan in his depiction of Caesar ordering the
destruction of his camp palisade at Pharsalus, in order to compel the soldiers
to rush towards the enemy lines with no camp defences to retreat back to. Caesar
himself does not mention such anti-strategic order.30 Lintott (1971: 488)
articulates the importance of Lucan’s poem by defining it as a work that ‘represents
an intermediate stage between the contemporary account by Caesar of his defeat
of the Pompeians and the later versions in Plutarch, Appian and Cassius Dio’. The
crossing of the Rubicon scene, the episode in which Caesar attempts to cross the
Adriatic on his own, during a storm, in order to transport his troops delayed in
Italy, the mutiny of Caesar’s soldiers, and the encounter between Caesar and
Cleopatra are presented by ancient historians and certain accounts bear more
similarities to Lucan than others. By the time it reaches Cassius Dio, Appian,
Plutarch and Suetonius, the image of Julius Caesar is as rich in allusions to the
terrifyingly charismatic General who sets in motion the epic Civil War.
Both the form and content of Lucan’s poem had immense value for the
subsequent theatrical representations of Caesar, particularly in the Elizabethan
and Jacobean theatre, which was also influenced by Seneca’s language and
style. Some scholars have in fact argued for the pre-eminence of Lucan over
Seneca. Thomson (1952: 231) states that ‘much of Elizabethan poetry that is
credited to Seneca should be credited to Lucan’ and Blissett (1956: 556–7)
accentuates the dramatic potential of the Civil War: ‘though Seneca wrote
drama and Lucan epic, both are writers of “tragedy” in the mediaeval sense’.31
Noting the increase in editions and translations of the poem towards the last
decades of the sixteenth century, in his landmark study, Paleit (2013: 10) calls
the period between 1580 and 1650 the ‘age of Lucan’. His poem was a not only
a source for the playwrights, but also provided food for thought for the
intellectuals with its republican or indeed, nihilistic, stance, and appealed to
the general reader with its sensational depictions of violence.
Another random document with
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of An index to
the collected works of William Hazlitt
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the
laws of the country where you are located before using this
eBook.

Title: An index to the collected works of William Hazlitt

Author: William Hazlitt

Editor: Arnold Glover

A. R. Waller

Release date: November 26, 2023 [eBook #72232]

Language: English

Original publication: London: J. M. Dent & Co, 1906

Credits: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file
was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN INDEX

TO THE COLLECTED WORKS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT ***
Transcriber’s Note:
New original cover art included with this eBook is
granted to the public domain.
INDEX TO HAZLITT’S
COLLECTED WORKS

All Rights Reserved

AN INDEX TO THE COLLECTED WORKS OF

WILLIAM HAZLITT

EDITED BY A. R. WALLER
AND ARNOLD GLOVER
❦

1906
LONDON: J. M. DENT & CO.
29 AND 30 BEDFORD STREET, W.C.
 TO THE MEMORY OF
A. G.

E. H. G.
A. R. W.
 PREFACE

It was originally intended to add an index at the end of volume xii.

of our edition, but so many of Hazlitt’s previously unidentified
writings were discovered during the progress of the work, that it was
found to be impossible to make volumes xi. and xii. any thicker. A
brief index of the titles of Hazlitt’s various essays and papers closed,
therefore, volume xii., and the publication of a separate index was
designed.
The scope of this index was agreed upon between Arnold Glover
and myself; the slips were made under my direction, and it was my
intention to have checked them myself. Upon the death of Arnold
Glover, however, I had to undertake other work left uncompleted by
him, and the labour of checking each entry in the proofs with the
twelve volumes indexed has been accomplished by Mrs Arnold
Glover.
The book is now published, through the collaboration of Mrs
Arnold Glover, Messrs J. M. Dent & Co. and myself, at a price
considerably below cost, in order to place it within reach of all lovers
of Hazlitt; and in memory of one who spared no pains in his self-
chosen task of making the writings of Hazlitt better known, one who
added so considerably to the known bulk of those writings.
Recognition of the value of his labour has, since his death, been
ungrudgingly given him. It remains to be added that he himself
would have regarded that labour as incomplete until he had passed
the last proof-sheet of this index.

