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diff --git a/18799-8.txt b/18799-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..da9730d --- /dev/null +++ b/18799-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9823 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Growth of English Drama, by Arnold Wynne + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + + + + +Title: The Growth of English Drama + + +Author: Arnold Wynne + + + +Release Date: July 10, 2006 [eBook #18799] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GROWTH OF ENGLISH DRAMA*** + + +E-text prepared by Ted Garvin, Taavi Kalju, and the Project Gutenberg +Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/) + + + +THE GROWTH OF ENGLISH DRAMA + +by + +ARNOLD WYNNE, M.A. + + + + + + + +Oxford +At the Clarendon Press +Printed in England +At the Oxford University Press +by John Johnson +Printer to the University +Impression of 1927 +First edition, 1914 + + + + +PREFACE + + +In spite of the fact that an almost superabundant literature of +exposition has gathered round early English drama, there is, I believe, +still room for this book. Much criticism is available. But the student +commonly searches through it in vain for details of the plots and +characters, and specimens of the verse, of interludes and plays which +time, opportunity, and publishers combine to withhold from him. Notable +exceptions to this generalization exist. Such are Sir A.W. Ward's +monumental _English Dramatic Literature_, and that delightful volume, +J.A. Symonds' _Shakespeare's Predecessors_; but the former extends its +survey far beyond the limits of early drama, while the latter too often +passes by with brief mention works concerning which the reader would +gladly hear more. Some authors have written very fully, but upon only a +section of pre-Shakespearian dramatic work. Of others it may generally +be said that their purposes limit to criticism their treatment of all +but the best known plays. The present volume attempts a more +comprehensive plan. It presents, side by side with criticism, such data +as may enable the reader to form an independent judgment. Possibly for +the first time in a book of this scope almost all the plays of the +University Wits receive separate consideration, while such familiar +titles as _Hick Scorner_, _Gammer Gurton's Needle_, and _The Misfortunes +of Arthur_ cease to be mere names appended to an argument. As a +consequence it has been possible to examine in detail the influence of +such men as Heywood, Udall, Sackville, and Kyd, and to trace from its +beginning, with much closer observation than a more general method +permits, the evolution of the Elizabethan drama. + +I have read the works of my predecessors carefully, and humbly +acknowledge my indebtedness to such authorities as Ten Brink and Ward. +From Mr. Pollard's edition of certain _English Miracle Plays_ I have +borrowed one or two quotations, in addition to information gathered from +his admirable introduction. Particularly am I under an obligation to Mr. +Chambers, upon whose _Mediaeval Stage_ my first chapter is chiefly +based. To the genius of J.A. Symonds I tender homage. + +For most generous and highly valued help as critic and reviser of my +manuscript I thank my colleague, Mr. J.L.W. Stock. + +ARNOLD WYNNE. + +SOUTH AFRICAN COLLEGE, +CAPE TOWN. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE +CHAPTER I +EARLY CHURCH DRAMA ON THE CONTINENT 9 + +CHAPTER II +ENGLISH MIRACLE PLAYS 22 + +CHAPTER III +MORALITIES AND INTERLUDES 51 + +CHAPTER IV +RISE OF COMEDY AND TRAGEDY 87 + +CHAPTER V +COMEDY: LYLY, GREENE, PEELE, NASH 124 + +CHAPTER VI +TRAGEDY: LODGE, KYD, MARLOWE, _Arden of Feversham_ 193 + +APPENDIX +THE ELIZABETHAN STAGE 270 + +INDEX 277 + + + + +CHAPTER I + +EARLY CHURCH DRAMA ON THE CONTINENT + + +The old Classical Drama of Greece and Rome died, surfeited with horror +and uncleanness. Centuries rolled by, and then, when the Old Drama was +no more remembered save by the scholarly few, there was born into the +world the New Drama. By a curious circumstance its nurse was the same +Christian Church that had thrust its predecessor into the grave. + +A man may dig his spade haphazard into the earth and by that act +liberate a small stream which shall become a mighty river. Not less +casual perhaps, certainly not less momentous in its consequences, was +the first attempt, by some enterprising ecclesiastic, to enliven the +hardly understood Latin service of the Church. Who the innovator was is +unrecorded. The form of his innovation, however, may be guessed from +this, that even in the fifth century human tableaux had a place in the +Church service on festival occasions. All would be simple: a number of +the junior clergy grouped around a table would represent the 'Marriage +at Cana'; a more carefully postured group, again, would serve to portray +the 'Wise Men presenting gifts to the Infant Saviour'. But the reality +was greater than that of a painted picture; novelty was there, and, +shall we say, curiosity, to see how well-known young clerics, members of +local families, would demean themselves in this new duty. The +congregations increased, and earnest or ambitious churchmen were +incited to add fresh details to surpass previous tableaux. + +But the Church is conservative. It required the lapse of hundreds of +years to make plain the possibility of action and its advantages over +motionless figures. Just before this next step was taken, or it may have +been just after, two of the scholarly few mentioned as having not quite +forgotten the Classical Drama, made an effort to revive its methods +while bitting and bridling it carefully for holy purposes. Some one +worthy brother (who was certainly not Gregory Nazianzene of the fourth +century), living probably in the tenth century, wrote a play called +_Christ's Passion_, in close imitation of Greek tragedy, even to the +extent of quoting extensively from Euripides. In the same century a good +and zealous nun of Saxony, Hroswitha by name, set herself to outrival +Terence in his own realm and so supplant him in the studies of those who +still read him to their souls' harm. She wrote, accordingly, six plays +on the model of Terence's Comedies, supplying, for his profane themes, +the histories of suffering martyrs and saintly maidens. It was a noble +ambition (not the less noble because she failed); but it was not along +the lines of her plays or of _Christ's Passion_ that the New Drama was +to develop. It is doubtful whether they were known outside a few +convents. + +In the tenth century the all-important step from tableau to dialogue and +action had been taken. Its initiation is shrouded in obscurity, but may +have been as follows. Ever since the sixth century Antiphons, or choral +chants in which the two sides of the choir alternately respond to each +other, had been firmly established in the Church service. For these, +however, the words were fixed as unchangeably as are the words of our +old Psalms. Nevertheless, the possibility of extending the application +of antiphons began to be felt after, and as a first stage in that +direction there was adopted a curious practice of echoing back +expressive 'ah's' and 'oh's' in musical reply to certain vital passages +not fitted with antiphons. Under skilful training this may have sounded +quite effective, but it is natural to suppose that, the antiphonal +extension having been made, the next stage was not long delayed. +Suitable lines or texts (_tropes_) would soon be invented to fill the +spaces, and immediately there sprang into being a means for providing +dramatic dialogue. If once answers were admitted, composed to fit into +certain portions of the service, there could be little objection to the +composition of other questions to follow upon the previous answers. +Religious conservatism kept invention within the strictest limits, so +that to the end these liturgical responses were little more than slight +modifications of the words of the _Vulgate_. But the dramatic element +was there, with what potentiality we shall see. + +So much for dramatic dialogue. Dramatic action would appear to have +grown up with it, the one giving intensity to the other. The development +of both, side by side, is interesting to trace from records preserved +for us in old manuscripts. Considering the occasion first--for these +'attractions' were reserved for special festivals--we know that Easter +was a favourite opportunity for elaborating the service. The events +associated with Easter are in themselves intensely dramatic. They are +also of supreme importance in the teaching of the Church: of all points +in the creed none has a higher place than the belief in the +Resurrection. Therefore the 'Burial' and the 'Rising again' called for +particular elaboration. One of the earliest methods of driving these +truths home to the hearts of the unlearned and unimaginative was to +bury the crucifix for the requisite three days (a rite still observed +in many churches by the removal of the cross from the altar), and then +restore it to its exalted position; the simple act being done with much +solemn prostration and creeping on hands and knees of those whose duty +it was to bear the cross to its sepulchre. This sepulchre, it may be +explained, was usually a wooden structure, painted with guardian +soldiers, large enough to contain a tall crucifix or a man hidden, and +occupying a prominent position in the church throughout the festival. +Not infrequently it was made of more solid material, like the carved +stone 'sepulchre' in Lincoln Cathedral. + +A trope was next composed for antiphonal singing on Easter Monday, as +follows: + + Quem quaeritis? + Jhesum Nazarenum. + Non est hic; surrexit sicut praedixerat: ite, nuntiate quia + surrexit a mortuis. + Alleluia! resurrexit Dominus. + +Now let us observe how action and dialogue combine. One of the clergy is +selected to hide, as an angel, within the sepulchre. Towards it advance +three others, to represent three women, peeping here, glancing there, as +if they seek something. Presently a mysterious voice, proceeding out of +the tomb, sings the opening question, 'Whom do you seek?' Sadly the +three sing in reply, 'Jesus of Nazareth'. To this the first voice chants +back, 'He is not here; he has risen as he foretold: go, declare to +others that he has risen from the dead.' The three now burst forth in +joyful acclamation with, 'Alleluia! the Lord has risen.' Then from the +sepulchre issues a voice, 'Come and see the place,' the 'angel' standing +up as he sings that all may see him, and opening the doors of the +sepulchre to show clearly that the Lord is indeed risen. The empty +shroud is held up before the people, while all four sing together, 'The +Lord has risen from the tomb.' In procession they move to the altar and +lay the shroud there; the choir breaks into the _Te Deum_, and the bells +in the tower clash in triumph. It is the finale of the drama of Christ. + +To illustrate at once the dramatic nature and the limitations of the +dialogue as it was afterwards developed we give below a translation of +part of one of these ceremonies, from a manuscript of the thirteenth +century. The whole is an elaborated _Quem quaeritis_, and the part +selected is that where Mary Magdalene approaches the Sepulchre for the +second time, lamenting the theft of her Lord's body. Two Angels sitting +within the tomb address her in song: + + _Angels._ Woman, why weepest thou? + + _Mary._ Because they have taken away my Lord, + And I know not where they have laid him. + + _Angels._ Weep not, Mary; the Lord has risen. + Alleluia! + + _Mary._ My heart is burning with desire + To see my Lord; + I seek but still I cannot find + Where they have laid him. + Alleluia! + + [_Meanwhile a certain one disguised as a gardener draws near and + stands at the head of the sepulchre._] + + _He._ Woman, why weepest thou? whom seekest thou? + + _Mary._ Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast + laid him, and I will take him away. + + _He._ Mary! + + _Mary_ [_throwing herself at his feet_]. Rabboni! + + _He_ [_drawing back, as if to avoid her touch_]. Touch me not; for + I am not yet ascended to my Father and your Father, to my God and + your God. + +At Christmas a performance similar to the _Quem quaeritis_ took place +to signify the birth of Jesus, the 'sepulchre' being modified to serve +for the Holy Infant's birthplace, and Shepherds instead of women being +signified by those who advanced towards it. The antiphon was in direct +imitation of the other, commencing '_Quem quaeritis in praesepe, +pastores?_' Another favourite representation at the same festival was +that of the Magi. The development of this is of interest. In its +simplest form, the three Magi (or Kings) advance straight up the church +to the altar, their eyes fixed on a small lamp (the Star) lit above it; +a member of the choir stationed there announces to them the birth of a +Saviour; they present their offerings and withdraw. In a more advanced +form the three Magi approach the altar separately from different +directions, are guided by a moving 'star' down the central aisle to an +altar to the Virgin, bestow their gifts there, fall asleep, are warned +by an Angel, and return to the choir by a side aisle. For this version +the service of song also is greatly enlarged. Another rendering of the +story adds to it the interview between the Magi and Herod; yet others +include a scene between Herod and his Councillors, and the announcement +to Herod of the Magi's departure; still another extends the subject to +include the Massacre of the Innocents. Finally the early Shepherd +episode is tacked on at the beginning, the result being a lengthy +performance setting forth in action the whole narrative of the birth and +infancy of Jesus. + +Here then is drama in its infancy. A great stride has been taken from +the first crude burying of a crucifix to an animated union of dialogue +and natural action. The scope of the Mystery (for so these +representations were called) has been extended from a single incident to +a series of closely connected scenes. In its fullest ecclesiastical form +it consisted of five Epiphany Plays, of the Shepherds (or _Pastores_), +the Magi (or _Stella_ or _Tres Reges_), the Resurrection (or _Quem +quaeritis_), the Disciples of Emmaus (or _Peregrini_), and the Prophets +(or _Prophetae_), the last perhaps intended as a final proof from the +Old Testament of Christ's Messianic nature. Four points, however, +deserve to be noted. The language used is always Latin. The subject is +always taken from the Bible. Close correspondence is maintained with the +actual words of the _Vulgate_ (compare the Magdalene dialogue with John +xx. 13-17). The Mystery is performed in a church. Each point, it will be +observed, imposes a serious limitation. + +There was one play, however, which broke loose from most of these +limitations, a play of _St. Nicholas_, written by one Hilarius early in +the twelfth century. The same author composed a Mystery of _Lazarus_, +and an elaborate representation of _Daniel_, which must have made large +demands on the Church's supply of 'stage properties'. But his _St. +Nicholas_ is the only one that interests us here. To begin with, the +title informs us that the subject is not drawn from the Bible. The +words, therefore, are at the discretion of the author. Further, though +the medium is mostly Latin, the native language of the spectators has +been slipped in, to render a few recurrent phrases or refrains. The +story is quite simple, and humorous, and is as follows: + +The image of St. Nicholas stands in a Christian church. Into the church +comes a pagan barbarian; he is about to go on a long journey, and +desires to leave his treasure in a safe place. Having heard of the +reputation of St. Nicholas as the patron of property, he lays his riches +at the foot of the statue, and in four Latin verses of song commits them +to the saint's safe-keeping. No sooner is he gone, however, than thieves +steal in silently and remove the booty. Presently the barbarian returns, +discovers his loss, charges the image with faithlessness, and, +snatching up a whip, threatens it with a thrashing if the treasure is +not brought back. He withdraws, presumably, after this, to give St. +Nicholas an opportunity to amend matters. Whereupon one representing the +real celestial St. Nicholas suddenly appears, perhaps from behind a +curtain at the rear of the image, and seeks out the thieves. He +threatens them with exposure and torment unless they restore their +plunder; they give in; and St. Nicholas goes back to his concealment. +When the barbarian returns, his delight is naturally very great +at perceiving so complete an atonement for the saint's initial +oversight. Indeed his appreciation is so genuine that it only needs +a few words from the reappearing Saint to persuade him to accept +Christianity.--Monologue and dialogue are throughout in song. The +following is one of the three verses in which the barbarian proclaims +his loss; the last two lines in the vernacular are the same for all. + + Gravis sors et dura! + Hic reliqui plura, + Sed sub mala cura. + Des! quel dommage! + Qui pert la sue chose purque n'enrage. + +A play of this sort, dealing with the wonder-working of a Saint, became +known as a Miracle Play, to differentiate it from the Mystery Plays +based on Bible stories. + +_St. Nicholas_ would be performed in a church. But there is a probably +contemporaneous Norman Mystery Play, _Adam_, of unknown authorship, +which shows that the move from the church to the open air was already +being made. This play was performed just outside the church door, and +though the staging remains a matter of conjecture, it may be reasonably +assumed that the church represented Heaven, and that the three parts of +a projecting stage served respectively as Paradise (Eden), Earth, and +Hell (covered in, with side doors). The manuscript of the play (found at +Tours) supplies careful directions for staging and acting, as follows: + + A Paradise is to be made in a raised spot, with curtains and cloths + of silk hung round it at such a height that persons in the Paradise + may be visible from the shoulders upwards. Fragrant flowers and + leaves are to be set round about, and divers trees put therein with + hanging fruit, so as to give the likeness of a most delicate spot. + Then must come the Saviour, clothed in a dalmatic, and Adam and Eve + be brought before him. Adam is to wear a red tunic and Eve a + woman's robe of white, with a white silk cloak; and they are both + to stand before the Figure (_God_), Adam the nearer with composed + countenance, while Eve appears somewhat more modest. And the Adam + must be well trained when to reply and to be neither too quick nor + too slow in his replies. And not only he, but all the personages + must be trained to speak composedly, and to fit convenient gesture + to the matter of their speech. Nor must they foist in a syllable or + clip one of the verse, but must enounce firmly and repeat what is + set down for them in due order. Whosoever names Paradise is to look + and point towards it.[1] + +Glancing through the story we find that Adam and Eve are led into +Paradise, God first giving them counsel as to what they shall and shall +not do, and then retiring into the church. The happy couple are allowed +a brief time in which to demonstrate their joy in the Garden. Then Satan +approaches from Hell and draws Adam into conversation over the barrier. +His attempt to lure Adam to his Fall is vain, nor is he more successful +the first time with Eve. But as a serpent he over-persuades her to eat +of the forbidden fruit, and she gives it to Adam, with the well-known +result. In his guilt Adam now withdraws out of sight, changes his red +tunic for a costume contrived out of leaves, and reappears in great +grief. God enters from the church and, after delivering his judgment +upon the crime, drives Adam and Eve out of Eden. With spade and hoe they +pass under the curse of labour on the second stage, toiling there with +most disappointing results (Satan sows tares in their field) until the +end comes. Let the manuscript speak for itself again: + + Then shall come the Devil and three or four devils with him, + carrying in their hands chains and iron fetters, which they shall + put on the necks of Adam and Eve. And some shall push and others + pull them to hell: and hard by hell shall be other devils ready to + meet them, who shall hold high revel at their fall. And certain + other devils shall point them out as they come, and shall snatch + them up and carry them into hell; and there shall they make a great + smoke arise, and call aloud to each other with glee in their hell, + and clash their pots and kettles, that they may be heard without. + And after a little delay the devils shall come out and run about + the stage; but some shall remain in hell.[2] + +Immediately after this conclusion comes a shorter play of Cain and Abel, +followed in its turn by another on the Prophets; but in all three the +catastrophe is the same--mocking, exultant devils, and a noisy, smoky +'inferno'. + +The most important characteristics of _Adam_ are the venturesome removal +of the play outside the sacred building, the increase in invented +dialogue beyond the limits of the Bible narrative, and the 'by-play' +conceded to popular taste. The last two easily followed from the first. +Within a church there is an atmosphere of sanctity, a spirit of +prohibition, which must, even in the Middle Ages, have had a restrictive +effect upon the elements of innovation and naturalness. The good people +of the Bible, the saints, had to live up to their reputation in every +small word and deed so long as their statues, images, and pictures gazed +down fixedly from the walls upon their living representatives. This was +so much a fact that to the very end Bible and Saint plays conceded +licence of action and speech only to those nameless persons, such as the +soldiers, Pharisees, and shepherds, who never attained to the +distinction of individual statues, and who could never be invoked in +prayer. Out of sight of these effigies and paintings, however, the +oppression was at once lightened. True, these model folk could not be +permitted to decline from their prescribed standards, but they might be +allowed companions of more homely tastes, and the duly authorized wicked +ones, such as the Devil, Cain, and Herod, might display their iniquity +to the full without offence. Thus it is that in this play we find great +prominence given to the Devil and his brother demons. They would delight +the common people: therefore the author misses no opportunity of +securing applause for his production by their antics. Throughout the +play we meet with such stage directions as 'the devils are to run about +the stage with suitable gestures', or the Devil 'shall make a sally +amongst the people'. In this last the seeing eye can already detect the +presence of that close intimacy between the play and the people which +was to make the drama a 'national possession' in England. The devil, +with his grimaces and gambols, was one of themselves, was a true rustic +at heart, and they shrieked and shouted with delight as he pinched their +arms or slapped them on the back. The freer invention in dialogue is +equally plain. Much that is said by Adam and the Devil has no place in +the scriptural account of the Fall, and the importance of this for the +development of these dramas cannot be exaggerated. + +The move into the open air was not accidental. Every year these sacred +plays drew larger congregations to the festival service. Every year the +would-be spectators for whom the church could not find standing room +grumbled more loudly. In the churchyard (which was still within the holy +precincts) there was ample space for all. So into the churchyard the +performers went. The valuable result of this was the creation of a +raised stage, made necessary for the first time by the crushing of the +people. But alas, what could be said for the sanctity of the graves when +throngs trampled down the well-kept grass, and groups of men and women +fought for the possession of the most recent mounds as highest points of +vantage? Those whose dead lay buried there raised effectual outcries +against this desecration. To go back into the church seemed impossible. +The next move had to be into the street. It was at this point that there +set in that alienation of the Church from the Stage which was never +afterwards removed. Clerical actors were forbidden to play in the +streets. As an inevitable consequence, the learned language, Latin, was +replaced more and more by the people's own tongue. Soon the festivals +assumed a nature which the stricter clergy could not view with approval. +From miles around folk gathered together for merriment and trading. +There were bishops who now denounced public plays as instruments of the +devil. + +Thus the drama, having outgrown its infancy, passed from the care of the +Church into the hands of the Laity. It took with it a tradition of +careful acting, a store of Biblical subjects, a fair variety of +characters--including a thundering Herod and a mischievous Devil--and +some measure of freedom in dialogue. It gained a native language and a +boundless popularity. But for many long years after the separation the +_Epiphany Plays_ continued to be acted in the churches, and by their +very existence possibly kept intact the link with religion which +preserved for the public Mysteries and Miracles an attitude of soberness +and reverence in the hearts of their spectators. The so-called _Coventry +Play_ of the fifteenth century is a testimony to the persistence of the +serious religious element in the final stage of these popular Bible +plays. + +[Footnote 1: Mr. E.K. Chambers's translation.] + +[Footnote 2: Mr. E.K. Chambers's translation.] + + + + +CHAPTER II + +ENGLISH MIRACLE PLAYS + + +Most of what has been said hitherto has referred to the rise of +religious plays on the continent. The first recorded presentation of a +play in England occurred in Dunstable--under the management of a +schoolmaster, Geoffrey--about the year 1110. Probably, therefore, the +drama was part of the new civilization brought over by the Normans, and +came in a comparatively well-developed form. The title of Geoffrey's +play, _St. Katherine_, points to its having been of the _St. Nicholas_ +type, a true Miracle Play, belonging to a much later stage of +development than the early _Pastores_ or _Quem Quaeritis?_. We need not +look, then, for shadowy gropings along the dramatic path. Instead we may +expect to find from the very commencement a fair grasp of essentials and +a rapidly maturing belief that the people were better guardians of the +new art than the Church. + +We know nothing of _St. Katherine_ except its name. Of contemporary +plays also we know practically nothing. A writer of the late twelfth +century tells us that Saint Plays were well favoured in London. This +statement, coupled with the fact that all sacred plays, saintly +wonder-workings and Bible stories alike, were called Miracles in +England, gives a measure of support to Ten Brink's suggestion that the +English people at first shrank from the free treatment of Bible stories +on the stage, until their natural awe and reverence had become +accustomed to presentations of their favourite saints. + +Passing over the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, therefore, as +centuries in which the idea of the drama was filtering through the +nation and adapting itself to its new audiences, we take up the story +again in the fourteenth century, before the end of which we know that +there were completed the four great plays still preserved to us--the +_Chester_, _Wakefield_, _York_, and _Coventry Miracles_. Early in that +century the Pope created the festival of Corpus Christi (about the +middle of June). To this festival we must fix most of our attention. + +Glancing back a few pages we shall recall the elaboration of the play of +the _Magi_ from one bare incident to what was really a connected series +of episodes from the scene of the 'Shepherds' to the 'Massacre of the +Innocents'. It grew by the addition of scene to scene until the series +was complete. But the 'Massacre of the Innocents' only closed the +Christmas story. For the festival of Easter fresh ground must be broken +in order that the 'Passion' might be fittingly set forth, and, in fact, +we know that both stories in full detail eventually found a place in the +more ambitious churches, any difficulty due to their length being +overcome by extending the duration of the festivals. Then a time came +when, even as St. Matthew was anxious to lay the foundations of his +Gospel firm and sure in the past, so some writer of Bible plays desired +to preface his life of Jesus with a statement of the reason for His +birth, and the 'Fall of Man' was inserted. In writing such an +introductory play he set going another possible series. To explain the +Serpent's part in the 'Fall' there was wanted a prefatory play on +'Satan's Revolt in Heaven', and to demonstrate the swift consequence of +the 'Fall', another play on 'Cain and Abel'; the further story of the +'Flood' would represent the spread of wickedness over the earth; in +fact, the possible development could be bounded only by the wide limits +of the entire Bible, and, of more immediate influence, by the +restrictions of time. That this extension of theme was not checked until +these latter limits had been reached may be judged from the fact that in +one place it was customary to start the play between four or five +o'clock in the morning, acting it scene after scene until daylight +failed. But this was when the Corpus Christi festival had become the +chief dramatic season, combining in its performances the already lengthy +series associated respectively with Christmas and Easter. Between the +'Massacre of the Innocents' and the 'Betrayal' (the point at which the +Easter play usually started) a few connecting scenes were introduced, +after which the Corpus Christi play could fairly claim to be a complete +story of 'The Fall and Redemption of Man'. Admittedly of crude literary +form, yet full of reverence and moral teaching, and with powers of +pathos and satire above the ordinary, it became one single play, the +sublimest of all dramas. To regard it as a collection of separate small +plays is a fatal mistake--fatal both to our understanding of the single +scenes and to our comprehension of the whole. + +Yet the space at our disposal forbids our dealing here with every scene +of any given play (or cycle, as a complete series is commonly called). +The most that can be done is to give a list of the subjects of the +scenes, and specimens of the treatment of a selected few. This list, +however, should not be glanced through lightly and rapidly. The title of +each scene should be paused over and the details associated with the +title recalled. In no other way can the reader hope to comprehend the +play in its fullness. + +Here are the scenes of the _Coventry Play_. + +1. The Creation. +2. The Fall of Man. +3. Cain and Abel. +4. Noah's Flood. +5. Abraham's Sacrifice. +6. Moses and the Two Tables. +7. The Prophets. +8. The Barrenness of Anna. +9. Mary in the Temple. +10. Mary's Betrothment. +11. The Salutation and Conception. +12. Joseph's Return. +13. The Visit to Elizabeth. +14. The Trial of Joseph and Mary. +15. The Birth of Christ. +16. The Adoration of the Shepherds. +17. The Adoration of the Magi. +18. The Purification. +19. The Slaughter of the Innocents. +20. Christ Disputing in the Temple. +21. The Baptism of Christ. +22. The Temptation. +23. The Woman taken in Adultery. +24. Lazarus. +25. The Council of the Jews. +26. The Entry into Jerusalem. +27. The Last Supper. +28. The Betraying of Christ. +29. King Herod. +30. The Trial of Christ. +31. Pilate's Wife's Dream. +32. The Condemnation and Crucifixion of Christ. +33. The Descent into Hell. +34. The Burial of Christ. +35. The Resurrection. +36. The Three Maries. +37. Christ Appearing to Mary. +38. The Pilgrim of Emaus. +39. The Ascension. +40. The Descent of the Holy Ghost. +41. The Assumption of the Virgin. +42. Doomsday. + +One dominant characteristic is observed by every student of the original +play, namely, the maintenance of a lofty elevation of tone wherever the +sacredness of the subject demands it. The simple dramatic freedom of +that day brought God and Heaven upon the stage, and exhibited Jesus in +every circumstance of his life and death; yet on no occasion does the +play descend from the high standard of reverence which such a subject +demanded, or derogate from the dignity of the celestial Father and Son. +That this was partly due to the Bible will be admitted at once. But +there is great credit due to the writer (or writers) who could keep so +true a sense of proportion that in scenes even of coarse derision, +almost bordering on buffoonery, the central figure remained unsoiled and +unaffected by his surroundings. A writer less filled with the religious +sense must have been strongly tempted to descend to biting dialogue, in +which his hero should silence his adversaries by superiority in the use +of their own weapon. A truer instinct warned our author that any such +scene must immediately tend to a lowering of character. He refused, and +from his pen is sent forth a Man whose conduct and speech are +unassailably above earthly taint, who is, amongst men, Divine. + +Observe the impressive note struck in the opening verse. God stands +amidst his angels, prepared to exercise his sovereign wisdom in the work +of creation. + + My name is knowyn, God and kynge, + My werk for to make now wyl I wende[3], + In myself restyth my reynenge, + It hath no gynnyng ne non ende; + And alle that evyr xal have beynge[4], + It is closyd in my mende, + Whan it is made at my lykynge, + I may it save, I may it shende[5], + After my plesawns[6]. + So gret of myth[7] is my pousté[8], + Alle thyng xal be wrowth[9] be me, + I am oo[10] God in personys thre, + Knyt in oo substawns. + +But before the world can be made, a rebellion has to be stamped out, and +the same scene presents the overthrow of Satan--not after days of +doubtful battle as Milton later pictured it, but in a moment at the word +of the Almighty, 'I bydde the ffalle from hefne to helle'. At once +follows the creation of the world and man. + +_Scene 2_ brings Adam and Eve before us, rejoicing in the abundant +delights of Eden. The guiding principle of the scene is the folly and +wickedness of the Fall. Here is no thought of excuse for silly Eve. With +every good around her, and with God's prohibition unforgotten, she +chooses disobedience, and drags Adam after her. But Adam's guilt is no +less than hers. The writer had not Milton at his elbow to teach him how +to twist the Bible narrative into an argument for the superiority of +man. Adam yields to the same sophistry as led Eve astray; and sin, +rushing in with the suddenness of swallowed poison, finds its first home +not in her breast but in his. The awful doom follows. In the desolation +that succeeds, the woman's bitter sorrow is allowed to move our pity at +last. Eating at her heart is the thought, 'My husbond is lost because of +me', so that in her agony she begs Adam to slay her. + + Now stomble we on stalk and ston, + My wyt awey is fro me gon, + Wrythe on to my necke bon, + With hardnesse of thin honde. + +Adam says what he can to console her, but without much success. The +scene ends with her lamenting. + +The foul contagion, spreading over the earth, has been washed out in the +Flood and a fresh start made before _Scene 5_ introduces Abraham. In an +earlier paragraph we have spoken of the pathos of which these plays were +capable. Here in this scene it may be found. Abraham is, before all +things else, a father; Isaac is the apple of his eye. When as yet no +cloud fills the sky with the gloom of sacrifice, the old man exults in +his glorious possession, a son. Isaac is standing a little apart when +his father turns with outstretched arms, exclaiming + + Now, suete sone, ffayre fare thi fface, + fful hertyly do I love the, + ffor trewe herty love now in this place, + My swete childe, com, kysse now me. + +Holding him still in his arms the fond parent gives him good counsel, to +honour Almighty God, to 'be sett to serve oure Lord God above'. And +then, left alone for a while, Abraham, on his knees, thanks God for His +exceeding favour in sending him this comfort in his old age. + + Ther may no man love bettyr his childe, + Than Isaac is lovyd of me; + Almyghty God, mercyful and mylde, + ffor my swete son I wurchyp the! + I thank the, Lord, with hert ful fre, + ffor this fayr frute thou hast me sent. + Now, gracyous God, wher so he be, + To save my sone evyr more be bent. + +'To save my sone'--that is the petition of his full heart on the eve of +his trial. Almost at once the command comes, to kill the well-beloved as +an offering to his Giver. And Abraham bows low in heartbroken obedience. +Well may the child say, as he trots by the old man's side with a bundle +of faggots on his shoulder, and looks up wonderingly at the wrinkled +face drawn and blanched with anguish, 'ffayr fadyr, ye go ryght stylle; +I pray yow, fadyr, speke onto me.' At such a time a man does well to +bind his tongue with silence. Yet when at last the secret is confessed, +it finds the lad's spirit brave to meet his fate. Perhaps the writer had +read, not long before, of the steadfastness with which children met +persecution in the days of the Early Christian Church. For he gives us, +in Isaac, a boy ready to die if his father wills it so, happy to +strengthen that will by cheerful resignation if God's command is behind +it. At the rough altar's side Abraham's resolution fails him; from his +lips bursts the half-veiled protest, 'The ffadyr to sle the sone! My +hert doth clynge and cleve as clay'. But the lad encourages him, bidding +him strike quickly, yet adding sympathetically that his father should +turn his face away as he smites. The conquest is won. Love and duty +conflict no longer. Only two simple acts remain for love's performance: +'My swete sone, thi mouth I kys'; and when that last embrace is over, +'With this kerchere I kure (_cover_) thi face', so that the priest may +not see the victim's agony. Then duty raises the knife aloft, and as it +pauses in the air before its fearful descent the Angel speaks--and +saves. + +The moving character of the opening, leading up to the sudden +catastrophe and, by its tragic contrast with what follows, throwing a +vivid ray into the very centre and soul of that wonderful trial of +faith; the natural sequence and diversity of emotions, love, pride, +thankfulness, horror, submission, grief, resolution, and final joy and +gratitude following each other like light and shadow; the little +touches, the suggestion to turn the face aside, the last kiss, the +handkerchief to hide the blue eyes of innocence; these are all, however +crude the technique, of the very essence of the highest art. + +As will be seen from the list, only two scenes more refer to Old +Testament history, and then Jesus, whom the author has already intended +to foreshadow in Isaac (whence the lad's submission to his father's +will), begins to loom before us. The writer's religious creed prompted +him to devote considerable space to Mary, the mother of Jesus; for she +is to be the link between her Son and humanity, and therefore must be +shown free from sin from her birth. The same motive gives us a clue to +the character of Joseph. That nothing may be wanting to give whiteness +to the purity of Mary, she is implicitly contrasted with the crude +rusticity and gaffer-like obstinacy of her aged husband. He is just such +an old hobbling wiseacre as may be found supporting his rheumatic joints +with a thick stick in any Dorsetshire village. He is an old man before +he is required to marry her, and his protests against the proposed +union, accompanied with many a shake of the head, recall to modern +readers the humour of Mr. Thomas Hardy. This is how he receives the +announcement when at length his bowed legs have, with sundry rests by +the wayside, covered the distance between his home and the Temple where +Mary and the Priest await him: + + What, xuld I wedde? God forbede! + I am an old man, so God me spede, + And with a wyff now to levyn in drede, + It wore neyther sport nere game. + +He is told that it is God's will. Even the beauty of the bride-elect is +delicately referred to as an inducement. In vain. To all he replies: + + A! shuld I have here? ye lese my lyff: + Alas! dere God, xuld I now rave? + An old man may nevyr thryff + With a yonge wyff, so God me save! + Nay, nay, sere, lett bene, + Xuld I now in age begynne to dote, + If I here chyde she wolde clowte my cote, + Blere myn ey, and pyke out a mote, + And thus oftyn tymes it is sene. + +Eventually, of course, he is won over; but the author promptly packs him +into a far district as soon as the ceremony is over, nor does he permit +him to return to Mary's side until long after the Annunciation. + +'The Adoration of the Magi' (_Scene 17_) introduces us to a very notable +person, no other than Herod, the model of each 'robustious periwig-pated +fellow' who on the stage would 'tear a passion to tatters, to very +rags', and so out-herod Herod. He is of old standing, a veteran of the +Church Epiphany plays, and has already learnt 'to split the ears of the +groundlings' with the stentorian sound of his pompous rhetoric. Hear him +declaim: + + As a lord in ryalté in non regyon so ryche, + And rulere of alle remys[11], I ryde in ryal aray; + Ther is no lord of lond in lordchep to me lyche, + Non lofflyere, non lofsumere[12],--evyr lestyng is my lay: + Of bewté and of boldnes I bere evermore the belle; + Of mayn and of myght I master every man; + I dynge with my dowtynes the devyl down to helle, + ffor bothe of hevyn and of herthe I am kynge sertayn. + +In _Scene 19_ we hear him issuing his cruel order for the killing of the +children. But when the foul deed is done there await the murderer two +kings whom he cannot slay, Death and the Devil. A banquet is in full +swing, Herod's officers are about him, the customary rant and bombast is +on his lips when those two steal in. 'While the trumpets are sounding, +Death slays Herod and his two soldiers suddenly, and the Devil receives +them'--so runs the terse Latin stage-direction. + +Of the Devil we have more than enough in _Scene 22_, for it opens with +an infernal council, Sathanas, Belyalle, and Belsabub debating the best +means of testing the divinity of Jesus and of thereby making sure +whether or no another lord has been placed over them. The plan decided +upon is the Temptation. But great is Satan's downfall. 'Out, out, +harrow! alas! alas!' is the cry (one that had become very familiar to +his audience) as he hastens back to Hell, leaving the Heavenly Hero +crowned with glorious victory. This is one of several scenes chosen by +the author for the glorifying of his central character. Perhaps they +culminate in 'The Entry into Jerusalem'. + +The scenes that now succeed each other, marking each stage of the +sorrowful descent to death, are notable chiefly for that quality to +which attention has already been drawn, namely, the dignity which +surrounds the character of the Hero. This dignity is not accidental. On +the contrary it would have been easy to fall into the error of exciting +so much compassion that the sufferer became a pitiably crushed victim of +misfortune. With much skill the writer places his most pathetic lines in +the mouths of the two Maries, diverts upon them the sharpest edge of our +pity, and never for a moment allows Jesus to appear overwhelmed. When a +Jew, in 'The Trial of Christ', speaks in terms of low insolence, +addressing him as 'thou, fela (_fellow_)' and striking him on the cheek, +Jesus replies: + + Yf I have seyd amys, + Thereof wytnesse thou mayst bere; + And yf I have seyd but weyl in this, + Tho dost amys me to dere[13]. + +Again, in answer to Cayphas's outrageous scream of fury, 'Spek man, +spek! spek, thou fop!... I charge the and conjure, be the sonne and the +mone, that thou telle us and (_if_) thou be Goddys sone!', Jesus says +calmly, 'Goddys sone I am, I sey not nay to the!' Still later in the +same scene, the silence of Jesus before Herod (sustained through forty +lines or more of urging and vile abuse, besides cruel beatings) lifts +Him into infinite superiority over the blustering, bullying judge and +his wretched instruments. It is true that the Bible gives the facts, but +with the freedom allowed to the dramatist the excellence of the original +might have been so easily spoilt. + +To Mary is reserved perhaps the deepest note of pathos within the play. +The scene is 'The Crucifixion of Christ', and she is represented lying +at the foot of the Cross. Jesus has invoked God's forgiveness for His +murderers, He has promised salvation to the repentant thief, but to her +He has said nothing, and the omission sends a fear to her heart like the +blackness of midnight. Has she, unconsciously, by some chance word or +deed, lost His love at the close of life? The thought is too terrible. + + O my sone! my sone! my derlyng dere! + What[14] have I defendyd[15] the? + Thou hast spoke to alle tho[16] that ben here, + And not o word thou spekyst to me! + + To the Jewys thou art ful kende, + Thou hast forgeve al here[17] mysdede; + And the thef thou hast in mende, + For onys haskyng mercy hefne is his mede. + + A! my sovereyn Lord, why whylt thou not speke + To me that am thi modyr in peyn for thi wrong? + A! hert! hert! why whylt thou not breke? + That I were out of this sorwe[18] so stronge! + +The remaining scenes bring on the final triumph of the Hero over Death +and Hell, and the culmination of the great theme of the play in the +Redemption of Man. Adam is restored, not indeed to the Garden of Eden, +but to a supernal Paradise. + +Certain common features of the Miracles remain to be pointed out before +we close our volume of the _Coventry Play_, for it will provide us with +examples of most of them. + +One of the first things that strike us is the absence of dramatic rules. +Not an absence of dramatic cohesion. To its audience, for whom the story +of the Mission of Jesus still retained its freshness, each scene +unfolded a further stage in the rescue of man from the bondage of Hell. +It is not a mere matter of chronology. The order may be the order of the +sacred chronicle, but to these early audiences it was also the order of +a sacred drama. The 'Sacrifice of Isaac' is not merely the next event of +importance after the 'Flood': it is a dramatic forecast of the last +sacrifice of all, the Sacrifice of Christ. Even though we admit, as in +some cases we must, that the Plays are heterogeneous products of many +hands working separately, and therefore without dramatic regard for +other scenes, it is not unreasonable to suppose that when the official +text was decided upon, the several scenes may have been accommodated to +the interests of the whole. Moreover, the innate relationship of scenes +drawn from the Bible gives of itself a certain dramatic cohesion. Of the +so-called Dramatic Unities of Time and Place, however, there is no +suggestion; there is no unity of characters; there is no consideration +of what may be shocking, what pleasing as a spectacle. Whoever saw the +whole play through was hurried through thousands of years, was carried +from heaven to earth and down to hell; he beheld kings, shepherds, high +priests, executioners, playing their parts with equal effect and only +distinguished by the splendour or meanness of their apparel; he was a +witness to Satan's overthrow, to Abel's death, and was a spectator at +the flogging and crucifixion of Jesus. It is easy for those acquainted +with the later drama (of Greene especially) to see the direct line of +descent from these Miracles to the Shakespearian stage. + +One interesting feature of these plays is the frequent appearance of +Angels and Devils on the stage. This accustomed the audience to the +entrance of the supernatural, in solid form, into the realm of the +natural; and paved the way for those most substantial ghosts which +showed themselves so much at home on the Elizabethan stage. We should be +not far wrong, perhaps, in describing the later introduction of the +Senecan Ghost into English drama as an innovation only in name: the +supernatural had been a familiar factor in heightening dramatic interest +long before _The Misfortunes of Arthur_ or _The Spanish Tragedy_ were +written.--Of the Devils even more may be said. Their picturesque +attire,[19] their endless pranks (not set down in the text), their +reappearance and disappearance at the most unexpected times, their howls +and familiar 'Harrow and owt! owt and alas!' were a constant delight, +and preserved their popularity unexhausted for two hundred years, +securing for them a place in the later forms of drama when the Miracles +were supplanted by Moralities and Interludes. The Devil's near cousin, +Herod, attained to a similar reputation and longevity. Has even modern +melodrama quite lost that immortal type of the ranting, bombastic tyrant +and villain? + +The women in the play deserve notice. With the exception of Noah's wife, +who was commonly treated in a broadly humorous vein, the principal +female characters possess that sweet naturalness, depth and constancy +of affection, purity and refinement which an age that had not yet lost +the ideals of chivalry accepted as the normal qualities of a good woman. +The mothers, wives, and daughters of that day would appear to have been +before all things womanly, in an unaffected, instinctive way. Isaac (in +the _Chester Miracle Play_), thinking, in the hour of death, of his +mother's grief at home, says, 'Father, tell my mother for no thinge.' +When Mary is married (_Coventry Play_) and must part from her mother, +they bid farewell in this wise: + + _Anna._ I pray the, Mary, my swete chylde, + Be lowe[20] and buxhum[21], meke and mylde, + Sad and sobyr and nothyng wylde, + And Goddys blessynge thou have.... + + Goddys grace on you sprede, + ffarewel, Mary, my swete fflowre, + ffareweyl, Joseph, and God you rede[22], + ffareweyl my chylde and my tresowre, + ffarewel, my dowtere yyng.[23] + + _Maria._ ffarewel, fadyr and modyr dere, + At you I take my leve ryght here, + God that sytt in hevyn so clere, + Have you in his kepyng. + +The heartbroken words of Mary at the foot of the Cross have already been +quoted. In the reconciliation between Joseph and Mary (_Scene 12_), in +Mary's patient endurance of Joseph's bad temper on the journey to +Bethlehem (_Scene 15_), in the mother's unrestrained misery at the loss +of the boy Jesus and rapture on finding Him in the Temple (_Scene 20_), +in the two sisters' forced cheerfulness by the bedside of the dying +Lazarus and their sorrow at his death--nor do these by any means exhaust +the number of favourable instances--there may be seen the basic +elements, as it were, which, more deftly handled and blended, gave to +the English stage the world's rarest gallery of noble women. + +Darkness and grief are so woven into the substance of the Bible +narrative that we should indeed have been surprised if the tragic note +had not been sounded often throughout the play. That it could be sounded +well, too, will have been seen from various references and from the +Scene of Abraham's Sacrifice. Nevertheless, tragedy is a less +interesting, less original, less English element than the comedy which +pops up its head here, there, and everywhere. It is really a part of +that absence of dramatic rules already indicated, this easy conjunction +of tragedy and comedy in the same scene. English audiences never could +be persuaded to forgo their laugh. After all, it was near neighbour to +their tears throughout life; then why not on the stage? A funeral was +not the less a warning to the living because it was rounded off with a +feast. Nor was Jesus on the Cross robbed of any of the majesty and +silent eloquence of vicarious suffering by the vulgar levity of those +who bade him 'Take good eyd (_heed_) to oure corn, and chare (_scare_) +awey the crowe'. The strong sentiment of reverence set limits to the +application of this humour. Only minor characters were permitted to +express themselves in this way. The soldiers at the Sepulchre, the +Judaeans at the Cross, the 'detractors' in _Scene 14_, certain mocking +onlookers in _Scene 40_, these and others of similar stage rank spoke +the coarse jests that set free the laugh when tears were too near the +surface.--These common fellows, by the way, are the prototypes of the +familiar Citizens, Soldiers, Watch, of a later date: the Miracles were +fertile in 'originals'.--Some characters there were, however, more +individual, more of consequence than these, who attained to an +established reputation for their humour. The Devil's pranks have been +referred to; Joseph's rusticity also; and the obstinacy of Noah's wife +has been obscurely hinted at. Her gift lay in preferring the company of +her good gossips to the select family gathering assembled in the Ark, +and in playing with Noah's ears very soundingly when at length she was +forcibly dragged into safety. Two short extracts from the _Chester +Miracle_ will illustrate her humour. + + (1) + + _Noye._ Wyffe, in this vessel we shall be kepte, + My children and thou; I would in ye lepte. + + _Noyes Wiffe._ In fayth, Noye, I hade as leffe thou slepte! + For all thy frynishe[24] fare, + I will not doe after thy reade[25]. + + _Noye._ Good wyffe, doe nowe as I thee bydde. + + _Noyes Wiffe._ Be Christe! not or I see more neede, + Though thou stande all the daye and stare. + + _Noye._ Lorde, that wemen be crabbed aye, + And non are meke, I dare well saye; + This is well seene by me to daye, + In witnesse of you ichone[26]. + + (2) + + _Jeffate._ Mother, we praye you all together, + For we are heare, youer owne childer, + Come into the shippe for feare of the weither, + For his love that you boughte! + + _Noyes Wiffe._ That will not I, for all youer call, + But I have my gossippes all. + + _Sem._ In faith, mother, yett you shalle, + Wheither thou wylte or [nought]. + + _Noye._ Welckome, wiffe, into this botte. + + _Noyes Wiffe._ Have thou that for thy note! + + _Noye._ Ha, ha! marye, this is hotte! + It is good for to be still. + +[The reader will easily supply for himself appropriate +stage-directions.] + +But of all these comic characters none developed so excellent a genius +for winning laughter as the Shepherds who 'watched their flocks by +night, all seated on the ground'. To see them at their best we must turn +to the _Wakefield_ (or _Towneley_) _Miracle Play_ and read the pastoral +scene (or, rather, two scenes) there. Here we come face to face with +rustics pure and simple, downright moorland shepherds, homely, +grumbling, coarsely clad, warm-hearted, abashed by a woman's tongue, +rough in their sports. The real old Yorkshire stock of nearly six +hundred years ago rises into life as we read. + +In the first scene a beginning is made by the entrance of a single +shepherd, grumpy, frost-bitten, and growling rebelliously against the +probably widely resented practice of purveyance whereby a nobleman might +exact from his farm-tenantry provisions and service for his needs, even +though the farmer's own land should suffer from neglect in consequence. +Thus he says, + + No wonder, as it standys, if we be poore, + For the tylthe of oure landys lyys falow as the floore, + As ye ken. + We ar so hamyd[27], + For-taxed[28] and ramyd[29], + We ar mayde hand-tamyd, + Withe thyse gentlery men. + Thus they refe[30] us oure rest, Oure Lady theym wary[31]! + These men that ar lord-fest, thay cause the ploghe tary. + That men say is for the best we fynde it contrary. + Thus ar husbandys opprest, in pointe to myscary, + On lyfe. + +By way of excuse for his grumblings he adds in conclusion, + + It dos me good, as I walk thus by myn oone, + Of this warld for to talk in maner of mone. + +The second shepherd, who enters next, has other grounds for discontent. +He, poor man, has a vixen for a wife. + + As sharp as thystille, as rugh as a brere, + She is browyd lyke a brystylle, with a sowre loten chere; + Had she oones well hyr whystyll she couth syng fulle clere + Hyr pater noster. + She is as greatt as a whalle + She has a galon of galle. + +Conversation opens between the two, but rapidly comes to a dispute. +Fortunately the timely arrival of a third shepherd dissipates the cloud, +and they are quite ready to hear his complaints--this time of +wide-spreading floods--coupled with further reflections on the hard +conditions of a shepherd's lot. By this time the circle is complete, and +a good supper and song are produced to ratify the general harmony. But +now enters the element of discord which forms the pivot of the second +scene. Mak, a boorish fellow shrewdly suspected of sheep stealing, joins +them, and, after some chaffing, is allowed to share their grassy bed. In +the night he rises, picks out the finest ram from the flock, drives it +home, and hides it in the cradle. He then returns to his place between +two of the shepherds. As he foresaw, morning brings discovery, suspicion +and search. The three shepherds proceed to Mak's home, only to be +confronted with the well concocted story that his wife, having just +become the mother of a sturdy son, must on no account be disturbed. On +this point apparently a compromise is effected, the search to be +executed on tip-toe, for the shepherds do somewhat poke and pry about, +yet under so sharp a fire of abuse as to render them nervous of pressing +their investigations too closely. Thus they pass the cradle by, and all +would have gone well with Mak but for that same warm-heartedness of +which we spoke earlier. They are already out of the house when a true +Christmas thought flashes into the mind of one of them. + + _1st Shepherd._ Gaf ye the chyld any thyng? + + _2nd Shepherd._ I trow not oone farthyng. + + _3rd Shepherd._ Fast agayne wille I flyng, + Abyde ye me there. + + [_He returns to the house, the others following._] + + Mak, take it no grefe if I com to thi barne. + + _Mak._ Nay, thou dos me greatt reprefe, and fowlle has thou + farne.