gk BORGHT WITH THE INCOME 43£ I I **■•*' FROM THE SAGE END.OWMEiSIT FUND THE GIFT OF 1891 ^ !^,Tu.S.o.Q..-Tu.sA .'=l....V.4r..\...\..v..., 9755-2 Cornell University Library PR 651.K64 Literary criticism from the Elizabethan 3 1924 013 271 881 The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013271881 LITERARY CRITICISM FROM THE ELIZABETHAN DRAMATISTS Literary Criticism FROM THE Elizabethan Dramatists REPERTORY AND SYNTHESIS BY DAVID KLEIN, Ph.D. INSTRUCTOR IN ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE COLLEGE OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK WITH AN INTRODUCTORY NOTE BY J. E. SPINGARN Hew BotR STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY 1910 T Copyright 1910 By STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY Set np and electrotyped. Published June, 191a TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED TEACHER CONRAD HJALMAR NORDBY PREFACE While the present volume purposes to pre- sent both a repertory and a synthesis of the extant critical utterances of the Elizabethan dramatists, the author wishes it understood that the work was undertaken for the sake of the repertory alone. The usefulness of this few will question. Every reader can, and will, do his own synthesizing; and if anybody dis- agrees with the opinions set forth by the au- thor, or, perhaps, considers them superfluous, the latter would humbly claim that it were but the part of generosity not to grudge him the privilege of thinking while engaged in the more at less uninteresting, though useful, mechanical process of compiling. Whoever pleases may easily omit the commentary en- tirely. There now remains the pleasant duty of ac- knowledging indebtedness to those who helped the author in the prosecution of his task. He wishes to express his gratitude to Professors Francis Hovey Stoddard and Archibald L. vii viii PREFACE Bouton, of New York University, for the time and schola;fship which they so gener- ously set at his disposal. To Professor Lewis F. Mott, of the College of the City of New York, he is indebted for important criticism and suggestions, and to Professor J. E. Spin- garn of Columbia University, for friendly dis- cussion of some vexed questions in the history of criticism. He is also under obligations to Professor Lawrence A. McLouth of New York University, and Professor A. V- W. Jackson of Columbia University for valuable assistance. D. K. College of the City of New York, May, 1910. INTRODUCTORY NOTE The author of this monograph has collected all the utterances of the Elizabethan drama- tists on the subject of their own art into a corpus which is certain to be of service to the students of the history of criticism and literary theory. He has grouped these casual utter- ances (for most of them are casual enough) according to a classification of his own, which gives an appearance of unity and complete- ness to the Elizabethan theory of poetry that the dramatists themselves should not be held wholly responsible for. But he has little criticism to offer, in the strict sense, for the Elizabethans had little of importance to say in regard to their actual predecessors and con- temporaries. Their aesthetic theories, how- ever, have a real historic interest, and Dr. Klein deserves the thanks of scholars for hav- ing made this material accessible in a single volume. J. E. Spingarn. Columbia University, May 9, 1910. ix PRELIMINARY REMARKS Literary criticism is literature arrived at the stage of self- reflection. In this definition the implication is that literature primarily is un- reflecting, naive. It is only when the intel- lect is consciously directed to an examination of what the human mind produces, that we have criticism. There is a general impression that the same mind cannot do both the pro- ducing and the examining — that a mind is either creative or critical ; or, in other words (to give scientific color to the theory), it is either synthetic or analytic. The fundamen- tal fallacy in the theory is that analysis is opposed to synthesis, the idea being crystallized by the employment of metaphors borrowed from the physical world — one is a tearing down, the other is a building up. The fact is, however, that in mental opera- tions analysis and synthesis presuppose each other; analysis, indeed, presupposing synthesis to a much greater extent than is the case in the reverse relation. Mere tearing apart is xi xii PRELIMINARY REMARKS not analysis, for analysis implies a point of view; and the point of view is the synthe- sizing element. There is, therefore, no psy- chologic basis for the absolute opposition between the creative and the critical mind. Leaving theory and turning to experience, the fallacy of the opposition becomes all the more apparent. Who have been the great literary theorizers? Let us mention a few names: in Spain, Lope de Vega; in France, Du Bellay,'Boileau, Voltaire, Sainte Bjeuve; in Germany, Lessing, Schiller, Goethe, Heb- bel, Freytag; in America, Lowell, Howells; and in England the supremacy among critics is disputed between Arnold and Coleridge — both great poets, and one the purest of poets. I have, of course, mentioned the names of literary creators only, since others have nothing to do with the case. Granting the position thus maintained, the present work will not be approached as a vain undertaking. An attempt has been made in the following pages to marshal into some order, as systematic as possible, those scattered utterances of Elizabethan dramatists which constitute their published reflections on their own art. Owing to the prevalence of the PRELIMINARY REMARKS xiii view — largely substantiated by facts — that the Elizabethan literature was a spontaneous over- flowing, the field of the present research has been neglected. Professor Spingarn hardly touches it in his epoch-making work, and Dr. Symmes notices it but briefly under the head- ing of "Minor Criticism." Portions of the field have, however, been already worked, and my labor has been rendered easier by the existence of the suggestive though sketchy paper on Shakspere by Dr. Hamelius, and the monographs on Jonson by Dr. Aronstein and Dr. Grossmann. I have, however, worked over their ground independently. A word about the division of the subject. The most obvious thing to do would have been to arrange the topics systematically, and, devoting a section to each topic, to give the quotations in each section in chronological order. But since half of the total material was offered by Shakspere and Jonson alone, and since the utterances of each of these ap- proached something like a complete poetic theory, it seemed advisable to allow each a ,chapter. Now since the close of the i6th century marks approximately the advent of the two leaders, it was only natural to prefix xiv PRELIMINARY REMARKS a chapter on the material offered by other dramatists before that point, and to add a chapter on the similar material after that point. In each of the four chapters, how- ever, the system is practically the same. CONTENTS PAGE Pbeface vii Introductory Note ix Preliminary Remarks xi CHAPTER I criticism till 160o Function of the Drama 3 Satire in the Drama lo The Question of Authority 12 Puritan Oppositioij iS The Mechanics of Play-Making 16 A. Laws 16 B. Dramatic Species 20 C. Mixture of Tragic With Comic 23 D. Appropriate Themes 26 E. Appeal to the Imagination 28 F. The Unities 29 G. Subordination to Character 30 H. The Prolog 32 Refinement 33 Diction 34 Metrics 36 Acting 36 Naming a Play 37 CHAPTER II shaksfere Introductory 39 Unconsciousness of Art 42 XV xvi CONTENTS PAGE Poetry as Art , 42 Function of the Drama SS Satire in the Drama 57 The Question of Authority S8 Standard of Judgment 60 Mechanics of Play-Making 61 A. Facts Modified by Poet 61 B. Species ■ 63 C. Mixture of Tragic With Comic 66 D. The Theme 66 E. Originality 67 F. Construction 68 G. Melodrama 68 H. Unities 69 I. Prolog, Epilog, Etc 70 J. Conventions 72 Literary Qualities 72 Acting 74 Concluding Remarks .78 CHAPTER III ben jonson Introductory 81 Influence of Bacon 85 Poetic Creation 90 Dignity of Poetic Art 9S Scope and Aim of the Drama 97 Function of the Drama 100 Satire in the Drama 104 The Question of Authority 108 Standard of Judgment 113 Mechanics of Play-Making 118 A. Laws 118 B. Mixture of Types 119 C. Theme and Content I2b CONTENTS xvii PAGS D. Stock Situations and Characters 122 E. Plot 124 F. Characters 127 G. The Unities 129 H. Other Problems of Construction 133 Novelty and Originality 140 Diction 142 Refinement 14S Metrics 145 The Title 148 Jonson's Influence 149 CHAPTER IV criticism after 1600 Introductory 153 Nature of Poetry 153 Status of Poetry ~^ I57 Puritan Opposition 162 Function of Drama 163 Satire in the Drama 170 The Question of Authority ■'173 Standard of Judgment 176 Plagiarism 181 Mechanics of Play-Making 181 A. Plays to be seen, not read 181 B. Making Conditioned by Time 183 C. Making Conditioned by Audience 184 D. Collaboration 185 E. Dramatic Species 186 F. Mixture of types 189 G. The Theme 191 H. Appeal to the Imagination 194 I. General Requisites 195 J. The Plot 199 K. The Unities 201 xvlii CONTENTS PAGE L. Conventions 202 M. Prolog and Epilog 203 N. Provision for Supers 204 Diction 204 Refinement , 205 Metrics 207 Acting 208 Naming a Play 210 CHAPTER V Summary 211 Conclusion 24:,. Bibliography 250 LITERARY CRITICISM FROM THE ELIZABETHAN DRAMATISTS Literary Criticism from the Elizabethan Dramatists CHAPTER I CRITICISM TILL 1600 FUNCTION OF THE DRAMA TRADITION has a strong hold on things, and will persist in determining how things ought to be, long after they have ceased to be so. Traditionally the function of the English drama was didactic. It was brought into being because it seemed an effective method of teaching the people. We know, however, how soon it brought down upon itself the displeasure of the very people that gave it existence, because forces beyond their control, yet innate in its creation, developed for it additional functions which they consid- ered anything but desirable. Nevertheless, the ostensible purpose of dramatic production remained didactic to the end of the medieval drama. Now the end of the medieval drama almost coincided with the culmination of the 3 4 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM modern drama, and the distinction between the two forms was, popularly, not great enough to prevent the application of the same theories to both, no matter what the practise was; particularly since such application is made unconsciously. Furthermore, the con- scious critical views of English critics had their source on the continent; chiefly in the writings of the^ elder Scaliger, whose Poetics (1561) like the other similar continental works, was little more than a monumental perversion of Aristotle. Scaliger's prestige in England was unlimited. The awe with which his very name was alluded to is simply amazing. Here is what this god of criticism had to say of the function of the drama {Poetics, 11) : — The end [of poetry] is the giving of instruc- tion in pleasurable form; for poetry teaches, and does not simply amuse, as some used to think , . . because primitive poetry was sung, its de- sign seemed merely to please; yet underlying the music was that for the sake of which music was pro- vided only as a sauce. In time this rude and pris- tine invention was enriched by philosophy, which made poetry the medium of its teaching. . . . Now is there not one end, and one only, in phil- osophical exposition, in oratory, and in the drama ? Assuredly such is the case. AH have one and the same end — ^persuasion. CRITICISM TILL 1600 5 Is it any wonder, then, that our earliest dramatists did not dare suggest, probably even to themselves, the propriety of the ab- sence of the didactic motive? Here are their own statements in chronological order, so far as this can be determined. In Damon and Pythias by Edwards, per- formed in 1564, we find (Hazlitt's Dodsley, 4, p. 99) :— Dionystus. O noble gentlemen, the im- mortal gods above Hath made you play this tragedy for my behalf. In 1568 was published The Tragical Com- edy of Appius and Virginia, of which the Epilog tells us : — And by this poet's feigning here example do you take Of Virginia's life of chastity, of duty to thy make; Of love to wife, of love to spouse, of love to hus- band dear, Of bringing up of tender youth : all these are noted here. In the same year was printed Ulpian Ful- well's Like Will to Like, in which a new note is struck. The title page reads : — An Interlude entitled Like Will to Like, Quoth the Devil to the Collier, very godly and nill of 6 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM pleasant mirth. Wherein is declared not only what punishment foUoweth those that will rather follow licentious living than to esteem and follow good counsel: and what great benefits and com- modities they receive that apply them unto virtu- ous living and good exercises. The Prolog tells us : — Our author thought good such a one for to choose, As may show good example, and mirth may eke be found. . . . Some do matters of mirth and pastime require ; Other some are delighted with matters of gravity : To please all men is our author's chief desire, Wherefore mirth with measure to sadness is an- nexed: . And sith mirth for sadness is a sauce most sweet, Take mirth then with measure, that best sauc- eth it, Here y(e have an amusing example of the conflict, so far as the author is concerned, be- tween the recognized necessity to teach and the natural desire to please. It also indicates that the audience was undergoing a corre- sponding conflict. The omniscient Julius Caesar Scaliger had pronounced poetry to be "the giving of instruction in pleasurable form." In other words, it was a sort of flat, or perhaps distasteful, pill, coated with sugar CRITICISM TILL 1600 7 to make it go down more easily. But here we find that the people refuse to consider the palatableness as a necessary evil. They in- sist upon looking on it as a good in itself. But this opinion was merely the assertion of a natural impulse, and even the willing con- cession on the part of the dramatists cannot be thought the result of critical reflection. Indeed, the first champion of the pla5rwrights against the Puritans, Thomas Lodge, in 1579 defends the drama against the attacks of Gos- son on the very ground that it is morally in- structive. The year before, this attitude had been vigorously stated by George Whetstone in his dedication oiPromus and Cassandra: — The effects of both [viz: the two parts of Promus and Cassandra^ are good and bad : virtue intermixed with vice; unlawful desires (if It were possible) quenched with chaste denials — all need- ful actions (I think) for public view. For by the reward of the good, the good are encouraged In well-doing; and with the scourge of the lewd, the lewd are feared from evil attempts; main- taining this my opinion with Plato's authority: 'Naughtiness comes of the corruption of nature, and not by hearing or reading the lives of the good or lewd (for such publication is necessary), but goodness (saith he) Is beautified by either action.' And to these ends Menander, Plautus, and Ter- ence, themselves many years since entombed, by 8 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM their comedies in honor live at this day. The an- cient Romans held their shows of such prize that they not only allowed the public exercise of them, but the grave Senators themselves countenanced the actors, with their presence, who from these trifles won morality, as the bee sucks honey from weeds. . . . But this I am assured: what actions so- ever passeth in this history, either merry or mourn- ful, grave or lascivious, the conclusion shows the confusion of vice, and the cherishing of virtue. The title-page of Gascoigne's Glass of Gov- ernment, printed in 1575, reads: — A tragical comedy, so entitled because therein are handled as well the rewards of virtues, as also the punishment for vices. The Prolog warns those to leave who have merely come to laugh. The Introduction to The Misfortunes of Arthur (a work composed in 1588 by a num- ber of Gentlemen of Gray's Inn, Bacon being one of the number) tells us: — The matter which we purpose to present . In tragic notes the plagues of vice recounts. And in 1591, Robert Wilmot in the Dedica^ tion of his revised version of Tancred and Gismunda, says of the authors: — , . . herein they all agree ; commending virtue, detesting vice, and lively deciphering their CRITICISM TILL 1600 9 overthrow that suppress not their unruly affections . . . my purpose in this tragedy tcndeth only to the exaltation of virtue, and suppression of vice, . . . Towards the end of the century, however, the pla5rwrights became bold enough to avow purposes of entertainment only, when it was a question of pure comedy, without the ad- mixture of tragic elements. Why should they not, in view of the interesting informa- tion confided to us by Robert Greene in 1592, in his Groatsworth of Wit: — The people make no estimation Of morals, teaching education. They had public opinion back of them. In the Introduction to Lodge's Most Pleasant Comedy of Mucedorus (c. 1588), Comedy says to Envy: — Forbear this place; I humbly crave thee hence! And mix not death 'mongst pleasing comedies, That treat nought else but pleasure and delight. The Prolog to Nash's Summer's Last Will and Testament proclaims: — Placeat sibi quisque licebit. What's a fool but his bauble? Deep-reaching wits, here is no stream for you to angle in. . . . lo ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM As the Parthians fight flying away, so will we prate and talk, but stand to nothing that we say. One more citation. Dekker, in the Dedi- cation of The Shoemaker's Holiday ^ (printed 1600), frankly admits that . . . nothing is purposed but mirth; mirth lengtheneth long life." This practical, unmetaphysical argument, uttered in the last year of the century, affords a fitting close to this section, preparing us, as it does, for the less confined, more enlight- ened views concerning the function of the drama, that established themselves in the fol- lowing century. SATIRE IN THE DRAMA. It was stated above that Lodge defended the drama against the attacks of Gosson, on the ground that it was didactic. More specific- ally, he championed it on the ground that it 1 Fleay's little supported opinion that this play is not Dekker's, is, I believe, not accepted. 