A. R. Waller.

Cambridge, 1st September 1906.

 NOTE

The index is practically confined to the names of persons and

things. The names of imaginary persons, characters in novels, plays,
etc., are indexed under the first word of the name by which they are
usually designated, e.g. Tony Lumpkin, Don Quixote, Dr Faustus.
The names of real persons are indexed in the ordinary way. In the
very heavy list of Quotations the method adopted has followed so far
as seemed possible that in use in the Index to Quotations in Notes
and Queries. The list of quotations has been very considerably
lightened by leaving out almost all phrases from Shakespeare and
Milton: to have added these would have made the list of quotations
almost double its present length, so often did Hazlitt quote from
these two. Hazlitt’s spelling has been followed where deemed
characteristic.
It has been discovered that a short essay has, by mistake, been
printed twice in the text (vol. vii. p. 360, and vol. xi. p. 433). Owners
of the edition will, perhaps, be so good as to note this fact in their
copies.
It is the intention of the surviving editor to keep the notes and
index up to date, in case a second impression should be required. He
will be obliged if readers will send him any suggestions they may
wish to make.
 ADDENDA

Beyle, M. H., vi. 285; viii. 411.

For Sir Thomas Booby, see under
Sir Thomas, not Booby.
Bothwell, v. 142.
Change-Alley, iii. 297.
Conciones ad Populum, x. 131.
Destut, etc., read Destutt de Tracy,
and add vii. 323.
Dr Slop, viii. 121.
Ecole des Femmes, viii. 554; xi. 276.
Excursion, The, vii. 76.
French Revolution (Burke’s), ix.
473 n.; xii. 291.
For Still substitute Stevenson as the probable author of Gammer
Gurton’s Needle.
Geneva, ix. 216.
Junius, iv. 217.
For La Fontaine the fabulist, see
Under La, not Fontaine.
Madge Wildfire, viii. 413 n.
Neapolitan Nobleman, xi. 222.
Onslow, Arthur, vii. 271.
Present Discontents, iii. 335.
For Sterne’s Uncle Toby, See Under
“My Uncle,” as well as Uncle
Toby, and add v. 129.
Stoddart, Dr, xi. 444.
 ADDENDA TO QUOTATIONS
above all pain, all passion, and all pride, ix. 59.
all this world were one glorious lie, v. 334.
and doubtless ’mong the grave and good, vii. 366.
as good as a prologue, viii. 309.

calm pleasures, vii. 318.

commanded to shew the knight in love, i. 348.
constrained by mastery, i. 151.

deem not devoid of elegance, vii. 317.

each other’s beams to share, xi. 488.

earth destroys those raptures, vii. 318.
elegant Petruchio, etc., i. 344.
Elysian beauty, vii. 320.
endure having hot molten lead, etc., vii. 322.

first garden ... innocence, i. 105.

for a song, vii. 362.

gentlemen’s gentlemen, vii. 211.

glared round his soul, vii. 319.
grand carnival of this our age, xi. 440.
Hamlet, to leave the part of, xii. 383.
he was hurt and knew it not, vii. 354.
head to the East, vii. 342.
his face ’twixt tears and smiles, xi. 480.
his grace looks cheerfully, viii. 183.
his look made the still air cold, vii. 99.
huge, dumb heap, viii. 448.

interlocutions between Lucius and Caius, iv. 276.

is it to be supposed that it is England, xi. 444.

leave all and follow it, vii. 315.

license of the time, i. 235.
like dew-drops from the lion’s mane, v. 267 n.
like poppies spread, vii. 308.

madness, that fine, xii. 340.

meek mouths ruminant, iii. 239.
mighty dead, vii. 365.
mind reflecting ages past, iv. 213.
mouth with slumbery pout, viii. 478.

No maid could live near such a man, i. 305.