[32] + + _3rd Shepherd._ The child wille it not grefe, that lytylle day + starne[33]? + Mak, with youre leyfe, let me gyf youre barne + Bot vj pence. + + _Mak._ Nay, do way: he slepys. + + _3rd Shepherd._ Me thynk he pepys. + + _Mak._ When he wakyns he wepys. + I pray you go hence. + + _3rd Shepherd._ Gyf me lefe hym to kys, and lyft up the clowtt. + What the dewille is this? he has a long snowte. + +The cat is out of the bag. Mak, with an assurance worthy of a better +cause, declines to believe their report of the cradle's contents, and +his wife comes nimbly to his aid with the startling explanation that it +is her son without doubt, for she saw him transformed by a fairy into +this misshapen changeling precisely on the stroke of twelve. Not so, +however, are the shepherds to be persuaded to disbelieve their eyes. +Instead Mak gets a good tossing in a blanket for his pains, the +exertion of which sentence reduces the three to such drowsiness that +soon they are fast asleep again. From their slumber they are awakened by +the Angel's Song; upon which follows their journey with gifts to the +newborn King. + +Peculiar to the Coventry Miracle Play is the introduction of a new type +of character, unhuman, unreal, a mere embodied quality. In _Scene 9_, +where Mary is handed over by her parents to the care of the High Priest +at the Temple, she finds provided for her as companions the five +maidens, Meditation, Contrition, Compassion, Cleanness and Fruition, +while near by await her seven teachers, Discretion, Devotion, Dilection, +Deliberation, Declaration, Determination and Divination, a goodly +company of Doctors indeed. Of all these intangible figures one only, +Milton's 'cherub Contemplation', speaks, but the rest are quite +obviously represented on the stage, though whether all in flesh and +blood may be matter for uncertainty. Much more talkative, on the other +hand, are similar abstractions in _Scene 11_. Here, in the presence of +God, Contemplation and the Virtues having appealed for an extension of +mercy and forgiveness to man, Truth, Pity and Justice discuss the +question of Redemption from their particular points of view until God +interposes with his decision in its favour. Mention of this innovation +in the Miracle Play seems advisable at this point, though its bearing on +later drama will be more clearly seen in the next chapter. + +Little need be said of the verse commonly used in Miracles, save to +point out the preference for stanzas and for triple and quadruple +rhymes. An examination of the verses quoted will reveal something as to +the variety of forms adopted. Those cited from _Scenes 1_, _4_, and _32_ +illustrate three types, while another favourite of the Coventry author +takes the following structure (A), with a variant in lines of half the +length (B): + + (A) _Angelus_. + + Wendyth fforthe, ye women thre, + Into the strete of Galylé; + Your Savyour ther xul ye se + Walkynge in the waye. + Your ffleschely lorde now hath lyff, + That deyd on tre with strook and stryff; + Wende fforthe, thou wepynge wyff, + And seke hym, I the saye. + (_Scene 36._) + + (B) _Senescallus_ (_to Herod_). + + Sere kyng in trone, + Here comyth anone + By strete and stone + Kynges thre. + They bere present,-- + What thei have ment. + Ne whedyr they arn bent, + I cannot se. + (_Scene 17._) + +Reference to the quotation from the _Wakefield Play_ will discover in +the north country author an even greater propensity to rhyme. + +There remains to be discussed the method of production of these plays. +Fortunately we have records to guide us in our suppositions. These date +from the time when the complete Miracle Play was a fully established +annual institution. It is of that period that we shall speak. + +Plays had from the first been under official management. When, +therefore, the Church surrendered control it was only natural that +secular officialdom should extend its protection and guidance. Local +corporations, recognizing the commercial advantages of an attraction +which could annually draw crowds of country customers into the towns, +made themselves responsible for the production of the plays. While +delegating all the hard work to the trade guilds, as being the chief +gainers from the invasion, they maintained central control, authorizing +the text of the play, distributing the scenes amongst those responsible +for their presentation, and visiting any slackness with proper pains and +penalties. Under able public management Miracle Plays soon became a +yearly affair in every English town. + +When the time came round for the festival to be held--Corpus Christi Day +being a general favourite, though Whitsuntide also had its adherents, +and for some Easter was apparently not too cold--the manuscript of the +play was brought forth from the archives, the probable cost and +difficulties of each scene were considered, the strength or poverty of +the various guilds was carefully weighed, and finally as just an +allocation was made as circumstances would permit. If two guilds were +very poor they were allowed to share the production of one scene. If a +guild were wealthy it might be required to manage two scenes, and those +costly ones. For scenes differed considerably in expense: such +personages as God and Herod, and such places as Heaven or the Temple, +were a much heavier drain on the purse than, say, Joseph and Mary on +their visit to Elizabeth. Where there was no difficulty on the score of +finance, a guild might be entrusted with a scene--if there was a +suitable one--which made special demands on its own craft. Thus, from +the York records we learn that the Tanners were given the Overthrow of +Lucifer and his fellow devils (who would be dressed in brown leather); +the Shipwrights, the Building of the Ark; the Fishmongers and Mariners +jointly, the scene of Noah and his family in the Ark; the Goldsmiths, +the Magi (richly oriental); the Shoers of Horses, the Flight into Egypt; +the Barbers, the Baptism by John the Baptist (in camel's hair); the +Vintners, the Marriage at Cana; the Bakers, the Last Supper; the +Butchers and Poulterers, the Crucifixion. + +As soon as a Guild had been allotted its scene it appointed a manager to +carry the matter through. The individual expense was not great, +somewhere between a penny and fourpence for each member. Out of the sum +thus raised had to be paid the cost of dresses and stage-scenery, and +the actors' remunerations (which included food during the period of +rehearsals as well as on the actual playing days). No such crude +simplicity as is made fun of in the _Midsummer Night's Dream_ was +admitted into the plays given in the towns, however natural it may have +been to villages. Training and expense were not spared by rival guilds. +As we saw in the directions for the acting of the old play of _Adam_, +propriety in diction and behaviour on the part of the actors was +insisted upon as early as the tenth century. An interesting record +(dated 1462) in the Beverley archives states that a certain member of +the Weavers' Guild was fined for not knowing his part. It would be quite +a mistake, therefore, to suppose that fifteenth-century acting was an +unstudied art. Similarly, caution must be used in ridiculing the +stage-properties of that day. One has only to peruse intelligently one +of the bald lists of items of expenditure to discover that a placard +bearing such an inscription as 'The Ark' or 'Hell' was not the accepted +means of giving reality to a scene. The Ark was an elaborate structure +demanding a team of horses for its entrance and exit; while Hell-mouth, +copying the traditional representations in mediaeval sculpture, was a +most ingenious contrivance, designed in the likeness of gaping jaws +which opened and shut in fearful style, emitting volumes of sulphurous +smoke, not to mention awesome noises. The 'make-ups' too were far from +being the arbitrary fancies of the wearers. True, they possibly bore no +great resemblance to the originals. But that was due to an ignorance of +history rather than to carelessness about truth. The probability is that +in many cases the images and paintings in the churches were imitated, as +being faithful likenesses. One has merely to call to mind certain +stained-glass windows to guess what sort of realism was reached and to +understand how it came about that Herod appeared in blue satin, Pilate +and Judas respectively in green and yellow, Peter in a wig of solid gilt +(with beard to match), and Angels in white surplices. + +For the stage a high platform was used, beneath which, curtained off +from sight, the actors could dress or await their cues. Above the stage +(open on all four sides) was a roof, on which presumably an 'angel' +might lie concealed until the moment arrived for him to descend, when a +convenient rope lent aid to too flimsy wings. Contrariwise, the devil +would lurk in the dressing-room, if Hell-mouth were out of repair, until +the word came for him to thrust the curtains aside, dart out, pull his +victim off the stage and bear him away to torment. The street itself was +quite freely used whenever conditions seemed to require it: messengers, +for example, pushed their way realistically through the crowd; devils +ran merrily about in its open space; and when Herod felt the whole stage +too narrow to contain his fury he sought the ampler bounds of the +market-place to rage in. Sometimes two or more stages were placed in +proximity to accommodate actions that must take place at the same time. +Thus we read in _Scene 25_ ('The Council of the Jews') of the _Coventry +Play_, 'Here xal Annas, shewyn hymself in his stage, be seyn after a +busshop of the hoold lawe, in a skarlet gowne, and over that a blew +tabbard furryd with whyte, and a mytere on his hed, after the hoold +lawe' (the dress is interesting); and a little further on, 'Here goth +the masangere forth, and in the mene tyme Cayphas shewyth himself in his +skafhald arayd lyche to Annas'; while yet a little later appears this, +'Here the buschopys with here (_their_) clerkes and the Phariseus mett, +and (? in) the myd place, and ther xal be a lytil oratory with stolys +and cusshonys clenly be-seyn, lyche as it were a cownsel-hous'. Again, +in _Scene 27_ ('The Last Supper') will be found this direction: 'Here +Cryst enteryth into the hoûs with his disciplis and ete the Paschal +lomb; and in the mene tyme the cownsel-hous beforn-seyd xal sodeynly +onclose, schewyng the buschopys, prestys, and jewgys syttyng in here +astat, lyche as it were a convocacyon.' This last is quoted for the +additional inference that the Coventry stage remained in one place +throughout the play; for the previous reference to the 'cownsel-hous' is +that quoted, two scenes earlier. There was another custom, practised in +Chester, and probably in other towns where the crowd was great. There +the whole stage, dressing-room and all, was mounted on wheels and drawn +round the town, pausing at appointed stations to present its scene. By +this means the crowd could be widely scattered (to the more equitable +advantage of shopkeepers), for a spectator had only to remain at one of +these stations to behold, in due order of procession, the whole play +acted. Thus mounted on wheels the stage took the name of a pageant (or +pagond, in ruder spelling),--a name soon extended to include not only a +stage without wheels but even the stage itself. It is used with the +latter meaning in the Prologue to the _Coventry Play_. + +With regard to the time occupied by the play, it is not possible to do +much more than guess, since plays varied considerably in the number of +their scenes. In one town, as we have said, the whole performance was +crowded into a single day, starting as early as 4.30 a.m. Chester, on +the other hand, devoted three days to its festival, while at Newcastle +acting was confined to the afternoons. Humane consideration for the +actors forbade that they should be required to act more than twice a +day. They were well paid, as much as fourpence being given for a good +cock-crower (in 'The Trial of Christ'), while the part of God was worth +three and fourpence: no contemptible sums at a time when a quart of wine +cost twopence and a goose threepence. A little uncertainty exists as to +the professional character of the actors, but the generally approved +opinion seems to be that they were merely members of the Guilds, +probably selected afresh each year and carefully trained for their +parts. The more professional class, the so-called minstrels or vagrant +performers (descendants of the Norman _jongleurs_), possibly provided +the music, which appears to have filled a large and useful part in the +plays. + + * * * * * + +The Saint-plays, the original miracle-plays, continued, and doubtless +were staged in the same way as the Bible-plays. But the latter so +completely eclipsed them in popularity that they appear never to have +attained to more than a haphazard existence. Their nature was all +against a dramatic subordination of the different plays to each other. +Their subject was fundamentally the same; placed in a series, they could +unroll no larger theme, as could the individual scenes of a Bible-play. +For ambitious town festivals, therefore, they were too short. Few public +bodies considered it worth their while to adopt them; and as a +consequence only one or two have been preserved for our reading. + +Those that remain with us, however, contain qualities which may make us +wonder why they did not receive greater recognition. It may be that we +misjudge the extent of their popularity, though survival is usually a +fairly good guide. Certainly they shared, or borrowed, some of the +'attractive' features of their rivals: there was not lacking a liberal +flavour of the horrible, the satanic, the coarse and the comical. +Moreover, they possessed much greater possibilities for purely dramatic +effect. The cohesion of incidents was firmer, the evolution of the plot +more vigorous, the crisis more surprising, the opportunities for +originality more plentiful. The very fact that they could not easily be +welded together as scenes in a larger play is a testimonial to their +art. They are more complete in themselves. They are, that is to say, a +further stage on the way to that Elizabethan drama which only became +possible when all idea of a day-long play had been discarded in favour +of scenes more single and self-contained. The sacredness, also, of the +saintly narrative was less binding than that of the Bible story. Those +who had a compunction in caricaturing or coarsening the unholy or +nameless people of the Scriptures would feel their liberty immensely +widened in a representation of the secular and heathen world which +surrounded their saint. This is clearly seen in the _Miracle of the +Sacrament_, where the figure of Jonathas the Jew is portrayed with +distinct originality. His long recital of his wealth in costly jewels, +and the equally lengthy statement by Aristorius, the corruptible +Christian merchant, of his numerous argosies and profitable ventures, +are early exercises in the style perfected by Marlowe's Barabas. The +whole story, from the stealing of the Sacred Host by Aristorius and its +sale to Jonathas, right on through the villainous assaults, by the Jew +and his confederates, upon its sanctity, and the miraculous +manifestations of its power, to Jonathas's final conversion and the +restoration of the sacrament, is a very fair example of the power which +these Saint Plays possessed in the structure of plots. + +[Footnote 3: go.] + +[Footnote 4: being.] + +[Footnote 5: destroy.] + +[Footnote 6: pleasure.] + +[Footnote 7: might.] + +[Footnote 8: power.] + +[Footnote 9: wrought.] + +[Footnote 10: one.] + +[Footnote 11: realms.] + +[Footnote 12: more worthy.] + +[Footnote 13: injure.] + +[Footnote 14: how.] + +[Footnote 15: offended.] + +[Footnote 16: those.] + +[Footnote 17: their.] + +[Footnote 18: sorrow.] + +[Footnote 19: See the stage-direction at the end of 'The Trial of +Christ', 'Here enteryth Satan into the place in the most orryble wyse, +and qwyl (_while_) that he pleyth, thei xal don on Jhesus clothis'.] + +[Footnote 20: lowly.] + +[Footnote 21: obedient.] + +[Footnote 22: counsel.] + +[Footnote 23: young.] + +[Footnote 24: courtly.] + +[Footnote 25: counsel.] + +[Footnote 26: each one.] + +[Footnote 27: crippled.] + +[Footnote 28: overtaxed.] + +[Footnote 29: overreached.] + +[Footnote 30: rob.] + +[Footnote 31: curse.] + +[Footnote 32: done.] + +[Footnote 33: star.] + + + + +CHAPTER III + +MORALITIES AND INTERLUDES + + +Miracle (Bible) Plays had three serious faults, not accidental, but +inherent in them. They were far too long. Their story was well known and +strictly confined by the two covers of the Bible. Their characters were +all provided by the familiar narrative. It is true that a few additions +to the canonical list were admitted, such as Cain's servant Garcio, +Pilate's beadle, and Mak the sheep-stealer. Lively characters were also +created out of nonentities like the various Judaeans and soldiers, and +the shepherds. But these were all minors; they had no influence on the +course of the action, and the smallness of their part made anything like +a full delineation impossible. They were real men, recognizable as akin +to local types, but no more; one never knew anything of them beyond +their simplicity or brutality. Meanwhile their superiors, clothed in the +stiff dress of tradition and reverence, passed over the stage with +hardly an idea or gesture to distinguish them from their predecessors of +three centuries before. + +The English nation grew tired of Bible Plays. There can be no doubt of +this if we consider the kind of play that for a time secured the first +place in popularity. Only audiences weary of its alternative could have +waxed enthusiastic over _The Castell of Perseverance_ or _Everyman_. +Something shorter was wanted, with an original plot and some fresh +characters. To some extent, as has been shown, the Saint Plays supplied +these requirements, and one is tempted to suspect that in the latter +part of their career there was some subversion of the relative positions +of the two rival types of Miracle. But what was asked for was novelty. +Both forms of the Miracle were hundreds of years old, and both had to +suffer the same fate, of relegation to a secondary place in the Drama. +In letting them pass from our notice, however, we must not exaggerate +their decline. The first Moralities appeared as early as the fifteenth +century, but some of the great Miracles (e.g. of Chester and York) +lasted until near the end of the sixteenth century. For some time, +therefore, the latter must have held their own. Indeed the former +probably met with their complete success only when they had become +merged in the Interludes. + +In its purest form the Morality Play was simply the subject of the +Miracle Play writ small, the general theme of the Fall and Redemption of +Man applied to the particular case of an individual soul. The central +figure was a Human Being; his varying fortunes as he passed from +childhood to old age supplied the incidents, and his ultimate destiny +crowned the action. Around him were grouped virtues and vices, at his +elbows were his good and his bad angel, while at the end of life waited +Heaven or Hell to receive him, according to his merits and the mercy of +God. The merits were commonly minimized to emphasize the mercy, with +happy results for the interest of the play. + +It is easy to see how all this harmonized with the mediaeval allegorical +element in religion and literature. A century earlier Langland had +scourged wickedness in high places in his famous allegory, _Piers +Plowman_. A century later Spenser was to weave the most exquisite verse +round the defeats and triumphs of the spirit of righteousness in man's +soul. Nor had allegory yet died when Bunyan wrote, for all time, his +story of the battling of Christian against his natural failings. After +all, a Morality Play was only a dramatized version of an inferior +_Pilgrim's Progress_; and those of us who have not wholly lost the +imagination of our childhood still find pleasure in that book. In +judging the Moralities, therefore, we must not forget the audience to +which they appealed. We shall be the more lenient when we discover how +soon they were improved upon. + +Influenced at first by the comprehensiveness of the plot in the Miracle +Play, the writers of the early Moralities were satisfied with the +compression of action effected by the change from the general to the +particular theme. This had brought about a reduction in the time +required for the acting; and along with these gains had come the further +advantages of novelty and originality. Accordingly the author of _The +Castell of Perseverance_ (almost the only true Morality handed down to +us) was quite content to let his play run to well over three thousand +lines, seeing that within this space he set forth the whole life of a +man from the cradle to the grave and even beyond. But later writers were +quick to see that this so-called particular theme was still a great deal +too general, leaving only the broadest outlines available for characters +and incidents. By omitting the stages of childhood and early manhood +they could plunge at once into the last stage, where, beneath the shadow +of imminent destiny, every action had an intensified interest. Moreover, +within such narrowed boundaries each incident could be painted in +detail, each character finished off with more realistic traits. It was +doubtless under such promptings that the original Dutch _Everyman_ was +written, and the alacrity with which it was translated and adopted among +English Moralities shows that its principle was welcomed as an artistic +advance. An almost imperceptible step led straight from the _Everyman_ +type of Morality to the Interludes. + +Before tracing further changes, however, it might be well to have before +us a more definite notion of the contents of _The Castell of +Perseverance_ and _Everyman_ than could be gathered from these general +remarks. For a summary of the former we shall be glad to borrow the +outline given by Ten Brink in his _History of English Literature_.[34] + +'_Humanum Genus_ appears as a new-born child, as a youth, as a man, and +as a graybeard. As soon as the child appears upon the stage we see the +Angel of Good and the Angel of Evil coming and speaking to him. He +follows the Evil Angel and is led to Mundus (the World), who gives him +Joy and Folly, and very soon also Slander, for his companions. By the +latter--or, to stick to the literal expression of the poet, by this +latter female personage--_Humanum Genus_ is introduced to Greed, who +soon presents to him the other Deadly Sins. We see the hero, when a +young man, choosing Lust as his bed-fellow; and, in spite of the +endeavours of his Good Angel, he continues in his sinful career until at +length Repentance leads him to Confession. At forty years of age we see +him in the _Castle of Constancy_ [or _Perseverance_], whither he has +been brought by Confession, surrounded by the seven most excellent +Virtues.... The castle is surrounded by the three Evil Powers and the +Seven Deadly Sins, with the Devil at their head, and with foot and horse +is closely besieged. _Humanum Genus_ commends himself to his general, +who died on the cross; but the Virtues valiantly defend the Castle; and +Love and Patience and their sisters cast roses down on the besiegers, +who are thereby beaten black and blue, and forced to retire. But +_Humanum Genus_ in the meantime has become an old man, and now yields to +the seductions of Greed, who has succeeded in creeping up to the castle +walls. The old man quits the Castle and follows the seducer. His end is +nigh at hand. The rising generation, represented by a Boy, demands of +him his heaped-up treasures. And now Death and Soul appear upon the +scene. Soul calls on Mercy for assistance; but the Evil Angel takes +_Humanum Genus_ on its back and departs with him along the road to Hell. +In this critical position of affairs the well-known argument begins, +where Mercy and Peace plead before God on the one side, and Justice and +Truth on the other. God decides in favour of Mercy; Peace takes the soul +of _Humanum Genus_ from the Evil Angel, and Mercy carries it to God, who +then pronounces the judgment--and afterwards the epilogue of the play.' + +The plot of _Everyman_ is as follows. + +Everyman, in the midst of life's affairs, is suddenly summoned by Death. +Astonished, alarmed, he protests that he is not ready, and offers a +thousand pounds for another twelve years in which to fill up his +'Account'. But no delay is possible. At once he must start on his +journey. Can he among his friends find one willing to bear him company? +He tries. But Fellowship and Kindred and Cousin, willing enough for +other services, decline to undertake this one. Goods (or Wealth) +confesses that, as a matter of fact, his presence would only make things +worse for Everyman, for love of riches is a sin. Finally Everyman seeks +out poor forgotten Good-Deeds, only to find her bound fast by his sins. +In this strait he turns to Knowledge, and under her guidance visits +Confession, who prescribes a penance of self-chastisement. The +administration of this has so liberating an effect on Good-Deeds that +she is able to rise and join Everyman and Knowledge. To them are +summoned Discretion, Strength, Beauty and Five-Wits--friends of +Everyman--and all journey together until, as they draw near the end, the +last four depart. At the grave Knowledge stays outside, but Good-Deeds +enters with Everyman, whose welcome to Heaven is announced directly +afterwards by an angel. The epilogue, spoken by a Doctor, supplies a +pious interpretation of the play. + +Such are the stories of the two best known Moralities. From them we can +judge how great a change had come over the drama. Nowhere is there any +incident approaching the nature of 'The Sacrifice of Isaac', nowhere is +there any character worthy to stand beside the Mary of the Miracle Play. +Those are the losses. On the other hand, we perceive a new +compactness--still loose, but much in advance of what existed +before--whereby the central figure is always before us, urged along from +one act and one set of surroundings to another, towards a goal which is +never lost sight of. Also there is the invention which provides for +these two plays different plots, as well as some diversity of +characters. The superiority of the shorter play--_Everyman_ contains +just over nine hundred lines--to the older one is less readily detected +in a comparison of bare plots, though it becomes obvious as soon as one +reads the plays. It lies in a more detailed characterization, in a +deliberate attempt to humanize the abstractions, in the substitution of +something like real conversation for the orderly succession of debating +society speeches. The following extracts will illustrate this +difference. + + (1) From _The Castell of Perseverance_. + + [GOOD ANGEL _and_ BAD ANGEL, _in rivalry, are trying to secure the + adherence of the juvenile_ HUMANKIND: GOOD ANGEL _has already + spoken._] + + _Bad Angel._ Pes aungel, thi wordes are not wyse, + Thou counselyst hym not a-ryth[35]. + He schal hym drawyn to the werdes[36] servyse, + To dwelle with caysere, kynge and knyth, + That in londe be hym non lyche. + Cum on with me, stylle as ston: + Thou and I to the werd schul goon, + And thanne thou schalt sen a-non + Whow sone thou schalt be ryche. + + _Good Angel._ A! pes aungel, thou spekyst folye! + Why schuld he coveyt werldes goode, + Syn Criste in erthe and hys meynye[37] + All in povert here thei stode? + Werldes wele[38], be strete and stye, + Faylyth and fadyth as fysch in flode, + But hevene ryche is good and trye, + Ther Criste syttyth, bryth as blode, + Withoutyn any dystresse. + To the world wolde he not flyt, + But forsok it every whytt; + Example I fynde in holy wryt, + He wyl bere me wytnesse. + + [BAD ANGEL _replies, and then_ HUMANKIND _speaks._] + + _Humankind._ Whom to folwe wetyn[39] I ne may, + I stonde in stodye and gynne to rave: + I wolde be ryche in gret aray, + And fayn I wolde my sowle save. + As wynde in watyr I wave. + Thou woldyst to the werld I me toke, + And he wolde that I it forsoke, + Now so God me helpe, and the holy boke, + I not[40] wyche I may have. + + (2) From _Everyman_. + + [EVERYMAN _has just met_ FELLOWSHIP.] + + _Felawshyp._ My true frende, shewe to me your mynde, + I wyll not forsake the to thy lyves ende, + In the way of good company. + + _Everyman._ That was well spoken and lovyngly. + + _Felawshyp._ Syr, I must nedes knowe your hevynesse. + I have pyte to se you in ony dystresse. + If ony have you wronged ye shall revenged be, + Though I on the grounde be slayne for the, + Though that I knowe before that I sholde dye. + + _Everyman._ Veryly, Felawshyp, gramercy. + + _Felawshyp._ Tusshe, by thy thankes I set not a strawe, + Shewe me your grefe and saye no more. + + _Everyman._ If I my herte sholde to you breke, + And than you to tourne your mynde fro me, + And wolde not me comforte whan ye here me speke, + Then sholde I ten tymes soryer be. + + _Felawshyp._ Syr, I saye as I wyll do in dede. + + _Everyman._ Than be you a good frende at nede, + I have founde you true herebefore. + + _Felawshyp._ And so ye shall evermore, + For, in fayth, and thou go to hell + I wyll not forsake the by the waye. + + [EVERYMAN _now explains his need for a companion along the road to + the next world._] + + _Felawshyp._ That is mater in dede! Promyse is duty, + But and I sholde take suche vyage on me, + I knowe it well, it sholde be to my payne; + Also it make me aferde, certayne. + But let us take counsell here as well as we can, + For your wordes wolde fere a stronge man. + + _Everyman._ Why, ye sayd, yf I had nede, + Ye wolde me never forsake, quycke ne deed, + Though it were to hell, truely. + + _Felawshyp._ So I sayd certaynely, + But suche pleasures be set a syde, the sothe to saye; + And also, yf we toke suche a journaye, + Whan sholde we come agayne? + + _Everyman._ Naye, never agayne, tyll the daye of dome. + + _Felawshyp._ In fayth, than wyll not I come there. + Who hath you these tydynges brought? + + _Everyman._ In dede, deth was with me here. + + _Felawshyp._ Now, by God that all hathe bought, + If deth were the messenger, + For no man that is lyvynge to daye + I wyll not go that lothe journaye, + Not for the fader that bygate me. + + _Everyman._ Ye promysed other wyse, parde. + + _Felawshyp._ I wote well I say so, truely, + And yet yf thou wylte ete and drynke and make good chere, + Or haunt to women, the lusty company, + I wolde not forsake you whyle the day is clere, + Trust me veryly. + + _Everyman._ Ye, therto ye wolde be redy: + To go to myrthe, solas[41] and playe + Your mynde wyll soner apply + Than to bere me company in my longe journaye. + +The difference between the plays is clearer now. Somewhere we have met +such a fellow as Fellowship; at some time we have taken part in such a +conversation, and heard the gushing acquaintance of prosperous days +excuse himself in the hour of trouble. But never in daily life was met +so dull a creature as one of those angels, nor ever was heard +conversation like theirs. + +Let us return to trace the change to the Interlude. Quite a short step +will carry us to it. + +We have said that Moralities gave to the drama originality in plot and +in characters. This statement invites qualification, for its truth is +confined to rather narrow limits, in fact, to the early days of this new +kind of play. Let a few Moralities be produced and the rest will be +found to be treading very closely in their footsteps. For there are not +possible many divergent variations of a story that must have for its +central figure Man in his three ages and must express itself +allegorically. Nor is the list of Virtues and Vices so large that it can +provide an inexhaustible supply of fresh characters. However ingenious +authors may be, the day is quickly reached when parallelism drives their +audience to a wearisome consciousness that the speeches have all been +heard before, that the next step in the plot can be foretold to a +nicety. Something of this was perceived by the author of _Everyman_. +With bold strokes of the pen he drew a line through two-thirds of the +orthodox plot, crossed off from the list of characters the hackneyed +Good and Bad Angels, and, against the old names that must still remain, +seems to have jotted for himself this reminder, 'Try human types.' So, +at least, we may imagine him doing. The figures that occupy the stage of +the old Morality are for the most part, like the two Angels, mere +mouthpieces for pious or wicked counsels. Fellowship and his companions, +on the other hand, are selected examples from well-known and +clearly-defined classes of mankind. They are not more than that. All we +know of Fellowship is his ready faculty for excusing himself when help +is needed. He has no traits to distinguish him from others of his kind. +If we describe to one another the men or women whom he recalls to our +memory we find that the descriptions differ widely in all but the one +common characteristic. In other words, he is a type. The step which +brings us to the Interludes is the conversion of the type into an +individual with special marks about him peculiar to himself. It is an +ingenious suggestion, that the idea first found expression in an attempt +to excite interest by adding to a character one or two of the +peculiarities of a local celebrity (miser, prodigal, or beggar) known +for the quality typified. If this was so, it was an interesting +reversion to the methods of Aristophanes. But it is only a guess. What +is certain is that in the Interludes we find the 'type' gradually +assuming a greater complexity, a larger measure of those minor features +which make the ordinary man interesting. Significantly enough, the last +thing to be acquired was a name such as ordinary men bear. A few +characters attained to that certificate of individuality, but even +Heywood, the master of the Interlude, preferred class names, such as +Palmer, Pardoner, or Pedlar. This should warn us not to expect too much +from the change. To the very end some features of the earliest +Moralities are discernible: we shall meet Good Angel and Bad Angel in +one of Marlowe's plays. After all, the interval of time is not so very +great. _The Castell of Perseverance_ was written probably about the +middle of the fifteenth century; _Everyman_ may be assigned to the close +of that century or the beginning of the next; one of the earliest +surviving Interludes, _Hick Scorner_, has been dated 'about 1520-25'; +and Marlowe's _Doctor Faustus_ belongs probably to the year 1588. + +Let us turn to _Hick Scorner_ and see the new principle of +characterization at work. How much of the old is blended with it may be +seen in the opening speech, which is delivered by as colourless an +abstraction as ever advocated a virtuous life in the Moralities. A good +old man, Pity, sits alone, describing himself to his hearers. To him +comes Contemplation, and shortly afterwards Perseverance, both younger +men but just as undeniably 'Virtues'. Each explains his nature to the +audience before discovering the presence of Pity, but they quickly fall +into a highly edifying conversation. Fortunately for us Contemplation +and Perseverance have other engagements, which draw them away. Pity +relapses into a corner and silence. Thereupon two men of a very +different type take the boards. The first comer is Freewill, a careless, +graceless youth by his own account; Imagination, who follows, is worse, +being one of those hardened, ready-witted, quick-tempered rogues whom +providence saves from drowning for another fate. He is sore, this second +fellow, with sitting in the stocks; yet quite unrepentant, boasting, +rather, of his skill in avoiding heavier penalties. That others come to +the gallows is owing to their bad management. As he says, + + For, and they could have carried by craft as I can, + In process of years each of them should be a gentleman. + Yet as for me I was never thief; + [i.e. _was never proved one._] + If my hands were smitten off, I can steal with my teeth; + For ye know well, there is craft in daubing[42]: + I can look in a man's face and pick his purse, + And tell new tidings that was never true, i-wis, + For my hood is all lined with lesing[43]. + +Nevertheless once he was very nearly caught. And he narrates the +incident with so much circumstantial detail that it would be a pity not +to have his own words. + + _Imagination._ Yes, once I stall a horse in the field, + And leapt on him for to have ridden my way. + At the last a baily me met and beheld, + And bad me stand: then was I in a fray[44]. + He asked whither with that horse I would gone; + And then I told him it was mine own. + He said I had stolen him; and I said nay. + This is, said he, my brother's hackney. + For, and I had not excused me, without fail, + By our lady, he would have lad me straight to jail. + And then I told him the horse was like mine, + A brown bay, a long mane, and did halt behine; + Thus I told him, that such another horse I did lack; + And yet I never saw him, nor came on his back. + So I delivered him the horse again. + And when he was gone, then was I fain[45]: + For and I had not excused me the better, + I know well I should have danced in a fetter. + + _Freewill._ And said he no more to thee but so? + + _Imagination._ Yea, he pretended me much harm to do; + But I told him that morning was a great mist, + That what horse it was I ne wist: + Also I said, that in my head I had the megrin, + That made me dazzle so in mine eyen, + That I might not well see. + And thus he departed shortly from me. + +By this time a third party has approached; for an impatient inquiry for +Hick Scorner immediately brings that redoubtable gentleman upon the +stage, possibly slightly the worse for liquor, seeing that his first +words are those of one on a ship at sea. They may, however, indicate +merely a seafaring man, for he has been a great traveller in his time, +'in France, Ireland, and in Spain, Portingal, Sevile, also in Almaine,' +and many places more, even as far as 'the land of Rumbelow, three mile +out of hell'. He is acquainted with the names of many vessels, of which +'the _Anne_ of Fowey, the _Star_ of Saltash, with the _Jesus_ of +Plymouth' are but a few. With something of a chuckle he adds that a +fleet of these ships bound for Ireland with a crowded company of all the +godly persons of England--'piteous people, that be of sin destroyers', +'mourners for sin, with lamentation', and 'good rich men that helpeth +folk out of prison'--has been wrecked on a quicksand and the whole +company drowned. Next he has an ill-sounding report of his own last +voyage to give. When that is finished Imagination proposes an +adjournment for pleasures more active than conversation, where purses +may be had for the asking. + + Every man bear his dagger naked in his hand, + And if we meet a true man, make him stand, + Or else that he bear a stripe; + If that he struggle, and make any work, + Lightly strike him to the heart, + And throw him into Thames quite. + +This suggestion meets with the approval of Freewill, who, however, takes +the opportunity to ask after Imagination's father in such unmannerly +terms as at once to rouse his friend's quick temper. In a moment a +quarrel is assured, nor does Hick Scorner's attempted mediation produce +any other reward than a shrewd blow on the head. At this precise +instant, however, old Pity, who has remained unnoticed, and who is +unwarned by the fate of Hick Scorner, pushes forward with an idea of +intervention. As might have been foreseen, the three rascals promptly +unite in rounding upon him. They insult him, they threaten him, they +raise malicious lying charges against him, and finally they clap him in +irons and leave him--Imagination being the ringleader throughout. Left +alone once more Pity sings a lament over the wickedness of the times, +whereof the doleful refrain is 'Worse was it never'. A ray of light in +his affliction comes with the return of Contemplation and Perseverance, +who, releasing him, send him off to fetch his persecutors back. Fortune +is on their side, for scarcely has Pity gone when Freewill enters by +himself with a wonderful account of his latest roguery--the robbing of a +till--for the ears of his audience. Contemplation and Perseverance, +stout enough of limb when they have a mind to use force, listen quietly +to the end and then calmly inform him that he is their prisoner, a fact +which no amount of blustering defiance can alter. Nevertheless, though +he has thus openly confessed his own guilt, they have no wish to proceed +to extremes. If only he will give up his wicked life they will be +content, made happy by the knowledge of his salvation. It is a strange +sort of conversion, Freewill's tongue running constantly, with an +obvious relish, on the various punishments he has endured; but at length +he capitulates, accepting Perseverance as his future guide, and donning +the uniform of virtuous service. + + Huff, huff, huff! who sent after me? + I am Imagination, full of jollity. + Lord, that my heart is light! + When shall I perish? I trow, never. + +In such a manner does the bolder sinner leap to the front. He scans the +little group in search of his friend and stares wonderingly on +perceiving him in his new dress. Now begins a second tussle for the +winning of a soul. The fashion of it can be inferred from the following +fragment. + + _Perseverance._ Imagination, think what God did for thee; + On Good Friday He hanged on a tree, + And spent all His precious blood; + A spear did rive His heart asunder, + The gates He brake up with a clap of thunder, + And Adam and Eve there delivered He. + + _Imagination._ What devil! what is that to me? + By God's fast, I was ten year in Newgate, + And many more fellows with me sat, + Yet he never came there to help me ne my company. + + _Contemplation._ Yes, he holp thee, or thou haddest not been here now. + + _Imagination._ By the mass, I cannot show you, + For he and I never drank together, + Yet I know many an ale stake[46]. + +In the end, mainly through the personal appeal of his friend, +Imagination too yields and accepts the guidance of Perseverance, +Freewill transferring his allegiance to Contemplation. As Hick Scorner +never returns, the double conversion brings the play to a close. + +Rising from the perusal of _Hick Scorner_ we confess that we have made a +new acquaintance: we have met Imagination and have not left him until we +have learnt a good deal about him; how he fled from a catchpole but lost +his purse in the flight, how he and Hick Scorner were shackled together +in Newgate without money to pay for an upper room, how brazen-faced his +lies were, how near he was to hanging, how ingenious were his excuses, +and many other facts besides. We have seen him, too, as the ringleader +in mischief and the arrantest rogue in the play. Freewill and Hick +Scorner make less impression on us; they are more cloudy in outline, +more like types. As for Pity, Contemplation and Perseverance, they are +merely talking-machines. We must keep an eye on Imagination, as +possessing a dramatic value likely to be needed again. + +We shall have been disappointed in the plot. That part of the drama +seems to be getting worse. Humankind was at least gaining fresh +experience in _The Castell of Perseverance_; he was even besieged in a +fortress and had the narrowest escape in the world from being carried +off to Hell. Everyman's startling doom, his eager quest for a companion +on his journey, and his zealous self-discipline keep us to the end in a +state of concern for his ultimate fate. But what interest have we in +Contemplation, Freewill and the rest, apart from what they say? No +suggestion is thrown out at the beginning that two of the rogues are to +be reclaimed: their fate concerns us not at all. The quarrel, and the +ill-treatment of poor old Pity, are the merest by-play, with no +importance whatsoever as a step in the evolution of a plot. Indeed it is +open to question whether there is a plot. There are speeches, there is +conversation, there is some scuffling, and there is a happy ending, but +there is no guiding thread running through the story, no discernible +objective steadily aimed at from the start. It looks as though the new +interest in drawing (or seeing) a real human individual has monopolized +the whole attention; that for the time being characterization has driven +plot-building completely into the shade. + +A curious, yet not unnatural, thing has happened. In _The Castell of +Perseverance_ Humankind was more acted upon than acting. The real force +of the action lay in the antagonism between the Virtues and Vices, the +Good Angel and the Bad Angel, an antagonism so inveterate that even if +the temporary object of their struggle were removed, the strife would +still break out again from the sheer viciousness of the Vices. This +instinctive hostility between Virtues and Vices supplies the groundwork +of the Interludes. They dismiss Humankind from the stage. He was always +a weak, oscillating sort of creature. Sound, forceful Abstractions and +Types were wanted, which could be worked up into thoroughgoing rascals +or heroes, rascality having all the preference. Any underlying thread, +therefore, that there may be in _Hick Scorner_ is this rivalry and +embitterment between the wicked sort and the virtuous. We shall observe +that already one of the rogues is taking precedence of the others in +dramatic importance, in fullness of portraiture, and, of course, in +villany. + +_Like Will to Like_--of an uncertain date prior to 1568 (when it was +printed) but almost certainly a later production than many Interludes +which we omit here, notably Heywood's--illustrates the development of +some of these changes. In brief outline its story is as follows. + +Nichol Newfangle receives a commission from Lucifer to go through the +world bringing similar persons together, like to like. Accordingly he +acts as arbiter between Ralph Roister and Tom Tosspot in a dispute as to +which of the two is the greater knave, and, deciding that both are +equal, promises them equal shares in certain property he has at +disposal. Next, meeting Cuthbert Cutpurse and Pierce Pickpurse, he gives +them news of a piece of land which has fallen to them by unexpected +succession. He then adjourns with his friends to an alehouse, leaving +the stage to Virtuous Living, who has already chidden him for his sins +who now, after a long monologue or chant, is rewarded by Good Fame and +Honour, the servants of God's Promise. On the departure of these +Virtues, Newfangle returns, shortly followed by Ralph and Tom, penniless +from a game of dice, and more than ever anxious for the property. This +last proves to be no more than a beggar's bag, bottle and staff, +suitable to their present condition, but so little satisfying, that +Newfangle receives a terrible drubbing for his trick. Judge Severity +arrives on the scene conveniently to lecture him severely and witness +his second knavish device, which is no other than to hand over to the +Judge the two fugitives from justice, Cutpurse and Pickpurse, for the +piece of land of which he spoke is the gallows. Hankin Hangman takes +possession of his victims, and the Devil, entering with a 'Ho, ho, ho!', +carries Newfangle away with him on his back. Virtuous Life, Honour and +Good Fame bring the play to a proper conclusion with prayers for the +Queen, Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons, this customary +exhibition of loyalty being rounded off with a hymn. + +This play, though so much later in date than _Hick Scorner_, shows no +improvement in plot. Nor, perhaps, ought we to expect that it should. An +Interlude, as its name implies, was originally only a kind of stop-gap, +an entrée of light entertainment between other events; and what so +welcome for this purpose as the inconsequential dialogue, by-play, and +mutual trickery of sundry 'lewd fellows of the baser sort'? When it +extended its sphere from the castle banqueting-hall to the street or +inn-yard no greater excellence was expected from it. Its brevity saved +it from tediousness, and the Virtues, whom the lingering influence of +religion upon the drama saved from the wreck of the Morality Plays, were +given a more and more subordinate place. In this play they serve to +point the moral by showing the reward that comes to righteousness in +sharp contrast to the poverty and vile death that are the meed of +wickedness. But it is noticeable that they are quite apart from the +other group, much more so than was the case in _Hick Scorner_. + +Instead of a plot we find an increasing admixture of buffoonery, without +which no Interlude could be regarded as complete. Herein we see the +influence of certain farcical entertainments brought over by the Norman +_jongleurs_ (or travelling minstrel-comedians). Just as the French +_fabliaux_ inspired Chaucer's coarser tales, so the French _farce_ +stimulated the natural inclination of the English taste to broad humour +and rough-and-tumble buffoonery on the stage. Held in some restraint by +the dominant religious element, it grew stronger as the latter weakened. +Thus, in _Like Will to Like_ a certain Hance enters half-intoxicated, +roaring out a drinking song until the sudden collapse of his voice +compels him to recite the rest in the thick stutter of a drunken man. He +carries a pot of ale in his hand, from which he drinks to the health of +Tom Tosspot, giving the toast with a 'Ca-ca-carouse to-to-to thee, +go-go-good Tom'--which is but an indifferent hexameter. At the +suggestion of Newfangle 'he danceth as evil-favoured as may be demised, +and in the dancing he falleth down, and when he riseth he must groan', +according to the stage-direction. When he does rise, doubtless with +unlimited comicality of effort, he staggers into a chair and proceeds to +snore loudly. All this is accompanied by a fitting fashion of +conversation. We can only hope that the author's attempts at humour met +with the applause he clearly expected. We believe they did, for he was +only copying a widespread custom. + +Of far more importance than Hance, however, are the two characters, the +Devil and Nichol Newfangle. They invite joint treatment by their own +declared relationship and by the close union which stage tradition +quickly gave to them. Most of us will remember Shakespeare's song from +_Twelfth Night_ bearing on these two notorious companions, their quaint +garb, and their laughter-raising antics. + + I am gone, sir, + And anon, sir, + I'll be with you again, + In a trice, + Like to the old Vice, + Your need to sustain; + Who, with dagger of lath, + In his rage and his wrath, + Cries, ah, ha! to the devil: + Like a mad lad, + Pare thy nails, dad; + Adieu, goodman devil. + +Newfangle is the 'Vice' of the play; 'Nichol Newfangle, the Vice,' says +the list of dramatis personae. We noticed in our consideration of _Hick +Scorner_ that one of the Vices, Imagination, was eminent for his more +detailed character and readier villany. The trick has been adopted; the +favourite has grown fast. He has become _the_ Vice. Compared with him +the rest of the Vices appear foolish fellows whom it is his delight to +plague and lead astray. So supreme is he in wickedness that he has even +been given the Devil himself as his godfather, uncle, playmate. It is +his duty to keep alive the natural wickedness in man, to set snares and +evil mischances before the feet of simpler folk, to teach youth to be +idle and young men to be quarrelsome, to lure rogues to their ruin; but, +above all, to import wit into prosy dialogues, merriment into dull +situations. Such is 'the Vice'. Hear him speak for himself: + + What is he calls upon me, and would seem to lack a Vice? + Ere his words be half spoken, I am with him in a trice + Here, there, and everywhere, as the cat is with the mice: + True _Vetus Iniquitas_. Lack'st thou cards, friend, or dice? + I will teach thee to cheat, child, to cog, lie, and swagger, + And ever and anon to be drawing forth thy dagger. + + (Ben Jonson's _The Devil is an Ass_.) + +Then what a universal favourite, too, is the Devil, our old friend from +the Miracles! 'My husband, Timothy Tattle, God rest his poor soul!' says +good Gossip Tattle, 'was wont to say, there was no play without a fool +and a devil in 't; he was for the devil still, God bless him! The devil +for his money, would he say, I would fain see the devil.' And Gossip +Mirth adds a description of the Devil as she knew him: 'As fine a +gentleman of his inches as ever I saw trusted to the stage, or any where +else; and loved the commonwealth as well as ever a patriot of them all; +he would carry away the Vice on his back, quick to hell, in every play +where he came, and reform abuses' (Ben Jonson's _The Staple of News_). +But our present purpose is with Nichol Newfangle and his arch-prompter. +Nevertheless these few general remarks will save us from the necessity +of returning to the subject later. The truth of the matter is that here, +in _Like Will to Like_, we have as full a delineation of these two +popular characters as may be found in any of the Interludes. Our +attention will not be misplaced if we pry a little closer into the +method of presentation. + +The Vice must be merry; that above all. Accordingly the stage-direction +at the opening of the play reads thus, 'Here entereth Nichol Newfangle +the Vice, laughing, and hath a knave of clubs in his hand which, as soon +as he speaketh, he offereth unto one of the men or boys standing by.' He +is apparently on familiar terms already with the 'gallery' (or, in the +term of that day, 'groundlings'); as intimate as the modern clown with +his stage-asides for the exclusive benefit of 'the gods'. When we read +the first two lines we perceive the wit of the card trick: + + Ha, ha, ha, ha! now like unto like; it will be none other: + Stoop, gentle knave, and take up your brother. + +We can almost hear the shout of laughter at the expense of the fellow +who unwittingly took the card. The audience is with Newfangle at once. +He has scored his first point and given a capital send-off to the play +by this comically-conceived illustration of the meaning of its strange +title. Forthwith he rattles along with a string of patter about himself, +who he is, what sciences he learnt in hell before he was born, and so +on, until arrested by the abrupt entrance of another person. This +newcomer somersaults on to the stage and cuts divers uncouth capers +exactly as our 'second clown' does at the pantomime. Newfangle stares, +grimaces, and, turning again to the audience, continues: + + _Sancte benedicite_, whom have we here + Tom Tumbler, or else some dancing bear? + Body of me, it were best go no near: + For ought that I see, it is my godfather Lucifer, + Whose prentice I have been this many a day: + But no more words but mum: you shall hear what he will say. + +By the time he has finished speaking the other has unrolled himself and +presents a queer figure, clothed in a bearskin and bearing in large +print on his chest and back the name Lucifer. He too commences with a +laugh or a shout, 'Ho!'. That is the hall-mark of the Devil and the +Vice, the herald's blare of trumpets, so to speak, before the speech of +His High Mightiness. We have not forgotten that other cry: + + Huff, huff, huff! who sent after me? + I am Imagination, full of jollity. + +It is the same trick; the older rascal is, bone, flesh, and blood, the +very kin of Newfangle; both have the same godfather. So the dialogue +opens between Old Nick and Nichol in the approved fashion: + + _Lucifer._ Ho! mine own boy, I am glad that thou art here! + + _Newfangle_ (_pointing to one standing by_). He speaketh to you, + sir, I pray you come near. + + _Lucifer._ Nay, thou art even he, of whom I am well apaid. + + _Newfangle._ Then speak aloof, for to come nigh I am afraid. + +We need not trouble ourselves here with their further conversation, nor +yet with Tom Collier of Croydon, who joins them in a jig and a song. He +soon goes off again, followed by Lucifer, so we can turn over the pages, +guided by our outline, until we are near the end. + + [_The_ DEVIL _entereth._] + + _Lucifer._ Ho, ho, ho! mine own boy, make no more delay, + But leap up on my back straightway. + + _Newfangle._ Then who shall hold my stirrup, while I go to horse? + + _Lucifer._ Tush, for that do thou not force! + Leap up, I say, leap up quickly. + + _Newfangle._ Woh, Ball, woh! and I will come by and by. + Now for a pair of spurs I would give a good groat, + To try whether this jade do amble or trot. + Farewell, my masters, till I come again, + For now I must make a journey into Spain. + + [_He rideth away on the_ DEVIL'S _back._] + +The reader must use his imagination, stimulated by recollections of the +Christmas pantomime, if this episode is to have its full meaning. Brief +in words, it may quite easily have occupied five minutes and more in +acting. + +As related more or less distantly to the noisy element, the many songs +in this Interlude call for notice. The practice of introducing lyrics +was in vogue long before the playwrights of Shakespeare's time displayed +their use so perfectly. From this point onwards the drama rings with the +rough drinking songs, pious hymns, and sweet lyrics of the buffoon, the +preacher, and the lover. Thus, turning haphazard to _The Trial of +Treasure_, the Interlude immediately preceding _Like Will to Like_ in +the volume of Dodsley's _Old English Plays_, we find no less than eight +songs. _Like Will to Like_ has also eight. _New Custom_, the other +Interlude in the same volume, has only two; but it may be added that, as +the author of _New Custom_ was writing with a very special and sober +purpose in view, he may have felt that much singing would be +inappropriate. That these lyrics went with a good swing may be judged +from two of those in _Like Will to Like_. + + (1) Tom Collier of Croydon hath sold his coals, + And made his market to-day; + And now he danceth with the Devil, + For like will to like alway. + + Wherefore let us rejoice and sing, + Let us be merry and glad; + Sith that the Collier and the Devil + This match and dance hath made. + + Now of this dance we make an end + With mirth and eke with joy: + The Collier and the Devil will be + Much like to like alway. + + (2) Troll the bowl and drink to me, and troll the bowl again, + And put a brown toast in [the] pot for Philip Fleming's brain. + And I shall toss it to and fro, even round about the house-a: + Good hostess, now let it be so, I brink them all carouse-a. + +More than once reference has been made to the lingering religious +element in the Interludes. Probably 'moral element' would describe it +better, though in those days religion and morality were perhaps less +separable than they are to-day. In the midst of so much comical +wickedness and naughty wit, with a decreasing use of the old Morality +Virtues, it might be thought that this element would be crowded out. But +it was not so. The downfall of the unrighteous was never allowed to pass +without the voice of the preacher, frequently the reprobate himself, +pointing the warning to those present. Cuthbert Cutpurse makes a 'godly +end' in this fashion: + + O, all youth take example by me: + Flee from evil company, as from a serpent you would flee; + For I to you all a mirror may be. + I have been daintily and delicately bred, + But nothing at all in virtuous lore: + And now I am but a man dead; + Hanged I must be, which grieveth me full sore. + Note well the end of me therefore; + And you that fathers and mothers be, + Bring not up your children in too much liberty. + +The episode of the crowning of Virtuous Life owes its existence to this +same element of moral teaching. Take up what Interlude we will, the +preacher is always to be found uttering his short sermon on the folly of +sin. Our merry friend, the Vice, usually gets caught in his own toils at +last; even if he is spared this defeat, he must ultimately be borne off +by the Devil. + +But there are lessons to be learnt other than the elementary one that +virtue is a wiser guide than vice: many an Interlude was written to +castigate a particular form of laxity or drive home a needed reform, in +those years when the Stage was the Cinderella of the Church; one at +least, _The Four Elements_, was written to disseminate schoolroom +learning in an attractive manner. _Nice Wanton_ (about 1560) traces the +downward career of two spoilt children, paints the remorse of their +mother, and sums up its message at the end thus: + + Therefore exhort I all parents to be diligent + In bringing up their children; aye, to be circumspect. + Lest they fall to evil, be not negligent + But chastise them before they be sore infect. + +_The Disobedient Child_ (printed 1560), of which the title is a +sufficient clue to its purpose, permits a boy to refuse to go to +school, and, as a young man, to flout his father's advice in regard to +matrimony, only to bring him to the bottom rung of miserable drudgery +and servitude under a scolding wife. Of some interest is the lad's +report of a schoolboy's life, voicing, as it possibly does, a needed +criticism of the excessive severity of sixteenth-century pedagogues. +Speaking of the boys he says: + + For as the bruit goeth by many a one, + Their tender bodies both night and day + Are whipped and scourged and beat like a stone, + That from top to toe the skin is away. + +A slightly fuller outline of _The Marriage of Wit and Science_ (1570 +approx.) will show how pleasantly, yet pointedly, the younger generation +of that day was taught the necessity of sustained industry if +scholarship was to be acquired. It has been suggested, with good reason, +that the play was written by a schoolmaster for his pupils' performance. +The superior plot-structure, and the rare adoption of subdivision into +acts and scenes, indicate an author of some classical knowledge. + +Wit, a promising youth, son of Nature, decides to marry Science, the +daughter of Reason and Experience. Nature approves of his intention, but +warns him that 'travail and time' are the only two by whose help he can +win the maid. For his servant and companion, however, she gives him +Will, a lively boy, full of sprightly fire. Science is now approached. +But it appears that only he who shall slay the giant, Tediousness, may +be her husband. To this trial Wit volunteers. He is advised first to +undergo long years of training under Instruction, Study, and Diligence; +but, soon tiring of them, he rashly goes to the fight, trusting that his +own strength, backed by the courage of Will and the half-hearted support +of Diligence, will prove sufficient. Too self-confident, he is +overthrown and his companions are put to flight. Will soon returns with +Recreation, by whose skill Wit is restored to vigour and better +resolution. Nevertheless, directly afterwards, he accepts the gentle +ministrations of the false jade, Idleness, who sings him to sleep and +then transforms him into the appearance of Ignorance. In this plight he +is found by his lady-love and her parents, who do not at first recognize +him. Shame is called in to doctor him. On his recovery he returns very +repentantly to the tuition of his three teachers, until, by their help +and Will's, he is able to slay the giant. As his reward he marries +Science. + +As one of several good things in this pleasant Interlude may be quoted +Will's speech on life before and after marriage, from the point of view +of a favoured servant: + + I am not disposed as yet to be tame, + And therefore I am loth to be under a dame. + Now you are a bachelor, a man may soon win you, + Methinks there is some good fellowship in you; + We may laugh and be merry at board and at bed, + You are not so testy as those that be wed. + Mild in behaviour and loth to fall out, + You may run, you may ride and rove round about, + With wealth at your will and all thing at ease, + Free, frank and lusty, easy to please. + But when you be clogged and tied by the toe + So fast that you shall not have pow'r to let go, + You will tell me another lesson soon after, + And cry _peccavi_ too, except your luck be the better. + Then farewell good fellowship! then come at a call! + Then wait at an inch, you idle knaves all! + Then sparing and pinching, and nothing of gift, + No talk with our master, but all for his thrift. + Solemn and sour, and angry as a wasp, + All things must be kept under lock and hasp; + All that which will make me to fare full ill. + All your care shall be to hamper poor Will. + +The liberty and, we may infer, good hearing extended to these +unblushingly didactic Interludes attracted into authorship writers with +purposes more aggressive and debatable than those pertaining to wise +conduct. Zealous reformers, earnest proselytizers, fierce dogmatists +turned to the drama as a medium through which they might effectively +reach the ears and hearts of the people. Kirchmayer's _Pammachius_, +translated into English by Bale (author of _King John_), contained an +attack on the Pope as Antichrist. In 1527 the boys of St. Paul's acted a +play (now unknown) in which Luther figured ignominiously. Here then were +Roman Catholics and Protestants extending their furious battleground to +the stage. This style of thing came to such a pitch that it was actually +judged necessary to forbid it by law. Similar plays, however, still +continued to be produced; and even King Edward VI is credited with the +authorship of a strongly Protestant comedy entitled _De Meretrice +Babylonica_. + +A very fair example of these political and controversial Interludes is +_New Custom_, printed in 1573, and possibly written only a year or two +before that date. Here, for instance, are a few of the players' names +and descriptions as given at the beginning: Perverse Doctrine, an old +Popish Priest; Ignorance, another, but elder; New Custom, a Minister; +Light of the Gospel, a Minister; Hypocrisy, an old Woman. Then, as to +the matter, here is an extract from Perverse Doctrine's opening speech, +the writer's intention being to expose the speaker to the derision of +his enlightened hearers. + + What! young men to be meddlers in divinity? it is a goodly sight! + Yet therein now almost is every boy's delight; + No book now in their hands, but all scripture, scripture, + Either the whole Bible or the New Testament, you may be sure. + The New Testament for them! and then too for Coll, my dog. + This is the old proverb--to cast pearls to an hog. + Give them that which is meet for them, a racket and a ball, + Or some other trifle to busy their heads withal, + Playing at quoits or nine-holes, or shooting at butts: + There let them be, a God's name. + +Or here again is a bold declaration from New Custom, the Reformation +minister: + + I said that the mass, and such trumpery as that, + Popery, purgatory, pardons, were flat + Against God's word and primitive constitution, + Crept in through covetousness and superstition + Of late years, through blindness, and men of no knowledge, + Even such as have been in every age. + +It is with some surprise certainly that we find King John of England +glorified, for purposes of Protestant propaganda, as a sincere and godly +'protestant'. So it is, however. In his play, _King John_ (about 1548), +Bishop Bale depicts that monarch as an inspired hater of papistical +tyranny and an ardent lover of his country, in whose cause he suffered +death by poisoning at the hands of a monk. Stephen Langton, the Pope and +Cardinal Pandulph figure as Sedition, Usurped Power and Private Wealth. +A summary of the play, provided by an Interpreter, supplies us with the +following explanation of John's quarrel with Rome. + + This noble King John, as a faithful Moses, + Withstood proud Pharaoh for his poor Israel, + Minding to bring it out of the land of darkness; + But the Egyptians did against him so rebel, + That his poor people did still in the desert dwell, + Till that duke Joshua, which was our late King Henry, + Closely brought us into the land of milk and honey. + As a strong David, at the voice of verity, + Great Goliah, the pope, he struck down with his sling, + Restoring again to a Christian liberty + His land and people, like a most victorious king; + To his first beauty intending the Church to bring + From ceremonies dead to the living word of the Lord. + This the second act will plenteously record. + +As put into the mouth of the king himself, these other lines are hard to +beat for deliberate partisan misrepresentation. The king feels himself +about to die. + + I have sore hungered and thirsted righteousness + For the office sake that God hath me appointed, + But now I perceive that sin and wickedness + In this wretched world, like as Christ prophesied, + Have the overhand: in me it is verified. + Pray for me, good people, I beseech you heartily, + That the Lord above on my poor soul have mercy. + Farewell noblemen, with the clergy spiritual, + Farewell men of law, with the whole commonalty. + Your disobedience I do forgive you all, + And desire God to pardon your iniquity. + Farewell, sweet England, now last of all to thee: + I am right sorry I could do for thee no more. + Farewell once again, yea, farewell for evermore. + +Prompted by a different motive, yet not far removed in actual effect +from the politico-religious class of play represented by _New Custom_, +are the early Interludes of John Heywood. It is quite impossible to read +such a play as _The Pardoner and the Friar_ and believe that its author +wrote under any such earnest and sober inspiration as did the author of +_New Custom_. His intention was frankly to amuse, and to paint life as +he saw it without the intrusion of unreal personages of highly virtuous +but dull ideas. Yet he swung the lash of satire as cuttingly and as +merrily about the flanks of ecclesiastical superstition as ever did the +creator of Perverse Doctrine.