2 This idea seems to have been common. On February 23, 1852, was acted the non-extant Play of Plays. Gosson de- scribes it in his Plays Confuted, Action IV, and gives as its main drift that " Comedies nourish delight, and delight should never be taken from life." CRITICISM TILL 1600 11 was satirical, and stung hard the abuses of the time. Subsequently we do not find among dramatists such outspoken recognition of the propriety of satire in the drama. Usually they are anxious to disclaim all local allusion. For example, Lily, in the Prolog to Endymion (1588), expresses the hope that "none will ap- ply pastimes, because they are fancies." Now Endymion is not a satire, but it is an allegory. Yet Lily thought it politic to issue this dis- claimer. The Prolog in Nash's Summer's Last Will and Testament (1592), forewarns the audi- ence thus: — . . . moralizers, you that wrest a never- meant meaning out of everything, applying all things to the present time, keep your attention for the common stage. Nash assumed this lofty, aristocratic tone because the play was first produced by the Chapel children at Croyden before Arch- bishop Whitgift and the Queen. The passage proves, however, that satire had already be- come a common thing on the stage. It was destined to remain so till the end of the era. 12 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM THE QUESTION OF AUTHORITY. The earliest utterance on the question of authority as affecting the drama, that I have been able to find, dates from the year of Shakspere's birth. It is found in the Prolog to Damon and Pithias: — If this offend the lookers-on, let Horace then be blamed, Which hath our author taught at school, from whom he doth not swerve. Here we have an ingenuous acknowledg- ment of Classical authority, and no voice was raised in protest until the end of the century; before which time the idea that possibly Horace might not be infallible apparently did not dawn on the thoughtful playwright. In the meanwhile, any further expression of opinion on'the subject must be sought outside the ranks of dramatic writers. Note that with Edwards, the author of Damon and Pithias, Classical authority meant Latin authority. Greece was never thought of. How completely this view was taken for granted is illustrated by a letter written by Ascham to Sturm in 1568 (Wks. ed. Giles, II, 189), in which the English scholar says: — CRITICISM TILL 1600 13 Scripsit idem Baptista Pigna . . . alter- um librum, Questiones Sophocleas: ubi de tota doctrina tragica, de Senecae vitiis de Graecorum Tragicorum virtutibus fuse tractavit. Nee minori hujus libri videndi desiderio teneor, mi Sturmi: quoniam Sophocles et Euripides, mea certe opin- ione, cum Platone et Xenephonte in omni civilis cognitionis explicatlone conferri possunt; . . . We see from this that the view expressed by Pigna was heretical, and it is amusing to observe that Ascham does not attempt to de- fend the startling doctrine that the Greek dramatists were superior to Seneca, by com- paring their relative merits as playwrights, but merely endeavors to make the view less repellent by advancing the eminence of the former as political thinkers. The practise of the dramatic authors of the time shows that they did not agree with Ascham and Pigna. Indeed, they were in no position to agree with them, being in most cases ignorant of Greek literature. Two years later Ascham writes again, in his Scholemaster (ed, Arber, 139) : — Some in England, more in France, Germany and Italy, also have written tragedies in our time : of which, not one I am sure is able to abide the 14 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM touch of Aristotle's precepts, and Euripides' ^ ex- amples, save only two that ever I saw, M. Wat- son s Absalon, and Georgius Buckananus' Jephte. Seneca is quietly disregarded ; which fact is more convincing of Ascham's faith than a hostile attitude would be. But how far such ideas were ahead of the time is indicated by the only other piece of evidence on this topic to be cited within the limits of the present chapter, viz : that Webbe, in his Discourse of English Poetry, published in 1586, appends, as a mere matter of course, a synopsis of Horace's rules.^ For "Aristotle's precepts" he probably cared about as little as for "Euripi- des' examples." Indeed, the influence of Greek literature in England was still long in coming — too long, alas. If our drama, instead of being the result of a marriage between the medieval English spirit on the one hand, and a Latin spirit and form on the other, had been the offspring of that same English spirit in conjunction with a Greek spirit and form, it is overwhelming to contemplate what a ijt is worthy of note that Aischylos is not even thought of at this time. ^ See also his Address to Wiltnot on his revision of Tan- cred and Gismunda. ". . . inferior to none . . . no, were the Roman Seneca the censurer." CRITICISM TILL 1600 15 beautiful grandeur our literature might have attained. As it is, most of the plays produced between the accession of Queen Elizabeth and the closing of the theater in 1642, will be of interest only to the minute scholar, and will possess any amount of appreciable literary value only for those whose constant burrow- ing has blunted their sense of esthetic dis- crimination. Even Shakspere, law-defying genius as he was, was guilty of crude mon- strosities. But let us leave off dwelling on what might have been — it becomes depressing — and proceed with our consideration of what was. PURITAN OPPOSITION. This question may find a place in the pres- ent discussion only insofar as it is related to critical thought among the dramatists; and only to that extent shall we consider it. It was observed above that it was Gosson's assault on the theater that impelled Lodge to spring to the defense. The latter's main con- tention was that the drama was didactic. When Gosson responded with his Plays Con- futed, he ridiculed this idea. If it were true, he argues, then the actor would profit most. 1 6 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Of course the argument is a bad one, for the actor is only an element in an artistic work which makes it appeal to the spectator. The actor does not see the play. With equally poor logic he argues that playwrights are in no position to reprimand others, being evil themselves. Furthermore, in keeping with the general practise of his time to fortify one's position by an appeal to authority, he cited Cicero as defining comedy as "imitatio vitae, speculum consuetudinis, imago veritatis." Gosson, evidently appreciating the power of such a weapon, challenged Lodge to locate it in Cicero. The fact was that Lodge had found the definition in Donatus. The strangest thing about it is that such a thorough scholar as Jonson should have attributed the phrase to Cicero nearly twenty years later. THE MECHANICS OF PLAYMAKING. A. Laws. We now come to the most important phase of the subject before us; namely, that phase which comprehends the various problems per- taining to the mechanics of playwriting. Early in our period the dramatists realized that there were laws governing the making of a play. That they were conscious of the CRITICISM TILL 1600 17 fundamental difference between the drama and other forms of literature is evidenced by what the printer of Whetstone's Promus and Cassandra (pub. 1578) says in his address to the reader: — If by chance thou light on some speech that seemeth dark, consider of it with judgment before thou condemn the work; for in many places he is driven both to praise and blame in one breath; which in reading will seem hard and in action ap- pear plain. What is rather clumsily expressed here proves that at least one dramatist, in writing a play, had in view an action before an audience, and constructed his work accordingly. That it was the printer and not the author who said this, is no argument, for the author was edit- ing his own work and must have directed the printer what to say. Among the things Whet- stone himself had to say in the dedication, we find: — I divided the whole history into two comedies ; for that, decorum used, it would not be conveyed in one. "Decorum used" is here another way of say- ing: "the laws of the drama being observed." 1 8 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM On the same topic, Thomas Heywood says in the Epilog to The Brazen Age (1598) : — He that expects five short acts can contain Each circumstance of these things we represent, Methinks should show more barrenness than brain. In 1568, the Gentlemen of the Inner Tem- ple presented before the Queen a tragedy en- titled Gismond of Salerne, written by five members of their body. In 1591, Robert Wilmot, one of the five, took the trouble to rewrite the play in order, to bring it up to date, proving that there had come a change over the accepted rules of the art. A com- parison between the two versions is a most instructive lesson in the development of the English drama between the respective dates. In the later version, the diction is altered, the rimes are largely dropped, the dialog is more spirited, long speeches are broken up, set de- vices are introduced — innovations all making for increased theatrical effectiveness. Pref- aced to the revised edition is a letter by Wil- liam Webbe, author of the famous Discourse. This epistle being for the purpose of adver- tizement, the views expressed in it may be re- garded as those of Wilmot himself, perhaps CRITICISM TILL 1600 19 even as suggested by him. Here is a relevant extract : — . . . I cannot sufficiently commend your charitable zeal and scholarly compassion towards him [i. e., the play], that have not only rescued and defended him from the devouring jaws of ob- livion, but vouchsafed also to apparel him in a new suit at your own charges, wherein he may again more boldly come abroad, and by permission re- turn to his old parents, clothed, perhaps, not in richer or more costly furniture than it went from them, but in handsomeness and fashion more an- swerable to these times, wherein fashions are so often altered. Let one word suffice for your en- couragement herein: namely, that your commend- able pains in disrobing him of his antique curiosity, and adorning him with the approved guise of our stateliest English terms (not diminishing, but more augmenting his artificial colors of absolute poesy derived from his first parents) cannot but be grate- ful to most men's appetites, who upon our expe- rience we know highly to esteem such lofty meas- ures of sententlously composed tragedies. Some of these statements remind the reader of the one great source of influence that had been opened on the English drama. One can- not read such expressions as our "stateliest English terms" and "lofty measures of sen- tentlously composed tragedies" without think- ing of Marlow, who, in 1587, created an 20 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM epoch by springing upon the world his Tam- burlaine, with the much famed vaunt that From jigging veins of riming mother wits, And such conceits as clownage keeps in pay, We'll lead you to the stately tent of war, Where you shall hear the Scythian Tamburlaine Threat'ning the world with high astounding terms, And scourging kingdoms with his conquering sword. This is for us a most significant utterance. More thati any other author of the time, Marlow has succeeded in impressing a feel- ing of spontaneity. With none do we so lit- tle connect the thought of deliberate method. Yet we see that even he was aware what the drama was before him, and just what he in- tended to make of it. It seems to me that this is strong evidence for the existence of a critical consciousness among the playwrights. B. Dramatic Species. The question of dramatic species was one early to arise. The scholastic view of the dif- ference between tragedy and comedy is thus expressed by Webbe in his Discourse of Eng- lish Poetry (ed. Arber, p. 39) : — There grew at last to be a greater diversity be- tween tragedy writers and comedy writers, the one CRITICISM TILL 1600 21 expressing only sorrowful and lamentable histories, bringing in only the persons of gods and goddesses, and great states, whose parts were chiefly to ex- press most miserable calamities and dreadful chances, which increased worse and worse till they came to the most woful plight that might be de- vised. The comedies, on the other side, were directed to a contrary end, which beginning doubtfully, drew to some trouble or turmoil, and by some lucky chance always ended to the joy and appease- ment of all parties. By Puttenham it is expressed thus: (ed. Arber, p. 41) : — There were also poets that ... did set forth in shows and pageants accompanied with speech, the common behaviors and manner of life of private persons, and such as were the meaner sort of men, and they were called comical poets. . . . Besides those poets comic there were other who served also the stage, but meddled not with so base matters: for they set forth the dole- ful falls of unfortunate and afflicted princes, and were called poets tragical.^ In the opinion of the dramatist, a tragedy was created by the presence of death. In the 1 He agrees with Webbe in his view of tragedy, but not in that of comedy, notwithstanding the statement of Prof. Spingarn. Webbe's formula is closer to the traditional, medieval opinion. 22 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM chorus before the first act of Soliman and Per- seda (c. 1583), Death says: — And what are tragedies, but acts of Death? and after the last act, he says to his two com- panions : — Pack, Love and Fortune! play in comedies: For powerful Death best fitteth tragedies. The opinion of the craftsmen with regard to the relative dignity of the different species is voiced in only two utterances proper to the present chapter. In the fifth act of the Span- ish Tragedy (1588) we read the following dialogue : — Balthazer. Hieronimo, methinks a comedy were better. Hier. A comedy I fie! comedies are fit for com- mon wits: But to present a kingly troop withal, Give me a stately written tragedy; Tragcedia cothurnata, fitting kings. Containing matter, and not common things. In the introduction to Lodge's Warning for Fair Women, Tragedy exclaims to Comedy and History: — 'Tis you have kept the theater so long Painted in playbills upon every post. While I am scorned of the multitude. CRITICISM TILL 1600 23 Apparently history and comedy were classed together as lower forms of art than tragedy. This must have been the popular judgment as well, otherwise it is not likely that Kyd would have had it spoken before a popular audience. Such an inference is not weakened by the fact that comedy was the greater favorite. Is it not so to-day? Tragedies are universally considered to be greater than comedies, yet it is the comic productions that are by far the more numerous, and the more remunerative. In order to alter this relative position between these two mediums for expressing life, our at- titude toward life must change. The time is yet far off, but it is coming, when plays like the Tempest and the Meistersinger will ap- pear to us as noble as plays like Othello and Tristan und Isolde. C. Mixture of Tragic With Comic- The insistence on the individuality of types which marks Renascence criticism, did not trouble the English dramatists. The great majority of early English tragedies are very largely interspersed with the most farcical elements. The mingling was not done with- out reflection. The Prolog to Fulwell's Like 24 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Will to Like (pub. 1568), in a passage al- ready quoted in part, explains : — And because divers men of divers minds be, Some do matters of mirth and pastime require ; Other some are delighted with matters of gravity; To please all men is our author's chief desire ; Wherefore mirth with measure to sadness is an- nexed, Desiring that none here at our matter will be per- plexed . . . And sith mirth for sadness is a sauce most sweet, Take mirth then with measure that best sauceth it. Damon and Pythias. Prolog: — Which matter mixed with mirth and care, a just name to apply. As seems most fit, we have it termed a tragical comedy. The title-page of Thomas Preston's Cam- by ses promises us "A lamentable tragedy mixed full of pleasant mirth"; and in the Dedication of Promus and Cassandra we have this sensible attitude expressed: — . . . intermingling all these actions in such sort as the grave matter may instruct and the pleas- ant delight; for without this change the attention would be small, and the liking less. A dissenting voice is heard from the direc- tion of an unsuccessful plajrwright whose CRITICISM TILL 1600 25 grave tones we have heard before. Gas- coigne, in Certain Notes of Instruction Con- cerning the Making of Verse or Rime in Eng- lish (1575) solemnly affirms (ed. Arber, p. 32):— . . . to intermingle merry jests in a serious matter is an indecorum. But Gascoigne's admonition happily re- mained unheeded, so that even those who would have liked to see the individuality of types preserved, yielded to the pressure of popular demand. A representative of this class is Lily, whose Prolog to Midas (1590) apologizes thus : — Gentlemen, so nice is the world, that for apparel there is no fashion, for music no instrument, for diet no delicate, for plays no invention, but breed- eth satiety before night. ... At our exer- cises, soldiers call for tragedies — their object is blood; courtiers for comedies — their subject is love; countrymen for pastorals — shepherds are their saints. Traffic and travel hath woven the nature of all nations into ours, and made this land like arras — full of device ; which was broadcloth — full of workmanship. Time hath confounded our minds, our minds, the matter; but all cometh to this pass, that what heretofore hath been served in several dishes for a feast, is now minced in a charger for a gallimaufry. If we present a min- 26 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM gle-mangle, our fault is to be excused, because the whole world is