No, thou art not my child, viii. 427.
Not Fate itself could awe, xi. 410.
now of the planetary, iv. 230.
Oh, not from you, vii. 339.
out on the craft, vii. 365 n.
owes no allegiance, i. 112.

paint a sunbeam to the blind, etc., v. 237.

perceive a softness, etc., xi. 522.
picks pears, etc., ix. 71.
play at bowls with the sun and moon, ix. 64.
play with wisdom, xi. 551.
pomp of elder days, v. 177.
prevailing gentle arts, iii. 108.
proper study, etc., vii. 312.

rejoice when good kings bleed, i. 191.

right divine, iii. 288.
roast me these Violantes, viii. 156.
round which with tendrils, etc., vii. 310.

sailing with supreme dominion, vii. 339.

see o’er the stage, etc., vi. 273; xii. 123.
spin his brains, vii. 319.
stand all apart, viii. 181.
still, small, etc., vii. 336.
strange that such difference, etc., xi. 505.
sweet passion of love, viii. 261.

there were two upon the housetops, viii. 393.

thin partitions do their bounds, etc., viii. 217.
trees in Sherwood forest, v. 143.

well of English, etc., vii. 321.

what was my pride, etc., xi. 455.
which waste the marrow, xii. 427.
whose body nature was, vii. 320.
winged words, xii. 345.
within our bosoms, etc., ii. 395.

you ask her crime, vii. 350.

About one-third of the above are additional occurrences of

quotations already indexed.
 A.