[47] + +The simplest plot sufficed Heywood, and the minimum of characters. _The +Pardoner and the Friar_ (possibly as early as 1520) demands only four +persons, while the plot may be summed up in a few sentences, thus: A +Pardoner and a Friar, from closely adjoining platforms, are endeavouring +to address the same crowd, the one to sell relics, the other to beg +money for his order. By a sort of stichomythic alternation each for a +time is supposed to carry on his speech regardless of the other, so that +to follow either connectedly the alternate lines must be read in +sequence. But every now and then they break off for abuse, and finally +they fight. A Parson and neighbour Prat interfere to convey them to jail +for the disturbance, but are themselves badly mauled. Then the Pardoner +and the Friar go off amicably together. There is no allegory, no moral; +merely satire on the fraudulent and hypocritical practices of pardoners +and friars, together with some horseplay to raise a louder laugh. The +fashion of that satire may be judged from the following exchange of home +truths by the rival orators. + + _Friar._ What, should ye give ought to parting pardoners?-- + + _Pardoner._ What, should ye spend on these flattering liars,-- + + _Friar._ What, should ye give ought to these bold beggars?-- + + _Pardoner._ As be these babbling monks and these friars,-- + + _Friar._ Let them hardly labour for their living;-- + + _Pardoner._ Which do nought daily but babble and lie-- + + _Friar._ It much hurteth them good men's giving,-- + + _Pardoner._ And tell you fables dear enough at a fly,-- + + _Friar._ For that maketh them idle and slothful to wark,-- + + _Pardoner._ As doth this babbling friar here to-day?-- + + _Friar._ That for none other thing they will cark.-- + + _Pardoner._ Drive him hence, therefore, in the twenty-devil way!-- + +_The Four P.P._ (? 1540), similarly, requires no more than a palmer, a +pardoner, a 'pothecary and a pedlar, and for plot only a single +conversation, devoid even of the rough play which usually enlivened +discussions on the stage. In the debate arises a contest as to who can +tell the biggest lie--won by the palmer's statement that he has never +seen a woman out of patience--and that is the sole dramatic element. +Nevertheless, by sheer wit interest is maintained to the end, every one +smiling over the rival claims of such veteran humbugs as the old-time +pardoner and apothecary; scant reverence does 'Pothecary vouchsafe to +Pardoner's potent relics, his 'of All Hallows the blessed jaw-bone', his +'great toe of the Trinity', his 'buttock-bone of Pentecost', and the +rest. One of the raciest passages occurs in the Pardoner's relation of +the wonders he has performed in the execution of his office. Amongst +other deeds of note is the bringing back of a certain woman from hell to +earth. For this purpose the Pardoner visited the lower regions in +person--so he says--and brought her out in triumph with the full and +joyful consent of Lucifer. + + [_The_ PARDONER _has entered hell and secured a guide._] + + _Pardoner._ This devil and I walked arm in arm + So far, till he had brought me thither, + Where all the devils of hell together + Stood in array in such apparel + As for that day there meetly fell. + Their horns well-gilt, their claws full clean, + Their tails well-kempt, and, as I ween, + With sothery[48] butter their bodies anointed; + I never saw devils so well appointed. + The master-devil sat in his jacket, + And all the souls were playing at racket. + None other rackets they had in hand, + Save every soul a good firebrand, + Wherewith they played so prettily + That Lucifer laughed merrily, + And all the residue of the fiends + Did laugh thereat full well like friends. + + [_He interviews_ LUCIFER _and asks if he may take away_ MARGERY + CORSON.] + + Now, by our honour, said Lucifer, + No devil in hell shall withhold her; + And if thou wouldest have twenty mo, + Wert not for justice, they should go. + For all we devils within this den + Have more to-do with two women + Than with all the charge we have beside; + Wherefore, if thou our friend will be tried, + Apply thy pardons to women so + That unto us there come no mo. + +_Johan Johan_, or, at greater length, _The Merry Play between Johan +Johan the Husband, Tyb his Wife, and Sir Jhon the Priest_ (printed +1533), contains only the three characters mentioned, but possesses a +theme more nearly deserving the name of plot than do the other two, +namely, the contriving and carrying out of a plan by Tyb for exposing +her boastful husband's real and absolute subjection to her rule. Yet, +even so, it is extremely simple. Johan Johan is first heard alone, +declaring how he will beat his wife for not being at home. The tuggings +of fear and valour in his heart, however, give his monologue an +argumentative form, in which first one motive and then the other gains +the upper hand, very similar to the conflict between Launcelot Gobbo's +conscience and the Devil. He closes in favour of the beating and +then--Tyb comes home. Oh the difference! Johan Johan suspects his wife +of undue friendliness with Sir Jhon the Priest, but he dare not say so. +Tyb guesses his doubts, and in her turn suspects that he is inclined to +rebel. So she makes the yoke heavier. Johan Johan has to invite Sir Jhon +to eat a most desirable pie with them; but throughout the meal, with +jealousy at his heart and the still greater pangs of unsatisfied hunger +a little lower, he is kept busy by his wife, trying to mend a leaky +bucket with wax. Surely never did a scene contain more 'asides' than are +uttered and explained away by the crushed husband! Finally overtaxed +endurance asserts itself, and wife and priest are driven out of doors; +but the play closes with a very pronounced note of uncertainty from the +victor as to what new game the vanquished may shortly be at if he be not +there to see. + +The all-important feature to be noticed in Heywood's work is that here +we have the drama escaping from its alliance with religion into the +region of pure comedy. Here is no well planned moral, no sententious +mouthpiece of abstract excellence, no ruin of sinners and crowning of +saints. Here, too, is no Vice, no Devil, although they are the chief +media for comedy in other Interludes, nor is there any buffoonery; even +of its near cousins, scuffling and fighting, only one of the three plays +has more than a trace. Hence the earlier remark, that Heywood was before +his time. It is not devils in bearskins and wooden-sworded vices that +create true comedy; they belong to the realm of farce. Yet they +continued to flourish long after Heywood had set another example, and +with them the cuffing of ears and drunken gambolling which we may see, +in the works of other men, trying to rescue prosy scenes from dullness. +In _Johan Johan_ is simple comedy, the comedy of laughter-raising +dialogue and 'asides'. We do not say it is perfect comedy, far from it; +but it is comedy cleared of its former alloys. It is the comedy which +Shakespeare refined for his own use in _Twelfth Night_ and elsewhere. + +[Footnote 34: Translation by W.C. Robinson, Ph.D. (Bohn's Standard +Library).] + +[Footnote 35: aright.] + +[Footnote 36: world's.] + +[Footnote 37: company.] + +[Footnote 38: wealth.] + +[Footnote 39: know.] + +[Footnote 40: know not.] + +[Footnote 41: solace.] + +[Footnote 42: stealing.] + +[Footnote 43: lying.] + +[Footnote 44: fright.] + +[Footnote 45: glad.] + +[Footnote 46: alehouse sign.] + +[Footnote 47: The reader is warned against chronological confusion. In +order to follow out the various dramatic contributions of the Interludes +one must sometimes pass over plays at one point to return to them at +another. Care has been taken to place approximate dates against the +plays, and these should be duly regarded. The treatment of so early an +Interlude writer as Heywood (his three best known productions may be +dated between 1520 and 1540) thus late is justified by the fact that he +is in some ways 'before his time', notably in his rejection of the +Morality abstractions.] + +[Footnote 48: sweet.] + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +RISE OF COMEDY AND TRAGEDY + + +No great discernment is required to see that, after the appearance of +_Johan Johan_, all that was needed for the complete development of +comedy was the invention of a well-contrived plot. For reasons already +indicated, Interludes were naturally deficient in this respect. Nor were +the Moralities and Bible Miracles much better: their length and +comprehensive themes were against them. There were the Saint Plays, of +which some still lingered upon the stage; these offered greater +possibilities. But here, again, originality was limited; the +_dénouement_ was more or less a foregone conclusion. Clearly, one of two +things was wanted: either a man of genius to perceive the need and to +supply it, or the study of new models outside the field of English +drama. The man of genius was not then forthcoming, but by good fortune +the models were stumbled upon. + +We say stumbled upon, because the absence of tentative predecessors and +of anything approaching an eager band of successors, suggests an +unpreparedness for the discovery when it came. Thus _Calisto and +Melibaea_ (1530), an imitation of a Spanish comedy of the same name, +though it contained a definitely evolved plot, sent barely a ripple over +the surface of succeeding authorship. It represents the steadfastness of +the maiden Melibaea against the entreaties of her lover Calisto and the +much more crafty, indeed almost successful, wiles of the procuress, +Celestine. True, the play is dull enough. But if dramatists had been +awake to their defects, the value of the new importation from a foreign +literature would have been noticed. The years passed, however, without +producing imitators, until some time in the years between 1544 and 1551 +a Latin scholar, reading the plays of Plautus, decided to write a comedy +like them. Latin Comedies, both in the original tongue and in +translation, had appeared in England in previous years, but only as +strayed foreigners. Nicholas Udall, the head master of Eton School, +proposed a very different thing, namely, an English comedy which should +rival in technique the comedies of the Latins. The result was _Ralph +Roister Doister_. He called it an Interlude. Posterity has given it the +title of 'the first regular English comedy'. + +Divided into five acts, with subordinate scenes, this play develops its +story with deliberate calculated steps. Acts I and II are occupied by +Ralph's vain attempts to soften the heart of Dame Christian Custance by +gifts and messages. In Act III come complications, double-dealings. +Matthew Merrygreek plays Ralph false, tortures his love, misreads--by +the simple trick of mispunctuation--his letter to the Dame, and thus, +under a mask of friendship, sets him further than ever from success. +Still deeper complexities appear with Act IV, for now arrives, with +greetings from Gawin Goodluck, long betrothed to Dame Custance, a +certain sea-captain, who, misled by Ralph's confident assurance, +misunderstands the relations between the Dame and him, suspects +disloyalty, and changes from friendliness to cold aloofness. This, by +vexing the lady, brings disaster upon Ralph, whose bold attempt, on the +suggestion of Merrygreek, to carry his love off by force is repulsed by +that Dame's Amazonian band of maid-servants with scuttles and brooms. In +this extraordinary conflict Ralph is horribly belaboured by the +malicious Matthew under pretence of blows aimed at Dame Custance. Act +V, however, brings Goodluck himself and explanations. That worthy man +finds his lady true, friendship is established all round, and Ralph and +Merrygreek join the happy couple in a closing feast. + +This bald outline perhaps makes sufficiently clear the great advance in +plot structure. Within the play, however, are many other good things. +The character of Ralph Roister Doister, 'a vain-glorious, cowardly +blockhead', as the list of dramatis personae has it, is thoroughly well +done: his heavy love-sighs, his confident elation, his distrust, his +gullibility, his ups and downs and contradictions, are all in the best +comic vein. Only second in fullness of portraiture, and truer to Nature, +is Dame Custance, who--if we exclude Melibaea as not native to English +shores--may be said to bring into English secular drama honourable +womanhood. Her amused indifference at first, her sharp reproof of her +maids who have allowed themselves to act as Ralph's messengers, her +gathering vexation at Ralph's tiresome wooing, her genuine alarm when +she sees that his boastful words are accepted by the sea-captain as +truth--these are sentiments and emotions copied from a healthy and +worthy model. Matthew Merrygreek, an unmistakable 'Vice' ever at Ralph's +elbow, is of all Vices the shrewdest striker of laughter out of a block +of stupidity: it is from his ingenious brain that almost every absurd +scene is evolved for the ridiculing of Ralph. Thoroughly human, and +quite assertive, are the lower characters, the maid-servants and +men-servants, Madge Mumblecrust, Tibet Talkapace, Truepenny, Dobinet +Doughty and the rest. Need it be added that the battle in Act IV is pure +fooling? or that jolly songs enliven the scenes with their rousing +choruses (e.g. 'I mun be married a Sunday')? _Ralph Roister Doister_ is +an English comedy with English notions of the best way of amusing +English folk of the sixteenth century. With all its improvements it has +no suggestion of the alien about it, as has the classically-flavoured +_Thersites_ (also based, like Udall's play, on Plautus's _Miles +Gloriosus_), or _Calisto and Melibaea_ with its un-English names. +Perhaps that is why it had to wait fifteen years for a successor. Quite +possibly its spectators regarded it as merely a better Interlude than +usual, without recognizing the precise qualities which made it different +from _Johan Johan_. + +Two quotations will be sufficient to illustrate the opposing characters. + + (1) + + _Merrygreek_ (_alone_). But now of Roister Doister somewhat to express, + That ye may esteem him after his worthiness, + In these twenty towns, and seek them throughout, + Is not the like stock whereon to graff a lout. + All the day long is he facing and craking[49] + Of his great acts in fighting and fray-making; + But when Roister Doister is put to his proof, + To keep the Queen's peace is more for his behoof. + If any woman smile, or cast on him an eye, + Up is he to the hard ears in love by and by: + And in all the hot haste must she be his wife, + Else farewell his good days, and farewell his life! + + + (2) + + [TRISTRAM TRUSTY, _a good friend and counsellor to_ DAME CUSTANCE, + _is consulted by her on the matter of the sea-captain's_ + (SURESBY'S) _misunderstanding of her attitude towards_ RALPH + ROISTER DOISTER.] + + _T. Trusty._ Nay, weep not, woman, but tell me what your cause is. + As concerning my friend is anything amiss? + + _C. Custance._ No, not on my part; but here was Sim. Suresby-- + + _T. Trusty._ He was with me, and told me so. + + _C. Custance._ And he stood by + While Ralph Roister Doister, with help of Merrygreek, + For promise of marriage did unto me seek. + + _T. Trusty._ And had ye made any promise before them twain? + + _C. Custance._ No, I had rather be torn in pieces and slain. + No man hath my faith and troth but Gawin Goodluck, + And that before Suresby did I say, and there stuck; + But of certain letters there were such words spoken-- + + _T. Trusty._ He told me that too. + + _C. Custance._ And of a ring and token, + That Suresby, I spied, did more than half suspect + That I my faith to Gawin Goodluck did reject. + + _T. Trusty._ But was there no such matter, Dame Custance, indeed? + + _C. Custance._ If ever my head thought it, God send me ill speed! + Wherefore I beseech you with me to be a witness + That in all my life I never intended thing less. + And what a brainsick fool Ralph Roister Doister is + Yourself knows well enough. + + _T. Trusty._ Ye say full true, i-wis. + +In 1566 was acted at Christ's College, Cambridge, 'A Ryght Pithy, +Pleasaunt, and merie Comedie, intytuled _Gammer Gurton's Needle_.' The +authorship is uncertain, recent investigation having exalted a certain +Stevenson into rivalry with the Bishop Still to whom former scholars +were content to assign it. Possibly as the result of a perusal of +Plautus, possibly under the influence of the last play--for in subject +matter it is even more perfectly English than _Ralph Roister +Doister_--this comedy is also built on a well-arranged plan, the plot +developing regularly through five acts with subsidiary scenes. Let us +glance through it. + +Gammer Gurton and her goodman Hodge lose their one and only needle, an +article not easily renewed, nor easily done without, seeing that Hodge's +garments stand in need of instant repair. Gib, the cat, is strongly +suspected of having swallowed it. Into this confusion steps Diccon, a +bedlam beggar, whose quick eye promptly detects opportunities for +mischief. After scaring Hodge with offers of magic art, he goes to Dame +Chat, an honest but somewhat jealous neighbour, unaware of what has +happened, with a tale that Gammer Gurton accuses her of stealing her +best cock. To Gammer Gurton he announces that he has seen Dame Chat pick +up the needle and make off with it. Between the two dames ensues a +meeting, the nature of which may be guessed, the whole trouble lying in +the fact that neither thinks it necessary to name the article under +dispute. No wonder that discussion under the disadvantage of so great a +misunderstanding ends in violence. Doctor Rat, the curate, is now called +in; but again Diccon is equal to the occasion. Having warned Dame Chat +that Hodge, to balance the matter of the cock, is about to creep in +through a breach in the wall and kill her chickens, he persuades Doctor +Rat that if he will creep through this same opening he will see the +needle lying on Dame Chat's table. The consequences for the curate are +severe. Master Bailey's assistance is next requisitioned, and him friend +Diccon cannot overreach. The whole truth coming out, Diccon is required +to kneel and apologize. In doing so he gives Hodge a slap which elicits +from that worthy a yell of pain. But it is a wholesome pang, for it +finds the needle no further away than in the seat of Hodge's breeches. + +If we compare this play with _Ralph Roister Doister_ three ideas will +occur: first, that we have made no advance; second, that, in giving the +preference to rough country folk, the author has deliberately abandoned +the higher standard of refinement in language and action set in Udall's +major scenes; third, that whereas the earlier work bases its comedy on +character, educing the amusing scenes from the clash of vanity, +constancy and mischief, the later play relies for its comic effects on +situations brought about by mischief alone. These are three rather heavy +counts against the younger rival. But in the other scale may be placed a +very fair claim to greater naturalness. Taking the scenes and characters +in turn, mischief-maker, churchman and all, there is none so open to the +charge of being impossible, and therefore farcical, as the battle +between the forces of Ralph and Dame Custance, or the incredibly +self-deceived Ralph himself. In accompanying Ralph through his +adventures we seem to be moving through a fantastic world in which Sir +Andrew Aguecheek and Malvolio might feel at home; but with Dame Chat, +Gammer Gurton and Hodge we feel the solid earth beneath our feet and +around us the strong air which nourished the peasantry and yeomen of +Tudor England. + +The first extract is a verse from this comedy's one and famous song; the +second is taken from Act I, Scene 4. + + (1) + + I cannot eat but little meat, + My stomach is not good; + But sure I think that I can drink + With him that wears a hood. + Though I go bare, take ye no care, + I am nothing a-cold; + I stuff my skin so full within + Of jolly good ale and old. + Back and side go bare, go bare, + Both foot and hand go cold: + But belly, God send thee good ale enough, + Whether it be new or old. + + (2) + + [HODGE _hears of the loss of the needle on his return home from the + fields._] + + _Hodge._ Your nee'le lost? it is pity you should lack care and + endless sorrow. + Gog's death, how shall my breeches be sewed? Shall I go thus + to-morrow? + + _Gammer._ Ah, Hodge, Hodge, if that ich could find my nee'le, by + the reed, + Ch'ould sew thy breeches, ich promise thee, with full good + double thread, + And set a patch on either knee should last this moneths twain. + Now God and good Saint Sithe, I pray to send it home again. + + _Hodge._ Whereto served your hands and eyes, but this your nee'le + to keep? + What devil had you else to do? ye keep, ich wot, no sheep. + Cham[50] fain abroad to dig and delve, in water, mire and clay, + Sossing and possing in the dirt still from day to day. + A hundred things that be abroad cham set to see them well: + And four of you sit idle at home and cannot keep a nee'le! + + _Gammer._ My nee'le, alas, ich lost it, Hodge, what time ich me up + hasted + To save milk set up for thee, which Gib our cat hath wasted. + + _Hodge._ The devil he burst both Gib and Tib, with all the rest; + Cham always sure of the worst end, whoever have the best. + Where ha' you been fidging abroad, since you your nee'le lost? + + _Gammer._ Within the house, and at the door, sitting by this same + post; + Where I was looking a long hour, before these folks came here. + But, wellaway! all was in vain; my nee'le is never the near. + + _Hodge._ Set me a candle, let me seek, and grope wherever it be. + Gog's heart, ye be foolish (ich think), you know it not when you + it see. + + _Gammer._ Come hither, Cock: what, Cock, I say! + + _Cock._ How, Gammer? + + _Gammer._ Go, hie thee soon, and grope behind the old brass pan, + Which thing when thou hast done, + There shalt thou find an old shoe, wherein, if thou look well, + Thou shalt find lying an inch of white tallow candle: + Light it, and bring it tite away. + + _Cock._ That shall be done anon. + + _Gammer._ Nay, tarry, Hodge, till thou hast light, and then we'll + seek each one. + +_Ralph Roister Doister_ and _Gammer Gurton's Needle_ mark the end of the +Interlude stage and the commencement of Comedy proper. Leaving the +latter at this point for the present, we shall return in the next +chapter to study its fortunes at the hands of Lyly. + + * * * * * + +Morality Plays, though theoretically quite as suitable for tragic effect +as for comic, since the former only required that Mankind should +sometimes fail to reach heaven, seem nevertheless to have developed +mainly the lighter side, setting the hero right at the finish and in the +meantime discovering, to the relief of otherwise bored spectators, that +wickedness, in some unexplained way, was funny. As long as propriety +forbade that good should be overcome by evil it is hard to see how +tragedy could appear. Had Humankind, in _The Castell of Perseverance_, +been fought for in vain by the Virtues, or had Everyman found no +companion to go with him and intercede for him, there had been tragedy +indeed. But religious optimism was against any conclusion so +discouraging to repentance. The lingering Miracles, it is true, still +presented the sublimest of all tragedies in the Fall of Man and the +apparent triumph of the Pharisees over Jesus. Between them, however, and +the kind of drama that succeeded the Moralities, too great a gulf was +fixed. Contemporaries of those original spirits, Heywood and Udall, +could hardly revert for inspiration to the discredited performances of +villages and of a few provincial towns. Tragedy had to wait until there +was matured and made popular an Interlude from which the conflict of +Virtues and Vices, with the orthodox triumph of the former, had been +purged away, leaving to the author complete liberty alike in character +and action. When that came, Tragedy returned to the stage, a stranger +with strange stories to tell. Persia and Ancient Rome sent their tyrants +and their heroines to contest for public favour with home-born knaves +and fools. Nor were the newcomers above borrowing the services of those +same knaves and fools. The Vice was given a place, low clownish fellows +were admitted to relieve the harrowed feelings, and our old +acquaintance, Herod, was summoned from the Miracles to lend his aid. + +Yet even so--and probably because it was so--Tragedy was ill at ease. +She had called in low comedy and rant to please the foolish, only to +find herself infected and degraded by their company. Moreover, the +bustle of incident, the abrupt changes from grave to gay and to grave +again, jangled her sad majestic harmonies with shrill interrupting +discords. It had not been so in Greece. It had not been so even in +Italy, where Roman Seneca, fearing the least decline to a lower plane of +dignity and impressiveness, had disciplined tragedy by an imposition of +artificial but not unskilful restraints. In place of the strong +unbroken sweep of a resistless current, which characterized the +evolution of an Aeschylean drama, he had insisted on an orderly division +of a plot into acts and scenes, as though one should break up the sheer +plunge of a single waterfall into a well-balanced group of cascades. Yet +he was wise in his generation, securing by this means a carefully +proportioned development which, in the absence of that genius which +inspired the Greek dramatists, might otherwise have been lost. Once +strong and free in the plays of Aeschylus and his compeers, hampered and +constantly under guidance but still dignified and noble in the Senecan +drama, Tragedy now found herself debased and almost caricatured in the +English Interlude stage. Fortunately the danger was seen in time. +English writers, face to face with self-conscious tragedy, realized that +here at least was more than unaided native art could compass. Despairing +of success if they persisted in the old methods, they fell back +awkwardly upon classical imitation and, by assiduous study tempered by a +wise criticism, achieved success. + +Only two plays with any claim to the designation of tragedies have +survived to us from the Interludes, neither of them of much interest. +_Cambyses_ (1561), by Thomas Preston, has all the qualities of an +imperfect Interlude. There are the base fellows and the clowns, Huff, +Ruff, Snuff, Hob and Lob; the abstractions, Diligence, Shame, Common's +Complaint, Small Hability, and the like; the Vice, Ambidexter, who +enters 'with an old capcase on his head, an old pail about his hips for +harness, a scummer and a potlid by his side, and a rake on his +shoulder'; and the same scuffling and horseplay when the comic element +is uppermost. Incident follows incident as rapidly and with as trifling +motives as before. In the course of a short play we see Cambyses, king +of Persia, set off for his conquests in Egypt; return; execute +Sisamnes, his unjust deputy; prove a far worse ruler himself; shoot +through the heart the young son of Praxaspes, to prove to that too-frank +counsellor that he is not as drunk as was supposed; murder his own +brother, Smirdis, on the lying report of Ambidexter; marry, contrary to +the law of the Church and her own wish, a lovely lady, his cousin, and +then have her executed for reproaching him with the death of his +brother; and finally die, accidentally pierced by his own sword when +mounting a horse. All these horrors, except the death of the lady, take +place on the stage. Thus we have such stage-directions as, 'Smite him in +the neck with a sword to signify his death', 'Flay him with a false +skin', 'A little bladder of vinegar pricked', 'Enter the King without a +gown, a sword thrust up into his side, bleeding.' Of real tragedy there +is little, the hustle of crime upon crime obliterating the impression +which any one singly might produce. Yet even in this crude orgy of +bloodshed the melancholy voice of unaffected pathos can be heard +mourning the loss of dear ones. It speaks in the farewells of Sisamnes +and his son Otian, and of Praxaspes (the honest minister) and his little +boy; throughout the whole incident of the gentle lady whose fate melts +even the Vice to tears; and in the outburst of a mother's grief over her +child's corpse. We quote the last. + + O blissful babe, O joy of womb, heart's comfort and delight, + For counsel given unto the king, is this thy just requite? + O heavy day and doleful time, these mourning tunes to make! + With blubb'red eyes into my arms from earth I will thee take, + And wrap thee in my apron white: but O my heavy heart! + The spiteful pangs that it sustains would make it in two to part, + The death of this my son to see: O heavy mother now, + That from thy sweet and sug'red joy to sorrow so shouldst bow! + What grief in womb did I retain before I did thee see; + Yet at the last, when smart was gone, what joy wert thou to me! + How tender was I of thy food, for to preserve thy state! + How stilled I thy tender heart at times early and late! + With velvet paps I gave thee suck, with issue from my breast, + And danced thee upon my knee to bring thee unto rest. + Is this the joy of thee I reap? O king of tiger's brood, + O tiger's whelp, hadst thou the heart to see this child's heart-blood? + Nature enforceth me, alas, in this wise to deplore, + To wring my hands, O wel-away, that I should see this hour. + Thy mother yet will kiss thy lips, silk-soft and pleasant white, + With wringing hands lamenting for to see thee in this plight. + My lording dear, let us go home, our mourning to augment. + +The second play, _Appius and Virginia_ (1563), by R.B. (not further +identified), is, in some respects, weaker; though, by avoiding the +crowded plot which spoilt _Cambyses_, it attains more nearly to tragedy. +The low characters, Mansipulus and Mansipula, the Vice (Haphazard), and +the abstractions, Conscience, Comfort and their brethren, reappear with +as little success. But the singleness of the theme helps towards that +elevation of the main figures and intensifying of the catastrophe which +tragic emotion demands. Unfortunately, from the start the author seems +to have been obsessed with the notion that the familiar rant of Herod +was peculiarly suited to his subject. In such a notion there lay, of +course, the half-truth that lofty thoughts and impassioned speech are +more befitting the sombre muse than the foolish chatter of clowns. But, +except where his own deliberately introduced mirth-makers are speaking, +he will have nothing but pompous rhetoric from the lips of his +characters. His prologue begins his speech with the sounding line: + + Who doth desire the trump of fame to sound unto the skies-- + +Virginius's wife makes her début upon the stage with this encouraging +remark to her companion: + + The pert and prickly prime of youth ought chastisement to have, + But thou, dear daughter, needest not, thyself doth show thee grave. + +To which Virginia most becomingly answers: + + Refell your mind of mournful plaints, dear mother, rest your mind. + +After this every one feels that the wicked judge, Appius, has done no +more than his duty when he exclaims, at his entrance: + + The furrowed face of fortune's force my pinching pain doth move. + +Virginius slays his daughter on the stage and serves her head up in a +charger before Appius, who promptly bursts into a cataclysm of C's ('O +curst and cruel cankered churl, O carl unnatural'); but there is not a +suggestion of the pathos noticed in _Cambyses_. Instead there is in one +place a sort of frantic agitation, which the author doubtless thought +was the pure voice of tragic sorrow. It is in the terrible moment when, +after the heroic strain of the sacrifice is over, Virginius realizes the +meaning of what he has done. Presumably wild with grief, he raves in +language so startlingly akin to the ludicrous despairs of Pyramus and +Thisbe that the modern reader, acquainted with the latter, is almost +jarred into laughter. + + O cruel hands, O bloody knife, O man, what hast thou done? + Thy daughter dear and only heir her vital end hath won. + Come, fatal blade, make like despatch: come, Atropos: come, aid! + Strike home, thou careless arm, with speed; of death be not afraid. + +Of such eloquence we might truly say with Theseus, 'This passion, and +the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad.' + +In 1562 Tragedy, as we have said, took refuge in an imitation of the +Senecan stage: translations of Seneca's tragedies had begun to appear in +1559. _The Tragedy of Ferrex and Porrex_, or _Gorboduc_, as it was +originally and is now most commonly named, marks a new departure for +English drama. To understand this we ought perhaps to say something +about the essential features of a Greek tragedy (Seneca's own model), +and make a note of any special Senecan additions. What strikes one most +in reading a play of Aeschylus is the prominence given to a composite +and almost colourless character known as the Chorus (for though it +consists of a body of persons, it speaks, for the most part, as one), +the absence of any effective action from the stage, the limited number +of actors, and the tendency of any speaker to expand his remarks into a +set speech of considerable length. This tendency, especially noticeable +in the Chorus, whose speeches commonly take the form of chants, +encouraged the faculty of generalizing philosophically, so that one is +constantly treated to general reflections expressive rather of broad +wisdom and piety than of feelings directly and dramatically aroused; +much also is made of retrospection and relation, whether the topic is +ancient history, the events of a recent voyage, or a barely completed +crime. The sage backward glance of the Chorus is quick to discover in +present ruin a punishment for past crime; so that the plot becomes in a +manner a picture of the resistless laws of moral justice. Speeches, a +moralizing Chorus, actions not performed but reported in detail, a sense +of divine retribution for sin, these are perhaps the qualities which, +apart from the poetry itself, we recall most readily as typical of a +Greek tragedy. These Seneca modified by the introduction of acts and +scenes, a subordination of the Chorus, and an exaggerated predilection +for long sententious speeches; he also added a new stage character known +as the Ghost. Seneca's elevation, to the dogmatic position of laws, of +the unities of Time, Place and Action, rules by no means invariable +among his older and greater masters, has been the subject of much +debate, but, on the whole, the verdict has been hostile. According to +these unities, the time represented in the play should not greatly +exceed the time occupied in acting it, the scene of the action should +not vary, and the plot should be concerned only with one event. This +last law was generally accepted, by Elizabethans, in Tragedy at least. +The other two, though much insisted on by English theorists, such as Sir +Philip Sidney, met with so much neglect in practice that we need devote +no space to the discussion of them. + +Having thus hastily summarized the larger superficial characteristics of +classical drama, we may return to _Gorboduc_ and inquire which of these +were adopted in it and with what modifications. We find it divided into +five acts and nine scenes. A Chorus, though it takes no other part, +sings its moralizing lyrics at the end of each act except the last. +Speeches of inordinate length are made--three consecutive speeches in +Act I, Scene 2, occupy two hundred and sixty lines--the subject-matter +being commonly argumentative. Only through the reports of messengers and +eye-witnesses do we learn of the cold-blooded murder and many violent +deaths that take place. Everywhere hurried action and unreasoning +instinct give place to deliberation and debate. Between this play and +its predecessors no change can be more sweeping or more abrupt. In an +instant, as it were, we pass from the unpolished _Cambyses_, savage and +reeking with blood, to the equally violent events of _Gorboduc_, cold +beneath a formal restraint which, regulating their setting in the +general framework, robs them of more than half their force. Had this +severe discipline of the emotions been accepted as for ever binding upon +the tragic stage Elizabethan drama would have been forgotten. The truth +is that the germ of dissension was sown in _Gorboduc_ itself. Conscious +that the banishment of action from the stage, while natural enough in +Greece, must meet with an overwhelming resistance from the popular +custom in England, the authors, Thomas Sackville and Thomas Norton, +invented a compromise. Before each act they provided a symbolical Dumb +Show which, by its external position, infringed no classical law, yet +satisfied the demand of an English audience for real deeds and +melodramatic spectacles. It was an ingenious idea, the effect of which +was to keep intact the close link between stage and action until the +native genius should be strong enough to cast aside its swaddling +clothes and follow its own bent without hurt. As illustrating this +innovation--the reader will not have forgotten that both Dumb Show and +Chorus are to be found in _Pericles_--we may quote the directions for +the Dumb Show before the second act. + + First, the music of cornets began to play, during which came in + upon the stage a king accompanied with a number of his nobility and + gentlemen. And after he had placed himself in a chair of estate + prepared for him, there came and kneeled before him a grave and + aged gentleman, and offered up unto him a cup of wine in a glass, + which the king refused. After him comes a brave and lusty young + gentleman, and presents the king with a cup of gold filled with + poison, which the king accepted, and drinking the same, immediately + fell down dead upon the stage, and so was carried thence away by + his lords and gentlemen, and then the music ceased. Hereby was + signified, that as glass by nature holdeth no poison, but is clear + and may easily be seen through, ne boweth by any art; so a faithful + counsellor holdeth no treason, but is plain and open, ne yieldeth + to any indiscreet affection, but giveth wholesome counsel, which + the ill advised prince refuseth. The delightful gold filled with + poison betokeneth flattery, which under fair seeming of pleasant + words beareth deadly poison, which destroyeth the prince that + receiveth it. As befel in the two brethren, Ferrex and Porrex, who, + refusing the wholesome advice of grave counsellors, credited these + young parasites, and brought to themselves death and destruction + thereby. + +But it is time to set forth the plot in more detail. The importance of +_Gorboduc_ as an example of English 'classical' tragedy prompts us to +follow it through, scene by scene. + +_Act I, Scene 1._--Queen Videna discovers to her favourite and elder +son, Ferrex, the king's intention, grievous in her eyes, of dividing his +kingdom equally between his two sons. _Scene 2._--King Gorboduc submits +his plan to the consideration of his three counsellors, whose wise and +lengthy reasonings he listens to but elects to disregard. + +_Act II, Scene 1._--The division having been carried out, Ferrex, in his +part of the kingdom, is prompted by evil counsel to suspect aggressive +rivalry from his brother, and decides to collect forces for his own +defence. _Scene 2._--Ferrex's misguided precautions having been +maliciously represented to Porrex as directed against his power, that +prince resolves upon an immediate invasion of his brother's realm. + +_Act III._--The news of these counter-moves and of the imminent +probability of bloodshed is reported to the king. To restore the courage +of the despairing Gorboduc is now the labour of his counsellors, but the +later announcement of the death of Ferrex casts him lower than before. +At this point the Chorus, recalling the murder of a cousin in an earlier +generation of the royal race, points, in true Aeschylean fashion, to the +hatred of an unsated revenge behind this latest blow: + + Thus fatal plagues pursue the guilty race, + Whose murderous hand, imbru'd with guiltless blood, + Asks vengeance still before the heaven's face, + With endless mischiefs on the cursed brood. + +_Act IV, Scene 1._--Videna alone, in words of passionate vehemence, +laments that she has lived so long to see the death of Ferrex, renounces +his brother as no child of hers, and concludes with a threat of +vengeance. _Scene 2._--Bowed down with remorse, Porrex makes his defence +before the king, pleading the latter's own act, in dividing the kingdom, +as the initial cause of the ensuing disaster. Before he has been long +gone from his father's presence, Marcella, a lady-in-waiting, rushes +into the room, in wild disorder and grief, to report his murder at his +mother's hand. In anguished words she tells how, stabbed by Videna in +his sleep, he started up and, spying the queen by his side, called to +her for help, not crediting that she, his mother, could be his +murderess. Again, in tones of solemn warning, the Chorus reminds the +audience that + + Blood asketh blood, and death must death requite: + Jove, by his just and everlasting doom, + Justly hath ever so requited it. + +_Act V, Scene 1._--This warning is proved true by a report of the death +of the king and queen at the hands of their subjects in revolt against +the blood-stained House. Certain of the nobles, gathered together, +resolve upon an alliance for the purpose of restoring a strong +government. The Duke of Albany, however, thinks to snatch power to +himself from this opportunity. _Scene 2._--Report is made of the +suppression of the rebellion, but this news is immediately followed by a +report of Albany's attempted usurpation of the throne. Coalition for his +defeat is agreed upon, and the play ends with the mournful soliloquy of +that aged counsellor who first opposed the division of the throne and +now sees, as the consequence of that fatal act, his country, torn to +pieces by civil strife, left an easy prize for an ambitious conqueror. + + Hereto it comes when kings will not consent + To grave advice, but follow wilful will. + This is the end, when in fond princes' hearts + Flattery prevails, and sage rede[51] hath no place: + These are the plagues, when murder is the mean + To make new heirs unto the royal crown.... + And this doth grow, when lo, unto the prince, + Whom death or sudden hap of life bereaves, + No certain heir remains, such certain heir, + As not all only is the rightful heir, + But to the realm is so made known to be; + And troth thereby vested in subjects' hearts, + To owe faith there where right is known to rest. + +This last quotation, interesting in itself as containing a +recommendation to Queen Elizabeth to marry, or at least name her +successor, will also serve as a specimen of the new verse, Blank Verse, +which here, for the first time, finds its way into English drama. +Meeting with small favour from writers skilful in the stringing together +of rhymes, it suffered comparative neglect for some years until Marlowe +taught its capacities to his own and future ages. With Sackville's stiff +lines before us we shall be better able to appreciate the later +playwright's genius. But we shall also be reminded that the credit of +introducing blank verse must lie with the older man. + +The chief question of all remains to be asked. Does _Gorboduc_, with all +its borrowed devices, _and because of them_, rise to a higher level of +tragedy than _Cambyses_ and _Appius and Virginia_? To answer this +question we must examine the effect of those devices, and understand +what is precisely meant by the term tragedy. Let it be first understood +that the arrangement of acts and scenes is comparatively unimportant in +this connexion, though most helpful in giving clearness to the action. +Marlowe's _Doctor Faustus_ (in the earlier edition) dispenses with it; +so does Milton's _Samson Agonistes_; and we have just seen that the +great Greek dramatists knew nothing of it. What is important is the +exclusion of that comic element which, in some form or another, had +hitherto found a place in almost every English play; the removal of all +action from the stage--for the Dumb Shows stand apart from the play--; +and the substitution of stately speeches for natural conversation and +dialogue. Of all three the purpose is the same, namely, to impress the +audience with a sense of greater dignity and awe than would be imparted +by a more familiar style. The long speeches give importance to the +decisions, and compel a belief that momentous events are about to +happen or have happened. In harmony with this effect is the absence of +all comic relief--although Shakespeare was to prove later that this has +a useful place in tragedy. A smile, a jest would be sacrilege in the +prevailing gloom. Two effects alone are aimed at; an impression of +loftiness in the theme, and a profound melancholy. Not warm gushing +tears. Those are the outcome of a personal sorrow, small and ignoble +beside an abstract grief at 'the falls of princes', 'the tumbling down +of crowns', 'the ruin of proud realms'. What does the reader or +spectator know of Ferrex that he should mingle his cries with Videna's +lamentations? The account of Porrex appealing, with childlike faith in +his mother, to the very woman who has murdered him, may, for the moment, +bring tears to the eyes. But it is an accidental touch. The tragedy lies +not there but in the great fact that with him dies the last heir to the +throne, the last hope of avoiding the miseries of a disputed succession; +and that in her revengeful fury the queen, as a woman, has committed the +blackest of all crimes, a mother's slaughter of her child. We are not +asked to weep but to gasp at the horror of it. It is in order to protect +the loftier, broader aspects of the catastrophe from the influence of +the particular that action is excluded. This cautions us against +confusing tragedy and pathos. To perceive the difference is to recognize +that English Tragedy really begins with _Gorboduc_. Until its advent the +stress laid on the pathetic partially obscured the tragic. This may be +seen at once in the Miracles, though a little thought will reveal the +intensely tragic nature of the complete Miracle Play. In _Cambyses_ we +find the same obscuration: there is tragedy in the sudden ending of +those young lives, but the pathos of the mother's anguish and the sweet +girl's pleadings prevent us from thinking of it. _Appius and Virginia_ +maintains a much truer tragic detachment, the effect being heightened by +its opening picture of virtuous happiness destined to abrupt and +tyrannous ruin. But it expresses itself so ill, shatters our hearing so +unmercifully with its alliterative mouthing, and hurls us down so +steeply with its low comedy, that we refuse to give its characters the +grandeur or excellence claimed for them by the author. _Gorboduc_ alone +presents tragedy unspoiled by extraneous additions. In its triple +catastrophe of princes, crown and realm we perceive the awful figure of +the Tragic Muse and shrink back in reverent fear of what more may lie +hid from us in the folds of her black robe. Darker, much darker and more +terrible things have come since from that gloomy spirit. What has been +written here should not be misinterpreted as an exaggerated appreciation +of _Gorboduc_. We wish only to insist that this play did give to English +drama for the first time (if we exclude translations) an example, +however weak in execution, of pure tragedy; and was able to do so +largely, if not entirely, by reason of its reversion to classical +principles and devices. + +We have insisted on the difference between Tragedy and Pathos, and +criticized the weakening effect of the latter upon the former. To escape +the penalty that awaits general criticism we may add here that Tragedy +is never greater than when her handmaid is ready to do her _modest_ +service. Sophocles puts into the mouth of Oedipus, at the moment of his +departure into blind and desolate exile, tender injunctions regarding +the care of his young daughters: + + But my poor maidens, hapless and forlorn, + Who never had a meal apart from mine, + But ever shared my table, yea, for them + Take heedful care; and grant me, though but once, + Yea, I beseech thee, with these hands to feel, + Thou noble heart! the forms I love so well, + And weep with them our common misery. + Oh, if my arms were round them, I might seem + To have them as of old when I could see.