become an hodge-podge. D. Appropriate Themes. The Prolog to Robert Wilson's Three Ladies of London in a ridiculous alliterative address favors us with an enumeration of themes popular in the drama of his day: — We list not ride the rolling racks that dim the crys- tal skies, We mean to set no glimmering glance before your courteous eyes: We search not Pluto's pensive pit, nor taste of Lim- bo's lake; We do not show of warlike fight, as sword and shield to shake; We speak not of the powers divine, ne yet of furious sprites; We do not seek high hills to climb, nor talk of love's delights; We do not here present to you the thresher with his flail; We do not here present to you the milkmaid with her pail; We show not you of country toil, as hedger with his bill; We do not bring the husbandman to lop and top with skill; We play not here the gardener's part to plant and set and sow. You marvel, then, what stuff we have to furnish out our show. CRITICISM TILL 1600 27 Will anyone wonder, after reading stuff like this, that Marlow soon determined to rescue the English public from jigging veins of riming mother wits, and such conceits as clownage keeps in pay, and to lead them to the witnessing of stately spectacles in a refresh- ing atmosphere? The "Imperial Theme," as Shakspere called it, retained its position on the lofty pedestal to which Marlow then ex- alted it, till the end of the Elizabethan period — indeed, beyond it into the Restoration period, when, for a while, the existence of a serious play without the presence of a king was inconceivable. The Epilog to Lodge's Warning for Fair Women (1599) finds it necessary to apologize, and begs us to Bear with this true and home-born tragedy, Yielding so slender argument and scope To build a matter of importance. This extract contains a twofold suggestion : not only that a lofty theme is desirable, but also that a local English theme is undesirable. The latter, perhaps more noteworthy, fact is accounted for by literary history. From the outset, back in the Middle Ages, the subjects of the English drama were derived from 28 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM sources more or less remote. The Renascence demand that the serious drama be "lofty" found ready recognition, since the themes of the medieval drama were the loftiest imagi- nable. Current and local topics cannot rise to the level of "loftiness," hence plajrwrights had tQ resort to distant lands and distant ages. In this way the practise established itself — or, rather re-established itself ; and having gained so firm a foothold, it held its ground until the slow processes of social evolution provided for its decease. There were exceptions, of course, and the Warning for Fair Women was one of them, but these, as we saw above, were advanced in an apologetic spirit, for even critical reflection is part of the universal scheme of social evolution. E. Appeal to Imagination. The title of this section is of course the key- note of romanticism, and we hear it sounded by the Prolog to Dekker's Old Fortunatus (1599):— And for this small circumference must stand For the imagined surface of much land, Of many kingdoms, and since many a mile Should here be measured out, our Muse entreats CRITICISM TILL 1600 29 Your thoughts to help poor Art, and to allow That I may serve as Chorus to her scenes ; She begs your pardon, for she'll send one jforth, Not when the laws of poesy do call, But as the story needs. Is it not interesting to observe the temerity of Dekker? to frankly avow that he was go- ing to violate the sacred laws of the drama merely because they interfered with his play. The passage reminds one of the Prolog to Henry V. Who was the debtor it is hard to say. Both plays belong to the same year, but since I am anxious to consider Shakspere's the original, I gladly seize as evidence favor- ing my belief, the fact that Dekker's play ap- peared late in the year, not being sold till No- vember. Even if Fleay is right in his con- tention that it conl;ains parts of an older play, it is not likely that the prolog of the earlier version should have been retained.^ F. The Unities. The question of Unity of Time is considered by Whetstone in the famous dedication of Promus and Cassandra: — 1 See also in tlje same play the chorus before Act II., and Act IV. 30 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM For at this day the Italian is so lascivious in his comedies that honest hearers are grieved at his actions; the Frenchman and Spaniard follows the Italian's humor. The German is too holy, for he presents on every common stage what preachers should pronounce in pulpits. The Englishman in this quality is most vam, indiscreet, and out of order : he first grounds his work on impossibilities, then in three hours runs he through the world, mar- ries, gets children, makes children men, men to conquer kingdoms, murder monsters, and bring- eth gods from heaven, and fetcheth devils from hell. In this Whetstone anticipates Sidney's famous tirade by about five years. Though the beginning of the quotation does not be- long properly under this head, it was never- theless not omitted, partly because of the in- terest attaching to the judgments it contains, whether they are correct or not, but more be- cause it is considerable evidence of the pres- ence of the critical faculty. The continuation of the passage belongs under another head which may be named G. Subordination to Character. And (that which is worst) their ground is not so unperf ect as their working indiscreet ; not weigh- ing, so the people laugh, though they laugh them, for their follies, to scorn. Many times (to make mirth) they make a clown companion with a king; CRITICISM TILL 1600 31 in their grave counsels they allow the advice of fools; yea, they use one order of speech for all persons, — a gross indecorum, for a crow will coun- terfeit ill the nightingale's sweet voice: even so, affected speech doth misbecome a clown. For to work a comedy kindly, grave old men should in- struct; young men should show the imperfections of youth; strumpets should be lascivious; boys un- happy ; and clowns should be disorderly. The substance of much of this had been worded fourteen years before in the Prolog to Damon and Pythias: — In comedies the greatest skill is this: rightly to touch All things to the quick; and eke to frame each per- son so, That by his common talk you may his nature know: A royster ought not preach, that were too strange to hear, But as from virtue he doth swerve, so ought his word appear; The old man is sober, the young man rash, the lover triumphing in joys ; The matron grave, the harlot wild and full of wanton toys. Which all in one course they nowise do agree ; So correspondent to their kind their speeches ought to be; With speeches well-pronounced, with action lively framed.^ 1 These two quotations voice the rigid principle of de- 3^ ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Though the attitude assumed in these two extracts is opposed to Romanticism, it is never- theless not that of classicism. It rather voices another spirit, which is also opposed to classi- cism — viz. : Realism. It is fortunate that this spirit existed; for Romanticism unchecked would run wild. The former tempering the latter, saved the English drama from running into the fantastic extravagances of the con- temporary Spanish theater. H. The Prolog. It was customary to give the contents of the play in the prolog. That some dramatists early became conscious of the, uselessness and formality of the procedure is indicated by what the already quoted Prolog to Like Will to Like (pub. 1568) says: — It is not my meaning your ears for to weary, With harkening what is the effect of our matter. We shall find the later dramatists had more to say about this peculiar dramatic feature, now totally rejected in play-making. corum insisted on by all the critics of the Renascence. Cf. Spingarn, Lit. Crit., p. 85. CRITICISM TILL 1600 33 REFINEMENT. In view bf the fact that so much of the Elizabethan drama is unfit for indiscriminate family reading even where due allowance is made for differences in conventional stand- ards, it is perhaps amusing to discover the frequency with which the playwrights of the time condemned any violation of moral pro- priety in situation or speech. The Prolog to Like Will to Like tells of the author: — But no lascivious toys he purposeth for to use. Whetstone says in the passage above quoted from the Dedication of Promus and Cassan- dra: — For at this day the Italian is so lascivious In his comedies that honest hearers are grieved at his actions. Lily. Sappho and Phao. Prolog at Black- friars (1584) : — We have endeavored to be as far from unseemly speeches to make your ears glow, as we hope you win be free from unkind reports to make our cheeks blush. Lily. Galatea. Prolog (1588) :— 34 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM . . . so have we endeavored with all care that what we present your Highness, should neither offend in scene nor syllable. ' Robert Wilmot. Tancred and Gismunda. I St Dedication (1591): — Which being a discourse of two lovers, perhaps it may seem a thing neither fit to be offered unto your ladyships, nor worthy me to busy myself withal. Yet can I tell you, Madams, it differeth so far from the ordinary amorous discourses of our days, as the manners of our time do from the modesty and innocency of that age. Ibid.. .2nd Dedication (1592) : — . . . the Tragedian Tyrants of our time, who are not ashamed to affirm that there can no amorous poem savor of any sharpness of wit, un- less it be seasoned with scurrilous words. This is valuable information concerning professional opinion at the time. DICTION. As early as 1578, we find evidence that the playwright was very diligent about the lit- erary aspect of his work. This is natural, for it is in the early stages of the sophisticated drama that more attention is paid to the lit- erary qualities of a play than to the dramatur- CRITICISM TILL 1600 35 gic. The printer of Protnus and Cassandra says to the reader: — Gentle Reader, this labor of Master Whetstone came into my hands in his first copy, whose leisure was so little (being then ready to depart his coun- try) that he had no time to work it anew, nor to give apt instructions to print so difficult a work, be- ing full of variety, both matter, speech, and verse; for that every sundry author hath in all these a sundry grace. Thomas Heywood was also anxious about the literary qualities of his plays. The Epilog to The Brazen Age (1598) declares: — . . . for more than sight (We seek to please. The bombastic style developed by the imi- tators of Marlow is ridiculed by Marston in the induction to the first part of Antonio and Mellida (1600) : — Matzazante. By the bright honor of 2 Milan- oise and the resplendent fulgor of this steel, I will defend the feminine to the death, and ding his spirit to the verge of hell, that dares divulge a lady's prejudice. Feliche. Rampum, scrampum, mount tufty Tamburlaine. What rattling thunderclap breaks from his lips ? Alberto. 01 'tis native to his part. For act- 36 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM ing a modern bradoch under the person of Matza- gente, the Duke of Milan's son, it may seem to suit with good fashion of coherence. METRICS. On this question this chapter can claim only one pertinent citation : the statement of Mar- low in the Prolog to Tamburlaine that he would lead the English public away From jigging veins of riming mother wits. Marlow's choice of blank verse was there- fore the result of critical reflection. His ex- ample was . so convincing that rime practi- cally disappeared. In one respect, however, his efforts were without effect: prologs and epilogs continued to be written in rime. ACTING. Excepting the single line in the Prolog to Damon and Pythias: — With speeches well pronounced, with action lively framed, the dramatists had nothing to say on the ques- tion of acting until the end of the century. The already quoted induction to Marston's CRITICISM TILL 1600 37 Antonio and Mellida (1600) is a delightful chat among actors, giving fulsome informa- tion regarding the careful fitting of parts and the training of actors, even in such details as accent and gesture. It is too long to be given here, but I cannot resist giving at least the fol- lowing quotation, for it shows that the com- mon grumbling among actors over the treat- ment they receive from managers has the dig- nity of ancient tradition behind it: — Antonio. I was never worse fitted since the na- tivity of my actorship ; I shall be hissed at on my life now. ... I a voice to play a lady! I shall ne'er do it. NAMING A PLAY. To have the name fit the content was appar- ently no desideratum with Elizabethan dram- atists. Attractiveness is all that was wanted. For example, Shakspere's Julius Ccesar. Commentators, after a series of school edit- ings, have come to agree that the name fits the play beautifully despite apparent discrepan- cies. Shakspere would smile if he could read all that has been said on this subject. He chose the name because it was a drawing card. In the folio the title found in the table of con- 38 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM tents is: The Life and Death of Julius Ccesar; the title connected with the play it- self in the body of the volume is : The Trag- edy of Julius Ccesar. The exact wording was of no consequence so long as it contained the name of the great hero. Only one relevant quotation can be given in this chapter: Thomas Heywood— TA^ Four Prentices. Prolog (1594):— Prolog No. 2. I come to excuse the name of the play. Prolog No. J. I the errors in the play. Prolog No. I. And I the author that made the play. With this we close the first of our rather arbitrary divisions of the study. Looking back over the period covered we are struck by the fact that the man who stands out most prominent is one of the earliest dramatists, viz., George Whetstone. This fact points to the inference that a fresh creative impulse is the accompaniment of a critical awakening. CHAPTER II SHAKSPERE AFTER what has been said in the Prelim- inary Remarks, little preparatory com- ment is now called for, notwithstanding the magical suggestiveness of the name heading this chapter. It were astonishing to a degree could it be proved that Shakspere, the myriad- minded, indulged in little reflection on the art which he was practising. On the contrary, a careful reading of his utterances reveals the fact that the greatest of poets understood the technic of his art as fully as the most useless analyst. This must not be interpreted as im- plying that he saw the greatness of his own work as well as we do. The study of one's own work is beset with peculiar difficulties. These difficulties Shakspere knew, as is seen by the following passage in Troilus and Cres- sida (III. 3. 95) :— Ulysses. A strange fellow here Writes me that man, how dearly ever parted, 39 40 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM How much in having, or without or in, Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, Nor feels not what he owes but by reflection ; As when his virtues shining upon others Heat them and they retort that heat again To the first giver. Achilles. This is not strange, Ulysses. The beauty that is born here in the face The bearer knows not, but commands itself To others' eyes. Nor doth the eye itself, That most pure spirit of sense, behold itself, Not going from itself; but eye to eye opposed Salutes each other with each other's form ; For speculation turns not to itself. Till it hath traveled and is mirrored there Where it may see itself. This is not strange at all. Ulysses. I do not strain at the position, — - It is familiar, — ^but at the author's drift; Who in his circumstance, expressly proves That no man is the lord of anything. Though in and of him there be much consisting, Till he communicate his parts to others; Nor doth he of himself know them for aught Till he behold them forined in the applause Where they're extended; who, like an arch re- verberates The voice again, or, like a gate of steel Fronting the sun, receives and renders back His figure and his heat. I was much wrapt in this. This passage alone proves that Shakspere was a subtle analytical thinker. He was SHAKSPERE 41 much wrapped in psychologic problems, and we are led to infer that his realization of his inadequacy to judge his own work was em- phasized by the consciousness of his adequacy to judge the work of others. Dr. Paul Hamelius, in his little pamphlet entitled "Was dachte Shakespeare iiber Poesie," is disappointed in the end that his quotations cannot be so arranged as to con- stitute a complete poetic theory. I hope the reader will not be disappointed if at the end of this chapter he finds that the quotations therein given, though considerably greater in number than those cited by Hamelius, cannot be so or- dered as to constitute a poetic or a dramatic theory. No such system will be found because Shakspere did not put it there, like a Baconian cipher, planning beforehand just how many works he was going to write and just what por- tion of his poetics was to go into each. No, he merely gave expression to his views on vari- ous questions pertaining to his art as they hap- pened to suggest themselves. It is my belief, however, that his utterances on those questions will be found the most pregnant pronounced in his age. 42 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM UNCONSCIOUSNESS OF ART. At the very outset of his career Shakspere anticipated those who would oppose creation to criticism. The art that is merely deliber- ate will fail, while the really artistic work may succeed in a manner quite contrary to the de- liberate aim of the artist. Love's Labor's Lost, V. 2. 