A. (Mr), vi. 390.

Aaron (Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus), i. 357; v. 207.
Aaron’s Rod, iv. 63.
Abbot’s Ford, iv. 245.
Abbott, William, vi. 277; viii. 235, 266, 292, 333, 335, 413, 455; xi.
402.
—— Mr Speaker (Lord Colchester), iv. 199; xii. 370.
À Becket, Thomas, v. 143.
A’Beckett, Gilbert, v. 143.
Abednego, iii. 265.
Abel Drugger (Ben Jonson’s The Alchemyst), ii. 76 n., 79; vi. 273,
418; viii. 227, 228; xii. 33.
Abelard and Eloise (Pope’s), v. 75.
—— Peter, iv. 213; v. 75; vii. 96; ix. 146, 354; xii. 165.
Aben Hamet (in Dimond’s Conquest of Taranto), viii. 368.
Aberdeen, ii. 209; viii. 290; ix. 492.
Abernethy, John, vi. 62.
Abhorson (in Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure), i. 346.
Abimelech Henley (in Holcroft’s Anna St Ives), ii. 128.
Abinger, Lord (Mr Scarlett), vii. 174 n., 516.
Abington, Mrs, i. 157; vi. 426, 453; viii. 74, 174, 393; ix. 147; xii. 24.
Aboam (in Southerne’s Oroonoko), xi. 302.
Abraham Adams (in Fielding’s Joseph Andrews), viii. 106; x. 328.
Abruzzi, The Passes of the, ix 255, 259; x. 283, 291.
Absalom and Achitophel (Dryden), v. 80.
Abstract Ideas, On, xi. p. v., 1.
—— —— xi. 1.
Abstraction, On, xi. 180.
Academie de Musique, viii. 363.
Academy, at Bologna, ix. 205, 264.
—— of Compliments, i. 235.
—— of Painting (Venice), ix. 273, 274.
—— of St Luke, x. 280, 296.
Accusation. See Anglade Family.
Acetto, Count, ix. 213.
Achilles, i. 221; iv. 225; v. 15, 54, 64; vii. 255; x. 6, 98; xii. 8.
Achitophel (Dryden’s), iii. 400; v. 80.
Achmet (in John Brown’s Barbarossa), viii. 372.
Acis and Galatea (by John Gay), vii. 103.
Ackerman, Rudolf, i. 366; viii. 143; ix. 313.
Acropolis, ix. 379; x. 343; xi. 227, 486.
Actæon—Hunting (Titian), i. 27, 78.
Acted Drama in London, Essays on the, viii. 381.
Actium, i. 229; v. 50; viii. 192.
Acton, Sir Francis, v. 213.
Actor, The (Holcroft’s paper), ii. 87.
Actors and Acting, On, i. 153, 156, 382.
—— ought to sit in the Boxes? Whether, vi. 272.
Actors and the Public, xi. 348.
Acts of Uniformity, xi. 314.
Adair, Sir R., ii. 169, 214, 227.
Adam, i. 38, 105 seq., 385, 425; iv. 337; v. 60, 66; vi. 96, 396, 411; vii.
36; xi. 233, 452; xii. 276, 455 n.
—— (in Shakespeare’s As You Like It), i. 340.
—— (Michael Angelo’s), ix. 241, 332, 362.
—— (in Milton’s Paradise Lost), v. 357, 371.
—— and Eve (Barry’s), ix. 418.
—— —— (Martin’s), vi. 398; vii. 292 n.; xi. 553.
—— —— in Paradise (Poussin), vii. 291, 292; ix. 109.
—— —— driven out of Paradise (Ribera’s), ix. 70.
Adam Bell (in Holcroft’s The Noble Peasant), ii. 110.
Adams, Mr (Sec. of the Constitutional Soc.), ii. 153.
Addington, Henry, Viscount Sidmouth, iii. 3, 38; viii. 17; xii. 206,
450.
—— Hiley, iii. 238, 300.
Addison, Joseph, i. 2, 8, 9, 370, 372, 374, 380, 382, 415; ii. 43, 212;
iv. 233, 269, 367; v. 78, 319, 373; vii. 6, 36; viii. 22, 89, 97, 98, 99,
101, 105, 158; ix. 276; x. 112, 206, 359; xi. 391, 489, 543, 546; xii.
35, 170, 330, 331, 375.
Address to the Inhabitants of New Lanark (Robert Owen’s), iii. 121.
Adela (in Holcroft’s The Noble Peasant), ii. 110.
Adelaide, or The Emigrants (Sheil’s), viii. 308, 530.
Adelard (in L. Bonaparte’s Charlemagne), xi. 232.
Adelinde (in L. Bonaparte’s Charlemagne), xi. 235.
Adelphi, i. 35; viii. 404, 411, 412; ix. 420, 421, 422; x. 200; xi. 242;
xii. 168, 195, 196.
Adige, The, ix. 277.
Admetus, iii. 206.
Admirable Crichton, viii. 459; xii. 34.
Admiralty, vii. 115.
Adonis, Gardens of, v. 38.
Adoration, An (Raphael’s), ix. 73.
—— of the Angels (Poussin’s), ix. 51.
—— of the Shepherds (Caracci’s), ix. 26.
Adrian (Pope), xi. 235.
Adriana (in Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors), i. 352.
Adriano de Armada (in Shakespeare’s Love’s Labour’s Lost), v. 324.
Adrian’s Villa, ix. 256; xi. 199.
Adriatic, ix. 200, 264, 266, 284.
Adventurer, The (Hawksworth’s), vii. 226; viii. 104.
Adventures of Friar Albert (Chaucer), xii. 30.
—— at Madrid, or Gallantry (a play), viii. 399.
Advertisement and Biographical and Critical Notes from the
Eloquence of the British Senate, iii. 388.
Advice to a Patriot; in a Letter addressed to a Member of the Old
Opposition, iii. 1.
Ægeon of Syracuse (Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors), iv. 341; vi. 58.
Æmilia (in Two Noble Kinsmen), v. 261.
—— (Shakespeare’s Othello), i. 201 seq., 293; vi. 303.
Æneas, i. 416; iii. 461; v. 54; ix. 171; x. 20; xi. 492; xii. 19.
—— Escaping, etc. (Barry’s), ix. 415.
—— (in Opera Didona Abandonnata), viii. 197.
—— and Dido (Guérin’s), ix. 135.
Æneid (Gawin Douglas’ version), v. 399.