[52] + +Shakespeare, too, knew well how to kindle the soft radiance which, +fading again, makes the ensuing darkness darker still. Ophelia, the +sleeping Duncan, Cordelia rise to our minds. Nor need we quote the +famous words of Webster's Ferdinand. It is enough that the greatest +scene in _Gorboduc_ is precisely that scene where pathos softens by a +momentary dimness of vision our horror at a mother's crime. + +_The Misfortunes of Arthur_ (1587), by Thomas Hughes, though twenty-five +years later, may be placed next to _Gorboduc_ in our discussion of the +rise of tragedy. It will serve as an illustration of the kind of tragedy +that was being evolved from Senecan models by plodding uninspired +Englishmen before Marlowe flung his flaming torch amongst them. To +understand the story a slight introduction is necessary. Igerna, the +wife of Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, was loved by King Uther, who foully +slew her husband and so won her for himself. As a result of this union +were born Arthur and Anne, who, in their youth, perpetuated the +inherited taint of sin by becoming the parents of a boy, Mordred. +Afterwards Arthur married Guenevera, and some years later went to France +on a long campaign of conquest. In his absence Mordred gained the love +of Guenevera. The play begins with the contemplated return of Arthur, +glorious from victory, the object being to concentrate attention upon +the swift fall from glory and power to ruin and death. Guenevera, having +learnt to hate her husband, debates in her mind his death or hers, +finally deciding, however, to become a nun. Her interview with Mordred +ends in his resolving to resist Arthur's landing. Unsuccessful in this +attempt, and defeated in battle, he spurns all thought of submission, +challenging his father to a second conflict, in Cornwall. Arthur, +feeling that his sins have found him out, would gladly make peace; but, +stung by Mordred's defiance, he follows him into Cornwall. There both +armies are destroyed and Mordred is slain, though in his death he +mortally wounds his father. After the battle his body is brought before +Arthur, in whom the sight awakens yet more fiercely the pangs of +remorse. The play closes immediately before Arthur's own mysterious +departure. + +Here is all the material for a great tragedy. The point for beginning +the story is well chosen, though in obvious imitation of _Agamemnon_. +Attention is concentrated on the catastrophe, no alien element being +admitted to detract from the melancholy effect. It is sought to +intensify the gloom by recourse to Seneca's stage Ghost; thus, the +departed spirit of the wronged Gorlois opens the play with horrid +imprecations of evil upon the house of Uther, and, at the close, exults +in the fullness of his revenge. From his mouth, as well as from the lips +of Arthur, and again from the Chorus (which closes the acts, as in +_Gorboduc_) we learn the great purpose beneath this overwhelming ruin of +a king and kingdom--to show that the day and the hour do come, however +long deferred, when + + Wrong hath his wreak, and guilt his guerdon bears. + +As before, all action is rigorously excluded from the stage, to be +reported, at great length and with tremendous striving after vividness +and effect, by one who was present. Dumb Shows before each act continue +the attempt to balance matters spectacularly. Clearly the only hope of +dramatic advance for disciples of the Senecan school lay in improved +dialogue. This was possible in four directions, namely, in more stirring +topics, in more personal feeling, in shorter speeches, and in a change +in the style of language and verse. Unfortunately for Thomas Hughes, it +is just here that he fails, and fails lamentably. What is more, he fails +because of his methods. The dominant desire of the English 'classical' +school was to be impressive. Hence the adoption by Hughes of a ghostly +introduction and conclusion. His conversations, therefore, must reflect +the same idea. He saw, indeed, that long speeches, except at rare +intervals, were tedious, and reduced his to reasonable proportions, even +making extensive use--as, we shall see, the author of _Damon and +Pythias_ did before him--of the Greek device of stichomythia. He was +most anxious, also, to provide stirring topics for his characters to +speak on, the queen's uncertainty between crime and religion in the +second scene being a notable example. But of necessity the distance of +time and space imposed by his methods between an event and the reporting +of it gives a measure of detachment to its discussion. In the matter of +personal feeling, too, he was hampered by this same unavoidable +detachment, and by the need of being impressive; for he and his friends +seem to have been convinced that the wider and less particular the +subject the greater would be the hearer's awe. We need only compare +Arthur's speech over Mordred's body with the lamentation of the mother +in _Cambyses_ to perceive how the new methods compel the king to hasten +from the thought of the 'hapless boy' to a consideration of their joint +fate as 'a mirror to the world'. Because, in _Cambyses_, we know so +little more of the boy and his mother than her grief, his murder fails +as tragedy; but had Arthur indulged a little in such grief as her's, how +much more moving would have been the tragedy of _The Misfortunes of +Arthur_! But this was not the way of the Senecan school. Everywhere we +find the same preference, as in _Gorboduc_, for broad argument and +easily detachable expressions of philosophic wisdom. What shall be said +of the style of language and verse? This much in praise, that Blank +Verse is retained. But--and the thoughtful reader will discern that the +same fatal influence is at work here as elsewhere--Hughes relapses, +deliberately, into the artificial speech of _Appius and Virginia_. +Alliteration charms him with its too artful aid. Nowhere has R.B. such +rant as falls from the pen of Hughes. In the last battle between Arthur +and Mordred 'boist'rous bangs with thumping thwacks fall thick', while +the younger leader rages over the field 'all fury-like, frounc'd up with +frantic frets'. Guenevera revives her declining wrath with this +invocation of supernatural aid: + + Come, spiteful fiends, come, heaps of furies fell, + Not one by one, but all at once! my breast + Raves not enough: it likes me to be fill'd + With greater monsters yet. My heart doth throb, + My liver boils: somewhat my mind portends, + Uncertain what; but whatsoever, it's huge. + +A fairer example, however, of Hughes's style may be taken from Cador's +speech urging Arthur to adopt severe measures against Mordred (_Act III, +Scene 1_): + + No worse a vice than lenity in kings; + Remiss indulgence soon undoes a realm. + He teacheth how to sin that winks at sins, + And bids offend that suffereth an offence. + The only hope of leave increaseth crimes, + And he that pardoneth one, embold'neth all + To break the laws. Each patience fostereth wrong. + But vice severely punish'd faints at foot, + And creeps no further off than where it falls. + One sour example will prevent more vice + Than all the best persuasions in the world. + Rough rigour looks out right, and still prevails: + Smooth mildness looks too many ways to thrive. + Wherefore, since Mordred's crimes have wrong'd the laws + In so extreme a sort, as is too strange, + Let right and justice rule with rigour's aid, + And work his wrack at length, although too late; + That damning laws, so damned by the laws, + He may receive his deep deserved doom. + So let it fare with all that dare the like: + Let sword, let fire, let torments be their end. + Severity upholds both realm and rule. + +One feature remains to be spoken of, a feature which redeems the play +from an otherwise deserved obscurity. We refer to the author's creation +of characters fit for tragedy. Sackville's royalties are dull folk, +great only by rank. Arthur and Mordred are men of a grander breed, men +worthy to rise to heights and win the attention of the world by their +fall. Nor does the author forget the artistic strength achieved by +contrast. Arthur is depicted as a veteran warrior, contented with his +conquests, and anxious to establish peace within his kingdom. He is +remorseful, too, for past sins, and is ready to make amends by yielding +up to Mordred the coveted throne--until that prince's insolence makes +compromise impossible. Mordred, on the other hand, stands before us as +the young, ambitious, dauntless aspirant to power, scorning cautious +fears, flinging back every overture for peace, reaching forward to the +goal of his hate even across the confines of life. At the risk of +quoting too much we append (with the omission of two interruptions) +Mordred's speech in favour of resisting his father: + + He falleth well, that falling fells his foe. + Small manhood were to turn my back to chance. + I bear no breast so unprepar'd for harms. + Even that I hold the kingliest point of all, + To brook afflictions well: and by how much + The more his state and tottering empire sags, + To fix so much the faster foot on ground. + No fear but doth forejudge, and many fall + Into their fate, whiles they do fear their fate. + Where courage quails, the fear exceeds the harm: + Yea, worse than war itself is fear of war. + +From the brief list of other tragedies preserved from this period of +development, and including such plays as _Tancred and Gismunda_ (1568) +and Whetstone's _Promos and Cassandra_ (printed 1578)--the latter +chiefly interesting on account of the criticism of contemporary drama +contained in its Dedication--we select _Damon and Pythias_ (before 1567) +by Richard Edwards as an example of native tragedy influenced but not +subjugated by classical models. To be exact, it is a tragi-comedy, but +it is very improbable that the method of presentment would have been +different had it ended tragically; therefore it will suit our purpose. +Of importance is the date, some three or four years later than +_Gorboduc_ and seventy years earlier than _The Misfortunes of Arthur_. +When we call to mind the form finally adopted for tragedy by +Shakespeare, we shall find this play an illuminating beacon, lighting +the first steps along the right path. The author was well acquainted +with classical drama, as may be seen in his use of stichomythia, amongst +other things, and possibly in his preference for a Grecian story. He +probably knew _Gorboduc_ quite well, and learned much from its faults. +Backed by this knowledge he selected, adapted, and rejected methods at +discretion, and stood finally and definitely by the fundamental +principles of the native English drama, placing all his action on the +stage and fearlessly admitting light humorous elements to relieve the +strain of too insistent emotion or suspense. That in one place he went +too far in this direction cannot be denied: the episode of the shaving +of Grim the Collier is a bad error of judgment, founded on a right +motive but horribly mismanaged. That mistake, however, is so glaring +that it must have been obvious to all succeeding writers; it could not +seriously affect their judgment of the methods employed in the rest of +the play. It is these methods that we must understand. + +First, to sketch the plot. Damon and Pythias with their servant Stephano +arrive in Syracuse in the reign of the tyrant, Dionysius. There Damon is +arrested on the denunciation of the informer Carisophus, and is +sentenced to death as a spy. Reprieve for six months is allowed him on +the pledge of Pythias's life as bail, and at the last minute he returns, +just in time to save the life of his devoted and willing friend. Such +signal proofs of the sincerity of their affection win for both of them +not only life but royal favour, the king turning from his evil ways to +follow their counsel. A character of importance not mentioned here is +Aristippus, 'a pleasant gentleman' and a successful courtier, whose +friendship with Carisophus, an alliance hollow, suspicious, and most +unloving on one side at least, forms an admirable foil for the true +friendship of Damon and Pythias. + +There is no division into acts and scenes, but the omission amounts to +little more than the absence of those words from the printed copy, since +the plot is most carefully arranged--witness the gradual introduction of +the characters and preparation for the arrest of Damon--and the stage +is frequently cleared. In fact it is perfectly easy to insert the +customary labels of acts and scenes at these latter points, in the +manner employed, for example, in the 1616 edition of Marlowe's +_Faustus_. There are no Dumb Shows, there is no Chorus, there is no +Ghost. But our old friend the Vice is there--without his Devil; the +clown too, and Herod; and we note with interest the modifications which +were considered necessary before they could figure creditably on the +tragic stage. Herod needed small alteration: the plot demands a tyrant +of ferocious injustice, who can 'fall in dump and foam like a boar' at a +moment's notice, or Damon cannot be judged worthy of death for his +offence. The clown, whose sins, when he committed any, were always +rather the product of evil influence than of original sin, is ennobled +to the standing of an honest faithful slave, simple in his notions, +shrewd to save his own skin, overjoyed at being made a freed man, and +withal one who keeps good time by his stomach; in a word, Stephano. The +Vice (of whom Will and Jack are lighter adaptations), the source of all +mischief, the Newfangle of _Like Will to Like_ and the Diccon of _Gammer +Gurton's Needle_, is Carisophus, the disappointed courtier, who +endeavours to creep back to favour by double-dealing with Aristippus and +by practising the base treachery of a common informer, and who finally +is kicked out of court and off the stage by Eubulus, the good +counsellor. These adaptations, then, of the stock Interlude characters, +are merely a continuation of the changes initiated by Heywood and others +of his day and amplified in the first regular comedies; they owe nothing +to classical influence. But the same feeling after naturalness which +makes Stephano and Carisophus such well-defined realities influences for +good the portraits of the other characters. Aristippus is a thoroughly +well drawn likeness of the easy-going, gracefully selfish, polished +courtier; and Damon and Pythias weary us only by reason of the weight of +virtue thrust upon them by the original story, and not to be avoided, +therefore, if the plot was to hold. Even the verse reflects the healthy +desire to avoid artificiality. We shall not attempt to praise it: the +roughness in the flow of lines constantly and quite irregularly varying +in length can find little to defend it and many sensitive critics to +denounce it. But there is hardly any doubt that this unevenness was due, +not to a false ear for metre, but to a deliberate attempt to get rid of +the unnatural formalism of correct rhymed verse. Rhyme is retained; but +blank verse had only recently appeared and was still in ill favour. +Edwards's device was another experiment in the same direction. Needless +to say, alliteration is not called in to reinforce weak sentiments. + +Possibly attributable to classical influence is the adoption of the +serious, half-philosophical tone noticed in _Gorboduc_ and _The +Misfortunes of Arthur_. This quality the author judged to be a +harmonious element in tragedy, and judged aright, though, as was natural +at so early a stage, he tended to exaggerate it. Shakespeare's greatest +tragedies abound in passages of deep reflexion upon life, death, and the +problems of right and wrong. We may choose to place the origin of this +grave spirit in the 'classics', but it may be pointed out, with reason, +that the persistent traditions of the Moralities, the pious moralizings +retained in such Interludes as _Like Will to Like_, may just as easily +have passed over naturally into Edwards's work along with the Vice. In +support of this other source may be cited the absence from this play of +the long speeches which went hand in hand with the learned reasoning and +soliloquies of Sackville and Norton. Quite undeniably of classical +influence, however, is the refinement and restraint noticeable +throughout the play. These we welcome. They prune the tree of native +drama without hacking off its stoutest limbs. Under their control +tragedy steps upon the stage in an English dress to prove herself worthy +of her Roman sister and ultimately capable of far greater achievements. + +To select details in proof of the success of _Damon and Pythias_ as a +pioneer in tragedy is made difficult by the fact that it ends happily. +But attention may be called to the very praiseworthy treatment of the +comic characters--notably Stephano and the gruff but kind-hearted +hangman, Gronno--and to the humanity which vitalizes the major +personages, Carisophus in particular; to the dignity also, maintained +throughout the play (the Collier episode alone excepted), and to the +admirably dramatic suspense secured just before Damon's return. The +following extract is drawn from Pythias's farewell speech at that time, +delivered on the scaffold in accordance with the best English customs: + + But why do I stay any longer, seeing that one man's death + May suffice, O king, to pacify thy wrath? + O thou minister of justice, do thine office by and by, + Let not thy hand tremble, for I tremble not to die. + Stephano, the right pattern of true fidelity, + Commend me to thy master, my sweet Damon, and of him crave liberty + When I am dead, in my name; for thy trusty services + Hath well deserved a gift far better than this. + O my Damon, farewell now for ever, a true friend, to me most dear; + Whiles life doth last, my mouth shall still talk of thee, + And when I am dead, my simple ghost, true witness of amity, + Shall hover about the place, wheresoever thou be. + +Before this chapter closes a word remains to be said about the rise of +History Plays. Pre-eminently they are the outcome of a patriotism that +was growing stronger and stronger as each year increased the glory of +Queen Elizabeth's reign. Nothing in them is more noteworthy than the +pride in England, in England's kings, and in England's defiance and +conquest of her foes. Whether we read _The Famous Victories of Henry the +Fifth_ (acted before 1588) or _The Troublesome Reign of King John_ +(printed 1591) we find the same joyous presentment of courageous +victory. Unfortunately for the author of the latter play, his royal +subject fell away sadly in his submission to the Pope; yet the writer +would not entirely concede the victory to Rome, and having made the very +most of his king's campaign in France and his defiant rejection of the +Papal demands, he attempts to redeem the situation, even in the dreadful +moment of John's kneeling supplication to Pandulph, by putting into the +former's mouth 'asides' expressing a heart completely at variance with +the formal penitence; in fact this scene might be understood as a clever +hoodwinking of the enemy to circumvent the Dauphin. With true artistic +and patriotic instinct the author creates the redoubtable Faulconbridge +to demonstrate that Englishmen were stout of heart and loyal to the +throne in its worst perils, whatever might be the temporary failings of +the king and a few nobles. In _The Famous Victories_ the earlier author +had for his central figure a type of character that will always appeal +to an English audience. Here we find in fullest expression that free +introduction of the comic by the side of the serious, and that love for +jovial intercourse between royalty and subjects which are so frequent in +our History Plays. The roistering of Prince Hal among his boon +companions in the tavern, his boxing of the Judge's ears, and his +consequent arrest; these hold the stage for the first six scenes (there +are no acts, in this play or in the other), and contain several touches +and incidents borrowed afterwards by Shakespeare for his _Falstaff_. +Indeed it is surprising to observe how extensively that great genius +appropriated the work of other men. While commonly refining the +language, he was not above borrowing thought as well as incident--even +for the famous lines by the Bastard, Faulconbridge, closing _King John_. + +The form of the History Plays is a direct continuation of the methods of +the old Miracles, and does not differ in essentials from that found in +Shakespeare's 'Histories'. Such differences as do occur are due, as a +rule, to minor differences of arrangement and length. The author of _The +Troublesome Reign of King John_ extended his theme into two plays, and +so found room for much that had to be omitted in a single play; +Shakespeare, on the other hand, spread over three plays the royal +character--Henry V--which his predecessor comprehended in one. The +historical method had, however, a certain effect on the English drama. +It made extremely popular, by its patriotic subjects, a form which +disregarded the skilful evolution of a plot, contenting itself with a +succession of scenes, arranged merely in order of time, that should +carry a comprehensive story to its finish. We shall see this influence +operating disastrously in plays other than History, and must mark it as +a retrograde movement in the development of perfect drama. One extremely +valuable contribution of these History Plays was their insistence upon +absolute humanness in the characters. To present a Prince Hal, a King +John or a Faulconbridge, a Queen Elinor or a Constance, as mere +mouthpieces or merely royal persons would have been to court immediate +failure before an audience of Englishmen imbued with intense pride in +the life and vigour of their country, their countrymen, and their Queen. + +Of the three following extracts from _The Troublesome Reign of King +John_ the first is a speech which might well have found a place in +Shakespeare's first scene, where Faulconbridge is questioned as to his +parentage, the inheritance depending on his answer; the second is from +one of John's dying speeches, full of remorse for his bad government, +and may be compared dramatically with the better known speeches, full +only of outcry against his bodily affliction; the third illustrates the +spirit of patriotic pride which glows in every scene. + + [PHILIP (_the_ BASTARD), _fallen into a trance of thought, speaks + aside to himself._] + + _Quo me rapit tempestas?_ + What wind of honour blows this fury forth? + Or whence proceed these fumes of majesty? + Methinks I hear a hollow echo sound + That Philip is the son unto a king. + The whistling leaves upon the trembling trees + Whistle in consort I am Richard's son: + The bubbling murmur of the water's fall + Records _Philippus Regis Filius_: + Birds in their flight make music with their wings, + Filling the air with glory of my birth: + Birds, bubbles, leaves, and mountain's echo, all + Ring in mine ears that I am Richard's son. + Fond man! ah, whither art thou carried? + How are thy thoughts ywrapt in honour's heaven? + Forgetful what thou art, and whence thou camest. + Thy father's land cannot maintain these thoughts; + These thoughts are far unfitting Fauconbridge: + And well they may; for why, this mounting mind + Doth soar too high to stoop to Fauconbridge. + + 2. + + [KING JOHN, _feeling the near approach of death, is filled with + remorse._] + + Methinks I see a catalogue of sin + Wrote by a fiend in marble characters, + The least enough to lose my part in heaven. + Methinks the devil whispers in mine ears + And tells me 'tis in vain to hope for grace, + I must be damned for Arthur's sudden death. + I see, I see a thousand thousand men + Come to accuse me for my wrong on earth, + And there is none so merciful a God + That will forgive the number of my sins. + How have I liv'd but by another's loss? + What have I lov'd but wreck of other's weal? + When have I vow'd and not infring'd mine oath? + Where have I done a deed deserving well? + How, what, when and where have I bestow'd a day + That tended not to some notorious ill? + My life, replete with rage and tyranny, + Craves little pity for so strange a death; + Or who will say that John deceas'd too soon? + Who will not say he rather liv'd too long? + + 3. + + [ARTHUR _warns the_ KING OF FRANCE _not to expect ready submission + from_ JOHN.] + + I rather think the menace of the world + Sounds in his ears as threats of no esteem; + And sooner would he scorn Europa's power + Than lose the smallest title he enjoys; + For questionless he is an Englishman. + +[Footnote 49: boasting.] + +[Footnote 50: I am.] + +[Footnote 51: counsel.] + +[Footnote 52: _Oedipus Tyrannus_ (Lewis Campbell's translation).] + + + + +CHAPTER V + +COMEDY: LYLY, GREENE, PEELE, NASH + + +The term 'University Wits' is the title given to a group of scholarly +young men who, from 1584 onwards, for about ten years, took up +play-writing as a serious profession, and by their abilities and genius +raised English drama to the rank of literature. Previous dramatists had +also been men of good education and fair wit; Sackville, to name but +one, was a man of great gifts and sound learning. But tradition has +restricted the name to seven men whom time, circumstances, mental +qualities and mutual acquaintanceship brought together as one group. The +majority stood to each other almost in the relation of friends; they +were rivals for public favour, were well acquainted with each other's +work, and were quick to follow one another along improved paths. Taking +up comedy at the stage of _Ralph Roister Doister_ and tragedy at that of +_The Misfortunes of Arthur_, they transformed and refined both, lifting +them to higher levels of humour and passion, gracing them with many +witty inventions, and, above all, pouring into the pallid arteries of +drama the rich vitalizing blood of a new poetry. The seven men were +Lyly, Greene, Peele, Nash, Lodge, Kyd and Marlowe--named not in +chronological sequence but in the order of their discussion in these +pages. + + * * * * * + +Perhaps no dramatist is more out of touch with modern taste than John +Lyly. The ordinary reader, taking up one of his plays by chance, will +probably set it down wearily after the perusal of barely one or two +acts. And yet Lyly excels any of his contemporaries in witty invention, +and is the creator of what has been called High Comedy. His importance, +therefore, in the history of the growth of the drama is considerable. +Nor is his fancy found to be so dull when approached in the right +spirit. True, it requires an effort to step back into the shoes of an +Elizabethan courtier. But the effort is worth making, since the mind, as +soon as it has realized what not to expect, is better able to appreciate +what is offered. The essential requirement is to remember that Lyly the +dramatist is the same man as Lyly the euphuist, and that his audience +was always a company of courtiers, with Queen Elizabeth in their midst, +infatuated with admiration for the new phraseology and mode of thought +known as Euphuism. If we consider the manner in which these lords and +ladies spent their time at court, filling idle hours with compliment, +love-making, veiled jibe and swift retort; if we read our _Euphues_ +again, renewing our acquaintance with its absurdly elaborated and +stilted style, its tireless winding of sentences round a topic without +any advance in thought, its affectation of philosophy and classical +learning; if we remember that to speak euphuistically was a coveted and +studiously cultivated accomplishment, and that to pun, to utter caustic +jests, to let fall neat epigrams were the highest ambition of wit; if we +take this trouble to prepare ourselves for reading Lyly's plays, we may +still find them dull, but we shall at least understand why they took the +form they did, and shall be in a position to recognize the substantial +service rendered to Comedy by the author. Lyly's work was just the +application of the laws of euphuism to native comedy, and it wrought a +change curiously similar to the effect of Senecan principles upon native +tragedy, transferring the importance from the action to the words. It +may be remarked that this redistribution of the interest must always be +of great value in the early stage of any literature. The popular taste +for action and incident is sure to be gratified sooner or later; the +demand for elegant and appropriate diction, usually confined to the +cultured few, is more apt to be passed over. Euphuism never did the harm +to comedy which tragedy suffered at the hands of the late Elizabethans +who, in their pursuit of moving incident, lost themselves in a reckless +licence of language and verse. Action, therefore, fell into the +background. Refinement, elevation was aimed at. In the place of Hodge, +Dame Chat and their company, there now appeared gracious beings of +perfect manners and speech; and since things Greek and mythological had +become the fashion, Arcadian nymphs and swains, beauteous goddesses and +Athenian philosophers were judged the most fitting to stand before the +English court. In scene after scene fair ladies talk of love, reverend +sages display their readiness in solving knotty problems, lovers sigh +into the air long rhapsodies over the charms of their mistresses, +sharp-tongued (but rarely coarse) serving-boys lure fools into greater +folly or exchange amusing badinage at the expense of their absent +masters. The story does not advance much, but that is of small account +so long as the dialogue tickles ears taught to find delight in +well-spoken euphuism. It is like listening to a song in a language one +does not understand: provided that the harmony is beautiful one is not +distressed about the verbal message. Besides, there is some plot, slight +though it be, and its theme is love, chiefly of the languishing, +half-hopeless kind which was supposed to be cherished by every bachelor +courtier for the queen. There is, too, for those who can read it, an +allegory often concealed in the story of disappointed love or ambition +which moves round Cynthia or Diana or Sapho. Was there no lover who +aspired as Endymion aspired, no Spanish king meriting the fate of Mydas, +no man favoured as was Phao by Sapho? Even at this distance of time we +can amuse ourselves by guessing names, and so catch something of the +interest which, at the time of the play's appearance, would set eyebrows +arching with surprise, and send, at each daring reference or well-aimed +compliment, a nod of approving intelligence around the audience. + +Lyly wrote eight comedies: _Campaspe_ (printed 1584), _Sapho and Phao_ +(printed 1584), _Endymion_ (printed 1591), _Gallathea_ (printed 1592), +_Mydas_ (printed 1592), _Mother Bombie_ (printed 1594), _The Woman in +the Moon_ (printed 1597), _Love's Metamorphoses_ (printed 1601). All +these, with the exception of the seventh--which is in regular and +pleasing, though not vigorous, blank verse--were written in prose, as we +should expect from the founder of so famous a prose style; but as _The +Supposes_, a translation by Gascoigne of Ariosto's _I Suppositi_, had +previously appeared in prose, Lyly's claim as an innovator is weakened. +The fact, however, that Ariosto wrote a prose, as well as a poetic, +version of his play, and that Gascoigne made use of both in his +translation, gives to the latter's prose a borrowed quality, and leaves +Lyly fully entitled to whatever credit belongs to the earliest native +productions of this kind. He was the first to announce, by practice, the +theory that English comedy could find fuller expression in prose than in +verse, for, beginning with verse, he deliberately set it aside in favour +of prose, and, having proved the superiority of prose for this purpose, +persisted in it to the end. Of his eight plays, the more interesting +only will be dealt with here; the rest we leave to the curiosity of the +reader. + +_Campaspe_, his first prose comedy, is perhaps the most perfect example +of the new euphuistic method at work. The plot is of the slightest. +Alexander the Great is in love with the beauty of Campaspe, a Theban +captive; but Apelles, the artist, who is ordered to paint her picture, +having also fallen in love with her, and won her love, Alexander in the +end graciously resigns his claim upon her. This is the plot, but it is +very little guide to the contents of the play, which is crowded with +characters. There are, in addition to the three leading persons, four +Warriors to discuss the condition of the army, seven Philosophers to +puzzle each other with disputation and metaphysical conundrums, three +Servants to deride their masters behind their backs, a General to act as +Alexander's confidant and counsellor, beside some nine others and a +company of citizens. One of the chief characters, Diogenes, stands quite +apart from the plot, his office being to provide an inexhaustible fund +of shrewd, biting retorts for such as dare to question him. He is even +elevated to the centre of a major episode in which the Athenian +populace, credulous of a report that he is about to fly, is deceived +into hearing a very sharp sermon as, on the wings of criticism, Diogenes +executes an oratorical flight over their many failings. The following +scene between him and a beggar reveals the nature of his wit. + + _Alexander_ (_aside_). Behold Diogenes talking with one at his tub. + + _Crysus._ One penny, Diogenes; I am a Cynic. + + _Diogenes._ He made thee a beggar, that first gave thee anything. + + _Crysus._ Why, if thou wilt give nothing, nobody will give thee. + + _Diogenes._ I want nothing, till the springs dry and the earth + perish. + + _Crysus._ I gather for the Gods. + + _Diogenes._ And I care not for those Gods which want money. + + _Crysus._ Thou art not a right Cynic that wilt give nothing. + + _Diogenes._ Thou art not, that wilt beg anything. + + _Crysus._ (_seeing Alexander_). Alexander, King Alexander, give a + poor Cynic a groat. + + _Alexander._ It is not for a king to give a groat. + + _Crysus._ Then give me a talent. + + _Alexander._ It is not for a beggar to ask a talent. Away! + +The charm of the play lies in the romance of Apelles' love for Campaspe, +and in the delicacy of his wooing. Here is pure Romantic Comedy, such as +Greene imitated and Shakespeare made delightful. Not at first will +Campaspe yield the gates of her heart, nor does the artist press the +attack with heated fervour. So gentle a besieger is he, that we perceive +the young couple drifting into love on the stream of destiny, almost +reluctant to betray their growing feelings through fear of the wrath of +Alexander. Apelles is already smitten but Campaspe is still 'fancy free' +when, in the artist's studio, she questions him about his pictures. + + _Campaspe._ What counterfeit is this, Apelles? + + _Apelles._ This is Venus, the Goddess of love. + + _Campaspe._ What, be there also loving Goddesses? + + _Apelles._ This is she that hath power to command the very + affections of the heart. + + _Campaspe._ How is she hired? by prayer, by sacrifice, or bribes? + + _Apelles._ By prayer, sacrifice, and bribes. + + _Campaspe._ What prayer? + + _Apelles._ Vows irrevocable. + + _Campaspe._ What sacrifice? + + _Apelles._ Hearts ever sighing, never dissembling. + + _Campaspe._ What bribes? + + _Apelles._ Roses and kisses. But were you never in love? + + _Campaspe._ No, nor love in me. + + _Apelles._ Then have you injured many. + + _Campaspe._ How so? + + _Apelles._ Because you have been loved of many. + + _Campaspe._ Flattered perchance of some. + + _Apelles._ It is not possible that a face so fair, and a wit so + sharp, both without comparison, should not be apt to love. + + _Campaspe._ If you begin to tip your tongue with cunning, I pray + dip your pencil in colours; and fall to that you must do, not that + you would do. + +Thus she sets him aside. Poor Apelles, alone, in a later scene laments +his fate in loving her whom Alexander desires, ending his mournful +soliloquy with a song, the most beautiful of all that Lyly has scattered +so lavishly through his plays. + + Cupid and my Campaspe played + At cards for kisses; Cupid paid. + He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, + His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; + Loses them too; then, down he throws + The coral of his lip, the rose + Growing on 's cheek, (but none knows how) + With these the crystal of his brow, + And then the dimple of his chin: + All these did my Campaspe win. + At last he set her both his eyes; + She won, and Cupid blind did rise. + O love! has she done this to thee? + What shall (alas!) become of me? + +But when the picture is nearly finished, when the sittings are almost +over and with them the intimacy of artist and model, then we discover +that the tender sighs of Apelles have sweetened the friendship of +Campaspe into love, and the secret of each soul is known to the other. + + _Apelles._ I have now, Campaspe, almost made an end. + + _Campaspe._ You told me, Apelles, you would never end. + + _Apelles._ Never end my love, for it shall be eternal. + + _Campaspe._ That is, neither to have beginning nor ending. + + _Apelles._ You are disposed to mistake: I hope you do not mistrust. + + _Campaspe._ What will you say if Alexander perceive your love? + + _Apelles._ I will say it is no treason to love. + + _Campaspe._ But how if he will not suffer thee to see my person? + + _Apelles._ Then will I gaze continually on thy picture. + + _Campaspe._ That will not feed thy heart. + + _Apelles._ Yet shall it fill mine eye: besides, the sweet thoughts, + the sure hopes, thy protested faith, will cause me to embrace thy + shadow continually in mine arms, of the which by strong imagination + I will make a substance. + + _Campaspe._ Well, I must be gone. But of this assure yourself, that + I had rather be in thy shop grinding colours than in Alexander's + court, following higher fortunes. + +By a happy stroke of wit Alexander, guessing the truth of the matter, +makes Apelles confess indirectly and unconsciously what discretion would +enjoin him to keep concealed. Apelles and Alexander are talking together +when a servant rushes up, crying out that the former's studio is on +fire. 'Aye me!' exclaims the horrified artist; 'if the picture of +Campaspe be burnt I am undone!' Alexander smiles, for the servant's +alarm is false and pre-arranged, but the alarm of Apelles is too genuine +to have less than the one meaning. + +For its own sake, as too choice an example of euphuistic prose to be +missed, we add an extract from the speech of Hephestion, Alexander's +friend and adviser, urging that king to shake off the fetters of love +that bind his arms from further conquest. + + Beauty is like the blackberry, which seemeth red when it is not + ripe, resembling precious stones that are polished with honey, + which the smoother they look the sooner they break. It is thought + wonderful among the seamen that Mugill, of all fishes the swiftest, + is found in the belly of the Bret, of all the slowest: and shall it + not seem monstrous to wise men, that the heart of the greatest + conqueror of the world should be found in the hands of the weakest + creature of nature? of a woman? of a captive? Ermines have fair + skins but foul livers; sepulchres, fresh colours but rotten bones; + women, fair faces but false hearts. Remember, Alexander, thou hast + a camp to govern, not a chamber; fall not from the armour of Mars + to the arms of Venus, from the fiery assaults of war to the + maidenly skirmishes of love, from displaying the eagle in thine + ensign to set down the sparrow. I sigh, Alexander, that, where + fortune could not conquer, folly should overcome. + +In _Endymion_ we find a much more complex plot, but less that is natural +and attractive. Historical tradition and the unchanging habits of lovers +give their sanction to most of the scenes in _Campaspe_. But _Endymion_ +carries us into the realm of mythology, where all is unreal and where +the least heaviness in the pencil of fancy must convert things that +should appear golden into dull lead. Lyly's wit strives gallantly to +maintain the light tints, pressing fairies and moonbeams into his +service, and ransacking the stores of improbability in despair of +mingling the impossible and the possible effectively; but the gilt, if +not entirely lost, wears very thin in places. + +Endymion is in love with Cynthia, the Moon, though aware that his +aspiration must remain for ever hopeless. Tellus, the Earth, herself +enamoured of Endymion, jealously resolves to punish his indifference to +her by deep melancholy. Accordingly she visits the witch, Dipsas, by +whose magic aid the youth, found resting on a bank of lunary, is +bewitched to sleep until old age. Not for this crime but for a minor +one, Tellus is sentenced by Cynthia to imprisonment under the care of +Corsites. Eumenides, the loyal friend of Endymion, seeks everywhere for +the means to awaken his comrade, until he finds a clue in the magic +fountain of Geron, husband to old Dipsas, but banished by her wicked +power. With this clue, which is interpreted as requiring the moon to +kiss the sleeper, Eumenides hastens to Cynthia. Meanwhile Tellus, +finding that her beauty has taken Corsites captive, and wishing to be +rid of his attentions, sets him, as a trial of his affection, the +impossible, though apparently easy, task of removing Endymion from the +bank of lunary. Corsites fails, and fairies send him to sleep, dancing +around him with a song and pinching his unresisting body black and blue. +A chance visit of Cynthia and her train fortunately arouses him, but +Endymion still sleeps his forty years of manhood away undisturbed. At +last Eumenides returns with his oracular clue and persuades Cynthia to +attempt the cure. Very graciously the queen kisses the pale forehead. At +once consciousness returns, and as a white-haired old man the once +handsome young courtier arises. He has two dreams to tell (shown in Dumb +Show in an earlier scene) but can offer no explanation of his +bewitchment. Then Bagoa, the servant of Dipsas, betrays the secret of +her mistress's crime. Dipsas and Tellus are summoned before Cynthia, who +now hears for the first time the story of Endymion's devotion to her. +The fact is pleasing. So far from visiting the presumption with +displeasure she bids him love on, not in any hope of marriage, since +that is impossible, but in the assurance of her special favour. With +that she smiles kindly upon him; like mists before the sunrise his white +hairs and wrinkles vanish, his pristine beauty being restored by her +genial condescension. Matters hasten to a close. Tellus is willing to +marry Corsites, Eumenides wins the consent of sharp-tongued Semele to be +his bride, Dipsas and Geron agree to reconciliation, and Bagoa, saved +from the blasting curse of her angry mistress, weds Sir Tophas, the +eccentric and ludicrous knight whose folly is thrust into the play +whenever there is a danger of the main plot becoming tedious. + +Certainly one cannot complain of a want of incident here. Nor is there +any lack of that complex subordination of scene to scene, that building +of one event upon another which is the foundation of skilful +plot-structure. In this play Lyly justifies himself against those who +would conclude from others of his plays that he could not construct a +plot. Yet it is a disappointing comedy. Nor is the reason hard to +discover. The first dozen pages show that, apart from the caricatured +Sir Tophas and the inevitable Pages (or Servants), all the characters +speak in exactly the same way, in fact are the same persons in all but +condition. The well-managed contrast noticed in _Damon and Pythias_ has +no place in Lyly's arrangement of characters. Were the relation of +circumstance and individual hidden, no one would know from a given +speech whether Cynthia, Tellus, or Dipsas was speaking; nor would +Endymion, Eumenides and Geron be better distinguished. This, for +example, is from the lips of the old hag, Dipsas, as, spreading her +enchantments around her victim, she mutters over his head the curse of a +blasted life. + + Thou that layest down with golden locks shalt not awake until they + be turned to silver hairs; and that chin, on which scarcely + appeareth soft down, shall be filled with bristles as hard as + broom: thou shalt sleep out thy youth and flowering time, and + become dry hay before thou knewest thyself green grass; and ready + by age to step into the grave when thou wakest, that was youthful + in the court when thou laidest thee down to sleep. + +There is one scene in the main plot which invites special mention, +namely, that in which the fairies appear. This, their first entrance +into English drama, must have created a mild sensation amongst the +surprised and delighted spectators, as, in shimmering dress and gossamer +wings, these airy sprites danced around the astonished Corsites and sang +the lyrical decree of punishment for his intrusion upon their domain. +The incident is worth quoting in full, from the point where Corsites' +labours are suddenly interrupted. + + [_Enter_ FAIRIES.] + + _Corsites._ But what are these so fair fiends that cause my hairs + to stand upright, and spirits to fall down? Hags, out alas, Nymphs, + I crave pardon. Aye me, but what do I hear? + + [_The_ FAIRIES _dance, and with a Song pinch him, and he falleth + asleep. They kiss_ ENDYMION _and depart._] + + _Omnes._ Pinch him, pinch him, black and blue; + Saucy mortals must not view + What the Queen of Stars is doing, + Nor pry into our fairy wooing. + + _1 Fairy._ Pinch him blue. + + _2 Fairy._ And pinch him black. + + _3 Fairy._ Let him not lack + Sharp nails to pinch him blue and red, + Till sleep has rock'd his addle head. + + _4 Fairy._ For the trespass he hath done, + Spots o'er all his flesh shall run. + Kiss Endymion, kiss his eyes, + Then to our midnight heidegyes. [_Exeunt._] + +An additional interest of allegorical meaning attaches to the story of +Endymion and Cynthia as told by Lyly, curious students tracing behind it +all the details of the _affaire_ between the Earl of Leicester and Queen +Elizabeth. To learn the extent to which the inquiry has been pursued we +may turn to Professor Ward's _English Dramatic Literature_ and read the +following: 'Mr. Halpin has examined at length the question of the secret +meaning of Lyly's comedy, and has come to the conclusion that it is a +dramatic representation of the disgrace brought upon Leicester +(Endymion) by his clandestine marriage with the Countess of Sheffield +(Tellus), pending his suit for the hand of his royal mistress (Cynthia). +Endymion's forty years' sleep upon the bank of lunary is his +imprisonment at Elizabeth's favourite Greenwich; the friendly +intervention of Eumenides is that of the Earl of Sussex; and the +solution of the difficulty in Tellus's marriage to Corsites is the +marriage of the Countess of Sheffield to Sir Edward Stafford. I need +pursue this solution no further, except to note that under the three +heads of "highly probable", "probable", and "not improbable", Mr. Halpin +has assigned originals to all the important characters of the piece. I +am inclined to think the attempt successful.' + +More entertaining to the reader than either the devotion of Endymion or +the mischievous jealousy of Tellus is the character of Sir Tophas. His +position in the play is that of Diogenes in _Campaspe_, and we observe +the same tendency to eccentric speech and action. When we pursue the +comparison further, however, we discover a marked decline in wit in the +second creation. Lyly had a tradition of truth to help him in his +conception of the crusty philosopher. In his picture of the foolish, +boastful knight he followed the author of _Thersites_ in his +exaggerated caricature until the least semblance of truth to nature is +banished from the portrait. It is interesting to compare him with Ralph +Roister Doister. Nevertheless if we project Sir Tophas upon the stage, +and by our imagination dress him and make him strut and gesticulate +after such a fashion as the text seems to indicate, we shall probably +discover ourselves smiling over puns and remarks which, on casual +perusal, we might pronounce flavourless imbecilities. Indeed, for sheer +laughable absurdity on the stage, Sir Tophas would be hard to beat. The +following scene will also show the decent quality of wit which Lyly +bestowed upon his Pages--lineal descendants of the old Vice through +those younger sons, Will and Jack.[53] + + [SIR TOPHAS _and his page_, EPITON, _have just met_ SAMIAS _and_ + DARES.] + + _Tophas._ What be you two? + + _Samias._ I am Samias, page to Endymion. + + _Dares._ And I Dares, page to Eumenides. + + _Tophas._ Of what occupation are your masters? + + _Dares._ Occupation, you clown! Why, they are honourable and + warriors. + + _Tophas._ Then are they my prentices. + + _Dares._ Thine! And why so? + + _Tophas._ I was the first that ever devised war, and therefore by + Mars himself had given me for my arms a whole armoury; and thus I + go as you see, clothed with artillery; it is not silks (milksops), + nor tissues, nor the fine wool of Ceres, but iron, steel, swords, + flame, shot, terror, clamour, blood and ruin that rocks asleep my + thoughts, which never had any other cradle but cruelty. Let me see, + do you not bleed? + + _Dares._ Why so? + + _Tophas._ Commonly my words wound. + + _Samias._ What then do your blows? + + _Tophas._ Not only wound, but also confound. + + _Samias._ How darest thou come so near thy master, Epi? Sir Tophas, + spare us. + + _Tophas._ You shall live. You, Samias, because you are little; you, + Dares, because you are no bigger; and both of you, because you are + but two; for commonly I kill by the dozen, and have for every + particular adversary a peculiar weapon.... + + _Samias._ What is this? Call you it your sword? + + _Tophas._ No, it is my scimitar; which I, by construction often + studying to be compendious, call my smiter. + + _Dares._ What, are you also learned, sir? + + _Tophas._ Learned? I am all Mars and Ars. + + _Samias._ Nay, you are all mass and ass. + + _Tophas._ Mock you me? You shall both suffer, yet with such weapons + as you shall make choice of the weapon wherewith you shall perish. + Am I all a mass or lump? Is there no proportion in me? Am I all + ass? Is there no wit in me? Epi, prepare them to the slaughter. + + _Samias._ I pray, sir, hear us speak! We call you mass, which your + learning doth well understand is all man, for _Mas maris_ is a man. + Then _As_ (as you know) is a weight, and we for your virtues + account you a weight. + + _Tophas._ The Latin hath saved your lives, the which a world of + silver could not have ransomed. I understand you, and pardon you. + + _Dares._ Well, Sir Tophas, we bid you farewell, and at our next + meeting we will be ready to do you service. + +A happy combination of the romance of _Campaspe_ with the mythology of +_Endymion_ is found in the graceful and charming comedy, _Gallathea_. +Its plot is really double, though happily blended, while yet a third and +independent thread of lower comedy is drawn through it. On the shores of +the Humber in Lincolnshire dwell two shepherds, Tyterus and Melebeus, +each the possessor of a beautiful daughter, by name Gallathea and +Phillida. Every year the god Neptune is accustomed to exact the +sacrifice of the fairest girl of the country to his pet monster, the +Agar (the Humber eagre), and this year each fond father dreads lest his +daughter will be chosen for the victim. To save them the girls are +disguised as boys. Strangers to each other, they meet and fall in love, +each believing the other to be what she appears, though many a doubt is +raised by replies which seem more befitting a maid than a youth. In a +neighbouring forest range Diana and her chaste nymphs, amongst whom +Cupid, out of pure mischief, lets fly his golden-headed arrows. At once +the nymphs feel strange emotions within them, which quicken into +uneasiness and longing at the sight of Gallathea and Phillida. But Diana +detects the change, guesses at the cause, and promptly makes capture of +Cupid. His wings clipped, his bow burnt, all his arrows broken, he is +beaten and set to a task. Meanwhile the day of sacrifice has arrived +and, in default of a better, a victim is found. But Neptune will have no +second-best: what promises to be a tragedy changes to joy on the god's +refusal to accept the proffered girl. However, the sacrifice is only +postponed. Moreover the delay has given rise to a stricter search, which +means increased peril for the disguised maidens. Fortunately +intervention arrives before discovery. Venus, having learnt of Cupid's +captivity, and not being powerful enough to effect his release unaided, +invokes the help of Neptune against Diana. Instead of the use of force, +however, a compact is arrived at; Cupid is released on condition that +Neptune remits his claim upon a yearly victim. Thus are Gallathea and +Phillida saved; but for a harder fate of hopeless love--for their +constancy is irrevocable--were it not that Venus interposes with a +promise that one of them shall be changed into a boy in reality. Happy +in this future they depart to prepare for marriage.--The thread of lower +comedy introduces the customary three merry lads, but deals mainly with +the fortunes of one of them, Raffe, who finds employment successively +with an alchemist and an astronomer, only to find their promises out of +all proportion to their performances. The wonderful prospects held out +before him, and his disillusionment, afford scope for much sarcastic wit +at the expense of quackery. + +The pre-eminent feature of the play is the delicate handling of the +romantic plot. We see the same fine brush at work as limned the picture +of Apelles and Campaspe, while this time the artist has chosen a more +harmonious background of meadow and woodland and river, of shepherds and +forest nymphs. To Peele the priority in the use of pastoralism in drama +must doubtless be assigned; but the play of _Gallathea_ loses none of +its merit on that account. Coupled with a pretty ambiguity of sex, this +pastoral setting completes the model from which _As You Like It_ was yet +to be moulded. Probably Peele, in his _Sir Clyomon and Sir Clamydes_, +preceded Lyly also in the introduction of sex-disguise, but his Neronis +stirs up no serious difficulties by her appearance as a shepherd boy and +a page, whereas in _Gallathea_ the disguise is the core of the plot. To +Lyly, therefore, may be given all the credit for the discovery of the +dramatic value of this simple device. With his return to the mutual +loves of ordinary human beings (for they are that, however extraordinary +the conditions) he happily restores to his characters the naturalness +which they enjoyed in the earlier play. The machinery of gods and +goddesses is perhaps to be regretted, though euphuistic drama could +hardly spare it; but if we boldly swallow it as inevitable, the motive +for the disguises at once becomes perfectly reasonable, while the whole +consequent behaviour of the girls is charged with most amusing and +delightful _naïveté_. Less natural, of course, is the story of Cupid's +mischief; yet mythology never gave to the stage a prettier piece of +love-moralizing than is found in the scene of Cupid at his penal task of +untying love-knots.--The very opening lines of the play announce the +presence of Nature with her sunshine and grass and good substantial +oaks. + + _Tyterus._ The sun doth beat upon the plain fields; wherefore let + us sit down, Gallathea, under this fair oak, by whose broad leaves + being defended from the warm beams, we may enjoy the fresh air + which softly breathes from Humber floods. + + _Gallathea._ Father, you have devised well; and whilst our flock + doth roam up and down this pleasant green, you shall recount to me, + if it please you, for what cause this tree was dedicated unto + Neptune, and why you have thus disguised me. + +It is hard to do justice to such a play as this except by considerable +generosity in the matter of quotations. Accordingly we offer three +passages illustrative of the delicacy of our author's art. + + (1) + + [GALLATHEA _and_ PHILLIDA, _in disguise, meet for the first time._] + + _Gallathea_ (_at the close of a soliloquy_). But whist! here cometh + a lad. I will learn of him how to behave myself. + + _Phillida_ (_entering_). I neither like my gate nor my garments, + the one untoward, the other unfit, both unseemly. O Phillida! But + yonder stayeth one, and therefore say nothing. But O, Phillida! + + _Gallathea._ I perceive that boys are in as great disliking of + themselves as maids; therefore, though I wear the apparel, I am + glad I am not the person. + + _Phillida._ It is a pretty boy and a fair; he might well have been + a woman. But because he is not I am glad I am, for now, under the + colour of my coat, I shall decipher the follies of their kind. + + _Gallathea._ I would salute him, but I fear I should make a curtsey + instead of a leg. + + _Phillida._ If I durst trust my face as well as I do my habit I + would spend some time to make pastime, for say what they will of a + man's wit, it is no second thing to be a woman. + + _Gallathea._ All the blood in my body would be in my face if he + should ask me (as the question among men is common), 'Are you a + maid?' + + _Phillida._ Why stand I still? Boys should be bold. But here cometh + a brave train that will spill all our talk. + + [_Enter_ DIANA, _&c._] + + (2) + + [GALLATHEA _and_ PHILLIDA _endeavour to sound the affection of each + other, but only succeed in raising disturbing doubts._] + + _Phillida._ Suppose I were a virgin (I blush in supposing myself + one) and that under the habit of a boy were the person of a maid, + if I should utter my affection with sighs, manifest my sweet love + by my salt tears, and prove my loyalty unspotted and my griefs + intolerable, would not then that fair face pity this true heart? + + _Gallathea._ Admit that I were as you would have me suppose that + you are, and that I should with entreaties, prayers, oaths, bribes, + and whatever can be invented in love, desire your favour,--would + you not yield? + + _Phillida._ Tush! you come in with 'admit'! + + _Gallathea._ And you with 'suppose'! + + _Phillida_ (_aside_). What doubtful speeches be these? I fear me he + is as I am, a maiden. + + _Gallathea_ (_aside_). What dread riseth in my mind? I fear the boy + to be as I am, a maiden. + + _Phillida_ (_aside_). Tush! it cannot be: his voice shows the + contrary. + + _Gallathea_ (_aside_). Yet I do not think it--for he would then + have blushed. + + _Phillida._ Have you ever a sister? + + _Gallathea._ If I had but one, my brother must needs have two; but, + I pray, have you ever a one? + + _Phillida._ My father had but one daughter, and therefore I could + have no sister. + + _Gallathea_ (_aside_). Aye me! he is as I am, for his speeches be + as mine are. + + _Phillida_ (_aside_). What shall I do? Either he is subtle, or my + sex simple.... (_to Gallathea_) Come, let us into the grove and + make much one of another, that cannot tell what to think one of + another. [_Exeunt._] + + (3) + + [CUPID, _in captivity, is set to his task by four nymphs._] + + _Telusa._ Come, sirrah! to your task! First you must undo all these + lovers' knots, because you tied them. + + _Cupid._ If they be true love knots 'tis unpossible to unknit them; + if false, I never tied them. + + _Eurota._ Make no excuse, but to it. + + _Cupid._ Love knots are tied with eyes, and cannot be undone with + hands; made fast with thoughts, and cannot be unloosed with + fingers. Had Diana no task to set Cupid to but things impossible? I + will to it. + + _Ramia._ Why, how now? you tie the knots faster. + + _Cupid._ I cannot choose; it goeth against my mind to make them + loose. + + _Eurota._ Let me see;--now 'tis unpossible to be undone. + + _Cupid._ It is the true love knot of a woman's heart, therefore + cannot be undone. + + _Ramia._ That falls in sunder of itself. + + _Cupid._ It was made of a man's thought, which will never hang + together. + + _Larissa._ You have undone that well. + + _Cupid._ Aye, because it was never tied well. + + _Telusa._ To the rest; for she will give you no rest. These two + knots are finely untied! + + _Cupid._ It was because I never tied them. The one was knit by + Pluto, not Cupid, by money, not love; the other by force, not + faith, by appointment, not affection. + + _Ramia._ Why do you lay that knot aside? + + _Cupid._ For death. + + _Telusa._ Why? + + _Cupid._ Because the knot was knit by faith, and must only be + unknit of death. + +The plot of _Mother Bombie_ must be briefly sketched because it is the +only one in which Lyly dispenses with the aid of classical tradition and +mythology and attempts a Comedy of Intrigue. As such it has a certain +historical interest.