520 : — Princess. That sport best pleases that doth least know how: Where zeal strives to content, and the contents Die in the zeal of that which it presents; Their form confounded makes most form in mirth, When great things laboring perish in their birth. POETRY AS ART. In the first scene of Timon of Athens there is an unobtrusive comparison between poetry and painting, in which the superiority of poetry is maintained on the ground of its in- dependence of particulars. After praising a portrait because it might almost be mistaken for the living person, the poet goes on to say of his own art: — . . . my free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself SHAKSPERE 43 In a wide sea of wax: No leveled malice Infects one comma in the course I hold ; But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind. Nevertheless Shakspere saw that painting might possess a certain amount of universal- ity. The poet himself in describing the por- trait is made to say: — It tutors nature : artificial strife Lives In these touches, livelier than life. and the painter later gets a rap at the poet by declaring : — A thousand moral paintings I can show That shall demonstrate these quick blows of for- tune More pregnantly than words. But the poet had before affirmed : — Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourished: the fire i' the flint Shows not till it be struck ; our gentle flame Provokes itself and like the current flies Each bound it chafes. We must be careful about ascribing to Shakspere the opinion thus expressed of poetry's absolute independence of external phenomena. We must remember that he puts 44 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM this into the mouth of a poet. As far back as 1593 Shakspere had an idea not very diflfer- ent presented, but there it is not advanced in a spirit of laudation, for it is a soldier and not a poet that speaks. In Midsummer Night's Dream we have this dialog (V. i. i) : — Hippolyta. 'Tis strange, ray Theseus, that these lovers speak of. Theseus. More strange than true: I never may believe These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. Lovers and madmen have such seething brains. Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatic, the lover and the poet Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold^- That is the madman : the lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name. Such tricks hath strong imagination. That if it would but apprehend some joy. It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; Or in the night, imagining some fear. How easy is a bush supposed a bear I SHAKSPERE 45 A portion of this has become familiar with- out the context and so has given rise to a mis- impression of its bearing. The essential emptiness of poetry is here insisted on. Shak- spere's genius is revealed in the way in which he lets Theseus express the truth, but the truth perverted when seen from the latter's point of view. Similarly Theseus speaks more truly than he knows when he says a lit- tle later: — The best in this kind are but shadows ; and the worst no worse, if imagination amend them. In several places, for dramatic reasons, he represents poetry as the embodiment of what is not true. Perhaps he was making fun of a favorite argument against poetry.^ J.Y.L.I.,IU.3. i6:— Touchstone. . . . Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. Audrey. I do not know what "poetical" is. Is it honest in deed and word? is it a true thing ? Touch. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, and what they swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign. 1 Cf. Spingarn, Lit. Crit., p. 274. 46 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Jud. Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical? Touch. I do truly; for thou swearest to me thou art honest ; now, if thou were a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign. J-A/".,!. 5.207 :— Viola. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical. Olivia. It is the more like to be feigned. T. of A., I. I. 220: — Apemantus. . . . How now, poet I Poet. How now, philosopher! Apetn. Thou liest. Poet. Art not one ? Apem. Yes. Poet. Then I lie not. Apem. Art not a poet? Poet. Yes. Apem. Then thou liest. What above was said seriously about poetic creation by the poet in Timon of Athens, is put into a ridiculous light in the mouth of Holof ernes in Love's Labor's Lost (IV. 2. 67) : — This is a gift that I have [of writing verses] , simple, simple; a foolish, extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehen- sions, motions, revolutions: These are begot in SHAKSPERE 47 the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it. What did Shakspere himself believe? We need have no scruples about accepting the prologs, epilogs, and choruses as his own rep- resentatives. The choruses in Henry V. peal out like trumpet-blasts from the camp of Romanticism. In those choruses, couched in diction seldom accorded to their species, Shakspere proclaimed the dominion of the imagination in the realm of art. Before the first act he says : — . . . can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France ? or may we cram Within this wooden O the very casks That did affright the air at Agincourt ? O, pardon 1 since a crooked figure may Attest in little place a million ; And let us, ciphers to this great account. On your imaginary forces work. Suppose within the girdle of these walls Are now confined two mighty monarchies. Whose high upreared and abutting fronts The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder: Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts ; Into a thousand parts divide one man. And make imaginary puissance ; Think when we talk of horses, that you see them 48 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth; For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, Carry them here and there, jumping o'er times. Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hour-glass. It is the business of art then to suggest, not to present. Any work of art is only a symbol. This truth is imbedded in the statement made by Theseus that the worst specimen of art is no worse than the best if only effectively in- terpreted. The idea with which Henry V. thus opens is reiterated before every act. For example, before Act III.: — . . . Still be kind, And eke out our performance with your mind. . . . Yet sit and see, Minding true things by what their mockeries be. Then brook abridgment, and your eyes advance, After your thoughts, straight back again to France. A similar appeal is made by Time in The Winter's Tale. That esthetic effect is relative and that beauty depends on the human mind for its ex- istence, is brought out in the following dia- logue between Portia and Nerissa in The Merchant of Venice (V. I. 97) : — SHAKSPERE 49 For. ... Music I hark! Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. For. Nothing is good, I see, without respect: Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day. Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. For. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark When neither is attended, and I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day. When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many things by season seasoned are To their right praise and true perfection 1 One is also reminded incidentally of Ham- let's statement that nothing is either good or bad but thinking makes it so. There the ap- plication is not esthetic, but the underlying principle is the same as in the passage from The Merchant of Venice. To the quotations above affirming the abso- lute freedom of poetry from the shackles of nature, w^e may perhaps oppose a passage in The Winter's Tale (IV. 4. 86 flf.) in which there is a discussion of the relation between art and nature. In the course of the dis- cussion, the following statement is made : — Yet nature is made better by no mean But nature makes that mean ; so over that art Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. so ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM This passage has been cited to prove Shak- spere's assertion of the complete subjection of art to nature. If we had no knowledge of the context this inference would be warranted. But the context shows us that the word art is used in the sense of science. If one assumes that Shakspere would have been willing to let the portion quoted stand as a general state- ment, giving to the terms nature and art more comprehensive connotations than is required by their immediate connections, he does it on his own responsibility, though personally I am not ready to deny the validity of his con- tention. I am afraid, however, that in a paper like the present the passage cannot be admitted at all as evidence. Other passages pertaining to the nature of poetry follow. In each case the expression is dramatically appropriate; its value must therefore be rated accordingly. L. L. L., IV. 3. 346 : — Never durst poet touch a pen to write Until his ink were tempered with love's sighs ; O then his lines would ravish savage ears And plant in tyrants mild humility. Hen. V.,Y. 2. 137: — SHAKSPERE 51 K. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me: For the one, I have neither words nor measure, and for the other, I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. . . . And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy, for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places: For these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rime themselves into ladies' favors, they do always reason themselves out again. What! a speaker is but a prater, a rime is but a ballad. I. Hen. IV., III. I. 123: — Glendower. ... I framed to the harp Many an English ditty lovely well And gave the tongue a helpful ornament, A virtue that was never seen in you. Hotspur. Marry, And I am glad of it with all my heart : I had rather be a kitten and cry mew Than one of these same meter ballad-mon- gers; I had rather hear a brazen canstick turned, Or a dry wheel grate on the axletree ; And that would set my teeth nothing on edge. Nothing so much as mincing poetry : 'Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag. 52 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Jaques humorously alludes to the custom of young lovers to write woful ballads on their mistresses' eyebrows, and Orlando adorns the trees of the Forest of Arden with bad poetical fruit (accepting the judgment of Touch- stone). Shakspere probably found his in- spiration for such derogatory comments in Elizabethan life. But he realized that these effeminate practises were only degenerations occasioned by a genuine and healthy power possessed by poetry. This is brought out in the following dialogue from The Two Gentle- men of Verona (III. 2. by) : — Proteus. But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough ; You must lay lime to tangle her desires By wailful sonnets, whose composed rimes Should be full fraught with serviceable vows. Duke. Ay, Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy. Pro. Say that upon the altar of her beauty You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart : Moist it again, and frame some feeling line That may discover such integrity : For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews, Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones. Make tigers tame and huge leviathans Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. After your dire-lamenting elegies, SHAKSPERE 53 Visit by night your lady's chamber window iWith some sweet concert; to their instruments Tune a deploring dump ; the night's dead silence Will well become such sweet-complaining griev- ance. This, or else nothing, will inherit her. The intimate relation between poetry and music is here indicated, and we are reminded of the famous apotheosis of music in The Merchant of Venice. It is too well-known to need repeating here. Caesar reads an en- vious disposition in Cassius because the latter loves no plays and hears no music. The power of music for evil as well as for good is asserted in Measure for Measure (IV. i. 14) :— . . . though music oft hath such a charm To make bad good, and good provoke to harm. The loftiness of the function of poetry and the vileness of its prostitution to mercenary ends is vehemently sung by the poet in Timon of Athens. (I. i. 15) : — When we for recompense have praised the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good. Shakspere was careful to distinguish be- tween the artist and his art. It was a popular 54 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM notion, and one emphasized by Ben Jonson, that the good poet must be a good man. Shakspere saw better. The poet in Timon of Athens is a repulsive flatterer and time- server, though writing verses against such, and the painter is no better character. T. of A.,Y. I. 29: — Painter. ... To promise is most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind of will or testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it. Timon. {Aside) Excellent workman ! thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself. Poet. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him : it must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the in- finite flatteries that follow youth and opu- lency, Timon. {Aside) Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men ? Throughout Shakspere's plays, poets, wherever they appear, do not occupy any noble station either intrinsically or conven- tionally. Like another, though lesser, genius nearer our own day — Nathaniel Hawthorne — he saw in the poet not the embodiment of the SHAKSPERE 55 ideal, but only the man who had the power to embody the ideal. FUNCTION OF THE DRAMA. Nearly all the quotations under this topic represent the drama as a thing made to please. Occasionally there is the further suggestion that pleasure is wholesome. M.N.D.,V. 1.36:— Theseus. What revels are in hand? Is there no play To ease the anguish of a torturing hour? T.ofS.,l. 1.36:— Music and poesy use to quicken you ; The mathematics and the metaphysics, Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you; No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en. Ibid. Induction, sc. 2. 131: — Messenger. Your honor's players, hearing your amendment, Are come to play a pleasant comedy ; For so your doctors hold it very meet, Seeing too much sadness hath congealed your blood. And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy : S6 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Therefore they thought it good you hear a play And frame your mind to mirth and merri- ment, Which bars a thousand harms and length- ens life. Gower, before the first act of Pericles, sug- gests no purpose besides entertainment; and in his last address to the public — the epilog to The Tempest — Shakspere still insists on the same motive : — Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill, or else my project fails, Which was to please. While esthetic enjoyment is the final cause of the drama (the Aristotelian terminology is convenient), its material cause is nature. Hamlet impresses the players : — with this special observance: that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature; for anything so over- done is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. This ought to be compared with what is said in other places about poetry's absolute in- dependence of fact, and its complete subjec- SHAKSPERE S7 tion to the free imagination. Hamlet in the same speech also insists on the control of the forms bodied forth by the imagination: — . . . In the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, you must ac- quire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. SATIRE IN THE DRAMA. This matter is only once alluded to by Shakspere. T.ofA.,1.1.^7:— Poet. ... no leveled malice Infects one comma in the course I hold. More significant than the absence of allu- sion to the question of satire is the absence of satire itself. When we think how common a thing it was in the comedies of his prominent contemporaries, we are forcibly impressed by the loftiness of his mind. In Anglia VII., Fleay tries to explain why Shakspere refrained from casting derogatory reflections on the Puritans. His explanation is that Shakspere early in his career had com- mitted himself against the enemies of Puri- tanism and so could not consistently take their 5 8 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM side later. Love's Labor's Lost, he main- tains, contains a satire against six of his ene- mies. In a temptingly convincing argument he shows that Hole femes is Bishop Cooper; Arm^do, Lily; Nathaniel, Greene; Costard, Kemp; Moth, Nrish; and Antony Dull, Antony Munday. Even if the satire that Fleay finds is really there we must remember that Shakspere was a young man when he wrote it. But that Shakspere failed to ridicule the Puritans because he dreaded inconsistency is inconceivable. A truer ex- planation probably is that he did not see in Puritanism an institution that ought to be ridiculed. THE QUESTION OF AUTHORITY. The keynote of Shakspere's attitude in this matter is struck in Sonnet 66, in which he complains bitterly that art is made tongue- tied by authority. This is one of the things that tend to make him pessimistic. He can- not brook restraint of any sort — neither that which is exacted by present social conditions nor that imposed by tradition. In Love's Labor's Lost (I. i. 86) he speaks sneeringly SHAKSPERE 59 of the continual plodders who have won little save base authority from other's books. But his memorable declaration of inde- pendence is proclaimed by Time, the prolog to the fourth act of The Winter's Tale. It was the one final answer which he deigned to make toward the end of his career to those who objected to his free violation of the dig- nified classic laws: — Impute it not a crime To me or my swift passage, that I slide O'er sixteen years and leave the growth untried Of that wide gap, since it is in my power To o'erthrow law and in one self-born hour To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass The same as I am, ere ancient'st order was Or what is now received : I witness to The times that brought them in ; so shall I do To the freshest things now reigning and make stale The glistering of this present, as my tale Now seems to it. He seems to pour his heart out in this in- tense utterance. He is as free as time. Nay, time and place and phenomena are but the forms of his own eternal consciousness. What had passing systems to do with him? Even the school that would claim him can be tl^e butt of his humor together with its opponent. 