--The scene is Rochester, Kent. Memphio and Stellio, +the fathers respectively of son Accius and daughter Silena, separately +and craftily resolve to bring about by fraud the wedding of these two +young people, for the reason that each knows his child to be +weak-minded, and, believing his neighbour's child to be sound-witted and +of good heritage, perceives that only deceit can accomplish the union. +In this attempt to overreach each other they employ their servants, +Dromio and Riscio, as principal agents. Not far away live two young +people, Livia and Candius, whose mutual love is made unhappy by the +opposition of their fathers, Prisius and Sperantius, since these latter +covet rather their children's marriage with Accius and Silena. In +pursuit of this other object these two countrymen send their servants, +Lucio and Halfpenny, to spy out the land. By the ordinary chance of good +comradeship the four servants meet and make known to each other their +errands, when the opportunity of a mischievous entangling of the threads +at once becomes apparent. Disguises are used, with the result that the +loving couple, Livia and Candius, marry under the unconscious benisons +of their parents. The trick being discovered, there is general trouble, +especially at the exposure of the hitherto concealed imbecility of +Accius and Silena; but a certain woman, Vicina, now comes forward, with +her two children, Maestius and Serena, to explain that the imbeciles are +really her own offspring and that the son and daughter of Memphio and +Stellio are Maestius and Serena. The willing alliance of these two +brings the original plans to a happy conclusion. Mother Bombie herself +is a fortune-teller to whom recourse is had at various times by the +young folk, and whose oracular statements provide mysterious clues to +the final events. + +As a consequence of the meaner nature of its characters this play is +less tainted with euphuism than the rest, while its dialogue is as +lively as ever, the four servants finding in their masters excellent +foils to practise their wit upon. Deception and cross purposes are +conducted with much skill to their conclusion, though the elaborate +balance of households rather oppresses one by its artificiality. As one +of the earliest Comedies of Intrigue, if not actually the first, it +presents possibilities in that direction which were eagerly developed by +later writers. Thus again we observe the originality of the author +preparing the way for his successors. + +In summing up the contributions of Lyly to drama we naturally lay stress +upon three points, namely, his creation of lively prose dialogue, his +uplifting of comedy from the level of coarse humour and buffoonery to +the region of high comedy and wit, and his painting of pure romantic +love. We attach value, also, to his discovery of the dramatic +possibilities of sex disguises, to his introduction of fairies upon the +stage, to his persistence in the good fashion of interspersing songs +amongst the scenes, and to his use of pastoralism as a background for +romance. Nor may his efforts in Comedy of Intrigue be overlooked. On the +other hand, we lament as a grievous failing his inability to draw real +men and women, or indeed to differentiate his characters at all except +by gross caricature or the copying of traditional eccentricities. Sir +Tophas and Diogenes we remember as distinct personalities only for their +peculiar and very obvious traits: the rest of his characters either stay +in our memory solely through the charm of particular scenes in which +they take part, or fade from it altogether. As less regrettable faults, +because hardly avoidable if euphuism was to bring its benefits, may be +remembered the weakness of his plots (notably in _Campaspe_, _Sapho and +Phao_ and _Mydas_), the stilted, flowery talk that does duty for so many +conversations, and the unreality brought in the train of his +dearly-loved Greek mythology. Not unfittingly we may conclude our +criticism of his plays with his own description of his art, given in the +first prologue to _Sapho and Phao_. + + Our intent was at this time to move inward delight, not outward + lightness, and to breed (if it might be) soft smiling, not loud + laughing; knowing it to the wise to be as great pleasure to hear + counsel mixed with wit, as to the foolish to have sport mingled + with rudeness. They were banished the theatre of Athens, and from + Rome hissed, that brought parasites on the stage with apish + actions, or fools with uncivil habits, or courtesans with immodest + words. We have endeavoured to be as far from unseemly speeches, to + make your ears glow, as we hope you will be free from unkind + reports, to make our cheeks blush. + + * * * * * + +Unlike Lyly, Robert Greene is the dramatizer of actions rather than +speeches. Primarily a writer of romances, he carries the same principle +with him to the stage, providing a throng of characters and an abundance +of incident, with rapid transition from place to place, regardless of +time and the technicalities of acts and scenes. The result is a +continuous flow of pictures, in subject darting about from one set of +characters to another lest any section of the narrative drag behind the +rest, hardly ever dull yet rarely impressive, bearing the complexity of +many issues to its appointed end in general content. This is +plot-structure in its elementary yet ambitious form: an abounding wealth +of material is condensed within the limits of a play, but its +arrangement reveals no attempt at a gradual and subtle evolution of +events to a climax. It succeeds in maintaining interest by its variety, +leaving the pleased spectator with the sense of having looked on at a +number of very entertaining scenes. Unfortunately the bustle of action +invites superficiality of treatment: the end is attained by the use of +bold splashes of colour rather than by accurate drawing. Spaniards, +Italians, Turks, Moors fill the stage like a pageant; in the best known +play, _Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay_, magicians perform wonders, country +squires kill each other for love, prince and fool exchange places, +simple folk go a-fairing, kings pay state visits, devils fly off with +people, all to hold the eye by their rapidly interchanging diversity; +but few of them pause to be painted in detail as individuals. Only the +women steal from the author's gift-box a few qualities not hackneyed by +other writers, and, decked in these, make rich return by bestowing upon +their master a reputation which no other part of his work could have won +for him. + +Probably we have not all the plays that Greene wrote. Evidence points to +the loss of his earlier ones. Those preserved are (the order is +approximately that in which they were written)--_Alphonsus, King of +Arragon_, _A Looking-Glass for London and England_, _Orlando Furioso_, +_Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay_, _James the Fourth_, and +_George-a-Greene, the Pinner of Wakefield_. The authorship of the last +is not certain, and that of the second was shared with Lodge. With +regard to the dates it is hardly safe to be more definite than to allot +them to the period 1587-92. In all we see a preference for ready-made +stories. The writer rarely invents a plot, choosing instead to dramatize +the history, romance, epic or ballad of another. Where he does invent, +as in the love plot in _Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay_, the result is +notable. Blank verse is his medium, but in all except the first prose is +freely used for the speech of the uncultured persons. Most of the verse +is quite good, modelled on the form of Marlowe's; it is commonly least +satisfactory where the imitation is most deliberate. The prose, adopted +from Lyly's 'servants' and 'pages', not from his courtly 'goddesses', is +clear and vigorous. Euphuism asserts itself occasionally in the verse, +and the affectation of scholarship, customary in that day, is +responsible for a superabundance of classical allusions in unexpected +places. + +Since Greene was at first much under the influence of Marlowe it is +necessary to say something here of that dramatist's work. For a full +consideration of the essential qualities of Marlowe the reader must be +asked to wait. Perhaps he has already discovered them in the ordinary +course of his reading, for Marlowe is too widely known to need +introduction through any text-book. Briefly, _Tamburlaine_--the play +which made the greatest impression on the playwrights of its time--may +be described as a magniloquent account of the career of a +world-conqueror whose resistless triumph over kingdoms and potentates, +signalized by acts of monstrous insolence, provides excuse for outbursts +of extravagant vainglory. Such a description is intended to indicate the +traditional Marlowesque qualities: it is a very inadequate criticism of +the play as a whole. This kind of loud, richly coloured drama leapt +into instant popularity, and it was in direct imitation of it that +Greene wrote the first of the plays credited to him. + +_Alphonsus, King of Arragon_, shares with _James the Fourth_ the +distinction of a division into five acts, and adheres throughout to +blank verse. Alphonsus, the conqueror, begins his career as an exiled +claimant to the throne of Arragon. Fighting as a common soldier, under +an agreement that he shall hold all he wins, he slays the Spanish +usurper in battle and at once demands the crown. On this being granted +him he as promptly turns upon the donor to claim from him feudal homage. +This, however, can only be insisted upon by force, and war ensues, with +complete overthrow of his enemies. Grandly bestowing upon his three +chief supporters all his present conquests, namely, the thrones of +Arragon, Naples and Milan, as too trifling for himself, Alphonsus +follows his opponents to their refuge at the court of Amurack, the great +Turk. Through a misleading oracle of Mahomet they rashly engage in +battle without their ally and are slain. With their heads impaled at the +corners of his canopy Alphonsus now confronts Amurack, just such another +bold and arrogant conqueror as himself. In the conflict that follows he +is temporarily put to flight by Amurack's daughter, Iphigena, and her +band of Amazons; but, smitten with sudden love, he turns to offer his +hand and heart on the battlefield. She spurns his overtures, and a very +ungallant hand-to-hand combat follows, in which he proves victor and +drives his lovely foe to flight in her turn. The conquest is complete, +and with all his enemies captives Alphonsus carries things with a high +hand, threatening to add Amurack's head to those on his canopy unless +that monarch consent to his marriage with Iphigena. Fortunately +Alphonsus's old father, who has gained entrance in a pilgrim's garb, +intervenes with parental remonstrance and by the exercise of a little +tact brings about both the marriage and general happiness. + +A noticeable feature, which shows the closeness of the imitation, is the +absence of all intentionally humorous scenes, in spite of Greene's very +considerable natural aptitude for comic by-play. Everywhere the +influence of _Tamburlaine_ is markedly visible, in the subject, in +particular scenes, in such staging as the gruesome canopy, and above all +in the incessant bombast. Euphuism also is more pronounced than in his +other plays: Venus recites the prologues to the acts. All the male +characters are drawn on the same pattern, in differing degrees according +to their condition, and the two women, Iphigena and her mother, Fausta, +are without attractive qualities. Marlowe, as we know, rarely expended +any care on his female characters; Greene, however, proved capable in +his later, independent plays, of very different work. Utter disregard of +normal conceptions of time and distance produces occasional confusion in +the reader's mind as to his supposed imaginary whereabouts. From almost +every point of view, then, the play is a poor production. A redeeming +trait is the occasional vigour of the verse. For an illustrative passage +one may turn to the meeting of Alphonsus and Amurack: + + _Amurack._ Why, proud Alphonsus, think'st thou Amurack, + Whose mighty force doth terrify the gods, + Can e'er be found to turn his heels and fly + Away for fear from such a boy as thou? + No, no! Although that Mars this mickle while + Hath fortified thy weak and feeble arm, + And Fortune oft hath view'd with friendly face + Thy armies marching victors from the field, + Yet at the presence of high Amurack + Fortune shall change, and Mars, that god of might, + Shall succour me, and leave Alphonsus quite. + + _Alphonsus._ Pagan, I say, thou greatly art deceiv'd. + I clap up Fortune in a cage of gold, + To make her turn her wheel as I think best; + And as for Mars, whom you do say will change, + He moping sits behind the kitchen door, + Prest[54] at command of every scullion's mouth, + Who dares not stir, nor once to move a whit, + For fear Alphonsus then should stomach[55] it. + +_A Looking-Glass for London and England_ shows less bondage to +_Tamburlaine_, but falls into a worse error by a recurrence to the +deliberate didacticism of the old Moralities. The lessons for London, +drawn from the sins of Nineveh, are formally and piously announced by +the prophets Oseas and Jonas after the exposure of each offence. Devoid +of any proper plot, the play merely brings together various incidents to +exhibit such social evils as usury, legal corruption, filial +ingratitude, friction between master and servant. Intermingled, with +only the slightest connexion, are the widely different stories of King +Rasni's amours, of the thirsty career of a drunken blacksmith, and of +the prophet Jonah--his disobedience, strange sea-journey, mission in +Nineveh and subsequent ill-temper being set forth in full. Vainglorious +Rasni talks like Alphonsus, and his ladies are even less charming than +Iphigena. Ramilia boasts as outrageously as her brother, and is only +prevented by sudden death from an incestuous union with him; Alvida, +after poisoning her first husband to secure Rasni, shamelessly attempts +to woo the King of Cilicia. Quite the most successful character, perhaps +the most amusing of all Greene's clowns, is Adam, the blacksmith. His +loyal defence of his trade against derogatory aspersions, his rare +drunkenness, his detection and beating of the practical joker who comes +disguised as a devil to carry him off like a Vice on his back, his +tactful replenishings of his cup at the king's table, and his +dissemblings to avoid being discovered in possession of food during the +fast are most entertaining. Poor fellow, he ends on the gallows, but +goes to his death with a stout heart and a full stomach. No better +example is needed of the prose which Greene puts into the mouths of his +low characters than that which Adam uses. The following incident occurs +during the fast proclaimed by Rasni after Jonah's denunciations: + + _Adam_ (_alone_). Well, Goodman Jonas, I would you had never come + from Jewry to this country; you have made me look like a lean rib + of roast beef, or like the picture of Lent painted upon a + red-herring-cob. Alas, masters, we are commanded by the + proclamation to fast and pray! By my faith, I could prettily so-so + away with praying; but for fasting, why, 'tis so contrary to my + nature that I had rather suffer a short hanging than a long + fasting. Mark me, the words be these, 'Thou shalt take no manner of + food for so many days'. I had as lief he should have said, 'Thou + shalt hang thyself for so many days'. And yet, in faith, I need not + find fault with the proclamation, for I have a buttery and a pantry + and a kitchen about me; for proof, _ecce signum_! This right slop + (_leg of his garments_) is my pantry--behold a manchet [_Draws it + out_]; this place is my kitchen, for, lo, a piece of beef [_Draws + it out_]: O, let me repeat that sweet word again! for, lo, a piece + of beef! This is my buttery; for see, see, my friends, to my great + joy, a bottle of beer [_Draws it out_]. Thus, alas, I make shift to + wear out this fasting; I drive away the time. But there go + searchers about to seek if any man breaks the king's command. O, + here they be; in with your victuals, Adam. [_Puts them back into + his slops. Enter two_ Searchers.] + + _First Searcher._ How duly the men of Nineveh keep the + proclamation! how are they armed to repentance! We have searched + through the whole city, and have not as yet found one that breaks + the fast. + + _Second Searcher._ The sign of the more grace.--But stay! here sits + one, methinks, at his prayers; let us see who it is. + + _First S._ 'Tis Adam, the smith's man.--How now, Adam! + + _Adam._ Trouble me not; 'Thou shalt take no manner of food, but + fast and pray.' + + _First S._ How devoutly he sits at his orisons! But stay, methinks + I feel a smell of some meat or bread about him. + + _Second S._ So thinks me too.--You, sirrah, what victuals have you + about you? + + _Adam._ Victuals! O horrible blasphemy! Hinder me not of my prayer, + nor drive me not into a choler. Victuals! why, heardest thou not + the sentence, 'Thou shalt take no food, but fast and pray'? + + _Second S._ Truth, so it should be; but methinks I smell meat about + thee. + + _Adam._ About me, my friends! these words are actions in the case. + About me! No, no! hang those gluttons that cannot fast and pray. + + _First S._ Well, for all your words, we must search you. + + _Adam._ Search me! Take heed what you do: my hose are my castles; + 'tis burglary if you break ope a slop; no officer must lift up an + iron hatch; take heed, my slops are iron. [_They search_ Adam.] + + _Second S._ O villain!--See how he hath gotten victuals, bread, + beef, and beer, where the king commanded upon pain of death none + should eat for so many days! + +_Orlando Furioso_, a dramatized version of an incident in Ariosto's +poem, need not delay us long. It is the story of Orlando's madness (due +to jealousy) and the sufferings of innocent, patient Angelica. In this +heroine we have the first of several pictures from the author's hand of +a gentle, constant, ill-used maiden, but she is very little seen. Most +of the play is taken up with warfare, secret enmities, and Orlando's +madness. The evil genius, Sacripant, may be the first, as Iago is the +greatest, of that school of villains whose treachery finds expression in +the deliberate undermining of true love by forged proofs of infidelity. +There is less rodomontade than in the previous plays, but again we have +to record an absence of humour. In the following lines Orlando is +meditating on his love: + + Fair queen of love, thou mistress of delight, + Thou gladsome lamp that wait'st on Phoebe's train, + Spreading thy kindness through the jarring orbs + That, in their union, praise thy lasting powers; + Thou that hast stay'd the fiery Phlegon's course, + And mad'st the coachman of the glorious wain + To droop, in view of Daphne's excellence; + Fair pride of morn, sweet beauty of the even, + Look on Orlando languishing in love. + Sweet solitary groves, whereas the Nymphs + With pleasance laugh to see the Satyrs play, + Witness Orlando's faith unto his love. + Tread she these lawnds, kind Flora, boast thy pride: + Seek she for shade, spread, cedars, for her sake: + Fair Flora, make her couch amidst thy flowers: + Sweet crystal springs, + Wash ye with roses when she longs to drink. + Ah, thought, my heaven! ah, heaven, that knows my thought! + Smile, joy in her that my content hath wrought. + +Hitherto Greene had yielded to the popular demand for plays of the +_Tamburlaine_ class, full of oriental colour and martial sound, with +titanic heroes and a generous supply of kings, queens, and great +captains: no less than twenty crowned heads compete for places on the +list of dramatis personae in his first three plays. The character of +Angelica, however, and stray touches of pastoralism in the last play, +hint at an impending change. The author's mind, tired of subservience, +was beginning to trace out for itself new paths, leading him from camps +to the fresh countryside. To the end Greene retained his kings, possibly +for their spectacular effect. But he abandoned warfare as a theme. + +_Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay_ was written under the new inspiration. We +have already referred to the motley nature of this drama. No other of +the writer's plays exhibits so many and such rapid changes of scene, +some situations actually demanding the presentation of two scenes at the +same time. In spite of this the different sections of the story remain +tolerably clear as we proceed, and the interest never flags for longer +than the brief minutes when prosy Oxford dons talk learnedly. Four +groups of characters attract attention in turn; the young noblemen and +Margaret, the three kings and the Spanish princess, the country yokels +and squires, and the magicians. By careful interweaving all four groups +are related to one another and none but the Margaret plot is permitted +to develop any complexity. In this way something like unity is attained. + +The play begins with Prince Edward in love with the country girl, +Margaret of Fressingfield. He, Earl Lacy, and others have taken +refreshment at her father's farm after a hunt, and the prince has fallen +a captive to her beauty and simplicity. It is decided that a double +attack must be made upon her heart, Prince Edward invoking the magic aid +of Bacon, while Lacy stays behind to woo her on his behalf. Lacy's part +is not easy. Disguised as a farmer he meets Margaret at a village fair +and does his best to plead for 'the courtier all in green', only to be +himself pierced by the arrow that struck his prince. When, therefore, +Prince Edward arrives at the friar's cell and peers into his marvellous +crystal, he sees Lacy and Margaret exchanging declarations of love, +with Friar Bungay standing by ready to wed them. The power of Friar +Bacon prevents the ceremony by whisking his cowled brother away, and the +furious prince hurries back to Fressingfield. He is resolved to slay +Lacy; nor does that remorseful earl ask for other treatment; Margaret, +however, offers so brave and noble a defence of her lover, taking all +blame upon herself and avowing that his death will be instantly followed +by her own, that at length more generous impulses rise in the royal +breast, and instead of death a blessing is bestowed. Together the prince +and the earl repair to Oxford to meet the King, the Emperor of Germany, +the King of Castile, and the latter's daughter, Elinor, who is to be +Prince Edward's wife. In their absence other admirers appear upon the +scene, a squire and a farmer being rivals for Margaret's hand. +Quarrelling over the matter, they put it to the test of a duel and kill +each other. By an unhappy coincidence their absent sons are looking into +Bacon's magic crystal at that very time, and, seeing the fatal +consequences of the conflict, turn their weapons hastily against each +other, with the result that their fathers' fate becomes theirs. Margaret +remains loyal to Lacy, but mischief prompts the latter to send her one +hundred pounds and a letter of dismissal on the plea of a wealthier +match being necessary for him. Unhappy Margaret, rejecting the money, +prepares to enter a convent. Fortunately Lacy himself comes down to set +matters in order for their marriage before she has taken the vows, and +though his second wooing is done in a very peremptory, cavalier fashion, +she returns to his arms. Their wedding is celebrated on the same day as +that of Prince Edward and Elinor of Castile.--Independent of this +romance, but linked to it through the person of Prince Edward, are the +visit of the kings to Oxford, the wonder-workings of Friar Bacon, and +the mischievous fooling of such light-headed persons as the king's +jester, Ralph Simnell, and the friar's servant, Miles. Friar Bacon's +power is exercised in the spiriting hither and thither of desirable and +undesirable folk, the most notable victim being a much vaunted and +self-confident German magician who has been brought over by the emperor +to outshine his English rivals. There is some fun when Miles is set to +watch for the first utterance of the mysterious brazen head, and, +delaying to wake his master, lets the supreme moment pass unused. The +curses which this mistake calls upon him from Friar Bacon bring about +his ultimate removal to hell on a devil's back. + +Here then is a slight but charming story of romance, supported through +the length of a whole play by all the adventitious aids which Greene can +command. One of the minor characters, Ralph Simnell, invites passing +notice as the rough sketch of a type which Shakespeare afterwards +perfected, the Court Fool: his jesting questions and answers may be +compared with those of Feste in _Twelfth Night_. Disguised as the +prince, to conceal the identity of the real prince at Oxford, he is +served by the merry nobles and proves himself humorously unprincely. But +that which has given most fame to the author is the love-plot. The +Fressingfield scenes bring upon the stage a direct picture of simple +country life--of a dairy-maid among her cheeses, butter and cream, and +of a country fair with farm-lads eager to buy fairings for their +lassies. Unfortunately, under the influence of the fashionable +affectation, Margaret is unusually learned in Greek mythology, citing +Jove, Danaë, Phoebus, Latona and Mercury within the compass of a bare +five lines. The indebtedness of Greene to Lyly's _Campaspe_ for the idea +of a simple love romance as plot has been acknowledged. In the use of +pastoralism, too, he borrowed a hint, perhaps, from Peele. Yet, when +both debts have been allowed, the reader of Greene's comedy is still +left with the conviction that his author had the secret of it all in +himself. He had a hint from others, but he needed no more. + +Our quotations illustrate the story of Margaret. + + (1) + + [_Enter_ PRINCE EDWARD _malcontented, with_ LACY, WARREN, _&c._] + + _Lacy._ Why looks my lord like to a troubled sky + When heaven's bright shine is shadow'd with a fog? + Alate we ran the deer, and through the lawnds + Stripp'd with our nags the lofty frolic bucks + That scudded 'fore the teasers like the wind: + Ne'er was the deer of merry Fressingfield + So lustily pull'd down by jolly mates, + Nor shar'd the farmers such fat venison, + So frankly dealt, this hundred years before; + Nor have + I seen my lord more frolic in the chase,-- + And now chang'd to a melancholy dump. + + _Warren._ After the prince got to the Keeper's lodge, + And had been jocund in the house awhile, + Tossing off ale and milk in country cans, + Whether it was the country's sweet content, + Or else the bonny damsel fill'd us drink + That seem'd so stately in her stammel red, + Or that a qualm did cross his stomach then, + But straight he fell into his passions. + + . . . . . . + + _P. Edward._ Tell me, Ned Lacy, didst thou mark the maid, + How lovely in her country-weeds she look'd? + A bonnier wench all Suffolk cannot yield: + All Suffolk! nay, all England holds none such.... + Whenas she swept like Venus through the house, + And in her shape fast folded up my thoughts, + Into the milk-house went I with the maid, + And there amongst the cream-bowls she did shine + As Pallas 'mongst her princely huswifery: + She turn'd her smock over her lily arms + And div'd them into milk to run her cheese; + But whiter than the milk her crystal skin, + Checkéd with lines of azure, made her blush + That art or nature durst bring for compare. + + (2) + + [Prince Edward _stands with his poniard in his hand_: LACY _and_ + MARGARET.] + + _Margaret._ 'Twas I, my lord, not Lacy stept awry: + For oft he su'd and courted for yourself, + And still woo'd for the courtier all in green; + But I, whom fancy made but over-fond, + Pleaded myself with looks as if I lov'd; + I fed mine eye with gazing on his face, + And still bewitch'd lov'd Lacy with my looks; + My heart with sighs, mine eyes pleaded with tears, + My face held pity and content at once, + And more I could not cipher-out by signs + But that I lov'd Lord Lacy with my heart.... + What hopes the prince to gain by Lacy's death? + + _P. Edward._ To end the loves 'twixt him and Margaret. + + _Margaret._ Why, thinks King Henry's son that Margaret's love + Hangs in th'uncertain balance of proud time? + That death shall make a discord of our thoughts? + No, stab the earl, and, 'fore the morning sun + Shall vaunt him thrice over the lofty east, + Margaret will meet her Lacy in the heavens. + +_James the Fourth_ is not, as the title seems to indicate, a chronicle +history play. It is the story of that king's love for Ida, the daughter +of the Countess of Arran, and of the consequent unhappiness of his young +queen, Dorothea. Technically it is Greene's most perfect play, being +carefully divided into acts and scenes, and containing a plot ample +enough to dispense with much of that extraneous matter which obscured +his former plays. An amusing stratum of comic by-play underlies the main +story without interfering with it. Nevertheless the central details are +unattractive, presenting intrigue rather than romance, so that the +effect is less pleasing than that of the previous comedy. + +In the hour of the Scottish monarch's union with Dorothea, daughter of +the English king, his wandering eyes fall upon and become enamoured of +Ida, who is standing by amongst the ladies of the court. With +dissembling lips he bids farewell to his new father-in-law; then, alone, +soliloquizes on his own wretchedness. Ateukin, a poor, unscrupulous and +ambitious courtier, overhears him and offers his services, which are +accepted. Ateukin, accordingly, makes overtures to Ida, but without +success. Returning, he persuades the king to sanction the murder of his +queen, to be accomplished by the French hireling, Jaques. By accident +the warrant for her death comes into the possession of a friend of hers, +who prevails upon her to flee into hiding, disguised as a man and +accompanied by her dwarf. They are followed, however, by Jaques, who, +after stabbing her, returns to announce the news to Ateukin. The latter +informs the king and at once sets out to secure Ida's acceptance of her +royal suitor, only to find her already married to a worthy knight, +Eustace. Aware of the consequences to himself of failure he flees the +country. Meanwhile Queen Dorothea, who was not mortally wounded, is +successfully tended in a hospitable castle, her disguise remaining +undiscovered. This produces a temporary difficulty, the lady of the +castle falling in love with her knightly patient; but that trouble is +soon removed, without leaving any harm behind. The King of England +invades Scotland on behalf of his ill-used daughter; a reward is offered +for her recovery; and on the eve of battle she appears as a peacemaker. +Happiness crowns the story. + +The interest and value of the play lies in the two characters, Ida and +Dorothea. In the outline given above small space is assigned to the +former because her part is almost entirely confined to minor scenes in +which she and her mother talk together over their fancy-work, and +Eustace pays successful court for her hand. But by her purity and +maidenly reserve she merits our attention. It is a pity that her virtue +makes her rather dull and prosaic. Dorothea's adventures in disguise +show Greene profiting perhaps by the example of Peele, although the loss +of so many contemporary plays warns us against naming models too +definitely. The popularity of disguised girls in later drama and their +appearance in the works of Peele, Lyly and Greene, point to their having +been early accepted as favourites whenever an author sought for an easy +addition to the entanglement of his plot. Faithful love in the face of +desertion and cruelty is the dominant note in Dorothea's character as it +was in that of Angelica.--Slipper and Nano, two dwarf brothers, engaged +as attendants respectively on Ateukin and Queen Dorothea, provide most +of the humour. More worthy of note are Oberon, King of the Fairies, and +Bohan, the embittered Scotch recluse, who together provide an Induction +to the play. We are reminded of the Induction to _The Taming of the +Shrew_. Ben Jonson also makes use of this device. In this particular +Induction the story of James the Fourth is supposed to be played before +Oberon to illustrate the reason of Bohan's disgust with the world; but +these two persons recur several times to round off the acts with fairy +dances and dumb shows, which have no reference to the main play. In +Greene's verse we discover a half-hearted return to rhyme, passages in +it, and even odd couplets, being interspersed plentifully through his +blank verse. + +To make amends for our slight notice of Ida in the outline of the play +we select our illustration from a scene in that lady's home. + + [_The_ COUNTESS OF ARRAN _and_ IDA _discovered in their porch, + sitting at work._] + + _Countess._ Fair Ida, might you choose the greatest good, + Midst all the world in blessings that abound, + Wherein, my daughter, should your liking be? + + _Ida._ Not in delights, or pomp, or majesty. + + _Countess._ And why? + + _Ida._ Since these are means to draw the mind + From perfect good, and make true judgment blind. + + _Countess._ Might you have wealth and Fortune's richest store? + + _Ida._ Yet would I, might I choose, be honest-poor: + For she that sits at Fortune's feet a-low + Is sure she shall not taste a further woe, + But those that prank on top of Fortune's ball + Still fear a change, and, fearing, catch a fall. + + _Countess._ Tut, foolish maid, each one contemneth need. + + _Ida._ Good reason why, they know not good indeed. + + _Countess._ Many, marry, then, on whom distress doth lour. + + _Ida._ Yes, they that virtue deem an honest dower. + Madam, by right this world I may compare + Unto my work, wherein with heedful care + The heavenly workman plants with curious hand, + As I with needle draw each thing on land, + Even as he list: some men like to the rose + Are fashion'd fresh; some in their stalks do close, + And, born, do sudden die; some are but weeds, + And yet from them a secret good proceeds: + I with my needle, if I please, may blot + The fairest rose within my cambric plot; + God with a beck can change each worldly thing, + The poor to rich, the beggar to the king. + What, then, hath man wherein he well may boast, + Since by a beck he lives, a lour is lost? + + _Countess._ Peace, Ida, here are strangers near at hand. + +When Greene surrendered the attractions of sanguinary warfare and the +panoplied splendour of conquerors to treat of the pursuit of love in +peace he descended from the exclusive ranks of high-born lords and +ladies to the company of simple working folk, presenting a farmer's +daughter, winsome, loving and virtuous, and worthy to become the wife of +an earl. This aspect of the Fressingfield romance must have had a +special appeal for those of his audiences who stood outside the pale of +wealth and aristocracy. An earlier bid for their applause has been seen +in the figure of the blacksmith, Adam, whose sturdy defence of his trade +was referred to when we discussed _A Looking-Glass for London and +England_. If Greene wrote _George-a-Greene, the Pinner of Wakefield_, +and there is a strong probability that he did, he carried forward the +glorification of the lower classes, in this play, to its furthest point. + +It is a hearty yeoman play; the time represented, the reign of one of +the Edwards. The plot revolves about the rebellion of an Earl of Kendal. +The principal figure is just such a stout typical hero of a countryside +as Robin Hood himself, but more law-abiding. His rough honest loyalty is +up in arms at once on the least disrespect to the crown. When Sir +Nicholas Mannering, on behalf of the rebel Earl of Kendal, insolently +demands a contribution of provisions from Wakefield, George tears up his +commission and makes him swallow the three seals. By craft--being +disguised as a hermit-seer--he takes prisoner Kendal and another +nobleman, and so single-handed crushes the rebellion. About the same +time the ally of Kendal, James of Scotland, is captured by another +country hero, Musgrove, a veteran of great renown but no less in age +than 'five score and three'. Thus the yeomen prove their superiority +over traitor nobles. But George has other affairs to manage. Fair +Bettris, who runs away from a disagreeable father to join him, suddenly +refuses to marry him without her father's consent, not easily obtainable +in the circumstances. However a trick overcomes that difficulty too in +the end. Meanwhile the fame of the lass excites the rival jealousy of +Maid Marian, who insists on Robin Hood's challenging George's supremacy. +In three single fights Robin's two comrades, Scarlet and Much, are +overthrown and Robin himself is driven to call a halt: his identity +being discovered, George treats him with great honour. In accordance +with former practices kings are brought upon the scene. The King of +Scotland, as we have seen, is captured by Musgrove. King Edward of +England and his nobles, in disguise, visit Yorkshire to see the +redoubtable George who has crushed the king's rebels. An ancient custom +of 'vailing (_trailing_) the staff' through Bradford, or, as an +alternative, fighting the shoemakers of that town, produces a laughable +episode. The king at first 'vails' at discretion, but is compelled by +George and Robin to adopt a bolder attitude; George then beats all the +shoemakers, who, at the finish, however, recognizing him, award him a +hearty welcome. All are brought to their knees at the revelation of the +king's identity, but Edward is merry over the affair, offering to dub +George a knight. This distinction the latter begs to be allowed to +refuse, saying, + + --Let me live and die a yeoman still; + So was my father, so must live his son. + For 'tis more credit to men of base degree + To do great deeds, than men of dignity. + +Closing the play the king pays high honour to the worshipful guild of +shoemakers. + + And for the ancient custom of _Vail staff_, + Keep it still, claim privilege from me: + If any ask a reason why or how, + Say, English Edward vail'd his staff to you. + +An amount of careless irregularity unusual with Greene is displayed in +the verse, pointing to hasty production. But the whole play is humorous, +vigorous and healthy. George's man, Jenkin, a dull-witted, faint-hearted +fellow, is the clown. There is an abundance of incident, though not the +complexity of _Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay_. We have noticed the +historical atmosphere repeated from that play and from _James the +Fourth_. With regard to the love-plot, Bettris has only a small part, +but in her preference for George above a nobleman who comes wooing her, +and in her simple rank, she is quite like Margaret. Thus, when her +titled admirer offers himself, she sings, + + I care not for earl, nor yet for knight, + Nor baron that is so bold; + For George-a-Greene, the merry Pinner, + He hath my heart in hold. + +We select our main extract from the scene in which George, the loyal +yeoman, defies Sir Nicholas Mannering, the traitorous noble, and flouts +his commission. Those present include the local Justice and an assembly +of the citizens. George has just pushed his way to the front. + + _Mannering (to Justice)_. See you these seals? before you pass + the town + I will have all things my lord doth want, + In spite of you. + + _George._ Proud dapper Jack, vail bonnet to the bench + That represents the person of the king, + Or, sirrah, I'll lay thy head before thy feet. + + _Mannering._ Why, who art thou? + + _George._ Why, I am George-a-Greene, + True liegeman to my king, + Who scorns that men of such esteem as these + Should brook the braves of any traitorous squire. + You of the bench, and you, my fellow-friends, + Neighbours, we subjects all unto the king, + We are English born, and therefore Edward's friends, + Vow'd unto him even in our mothers' womb, + Our minds to God, our hearts unto our king; + Our wealth, our homage, and our carcasses + Be all King Edward's. Then, sirrah, we + Have nothing left for traitors but our swords, + Whetted to bathe them in your bloods, and die + 'Gainst you, before we send you any victuals. + +_George-a-Greene_ brings us to the end of Greene's dramatic work. The +qualities of that work have been pointed out as they occurred, but it +may be as well to recapitulate them in a final paragraph. Foremost of +all will stand the crowded medley of his plots, filling the stage with +an amount of incident and action which is in striking contrast to Lyly's +conversations and monologues. The public appetite for complex plots was +stimulated, but unfortunately very little progress was made in the art +of orderly dramatic arrangement and evolution. Indeed, this feature of +Greene's plays may be thought to have been almost as much a loss as a +gain to drama. Its popularity licensed an indifference on the part of +lesser authors to clarity and restraint, and encouraged the development +of those dual plots which are to be found, connected by the flimsiest +bonds, in the works of such men as Dekker and Heywood. To the same +influence may be traced Shakespeare's frequent but skilful use of +subordinate plots. For the second quality of Greene's work we name the +charm and purity of his romantic conceptions. The fresh air of his +pastoralism, the virtue, constancy and patience of his heroines, entitle +him to an honourable position among the writers who have reached success +by this path. Thirdly, but of equal importance, is his sympathetic +presentment of men and women of the middle and lower classes; he was +here an innovator, and some of our most pathetic dramas may be traced +ultimately to his example. His admirable 'low comedy' scenes, on the +other hand, though they prove their author to have been gifted with +considerable humour, merely continued the practice of Lyly, as his rant +and noisy warfare echoed the thunder of Marlowe. The general soundness, +even occasional excellence, of his verse and prose must be allowed to be +largely his own. + + * * * * * + +George Peele has left behind him a name associated with sweetness of +versification and graceful pastoralism. When, however, we try to recall +other features of his work, the men and women of his creation, or scenes +from his plots, we find our memory strangely indistinct. It is not easy +at first to see why; but probably the cause is in his lack of strong +individuality. He had not the gift of his greater contemporaries of +throwing vitality into his work. When they took up an old story they +entered into possession of it, creating fresh scenes and introducing new +and effective actors; above all, in their most successful productions, +they grasped the necessity of having one or more clearly defined +figures, which, by their strongly human appeal, or their exaggerated +traits, should grip the attention of the spectators with unforgettable +force. Marlowe was the supreme master of this art; Diogenes, Sir Tophas, +Margaret of Fressingfield, Queen Dorothea, and others are examples of +what Lyly and Greene could do. The same vitality is visible in their +best known plots and scenes. Apelles loved Campaspe long ago in the +pages of history, and was forgotten there; Lyly made him woo and win her +again, and now their home is for ever between the covers of his little +volume. Greene tells the story of Earl Lacy's love for Margaret, and the +details of that delightfully human romance return to us whenever his +name is mentioned. But what characters or scenes spring up to proclaim +Peele's authorship? He dramatized the narrative of Absalom's rebellion, +and, as soon as the end of the play is reached, the theme, with the +possible exception of the first scene, slips back, in our minds, into +its old biblical setting; it belongs to the writer of _The Book of +Samuel_, not to Peele. He wrote a Marlowesque play, similar to Greene's +_Alphonsus, King of Arragon_, but failed to create out of his several +leaders a single dominant figure to compare with Alphonsus. The same +might be said of his _Sir Clyomon and Sir Clamydes_ and his _Edward the +First_; and his _Old Wives' Tale_ is a by-word for confusion. Only in +the sub-plot of _The Arraignment of Paris_ does he present a character +that may be said to owe its permanence in English literature to him. The +first love of Paris is there told so prettily, with so pathetic a +presentation of the heart-broken Oenone, that at once the deserted +maiden won a place in English hearts and minds; Tennyson's poem is an +exquisite wreath laid at the foot of the monument raised by Peele to her +memory. On the other hand, the main plot, retelling the old legend of +the Apple of Discord, is painted in the same neutral tints as coloured +his other plays. Such slight distinction as it may have it draws from +association with a matter of extraneous interest, the conversion of the +action into an elaborate compliment to Queen Elizabeth; the goddesses, +and Paris in his relation to them, gain nothing at his hands, while +Hobbinol, Diggon and Thenot are the dullest of shepherds. Unapt for +witty or clownish dialogue, Peele rarely attempts, as Lyly and Greene +did, to give fresh piquancy to an old story by the addition of +subordinate humorous episodes; when he does, as in _Edward the First_, +the result can hardly be termed a success. + +Peele's eminence as a dramatist, then, must be sought for in the two +features of his work mentioned in our opening sentence, namely, +sweetness of versification and graceful pastoralism. Of these the latter +is found only in a single play, _The Arraignment of Paris_, and is one +of the few products of the author's originality. Lyly was possibly +indebted to it for the background and minor figures of certain scenes in +_Gallathea_, and Greene may have owed something to its influence. +Certainly neither dramatist ever equalled its delicate descriptions of +passive Nature.[56] The preponderance of mythology, however, the dearth +of real human beings, the unnaturalness permitted to invade nature--so +that even the flowers are grouped, as in an absurd parterre, to +represent the forms of goddesses--make Peele's pastoralism, despite the +undeniable charm of many passages, inferior to Greene's representation +of English country life. + +Turning next to his verse, we recognize that it is here above all that +his excellence is to be found. Nevertheless a word of caution is needed. +So many of his readers have been charmed by his verse that it seems +almost a pity to remind them that he wrote more than two plays, and +that the same brain that composed the favourite passages in _David and +Bethsabe_ also produced quantities of very indifferent poetry in other +dramas. _Sir Clyomon and Sir Clamydes_ is written in tedious +alliterative heptameters. From _Edward the First_ the most ardent +admirer of Peele would be puzzled to find half a dozen speeches meriting +quotation. The verse of _The Battle of Alcazar_ is in all points similar +to that of Greene's Marlowesque plays, imitating and falling short of +the same model. In fact Peele's reputation as a versifier rests almost +entirely on the contents of those two plays which most students of his +work read, _The Arraignment of Paris_ and _David and Bethsabe_. Of the +first it may be said boldly, without fear of contradiction, that, +considered metrically, the verse is unsuited to ordinary drama. The +arbitrary and constantly changing use of heroic couplet, blank verse +(pentameters), rhyming heptameters, alternate heptameters and hexameters +rhyming together, and the swift transition from one form to another in +the same speech, possibly help towards the lyrical effect aimed at; the +nature of the plot licenses a deviation from the ordinary dramatic +rules; but such metric irresponsibility would be out of place in any +ordinary play. There is a rare daintiness in some of the lines; they are +truly poetic; but we must remember that goddesses and the legendary +dwellers about Mount Ida may be permitted to speak in a language which +would be condemned as an affectation among folk of commoner clay. +Setting these objections aside--though they are important, as +demonstrating the limited amount of Peele's widely praised dramatic +verse--we may offer one general criticism of the verse of both plays. +The best lines and passages charm us by their exquisite finish, their +seductive rhythm and imagery, not by their thought. Sometimes the warm +glow of his patriotism, which was his most sincere emotion, inspired +verses that move us; noble lines will be found in _Edward the First_ and +_The Battle of Alcazar_, as well as in the better known conclusion to +_The Arraignment of Paris_. But we may look in vain through his dramas +for lines like those quoted on an earlier page from _Friar Bacon and +Friar Bungay_ (beginning, 'Why, thinks King Henry's son'), or these, +placed in the mouth of Queen Dorothea, repudiating the idea of revenge: + + As if they kill not me, who with him fight! + As if his breast be touch'd, I am not wounded! + As if he wail'd, my joys were not confounded! + We are one heart, though rent by hate in twain; + One soul, one essence doth our weal contain: + What, then, can conquer him, that kills not me?[57] + +For the sake of comparison with these two passages let us quote the +famous piece from _David and Bethsabe_. + + Now comes my lover tripping like the roe, + And brings my longings tangled in her hair. + To joy[58] her love I'll build a kingly bower, + Seated in hearing of a hundred streams, + That, for their homage to her sovereign joys, + Shall, as the serpents fold into their nests + In oblique turnings, wind their nimble waves + About the circles of her curious walks; + And with their murmur summon easeful sleep + To lay his golden sceptre on her brows. + +This has the charms of melody and graceful fancy; it is of the poetry of +Tennyson's _Lotos Eaters_ without the message. The others have the +energy of thought, of passion; they do not soothe the ear as do Peele's +verses, but they strike the deeper chords of the human heart. None of +the three passages should be taken as fairly representing its author's +normal style, but the contrast illustrates the essential nature of the +difference between the work of Peele and Greene. + +The reader who agrees with what has been said above will be prepared to +acknowledge that Peele must stand below Greene, at least, in the ranks +of dramatists. Strength and individuality are the life-blood of +successful drama, and these he lacked. Yet he merits the fame awarded to +his group. He was a poet; the refinement, the music, the gentler +attributes of his best verse were a valuable contribution to the drama; +his sweetness joined hands with Marlowe's energy in helping to drive +from the stage, as impossible, the rude irregular lines that had +previously satisfied audiences. + +It has been claimed that he was also, to some extent, an artist in +plot-structure. The mingle-mangle of scarcely connected incidents which +did duty with Greene for a plot, the irrepressible by-play with which +Lyly loved to interrupt his main story, were rejected by him. _Edward +the First_ is an exception; in his best plays he achieved a certain +dignified directness and simplicity. But he was as incapable as Greene +of concentration upon one point, or of working up the interest to an +impending catastrophe. He was content with chronological order for his +guide; his directness is the directness of the Chronicle History. _The +Battle of Alcazar_ and _David and Bethsabe_ follow this method as +completely as his avowedly chronicle play, _Edward the First_. It is a +strange thing how plot-structure fell into abeyance in comedy after its +long and strenuous evolution through the Interludes to _Ralph Roister +Doister_ and _Gammer Gurton's Needle_. We must confess, however +reluctantly, that those early plays set an example in unity and +concentration of interest that was never surpassed by any of the +comedies of the University Wits. Lyly may be said to have come nearest +to it, though, handicapped by a passing affectation, he could never +excite the same degree of interest. Greene's plots lack unity, and +Peele's emphasis. We have to wait for Shakespeare before we can see +comedy raised above the architectural standard set by Nicholas Udall. + +The list of Peele's plays, in approximate order of time, is as follows: +_The Arraignment of Paris_ (1584), _Sir Clyomon and Sir Clamydes_ +(printed 1599), _Edward the First_ (printed 1593), _The Battle of +Alcazar_ (printed 1594), _The Old Wive's Tale_ (printed 1595), _David +and Bethsabe_ (printed 1599). + +_The Arraignment of Paris_ sets forth, in five acts, the old Greek tale +of Paris, the three goddesses, and the golden apple. Juno, Pallas and +Venus graciously condescend to visit the vales of Ida, and are loyally +welcomed by the minor deities of the earth, Flora especially making it +her care that all the countryside shall wear its brightest colours. +During their brief stay, Juno finds the golden apple, inscribed with +_Detur pulcherrimae_. After some dispute Paris is called upon to give +judgment, and awards the prize to Venus. There the Greek tale ends. But +Peele adds an ingenious sequel. Juno and Pallas, indignant at the slight +put upon them, appeal against this decision to a council of the gods. +This brings quite a crowd of deities upon the stage, unable to devise a +solution to such a knotty problem of wounded pride. Paris is summoned +before this high court, but clears himself from the charge of unjust +partiality. Finally it is agreed that the arbitrament of Diana shall be +invited and accepted as conclusive. She, by a delicate compromise, +satisfies the jealous susceptibilities of the three goddesses by +preferring above them a nymph, Eliza, whose charms surpass their +totalled attributes of wealth, wisdom, and beauty. The story is +provided with two under-plots, presenting opposite aspects of rejected +love. In the one, Colin dies for love of disdainful Thestylis, who in +her turn dotes despairingly upon an ugly churl. In the other, Oenone +holds and loses the affections of Paris, stolen from her by the beauty +of Venus; this is the most delicate portion of the whole play. Pretty +songs are imbedded in the scenes--_Cupid's Curse_ is a famous one--and +many lines of captivating fancy will be found by an appreciative reader. +On a well-furnished stage the valley of Mount Ida, where Pan, Flora and +others of Nature's guardians direct her wild fruitfulness, where +shepherds converse in groups or alone sing their grief to the skies, and +Paris and Oenone, seated beneath a tree, renew their mutual pledges, +must have looked very delightful. One cannot help thinking, however, +that the gods and goddesses, probably magnificently arrayed and carrying +splendour wherever they went, seriously detracted from the appearance of +free Nature. Nevertheless, by the poet and the stage-manager they were, +doubtless, prized equally with the rural background and the shepherds, +perhaps even more than they. To them is given pre-eminence in the play. +Indeed, what particularly impresses any one who remembers the stage as +he reads, is the watchful provision for spectacular effect in every +scene. It is this, combined with the author's choice of subject and +characters, which has led to the comparison of this comedy with a +Masque. The resemblance, too manifest to be overlooked, gives an +additional interest to a play which thus is seen to hold something like +an intermediary position between drama proper and that other, infinitely +more ornate, form of court entertainment. Viewing it in this light, we +are no longer surprised to read, in a stage direction at the close, +that Diana 'delivers the ball of gold to the Queen's own hand'. After +all, the play, like a Masque, is little more than an exaggerated and +richly designed compliment, the most beautiful of its kind. In selecting +suitable extracts one is drawn from scene to scene, uncertain which +deserves preference. The two offered here illustrate respectively the +tuneful variety of Peele's verse and the delicate embroidery of Diana's +famous decision. + + (1) + + [JUNO _bribes_ PARIS _to award her the apple._] + + _Juno._ And for thy meed, sith I am queen of riches, + Shepherd, I will reward thee with great monarchies, + Empires, and kingdoms, heaps of massy gold, + Sceptres and diadems curious to behold, + Rich robes, of sumptuous workmanship and cost, + And thousand things whereof I make no boast: + The mould whereon thou treadest shall be of Tagus' sands, + And Xanthus shall run liquid gold for thee to wash thy hands; + And if thou like to tend thy flock, and not from them to fly, + Their fleeces shall be curlèd gold to please their master's eye; + And last, to set thy heart on fire, give this one fruit to me, + And, shepherd, lo, this tree of gold will I bestow on thee! + + [JUNO'S _Show. A Tree of Gold rises, laden with diadems and crowns + of gold._] + + The ground whereon it grows, the grass, the root of gold, + The body and the bark of gold, all glistering to behold, + The leaves of burnish'd gold, the fruits that thereon grow + Are diadems set with pearl in gold, in gorgeous glistering show; + And if this tree of gold in lieu may not suffice, + Require a grove of golden trees, so Juno bear the prize. + + (2) + + [DIANA _describes the island kingdom of the nymph_ ELIZA, _a figure + of the_ QUEEN.] + + There wons[59] within these pleasant shady woods, + Where neither storm nor sun's distemperature + Have power to hurt by cruel heat or cold, + Under the climate of the milder heaven; + Where seldom lights Jove's angry thunderbolt, + For favour of that sovereign earthly peer; + Where whistling winds make music 'mong the trees;-- + Far from disturbance of our country gods, + Amidst the cypress-springs, a gracious nymph, + That honours Dian for her chastity, + And likes the labours well of Phoebe's groves. + The place Elyzium hight[60], and of the place + Her name that governs there Eliza is; + A kingdom that may well compare with mine, + An ancient seat of kings, a second Troy, + Y-compass'd round with a commodious sea. + +_Sir Clyomon and Sir Clamydes_ merits a passing notice if only because +it contains the earliest known example of a girl disguised as a page, +the Princess Neronis waiting upon her lover in that office. As has been +pointed out, however, in the discussion of _Gallathea_, Peele makes no +really dramatic use of the novel situation. If the dramatist had been +content with one knight instead of two, or had even vouchsafed the aid +of acts and scenes, his readers would have been able to follow the +succession of events much more clearly than is now possible: as it is, +between Clyomon and Clamydes, the Golden Shield and the Silver Shield, +there is constant confusion. But Peele was not born for chivalrous +romance. A writer who could allow one of his heroes to begin his career +by a piece of schoolboy trickery followed by headlong flight to escape +detection, and could make the sea-sickness of his other hero the cause +of his introduction to the lady of his heart, had not the true spirit of +romance in him. We meet our old acquaintances, the thinly disguised Vice +and the rude clown of uncouth dialect, under the names of Subtle Shift +and Corin; abstractions also reappear in Rumour and Providence. The +crudity of the verse will be sufficiently illustrated in the first line: + + As to the weary wandering wights whom waltering waves environ. + +_The Famous Chronicle History of King Edward the First_ is almost as +complete a medley as the most tangled play of Greene's. Peele's lack of +power to concentrate interest makes itself lamentably felt throughout. +We are conscious, as we read, that King Edward, or Longshanks, as he is +always named, is intended to impress us with his sterling English +qualities. He overcomes all difficulties, and if we could only unravel +his thread from the skein of characters, we should acknowledge him to be +a worthy monarch, brave, loving, wise, just and firm. One or two scenes, +we feel, are inserted deliberately for the sake of heightening his +character, notably that in which he elects to face single-handed a man +whom he supposes to be the redoubtable Robin Hood and who proves to be +no less than Llewellyn, Prince of Wales. Unfortunately these excellent +intentions are not seconded by the rest of the play. Some of the scenes +in which Edward takes part are not at all calculated to increase his +dignity; in the last of all, for instance, it is hardly an English act +on his part to conceal his identity in a monk's cowl and spy upon the +secrets of his queen's dying confession. That, however, may have been +pardoned by an Elizabethan audience; any trick may have been thought +good enough which exposed Spanish villany. A more serious defect is the +undue prominence given to Llewellyn and to Queen Elinor. This is not +accidental, for the full title of the play states that it is to include +'also the life of Llevellen rebell in Wales; lastly, the sinking of +Queene Elinor, who sunck at Charingcrosse, and rose againe at +Potters-hith, now named Queenehith'. Peele chose three distinct points +of interest because he knew no better. It seemed to him, just as it did +to Greene, that by so doing he would treble the interest of the play as +a whole; both were a long way from comprehending the wisdom underlying +the dramatic law of Unity of Action. + +If not famous, Peele's Chronicle History has become, in a small way, +infamous, by reason of the representation it gives of the queen's +character. A Spaniard, she figures as a monster of cruelty, pride and +vanity, capable of wishes and deeds which we have no desire to remember. +At this distance of time, however, righteous indignation at the +injustice done to a fair name is perhaps uncalled for. The play is only +read by the curious student, and it is quite apparent, as others have +pointed out, that the attack is directed more against the Spanish nation +than against an individual. We may still regret the injustice, but we +know better than to wonder at any misconception sixteenth-century +Englishmen may have formed of their hated foe. + +As a specimen of Peele's rarely exercised broad humour the knavery of +the Welsh Friar, Hugh ap David, should be noticed; his trick for winning +a hundred marks from 'sweet St. Francis' receiver' is, perhaps, the best +part of it. More worthy of remembrance is Joan, admirably chosen, for +her innocence and gentleness, to stand in contrast to Queen Elinor; the +story of her happy love and most unhappy death adds a touch of genuine +pathos to the gruesome shadows of tragedy which darken the final pages. +Much in her portrait, as in the prose scenes concerned with the Welsh +Friar, may have been inspired by the success of Greene, whose influence +is marked throughout the play. + +For our illustrations we quote Gloucester's lament over his young +wife--the closing speech of the play--, and one of several allusions to +the English nation which testify to the poet's sincere and warm +patriotism. + + (1) + + _Gloucester._ Now, Joan of Acon, let me mourn thy fall. + Sole, here alone, now sit thee down and sigh, + Sigh, hapless Gloucester, for thy sudden loss: + Pale death, alas, hath banish'd all thy pride, + Thy wedlock-vows! How oft have I beheld + Thy eyes, thy looks, thy lips, and every part, + How nature strove in them to show her art, + In shine, in shape, in colour and compare! + But now hath death, the enemy of love, + Stain'd and deform'd the shine, the shape, the red, + With pale and dimness, and my love is dead. + Ah, dead, my love! vile wretch, why am I living? + So willeth fate, and I must be contented: + All pomp in time must fade, and grow to nothing. + Wept I like Niobe, yet it profits nothing. + Then cease, my sighs, since I may not regain her; + And woe to wretched death that thus hath slain her! + + (2) + + _Joan._ Madam, if Joan thy daughter may advise, + Let not your honour make your manners change. + The people of this land are men of war, + The women courteous, mild, and debonair, + Laying their lives at princes' feet + That govern with familiar majesty. + But if their sovereigns once gin swell with pride, + Disdaining commons' love, which is the strength + And sureness of the richest commonwealth, + That prince were better live a private life + Than rule with tyranny and discontent. + +If Peele wrote _The Battle of Alcazar_, which seems probable, he +benefited by the mistakes of the previous play. It is a martial tragedy, +imitating the verse and style of Marlowe's _Tamburlaine_ or Greene's +_Alphonsus, King of Arragon_. Acts and scenes delimit the stages of the +course of events, the distraction of humorous prose scenes is banished, +independent plots are forbidden their old parallel existence, everything +moves steadily towards the tragic conclusion. Lest there should still +arise uncertainty as to the drift of the various incidents as they +occur, a 'Presenter' is at hand to serve as prologue to each act and +explain, not merely what must be understood as having happened off the +stage in the intervals, but what is about to take place on the stage, +and the purpose that lies behind it. The verse is regular and often +vigorous, though the vigour sometimes appears forced, and the constant +stream of end-stopt lines becomes monotonous. Murders that cannot find +room elsewhere are perpetrated in dumb-show, ghosts within the wings cry +out _Vindicta!_, and the leading characters suffer the usual inflatus of +windy rant to make their dimensions more kingly. Still the play fails to +achieve the right effect. There is no dominant hero, the central figure, +if such there is, being the villain, Muly Mahamet the Moor. But his is +not the career, nor his the character, at all likely to win either the +sympathy or the interest of an English audience. Defeated, exiled, twice +seen in desperate flight, treacherous, and incapable of anything but +amazing speeches, he thoroughly deserves the ignominious fate reserved +for him. Of the three other claimants to pre-eminence, Sebastian lends +his aid to the base Moor and is defeated and slain; Stukeley, the +Englishman, is a traitor to his country, and is murdered on the +battlefield in cold blood by his comrades; while Abdelmelec, who is +alone successful in war, does not appear in more than five of the +thirteen scenes, and is killed in the last battle. In action, too, there +is a divided interest. The first act is entirely devoted to the campaign +which places Abdelmelec on the throne of the usurping Moor; not until +the fourth scene of the second act does King Sebastian of Portugal come +upon the stage; only from that point onward are we concerned with his +unsuccessful attempt--in which he is assisted by Stukeley--to restore +the crown of Morocco to Muly Mahamet. Once more we have to lament that +absence of unity and grip, though under improved conditions, which we +noticed in Peele's former plays. + +Captain Stukeley was a more interesting character off the stage than on; +the details of his life may be found in Fuller, or in Dyce's prefatory +note to the play in his edition of Peele's works. The surprising thing +is that he was not hissed from the boards by indignant patriots. But his +exploits, and his thoroughly English pride, seem to have awakened the +sympathies of his countrymen, for his memory was cherished as that of a +popular hero. His traitorous intention to conquer Ireland for the Pope, +however, receives noble reproof from Peele in the mouths of Don Diego +Lopez and King Sebastian. The latter's speech well deserves perusal. But +we have quoted sufficiently already from Peele's patriotic eloquence. + +The extravagant language of the Moor has been made immortal by +Shakespeare: a line from one of his extraordinary speeches to his wife, +Calipolis, in exile, is adapted by Pistol to his own rhetorical use +(_Second Part of Henry the Fourth_, II. iv). To show the +inconsistencies over which rant unblushingly careers, we give two +consecutive speeches by this terrible fellow. + + [THE MOOR'S SON _has just given a highly coloured description of + the enemy's forces._] + + _The Moor._ Away, and let me hear no more of this. + Why, boy, + Are we successor to the great Abdelmunen, + Descended from th' Arabian Muly Xarif, + And shall we be afraid of Bassas and of bugs,[61] + Raw-head and Bloody-bone? + Boy, seest here this scimitar by my side? + Sith they begin to bathe in blood, + Blood be the theme whereon our time shall tread: + Such slaughter with my weapon shall I make + As through the stream and bloody channels deep + Our Moors shall sail in ships and pinnaces + From Tangier-shore unto the gates of Fess. + + _The Moor's Son._ And of those slaughter'd bodies shall thy son + A hugy tower erect like Nimrod's frame, + To threaten those unjust and partial gods + That to Abdallas' lawful seed deny + A long, a happy, and triumphant reign. + + [_At this point a_ MESSENGER _enters, reports general disaster, and + urges flight._] + + _The Moor._ Villain, what dreadful sound of death and flight + Is this wherewith thou dost afflict our ears? + But if there be no safety to abide + The favour, fortune and success of war, + Away in haste! Roll on, my chariot-wheels, + Restless till I be safely set in shade + Of some unhaunted place, some blasted grove + Of deadly yew or dismal cypress-tree, + Far from the light or comfort of the sun, + There to curse heaven and he that heaves me hence; + To sick as Envy at Cecropia's gate, + And pine with thought and terror of mishaps. + Away! + +_The Old Wive's Tale_ is much shorter than Peele's other plays and is +written mainly in prose, without any division into acts. It appears to +have been an experiment in broad comedy to the exclusion of all things +serious, for wherever a graver tone threatens to direct the action some +absurd character or incident is hastily introduced to save the +situation. Regarded as such, it cannot be said to be either successful +or wholly unsuccessful. The opening scene is certainly one of the most +racy and homely Inductions to be found in dramatic literature, while one +or two of the other scenes, though they make poor reading, are +calculated to rouse laughter when acted; the lower characters, at least, +display plenty of animation, and the creation of that fantastic person +of royal pedigree, Huanebango--'Polimackeroeplacidus my grandfather, my +father Pergopolineo, my mother Dionora de Sardinia, famously +descended'--with his effort to 'lisp in numbers' of classical +accentuation--'Philida, phileridos, pamphilida, florida, +flortos'--reveals humour of a finer edge than the mere laughter-raising +kind. Against this moderate praise, however, must be set some blame. It +has been said before that the play is a by-word for confusion. An +extraordinary recklessness rules the introduction of characters, +participation in one scene being, apparently, sufficient justification +for the inclusion of a fresh character at any stage of the play. As +vital an error is the neglect to excite our pity for Delia, round whom +the whole story revolves; she is represented as thoroughly happy with +her captor and so utterly forgetful of her brothers that she is content +to ill-treat them at the will of Sacrapant. True, we are told that magic +has wrought the change in her. But a skilful dramatist would have left +her some unconquered emotions of reluctance or distress to quicken our +sympathy. + +The story is this. Three lads, Antic, Frolic and Fantastic, having lost +their way, are given shelter by a countryman, Clunch--a smith, by the +way, like our old friend, Adam--whose goodwife, Madge, entertains two of +them with a tale while the other sleeps with her husband. She begins +correctly enough with a 'Once upon a time', but soon lands herself in +difficulties amongst the various facts that require preliminary +explanation before the story can be properly launched. At the right +moment the people referred to themselves appear and the story passes +from narration to action. We learn from two brothers that they are +seeking their sister, Delia, who has been carried off by a wicked +magician, Sacrapant--not to be confused with Greene's Sacripant. This +same sorcerer has also separated a loving couple; by his art the lady, +Venelia, has gone mad, and the youth, Erestus, is converted into an old +man by day and a bear by night. The aged-looking Erestus is regarded +throughout the countryside as a soothsayer. His neighbour, Lampriscus, +cursed by two daughters, one of whom is frightfully ugly while the other +is a virago, consults him about their marriages. By his advice they take +their pitchers to a magic well, where, by a coincidence, each finds a +husband. She of the hideous face easily satisfies Huanebango, while the +vile-tempered maiden as readily contents the heart of Corebus, for +Sacrapant has previously hurled blindness upon the former, and upon the +latter deafness, because they dared to enter his realms in search of +Delia. Meanwhile the brothers continue their quest and eventually come +upon Sacrapant and their sister making merry together at a feast. At +once the lady is sent indoors, thunder and lightning herald disaster, +and Sacrapant's magic takes them captive. Subsequently they are set to a +task, with Delia standing over to speed their labours with a sharpened +goad. It now becomes known that Sacrapant's power depends on the +continued existence of a light enclosed within a glass vessel and buried +in the earth. Delia has a lover, Eumenides. Acting on a generous +impulse, this youth pays for the burial of one, Jack, whose friends are +too poor to find the sexton's fees. Jack's ghost, in no more horrible +form than that of an honest boy, forthwith repays the kindness by +appointing himself Eumenides' guide, leading him to Sacrapant's castle, +and obligingly slaying the magician at the critical moment by a touch of +his ghostly hand. The buried light is dug up, Venelia, qualified by her +madness to fulfil the conditions imposed by an old prophecy, breaks the +glass and blows out the flame, and instantly all Sacrapant's wickedness +is nullified. Venelia and Erestus are re-united, Delia is restored to +her brothers and lover; we are not told of the shocks that must have +come to Huanebango and Corebus when they suddenly became conscious of +their respective wives' most prominent qualities. Into the midst of the +rejoicing comes a demand from Jack's ghost for the fulfilment of +Eumenides' compact that he should have half of whatever was won. +Resolute to keep faith, Eumenides prepares to cut his lady in twain, +when the ghost, satisfied with his honesty, restrains his arm. Thus the +play ends happily. + +We have given the story in full on account of its association, in the +minds of some critics, with the plot of _Comus_. Because Milton, in +another work, has shown himself acquainted with Peele's writings, they +feel encouraged to see in the Ghost of Jack, Sacrapant, and Delia the +prototypes of the Attendant Spirit, Comus, and the Lady. One may +suppose that the same foundation of resemblance establishes Peele as +also the inspirer of the first book of _The Faerie Queene_ through his +_Sir Clyomon and Sir Clamydes_, with its knight and lady and dragon and +magician, Sansfoy. Professor Mason, on the other hand, prefers to regard +as mere coincidences those points which are common to both. By the +outline given, the reader who has not Peele's comedy at hand will be +assisted in making his own choice between the two opinions. + +_David and Bethsabe_ presents the two stories of David's love for +Bathsheba and of the revolt of Absalom, as found in the Second Book of +Samuel (Chapters xi-xix). The succession of events is carefully +observed, each least pleasant detail jealously retained, and in some +places even the language closely imitated. Except in the old Bible +plays, one does not often meet with such rigorous adherence to the +original in the transference of facts from a narrative to a drama. To +this adherence are due certain features which any one not fresh from +reading the account in Samuel might easily attribute to the dramatist's +skill--the differentiation of the characters, the varying moods of joy, +sorrow, indignation, hope and despair, besides the unusual vigour of +some of the scenes. Dramatic art, however, is frequently as severely +tested in an author's selection of a subject as in his invention of one. +From this test Peele's talent would have emerged triumphantly had he +only possessed the ability to construct a plot; for there is an +abundance of the right dramatic material in his subject, and in his best +moments he displays wonderful mastery in the moulding of hard facts to +his use. Nothing could be more perfectly done than the sublimation of +the contents of three plain verses (Chapter xi. 2-4) to the delicate +poetry of his famous opening scene. Unfortunately the method adopted is +that of the chronicle history-plays or of the nearly forgotten +Miracles, to which class of drama _David and Bethsabe_, as a late +survival, may be said to belong. It has other marks of retrogression to +methods already old-fashioned in the year 1598, such as the introduction +(twice) of a Chorus, and the absence of any division into acts, +notwithstanding Peele's effective adoption of them in his previous +tragedy. There is also, despite the occasional vigour shown in the +portrayal of David, Absalom and Joab, the familiar weakness in +concentration, the old lack of a dominant figure. We cannot help feeling +that the author lost a great opportunity in not recognizing more fully +the tragic potentialities of such a character as the rebel prince. And +yet the play holds, and will continue to hold, a worthy place in +Elizabethan drama on account of its poetry. The special qualities of +Peele's poetic gift have been discussed in our consideration of his work +as a whole. All that need be added here in praise is that had he written +nothing else but _David and Bethsabe_ and _The Arraignment of Paris_ he +might have challenged the right of precedence as a poet with Marlowe. +But between those two plays what an amount of inferior workmanship lies! + +Having already quoted an example of his verse in tender mood, we offer a +favourable specimen of his more impassioned style: + + _David._ What seems them best, then, that will David do. + But now, my lords and captains, hear his voice + That never yet pierc'd piteous heaven in vain; + Then let it not slip lightly through your ears;-- + For my sake spare the young man, Absalon. + Joab, thyself didst once use friendly words + To reconcile my heart incens'd to him; + If, then, thy love be to thy kinsman sound, + And thou wilt prove a perfect Israelite, + Friend him with deeds, and touch no hair of him,-- + Not that fair hair with which the wanton winds + Delight to play, and love to make it curl; + Wherein the nightingales would build their nests, + And make sweet bowers in every golden tress + To sing their lover every night asleep;-- + O, spoil not, Joab, Jove's[62] fair ornaments, + Which he hath sent to solace David's soul! + The best, ye see, my lords, are swift to sin; + To sin our feet are wash'd with milk of roes + And dried again with coals of lightning. + O Lord, thou see'st the proudest sin's poor slave, + And with his bridle pull'st him to the grave! + For my sake, then, spare lovely Absalon. + + * * * * * + +Thomas Nash assisted Marlowe in _The Tragedy of Dido_, but _Summer's +Last Will and Testament_ (1592) is the only example of his independent +dramatic work preserved for us. ''Tis no play neither, but a show', says +one of its characters in describing it; and the same person, continuing, +supplies this brief summary to its contents: 'Forsooth, because the +plague reigns in most places in this latter end of summer, Summer must +come in sick; he must call his officers to account, yield his throne to +Autumn, make Winter his executor, with tittle-tattle Tom-boy.' The +officers thus called to account are Ver, Solstitium, Sol, Orion, Harvest +and Bacchus. Each enters in appropriate guise, with a train of +attendants singing or dancing. Thus we have such stage-directions as, +'Enter Ver, with his train, overlaid with suits of green moss, +representing short grass, singing': 'Enter Harvest, with a scythe on his +neck, and all his reapers with sickles, and a great black bowl with a +posset in it, borne before him: they come in singing': 'Enter Bacchus, +riding upon an ass trapped in ivy, himself dressed in vine leaves, and +a garland of grapes on his head; his companions having all jacks in +their hands, and ivy garlands on their heads; they come singing.' +Several of the songs have the true ring of country choruses; probably +they were such, borrowed quite frankly by the dramatist, who would +expect his audience to be familiar with them and even possibly to join +in the singing. Such a one is this harvesting song-- + + Merry, merry, merry; cheery, cheery, cheery; + Trowl the black bowl to me; + Hey derry, derry, with a poup and a lerry, + I'll trowl it again to thee. + Hooky, hooky, we have shorn, + And we have bound, + And we have brought Harvest + Home to town. + +Others again are more restrained, though almost all have a certain +charming artlessness about them. A verse may be quoted from the Spring +Song. + + The palm and may make country houses gay, + Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, + And hear we aye birds tune this merry lay, + Cuckow, jug, jug, pu-we, to-wit, to-whoo. + +Regarded as a show, then, the performance is deserving of all praise, +its fresh pastoralism confirming the hold upon the stage of unaffected +country scenes. It must have followed not long after Greene's _Friar +Bacon and Friar Bungay_. It makes no claim to belong to regular drama, +so that we need waste no words in uninvited criticism of its weakness in +plot, action and character. Approving mention must be made of Will +Summer--no relation to Summer, the season of the year, who is referred +to in the title--Henry the Eighth's Court Jester, who plays the part of +'presenter' and general critic, standing apart from the main action but +thrusting in his remarks as the spirit moves him. He is responsible for +the description of the performance as a show. His purpose is fully +declared at the start, when he announces that he will 'sit as a chorus +and flout the actors and him (_the author_) at the end of every scene'. +Forthwith he proceeds to offer advice to the actors about their +behaviour: 'And this I bar, over and besides, that none of you stroke +your beards to make action, play with your cod-piece points, or stand +fumbling on your buttons, when you know not how to bestow your fingers. +Serve God, and act cleanly.' Always his honesty exceeds his +consideration for the feelings of others. Three clowns and three maids +have barely ended their rustic jig when he calls out, 'Beshrew my heart, +of a number of ill legs I never saw worse dancers. How bless'd are you +that the wenches of the parish do not see you!' And his yawn carries a +world of disgust with it as he murmurs, over one of Summer's lectures, +'I promise you truly I was almost asleep; I thought I had been at a +sermon.' Historically he is interesting as being another example of the +attempts made at this time, as in _James the Fourth_ and _The Old Wives' +Tale_, to provide a means of entertainment, more popular than formal +prologues, epilogues or choruses, to fill up unavoidable pauses between +scenes. + +Far more than most plays _Summer's Last Will and Testament_ contains +references to contemporary events,--the recent plague, drought, flood, +and short harvests are all mentioned. Satire, too, enlivens some of the +longest speeches; for the writer was primarily and by profession a +satirist. Although the finer graces of poetry are not his, his verse +indicates the gradual advance that was being made to greater ease and +freedom; his lines are not weighted with sounding words, nor is the +'privilege of metre' restricted to the expression of beautiful, wise or +emotional thought, as was commonly the case elsewhere. The country +freshness of his lyrics has been already praised. Altogether, despite +the slight amount of his work in drama, Nash is not a dramatist to be +dismissed with a mere expression of indifference or contempt. Several +things in it make _Summer's Last Will and Testament_ a production worth +remembering. The following extract illustrates the qualities of Nash's +blank verse. + + _Orion._ Yet in a jest (since thou rail'st so 'gainst dogs) + I'll speak a word or two in their defence. + That creature's best that comes most near to men; + That dogs of all come nearest, thus I prove. + First, they excell us in all outward sense, + Which no one of experience will deny; + They hear, they smell, they see better than we. + To come to speech, they have it questionless, + Although we understand them not so well: + They bark as good old Saxon as may be, + And that in more variety than we, + For they have one voice when they are in chase, + Another when they wrangle for their meat, + Another when we beat them out of doors.... + That dogs physicians are, thus I infer; + They are ne'er sick but they know their disease + And find out means to ease them of their grief. + Special good surgeons to cure dangerous wounds: + For, stricken with a stake into the flesh + This policy they use to get it out; + They trail one of their feet upon the ground, + And gnaw the flesh about where the wound is, + Till it be clean drawn out; and then, because + Ulcers and sores kept foul are hardly cur'd, + They lick and purify it with their tongue, + And well observe Hippocrates' old rule, + The only medicine for the foot is rest,-- + For if they have the least hurt in their feet + They bear them up and look they be not stirr'd. + When humours rise, they eat a sovereign herb, + Whereby what cloys their stomachs they cast up; + And as some writers of experience tell, + They were the first invented vomiting. + Sham'st thou not, Autumn, unadvisedly + To slander such rare creatures as they be? + +[Footnote 53: In _Damon and Pythias_, see p. 117 above.] + +[Footnote 54: ready.] + +[Footnote 55: resent.] + +[Footnote 56: See Flora's second speech, Act 1, Sc. 1.] + +[Footnote 57: _James the Fourth._] + +[Footnote 58: enjoy.] + +[Footnote 59: dwells.] + +[Footnote 60: is called.] + +[Footnote 61: bugbears.] + +[Footnote 62: Jehovah's.] + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +TRAGEDY: LODGE, KYD, MARLOWE, _ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM_. + + +Great as was the advance made by Lyly and Greene in Comedy, the advance +made by Kyd and Marlowe in Tragedy was greater. Indeed it may almost be +said that they created Tragedy as we know it. We have only to recall the +dull speeches of _Gorboduc_, the severe formality of _The Misfortunes of +Arthur_, to recognize the change that had to take place before the level +of such a tragedy as _Romeo and Juliet_ could be reached. Yet between +the two last-mentioned tragedies, if 1591 be accepted as the date of +Shakespeare's play, there lies a period of but four years. The nature of +the change was foreshadowed by the tragi-comedy, _Damon and Pythias_. In +an earlier chapter we dealt with the divergence of that play from the +English Senecan school of tragedy. This divergence, accepted as right, +set Tragedy on its feet. Great things, however, still remained to be +done. + +The supreme quality of Tragedy is in its power to raise feelings of +intense emotion, of horror or grief, or of both. Failing in this, it +fails altogether. To this end Seneca introduced his Ghost, and his +disciples filled their speeches with passionate outcry and lurid +pictures of horrible events unfit to be presented in actuality. +_Gorboduc_ rained death upon a whole nation, _Tancred and Gismunda_ +invoked every awful epithet and gruesome description of dungeon and +murder, for the same purpose. But the purpose remained unfulfilled--at +least, for an English audience nurtured on more vigorous diet than mere +words. The ear cannot comprehend horror in its fullness as can the eye. +Even the author of _Tancred and Gismunda_ was conscious of this, for at +the end he placed the deaths of both father and daughter, with horrible +accompaniments, upon the stage. He gave his audience what it wanted. Nor +were the English people slow to demand the same from others. We shall +find, in fact, that tragedy continued to borrow the exaggerated violence +of the Senecan school, even when it was most emphatically rejecting its +dramatic principles. It would be a mistake, however, to conclude that +the work of Kyd and Marlowe was merely to substitute actions for +descriptions, and sights for sounds. The difference between classic and +romantic tragedy is not so simple. We shall understand their task more +readily if we pause to consider what are the chief elements of +Shakespearian tragedy. + +Approximately they may be stated thus: an overwhelming catastrophe, +clearly drawn characters which appeal to our sympathy or hate, +impressive scenes, and a strong, eventful plot. Of these the first had +never been lost since Sackville and Norton. The second had been +attempted in _The Misfortunes of Arthur_, not without a measure of +success. But both called for improvement, the former particularly having +struck too tremendous a pitch. The third and fourth elements were almost +unknown, thanks to the exclusion of all action from the stage; and +finally, no appeal could be wholly successful which wearied the audience +with so stiff and monotonous a diction. Verse, plot, scenes, characters, +catastrophe--these are the features which we must watch if we would know +what Kyd and Marlowe did for tragedy. + +Before we turn to their plays, however, there is one other of the +University Wits whose chief dramatic work is tragic and who must +therefore be included in this chapter. Since his tragedy stands, in its +inferiority, quite apart from the tragedies of the other two, we shall +dispose of it first. + + * * * * * + +Apart from his undefined share in _A Looking-Glass for London and +England_, all that we have of Thomas Lodge's dramatic work is _The +Wounds of Civil War_, or, as its other title ran, _The Most Lamentable +and True Tragedies of Marius and Sylla_ (about 1588). The author went to +Plutarch for his facts and characters, and shows, in his treatment of +the subject, that he caught at least a measure of inspiration from that +famous biographer's vivid portraits. Marius and Sylla are clearly, +though not impartially, discriminated, the former appearing as the +dauntless veteran, ready to die sooner than acknowledge himself too old +for command, the latter figuring as the man of resistless force and +intense pride. Partiality is seen in the allocation of most of the +insolence and cruelty to Sylla, while our sympathy is constantly being +evoked on the side of Marius. It is Sylla who first draws his sword +against the peace of the state; it is Marius who magnanimously sends +Sylla's wife and daughter to him unharmed. Moreover, wooden as they +sometimes are, these great antagonists and their fellow-senators show +the right Roman nature at need. Marius sleeping quietly under the menace +of death; his heroic son, with his little band of soldiers, committing +suicide rather than surrender at Praeneste; Octavius scorning to imitate +the vacillation and cowardice of his colleagues; Sylla plunging back +alone into battle, that his example may reanimate the courage of his +fleeing army: these are scenes that recall the best traditions of Rome. +They are taken from Plutarch, it is true; but they are presented +sympathetically and with stimulating effect. Thus, though the order of +events has necessarily to be mainly historical, each is intimately +related to the central clash of ambitions, with the result that +singleness of interest is never lost until the death of Marius. In +carrying history down to Sylla's abdication and death, the author +betrays that ignorance of dramatic unity common to most of his +contemporaries. + +The play is divided into five acts, but though there are obviously more +than that number of scenes, the subdivisions are not formally +distinguished. By the stiff, rhetorical style of its verse we seem to be +taken back to the days of _Gorboduc_ rather than to the year of +Marlowe's _Edward the Second_. Save in two quite uncalled-for humorous +episodes, the language used maintains a monotonous level of stateliness +or emotion. The plot is eminently suited for indignant and defiant +speeches, but Lodge's poetic inspiration has not the wings to bear him +much above the 'middle flight'. The following passage fairly illustrates +his style. + + [CORNELIA _and_ FULVIA, _expecting close imprisonment, if not + death, are set at liberty._] + + _Marius._ Virtue, sweet ladies, is of more regard + In Marius' mind, where honour is enthron'd, + Than Rome or rule of Roman empery. + + [_Here he puts chains about their necks._] + + The bands, that should combine your snow-white wrists, + Are these which shall adorn your milk-white necks. + The private cells, where you shall end your lives, + Is Italy, is Europe--nay, the world. + Th' Euxinian Sea, the fierce Sicilian Gulf, + The river Ganges and Hydaspes' stream + Shall level lie, and smooth as crystal ice, + While Fulvia and Cornelia pass thereon. + The soldiers, that should guard you to your deaths, + Shall be five thousand gallant youths of Rome, + In purple robes cross-barr'd with pales of gold, + Mounted on warlike coursers for the field, + Fet[63] from the mountain-tops of Corsica, + Or bred in hills of bright Sardinia, + Who shall conduct and bring you to your lord. + Ay, unto Sylla, ladies, shall you go, + And tell him Marius holds within his hands + Honour for ladies, for ladies rich reward; + But as for Sylla and for his compeers, + Who dare 'gainst Marius vaunt their golden crests, + Tell him for them old Marius holds revenge, + And in his hands both triumphs life and death. + + * * * * * + +Only two plays, _The Spanish Tragedy_ (before 1588) and _Cornelia_ +(printed 1594), are definitely known to have been written by Thomas Kyd. +There are two others, however, which are commonly attributed to him, +_Jeronimo_ and _Soliman and Perseda_. _The Spanish Tragedy_ continues +the story of _Jeronimo_ with so much care in the perpetuation of each +character--Villuppo and Pedringano are examples--that it is natural to +suppose them both by the same author; in which case 1587 may be guessed +as the date of the latter. Different but strong internal evidence points +to Kyd's authorship of _Soliman and Perseda_. It has many features +corresponding to those found in _The Spanish Tragedy_. The Chorus of +Love, Fortune and Death, in its attitude to the play, closely resembles +that of the Ghost and Revenge. Most of the characters come to a violent +end, and in each play the list of deaths is carefully enumerated by the +triumphant spirit, Death or the Ghost. Then there are similarities of +lines and phrases and remarkable identity in certain tricks of style, +notably in the love of repetition and in a peculiar form of reasoning +after the fashion of a sorites.--Curiously enough, these same tricks are +found, in equally emphatic form, in _Locrine_, an anonymous play of +somewhat later date.--We may compare, for example, the two following +extracts: + + (1) + + _Erastus._ No, no; my hope full long ago was lost, + And Rhodes itself is lost, or else destroy'd: + If not destroy'd, yet bound and captivate; + If captivate, then forc'd from holy faith; + If forc'd from faith, for ever miserable: + For what is misery but want of God? + And God is lost if faith be overthrown. + (_Soliman and Perseda_, Act IV.) + + (2) + + _Balthazar._ First, in his hand he brandished a sword, + And with that sword he fiercely waged war, + And in that war he gave me dangerous wounds, + And by those wounds he forced me to yield, + And by my yielding I became his slave. + (_The Spanish Tragedy_, Act II.) + +Finally, the play acted at the close of _The Spanish Tragedy_ comprises +the main characters and general drift (with marked differences) of the +plot of _Soliman and Perseda_. This, in itself no proof of authorship, +provides us with a clue to date. It is not likely that the author +deliberately altered the plot of a well-known play. Yet we know from Ben +Jonson that Kyd's tragedies were very popular. We shall be more safe in +concluding that the wide popularity of that scene in _The Spanish +Tragedy_ led him to extend the minor play to the proportions of a +complete drama, making such changes as would then be most suitable to a +larger groundwork. This view is supported by the decreased use of +rhyme, intermingled with the blank verse, in _Soliman and Perseda_. The +play, then, may be approximately dated 1588-90. + +It would be as well to dismiss _Cornelia_ at once. Wholly Senecan and +dull, it is merely a translation of a French play of the same name by +Garnier. As such it has no interest for us here. + +_Jeronimo_ derives its name from one of the principal characters, but it +is really the tragedy of Andrea. This nobleman's appointment as +ambassador from Spain to Portugal arouses the jealous enmity of the Duke +of Castile's son, Lorenzo: it is also the means of his introduction to +the man who is to bring about his death at the end, Prince Balthezar of +Portugal. The catastrophe, therefore, may be said to start from that +point. Lorenzo's intrigues begin at once. Casting around for some one +apt for villainous deeds, he bethinks him of Lazarotto, + + A melancholy, discontented courtier, + Whose famished jaws look like the chap of death; + Upon whose eyebrows hangs damnation; + Whose hands are washed in rape and murders bold. + +Him he suborns to murder Andrea on his return. At the same time he +schemes a secret stab at the love that exists between his own sister, +Bell'-Imperia, and Andrea. To this end he arranges that a rival lover, +Alcario, shall have access to her in the disguise of the absent +nobleman, and in order to avert her suspicions he has it noised about +the Court that Andrea is about to return. Fortunately it is just here +that his plans conflict. Lazarotto, hearing the false rumour, loiters +about in expectation of seeing Andrea, and, perceiving the disguised +Alcario exchanging affectionate greetings with Bell'-Imperia, has no +doubt of his man. Alcario falls. But Lorenzo is on the spot to cover up +his traces. Promising Lazarotto a certain pardon, he leads the +unsuspecting villain into foolhardy lies until sentence of instant +execution is passed, when a check upon his further speech is immediately +applied and his tongue silenced for ever. Meanwhile, Andrea has been +carrying a bold front in Portugal, passing swiftly from the tactful +speech of diplomacy to the fierce language of defiance. Herein he +arouses the hot spirit of Balthezar. Word leaps to word, challenge to +challenge. Each recognizes the honour and valiancy of the other, and it +is arranged that they shall seek each other out in battle, to settle +their rivalry by single combat. Andrea returns to Spain. War follows. +Twice Andrea and Balthezar meet. On the first occasion Andrea is saved +only by the intervention of a gallant youth, his devoted friend, +Horatio. On the second occasion he overthrows his opponent but, in the +moment of victory, is slain by the pikes of Portuguese soldiery. Horatio +arrives on the scene in time to witness Balthezar's exultation over the +corpse. Taking the combat upon himself he forces the prince to the +ground, but is robbed of the full glory of such a capture by the +baseness of Lorenzo, who darts in and himself receives Balthezar's +surrendered sword. Victory ultimately rests with the Spaniards. Andrea's +body is buried with full military honours, his Ghost personally +attending, with Revenge, to indicate to Horatio, by gestures, his +sensibility of his friend's kindness. The epilogue is spoken by +Horatio's father, Jeronimo, even as the opening lines of the play are +concerned with his promotion to the high office of marshal. + +The weak point of the play lies in the second half of the plot; Andrea's +death, lamentable as a catastrophe, achieves nothing, except, perhaps, +the satisfaction of a hidden destiny. Those purposes which openly aim at +his death are left incomplete. Lorenzo's deep schemes, from which much +is expected, come to nothing; his revenge is certainly not glutted. +Balthezar seeks to gain honour in victory, but is robbed of it by +Horatio and his own soldiers. Then, too, the interest excited by +Lorenzo's hatred leads us into something like a blind alley; Andrea +escapes and the whole scene is transferred to the battle-field. +Nevertheless, the play offers compensations. It provides one or two +striking scenes, possibly the best being that in which we watch, in +suspense, the mutual destruction of Lorenzo's plans. The verse, again, +has many fine lines and vigorous passages. On the whole it is perhaps +less studied, more natural and animated than Kyd's later verse. Rhyme is +used freely, yet without forcing itself upon our notice with leaden +pauses. From among many quotable passages the following may be selected +for their energy. + + (1) + + [_The Portuguese Court._ ANDREA _and_ BALTHEZAR _exchange + defiance._] + + _Andrea._ Prince Balthezar, shall's meet? + + _Balthezar._ Meet, Don Andrea? yes, in the battle's bowels; + Here is my gage, a never-failing pawn; + 'Twill keep his day, his hour, nay minute, 'twill. + + _Andrea._ Then thine and this, possess one quality. + + _Balthezar._ O, let them kiss! + Did I not understand thee noble, valiant, + And worthy my sword's society with thee, + For all Spain's wealth I'd not grasp hands. + Meet Don Andrea? I tell thee, noble spirit, + I'd wade up to the knees in blood, I'd make + A bridge of Spanish carcases, to single thee + Out of the gasping army. + + _Andrea._ Woot thou, prince? + Why, even for that I love [thee]. + + _Balthezar._ Tut, love me, man, when we have drunk + Hot blood together; wounds will tie + An everlasting settled amity, + And so shall thine. + + (2) + + [_On the battle-field_ ANDREA _searches for_ BALTHEZAR.] + + _Andrea._ --Prince Balthezar! + Portugal's valiant heir! + The glory of our foe, the heart of courage, + The very soul of true nobility, + I call thee by thy right name: answer me! + Go, captain, pass the left wing squadron; hie: + Mingle yourself again amidst the army; + Pray, sweat to find him out.-- [_Exit_ Captain.] + This place I'll keep. + Now wounds are wide, and blood is very deep; + 'Tis now about the heavy tread of battle; + Soldiers drop down as thick as if death mowed them; + As scythe-men trim the long-haired ruffian fields, + So fast they fall, so fast to fate life yields. + +_Jeronimo_ has given us a really notable villain. From the first this +character gains and holds our attention by the intellectuality of his +wickedness. He is no common stabber, nor the kind of wretch who murders +for amusement. Jealousy, the darkest and most potent of motives, lies +behind his hate. He would have Andrea dead. But his position as the Duke +of Castile's son forbids the notion of staining his own hands in blood. +A hired creature must be his tool, whose secrecy may be secured either +by bribery or death, preferably by death. A double plot, too, must be +laid, so that, if one part fails, the other may bring success. So we +watch the net being spread around the feet of the unwary victim, and +hold our breath as the critical moment approaches when a chance +recognition will decide everything. Undoubtedly the author has achieved +a genuine triumph in all this. Some of us may see the germ of his +villain in Edwards's Carisophus; there is the same element of craft and +double-dealing, of laying unseen snares for the innocent. But it is no +more than the germ. The advance beyond the earlier sketch is immense. +Lazarotto, the perfect instrument for crime, has not Lorenzo's position, +wealth or motive; nevertheless a family likeness exists between the two. +Lazarotto's cynicism is of an intellectual order, as is his ready lying +to avert suspicion from his master. Perhaps the most shuddering moment +of the play is when he leans carelessly against the wall, waiting for +his victim, 'like a court-hound that licks fat trenchers clean.' We fear +and loathe him for the callous brutality of that simile and for that +careless posture. Yet even he cannot fathom the blackness of Lorenzo's +soul, and falls a prey to a greater treachery than his own. This cunning +removal of a lesser villain by a greater is repeated in _The Spanish +Tragedy_ and is closely imitated by Marston in _Antonio's Revenge_ (or +_The Second Part of Antonio and Mellida_). Lorenzo and Lazarotto +together are the first of a famous line of stage-villains. Amongst their +celebrated descendants may be named Tourneur's D'Amville and Borachio, +Webster's Ferdinand and Bosola, and the already referred-to Piero and +Strotzo of Marston. + +All the other characters, except one, reproduce familiar types of brave +soldiers and proud monarchs. Jeronimo himself, however, stands apart. +Though completely overshadowed in our memory by his terrible development +in the next play, he has here a certain independent interest on account +of age and humour. True, he announces that he is just fifty, which is no +great age. But he is old, as Lear is old; he is called the father of his +kingdom. Vague, fleeting yet recurrent is the resemblance between him +and Polonius. Tradition bids us regard Polonius as an intentionally +humorous creation. Jeronimo's humour is of the same family. We feel sure +that this newly appointed Marshal of Spain pottered about the Court, +wagging his beard sagaciously over the unwisdom of youth, his mind full +of responsibility, his heart of courage, but his tongue letting fall, +every now and then, simple half-foolish sayings which betrayed the +approach of dotage. He is very short, and exhibits a childish vanity in +constantly referring to his shortness. 'As short my body, short shall be +my stay.' 'My mind's a giant, though my bulk be small.' By such quaint +speeches does he excite our smiles. And yet, by a very human touch, he +is represented as furiously resenting any slighting allusion, by any one +else, to his stature. In the _pourparlers_ before battle Prince +Balthezar grows impertinent. But we will quote the lines, and so take +leave of Jeronimo. + + [_The Portuguese have already made a demonstration, with drums and + colours._] + + _Jeronimo._ What, are you braving us before we come! + We'll be as shrill as you. Strike 'larum, drum! + + [_They sound a flourish on both sides._] + + _Balthezar._ Thou inch of Spain! + Thou man, from thy hose downward scarce so much! + Thou very little longer than thy beard! + Speak not such big words; they'll throw thee down, + Little Jeronimo! words greater than thyself! + It must not [be]. + + _Jeronimo._ And thou long thing of Portugal, why not? + Thou, that art full as tall + As an English gallows, upper beam and all; + Devourer of apparel, thou huge swallower, + My hose will scarce make thee a standing collar. + What! have I almost quited you? + + _Andrea._ Have done, impatient marshal. + +_The Spanish Tragedy_ continues the story of _Jeronimo_. Balthazar (the +spelling has changed) is brought back to Spain, the joint captive of +Horatio and Lorenzo: to the former, however, is allotted the ransom, +while to the latter falls the privilege of guarding the prisoner in +honourable captivity. The Portuguese prince now falls in love with +Bell'-Imperia, and has her brother's full consent to the match. But that +lady has already transferred her affections to young Horatio. Lorenzo +encourages Balthazar to solve the difficulty by the young man's death. +While Bell'-Imperia and Horatio are making love together by night in a +garden-bower, Lorenzo, Balthazar and two servants (Serberine and +Pedringano) surprise them and hang Horatio to a tree beside the +entrance. They then decamp with the lady, whom they forthwith shut up +closely in her room at home. Old Hieronimo (formerly Jeronimo), alarmed +by the outcry, rushes into the garden, closely followed by his wife +Isabella. The body is instantly cut down, but life is extinct.--The rest +of the play, from the beginning of the third act, is concerned with +Hieronimo's revenge. It is a terrible story. His first information as to +the names of the murderers reaches him in a message, written in blood, +from Bell'-Imperia. This, however, he fears as a trap, and attempts to +corroborate it from the girl's own lips. Unfortunately he only succeeds +in awakening the suspicions of Lorenzo, who, to make the secret surer, +bribes Pedringano to murder Serberine, at the same time arranging for +watchmen to arrest Pedringano. Balthazar is drawn into the matter that +he may press forward the execution of Serberine's murderer, while +Lorenzo poses to the wretch as his friend with promises of pardon. +Pedringano consequently is beguiled to death. Lorenzo is now at ease, +and enlarges his sister's liberty. The suggestion of a political +marriage between her and Balthazar is warmly supported by the king. +Alone among the courtiers Hieronimo is plunged in unabated grief, +uncertain where to seek revenge. By good fortune Pedringano, before his +trial, wrote a confession, which the hangman finds and delivers to the +Marshal. This corroborates the statement of Bell'-Imperia. Yet it brings +small comfort, as it seems impossible to strike so high as at Lorenzo +and Balthazar. In his despair Hieronimo contemplates suicide, until he +remembers that the act would leave the murderers unpunished. He cries +aloud before the king for justice, digs frantically into the earth with +his dagger in mad excess of misery, then hurries away without telling +his wrong. He haunts his garden at night-time; and in the silence of +that darkness at last hits upon a scheme: under the appearance of +quietness and simplicity he will return to Lorenzo's society, awaiting +his time to strike. As if to soothe him with the thought that his griefs +are shared by others, chance brings before him one, Bazulto, an old man +also bereaved of his son by murder. The reminder, however, is too sharp: +Hieronimo becomes temporarily mad, mistaking Bazulto for Horatio and +uttering pathetic laments over the change that has passed over his +youthful beauty. + + Sweet boy, how art thou chang'd in death's black shade! + Had Proserpine no pity on thy youth, + But suffer'd thy fair crimson-colour'd spring + With withered winter to be blasted thus? + Horatio, thou art older than thy father. + +When the fit passes, he and Bazulto go off together, one in their +misery. But the guileful scheme is not forgotten. Some one has observed +the strained relations between the Marshal and Lorenzo: Lorenzo's father +insists on a reconciliation, and Hieronimo cordially agrees. Even when +the final ratification is given to Bell'-Imperia's marriage with +Balthazar, Hieronimo is all smiles and acquiescence. He is willing to +heighten the festivities with a play. Lorenzo, Balthazar, Bell'-Imperia +and himself are to be the actors, though two of them demur at first at +the choice of a tragedy. Still Lorenzo suspects no harm, for he is not +present at the interview between the girl and the old man, in which she +denounces his apparently weakening thirst for revenge, only to learn the +secret of that gentle exterior. Unhappily, the delay of justice has +preyed too grievously upon the mind of Isabella. There have been moments +when she ran frantic. In a final throe of madness, having hacked down +the fatal tree, she thrusts the knife into her own breast. The great day +comes, and before the Viceroy of Portugal (father of Balthazar), the +Spanish king, the Duke of Castile, and their train, Hieronimo's tragedy +is acted. Real daggers, however, have been substituted for wooden ones. +As the play proceeds, Bell'-Imperia kills Balthazar and herself, while +Hieronimo slays Lorenzo. The only one left alive, Hieronimo, now +explains the terrible realism behind all this seeming. Castile and the +Viceroy learn that their children are dead, two of them killed to +revenge the murder of Horatio. The drawing aside of the curtain at the +back of the stage reveals that youth's corpse, avenged at last. Horrible +scenes follow, Hieronimo being prevented from hanging himself as he +intended. But, desperate, he bites out his tongue, stabs the Duke of +Castile, and succeeds in killing himself. The Ghost of Andrea and +Revenge, who opened the play and served as chorus to three previous +acts, now close the play in triumph. + +We may omit from our consideration the additions to the original +supplied by Ben Jonson or some other dramatist of genius. These include +the famous 'Painter' episode, part of the scene where Hieronimo finds +his son's body hanging to a tree, his wonderful discourse to the 'two +Portingals' on the nature of a son, and a section of the last scene. The +strange hand is easily recognizable in the rugged irregularity and +forcefulness of the lines. Attributable to it is the major portion of +Hieronimo's madness, which accordingly occupies but a small space in our +outline of the play. Structurally, the plot gains nothing by the +additions; indeed, the 'Painter' episode duplicates and thereby weakens +the effect of the conversation between Hieronimo and Bazulto. +Nevertheless we will venture to quote a few lines from the speech to the +Portingals, inasmuch as they aptly describe the underlying principle of +the tragedy: + + Well, heaven is heaven still! + And there is Nemesis and furies, + And things call'd whips; + And they sometimes do meet with murderers: + They do not always escape, that's some comfort. + Ay, ay, ay, and then time steals on, and steals, and steals, + Till violence leaps forth, like thunder, wrapp'd + In a ball of fire, + And so doth bring confusion to them all. + +From the hour of Horatio's dastardly murder we wait for Nemesis to fall +upon the murderers. We see Lorenzo fortifying himself against detection; +we watch, while 'time steals on, and steals, and steals'; Isabella, +tired of waiting, kills herself; Hieronimo himself threatens to fail us, +so terrible are his sufferings; the crime seems forgotten by those who +committed it; its reward is about to drop into Balthazar's hands; and +then, at last, 'violence leaps forth, like thunder, ... and so doth +bring confusion to them all'. + +When we remember the date, as early as, or earlier than, Marlowe's +_Doctor Faustus_, we may be excused if we call _The Spanish Tragedy_ a +triumph of dramatic genius. Fully to appreciate its greatness we have +only to compare the plot with that of any preceding tragedy, or of any +play by Lyly, Greene, or Peele. In none of them shall we find anything +approaching the masterful grip upon its spectators, the appeal to their +sympathies, the alternation of fear and hope, the skilful subordination +of many incidents to one purpose, the absolute rightness yet horror of +the conclusion (the inset play), of Kyd's tragedy. It will repay us to +examine some of the details of its workmanship. + +The crisis begins, for the first time, to gravitate towards the centre +of the play. In Classical Drama tragedies open with the crisis. English +tragedies of the Senecan type tend to adopt the same practice: +_Gorboduc_ begins with Videna's report of the proposal to divide the +kingdom; _The Misfortunes of Arthur_ begins with the king's return, +referred to as imminent. Even the first scene of _Doctor Faustus_ +presents Faustus rejecting divinity for magic, while Mephistophilis +enters in the third scene. By delaying the crisis, however, two great +advantages are secured: the necessity of the catastrophe is more fully +recognized by the spectators; and their capacity for emotion is not +strained to the point of weariness before the last great scene is +reached. Yet the sense of tragedy must not be entirely absent from the +first part; otherwise the gravity of the crisis will come with too great +a shock. Kyd's purpose in introducing the Villuppo incident is here +discovered. He uses it with much skill as a counterbalance to the aspect +of the main plot. Thus, immediately after the apparent satisfaction of +the rival claims of Horatio and Lorenzo, he places the unsuspected +treachery of Villuppo to Alexandro, as if to warn us not to judge +merely from the surface: but when the wickedness of Lorenzo attains its +blackest moment in the murder of Horatio, he supplies a ray of hope by +the presentment of Villuppo's punishment, to let us know that justice +still reigns in the world. Further, the intense (though needless) grief +of the Viceroy over the supposed death of his son prepares us for the +agony of Hieronimo, while the narrow escape of the innocent Alexandro +excites our repugnance for hasty revenge and makes us sympathetically +tolerant of Hieronimo's equally extreme caution in ascertaining that +Lorenzo really is the murderer. We could wish, perhaps, that Kyd had +found material for these two scenes in the Spanish Court: the transition +to the Portuguese palace is a far and sudden flight. But his recognition +of the artistic need of such scenes is notable and sound. + +It is worth while to observe the close interweaving, the subtle irony +and contrasts, the perfect harmony of the details. We must review them +quite briefly. To illustrate the first, Pedringano's letter is not the +'wonderful discovery' that usually saves lost situations in weak novels: +it has been referred to by him as already written before the Page takes +Lorenzo's message, and its incriminating contents have been clearly +indicated; nothing, moreover, could be more in order than that it should +be found on him by the hangman and delivered to the judge who passed +sentence. Or again, the success of Hieronimo's masque in the first act +supplies the reason for Balthazar's request for a play at his wedding; +that last tragedy is not suggested fortuitously to accommodate some +previous scheme of Hieronimo's. The powerful nature of the meeting +between Hieronimo and Bazulto was recognized by that other writer who +added the 'Painter' episode in close imitation of it. But almost as +bitter in its irony is the position of Hieronimo as judge, executing +justice upon Serberine's murderer while his own son's murderers go scot +free. Grimly ironical, too, is Castile's satisfaction in the +reconciliation of Lorenzo and the Marshal, and grimmer and more ironical +still the request for the fatal play by Lorenzo and Balthazar +themselves, who of all men should most have shrunk from it. The most +critical element in the general harmony of the play is the character of +Bell'-Imperia. Kyd's women are his weak point, and this heroine is no +brilliant exception. We certainly do not fall in love with her. But his +sense of what is needed for the right tragic effect carries him through +successfully in essential matters. Were Bell'-Imperia weak, irresolute, +had she the feeble constancy of Massinger's or Heywood's famous +heroines, there would be a wrecking flaw in the accumulated, resistless +demand for revenge. As it is, her love for Horatio is passionate (though +lacking delicacy), her responses to Balthazar's advances are cold, and +her reproachful words to Hieronimo, for his delay in striking, proclaim +her entirely at one with him in his final action. The part played by +Isabella is also subordinated to the total effect. It may be questioned +whether her madness does not weaken by exaggeration the impression made +by Hieronimo's frenzy; but it must be remembered that her part was +provided before the additional mad scenes, the work of the later hand, +were included in the play. Kyd deliberately chose that her madness +should precede and prepare us for the madness of Hieronimo, and it must +be admitted that the interpolator's departure from this order has little +to be said in its favour. As the weaker character, Isabella should be +the first to collapse. Her frantic death, just before the 'play', +emphasizes the imperative necessity that the long postponement of +justice should be ended at last. With never failing watchfulness of his +audience Kyd softens the tension directly afterwards with a few light +touches on the staging and disguises required for the forthcoming +performance. Lastly, the choice of a court tragedy as the instrument of +Hieronimo's revenge is admirable alike for its naturalness and for +dramatic effect as a flashlight re-illumination of Lorenzo's and +Balthazar's crime in all its horror, in the very hour of their +punishment. Lorenzo, under the figure of Erastus, is forced to occupy +the position once held by Horatio; Hieronimo, for the time being, +becomes a second Lorenzo, abettor to the treacherous guest; thus Lorenzo +falls by the same fate that he visited upon Horatio. Balthazar plays his +own part under a new name; he is still the stranger basely seeking the +love given to another; but this time he meets the reward due to +treachery, slain by the hand of Bell'-Imperia.--The death of Hieronimo, +badly mismanaged, is the only real blot upon the artistry of the play. +It must be passed over with a sigh of regret, in the same way as we +accept, as inexplicable, the 'Out, vile jelly!' of _King Lear_. To seize +upon it as typical of the nature of the tragedy would be very unfair. + +Hieronimo is the great character of the play. Most of the others are +mere continuations, serviceable enough but without improvement, of those +in _Jeronimo_, Pedringano being a second edition of Lazarotto. But from +the outline sufficient may be gathered to make unnecessary a long +analysis of the author's new and greatest creation. We see in it +originality of conception; we are touched by its intense humanness and +by its inherent simplicity; but we are startled by its change, its +growth, under the influence of circumstances, to a certain subtle +complexity. All are great qualities, but the last is the greatest. +Growth, the reaction of events upon character--not the easily portrayed +action of character upon events--are the marks by which we recognize the +work of the master-artists in characterization. We can guess at the +tragic intensity of human sorrow from the difference between the +simple-minded little Marshal who acts as Master of the Revels in +arranging a 'show' and illustrates his reason for preferring Horatio's +claim to be Balthazar's captor by quaint parallels from some old fable, +and the arch-deceiver who can converse easily with the Duke of Castile +as he fixes up the curtain that is to conceal Horatio's corpse and be +the background to the murder of the duke's only son and daughter. +Hieronimo's smallest claim to greatness, yet a considerable one, is the +fact that he revealed to playwrights the strength and horror of madness +on the stage. Of the extent to which Shakespeare made use of this +character and certain scenes a reminder may be added. In _Hamlet_ is +found madness, assumed simplicity, delay in action, the invisible +influence of the supernatural, and sacrifice of the avenger's life in +the attainment of revenge, besides the ordinarily remembered adoption of +an inset play. _King Lear_, in the scene between the king and Edgar on +the heath, echoes the scene between Hieronimo and Bazulto. + +Humour is absent from the play, unless we extend the courtesy of that +name to the grim hoax (explained to us by a chuckling page, who +thoroughly enjoys his part in it) practised by Lorenzo upon Pedringano, +and the consequently mocking spirit of jest which pervades the hall of +judgment during the misguided wretch's trial. The pert confidence of the +prisoner, at the foot of the gallows, in the saving contents of a +certain box, which the audience knows to be empty, is dramatic irony in +its bitterest form. + +Hard words have been written about the horrible scenes in the play, as +though it were a huddled-up bundle of bloodshed and ghosts. Such a +conception is far from the truth. Horror is an element in almost all +powerful tragedies; it is hardly to be separated from any unexpected or +violent death. We reject it as monstrous only when its cause is the +product of a vile and unnatural motive, or of a motive criminally +insufficient to explain the impulse. What is repulsive in _Arden of +Feversham_, and in such recognized 'Tragedies of Blood' as have +Tourneur, Marston and Webster for their authors, is the utter +callousness of the murderers, and their base aims, or disgusting lack of +any reasonable excuse for their crimes. When D'Amville pushes his +brother over the edge of the quarry, or Antonio stabs the child Julio, +or Bosola heaps torments upon the Duchess of Malfi, we turn away with +loathing because the deed is either cruelly undeserved or utterly +unwarranted by the gain expected from it. Alice Arden's murder of her +husband is mainly detestable because her ulterior motive is detestable. +Again, the ghosts which Marston and Chapman give us are absurd creatures +of 'too, too solid flesh', who will sit on the bed to talk comfortably +to one, draw the curtains when one wishes to sleep, or play the scout +and call out in warning whenever danger threatens. Kyd does not serve up +crime and the supernatural world thus. He shows us terrible things, it +is true. But the causes are to be found deep down in the primary +impulses of man, in jealousy, in fear, in despair, in blood-revenge. +These impulses are not vile; our moral code does not cry out against +them as it does against lust, greed, and motiveless cruelty. When we +rise from the play it is not with a sense that we have moved amongst +base creatures. Lorenzo repels us; but it is Hieronimo who dominates the +stage, filling us with pity for his wrongs and weakness. The +supernatural remains outside nature, crude, as all stage +representations of it must be, but unobtrusive (and, in the prologue, +at least, thoroughly dignified), serving a useful purpose in keeping +before us the imminence of Nemesis biding its appointed hour. It is not +easy to suggest how better an insistence upon this lofty _motif_ could +have been maintained. + +If we now revert to our former statement of the essential elements of a +successful tragedy we find that each has been included and lifted to a +high level in Kyd's masterpiece. The catastrophe is not only +overwhelming but greatly just. The figure of Hieronimo has set a new +standard in characterization. Scene after scene stamps itself on our +memory. And the procrastinating evolution of the plot keeps us in fear, +in hope, in uncertainty to the last. If this estimate of the greatness +of the play seems exaggerated, we may fairly ask what other tragedy, +before its date, combines all four qualities in the same degree of +excellence. _Doctor Faustus_ and _The Jew of Malta_ contain far more +wonderful verse, and the former holds within it grander material for +tragedy, but as an example of tragic craftmanship _The Spanish Tragedy_ +is inferior to neither. It can be shown that both suffer very seriously +from the neglect of one or more of the four essentials which we have +named. + +It is only fair to the reader to add that entirely opposite views to +those set forth above have been expressed by other writers. Perhaps the +most slashing criticism of the play is that by Mr. Courthope.