6o ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM He respected "the liberty" no more than he did "the law of writ." STANDARD OF JUDGMENT. Shakspere's standard was distinctly an un- democratic one. The opinion of the multi- tude is always put in an unfavorable light. In the induction to The Taming of the Shrew, Sly is delighted at the thought of wit- nessing either a tumbling-trick or some las- civious household stuff. /. C, I. 2. 263: Casca. If the tag-rag people did not clap him, and hiss him, according as he pleased or displeased them, as they use to do the players in the theater, I am no true man. Ham., II. 2. 450: — Hamlet. . . . but it was never acted, or if it was, not above once, for the play, I remember, pleased not the million; 'twas caviare to the general: but it was (as I re- ceived it, and others whose judgments in such matters cried in the top of mine) an excellent play. Ibid., III. 2. 12: — Hamlet. . . . the groundlings, who for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise. SHAKSPERE 6i Ibid., III. 2. 30: — Hamlet. , . . Now this overdone, or come tardy pf, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance o'erweigh a whole thea- ter of others. The reference in Henry VIII. (V. 4. 64) is probably not by Shakspere. Perhaps in this connection the fact that Shakspere frequently makes disparaging al- lusions to the popular ballad is significant.^ Making such allusions seemed to be one of the favorite diversions of the Elizabethan dramatists. Usually these ballads were wretched stuff, and so could easily be ridi- culed. The inference of Dr. Hamelius that Shakspere believed poetry to be the result of culture seems to me too violent. MECHANICS OF PLAY-MAKING. A. Facts Modified by the Poet. Aristotle declared that poetry was higher than history, because the latter saw only what iCf. M. N. D., IV. I. 214; / Hen. IV., III. i. 125; Hen. v., V. 2. 166; W. T.. IV. 4. 262 ff. 62 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM was, being absorbed therefore entirely in the appearance of things, whereas the former dealt with what might be, being interested therefore in the profound reality beneath the appearance. Shakspere held the same view. ^. r.. III. 2.38:— Hermione . . . which is more Than history can pattern, though devised And played to take spectators. Related to this, topic is the manipulation of his subject by the poet, for purposes of the- atrical presentation. Not all the incidents of a story maybe included in a single play, or be effectively dramatized at all. Shakspere in- forms us of this primary dramaturgic law in two places. T. and C, Prolog: — . • . our play Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils, 'Ginning in the middle ; starting thence away To what may be digested in a play, Pericles, III. Chorus: — And what ensues in this fell storm Shall for itself itself perform. I nill relate; action may Conveniently the rest convey, Which might not what by me is told. SHAKSPERE 63 Shakspere had a word to say about the ne- cessity for the substance of plays to possess the element of probability. T. N., III. 4. 140: — Fabian. If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction. Isn't Shakspere most delightful when he sticks his tongue into his cheek? This is be- ing played upon a stage now, and he makes the audience believe the improbable by tell- ing them that if he were one of them he would not swallow it. He realized the principle of romantic art that it is only necessary to have your audience willing for the time being :o accept what you present. B. Species. The medieval view of tragedy was grad- ually modified by the practise of the Eliza- bethan pla5rwrights, but to the end of the era it did not technically become identical with ours. The modern conception of tragedy as a spiritual defeat was foreign to the Eliza- bethans. From their idea of the species death was inseparable. To be sure, there was 64 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM the spiritual defeat as well. But in order that the play be called a tragedy, Macbeth must die, Desdemona must die, and Othello must die too. Sometimes indeed there was a spiritual victory, the death being merely, per- functory, as in the case of Brutus. In the Prolog to Henry Fill., we have a striking combination of reminiscences of the Aristotelian and the medieval conceptions: — I come no more to make you laugh : things now That bear a weighty and a serious brow, Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe. Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, We now present. Those that can pity, here May, if they think it well, let fall a tear. The subject will deserve it. . . . . . . think ye see The very persons of our noble story As they were living ; think you see them great. And followed with the general throng and sweat Of thousand friends ; then in a moment, see How soon this mightiness meets misery. But this prolog is certainly not by Shakspere. The popular conception is voiced in the fol- lowing quotation : — M.N.D.,V. 1.66:— Philostrate. And tragical, my noble lord, it is. For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. SHAKSPERE 65 On the other hand a play would popularly not be considered a comedy unless the sympa- thetic characters attained their desires, even though the action is not a serious one. L. L.L.,V. 2.884 :— Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old . ^ , play; Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy Might well have made our sport a comedy. Apparently Shakspere smiled at the pop- ular conception. We found in Chapter I, that there was a tendency to associate comedy and history as two species below the dignity of tragedy. This association is emphasized in the second scene of the Induction to the Taming of the Shrew: — Sly. ... Is not a comonty [i. e. a comedy] a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling-trick? Page. No, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff. Sly. What, household stuff? Page. It is a kind of history. That comedy was not an unworthy means of entertainment in Shakspere's mind is in- dicated by the following: — 66 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Hen. VI., Part 3, V. 7. 42 : — K.. Edw. And now what rests but that we spend the time With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows, Such as befit the pleasures of the court ? A history must be full of strange events. A. Y. L. I., II. 7. 163 :— Jaques. . . . Last scene of all. That ends this strange eventful history. C. Mixture of Tragic and Comic. In keeping with Shakspere's lofty contempt for authority he had not the least hesitation about mixing comic with tragic elements. That his procedure was conscious and care- fully weighed and that he disapproved of the incongruous mingling practised by the earlier dramatists, is proved by the title he gave to Peter Quince's play: "The most lamentable comedy and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisbe," and by Polonius' humorous enumer- ation of mongrels. D. Theme. Shakspere believed with Aristotle that the topic of a play should be of sufficient magni- SHAKSPERE 67 tude. Rosaline in Love's Labor's Lost (V. 2. 305) speaks of "their shallow shows." His other allusions to the question show his pre- dilection for the "imperial theme" or "swell- ing act" made popular by Marlow. /. C, III. I. 112: — Cassius. . . . How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over, In states unborn, and accents yet unknown ! Macb., I. 3. 128: — Macb. . . . Two truths are told As happy prologs to the swelling act Of the imperial theme. Hen. v., Prolog: — And monarchs to behold the swelling scene. E. Originality. L.L.L.,lY.z. 128:— Hoi. Ovidius Naso was the man : and why indeed Naso but for smelling out the odor- iferous flavors of fancy, the jerks of inven- tion? Imitari is nothing: so doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired horse his rider. Apparently Shakspere lets the foolish Hol- ofernes speak truths, to make fun of the fools 68 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM who were accustomed to utter them without understanding their real significance, and so misapplied them. To his critics, applying the principle enunciated by Holof ernes, one of his tragedies would not compare with a sonnet by Sidney, for example. F. Construction. Ham., II. 2. 458 : — Ham. ... it was ... an excel- lent play; well digested in the scenes, set down with as much modesty as cunning. If we remember that digested means dis- posed in due method, and that modesty means absence of exaggeration, we can appreciate the significance of the remark. G. Melodrama. What Shakspere thought of melodrama (in the modern sense) may be judged from the following : — M.N.D.,N, 1.365:— Theseus. . . . if he that writ it had played Pyramus and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy. SHAKSPERE 69 It is hard to imagine a better choice of a single incident for the satire. H. Unities. Shakspere violated the unities because he saw that by appealing to the imagination of his audience he could create a deeper unity. Per., IV. 4. 52 :-^ Gower. Thus time we waste, and longest leagues make short, Sail seas in cockles, have an wish but for't ; Making (to take your imagination) From bourn to bourn, region to region. There is a humorous reference to the unity of time in Love's Labor's Lost (V. 2. 888) : — King. ... a twelvemonth and a day and then 'twill end. Btron. That's too long for a play. and another to the unity of place in Hamlet (II. 2. 418). Polonius says that the actors are ready to play anything — "scene individ- able or poem unlimited." But his most earnest expression on the sub- ject occurs in the already quoted prolog to the fourth act of Winter's Tale: — 70 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM . . . Impute it not a crime To me or my swift passage, that I slide O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried Of that wide gap ; since it is in my power To o'erthrow law, etc. I. Prolog, Epilog, Etc. Shakspere seldom indulged in prologs oi epilogs. Judging by his references to them, he must have had a mild contempt for them as useless appendages. Their usual w^retched- ness from the literary standpoint is noted in Love's Labor^s Lost (V. 2. 305) : — Ros. Their shallow shows, and prolog vilely penned. Prologs were always superfluous. When they were obscure they were not understood; when they were understood they merely gave information that the audience would acquire in good time. In Othello he speaks of "an index and obscure prolog," and one recalls what fun he makes in Midsummer Night's Dream of the practise of explaining all de- tails beforehand. The following extracts bear on the point. L. L. L., V. I. 142: — SHAKSPERE 71 Hoi. ... he shall present Hercules in minority: his enter and exit shall be strangling a snake; and I will have an apology for that purpose. Ham., III. 2. 151: — Ham. We shall know by this fellow [i. e. the Prolog] : the players cannot keep coun- sel; they'll tell all.^ The epilog was equally superfluous. Rosa- lind, as Epilog to As You Like It, says : — If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilog. M.N.D.,V. 1.362:— Theseus. No epilog, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Shakspere himself has a song at the end of Twelfth Night, but he seems to ridicule the practise in the following: — M. N. D., IV. 2. 221 :— Bottom. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream . . . and I will sing it in the latter end of the play. 1 Cf. Jonson, Cynth. Rev., Ind : — 3 Child. I'll tell all the argument of his play aforehand, and so stale his invention to the auditory before it comes forth. 72 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM In the last act of the same play we also have a satire on the dumb show. J. Conventions. Students of the drama to-day speak very profoundly about the conventions of the theater. Our attention is called to the fact that a room on the stage has only three walls, that actors talk aloud to themselves, etc, etc. Shaypere perceived all this. He calls at- tention to one of the most elusive of all the conventions, namely, that representatives of different nationalities are made to speak the same language. Per., IV. 4. 56: — Gower. By you being pardoned, we commit no crime To use one language in each several clime Where our scenes seem to live. Here he tells us the justification for all artistic conventions: the willingness of the public to accept them. This quotation alone proves what a keen art-critic he was. LITERARY QUALITIES. Shakspere is not modern in his attitude to- ward this question. To-day the literary side SHAKSPERE 73 of a play does not worry a playwright at all. The set speech which has practically van- ished from the modern stage was admired by Shakspere. "One speech in it I chiefly loved," says Hamlet. The poet's other allu- sions to literary qualities are mainly a satire on bombast. Hen. VI., Part I., IV. 7. 72:— La Pucelle. Here's a silly stately style in- deed! The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath, iWrites not so tedious a style as this. Bottom and Holofernes only need to be mentioned. No comment is required; ex- cept, perhaps, that in the Midsummer Night's Dream, bombast is associated with allitera- tion. We have an enumeration of the qualities of verse in the following: L. L. L., IV. 2. 144: — Hoi. I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither savoring of poetry, wit, nor Invention. Versification is discussed in two places. L. L. L., IV. 2. 123 : — 74 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Hoi. You find not the apostraphas, and so miss the accent: let me supervise the can- zonet. Here are only numbers ratified; but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. M.N. D., HI. 1.23:— Quince. Well, we will have such a prolog ; and it shall be written in eight and six. Bottom. No, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight. In point of fact, when this prolog does ap- pear, it is written in the usual ten and ten. ACTING. That Shakspere felt keenly the social degradation entailed by the actor's calling, is suggested in Sonnet 29. In Sonnet iii, he declaims bitterly against it for the moral deg- radation to which it inevitably brings its fol- lower. Nowhere does he point out the essential dignity of the profession as an art, though he has quite a deal to say about it. His thoughts on the subject follow, with some attempt at classification. Much depends on the actor. He might even save a poor play. The Prolog to Romeo and Juliet ends with: — SHAKSPERE 75 The which if you with patient ear attend What here shall miss our toil shall strive to mend. The player must be fitted for the part so as to play it naturally. M. N. D., V. I. 64:— Philostrate. . . . in all the play, There is not one word apt, one player fitted. T. of S., Induction i. 83 : — Lord. . . . This fellow I remember Since first he played a farmer's eldest son; — 'Twas where you wooed the gentlewoman so well: I have forgot your name ; but sure that part Was aptly fitted, and naturally performed. M.N. D., 1.2. i'.— Quince. Here is the scroll of every man's name which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude. The reader will recall the difficulty Quince experienced in fitting the parts. The next two quotations deal with the effect of good acting on the audience. The second shows more than indifferent observation. r. G. 0/ r., IV. 4. 170:— 76 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Julia. . . . And at that time I made her weep agood, For I did play a lamentable part : Madam, 'twas Ariadne passioning For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight; Which I so lively acted with my tears That my poor mistress, moved therewithal. Wept bitterly. Rich. II., V. 2. 23 : — York. As in a theater, the eyes of men. After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next. Thinking his prattle to be tedious.^ Poor acting is the theme of the following. T. and C, I. 3. 153: — Ulysses. And, like a strutting player, — Whose conceit Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich To hear the wooden dialogue and sound 'Twixt his stretched footing and the scaf- foldage, — Such to be pitied and o'er-wrested seeming He acts thy greatness in. Macb.,Y. 5. 24: — Macb. Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player 1 One also recalls Hamlet's soliloquy at the end of Act II. SHAKSPERE 77 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more. Cor., V. 3. 40: — Cor. . , . Like a dull actor now I have forgot my part, and I am out, Even to a full disgrace. Now follow allusions to the conventional devices practised by poor actors. Rich., III. 3. 55 : — Bruck. Tutl I can counterfeit the deep tragedian ; Speak, and look back, and pry on every side. Tremble and start at wagging of a straw. Intending deep suspicion. Ham., III. 2. 262: — Ham. . . . Begin, murderer; pox, leave thy damnable faces, and begin. In Love's Labor's Lost (V- i. 146), there is a humorous reference to the practise of "cov- ering up" on the part of skilful actors : — Moth. An excellent device ! so, if any of the au- dience hiss, you may cry, "Well done, Hercu- les! now thou crushest the snake I" that is the way to make an offence gracious, though few have the grace to do it. 78 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Hamlet's advice to the players is Shak- spere's most substantial single utterance on the subject. It is too well known to need com- ment. The main point in it is the condemna- tion of unnatural rhetorical delivery, the fault which is the chief subject for the satire in Midsummer Night's Dream. There remains one passage more to be con- sidered. It has been reserved for the end be- cause it is in some respects the most important of all that enter into this study, and because it suggests a problem which cannot be easily solved. In the second act of Hamlet^ Shakspere cites a play and gives us a direct criticism of it, loading it with praise. He then quotes what he considers a particularly fine speech. Here we have no generalizations to work with. There is the criticism, and the illustration. Now the illustration is one of the worst ex- amples of unwholesome imagery and unnat- ural writing in the whole range of Eliza- bethan literature. It has been suggested that the whole thing is a satire on the Tragedy of Blood; but the more I read the passage, the more removed from possible acceptance does the suggestion seem. Shakspere even em- SHAKSPERE 79 phasizes its merit by making Polonius dislike it. It has also been suggested that Shakspere did not want Hamlet's views to be considered his own. This too seems beside the mark. Hamlet's dramaturgic remarks are distinct digressions. They have nothing to do with the play. To complicate matters, Coleridge thinks the speech just great. There is nothing half- hearted about his opinion. He says : — The fancy that a burlesque was Intended sinks below criticism : the lines as epic narrative are su- perb. In the thoughts, and even in the separate parts of the diction, this description Is highly poet- ical: In truth, taken by Itself, that is Its fault that It Is too poetical 1 The consensus of opinion I believe is that these remarks of Coleridge are the height of absurdity. But do they not suggest - out of the difficulty? If Colerid; ^crhaps the greatest of English critics, could not judge the selection fairly, though he had nothing to do with its creation, why should we wonder that the creator himself should view it with distorted vision? He tried to imitate the epic style and failed though he thought he had suc- ceeded. There is no doubt that Shakspere 8o ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM to-day would not be so deluded ; but his time was largely out of joint in literary matters. Though he did much to set it right, he some- times fell a victim to its disjointedness. Yet I verily believe that before he died he real- ized his mistake with regard to JEneas* tale to Dido. D CHAPTER III BEN JONSON RUMMOND informs us in the Con- versations that Jonson "hath commented and translated Horace's Art of Poesy: it is in dialogue ways ;" (HI. 487) .* The translation has come down to us, but the commentary was destroyed by the fire in which a consid- erable number of his works perished. As to the nature of the commentary we have two bits of evidence. One is Drummond's state- ment above that it was in the form of a dia- logue; the other is Jonson's own meager de- scription in his Execration upon Vulcan: — But, in my desk, what was there to accite So ravenous and vast an appetite ? I dare not say a body, but some parts There were of search, and mastery in the arts. All the old Venuslne, in poetry. And lighted by the Stagirite, could spy. Was there made English. ^ All the references to Jonson's works are to the three vol- ume GifFord-Cunningham edition. 8£ 82 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Gififord takes it for granted that "lighted by the Stagirite" means "illustrated with notes from Aristotle's Poetics." This meaning is not quite so evident. A more plausible in- terpretation, it seems to me, would render the lines: "all which Horace, guided by Aris- totle, could spy in poetry." But even if my interpretation is adopted, Gifford's assertion that the commentary dealt largely with Aris- totle, cannot be denied ; for if he mentions the influence of Aristotle when he chooses to make only one comment, he surely must have dilated on this point in a treatise on the sub- ject. In any event we must regret the loss of this dialogue. Had it come down to us we should now be in possession of one systematic treat- ment of the poetic art by a prominent Eliza- bethan playwright; and a consideration of Jonson as a theorist would have been a much simpler matter. The fa.cts being what they are, however, we must be resigned to the will of fate and con- tent ourselves with the material he has be- queathed us. This material is indeed more substantial than afforded by any other drama- tist of the age, and in one important respect is BEN JONSON 83 more satisfactory, in that it includes a substi- tute for the lost commentary. I refer of course to the Timber, or Discoveries. The substitute is not all we should like to have it, but it possesses the merit of being extra-dra- matic, and therefore purely critical. The work is now passing through a crisis. It has only recently been revealed (what in- deed had been proclaimed on the title-page of the first edition),^ that it contains tran- scripts from Roman and Renascence authors. Prof. Wm. Dinsmore Briggs, in his article on the Sources of Jonson's Discoveries (Mod. Lang. Notes, XXIII. 46) says: "One thing at least is certain: we ought to know how much of Jonson is contained in the Discov- eries, how much of other men. We are ac- customed to utilize them in the study of his other work, in the discussion of his critical theories and of his view of life. Can we do so safely without some definite notion as to how far they really represent his critical the- ories and his view of life?" 1 This reads : Timber ; or, Discoveries ; Made upon Men and Matter; as they have flow'd out of his daily Readings; or had their reflux to his peculiar Notion of the Times. By Ben Jonson. Tecum habila, ut noris quam sit libi curia supellex. 84 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM In Mr. Percy Simpson's article in the Modern Language Review (II. 202), we may find an appropriate comment: "I doubt if they contain a single original re- mark." Even if this surmise is correct there is not sufficient ground for the anxiety ex- pressed by Professor Briggs. It must be granted that a man will take the trouble to translate and copy into his note-book only such things as he is interested in, either sym- pathetically or the reverse. Now if the Dis- coveries contained views which were contra- dictory, it would be a question which side was favored by Jonson. This, it seems to me, is not the case. All the notes, I believe, tend in the same direction. At any rate, so far as the present study is concerned, there is no occa- sion for solicitude. The notes relating to our topic bespeak his own views. There can be no doubt about that, for they agree with what he has to say in his original writings. Yet in one respect this assiduous appropri- ation by Jonson of other men's thoughts is highly significant. It brings out the chief difference between him and Shakspere, con- sidered as theorists. Shakspere was creative, Jonson was assimilative. The second differ- BEN JONSON 85 ence between them lay in the temper of their minds — Shakspere was romantic, Jonson classic. And right here we must disabuse ourselves of the notion that classicism with Jonson meant the propriety of obeying learned laws in artistic production. His writing was classic as opposed to that of Shakspere be- cause his own spirit was such — not because he was dominated by a respect for antiquity. His denial of authority was perhaps as arro- gant as Shakspere's, as we shall see presently. Indeed the main impression that one carries away from a study of his opinions is the spirit of independence that prevails in them. INFLUENCE OF BACON. It was observed that Jonson's genius was assimilative. It needed suggestion. If one reads his reflective utterances, bearing in mind the work of Francis Bacon, one is strongly tempted to infer that the attitude of uncom- promising self-reliance which prevails in the writing of the dramatist was largely the result of contact with the great founder of empiri- cism. The evidence extant points to an inti- mate association between the two men. One cannot help picturing them as constant com- 86 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM p anions. Eloquent and afifectionate is Jon- son's eulogy celebrating his friend's sixtieth birthday. The playwright's admiration for the thinker fell little short of worship. This is what he says in the Discoveries (III. 401b) : — But his learned and able (though unfortunate) successor, is he who hath filled up all numbers, and performed that in our tongue, which may be com- pared or preferred either to insolvent Greece or haughty Rome ... he may stand as the mark or akme of our language. and a little further on : — I have and do reverence him for the greatness that was only proper to himself,. in that he seemed to me ever, by his work, one of the greatest men, and most of admiration, that had been In many ages. In his adversity I ever pray'd that God would give him strength; for greatness he could not want. Such a tribute from a distinguished contem- porary justifies the presumption of close ac- quaintance, and betrays how ready Jonson was to be influenced by his friend. This is an appropriate place to bring for- ward what Bacon had to say about poetry and the drama. Dr. Symmes regrets that Bacon ■' BEN JONSON 87 contributed no more on the question of the drama than what is found in the essay on Masks. The fact is that he has an interest- ing paragraph on the drama in the De Aug- mentis. His most profound remarks, how- ever, are devoted to the problems of poetry in general. These are found both in the Ad- vancement of Learning and in the De Aug- mentis; but since those in the latter are some- what amplified, it is preferable to quote from that work (Book II., Chap. XIII) :— I now come to Poesy, which is a part of learning In measure of words for the most part restrained, but in all other points extremely free and licensed ; and therefore it is referred to the imagination, which may at pleasure make unlawful matches and divorces of things. . . . As for narrative Poesy — or Heroical, If you like to call it — the foundation of it Is truly noble, and has a special relation to the dignity of human nature. For as the sensible world Is Inferior In dignity to the rational soul. Poesy seems to bestow upon human nature those things which history de- nies It; and to satisfy the mind with the shadow of things when the substance cannot be obtained. For If the matter be attentively considered, a sound argument may be drawn from Poesy, to show that there Is agreeable to the spirit of men a more ample greatness, a more perfect order and a more beautiful variety than it can anywhere 88 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM (since the Fall) find in nature; and therefore, since the acts and events which are the subjects of real history are not of sufficient grandeur to satisfy the human mind, Poesy is at hand to feign acts more heroical; since the successes and issues of actions as related in the true history are far from being agreeable to the merits of virtue and vice, Poesy corrects it, exhibiting events and fortunes as ac- cording to merit and the law of providence; since true history wearies the mind with satiety of ordinary events, one like another. Poesy refreshes it, by reciting things unexpected and various and full of vicissitudes. So that this Poesy conduces not only to delight but also to magnanimity and morality. Whence it may be fairly thought to partake somewhat of a divine nature; because it raises the mind, and carries it aloft, accommodat- ing the shows of things to the desires of the mind, not (like reason and history) buckling and bowing down the mind to the nature of things. One cannot help associating tljis, especially the beginning, with Shakspere's views on poetry (a neglected argument, I believe for the Baconians). The two geniuses certainly re- sembled each other. We find in the passage also the suggestion of a theory elaborated later by John Dennis in his Advancement and Reformation of Modern Poetry. The sug- gestion lies in the parenthesis "since the Fall," and the theory is that poetry is one of the BEN JONSON 89 means of leading man back to the perfect hap- piness he enjoyed before the Fall.^ Of the drama he has this to say; — Dramatic Poesy is as history made visible; for it represents actions as if they were present, where- as history represents them as past. . . . Dramatic Poesy, which has the theater for its world, would be of excellent use if well directed. For the stage is capable of no small influence, both of discipline and corruption. Now of corruptions of this kind we have enough ; but the discipline has in our time been plainly neglected. And though in modern states play-acting is esteemd but as a toy, except when it is too satirical and biting, yet among the ancients it was used as a means of edu- cating men's minds to virtue. Nay, it has been regarded by learned men and great philosophers as a kind of musician's bow by which men's minds may be played upon. And certainly it is most true, and one of the great secrets of nature, that the minds of men are more open to impressions and afections when many are gathered together than when they are alone. We find Bacon here, three centuries before the advent of Le Bon, quietly enunciating the principle of the psychology of the crowd and advancing that principle as an explanation of the efficacy of the dramatic appeal. 1 The germ of the theory may be traced back to Sidney's Apology. Ed. Collins, p. 9. 90 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Bacon also, it is seen, commits himself to the didactic theory of the function of the drama. Indeed he seems to have been rather timid about saying too many good things about poetry; for he apologetically winds up his dissertation on the topic with the words: "But it is not good to stay too long in the theater. Let us now pass on to the judicial place or palace of the mind, which we are to approach and view with more reverence and attention." He proceeds to treat of Theology and Philosophy. Nevertheless, the abdve quotations are enough to indicate what an in- estimable privilege the companionship of such a man as Bacon would be to such a man as Jonson. POETIC CREATION. Jonson's views on this question contrast strikingly with those of Shakspere. Shak- spere emphasized the inspirational aspect of the process, while at the same time insisting on the necessity for deliberate control ; Jonson emphasized the deliberation, almost losing sight of the inspiration. The difference in at- titude is the difference between the romantic and the classic. BEN JONSON 91 Disc. (III. 399b) : — But the wretcheder are the obstinate contemners of all helps and arts; such as presuming on their own naturals (which perhaps are excellent) dare deride all diligence . . . they utter all they can think in a kind of violence and indisposition unexamined, without relation either to person, place, or any fitness else ; and the more wilful and stubborn they are in it, the more learned they are esteemed of the multitude, through their excellent vice of judgment: who think those things the stronger that have no art; as if to break were bet- ter than to open; or to rent asunder, gentler than to loose. It cannot but come to pass that these men who commonly seek to do more than enough may some- times happen on something that is good and great ; but very seldom. . . . Now because they speak all they can (however unfitly) they are thought to have the greater copy: where the learned use ever election and a mean; they look back to what they intended at first, and make all an even and proportioned body. Part of this is found in practically identical phraseology in the address to the reader, pre- fixed to The Alchemist. In the Conversations (III. 486) we learn that he w^rote all his verse first in prose, "for so his Master, Cambden, had learned him"; and pertinent also is the familiar comment on hearing that Shakspere 92 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM never blotted a line : "Would he had blotted a thousand." {Disc. III. 398a.) Natural ability is however insisted on as in- dispensable. In the Discoveries (III. 420a) Jonson gives the five requisites of the poet, and the first is natural ability. First, we require of our poet a goodness of natural wit. For whereas all other arts consist of doctrine and precepts, the poet must be able by nature and instinct to pour out the treasure of his mind. The second requisite is laborious perse- verance. The third is assimilative ability: — The third requisite in our poet, is imitation, to be able to convert the substance or riches of an- other poet to his own use. To make choice of one excellant man above the rest, and so to follow him until he grow very he, or so like him, as the copy may be mistaken for the principal. Not as a creature that swallows what it takes in crude, raw, or undigested; but that feeds with an appetite, and hath a stomach to concoct, divide, and turn into nourishment. The fourth requisite is general reading. This develops artistic ability: — But that which we especially require in him, is an exactness of study, and multiplicity of reading, which maketh a full man, not alone enabling him BEN JONSON 93 to know the history or argument of the poem, and to report it; but so to master the matter and style, as to show he knows how to handle, place, or dispose of either with elegancy, when need shall be. And not to think he can leap forth suddenly a poet, by dreaming he hath been in Parnassus, or having washed his lips, as they say, in Helicon. There goes more to his making than so : for to na- ture, exercise, imitation, and study, art must be added to make all these perfect. And though these challenge to themselves much in the making up of our maker, it is art only can lead him to per- fection, and leave him there in possession, as planted by her hand. Yet the indispensability of the first is reiter- ated : — But all this in vain without a natural wit, and a poetical nature in chief. For no man, so soon as he knows this, or reads it, shall be able to write the better ; but as he is adapted to it by nature, he shall grow the perfecter writer. And in the Discoveries (III. 398b) he says : — Some are fit to make divines, some poets, some lawyers. . . . There is no doctrine will do good where nature is wanting. That the poet is born he insisted early in his career in Every Man in his Humor, V. i. (I. 58b) :- 94 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Clement. They are not born every year, as an alderman. There goes more to the making of a good poet, than a sheriff.