[64] + +It remains to illustrate Kyd's verse. In _The Spanish Tragedy_ it still +clings to the occasional use of rhyme, as in _Jeronimo_. Moreover it is +becoming, if anything, more restrained, less spontaneously natural. The +weight of tragedy seems to oppress the poetic inspiration, so that it +rarely ventures outside the limits of melancholy dignity or regulated +passion. Kyd's formalism is, unfortunately for him, magnified by its +contrast with the superb freedom of the interpolated passages. If we +resolutely shut our eyes to these patches of fierce irregularity, we +shall be better able to criticize the author's own work by the standard +of his contemporaries. The uncertainty of priority in time encourages a +comparison between Kyd and Marlowe. It is fairly clear that the former +was not much influenced by the latter, or he would have caught the taint +of rant and bombast which infected Greene and Peele. If, then, Kyd's +blank verse is an original development of the verse of _Gorboduc_ and +other Senecan plays, and if he is the author of _Jeronimo_--the verse of +which, as may have been seen from the quotations offered, is very much +freer than that of _The Spanish Tragedy_--he must share some of the +honour accorded to Marlowe as the father of dramatic blank verse. The +two men are not on the same level as poets. Marlowe's muse soars +repeatedly to heights which Kyd's can only reach at rare moments. +Nevertheless, a comparison of Kyd's better passages with those of +Sackville and Hughes will demonstrate how much blank verse might have +owed to his creative spirit had not Marlowe arisen at the same time to +eclipse him by his greater genius. Isolated extracts offer a poor +criterion, but the following--to be read in conjunction with those +selected from _Jeronimo_ and _Soliman and Perseda_--will help the reader +to form at least an idea of Kyd's originality and ability: + + (1) + + [ISABELLA _rejects all medicine for her grief._] + + _Isabella._ So that you say this herb will purge the eye, + And this the head. Ah, but none of them will purge the heart! + No, there's no medicine left for my disease, + Nor any physic to recure the dead. [_She runs lunatic._ + Horatio! O, where's Horatio? + + _Maid._ Good madam, affright not thus yourself + With outrage for your son Horatio; + He sleeps in quiet in the Elysian fields. + + _Isabella._ Why, did I not give you gowns and goodly things? + Bought you a whistle and a whipstalk[65] too, + To be revenged on their villanies? + + _Maid._ Madam, these humours do torment my soul. + + _Isabella._ My soul, poor soul; thou talk'st of things-- + Thou know'st not what: my soul hath silver wings, + That mount me up unto the highest heavens: + To heaven! ay, there sits my Horatio, + Back'd with a troop of fiery cherubims, + Dancing about his newly-healed wounds, + Singing sweet hymns, and chanting heavenly notes, + Rare harmony to greet his innocence, + That died, ay, died a mirror in our days. + But say, where shall I find the men, the murderers, + That slew Horatio? Whither shall I run + To find them out that murdered my son? [_Exeunt._ + + (2) + + [HIERONIMO, _recovering his mental balance, perceives that_ BAZULTO + _is not his son._] + + Ay, now I know thee, now thou nam'st thy son: + Thou art the lively image of my grief; + Within thy face my sorrows I may see: + Thy eyes are gumm'd with tears, thy cheeks are wan, + Thy forehead troubled, and thy muttering lips + Murmur sad words abruptly broken off; + By force of windy sighs thy spirit breathes; + And all this sorrow riseth for thy son. + And selfsame sorrow feel I for my son. + Come in, old man, thou shalt to Isabel; + Lean on my arm; I thee, thou me, shalt stay; + And thou and I, and she, will sing a song, + Three parts in one, but all of discords fram'd.-- + Talk not of chords, but let us now be gone, + For with a cord Horatio was slain. + +_Soliman and Perseda_ invites little further attention than that which +one scene and one character alone demand. Its sharp descent from the +tremendous force of _The Spanish Tragedy_ is, however, slightly redeemed +by the poetic warmth of its love passages. Love is the motive of the +plot. Apart from that it sins unforgivably against probability, good +taste, reason, and justice. Its reckless distribution of death is such +that every one of the fourteen named characters come to a violent end, +besides numerous nameless wretches referred to generically as witnesses +or executioners. Nor is any attempt made to show just cause for their +destruction. We could almost deny that the author of the previous +tragedy had any hand in this play, did we not know, on the authority of +his own signature, that the same author thought it worth his labour to +translate _Cornélie_ for the English stage. The fact was that dramatists +had not yet the courage always to place their own artistic inclinations +above the need of gratifying an unformed public taste, so that the same +man may be found composing plays of widely differing natures for, +presumably, different audiences. + +The single character deserving mention is the boastful knight, +Basilisco, whose incredible vaunts and invariable preference for the +very freest of blank verse, in a play almost entirely exempt from +either, read like an intentional burlesque of _Tamburlaine_. If so, and +the suggestion is not ill-founded or improbable, it may be interpreted +as an emphatic rejection of the influence of Marlowe and as a claim, on +Kyd's part, to sole credit for his own form of tragedy and blank verse. + +The only scene of conspicuous merit is that in which the Turkish +Emperor, Soliman, attempts to kill his fair captive, Perseda, for +rejecting his love, but is overcome by her beauty. It is quite short, +but is handled with power and embellished with touches of delicate +poetry. The best of it may be quoted here, together with a specimen of +the Basilisco burlesque. + + (1) + + [SOLIMAN'S BASHAW _brings to him the two fairest captives from + Rhodes._] + + _Soliman._ This present pleaseth more than all the rest; + And, were their garments turn'd from black to white, + I should have deem'd them Juno's goodly swans, + Or Venus' milkwhite doves, so mild they are, + And so adorn'd with beauty's miracle. + Here, Brusor, this kind turtle shall be thine; + Take her, and use her at thy pleasure. + But this kind turtle is for Soliman, + That her captivity may turn to bliss. + Fair looks, resembling Phoebus' radiant beams; + Smooth forehead, like the table of high Jove; + Small pencill'd eyebrows, like two glorious rainbows; + Quick lamplike eyes, like heav'n's two brightest orbs; + Lips of pure coral, breathing ambrosy; + Cheeks, where the rose and lily are in combat; + Neck whiter than the snowy Apennines: + A sweeter creature nature never made; + Love never tainted Soliman till now. + + . . . . . . . . . + + [PERSEDA, _however, will not yield to his amorous proposals._] + + _Soliman._ Then kneel thee down, + And at my hands receive the stroke of death, + Doom'd to thyself by thine own wilfulness. + + _Perseda._ Strike, strike; thy words pierce deeper than thy blows. + + _Soliman._ Brusor, hide her; for her looks withhold me. + + [_Then_ BRUSOR _hides her with a veil._] + + O Brusor, thou hast not hid her lips; + For there sits Venus with Cupid on her knee, + And all the graces smiling round about her, + So craving pardon, that I cannot strike. + + _Brusor._ Her face is cover'd over quite, my lord. + + _Soliman._ Why, so. O Brusor, seest thou not + Her milkwhite neck, that alabaster tower? + 'Twill break the edge of my keen scimitar, + And pieces, flying back, will wound myself. + + _Brusor._ Now she is all covered, my lord. + + _Soliman._ Why, now at last she dies. + + _Perseda._ O Christ, receive my soul! + + _Soliman._ Hark, Brusor; she calls on Christ: + I will not send her to him. Her words are music, + The selfsame music that in ancient days + Brought Alexander from war to banqueting, + And made him fall from skirmishing to kissing. + No, my dear love would not let me kill thee, + Though majesty would turn desire to wrath: + There lies my sword, humbled at thy feet; + And I myself, that govern many kings, + Entreat a pardon for my rash misdeed. + + (2) + + [BASILISCO _is asked to declare his country and past + achievements._] + + _Basilisco_. Sooth to say, the earth is my country, + As the air to the fowl or the marine moisture + To the red-gill'd fish. I repute myself no coward, + For humility shall mount; I keep no table + To character my fore passed conflicts. + As I remember, there happened a sore drought + In some part of Belgia, that the juicy grass + Was sear'd with the Sun-God's element. + I held it policy to put the men-children + Of that climate to the sword, + That the mother's tears might relieve the parched earth: + The men died, the women wept, and the grass grew; + Else had my Friesland horse perished, + Whose loss would have more grieved me + Than the ruin of that whole country. + + * * * * * + +Christopher Marlowe, the greatest of all the University Wits, has been +reserved to the last because in his work we rise nearest to the +excellence of Shakespearian drama. By the inexhaustible force of his +poetic genius he created literature for all time. We read the plays of +his contemporaries chiefly for their antiquarian interest; we are +pleased to discover in them the first beginnings of many features +popular in later productions; one or two appeal to us by their own +beauty or strength, but the majority are remembered only for their +relationship to greater plays. This is not so with Marlowe's works. +Having once been so fortunate as to have had our attention directed to +them, we return again and again for the sheer joy of reading his +glorious outbursts of poetry, of being thrilled with the intensity of +his greater scenes. + +Marlowe placed upon the stage men who live intensely, terrible men, for +the most part, endued with surpassing power for good or evil. Around +them he grouped hostile, enchaining circumstances, which they confront +fearlessly and, for a time perhaps, master, until the hour comes when +they can no longer conquer. Their lips he touched with a live coal from +the altar of his muse, so that their words fire the heart with their +flaming zeal or sear it with their despair. In the dramas of Peele we +lamented the weakness of his characters, his inability to provide a +dominant central figure for his action; we also saw how something of the +same weakness softened his verse almost to effeminacy. Greene drew the +outline of his characters more strongly. But Marlowe alone possessed +the power, in its fullest degree, of projecting himself into his chief +character, of filling it with his own driving force, his own boundless +imagination, his own consuming passion and profound capacity for gloomy +emotion. Each of his first three plays--counting the two parts of +_Tamburlaine_ as one play--is wholly given up to the presentment of one +man; his tongue speaks on nearly every page, his purpose is the +mainspring of almost every action; by mere bulk he fills our mental view +as we read, and by the fervour, the poetry of his language, he burns the +impression of himself upon our memory. It is not by what they do that we +remember Marlowe's heroes or villains. Their deeds probably fade into +indistinctness. Few of us quite remember what were Tamburlaine's +conquests, or Faustus's wonder-workings, or Barabas's crimes. But we +know that if we would recall a mighty conqueror our recollections will +revive the image of the Scythian shepherd; if we would picture a soul +delivered over to the torments of the lost there will rush back upon us +that terrible outcry of Faustus when the fatal hour is come; if we would +imagine the feelings of one for whom wealth is the joy, the meaning, the +whole of life, we shall recite one of the speeches of Barabas. + +Marlowe masters us by his poetry, and is lifted by it above his fellows, +reaching to the pedestal on which Shakespeare stands alone. It is an +astonishing thing to pass from the dramas which occupied our attention +in the previous chapter to one of Marlowe's, and then realize that his +were written first. Whereas before it was a matter of difficulty to find +passages beautiful enough to quote, it now becomes a problem to select +the best. It has been said, indeed, that he is too poetical for a +dramatist, but a very little consideration of the plays of Shakespeare +will tell us how much the greatest dramatic productions owe to poetry. +When, therefore, we say that Marlowe's greatness as a dramatist depends +on his poetry, that outside his poetry his best known work reveals +almost every kind of weakness, we have not denied his claim to be the +greatest of Shakespeare's predecessors. Into indifferent material poetry +can breathe that quickening flame without which the most dramatic +situations fail to satisfy. Marlowe had a supreme gift for creating +moments, sometimes extended to whole scenes; he had to learn, from +repeated failures, the art of creating plays. + +Essentially a man of tragic temperament, if we may venture to peer +through the printed page to the author, Marlowe lacked the sense of +humour. This has been cast up against him as a serious weakness; but it +is possible that just here lies the strength of his contribution to +drama. His work in literature was to set a standard in the portrayal of +deep emotions, and it may have been as well that the first models +(_Doctor Faustus_ excepted) should not be weakened by apparent +inconsistencies. + +The list of Marlowe's dramas is as follows: The First and Second Parts +of _Tamburlaine_ (possibly before 1587), _Doctor Faustus_ (1588), _The +Jew of Malta_ (? 1588-90), _The Massacre at Paris_ (about 1590), _Edward +the Second_ (about 1590), _Dido, Queen of Carthage_ (printed 1549). +Fortunately for the reader, he can now obtain a volume containing all +these plays in one of the cheap modern editions of the English classics. +There will, therefore, be no attempt here to provide the details of +plots with which every student of drama is doubtless well acquainted. A +limited number of quotations, however, are supplied for the pleasure of +the reader. + +The First and Second Parts of _Tamburlaine the Great_ may be discussed +together, although they did not appear together, the second owing its +existence to the immediate success of the first. Nevertheless there is +such unbroken continuity in their representation of the career of the +hero, and their style is so uniform, that it will be more convenient to +refer to them conjointly under the one title. Reference has already been +made to this famous production in the early portion of our discussion of +Greene's work. The reader will recall what was said there of its +contents, its popularity and influence, and of the meaning of the term +Marlowesque, an adjective referring more directly to _Tamburlaine_ than +to any other of Marlowe's plays. It is in this play that our ears are +dinned almost beyond sufferance by the poet's 'high astounding terms', +that the hero most nearly 'with his uplifted forehead strikes the sky': +incredible victories are won, the vilest cruelties practised; vast +empires are shaken to their foundations, kings are overthrown and new +ones crowned as easily as the wish is expressed; everywhere pride calls +unto pride with the noise of its boastings. There is no plot, unless we +give that name to a succession of battles, pageants and camp scenes. +There is not the least attempt at characterization: in their glorious +moments Bajazeth, the Soldan of Egypt, Orcanes are indistinguishable +from the Scythian shepherd himself. The popularity of _Tamburlaine_ was +not won by fine touches, but by spectacular magnificence, by the pomp +and excitement of war, and by the thrills of responsive pride and +boastfulness awakened in the hearers by the convincing magniloquence of +the speeches. This was possibly the first appearance upon the public +stage of matured drama as opposed to the moralities and interludes. +Udall and Still wrote for school and college audiences; Sackville, +Edwards, Hughes and their compeers presented their plays at court; so +did Lyly; and it was there that _The Arraignment of Paris_ was acted. +But Marlowe, like Kyd, laid his work before a larger, more +unsophisticated audience, unrolling before its astonished gaze the full +sweep of a five act play, crowded with warriors, headlong in its changes +of fortune, and irresistible in its 'drum and trumpet' appeal to man's +fighting instincts. From men of humble birth, in that age of adventure +and romance, the victorious career of the Scythian shepherd won instant +applause; with him they too seemed to rise; they shared in his glory, +exulted with him in the chariot drawn by kings, forgave his savage +massacres, and echoed his vaunts. + +Yet there is something beyond all this, which has a lasting value, and +appeals to the modern world as it appealed to Elizabethan England. +Through the smoke of 'frantic boast and foolish word' may be discerned +the fiery core of an idealized human grandeur. Breathing the +intoxicating air of the Renaissance, Marlowe conceives man equal to his +loftiest ideals, able to climb to the highest point of his thoughts. +Choosing imperial conquest as the most striking theme he bids the +shepherd aim at a throne, then bears him on the wings of unwavering +resolution straight to his goal. The creation of Tamburlaine is the +apotheosis of man on the earth. In such words as these does the +conqueror announce his equality with the gods: + + The god of war resigns his room to me, + Meaning to make me general of the world: + Jove, viewing me in arms, looks pale and wan, + Fearing my power should pull him from his throne. + +These are wild words, chosen from a passage of ridiculous bombast. But +the author, magnificent in his optimism, believed in the thought beneath +the imagery. The same idea in different guises proclaims itself aloud +throughout the play. Sometimes it chooses simple language, sometimes it +is clothed in expressions of noble dignity, most often it hurls itself +abroad in foaming rant. But everywhere the message is the same, that +man's power is equal to the achievement of the aspiration planted within +his breast, and that, to realize himself, he must follow it, with +undivided effort, until it is reached. Tamburlaine, contemplating the +possibility of kingship, says, + + Why, then, Casane, shall we wish for aught + The world affords in greatest novelty, + And rest attemptless, faint, and destitute? + Methinks we should not. + +Two scenes later, in the hour of triumph, he utters these fine lines, +which may be accepted as Marlowe's most deliberate statement of his +message: + + Nature, that framed us of four elements + Warring within our breasts for regiment,[66] + Doth teach us all to have aspiring minds: + Our souls, whose faculties can comprehend + The wondrous architecture of the world, + And measure every wandering planet's course, + Still climbing after knowledge infinite, + And always moving as the restless spheres, + Will us to wear ourselves, and never rest, + Until we reach the ripest fruit of all, + That perfect bliss and sole felicity, + The sweet fruition of an earthly crown. + +We have used the extreme superlative, but in reality a point just below +it should have been struck. For the dramatist, sending his imagination +beyond earth to heaven, reserves one peak unscalable in the ascent of +man towards the summit of his aspirations. + +There is one potentate whom even Tamburlaine cannot overcome--Death. +Zenocrate dies, nor will 'cavalieros higher than the clouds', nor +cannon to 'batter the shining palace of the sun, and shiver all the +starry firmament', restore her. Tamburlaine himself must die, defiantly, +it may be, yielding nothing through cowardice, but as certainly as time +must pass and age must come. Techelles seeks to encourage him with the +hope that his illness will not last. But he brushes the deception aside +with scorn. + + Not last, Techelles! no, for I shall die. + See where my slave, the ugly monster Death, + Shaking and quivering, pale and wan for fear, + Stands aiming at me with his murdering dart, + Who flies away at every glance I give, + And, when I look away, comes stealing on!-- + Villain, away, and hie thee to the field! + I and mine army come to load thy back + With souls of thousand mangled carcasses.-- + Look, where he goes! but see, he comes again + Because I stay! + +When we consider _Doctor Faustus_ we shall see the same thought. In +electing to follow his desires to the uttermost Faustus reaps the reward +but also incurs the punishment of all who choose the upper road of +complete self-expression. He approaches the last gate, confident that +his strength will suffice to open it; he finds it locked and keyless. In +that hour of bitter disappointment that which is withheld seems more +desirable than the total of all that has preceded it. + +The dramatic greatness of _Tamburlaine_ lies in the perfect harmony of +the central figure with the general purpose of the play. Marlowe sought +to present a world conqueror and he creates no less a man. Outwardly the +shepherd is formed in a mould of strength and grace; his countenance +might serve as a model for a bust of Achilles. Inwardly his mind is full +of towering ambition, supported by courage and inflexible resolution. +Those who meet him are profoundly impressed with a sense of his power. +Theridamas murmurs in awe to himself, 'His looks do menace heaven and +dare the gods.' Menaphon reports, 'His lofty brows in folds do figure +death.' Cosroe describes him as 'His fortune's master and the king of +men.' His own speeches and actions reveal no unsuspected flaw, no +unworthy weakness; rather they almost defeat their own purpose by their +exaggeration of his greatness. It would be possible to show by numerous +quotations how Marlowe has everywhere selected epithets and imagery of +magnitude to enhance the impressiveness of his hero in proportion to his +astounding achievements. We will be content with only one more. It +describes Tamburlaine's attitude towards those that resist him, and, by +its slow, measured intensification of colour to a terrible climax, +forces home resistlessly the suggestion of invincible power and +relentlessness. + + The first day when he pitcheth down his tents, + White is their hue, and on his silver crest + A snowy feather spangled-white he bears, + To signify the mildness of his mind, + That, satiate with spoil, refuseth blood: + But, when Aurora mounts the second time, + As red as scarlet is his furniture; + Then must his kindled wrath be quenched with blood, + Not sparing any that can manage arms: + But, if these threats move not submission, + Black are his colours, black pavilion; + His spear, his shield, his horse, his armour, plumes + And jetty feathers menace death and hell; + Without respect of sex, degree or age, + He razeth all his foes with fire and sword. + +Much has been said of Marlowe's poetry. His originality in the use of +blank verse has probably been over-estimated. Quite good blank verse had +been used in drama some years before his plays were written. +_Gorboduc_, the 1572 version of _Tancred and Gismunda_, and at least two +long speeches in _The Arraignment of Paris_ arise in one's mind as +containing very creditable examples of it. Moreover it would be wrong to +suppose that this earlier blank verse was always stilted and cut up into +end-stopt lines and unrhymed couplets. True, the overflow of one line +into another was not common, but neither is it so in _Tamburlaine_. +Marlowe accepts the end-stopt line almost as naturally as did his +predecessors. Overflow may be found in _Gorboduc_. The following passage +from _Tancred and Gismunda_ is worth quoting to show how far liberty in +this respect had been recognized by 1572. + + [TANCRED _protests against any second marriage of his young widowed + daughter_, GISMUNDA.] + + Sister, I say, ... + Forbear, and wade no farther in this speech. + Your words are wounds. I very well perceive + The purpose of this smooth oration: + This I suspected, when you first began + This fair discourse with us. Is this the end + Of all our hopes, that we have promised + Unto ourself by this her widowhood? + Would our dear daughter, would our only joy, + Would she forsake us? would she leave us now, + Before she hath clos'd up our dying eyes, + And with her tears bewail'd our funeral? + No other solace doth her father crave + But, whilst the fates maintain his dying life, + Her healthful presence gladsome to his soul, + Which rather than he willing would forego, + His heart desires the bitter taste of death. + +If the reader will refer to the extract from Diana's speech he will see +how completely free Peele was from any inherited bondage of the couplet +measure. It is not easy to define exactly what Marlowe did give to blank +verse. His famous Prologue to the First Part of _Tamburlaine_ makes it +quite clear that the general public were indebted to him for the +introduction of blank verse upon their unpolished stage, it having +previously been heard only at court or at the universities. But while +this attempt on his part to displace the 'jigging veins of rhyming +mother-wits' by the mere roll and crash of his 'high astounding terms' +was a courageous step, it cannot be counted for originality in the +development of the verse itself. Two features of his verse, however, are +original and of his own creation. The first, its conversational ease and +freedom, will be found more perfectly developed in _Doctor Faustus_ and +the later tragedies. Tamburlaine and the other mighty kings, emperors +and captains have little skill in converse; when they speak they orate. +This is true of the speeches in the earlier plays. Peele's are long +monologues, and when Sackville's or Wilmot's characters discourse it is +in the fashion of a set debate. Faustus and Mephistophilis, on the other +hand, meet in real conversation, and it is in their question and answer +that the flexibility and naturalness of blank verse are shown to +advantage for the first time by Marlowe. The second feature is the +infusion of pure poetry into drama. Hitherto the opinion seems to have +held that dramatic verse must keep as close to prose as possible in +order to combine the grace of rhythm with the solid commonsense of +ordinary human speech. Nothing illustrates this more remarkably than a +comparison of Sackville's poetry in his Induction to the _Mirror for +Magistrates_ with his verse in _Gorboduc_. We have remarked before on +the tendency of all Senecan dramas to sententiousness and argument, than +which nothing could be less poetical. The poetry of _The Arraignment of +Paris_, again, is more lyrical than dramatic, harmonizing with the +general approximation of that play to the nature of a masque. Marlowe +was the first to demonstrate that imagination could riot madly in a +wealth of imagery, or soar far above the realms of logic and cold +philosophy to summon beautiful and terrible pictures out of the +cloud-land of fancy, without losing hold upon earth and the language of +mortals. He knew that the unspoken language of the impassioned heart is +charged with poetry, however the formality of utterance, the fear of +derision and the unreadiness of our vocabulary may freeze its expression +on our lips; and he trusted to the hearts of his hearers to understand +and appreciate the intense humanness of the feelings that forced +themselves to the surface in that form. Nor was he mistaken. His +'raptures' are more truly natural, more sympathetic and truthful +expressions of human emotion than the most stately and reasonable +declamations of those earlier writers who clung to what they believed to +be natural. Often quoted as it has been, Drayton's eulogy of Marlowe may +be quoted again--it merits a place in every discussion of Marlowe's +verse--as the finest appreciation of his poetry. + + Next Marlowe, bathed in the Thespian springs, + Had in him those brave translunary things + That the first poets had; his raptures were + All air and fire, which made his verses clear; + For that fine madness still he did retain, + Which rightly should possess a poet's brain. + + (_An Elegy: Of Poets and Poesie._) + +From _Tamburlaine_ one could extract passages to illustrate Marlowe's +fondness for classical allusions, his use--Miltonic, if we may +anticipate the term--of the sonorous effect of names, his introduction +of sustained similes, his trick of repeating a sound at intervals (a +trick borrowed by Greene later), his habit of letting a speaker refer to +himself in the third person (Tamburlaine loves to boast the greatness of +Tamburlaine), and his occasional slovenliness, especially in the +insertion of a few lines of prose into the midst of his verse. All these +and others are minor features which the student will search out for +himself. Some of them, however, may be detected in the following excerpt +from the Second Part: + + [TAMBURLAINE _is in his chariot drawn by captive kings._ TECHELLES + _has just urged that the armies should hasten to the siege of + Babylon._] + + _Tamburlaine._ We will, Techelles.--Forward, then, ye jades! + Now crouch, ye kings of greatest Asia, + And tremble, when ye hear this scourge will come + That whips down cities and controlleth crowns, + Adding their wealth and treasure to my store. + The Euxine sea, north to Natolia; + The Terrene, west; the Caspian, north north-east; + And on the south, Sinus Arabicus; + Shall all be loaden with the martial spoils + We will convey with us to Persia. + Then shall my native city, Samarcanda, + And crystal waves of fresh Jaertis' stream, + The pride and beauty of her princely seat, + Be famous through the furthest continents; + For there my palace royal shall be placed, + Whose shining turrets shall dismay the heavens, + And cast the fame of Ilion's tower to hell: + Thorough the streets, with troops of conquered kings, + I'll ride in golden armour like the sun; + And in my helm a triple plume shall spring, + Spangled with diamonds, dancing in the air, + To note me emperor of the three-fold world; + Like to an almond tree y-mounted high + Upon the lofty and celestial mount + Of ever-green Selinus, quaintly decked + With blooms more white than Erycina's brows, + Whose tender blossoms tremble every one + At every little breath that thorough heaven is blown. + Then in my coach, like Saturn's royal son + Mounted his shining chariot gilt with fire + And drawn with princely eagles through the path + Paved with bright crystal and enchased with stars, + When all the gods stand gazing at his pomp, + So will I ride through Samarcanda-streets, + Until my soul, dissevered from this flesh, + Shall mount the milk-white way and meet him there. + To Babylon, my lords, to Babylon! + +_The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus_ sets forth the well-known story +of the man who sold his soul to the devil in return for complete +gratification of his desires during his life on earth. Something of its +fame is due to its association, through its main plot, with Goethe's +masterpiece; something may be attributed to the fascination of its +theme; something must be granted to the terrible force of one or two +scenes. It is hard to believe that its own artistic and dramatic +qualities could have secured unaided the reputation which it appears to +possess among some critics. More even than _Tamburlaine_, this play +hangs upon one central figure. There is no Bajazeth, no Soldan, no +Orcanes, no Zenocrate to help to bear the weight of impressiveness. The +low characters, who are intended to be humorous, drag the plot down +instead of buoying it up. Other figures are hardly more than dummies, +unable to excite the smallest interest. Mephistophilis deserves our +notice, but his is a shadowy outline removed from humanity. One figure +alone stands forth to hold and justify our attention; and he proves +himself unfit for the task. Those who insist on tracing one guiding +principle in all Marlowe's plays have declared that Faustus is the +personification of 'thirst for knowledge' or of 'intellectual _virtù_', +just as Tamburlaine personifies, for them, the 'thirst for power' or +'physical _virtù_'. Surely, if this is so, Marlowe has failed absolutely +in his presentment of the character; in which case the play may be +condemned out of hand, seeing that the character of Faustus is its all +in all. But the more we study Marlowe's other principal figures, the +more convinced we become of his absorption in them while they are in the +making. With Tamburlaine he himself grows terrible and glorious; the +spirit of pride and conquest colours every phrase, speech and +description, so that, as we have pointed out, the character of +Tamburlaine is masterfully consistent and attuned to the purpose of the +play. It is better, then, to examine the character of Faustus, as +revealed in his desires, requests, and prominent actions, and thence +educe the purpose of the play, than, by deciding upon this purpose, to +discover that the central figure is in continual discord with it. + +Faustus is introduced to us by the Chorus at the commencement of the +play as a scholar of repute, 'glutted now with learning's golden gifts,' +and about to turn aside to the study of necromancy. Accordingly he +appears in his study rejecting logic as no end in itself, law as +servile, medicine because he has exhausted its possible limits, divinity +because it tells him that the reward of sin is death. Upon sin his mind +is set all the time, so that the reminder from Jerome's Bible annoys +him. He flings the book aside because it warns him of what he affects to +disbelieve and would be glad to forget. Magic wins him by its unknown +possibilities 'of profit and delight, of power, of honour, and +omnipotence'. + +Lest we should suppose that his choice has anything heroic in it, that +he is deliberately accepting a terrible debt of eternal torment in +exchange for what necromancy can give, we are informed that he has no +belief in hell or future pain, that to him men's souls are trifles. Deep +down in his conscience he has a fear of 'damnation', which only makes +itself felt, however, in unexalted moments. Such thoughts are set aside +as 'mere old wives' tales' in the triumphant hour of his signing the +contract. + +With curiosity and longing, then, he enters unshudderingly into a +bargain that will give him what he seeks. We can readily discover, from +his own lips, what that is. He exults over the prospect of having +spirits to do his bidding: + + I'll have them fly to India for gold, + Ransack the ocean for orient pearl, + And search all corners of the new-found world + For pleasant fruits and princely delicates; + I'll have them read me strange philosophy, + And tell the secrets of all foreign kings. + +Many other things his fancy pictures. But we observe that philosophy +stands below wealth and feasting in his wishes. He dismisses +Mephistophilis back to Lucifer with this report of himself: + + Say, he surrenders up to him his soul, + So he will spare him four and twenty years, + Letting him live in all voluptuousness. + +For a moment his enthusiastic outlook upon limitless capacity wakens in +him a desire for military glory: he would be 'great emperor of the +world', he would 'pass the ocean with a band of men'. But from what we +know of his subsequent career he never attempted to win such renown. No; +in his heart he confesses, + + The god thou servest is thine own appetite. + +Mephistophilis, with a profound and melancholy insight into the reality +of things, sees hell in every place where heaven is not. Faustus, on the +other hand, with flippant superficiality laughs at the idea. An +intellectual, a moral hell is to him incomprehensible. + + Nay, an this be hell, I'll willingly be damned: + What! sleeping, eating, walking, and disputing! + But, leaving this, let me have a wife, + The fairest maid in Germany; + For I am wanton and lascivious, + And cannot live without a wife. + +Sometimes conscience forces him to listen to its fearful whispers, and +then suicide offers its dreadful means as a silencer of their disturbing +warnings. Why does he not accept the relief of rope or dagger? + + --Long ere this I should have done the deed, + Had not sweet pleasure conquered deep despair. + Have not I made blind Homer sing to me + Of Alexander's love and Oenon's death? + And hath not he, that built the walls of Thebes + With ravishing sound of his melodious harp, + Made music with my Mephistophilis? + Why should I die, then, or basely despair? + I am resolved; Faustus shall not repent. + +The mood of fear and regret passes. He plunges back to the gratification +of his senses. + + Whilst I am here on earth let me be cloyed + With all things that delight the heart of man: + My four-and-twenty years of liberty + I'll spend in pleasure and in dalliance. + +The end is drawing near. Appetite is becoming sated: rarer and rarer +delicacies are needed to satisfy his craving. Repentance!--that is +thrust aside, postponed to a later hour. + + One thing, good servant, let me crave of thee, + To glut the longing of my heart's desire-- + That I may have unto my paramour + That heavenly Helen which I saw of late, + Whose sweet embraces may extinguish clean + Those thoughts that do dissuade me from my vow. + +When at last the hour to fulfil his part of the contract arrives, he +confesses in bitterness of spirit, 'for the vain pleasure of +four-and-twenty years hath Faustus lost eternal joy and felicity.' + +This man is not one consumed with a thirst of knowledge. Once he asks +Mephistophilis a few questions on astrology; at another time he evinces +some curiosity concerning Lucifer and Hell, idle curiosity because he +regards it all as foolishness. We are _told_ of a journey through the +heavens and of voyages about the world, but we _see_ him exercising +his supernatural gifts in the most puerile and useless fashion. +It is impossible, therefore, to regard his ambition as a lust for +knowledge in the usual meaning of that term, differentiating it from +sensual experience. If Faustus is to be labelled according to his +dominant trait, then let us describe him as the embodiment of +sense-gratification. He is a sensualist from the moment that he takes up +the book of magic and ponders over what it may bring him. A degraded +form of him has been sketched in the Syriac scholar of a modern work of +fiction, who cherished, side by side with a world-wide reputation +for learning, a bestial appetite for profligacy. The message of +_Tamburlaine_ holds as true in the pursuit of pleasure as in that of +conquest. Faustus denies that there is a limit to pleasure, and the +horror of his career grows darker as his mounting desires bear him +further and further on, far beyond the reach of less eager minds, to +the impassable point whence he may only see the heaven beyond. That +point is the hell which once he laughed at as an old wives' tale. + +The weakness of _Doctor Faustus_ appears exactly where _Tamburlaine_ is +strongest. In spite of his prodigious boasting and his callous +indifference to suffering, Tamburlaine appeals to us most powerfully as +the right titanic figure for a world-conqueror; his soul is ever above +his body, looking beyond the victory of to-day to the greater conquests +of the future: there is nothing sordid or commonplace about him. +Unfortunately, though it is given to few of us to be conquerors, it is +possible for all of us to gratify our senses if we will. Tamburlaine +gathers golden fruit, Faustus plucks berries from the same bush as +ourselves: only, he must have them from the topmost boughs. The +following passage has probably never been surpassed in its magic +idealization of that which is essentially base and carnal: + + [_Enter_ HELEN, _passing over the stage between two_ CUPIDS.] + + _Faustus._ Was this the face that launched a thousand ships + And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?-- + Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.--[_Kisses her._] + Her lips suck forth my soul: see, where it flies!-- + Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again. + Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips, + And all is dross that is not Helena. + I will be Paris, and for love of thee, + Instead of Troy, shall Wittenberg be sacked; + And I will combat with weak Menelaus, + And wear thy colours on my plumed crest; + Yea, I will wound Achilles in the heel, + And then return to Helen for a kiss. + O, thou art fairer than the evening air + Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars; + Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter + When he appeared to hapless Semele; + More lovely than the monarch of the sky + In wanton Arethusa's azured arms; + And none but thou shalt be my paramour! + +Poetry such as this has power to blind us for a moment to the underlying +meaning: Faustus enjoys a temporary transfiguration. But Marlowe's muse +flags in the effort to sublimate dross. Such a character as Faustus is +unfitted to support tragedy. His creator inspires him with his own +Bohemian joy in mere pleasure, his own thirst for fresh sensations, his +own vehement disregard of restraint--a disregard which brought Marlowe +to a tragic and unworthy end. But, as if in mockery, he degrades him +with unmanly, ignoble qualities that excite our derision. His mind is +pleased with toys that would amuse a child: at the conclusion of an +almost incredibly trivial Show of the Seven Deadly Sins he exclaims, 'O, +how this sight doth delight my soul!' His practical jokes are unworthy +of a court jester. The congealing of his blood agitates his +superstitious mind far more than the terrible frankness of +Mephistophilis. Miserably mean-spirited, he seeks to propitiate the +wrath of the fiend by invoking his torments upon an old man whose +disinterested appeal momentarily quickened his conscience into revolt. +Finally, when we recall the words with which Tamburlaine faced death, +what contempt, despite the frightful anguish of the scene, is aroused by +Faustus's screams of terror at the approach of Lucifer to claim him as +his own! Instinctively we think of Byron's Manfred and his scorn of hell +and its furies. It is his cowardice that spoils the effect of the +backward glances and twinges of conscience, the intention of which has +been rightly praised by so many. Marlowe probably wished to represent +the strife of good and evil in a man's soul. Under other circumstances +it is fair to suppose that he would have achieved success, and so have +anticipated Goethe. But his Faustus moves on too low a level. Of a moral +sense, independent of the dread of punishment, he knows nothing. Four +times his Good Angel suggests to him a return to the right path; once an +Old Man warns him; twice Mephistophilis says that which might fairly +have bid him pause; twice, at least, his own conscience advises +repentance. Yet only on two occasions is there any real revolt, and then +only because his cowardice has been enlisted on the side of +righteousness by the sudden thought of the devils that will tear him in +pieces or of the hell that 'claims his right, and with a roaring voice +says, "Faustus, come".' In proof of this we see his hesitation scared +away by the greater terrors of a present devil, a Lucifer clothed in +horror, or a threatening Mephistophilis. In his vacillations we see, not +the noble conflict of good and evil impulses, but an ignoble tug-of-war +between timidity and appetite. + +If Faustus himself falls short of success as a tragic character, if his +aspirations are too mean, his qualities too contemptible to win our +sympathy save at rare moments of transcendent poetry, what shall be said +of the setting provided for the story of his career? Once more we are +offered the stale devices of the Moralities, the Good and Bad Angels, +the Devil, the Old Man (formerly known as Sage Counsel), the Seven +Deadly Sins, Heaven, Hell, and the carefully-pointed moral at the end. +Even the Senecan Chorus has been forced into service to tell us of +Faustus's early manhood and of the marvellous journeys taken in the +intervals. There are no acts, but that is not a great matter; they were +added later in the edition of 1616. What does matter very much is the +introduction of stupid scenes of low comedy into which Faustus is +dragged to play a common conjuror's part and which almost succeed in +shattering the impression of tragic intensity left by the few scenes +where poetry triumphs over facts. Here again, however, our criticism of +the author is softened by the knowledge that Dekker and Rowley made +undefined additions to the play, and may therefore be responsible for +the crudities of its humour. Nevertheless, even with this allowance, +Marlowe must be blamed for the utter incongruity of so many scenes with +high tragedy. The harmony which rules the construction of _Tamburlaine_, +giving it a lofty coherence and consistency, is lamentably absent from +_Doctor Faustus_. + +_Doctor Faustus_ is not a great play. Yet it will never be forgotten. +Though mismanaged, it has the elements of a tremendous tragedy. In +discerning the suitability of the Teutonic legend for this purpose +Marlowe showed a far truer understanding of what tragedy should be, of +the superior terrors of moral over material downfall, than he displayed +in his more successful later tragedy. + +Most of the poetry is of a less fiery kind, it flares less, than the +poetry of _Tamburlaine_. There is also more use of prose. But at least +two purple passages exist to give immortality to Faustus's passion and +despair. The first has already been quoted at length. The second is the +even more famous soliloquy, the terror-stricken outcry rather, of +Faustus in his last hour of life. With frightful realism it confirms the +fiend's scornful prophecy of a scene of 'desperate lunacy', when his +labouring brain will beget 'a world of idle fantasies to overreach the +devil, but all in vain'. + +Marlowe's adaptation of blank verse to natural conversation has been +spoken of as one of his contributions to the art of dramatic poetry. +The following passage illustrates this: + + [_The compact has just been signed._] + + _Meph._ Speak, Faustus; do you deliver this as your deed? + + _Faustus._ Ay, take it, and the devil give thee good of it! + + _Meph._ So, now, Faustus, ask me what thou wilt. + + _Faustus._ First I will question with thee about hell. + Tell me, where is the place that men call hell? + + _Meph._ Under the heavens. + + _Faustus._ Ay, so are all things else; but whereabouts? + + _Meph._ Within the bowels of these elements, + Where we are tortured and remain for ever. + Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed + In one self-place; but where we are is hell, + And where hell is, there must we ever be: + And, to be short, when all the world dissolves, + And every creature shall be purified, + All places shall be hell that are not heaven. + + _Faustus._ I think hell's a fable. + + _Meph._ Ay, think so still, till experience change thy mind. + + _Faustus._ Why, dost thou think that Faustus shall be damned? + + _Meph._ Ay, of necessity, for here's the scroll + In which thou hast given thy soul to Lucifer. + + _Faustus._ Ay, and body too; and what of that? + Thinkest thou that Faustus is so fond to imagine + That, after this life, there is any pain? + No, these are trifles and mere old wives' tales. + + _Meph._ But I am an instance to prove the contrary, + For I tell thee I am damned and now in hell. + + _Faustus._ Nay, an this be hell, I'll willingly be damned. + +_The Jew of Malta_ repeats the fundamental failure of _Doctor Faustus_, +but partially redeems it by avoiding its errors of construction. In this +play the dramatist has recovered his sense of harmony: he places his +central figure in circumstances that befit him, and maintains a +consistent balance between the strength of his character and the nature +of his deeds. The Jew does nothing that really jars on our conception of +him as a great villain. Nor in the minor scenes is there anything to +disturb the general impression of darkness. The gentleness of Abigail, +whose love and obedience alone draw her into the net of crime, only +makes her surroundings appear more cruel; while the introduction of the +Governor, the Grand Seignior's son, and a Vice-Admiral of Spain raises +the level of wickedness to something like dignified rank. Nevertheless, +the fact remains that the play is fundamentally unsound. True tragedy +should present more than a great change between the first and last +scenes; the change should be lamentable. We should feel that a much +better ending might, and would, have come but for the circumstance that +forms the crisis, or for other circumstances at the beginning of the +play. If we consider such tragic careers as those of Hamlet, Lear, +Macbeth and Othello we recognize that each might have come to a +different conclusion if it had not been for the blight of a father's +death or a single act of folly, of ambition or jealousy. These men all +excite our sympathy, especially Hamlet, whose tragedy is due not at all +to himself but to the overshadowing of another's crime. Macbeth and +Othello are each introduced as men of the noblest qualities, with one +flaw which events have not yet revealed. But Barabas the Jew is +deliberately painted as vile. We learn from his own lips of previous +villany atrocious enough in itself, without any of his subsequent +crimes, to justify his horrible fate. Moreover, he does not actually +lose his wealth. If that were all swept away we could understand +resentment boiling up into savage hate. But the truth is, he is so +little hurt financially that soon after the confiscation of his goods +he is able to say: + + In spite of these swine-eating Christians ... + Am I become as wealthy as I was. + They hoped my daughter would ha' been a nun; + But she's at home, and I have bought a house + As great and fair as is the governor's. + +Hence his action against the governor's son, Lodowick, is inexcusably +vindictive, quite apart from the vile share in it which he forces upon +his daughter. The nunnery crime, again, is monstrous in its gross +injustice to Abigail's constancy and in its Herodian comprehensiveness. +After this his other murders and intrigues seem more justified. The two +friars, his servant Ithamore and the rest can well be spared by any +exit; his betrayal of the town is not unreasonable, considering the +treatment meted out to him within it; and his proposed second treachery +is based on sound policy.--We may observe, in passing, that the +self-righteous governor takes no steps to prevent, by a timely warning, +the massacre of the enemy's soldiers, availing himself of the atrocity, +instead, to secure a victory for his side.--Consequently, when the final +doom does fall upon Barabas, we have begun to be vaguely doubtful +whether it is altogether deserved. Yet we feel that it is impossible to +let him live. Thus the conclusion, however horrible spectacularly, +neither excites pity for the Jew nor entirely satisfies justice. Barabas +is victimized by the governor at the beginning of the play; it seems +hardly fair that the two men should occupy the same relative positions +at the end. It may be urged that the early scenes do present Barabas as +meriting our pity, that our compassion does go out to him in his +oppression. But the sympathy that is won at first is falsely won by the +prominence given to his distress when he _fears_ all is lost: touched +by the pain caused by the governor's injustice, we almost overlook the +recovery effected by the Jew's cunning. + +If we look for passages of tragic intensity we find a splendid hope +weakening to dreary disappointment. The whole of the first act and the +opening scene of the second act ring true to tragedy. Nothing could be +better planned than the swift transition from the golden harvesting of +wealth to its confiscation by the state. The contrast, too, between the +dignified resistance of Barabas and the weak surrender of his companions +artistically emphasizes the former's splendid isolation. For the brief +scene in which the Jew, haunting the vicinity of the nunnery like +'ghosts that glide by night about the place where treasure hath been +hid', regains his bags of gold and precious jewels, no praise can be too +high. After that, however, the ennobling mantle of human sorrow and pain +falls away; the crimes that follow are hideous in their +nakedness--murders or massacres, nothing more. Not the least attempt is +made to enlist our sympathy for any one of the murdered, except Abigail. +If we are asked, then, to define the true nature of the play, we shall +call it not a tragedy proper, in the sense in which _Macbeth_ is a +tragedy, but rather a narrative play presenting the criminal career of a +villain acting under provocation. As has been well pointed out by Mr. +Baker in his _Development of Shakespeare_, there is a difference between +'the tragic' and 'tragedy'. We might describe _The Jew of Malta_ as a +tragic narrative play. + +In characterization Marlowe has made a distinct advance. With the +creation of Barabas he brings upon the stage a person of many commanding +qualities. The Jew is great in his own terrible way. He is far-seeing, +bold, subtle, relentless. He loves his daughter much, his gold +immeasurably. Tempests of emotion shake his frame when restraint is +thrown aside. But at need he can be calm and conciliatory in the face of +intense annoyance and blustering threats. In the hour of death he is own +brother to defiant Tamburlaine. The points of resemblance between him +and Shylock may be searched out by any curious student: the reality of +the likeness, scoffed at by a few whose admiration for Shakespeare is +inclined to prejudice their judgment, has been effectively demonstrated +by Professor Ward.[67] It would be an interesting exercise to pursue +Professor Ward's hint at the insincerity of the Jew's recital to +Ithamore of his early crimes. We might work back to an initial +conception of Barabas as an upright merchant, and so discover a real +tragedy in the moral downfall which results from the governor's +injustice. Such a point of view is attractive, and would raise the +character of the play considerably. But it has many obstacles in its +way, not the least being the Machiavellian prologue and the difficulty +of believing that any dramatist of the sixteenth century would wish, or +dare, to present to an English audience the picture of an honest, +ill-treated Jew. The confiscation which we regard as an injustice was +probably viewed in that day as an eminently sound and Christian act of +political economy. + +Leaving Abigail and Ithamore to the liking or loathing of readers of the +play, we hasten to conclude this discussion with examples of Marlowe's +verse. His poetry is once more the refining element, beautifying the +ugly, ennobling the mean, a vein of gold in the quartz. Having grown +more generous since the days of _Doctor Faustus_, the poet scatters gems +with lavish hand throughout the play. Rhymes begin to appear, as though +he scorned to seem dependent upon blank verse alone. Extensive as is +the choice, it is impossible, in fairness to those readers who have not +the play, to omit entirely the often-quoted opening scene of the second +act. After it, however, we quote a passage which, almost more than the +other, illustrates the purifying influence of the author's imagination: +the fact that it is partly in rhyme gives it an additional interest. + + (1) + + [BARABAS _wanders in the streets about his old home where his + treasure lies concealed._] + + _Barabas._ Thus, like the sad-presaging raven, that tolls + The sick man's passport in her hollow beak, + And in the shadow of the silent night + Doth shake contagion from her sable wings, + Vexed and tormented runs poor Barabas + With fatal curses towards these Christians. + The incertain pleasures of swift-footed time + Have ta'en their flight, and left me in despair; + And of my former riches rests no more + But bare remembrance; like a soldier's scar, + That has no further comfort for his maim.... + Now I remember those old women's words, + Who in my wealth would tell me winter's tales, + And speak of spirits and ghosts that glide by night + About the place where treasure hath been hid: + And now methinks that I am one of those; + For, whilst I live, here lives my soul's sole hope, + And, when I die, here shall my spirit walk. + + (2) + + [BELLAMIRA, _a courtesan, and_ ITHAMORE, _a cut-throat slave from + Thrace, are together._] + + _Bell._ Now, gentle Ithamore, lie in my lap.