^ There is a humorous suggestion in The World in the Moon (III. 136b) that a poet must not be an abstainer : — Factor. I am sure if he be a good poet, he has discovered a good tavern In his time. /. Herald. That he has: I should think the worse of his verse else. Printer. And his prose too, i' faith. A noteworthy idea concerning the nature of poetry, and the relation between creation and criticism, is contained in the following sen- tence in the Discoveries (III. 422a) : — To judge of poets is only the faculty of poets; and not of all poets, but the best. Creation and criticism then, according to Jonson are not only not mutually exclusive, but are even mutually dependent. Another noteworthy idea pertaining to poetic creation is expressed in the Dedication of The Fox. For if men will impartially, and not squint, look toward the offices and function of a poet, they will easily conclude to themselves the impossibility of 1 Cf . same thought at end of epilog to New Inn. BEN JONSON 95 any man's being the good poet, without first being a good man. We saw that Shakspere, with truer insight, knew better. A startling theory is promulgated in the fol- lowing extract from an interlude in the fourth scene of the fifth act of Every Man out of his Humor (I. 132b). The passage taken by it- self would set Jonson down as a rampant ro- manticist : — Mitts. This savors too much of profanation. Cordatus. The necessity of his vein compels a toleration. For, bar this, and dash him out of humor before his time. The principle here enunciated is that art transcends conventional propriety. The play in order to be true to itself, requires the use of profanity, and the necessity justifies the use. The same principle would justify in art the introduction of any other form of immorality. DIGNITY OF POETIC ART. Jonson resented the genial contempt in which his art was held in his time. Such con- tempt, he believed was a sign of ignorance. Epigram X. To My Lord Ignorant: — 96 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Thou call'st me poet, as a term of shame; But I have my revenge made in thy name. Yet he was willing to admit that the degra- dation to which poetry was being subjected was not without cause, in view of the multi- tude of unworthy followers of the art. In a passage in Every Man in His Humor which appeared only in the original quarto, Jonson eloquently maintained that if poesy were stripped of the base rags in which his contem- poraries had clothed her, she would reveal a presence of divine splendor (I. 59, note) : — I can refell opinion, and approve The state of poesy, such as it is. Blessed, eternal, and most true divine: Indeed, if you will look on poesy. As she appears in many, poor and lame, Patched up in remnants and old worn-out rags, Half-starved for want of her peculiar food, Sacred invention, then I must confirm Both your conceit and censure of her merit: But view her in her glorious ornaments, Attired in the majesty of art. Set high in spirit with the precious taste Of sweet philosophy ; and, which is most. Crowned with the rich traditions of a soul That hates to have her dignity profaned With any relish of an earthly thought, Oh then how proud a presence doth she bear! Then is she like herself, fit to be seen Of none but grave and consecrated eyes. BEN JONSON 97 Some years later he proclaimed it his sacred office to restore poesy to her rightful throne. Fox, Dedic. (I. 355) : — . . . if my muses be true to me, I shall raise the despised head of poetry again, and stripping her out of those rotten and base rags wherewith the times have adulterated her form, restore her to her primitive habit, feature, and majesty, and render her worthy to be embraced and kissed of all the great and master-spirits of our world. This was written shortly after the world had seen the production of such works as The Fairy Queen, Hamlet, Macbeth, Othello, and King Lear. Verily, the conceit of Ben Jon- son did attain huge dimensions. SCOPE AND AIM OF THE DRAMA. Disc. (III. 421b) : — The poet is the nearest borderer upon the orator, and expresseth all his virtues, though he be tied more to numbers, is his equal in ornament, and above him in his strength. And (of the kind) the comic comes nearest ; because in moving the minds of men, and stirring of affections, he chiefly ex- cels. What figure of a body was Lysippos ever able to form with his graver, or Apelles to paint with his pencil, as the comedy of life expresseth so many and various affections of the mind? There shall the spectator see some insulting with 98 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM joy, others fretting with melancholy, raging with anger, mad with love, boiling with avarice, un- done with riot, tortured with expectation, consumed with fear: no perturbation in common life but the orator finds an example of it in the scene. E. M. in h. H., Prol. :— He rather prays you will be pleased to see One such to-day as other plays should be ; When she [Comedy] would show an image of the ' times, And sport with human follies, not with crimes. Except we make them such, by loving still Our popular errors, when we know they're ill. I mean such errors as you'll all confess By laughing at them, they deserve no less. Both of these passages deal specifically with the province of comedy, yet they would sug- gest, particularly the first, the broad territory Jonson would concede to the drama in gen- eral. Jonson was fond of the figure which repre- sented the drama as a mirror reflecting "an image of the times." In addition to the phrase above, he makes use of it in the follow- ing: E. M. out of h. H., Introduction (I. 65a) : — . . . my soul Was never ground in such oily colors, BEN JONSON 99 To flatter vice and daub iniquity; But with an armed and resolved hand, I'll strip the ragged follies of the time Naked as at their birth — and with a whip of steel, Print wounding lashes in their iron ribs. And further on — (I. 67b) : — Well, I will scourge those apes. And to these courteous eyes oppose a mirror, As large as the stage whereon we act, Where they shall see the time's deformity Anatomized in every nerve and sinew. E. M. out of h. H.; after III. i : — Mitts. I travail with another objection, signior, which I fear will be enforced against the author ere I can be delivered of it. Cor. What's that, sir? Mit. That the argument of his comedy might have been of some other nature, as of a duke to be in love with a countess, and that countess to be in love with the duke's son, and the son to love the lady's waiting- maid; some such cross-wooing, with a clown to their serving-man, better than to be thus near, and familiarly applied to the time. Cor. You say well, but I would fain hear one of these autumn-judgments define once, "Quid sit comoedia?" if he cannot let him content himself with Cicero's definition till he have strength to propose to himself a loo ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM better, who will have a comedy to be: Imitatio vitae, speculum consuetudinis, imago veritatis; a thing throughout pleas- ant and ridiculous, and accommodated to the correction of manners. On Jonson's oversight regarding the author- ship of the pseudo-Ciceronian definition, I have already commented.* FUNCTION OF THE DRAMA. At the end of the passage last quoted, Jon- son, early in his career, committed himself to the theory of the didactic function of the drama. This theory he never abandoned, though we shall see that he did not accept it in a pure and simple state. Fox, Dedication : — . . . it being the office of a comic poet to imitate justice, and instruct to life, as well as purity of language, or stir up gentle affections : to which I shall take occasion elsewhere to speak. The last clause is thus worded in the quarto : "to which, upon my next opportunity toward the examining and digesting of my notes, I shall speak more wealthily, and pay the world a debt." The allusion is to his prospective 1 p. i6. BEN JONSON loi edition of Horace's Art of Poetry, which he had promised the readers of Sejanus. How all his references to that lost labor make us join in his execration upon Vulcan! In it he spoke "wealthily" on the topics now under discussion. He specifies further, in his ad- dress to the readers of Sejanus, some of the things he dealt with in that ill-starred work : — First, if it be objected, that what I publish is no true poem, in the strict laws of time, I con- fess it: as also in the want of a proper chorus; whose habit and moods are such and so difficult, as not any, whom I have seen, since the ancients, no, not they who have most presently affected laws, have yet come in the way of. Nor is it needful, or almost possible in these our times, and to such auditors as commonly things are presented, to ob- serve the old state and splendor of dramatic poems, with preservation of any popular delight. But of this I shall take more seasonable cause to speak, In my observations upon Horace his Art of Poetry, which, with the text translated, I in- tend to shortly publish. How painful to contemplate that we are now compelled to dovetail fragments that were never connected, in an endeavor to get some idea of what the whole would have been, despite the fact that Jonson had taken the trouble to construct that whole for us. In I02 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM some respects the loss is more irreparable than in others. For instance, his opinion regard- ing the propriety of departing from classic models, which is the main topic of the last quotation, is fairly adequately represented by what we have. But how about the question of the function of the drama, which is just touched on near the end of the quotation? On this we have little more than bald conclu- sions without the discussion of premises, though the problem is the most serious one in esthetic theory. And on this very subject he promised to speak "more wealthily" in his edition of Horace's treatise. But fretting will not advance our subject, so let us leave it off and do the best we can. In the dedication of The Fox, there is an- other appropriate passage: — I have labored ... to reduce not only the ancient forms, but manners of the scene; the easiness, the propriety, the innocence, and last, the doctrine, which is the principal end of poesy, to in- form men in the best reason of living. When he says that instruction is the princi- pal end of poetry, he implies that there are possible subsidiary ends. In most of his other BEN JONSON 103 pertinent references, delight is coupled with profit as one of the ends of the drama. Fox,, Prol. : — In all his poems still hath been this measure : To mix profit with your pleasure. Epic, 2nd Prol. : — The ends of all who for the scene do write, Are, or should be, to profit and delight. Staple of News., Epil. : — Thus have you seen the maker's double scope, To profit and delight. Disc. (III. 4i9h) : — The study of it (if we will trust Aristotle) of- fers to mankind a certain rule and pattern of living well and happily, disposing us to all civil offices of society. If we will believe TuUy, it nour- isheth and instructeth our youth, delights our age, adorns our prosperity, comforts our adversity, en- tertains us at home, keeps us company abroad, travails with us, watches, divides the times of our earnests and sports, shares in our country recesses and recreations; insomuch as the wisest and best learned have thought her the absolute mistress of manners, and nearest of kin to virtue. And whereas they entitle philosophy to be a rigid and austere poesy, they have, on the contrary, styled poesy a dulcet and gentle philosophy, which leads 104 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM on and guides us by the hand of action, wi^ a ravishing delight and incredible sweetness. Alch., Prol. : — But when the wholesome remedies are sweet, And in their working gain and profit meet, He hopes to find no spirit so much diseased, But will with such fair correctives be pleased. The last quotation entirely, and next to the last in part, imply that the delight was only a means to the end profit; and the impression left by the evidence on this point, as a whole, is that this was Jonson's opinion. Indeed, what I believe to be his last as well as his only other pertinent utterance on the subject leaves no doubt of this. That utterance was made in 1632, and is found in the Induction to The Magnetic Lady (II. 394a) : — Boy. ... he is confident it shall super- please judicious spectators, and to them he leaves it to work with the rest, by example or otherwise. Damplay. He may be deceived in that, boy; few follow examples now, especially if they be good. SATIRE IN THE DRAMA. In keeping with his didactic attitude, Jon- son took for granted the propriety of usin^ the theater to satirize the vices of the times. BEN JONSON I OS In keeping with certain unpleasant traits in his character, he took the liberty to satirize his personal enemies. The result was that he was accused of always hiding personal references in his plays. This charge put him constantly on the defensive, and his protestations occa- sionally contain a useful remark. E. M. 0. o. h. H., after II. 2 : — Cor. Indeed there are a sort of these nar- row-eyed decipherers, I confess, that will extort strange and abstruse meanings out of any subject, be it never so conspicuous and innocently delivered. Satire is the special theme of The Poet- aster, hence it would be foolish to try to quote all the relevant passages. A striking one is here given from Act V. (I. 254a) : — Virgil. 'Tis not the wholesome sharp morality, Or modest anger of a satiric spirit. That hurts or wounds the body of a state; But the sinister application Of the malicious, ignorant and base Interpreter; who will distort and strain The general scope and purpose of an author To his particular private spleen. Fox, Dedication: — I would ask of these supercilious politics, what nation, society, or general order or state, I have io6 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM provoked? What public person? Whether I have not in all these preserved their dignity, as mine own person, safe? My works are read, al- lowed (I speak of those that are entirely mine) ; look into them: what broad reproofs have I used? where have I been particular? where personal? ex- cept to a mimic, cheater, bawd, or buffoon — crea- tures, for their insolencies, worthy to be taxed? yet to which of these so pointingly, as he might not either ingenuously have confessed, or wisely dissembled his disease? . . . Application is now grown a trade with many; and there are that profess to have a key for the deciphering of every- thing: but let wise and noble persons take heed how they be too credulous. Epic.i 2nd Prol. : — And still 't hath been the praise of all best times, So persons were not touched, to tax the crimes. Alch., Prol.:— He hopes to find no spirit so much diseased. But will with such fair correctives be pleased: For here he doth not fear who can apply. How amusing is the ingenuous audacity with which he assures his audience that they will like his medicine! quite in keeping with his dogmatic didacticism. He felt himself to be the champion of Virtue against Vice, and the satiric comedy he regarded as his most effective weapon. BEN JONSON 107 The Induction to Bartholomew Fair, con- tains another denial of personal allusion, as does also the interlude after the second act of The Magnetic Lady, but otherwise he became silent on the subject. To be sure, his period of fruitful productivity was now in the past;^ yet he did write a play now and then, and some of these plays might have been misin- terpreted by his enemies. Perhaps the reason for his silence is contained in a statement he makes in the Induction to The Magnetic Lady, produced in 1632: — Boy. . . . for he will not be entreated by us to give it a prolog. He has lost too much that way already, he says. He found that forcing his personality too much on the public was not calculated to heighten public esteem or to increase his hap- piness, 1 He had made up his mind not to waste his benevolent efforts on a thankless public, as he tells us in the Ode to Himself: — And since our dainty age Cannot endure reproof, Make not thyself a page To that strumpet the stage, But sing high and aloof, Safe from the wolf's black jaw, and the dull ass's hoof. io8 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM QUESTION OF AUTHORITY. His independent attitude may be amply illustrated from his writings. Disc. (III. 416a) : — Nothing is more ridiculous than to make an au- thor a dictator, as the schools have done Aristotle. The damage is infinite knowledge receives by it. . . . Let Aristotle and others have their dues ; but if we can make farther discoveries of truth and fitness than they, why are we envied? No wonder this reminds us of Bacon; the note from which this is quoted begins with a citation from the great philosopher, thus ren- dering the fact of his suggestion unquestion- able. If he denies the infallibility of the ancients, still less would he have himself set up as an authority. Disc. (III. 392a) : — I do not desire to be equal to those that went before; but to have my reason examined with theirs, and so much faith be given to them, or me, as those shall evict. I am neither author nor fautor of any sect, I will have no man addict him- self to me; but if I have anything right, defend it as Truth's, not mine, save as it conduceth to a common good. It profits not me to have any man BEN JONSON 109 fence or fight for me, to flourish, or take a side. Stand for Truth, and 'tis enough. In the following he adds the idea of the ne- cessity of utilizing personal experience in for- mulating critical standards. Disc. (III. 391b) : — For to all the observations of the ancients we have our own experience. It is true they opened the gates, and made the way, that went before us ; but as guides, not commanders ; Non domini nostri, sed duces fuere. Truth lies open to all; it is no man's several. In the following he enunciates (or quotes, it does not matter which) the great law that criticism comes after creation in order of time. Disc. (111.421b) : — I am not of that opinion to conclude a poet's hberty within the narrow limits of laws which either the grammarians or philosophers prescribe. For before they found out those laws, there were many excellent poets that fulfilled them: among whom none more perfect than Sophokles, who lived a little before Aristotle.