-- + Where are my maids? provide a cunning banquet; + Send to the merchant, bid him bring me silks; + Shall Ithamore, my love, go in such rags? + + _Ithamore._ And bid the jeweller come hither too. + + _Bell._ I have no husband; sweet, I'll marry thee. + + _Ithamore._ Content: but we will leave this paltry land, + And sail from hence to Greece, to lovely Greece;-- + I'll be thy Jason, thou my golden fleece;-- + Where painted carpets o'er the meads are hurled, + And Bacchus' vineyards overspread the world; + Where woods and forests go in goodly green;-- + I'll be Adonis, thou shalt be Love's Queen;-- + The meads, the orchards, and the primrose-lanes, + Instead of sedge and reed, bear sugar-canes: + Thou in those groves, by Dis above, + Shalt live with me and be my love. + + _Bell._ Whither will I not go with gentle Ithamore? + +_The Massacre at Paris_ is a poor play and therefore need not detain us +long. Its only interest is in its attempt to represent quite recent +events (1572-89). As a history play it manages to reproduce the French +atmosphere of distrust, rivalry, intrigue and indiscriminate massacre, +but at the expense of unity. The hurried succession of scenes leads us +blindly to an unexpected conclusion: from first almost to last no +indication is given that the consummation aimed at is the ascent of +Navarre to the throne of France. Rarely has the merely chronological +principle been adhered to with so little meaning. Navarre, whose +marriage opens the play and whose triumph closes it, might be expected +to figure largely as the upholder of Protestantism in opposition to +Guise; instead he is relegated to quite a subordinate part. Anjou, +again, the later opponent of Guise, makes a very belated bid for our +favour after displaying a brutality equal to his rival's in the +massacre. The author is careful to paint Catherine in truly inky +blackness. But the only character which we are likely to remember is the +Duke of Guise. Yet his portrait is of inferior workmanship. The murders +by which he tries to reach the throne are too treacherous to be ranked +in the grander scale of crime. Even the vastness of his organized +massacre is belittled for us by the stage presentment of individual +assassination in which Guise himself plays a butcher's part. Greatness +is more often attributed to outward aloofness and inactivity than to +busy participation in the execution of a plot. Moreover, it was a +tactical error to give prominence to the personal quarrel between Guise +and Mugeroun, for it dissipates upon a private matter the force which, +devoted to an exalted ambition, might have been impressive. However, +there are one or two touches which give a cold grandeur to this +character and seem half to anticipate the Mortimer of the next play. The +following lines are taken from the second scene of the first act--there +are only three acts altogether: + + _Guise._ Now Guise begins those deep-engendered thoughts + To burst abroad, those never-dying flames + Which cannot be extinguished but by blood. + Oft have I levelled, and at last have learned + That peril is the chiefest way to happiness, + And resolution honour's fairest aim. + What glory is there in a common good, + That hangs for every peasant to achieve? + That like I best, that flies beyond my reach. + Set me to scale the high Pyramides, + And thereon set the diadem of France; + I'll either rend it with my nails to naught, + Or mount the top with my aspiring wings, + Although my downfall be the deepest hell.... + Give me a look, that, when I bend the brows, + Pale death may walk in furrows of my face; + A hand that with a grasp may gripe the world; + An ear to hear what my detractors say; + A royal seat, a sceptre, and a crown; + That those which do behold them may become + As men that stand and gaze against the sun. + +_Edward the Second_ is undoubtedly Marlowe's masterpiece. It marks the +elevation of the Chronicle History Play to its highest possibilities, +and is, at the same time, a deeply moving tragedy. One wonders how Peele +could write the medley of incongruous and ill-connected scenes which we +know under the abbreviated title of _Edward the First_ after having once +seen his rival's 'history' acted. For the strength of Marlowe's play +lies in its concentration upon the figure of the king and its skilful +omission of details not dramatically helpful. If there were any balance +of advantage in the choice of subject one must feel that it did not lie +with the earlier writer, who was undertaking the extremely difficult +task of presenting an inglorious monarch sympathetically without +allowing him to appear contemptible. We can imagine how magnificently he +could have set forth the masterful career of Edward I. His courage in +attempting a character less congenial to his natural temperament +deserved the success it achieved. The Tamburlaine element is not +withheld; the fierce baron, young Mortimer, inherits that conqueror's +ambitious nature, and fully maintains the great traditions of strength, +pride and defiance. But Mortimer is only the second figure in order of +importance. Upon the king Marlowe pours all the fruits of his experience +in dramatic work. + +From the historical point of view the dramatist is signally successful +in making the men of the past live over again. His weak monarch is more +intensely human than any mightier, more kingly ruler would probably have +been in his hands. And the barons, in their haughtiness and easy +aptitude for revolt, are, to the life, the fierce men whose grandfathers +and fathers in turn fought against their sovereigns and whose +descendants fell in the fratricidal Wars of the Roses. Moreover the +chronicle of the reign is followed with reasonable accuracy, if we make +due allowance for dramatic requirements. It can hardly be said that the +author's representation of Edward is impartial: a kindly veil is drawn +over the lawlessness of his government and the disgrace brought upon +English arms by his military incapacity. But the political intrigue, the +friction between monarch and subjects, the helplessness of the king to +enforce his wishes, are all brought back vividly. + +However, it is Marlowe's adaptation of a historical subject to a loftier +purpose than the mere renewal of the past which gives real greatness to +the play. Here at last his work attains to the full stature and noble +harmony of a tragedy, not on the highest level, it is true, but +dignified and moving. The catastrophe is physical, not moral, and thus +the play lacks the awful horror half-revealed in _Doctor Faustus_. But +whereas the latter, reaching after the greatest things, falls short of +success, _Edward the Second_, content with less, easily secures a first +place in the second rank. + +By a neat device we are introduced, at the outset, to the king, his +favourite, and the fatal choice from which springs all the misery of the +reign. For the opening lines, spoken by Gaveston himself, are no less +than the royal message bidding him return to 'share the kingdom' with +his friend. From that point the first portion of the play easily +unfolds: it deals with the strife, the brief triumphs and the bitter +defeats which fill the eventful period of this ill-starred friendship. +The actual crisis falls within the third act: it is marked by the murder +of Gaveston and the resolution of the king at last to offer armed +resistance to the tyranny of the barons. The oath by which he seals his +decision is royally impressive. + + [_Kneeling_] By earth, the common mother of us all, + By heaven, and all the moving orbs thereof, + By this right hand, and by my father's sword, + And all the honours 'longing to my crown, + I will have heads and lives for him as many + As I have manors, castles, towns and towers! + +From that oath is born the catastrophe that immediately ensues. A +temporary victory, followed up by revengeful executions, is succeeded by +defeat, captivity, loss of the crown, and a fearful death. + +King Edward is not portrayed as weak mentally or morally. Gaveston, in +the first scene, speaks of his master's effeminacy, and on more than one +occasion there are hints from the royal favourites that the king should +assert his majesty more vigorously. But over and over again Edward +breaks out into anger at the insolence of his subjects and only fails to +crush them through the impossibility of exacting obedience from those +about him. In Act I, Scene 4, it is Mortimer's order for the seizure of +Gaveston that is obeyed, not the king's command for Mortimer's arrest. +When the warrant for his minion's exile is submitted to him, the king +refuses point blank, in the face of threatening insistence. 'I will not +yield', he cries; 'curse me, depose me, do the worst you can.' He only +gives way at last before a threat of papal excommunication, the crushing +power of which had been made abundantly clear by its effect on King John +just a century before. Indeed we need not go further than the first +scene to find that Marlowe is resolved to put the right spirit of +wilfulness and angry determination in his fated monarch. There we find +this speech by him: + + Well, Mortimer, I'll make thee rue these words; + Beseems it thee to contradict thy king? + Frownest thou thereat, aspiring Lancaster? + This sword shall plane the furrows of thy brows, + And hew these knees that now are grown so stiff. + I will have Gaveston; and you shall know + What danger 'tis to stand against your king. + +And again, when the barons have withdrawn, he bursts out-- + + I cannot brook these haughty menaces; + Am I a king, and must be over-ruled!-- + Brother, display my ensigns in the field: + I'll bandy with the barons and the earls, + And either die or live with Gaveston. + +Nor is this pride of sovereignty lost even in defeat. We see it still as +strong, though forced by circumstances and coaxed to give way, in the +pathetic scene where he is compelled to surrender his crown to +Mortimer's delegate. Nevertheless the weakness that brings and justifies +his downfall is placed prominently before us from the first. King Edward +prefers his own pleasure before the unity of his kingdom and the +strength of his rule. There is even something a little ignoble in his +love for Gaveston, something unmanly and contemptible, if the reports of +such prejudiced persons as the queen and Mortimer are to be believed. +But the fault is not a criminal or unnatural one. One can sympathize +with a heart that yearns for the presence of a single friend in a world +of cold-blooded critics or harsh counsellors. The not unattractive +character of Gaveston, too, affectionate, gay, proud, quick-tempered, +brave--with faults also, of deceit, vanity and vindictiveness--preserves +the royal friendship from the sink of blind dotage upon an unworthy +creature. The tragedy follows, then, from the king's preferment of +private above public good, or, we may say, from the conflict between the +king's wishes as a man and his duty as a monarch. It is to Marlowe's +perception of this vital struggle underlying the hostility between King +Edward and his nobles that the play owes its greatness. We pity the +king, we can hate those who beat him down to the mire, because his fault +appeals to us in its personal aspect as almost a virtue; he is willing +to sacrifice so much to keep his friends. At the same time we perceive +the justice of his dethronement, for we recognize that the duty of a +king must take precedence over everything else. He has brought his +punishment upon himself. Yet, inasmuch as Mortimer, serviceable to the +state as an instrument, offends our sense of what is due from a subject +to his sovereign, we applaud the justice of his downfall; we, perhaps, +secretly rejoice that this bullying young baron is humbled beneath a +king's displeasure at last. As a final touch Marlowe rescues the +sovereignty of the throne from the taint of weakness by the little +prince's vigorous assertion of his authority at the end. + +Queen Isabella presents certain difficulties. The king's treatment of +her reflects little credit upon him, although one can hardly demand the +same affection in a political as in a voluntary union. Apparently she +really loves the king until his continued coldness chills her feelings +and drives them to seek return in the more responsive heart of Mortimer. +After that she even sinks so low as to wish the king dead. Yet to the +end she cherishes a warm love for her son. Probably the author intended +that her degeneracy should be attributed to the baneful influence of +Mortimer and so strengthen the need for his death. + +Mortimer, as the great antagonist, has a very strong character. +Imperious, fiery, he is the real leader of the barons. From the first it +is apparent that he is actuated by personal malice as much as by +righteous indignation on behalf of his misgoverned country. He confides +to his uncle that it is Gaveston's and the king's mocking jests at the +plainness of his train and attire which make him impatient. But the +unwisdom of the king serves him for a stalking-horse while secretly he +pursues the goal of his private ambition. In adversity he is uncrushed. +When he returns victorious he ruthlessly sweeps aside all likely +obstacles to his supremacy, the Spensers, Kent, and even the king being +hurried to their death. Then, just as he thinks to stand at the summit, +he falls--and falls grandly. + + Base Fortune, now I see that in thy wheel + There is a point, to which when men aspire, + They tumble headlong down: that point I touched; + And seeing there was no place to mount up higher, + Why should I grieve at my declining fall?-- + Farewell, fair queen: weep not for Mortimer, + That scorns the world, and, as a traveller, + Goes to discover countries yet unknown. + +Marlowe wisely--for him--departs from the growing custom of diversifying +the hard facts of history with homely fiction of a more or less comic +nature. He declines to mingle clowns and courtiers. Variety is secured +by a slightly fuller delineation of the secondary characters than is +usual with him, with its consequent effect on the dialogue, and by +abrupt changes in the political situation. Two great scenes, King +Edward's abdication and his death, remain as memories with us long after +we have laid the book down; but while we are reading it there are many +others that touch the chords of indignation and sorrow. The verse +throughout is admirable: it has shaken itself free of rant and +extravagance; no longer are adjectives and nouns of splendour heaped +recklessly one upon another. Yet there is nothing prosy or commonplace. +The spirit of poetry and strength is everywhere. + +Our last extract is from the famous abdication scene (Act V, Scene 1). + + _Leicester._ Call them again, my lord, and speak them fair; + For, if they go, the prince shall lose his right. + + _K. Edward._ Call thou them back; I have no power to speak. + + _Leicester._ My lord, the king is willing to resign. + + _Bishop of Winchester._ If he be not, let him choose. + + _K. Edward._ O, would I might! but heavens and earth conspire + To make me miserable. Here, receive my crown. + Receive it? no, these innocent hands of mine + Shall not be guilty of so foul a crime: + He of you all that most desires my blood, + And will be called the murderer of a king, + Take it. What, are you moved? pity you me? + Then send for unrelenting Mortimer, + And Isabel, whose eyes, being turned to steel, + Will sooner sparkle fire than shed a tear. + Yet stay; for, rather than I'll look on them, + Here, here! [_Gives the crown._]--Now, sweet God of heaven, + Make me despise this transitory pomp, + And sit for aye enthronised in heaven! + Come, death, and with thy fingers close my eyes, + Or, if I live, let me forget myself. + +In the writing of _Dido, Queen of Carthage_ Nash had a share. +Unfortunately, it is impossible to say how much was his or to what +portion of the play his work belongs. The supposition that Nash finished +the play does not necessarily imply that he wrote the last part. It may +have been that Marlowe originally conceived of a three act play--like +_The Massacre at Paris_--and that Nash filled it out to five acts by the +addition of scenes here and there. The unusual shortness of the play +rather supports this theory. But it is best to let it stand uncertain. +At least this much is clear, that the genius of Marlowe is strongly +present both in the character of the queen and in the splendid passages +of poetry. + +Again we have a well-constructed tragedy based on the loss of a dear +friend and ending in death. But here the friendship is elevated to the +passionate affection of a woman for her lover, and the conclusion moves +our pity with double force by its picture of suffering and by the fact +that the queen is the unhappy victim of a cruel fate. It is the old +story of love ending in desertion and a broken heart, only the faithless +lover would be true if the gods had not ordered otherwise; his regret at +parting is not the simulated grief of a hollow deceiver, but the sincere +emotion of a lover acting under compulsion. Constructively the play is +well balanced, although the incidents of the first two acts form, +perhaps, a rather too elaborate introduction to the main plot. Some +initial reference to the gods is necessary to set Aeneas's action in the +right light. The writer is inclined, however, to turn the occasion into +an opportunity for fine picture painting when he should be pressing +forward to the essential theme. The long story of the destruction of +Troy, also, has no proper place in this drama, inasmuch as Aeneas's +piety and prowess at that time are not even converted to use as an +incentive to Dido's love. Nevertheless it must be admitted that some of +the most charming passages are to be found in these first two acts. The +commencement of the third act at once sets the real business of the +tragedy in motion: by a delicate piece of deception Queen Dido is +persuaded to clasp young Cupid, instead of little Ascanius, to her +bosom--with fatal results. Before the act is over Dido and Aeneas have +plighted troth, romantically, in a cave where they are sheltering +together from a storm. With the fourth act comes the first warning of +impending shipwreck to their loves. Aeneas has a dream, and prepares to +sail for Italy. On this occasion, however, the queen is able to overcome +his doubts by bestowing upon him her crown and sceptre, thus providing +him with a kingdom powerful enough to content his ambitions. Yet the +gods are not to be satisfied so; Hermes himself is sent to command the +Trojan's instant departure for another shore. In vain now does Dido +plead. Aeneas departs, and there is nothing left for her in her anguish +but to fling herself upon the sacrificial fire raised on the pretence of +curing her love. A grim pretence, verily. + +Besides the two principal characters there are Dido's sister Anna, and a +visiting king, Iarbas, several friends of Aeneas, Ascanius (as himself +and as impersonated by Cupid), and various gods and goddesses. None of +these are developed beyond a secondary pitch; but Ascanius (or Cupid) is +quite invaluable for the lightness and freedom which his presence +conveys to the atmosphere about him; while the unrequited loves of Anna +and Iarbas soften for us the severity of the blow that crushes the +Carthaginian queen. Aeneas himself is presented in a subdued light, his +soldier's heart being fairly divided between his mistress and empire. +Thus we have the figure of Dido set out in high relief. Marlowe was fond +of experiments in characterization, but he never diverged more +completely from the path marked out by his previous steps than when he +decided to give the first place in a tragedy to a woman. Hitherto his +women have not impressed us: Abigail is probably the best of a shadowy +group. Suddenly, in the Queen of Carthage, womankind towers up in +majesty, to hold our attention fixed in wonder and pity as she walks +with strong, unsuspecting tread the steep descent to death. She is +sister to Shakespeare's Cleopatra, yet with marked individual +differences. Her feelings startle us with their fierce heat and swift +transitions. The fire of love flames up abruptly, driving her speech +immediately into wild contradictions. She herself is amazed at the +change within her. Burning to tell Aeneas her secret, yet withheld by +womanly modesty, she endeavours to betray it indirectly by heaping +extravagant gifts upon him. She counts over the list of her former +suitors before him that he may see from the shrug of her shoulders that +her affections are not placed elsewhere. Like Portia to Bassanio before +he chooses the casket, she throws out hints, calls them back hastily, +half lets fall the word, then breaks off the sentence, laying bare her +heart to the most ordinary observer, yet despairing of his understanding +her. When at last, from the tempest of desire and uncertainty, she +passes into the harbour of his assured love, a rapture of content, such +as the divinest music brings, fills her soul. Then the shadows begin to +fall. At first the sincerity of Aeneas's love unites with her startled +and clinging constancy to dispel the gathering gloom. With splendid +gifts she dims the alluring brightness that draws him from her. A little +longer Jove holds his hand; Aeneas's promise is till death. + + _Aeneas._ O Dido, patroness of all our lives, + When I leave thee, death be my punishment! + Swell, raging seas! frown, wayward Destinies! + Blow, winds! threaten, ye rocks and sandy shelves! + This is the harbour that Aeneas seeks: + Let's see what tempests can annoy me now. + + _Dido._ Not all the world can take thee from mine arms. + +But the second call is imperative. With constraining pathos Dido +implores him not to go. When that cannot melt his resolution the +resentment of thwarted love breaks out in passionate reproach. This +again changes to the wailing of sorrow as he turns and leaves her. Anna +is sent after him to beseech his stay. + + _Dido._ Call him not wicked, sister: speak him fair, + And look upon him with a mermaid's eye.... + Request him gently, Anna, to return: + I crave but this--he stay a tide or two, + That I may learn to bear it patiently; + If he depart thus suddenly, I die. + Run, Anna, run; stay not to answer me. + +Anna returns alone. Frantic schemes of pursuit, dangerously near to +madness, at length crystallize into the last fatal resolve. The pile is +made ready. Her attendants are all dismissed. One by one the articles +left behind by Aeneas are devoted to the flames. + + Here lie the sword that in the darksome cave + He drew, and swore by, to be true to me: + Thou shalt burn first; thy crime is worse than his. + Here lie the garment which I clothed him in + When first he came on shore: perish thou too. + These letters, lines, and perjured papers, all + Shall burn to cinders in this precious flame. + +When all have been consumed she leaps into the fire and so perishes. + +The character of the Queen of Carthage sufficiently demonstrates that +Marlowe could paint a faithful and impressive likeness of a woman when +he chose. Possibly his fiery spirit would have proved less sympathetic +to a gentler type. Yet there are touches in the slighter portraits of +Abigail and Queen Isabella which reveal flashes of true insight into the +tender emotions of a woman's heart. Had Marlowe died before writing +_Edward the Second_ we should have said that he was incapable of +portraying any type of man but the abnormal and Napoleonic. He showed +himself to be a daring and brilliantly successful voyager into untried +seas. In the face of what he has left behind him it would be a bold +critic indeed who named with confidence any aspect of tragedy as outside +the empire of his genius. + +The verse of _Dido, Queen of Carthage_ shows no signs of retrogression +from the steady advance to a more natural and perfect style which we +have traced in the progress from _Tamburlaine_ to _Edward the Second_. +An exception to this improvement will be found in certain portions of +Aeneas's long speech in the second act, of which it is probably not +unjust to surmise that Nash was the author. There are in Dido's own +speeches elements of wild extravagance, but they are natural to the +intensity of her passion. Does not Shakespeare's Cleopatra rave in a +manner no less fervid and hyperbolic? and in Enobarbus's description of +her magnificence when she met Antony is there not a reminiscence of the +oriental splendour of Dido's proposed fleet? + +We quote part of the farewell scene between Dido and Aeneas. + + _Dido._ But yet Aeneas will not leave his love. + + _Aeneas._ I am commanded by immortal Jove + To leave this town and pass to Italy: + And therefore must of force. + + _Dido._ These words proceed not from Aeneas' heart. + + _Aeneas._ Not from my heart, for I can hardly go; + And yet I may not stay. Dido, farewell. + + _Dido._ Farewell! is this the 'mends for Dido's love? + Do Trojans use to quit their lovers thus? + Fare well may Dido, so Aeneas stay; + I die, if my Aeneas say farewell. + + _Aeneas._ Then let me go, and never say farewell; + Let me go: farewell: I must from hence. + + _Dido._ These words are poison to poor Dido's soul: + O, speak like my Aeneas, like my love! + Why look'st thou toward the sea? the time hath been + When Dido's beauty chained thine eyes to her. + Am I less fair than when thou saw'st me first? + O, then, Aeneas, 'tis for grief of thee! + Say thou wilt stay in Carthage with thy queen, + And Dido's beauty will return again. + Aeneas, say, how canst thou take thy leave? + Wilt thou kiss Dido? O, thy lips have sworn + To stay with Dido! Canst thou take her hand? + Thy hand and mine have plighted mutual faith. + Therefore, unkind Aeneas, must thou say, + 'Then let me go, and never say farewell'? + + _Aeneas._ O queen of Carthage, wert thou ugly-black, + Aeneas could not choose but hold thee dear! + Yet must he not gainsay the gods' behest. + + _Dido._ The gods! what gods be those that seek my death? + Wherein have I offended Jupiter, + That he should take Aeneas from mine arms? + O, no! the gods weigh not what lovers do: + It is Aeneas calls Aeneas hence. + +Summarizing, in one short paragraph, the advance in tragedy inaugurated +by Kyd and Marlowe, we record the progress made in characterization, +plot structure, and verse, and in the treatment of history. A play has +now become interesting for its delineation of character, not merely for +its events or 'story'. One or two figures monopolize the attention by +their lofty passions, their sufferings, and their fate. We look on at a +tremendous conflict waged between will and circumstance, between right +and wrong, or we watch the gradual decay of goodness by the action of a +poisonous thought introduced into the mind. The plot has undergone a +similar intensification. With resistless evolution it bears the chief +characters along to the fatal hour of decision or action, then drags +them down the descent which the wrong choice or the unwise deed suddenly +places at their feet. Our sympathies are drawn out, we take sides in the +cause, and demand that at least justice shall prevail at the end. There +is an art, too, in this evolution, a close interweaving of events, a +chain of cause and effect; a certain harmony and balance are maintained, +so that our feelings are neither jerked to extremes nor worn out by +strain. Even the history play has freed itself to some extent from the +leading strings of chronology, claiming the right to make the same +appeal to our common instincts as any other play. Verse has taken a +mighty bound from formalism to the free intoxicating air of poetry and +nature. Men and women no longer exchange dull speeches; they converse +with easy spontaneity and delight us by the beauty of their language. A +poet may be a dramatist at last without feeling that his imagination +must be held back like a restive horse lest the decorum of human speech +be violated. + + * * * * * + +_Arden of Feversham_ (? 1590-2), by its persistent but almost certainly +mistaken association with Shakespeare's name, has received a wider fame +than some better plays. Into the question of its authorship, however, we +need not enter. Of itself it has qualities that call for reference in +this place. Its early date, also, brings it within the sphere of our +discussion of the growth of English drama. + +Far more than any play of Kyd's, this drama, though it has no ghost and +slays but one man on the stage, merits the title of a Tragedy of Blood. +Murder is the theme, murder and adulterous love, and it is 'kill! kill! +kill!' all the time. From the pages of Holinshed the writer carefully +gathered up every horrible detail, every dreadful revelation concerning +a brutal crime which had horrified England forty years before; and +while the red and reeking abomination was still hot in his mind, sat +down to the awful task of re-enacting it. The victim was summoned from +his grave, the murderers from the gallows, the woman from the charred +stake at Canterbury, to glut the appetite of a shuddering audience. Too +revolting to be described in detail, the plot sets forth the story of +Alice Arden's illicit love for Mosbie, her determination to win liberty +by the murder of her husband, the many unsuccessful attempts to bring +about that end, and the final act which brought death upon them all. + +The art of sensationalism in drama, as in anything else, is not a great +one; it is not to be measured by its effect upon the mind, for the +crudest appeal to our instinctive dread of death will often suffice to +hold our attention spellbound. It deals in uncertainty, darkness, +unsuspecting innocence, hair-breadth escapes, and an ever-impending but +still delayed ruin. None of these are wanting to this play; in this +respect the dramatist was fortunate in his subject. No less than seven +times the spectator--for the effect upon the reader is naturally much +less--feels his nerves tingle, his pulse beat faster, as he waits in +instant expectation of seeing murder committed. The realism of everyday +scenery, the street, the high road, the ferry, the inn, the breakfast +room, cry out with telling emphasis that it is fact, hard deadly fact, +which is being shown, not the idle invention of an overheated brain. But +while these features impress the action upon our memory, they do not +raise it to the level of great drama. For this the supreme requirement +is truth to human nature. It is not enough that the actors arrest our +attention by their appearance, their speeches and their deeds. Freaks +and lunatics might do that. They must be human as we are, moved by +impulses common, in some degree, to us all. Generally speaking, +abnormality is weakness. It needs to be strongly built upon a foundation +of natural qualities to achieve success. Especially is this so when the +surrounding conditions are such as belong to ordinary existence. The +application of this principle reveals the essential weakness of _Arden +of Feversham_. Carefully, almost minutely, the details of everyday life +are gathered together. The merchant sees to the unloading of his goods +at the quay, the boatman urges his ferry to and fro, the apprentice +takes down his shutters, the groom makes love to the serving-maid, +travellers meeting on the road halt for a chat and part with no more +serious word spoken than a hearty invitation to dine; on all sides life +is seen flowing in the ordinary current, with nothing worse than a piece +of malicious tittle-tattle to disturb the calmness of the surface. Into +this setting the author places as monstrous a group of villains as ever +walked the earth. Black Will and Shakbag belong to the darkest cesspool +of London iniquity. Clarke the Painter has no individuality beyond a +readiness to poison all and sundry for a reward. Michael would be a +murderer were he not a coward. Greene is a revengeful sleuth-hound, +tracking his victim down relentlessly from place to place. Arden is a +miser in business, and a weak, gullible fool at home, alternately raging +with jealous suspicion, and fawning with fatuous trustfulness upon the +man who is wronging him. Mosbie is a cold-blooded, underhand villain +whose pious resolutions and protestations of love could only deceive +those blinded by fate, and whose preference for crooked, left-handed +methods is in tune with his vile intention of murdering the woman who +loves him. Alice, the representative of womankind among these beast-men, +the wife, the passionately loving mistress, is an arch-deceiver, an +absolutely brazen liar and murderess, unblushing and tireless in +soliciting the affection of a man who hardly cares for her, desperately +enamoured. Alone in the group Franklin is endowed with the ordinary +human revulsion from folly and wickedness, but his character is sketched +too lightly to relieve the darkness. Such creatures may fascinate us by +their defiance of the laws that bind us. Alice, particularly, does so. +She possesses--as Michael does, to a less degree--at least a few natural +traits; her conscience is not quite dead, and her love is strong, +although even this is represented as a huge deformity, driving her to +the negation of that womanhood to which it should belong. Single scenes, +too, if seen or read in isolation from the main body of the play, have a +certain individual strength, giving us glimpses of the workings of a +human heart. But the play as a whole offers no inspiration, presents no +aspects of beauty, holds up no mirror to ourselves. One lesson it +teaches, that happiness cannot be won by crime. Alice and Mosbie are +never permitted to escape from the consequences of their sin, in the +form of anxiety, suspicion, remorse, fear, mutual recrimination, and +death. But, throughout, the dramatist's purpose is not art. He is the +apostle of realism, coarsened by a love of the horrible and unclean. The +power of his realism is undeniable. His two protagonists are line for +line portraits of the beings they are intended to represent. The +silhouettes of Black Will and Shakbag are almost as perfect. It is when +we compare _Arden of Feversham_ with _Macbeth_ that we realize how the +meanness of the action and the comparative absence of morality outweigh +any accuracy of detail, degrading the dramatist to the level of a mere +purveyor of excitement. The truth is, even the interest palls, for there +is no skill displayed in the evolution of the plot. The story is merely +unrolled in a series of murderous attempts which agitate us less and +less as they are repeated, until, at the end, we are in danger of not +caring whether Arden is killed or not. + +Among the eccentricities of this anonymous author's misdirected ability +is the disregard of appropriateness in the allocation of speeches to the +various characters. He is a poet; we can hardly believe that his work +would otherwise have survived the acting of it. Yet, as has been +frequently pointed out, one of the most delicate passages in the play is +spoken by the detestable ruffian, Shakbag, while Mosbie and even Michael +soliloquize in language of poetic imagery. In his handling of blank +verse he has not travelled beyond the limits of end-stopt lines, and too +often he gives it the false balance of unrhymed couplets; nevertheless +much that is vigorous and impressive forces the rhythm into a firm and +brisk response. The art of conversation in verse has advanced to +complete mastery. These features will be seen in the following extracts. + + (1) + + [MOSBIE _regretfully compares his past and present states._] + + Disturbed thoughts drives me from company + And dries my marrow with their watchfulness; + Continual trouble of my moody brain + Feebles my body by excess of drink, + And nips me as the bitter North-east wind + Doth check the tender blossoms in the spring. + Well fares the man, howe'er his cates do taste, + That tables not with foul suspicion; + And he but pines amongst his delicates, + Whose troubled mind is stuffed with discontent. + My golden time was when I had no gold; + Though then I wanted, yet I slept secure; + My daily toil begat me night's repose, + My night's repose made daylight fresh to me. + But since I climbed the top bough of the tree + And sought to build my nest among the clouds, + Each gentle starry gale doth shake my bed, + And makes me dread my downfall to the earth. + But whither doth contemplation carry me? + The way I seek to find, where pleasure dwells, + Is hedged behind me that I cannot back, + But needs must on, although to danger's gate. + Then, Arden, perish thou by that decree. + + (2) + + [_The last arrangements have been made for the murder and only_ + ARDEN _is awaited._] + + _Will._ Give me the key: which is the counting house? + + _Alice._ Here would I stay and still encourage you, + But that I know how resolute you are. + + _Shakbag._ Tush, you are too faint-hearted; we must do it. + + _Alice._ But Mosbie will be there, whose very looks + Will add unwonted courage to my thought, + And make me the first that shall adventure on him. + + _Will._ Tush, get you gone; 'tis we must do the deed. + When this door opens next, look for his death. + + [_Exeunt_ WILL _and_ SHAKBAG.] + + _Alice._ Ah, would he now were here that it might open! + I shall no more be closed in Arden's arms, + That like the snakes of black Tisiphone + Sting me with their embracings: Mosbie's arms + Shall compass me; and, were I made a star, + I would have none other spheres but those. + There is no nectar but in Mosbie's lips! + Had chaste Diana kissed him, she, like me, + Would grow love sick, and from her watery bower + Fling down Endymion and snatch him up: + Then blame not me that slay a silly man + Not half so lovely as Endymion. + + [_Here enters_ MICHAEL.] + + _Michael._ Mistress, my master is coming hard by. + + _Alice._ Who comes with him? + + _Michael._ Nobody but Mosbie. + + _Alice._ That's well, Michael. Fetch in the tables, + And when thou has done, stand before the counting-house + door. + + _Michael._ Why so? + + _Alice._ Black Will is locked within to do the deed. + + _Michael._ What? shall he die to-night? + + _Alice._ Ay, Michael. + + _Michael._ But shall not Susan know it? + + _Alice._ Yes, for she'll be as secret as ourselves. + + _Michael._ That's brave. I'll go fetch the tables. + + _Alice._ But, Michael, hark to me a word or two: + When my husband is come in, lock the street door; + He shall be murdered or[68] the guests come in. + +_Arden of Feversham_ is a play which cannot be passed over unnoticed in +any historical treatment of the drama. For it opened up a new and rich +field to writers of tragedies by its selection of characters from the +ordinary paths of life to reveal the passions of the human heart. Kyd +and Marlowe had sought for subjects in the little known world of kings' +courts or the still less familiar regions of immeasurable wealth and +power. This other writer found what he wanted in his neighbour's house. +His most direct disciples are the authors (uncertain) of _A Yorkshire +Tragedy_ and _A Warning for Fair Women_, but his influence may be traced +in the work of many well-known later dramatists. On the other hand the +play marks a retreat from the standard set by previous tragedies. In its +deliberate use of horror for horror's sake it fell away--dragging others +after it--from the conception of drama as a noble instrument in the +instruction and elevation of the people. + +[Footnote 63: fetched.] + +[Footnote 64: _History of English Poetry_, ii. p. 424.] + +[Footnote 65: whipstock.] + +[Footnote 66: rule.] + +[Footnote 67: _English Dramatic Literature_, i, p. 188.] + +[Footnote 68: before.] + + + + +APPENDIX + +THE ELIZABETHAN STAGE + + +A word remains to be added with regard to the 'Stage' for which Lyly and +Marlowe wrote. When we took leave of the Miracle Plays we left them with +a movable 'pageant', open-air performances, and a large body of +carefully trained actors, who, however, normally followed a trade, only +turning aside to the task of rehearsing when the annual festival drew +near. The whole business of dramatic representation was in the hands of +public bodies--the Mayor and Corporation, if the town could boast of +such. Later years saw the appearance of the professional actor, by more +humble designation termed a strolling player. Many small companies--four +or five men and perhaps a couple of boys--came into existence, wandering +over England to win the pence and applause guaranteed by the immense +popularity of their entertainments. But the official eye learnt to look +upon them with suspicion, and it was not long before they fell under +condemnation as vagrants. In 1572 all but licensed companies were +brought within the scope of the vagrancy laws. Those exempt were the few +fortunate ones who had secured the patronage of a nobleman, and, greedy +of monopoly, had pressed, successfully, for this prohibitory decree +against their irregular rivals. From this date onwards we read only of +such companies as the Queen's Company, the Earl of Leicester's Company, +the Chamberlain's Company and the Admiral's Company. Yet while their +duties would primarily be concerned with the amusement of their +patrons, they found many occasions to offer their services elsewhere. +Travelling companies, therefore, still continued to carry into every +part of England the delights of play-acting. It is a pleasing conjecture +that the genius of the boy, Shakespeare, was first quickened by seeing a +performance in his native town. + +We have said that a few men and one or two boys would suffice for a +company. The boys, of course, were to take the female parts, as +women-actors were not seen on the stage until some time after +Shakespeare's death, and only came into general favour after the +Restoration. Although some plays included a large number of characters, +the author was generally careful so to arrange their exits and entrances +that not more than four or five were required on the stage at one time. +Thus, in the list of dramatis personae for _Like Will to Like_ the +twelve characters are distributed amongst five actors: four actors are +shown to be sufficient for the eleven characters of _New Custom_; and +the thirty-eight characters of _Cambyses_ are grouped to fit eight +players. + +When on tour a company began its stay in any town with a visit to the +mayor (or his equivalent), before whom a first performance was given. +His approval secured for the company a fee and the right of acting. Thus +the practice of public control over the Guild 'Miracles' was extended to +these independent performances in the form of a mayoral censorship. This +control, in London, was placed in the hands of the Court Master of the +Revels, who thereby became the State dramatic censor with power to +prohibit the performance of any play that offended his taste. + +In addition to these companies of men there were, in and near London, +companies of boys carefully trained to act. At the public schools of +Eton and Westminster histrionics was included amongst the subjects +taught. The singing school at St. Paul's studied the art with equal +industry. Most famous of all, the choir boys of the royal chapel took +rank as expert performers. It was doubtless for Eton, Westminster, +Merchant Taylors' and other schools that such plays as _The Disobedient +Child_ and _The Marriage of Wit and Science_ were written. It was, we +may remember, the head-master of Eton who wrote _Ralph Roister Doister_. +Lyly's plays, acted at Court, were all performed either by 'the children +of Paul's' or 'Her Majesty's children'. This may partly account for the +great number and prominence of his female characters as compared with +those found in the comedies of Greene and Peele; it will also suggest a +reason for his liberal introduction of songs. + +Court performances, however, were also given by young men of rank for +amusement or to honour the queen. _Gorboduc_ was presented before +Elizabeth by 'the gentlemen of the Inner Temple'. 'The Gentlemen of +Gray's Inn' performed _The Misfortunes of Arthur_ at the Court at +Greenwich; Francis Bacon was one of the actors. In the latter part of +the reign the queen's own 'company' consisted of the best London +professional actors, and these were summoned every Christmas to +entertain Her Majesty with the latest plays. At Oxford and Cambridge +many plays were staged, the preference for some time apparently lying +with classical representation in the original tongue. + +On these Court and University performances large sums of money were +spent. It may be assumed therefore that considerable attention was paid +to the mounting and staging of a play. Possibly painted scenery and even +the luxury of a completely curtained-off stage were provided. Every +advantageous adjunct to the dramatist's art known in that day would be +at the service of Lyly. But it was otherwise with Marlowe and those who +wrote for the public stage. It is this last which we must consider. + +In Exeter at least, and possibly in other towns, a playhouse was built +long before such a thing was known in the vicinity of London. We shall +probably be right, however, in judging the major portion of the country +by its metropolis and assuming that, until 1572 or thereabouts, actors +and audiences had to manage without buildings specially designed for +their purpose. Very probably the old 'pageants' (or 'pagonds') were +refurbished and brought to light when the need arose; and in this case +the actors would have the spectators in a circle around them. Inn-yards, +however--those of that day were constructed with galleries along three +sides--proved to be more convenient for the audience, inasmuch as the +galleries provided comfortable seats above the rabble for those who +cared to pay for them. The stage was then erected either in the midst or +at the fourth side, projecting out into the yard. In such surroundings +the popular Morality-Interludes and Interludes proper were performed. + +In the midst of the wide popularity of the drama arose Puritanism, full +of condemnation. Keeping our attention upon London as the centre of +things, we see this new enemy waging a fierce battle with the supporters +of the stage. The latter included the Queen and her Privy Council; the +former found spokesmen in the mayor and City Fathers. Between Privy +Council and Corporation there could be no compromise, for the +Corporation insisted that within its jurisdiction dramatic performances +should be entirely suppressed. The yearly outbreaks of the plague, with +its weekly death-roll of thirty, forty, fifty, periodically compelled +the summer performances to cease, and lent themselves as a powerful +argument against packed gatherings of dirty and clean, infected and +uninfected, together. At last one of the leading companies, fearing that +time would bring victory to the Puritans and to themselves extinction, +decided to solve the difficulty by migration beyond the jurisdiction of +the mayor. Accordingly, about the year 1572, 'The Theatre' was built +outside the city boundary and occupied by Leicester's company. Not long +afterwards other companies followed suit, and 'The Curtains' and +'Newington Butts' were erected. After that many other theatres rose. In +1599 was built the famous Globe Theatre in which most of Shakespeare's +plays were represented. But the three earlier theatres (and perhaps 'The +Rose') were probably all that Marlowe ever knew. + +What we know of the Elizabethan theatre is based on information +concerning the Globe, Fortune and Swan Theatres. From this a certain +clear conception--not agreed upon, however, in all points by +critics--may be deduced with regard to the earlier ones. They were round +or hexagonal in shape. The stage was placed with its back to the wall +and projected well into the centre. The spectators were gathered about +its three sides, the poor folk standing in the area and crushing right +up to it, the rich folk occupying seats in the galleries that formed the +horse-shoe round the area. A roof covered the galleries but not the rest +of the building--the first completely roofed theatre was probably not +built before 1596. Performances took place between two and five o'clock +in the afternoon. The title of the piece was posted outside; a flag +flying from a turret informed playgoers in the city that a performance +was about to take place, and the sound of a trumpet announced the +commencement of the play. An orchestra was in attendance, not so much to +enliven the intervals--for they were few and brief--as to lend its aid +to the effect of certain scenes, in exactly the same way as it is used +to-day. + +Of the stage itself little can be said positively, nor are surmises +about the Swan or Globe stage necessarily applicable to its +predecessors. But the following description will serve as a fair +conjecture. It was divided into two parts, a front and back stage, +separated by a curtain. By this device the back scene could be prepared +while the front stage was occupied, or two scenes could be presented +together, as in _Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay_, or a second scene could +be added to the main one, as occurs when Rasni, in _A Looking-Glass for +London and England_, 'draws the curtains' and reveals Remilia struck +with lightning. There was no curtain before the front stage. At the rear +of the back stage was a fixed structure like the outside of a house with +doors and an upper balcony. The doors led into the dressing rooms, and +through them, as through the curtain if the front stage only were in +use, the exits and entrances were made. The balcony was used in many +ways familiar to us in Shakespeare's works; when, in the Second Part of +_Tamburlaine_, the Governor of Babylon enters 'upon the walls' we +recognize that he is on the balcony. A roof extended over the whole or +part of the stage to protect the actors from rain; but it was also made +use of as a hiding-place from which angels or goddesses could descend. +In _Alphonsus, King of Arragon_ Venus's exit is managed thus: 'If you +can conveniently, let a chair come down from the top of the stage and +draw her up.' The stage floor was fitted with a trap-door; through it +Queen Elinor, in _Edward the First_, disappears and re-appears; through +it 'a flame of fire' appears and 'Radagon is swallowed', in _A +Looking-Glass for London and England_. + +As far as can be gathered from records, there was no great attempt to +preserve, in the actor's dresses, the local colouring of the play. +Nevertheless various easy and obviously required concessions would be +made. Kings and queens would dress magnificently, mechanics and +serving-men humbly. In _Orlando Furioso_ we read that Orlando is to +enter 'attired as a madman' and that Marsilius and Mandricard are to +appear 'like Palmers'; in _Alphonsus, King of Arragon_ 'Calchas rises up +in a white surplice and a cardinal's mitre', and in _Edward the First_ +Longshanks figures 'in Friar's weeds'. The list could be continued. It +is practically certain that there was no painted scenery, the absence of +which would greatly facilitate the expeditious passage from scene to +scene. Stage properties, however, were probably a valuable part of the +theatrical belongings. If we glance over the stage-directions in the +plays of Greene, Peele, Kyd and Marlowe, we come upon such visible +objects as a throne, a bower, a bed, a table, a tomb, a litter, a cage, +a chariot, a hearse, a tree; more elaborate would be Alphonsus's canopy +with a king's head at each of three corners, Bungay's dragon shooting +fire, Remilia's 'globe seated in a ship', the 'hand from out a cloud +with a burning sword' (_A Looking-Glass_), and the Brazen Head casting +out flakes of fire (_Alphonsus_). + +Considering Marlowe's plays in the light of this information we shall be +obliged to admit that they stood a good chance of having very fair +justice done to them. The points in which the staging differed from our +modern methods were in favour of greater realism. Daylight is more +truthful than foot-lights are; and if there was any poverty in the +setting, so much the more was attention centred upon the actors, who are +declared, by the authors themselves, to have attained a high level of +excellence. Fame has not yet forgotten the names of Burbage and Alleyn. + + + + +INDEX + + +I. AUTHORS + +Aeschylus, 97, 101-2. + +Ariosto, 127. + + +B., R., 99, 113. + +Bale, Bishop, 79, 80-1. + + +Chapman, George, 214. + + +Dekker, Thomas, 241. + +Drayton, Michael, 231. + + +Edward VI, 79. + +Edwards, Richard, 115, 203, 224. + + +Gascoigne, George, 127. + +Geoffrey, Abbot, 22. + +Greene, Robert, 124, 146-67, 169, 170, 172, 173, 179, 180, 193, 221, + 224, 276. + + +Hardy, Thomas, 30. + +Heywood, John, 61, 68, 81, 82-4, 117. + +Heywood, Thomas, 211. + +Hilarius, 15. + +Hroswitha, 10. + +Hughes, Thomas, 110-15, 216, 224. + + +Jonson, Ben, 71, 72, 161, 198, 207. + + +Kyd, Thomas, 124, 193, 194, 197-221, 225, 262, 263, 269, 276. + + +Lodge, Thomas, 124, 148, 193, 195-7. + +Lyly, John, 124-46, 148, 157, 161, 166, 167, 168, 169, 172, 173, 193, + 209, 224, 270, 272, 273. + + +Marlowe, Christopher, 61, 107, 117, 124, 148, 167, 180, 187, 188, 193, + 194, 196, 209, 216, 218, 221-63, 269, 270, 273, 276. + +Marston, John, 203, 214. + +Massinger, Philip, 211. + +Milton, John, 107, 185. + + +Nash, Thomas, 124, 188-92. + +Norton, Thomas, 103-10, 118, 194. + + +Peele, George, 124, 140, 161, 167-88, 209, 221, 230, 250, 276. + +Plautus, 90, 91. + +Preston, Thomas, 97-9. + + +Rowley, 241. + + +Sackville, Thomas, 103-10, 114, 118, 124, 194, 216, 224, 230. + +Seneca, 96, 101, 102, 193. + +Shakespeare, William, 70, 110, 115, 121, 157, 173, 181, 193, 213, 222, + 223, 246, 259, 261, 263, 271, 275. + +Sidney, Sir Philip, 102. + +Sophocles, 109. + +Stevenson, 91-5. + +Still, Bishop, 91-5, 224. + + +Terence, 10. + +Tourneur, Cyril, 203, 214. + + +Udall, Nicholas, 88-91, 224. + + +Webster, John, 203, 214. + +Whetstone, George, 115. + +Wilmot, Robert, 230. + + +II. PLAYS + +_Adam_, 16-18, 45. + +_Agamemnon_, 111. + +_Alphonsus, King of Arragon_, 147, 149-51, 168, 180, 275, 276. + +_Antonio's Revenge_, 203. + +_Appius and Virginia_, 99-101, 107, 108-9, 113. + +_Arden of Feversham_, 193, 214, 263-9. + +_Arraignment of Paris, The_, 168, 169, 171, 173-6, 187, 224, 229, 231. + +_As You Like It_, 140. + + +_Battle of Alcazar, The_, 170-1, 180-3. + + +_Cain and Abel_, 18, 25. + +_Calisto and Melibaea_, 87, 90. + +_Cambyses_, 97-9, 100, 103, 107, 108, 112, 113, 271. + +_Campaspe_, 127, 128-32, 136, 146, 157. + +_Castell of Perseverance_, 51, 53, 54, 57, 61, 66, 67, 95. + +_Chester Miracle Play, The_, 23, 38. + +_Christ's Passion_, 10. + +_Comus_, 185. + +_Cornelia_, 197, 199. + +_Cornélie_, 218. + +_Coventry Miracle Play, The_, 21, 23, 25-38, 42, 46, 47. + + +_Damon and Pythias_, 112, 115, 134, 193. + +_Daniel_, 15. + +_David and Bethsabe_, 170-3, 186-8. + +_Devil is an Ass, The_, 71. + +_Dido, Queen of Carthage_, 223, 256-62. + +_Dido, The Tragedy of_, 188. + +_Disciples of Emmaus, The_, 15. + +_Disobedient Child, The_, 76-7, 272. + + +_Edward the First, The famous Chronicle History of_, 168, 169, 170, 171, + 172, 173, 177-80, 250, 275, 276. + +_Edward the Second_, 196, 223, 250-6, 261. + +_Endymion_, 127, 132-8. + +_Epiphany Plays_, 14, 15, 21. + +_Euphues_, 125. + +_Everyman_, 51, 55, 61. + + +_Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth, The_, 120. + +_Faustus, Doctor_, 61, 107, 117, 209, 215, 223, 227, 230, 233-42, + 246, 251. + +_Ferrex and Porrex, The Tragedy of_, 101-10, 111, 115, 118, 193, 209, + 216, 229, 230. + +_Four Elements, The_, 76. + +_Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay_, 147, 148, 155-9, 165, 171, 189, 275. + + +_Gallathea_, 127, 138-44, 169, 176. + +_Gammer Gurton's Needle_, 91-5, 172. + +_George à Greene, The Pinner of Wakefield_, 147, 163. + +_Gorboduc_, 101-10, 111, 115, 118, 193, 209, 216, 229, 230. + + +_Hamlet_, 213. + +_Henry IV_, 181-3. + +_Henry the Fifth, The Famous Victories of_, 120. + +_Hick Scorner_, 61, 69, 70. + + +_James IV_, 147, 149, 159-63, 165, 190. + +_Jeronimo_, 197, 199-204, 212, 215, 216. + +_Jew of Malta, The_, 215, 223, 242-8. + +_Johan Johan_, 84-6, 87, 90. + +_John, The Troublesome Reign of King_, 120, 121, 122-3. + + +_King John_, 79. + +_King Lear_, 212, 213. + + +_Lazarus_, 15. + +_Like Will to Like_, 67-76, 118, 271. + +_Locrine_, 198. + +_Looking Glass for London and England, A_, 147, 151-3, 163, 195, + 275, 276. + +_Love's Metamorphoses_, 127. + + +_Macbeth_, 245, 266. + +_Magi_, 15, 23, 25, 45. + +_Marriage at Cana_, 9. + +_Marriage of Wit and Science, The_, 77-8, 272. + +_Massacre at Paris, The_, 223, 248-9, 256. + +_Meretrice Babylonica, De_, 79. + +_Merry Play between Johan Johan the Husband, Tyb his Wife, and Sir Jhon + the Priest, The_, 84-6, 87, 90. + +_Midsummer-Night's Dream, A_, 45. + +_Miles Gloriosus_, 90. + +_Miracle of the Sacrament, The_, 49. + +_Mirror for Magistrates, The_, 230. + +_Misfortunes of Arthur, The_, 35, 110-15, 118, 124, 193, 194, 272. + +_Mother Bombie_, 127, 144-5. + +_Mydas_, 146. + + +_New Custom_, 74, 79, 80, 81, 271. + +_Nice Wanton_, 76. + + +_Oedipus Tyrannus_, 109-10. + +_Old Wives' Tale, The_, 168, 173, 183-6, 190. + +_Orlando Furioso_, 147, 153-5, 276. + + +_Pammachius_, 79. + +_Pardoner and the Friar, The_, 81-4. + +_Pastores_, 14, 15, 22, 23. + +_Peregrini_, 15. + +_Pericles_, 103. + +_Promus and Cassandra_, 115. + +_Prophetae_, 15, 18. + +_Prophets_, 15, 18. + + +_Quem Quaeritis_, 12, 13, 15, 22, 25. + +_Quem Quaeritis in Praesepe, Pastores?_ 14. + + +_Ralph Roister Doister_, 89-91, 92, 95, 124, 172, 272. + +_Resurrection_, 12, 13, 15, 22, 25. + +_Romeo and Juliet_, 193. + + +_Saint Katharine_, 22. + +_Saint Nicholas_, 15, 16, 22. + +_Samson Agonistes_, 107. + +_Sapho and Phao_, 127, 146. + +_Second Part of Antonio and Mellida, The_, 203. + +_Shepherds_, 14, 15, 22, 23. + +_Sir Clyomon and Sir Clamydes_, 140, 168, 170, 173, 176-7, 186. + +_Soliman and Perseda_, 197, 198, 216, 218-21. + +_Spanish Tragedy, The_, 35, 197, 198, 203, 205-18. + +_Staple of News, The_, 72. + +_Stella_, 15, 23, 25, 45. + +_Summer's Last Will and Testament_, 188-92. + +_Supposes, The_, 127. + +_Suppositi, I_, 127. + + +_Tamburlaine_, 148, 150, 151, 154, 180, 218, 222, 223-8, 229, 230, + 231-3, 237, 241, 261, 275. + +_Taming of the Shrew, The_, 161. + +_Tancred and Gismunda_, 115, 193, 194, 229. + +_Thersites_, 90. + +_Towneley Miracle Play_, 23, 39, 43. + +_Tres Reges_, 15, 23, 25, 45. + +_Trial of Christ, The_, 25, 35. + +_Trial of Treasure, The_, 74. + +_Troublesome Reign of King John, The_, 120-3. + +_Twelfth Night_, 70, 86, 157. + + +_Wakefield Miracle Play, The_, 23, 39, 43. + +_Warning to Fair Women, A_, 269. + +_Wise Men Presenting Gifts to the Infant Saviour, The_, 9. + +_Woman in the Moon, The_, 127. + +_Wounds of Civil War, The_, 195. + + +_Yorkshire Tragedy, A_, 269. + + +III. PROMINENT CHARACTERS + +Abraham, 27-9. + +Adam, 17, 18, 19, 27, 34. + +Adam in _A Looking Glass for London and England_, 151-3, 163, 184. + +Aeneas, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262. + +Alexander, 128, 129. + +Alphonsus, 149, 150, 151, 168. + +Andrea, 199-202, 204. + +Angels, 13. + +Angels, Good and Bad, 57, 61, 67, 240. + +Apelles, 129, 130, 131, 140, 168. + +Arden, Alice, 264, 265, 266, 268, 269. + +Arran, Countess of, 159, 162, 163. + +Arthur, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114. + + +Balthazar or Balthezar, 198, 199, 204, 205, 206, 207, 208, 211, 212. + +Barabas, 222, 243, 247. + +Barbarian in _St. Nicholas_, 15, 16. + +Basilisco, 218, 219, 220-1. + +Bellamira, 247, 248. + +Bell'-Imperia, 199, 205, 206, 207, 211, 212. + +Bombie, Mother, 145. + + +Cambyses, 97, 98, 99. + +Campaspe, 129, 130, 131, 140. + +Christ, 12, 13, 30, 33, 37. + +Contemplation, 61, 64, 65, 66. + +Corsites, 133, 134, 135. + +Cupid, 143, 144, 257, 258. + +Custance, Dame, 89, 90, 91, 93. + +Cutpurse, Cuthbert, 68, 76. + + +Damon, 116, 117, 118, 119. + +David, 186, 187, 188. + +Death, 31, 197. + +Delia, 183, 185. + +Devil, The, 17, 18, 19, 70, 71, 73, 84, 85. + +Diana, 173, 175, 176, 229. + +Dido, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262. + +Diogenes, 128, 129, 136, 146, 168. + +Dipsas, 133, 134. + +Dorothea, Queen, 159, 160, 161, 168, 171. + + +Edward II, 250, 251, 252, 253, 254, 255, 256. + +Edward, Prince, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159. + +Endymion, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136. + +Erastus, 198. + +Eve, 17, 18, 27. + +Everyman, 55, 56, 58, 59, 66, 95. + + +Faulconbridge, 120, 121, 122. + +Faustus, 209, 222, 230, 234-42. + +Fellowship, 58, 59, 60. + +Ferrex, 104, 105. + +Freewill, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66. + +Friar, 82, 83. + + +Gallathea, 141, 142, 143. + +Genus, Humanum, 54, 55. + +George, 163, 164, 165, 166. + +Gloucester, 179. + +Gorboduc, 104, 105. + +Guise, 248, 249. + +Gurton, Gammer, 92, 93, 94, 95. + + +Hance, 69, 70. + +Hephestion, 131, 132. + +Herod, 14, 20, 31, 35, 46, 117. + +Hieronimo, 205, 206, 207, 208, 210, 211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 217, 218. + +Hodge, 92, 93, 94, 95, 126. + +Humankind, 57, 67, 95. + + +Ida, 159, 160, 161, 162, 163. + +Imagination, 62, 63, 65, 66, 71. + +Isaac, 27, 28, 29, 36. + +Isabella, 207, 208, 211, 216, 217. + +Ithamore, 246, 247, 248. + + +Jeffate, 38. + +Jeronimo, 199, 200, 203, 204, 205. + +Jhon, Sir, 85. + +Joan, 179-80. + +Johan Johan, 84, 85. + +Jonathas, 49, 50. + +Joseph, 30, 31, 36. + +Juno, 173, 175. + + +King John, 80, 81, 120, 123, 252. + + +Lacy, 155, 156, 158, 159, 168. + +Lorenzo, 199, 200, 201, 203, 205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, + 213, 214. + + +Magi, The, 14. + +Mahamet, Muly, The Moor, 180, 181, 182-3. + +Mak, 40, 41, 42, 51. + +Margaret of Fressingfield, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 168. + +Marius, 195, 196, 197. + +Mary, 30, 31, 33, 36. + +Mary Magdalene, 13. + +Mephistophilis, 230, 233, 235, 236, 237, 239, 240, 242. + +Michael, 265, 266, 267, 268, 269. + +Modred, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115. + +Mortimer, 249, 250, 252, 253, 254, 255. + +Mosbie, 264, 265, 266, 267. + + +Newfangle, Nichol, 70, 72, 73, 74. + +Nicholas, St., 15, 16. + +Noah, 38. + +Noah's Wife, 35, 38. + + +Oenone, 168, 174. + +Orion, 191-2. + +Orlando, 153, 154. + + +Pardoner, 82, 83, 84. + +Paris, 168, 173, 174. + +Perseda, 219-20. + +Perseverance, 61, 64, 65, 66. + +Perverse Doctrine, 79, 82. + +Phillida, 141, 142, 143. + +Pity, 61, 64, 66, 67. + +Porrex, 104, 105. + +Pythias, 116, 118, 119. + + +Ralph Roister Doister, 88, 89, 90, 91, 93, 137. + + +Scorner, Hick, 63, 64, 66. + +Sem, 38. + +Shepherds, 40, 41. + +Simnel, Ralph, 157. + +Soliman, 219, 220. + +Summer, Will, 188, 189, 190. + + +Tamburlaine, 222, 226, 227, 232, 233, 234, 238, 239, 246. + +Tophas, Sir, 134, 136, 137, 138, 146. + + +Vice, The, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 76, 85, 89, 97, 99, 117, 177. + +Virginius's Wife, 100. + + +Will, 77, 78. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GROWTH OF ENGLISH DRAMA*** + + +******* This file should be named 18799-8.txt or 18799-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/7/9/18799 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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