^ It is a pity he is not a little more specific. He leaves us in doubt as to whether he be- ^ Extracted from Heinsius, De tragoediae constitutione liber, caput l. Cf. Castelain, Discoveries, p. 129. no ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM lieved the laws of art to be a priori or in- ductive. From what he says elsewhere about the value of experience, he probably implied the latter. The above quotations are from the Discov- eries. Their evidence will therefore not be considered by some as quite satisfactory. How completely he assimilated the ideas they contain is indicated by his expression of them in connection with his own plays. In the In- duction to Every Man out of His Humor oc- curs the following dialogue (I. 69b) : — Mitts. You have seen this play, Cordatus: pray yovi, how is it ? Cor.^ Faith, sir, I must refrain to judge; only this I can say of it: 'tis strange and of a par- ticular kind by itself, somewhat like Fetus Comoedia; a work that has bounteously pleased me; how it will answer the general expectation, I know not. Mit. Does he observe all the laws of comedy in it? Cor. What laws mean you ? Mit. Why, the equal division of it into acts and scenes, according to the Terentian man- ner; his true number of actors; the furnish- ing of the scene with Grex or Chorus, and that the whole argument fall within compass of a day's business. Cor. O no, these are too nice observations. BEN JONSON III Mit. They are such as must be received by your favor, or it cannot be authentic. Cor. Troth, I can discern no such necessity. Mit. No ! Cor. No, I assure you, signior. If those laws you speak of had been delivered us ab initio, and in their present virtue and perfection, there had been some reason of obeying their powers; but 'tis extant, that that which we call Comoedia, was at first nothing but a sim- ple and continued song, sung by one only person, till Susario invented a second; after him, Epicharmos a third; Phormos and Chi- onides devised to have four actors, with a prolog and chorus; to which Kratinos, long after, added a fifth and sixth; Eupolis, more; Aristophanes, more than they; every man in the dignity of his spirit and judgment supplied something. And, though that in him this kind of poem appeared absolute and fully per- fected, yet how is the face of it changed since, in Menander, Philemon, Cecilius, Plautus and the rest! who have utterly excluded the chorus, altered the property of the persons, their names and natures, and augmented it with all liberty, according to the elegancy and disposition of those times wherein they wrote. I see not then, but we should enjoy the same license, or free power to illustrate and heighten our invention as they did; and not to be tied to those strict and regular forms which the niceness of a few, who are nothing but form, would thrust upon us. 112 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM One would imagine that here was an ar- rant romanticist. It was affirmed above that Jonson's classicism was the result of indi- vidual temperament, and not dull slavishness. While reserving his right of judgment, he in- stinctively sympathized with the ancients. In the notes from the Discoveries already quoted, there are passages which I have reserved, showing the respectful attitude which he never lost, even when adversely criticizing. III. 391b: — I know nothing can conduce more to letters, than to examine the writings of the ancients, and not to rest in their sole authority, or take all upon trust from them; provided the plagues of judging and pronouncing against them be away ; such as are envy, bitterness, precipitation, impudence, and scurrile scoffing. III. 416a: — Let us beware, while we strive to add, we do not diminish, or deface ; we may improve, but not augment. By discrediting falsehood, truth grows in request. We must not go about, like men an- guished and perplexed, for vicious affectation of praise; but calmly study the separation of opin- ions, find the errors have intervened, awake an- tiquity, call former times into question. BEN JONSON 113 STANDARD OF JUDGMENT. Like Shakspere, Jonson despised the judg- ment of the "vulgar" in matters literary, and he proclaimed his opinion on every possible occasion. The Discoveries contains only one expres- sion of it, and that has already been given as part of a quotation above. The portion here relevant reads : — . . . and the more wilful and stubborn they are in it, the more learned they are esteemed of the multitude, through their excellent vice of judg- ment. In The Case is Altered, Act I. Sc. i (II. 518b), the taste of the "common sort" is ridi- culed; and in the last act of Every Man in his Humor (I. 59. note), he speaks of "the fat judgments of the multitude." The end- ing of Every Man out of his Humor, as given in the quarto, contains the following pas- sage : — The cates that you have tasted were not seasoned For every vulgar palate, but prepared To banquet pure and apprehensive ears. Cynth. Rev., Prol. : — 114 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM To other weaker beams his labors dose, As loth to prostitute their virgin strain To every vulgar and adulterate brain. In this alone, his Muse her sweetness hath : She shuns the print of any beaten path, And proves new ways to come to learned ears. Pied ignorance she neither loves nor fears; Nor hunts she after popular applause, Or foamy praise that drops from common jaws. The garland that she wears, their hands must twine, Who can both censure, understand, define What merit is. In the Apologetical Dialogue at the end of The Poetaster the poet announces: — And since the Comic Muse Hath proved so ominous to me, I will try If Tragedy have a more kind aspect; Her favors in my next I will pursue, Where if I prove the pleasure but of one, So he judicious be, he shall be alone A theater unto me. How obvious it appeared to him that his own judgment must be his guide, is seen in the address to the reader prefixed to Sejanus: — But that I should plant my felicity in your gen- eral saying, good, or well, etc., were a weakness which the better sort of you might worthily con- demn, if not absolutely hate me for. BEN JONSON 115 Before Cataline there are two addresses — one long and insulting, To the Reader in Or- dinary; the other, brief, and submissive. To the Reader Extraordinary. Cat., Dedication: — Posterity may pay your benefit the honor and thanks when it shall know that you dare in these jig-given times to countenance a legitimate poem. I call it so against all noise of opinion, from whose crude and airy reports I appeal to the great and singular faculty of judgment in your lordship, able to vindicate truth from error. Barth. Fair., Induction : — Stage-Keeper. . . . the understanding gentlemen o' the ground here have asked my judgment. Bookholder. . . . the author has writ it just to his [I. e., the stage-keeper's] merid- ian, and the scale of the grounded judg- ments here, his playfellows In wit. Ibid., Epil.:— We value less what their dislike can bring, If it so happy be, t' have pleased the king. Epigram XCVI:— Those that for claps do write. Let pul'nes', porters', players' praise delight, And till they burst their back like ass's load . A man should seek great glory, not broad. Ii6 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM The Epigrams were published in 1616. As was noted at the end of the last section, Jonson learned that it was unwise to force his personality on the public too much; hence in his subsequent career he refrained from uselessly insulting the "common sort." Yet, as late as 1632, his attitude was still the same. In the Induction to The Magnetic Lady he delivered himself once more of his old opinion (II. 394a) : — He will not woo the gentile ignorance so much. But careless of all vulgar censure, as not depending on common approbation, he is confident it shall superplease judicious spectators, and to them he leaves it to wotk with the rest, by example or other- wise. I believe there can be no doubt from the evidence cited that Jonson's artistic criterion was not a democratic one. It is all the more interesting, therefore, to know that on two occasions, twenty-two years apart, he declared the popular judgment to be the final court of appeals. In the Epicoene, acted in 1609, the Prolog announces: — Truth says, of old the art of making plays Was to content the people; and their praise Was to the poet money, wine, and bays. But in this age a sect of writers are, BEN JONSON 117 That only for particular likings care, And will taste nothing that is popular. With such we mingle neither brains nor breasts ; Our wishes, like to those make public feasts. Are not to please the cook's taste but the guests. Nothing could be more direct; therefore it is the more difficult to explain. Perhaps he said it only because he thought it wiser to in- troduce his play to his audience that way. Later he omitted this prolog, substituting' an- other. Less emphatic and less difficult to explain is the genial attitude toward the common reader in the address prefixed to The New Inn, published in 1631. On the stage the play had been a pronounced failure, having been relentlessly abused by the dandies. It was therefore only through a weak effort to bite back that he told his reader: — . . . if thou canst but spell and join my sense, there is more hope of thee than of a hundred fastid- ious impertinents who were there present the first day, yet never made piece of their prospects the right way. What were they there for then ? thou wilt ask me. I will as punctually answer. To see and to be seen ; to make a general muster of them- selves in their clothes of credit; and possess the stage against the play; to dislike all, but mark noth- ing. ... I ... do trust myself and my ii8 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM book rather to thy rustic candor than all the pomp of their pride and solemn ignorance to boot. This frank submission to rustic candor did not improve the reputation of the play; so perhaps the passage quoted above from The Magnetic Lady, in which he, in the follow- ing year, again condemns the popular judg- ment, declaring that "he will not woo the gentile ignorance so much," may be looked upon as the hasty recantation of a repentant sinner. MECHANICS OF PLAY-MAKING. A. Laws. That Jonson wrote his plays according to definite ideas of dramatic technic, nobody would question. This chapter does not at- tempt to prove that; it merely attempts to bring out what those ideas were. He him- self tells us that he knew all about the dramaturgic art, insisting that such a knowl- edge was necessary in order to write good plays. In the Induction to The Magnetic Lady he says (II. 393b) : — The most of those your people call authors never dreamed of any decorum, or what was proper in the scene ; but grope at it in the dark, and feel or fumble for it. BEN JONSON 119 In his old age, addressing Richard Brome, he pronounced himself to have been the first to teach his age how to write comedies. Underwoods, XXVIII. And you do do them well, with good applause Which you have justly gained from the stage, By observation of those comic laws Which I, your master, first did teach the age. As in any other craft, a special apprentice- ship must be served in order to become a mas- ter in the art of play-making. The poem con- tinues : — You learned it well, and for it served your time, A prenticeship which few do nowadays : Now each court hobby-horse will wince in rime. Both learned and unlearned, all write plays. B. Mixing Comedy with Other Species. Jonson has nothing definite to say on the question of dramatic species, nor on the pro- priety of mixing tragic with comic elements. Once he affirms that it is proper to introduce comic situations into a pastoral. In the pro- log to The Sad Shepherd he protests: — But here's an heresy of late let fall. That mirth by no means fits a pastoral; Such say so who can make none, he presumes : I20 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Else there's no scene more properly assumes The sock. For whence can sport in kind arise, But from the rural routs and families? Safe on this ground then, we not fear to-day. To tempt your laughter by our rustic play. He also wrote another non-extant pastoral entitled The May Lord. We know of it be- cause it is mentioned by Drummond, who comments on it (III. 487) : "Contrary to all other pastorals, he bringeth the clowns making mirth and foolish sports." C. Theme and Content. 1 In view of the fact that it was customary to lay the scene in a foreign land, he thinks it appropriate to explain that the themes of the kinds of comedies that he wrote did not de- mand such procedure — England afforded material enough. Alch., Prol.: — Our scene is London 'cause we would make known, No country's mirth is better than our own : No clime breeds better matter for your whore. Bawd, squire, impostor, many persons more, Whose manners, now called humors, feed the stage ; And which have still been subject for the rage Or spleen of comic writers. BEN JONSON 121 The older types of plays were the butt of his satire. This, like his denial of ancient au- thority, shows in him an appreciation of the necessity of progress. Bart. Fair. Induction (II. 146a) : — He that will swear Jeronimo or Andronicus are the best plays yet, shall pass unexcepted at here, as a man whose judgment shows it is constant, and hath stood still these five and twenty or thirty years. Though it be an ignorance, it is a virtuous and a staid ignorance; and next to truth, a con- firmed error does well. Cynth. Rev. Induction : — Another whom it hath pleased nature to fur- nish with more beard than brain, prunes his mus- taccio, lisps, and, with some score of affected oaths, swears down all that sit about him, "That the old Hieronimp, as it was first acted, was the only best, and judidiously penned play of Europe." In The Case is Altered (I. i.) Antonio Bal- ladino, in whose person Jonson satirizes Anthony Munday, is made to say: — Why look you, sir, I write so plain, and keep that old decorum, that you must of necessity like it; marry, you shall have some now (as for ex- ample, in plays) that will have every day new tricks, and write you nothing but humors : mdeed this pleases the gentlemen, but the common sort 122 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM they care not for it; they know not what to make on't; they look for good matter, they, and are not edified with such toys. The dramatist must be careful to present neither what is too small to arouse sentiment, nor what is too great for the imagination to receive. Disc. (Ill 424a) : — So in a fable, if the action be too great, we can never comprehend the whole together in our imag- ination. Again, if it be too little, there ariseth no pleasure out of the object; it affords the view no stay ; it is beheld, and vanisheth at once. Too vast oppresseth the eyes and exceeds the memory; too little scarce admits either. Of course, we here hear the voice of the classicist echoing Aristotle. D. Stock Situations and Characters. He satirizes the employment of situations which have become the conventional stock in trade of the stage. Fox, ProL: — Yet thus much I can give you as a token Of his play's worth : no eggs are broken. Nor quaking custards with fierce teeth affrighted, Wherewith your rout are so delighted; Nor hales he in a gull old ends reciting. BEN JONSON 123 To stop gaps in his writing ; With such a deal of monstrous and forced action, As might make Bethlem a faction. Barth. Fair., Induction: — . . . and then a substantial watch to have stolen in upon them, and taken them away, with mistaking words, as the fashion is in the stage prac- tise. The conventionality of certain characters is also noted by him. Cynth. Rev., Induction: — ^rd Child. By the way Cupid meets with Mercury: — that's a thing to be noted; take any of our play books without a Cupid or a Mercury in it, and burn it for a heretic in poetry. For the conventional clown, so popular with Shakspere, he had a special contempt. Case is Altered., I. I. (II. 5 19a) : — Onion. ... an ever I see a more roguish thing, I am a piece of cheese, and no onion : nothing but kings and princes in it; the fool came not out a jot. Staple of News, I. 2. (II. 289b) : — Mirth. But they have no fool in this play, I'm afraid, gossip . . . 124 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Tattle. My husband, Timothy Tattle, God rest his soul, was wont to say there was no play without a fool and a devil in't.i E. Plot. It is generally conceded that Jonson's plays are poor acting plays, whatever merits they possess in the reading. The fact is consistent with Jonson's critical views. He held that the plot was of no consequence — rthat the value of a play was measured by its literary qualities, and by the skill displayed in the manipulation of details. The fallacy of his position is now commonplace. In The case is altered. I. i., the ridiculous poet Antonio declares (II. 519a) : — . . . let me have a good ground, no mat- ter for the pen, the plot shall carry it." This is just what any successful plajrwright would say to-day. Cynth. Rev., Prol. : — . . . then cast those piercing rays, Round as a crown, instead of honored bays. About his poesy ; which, he knows, affords Words, above action ; matter above words. iCf. also end of Act II. BEN JONSON 125 E.M.inh.H.,1.^. (11. 3a):— Bohadill. . . . What new book have you there? What, Go by, Hieronimo? Mathew. Ay, did you ever see it acted? Is it not well penned? Bob. Well penned I would fain see all the poets of the times pen such another play as that was : They 11 prate and swagger, and keep a stir of art and devices, when, as I am a gentleman, read 'em, they are the most shallow, pitiful, barren fellows, that live upon the face of the earth again. Inasmuch as it is Bobadill who says this, we might be tempted to consider it a satire on those who held such views, did not the re- marks agree with what Jonson elsewhere says, and did we not know that Jonson wrote parts of the Spanish Tragedy, which play is the topic of the conversation. In keeping with his theory of the unimpor- tance of plot, he insists on episodes and di- gressions. {Disc. III. 424a) : — . . . there be place left for digression and art. For the episodes and digressions in a fable are the same that household stuff and other furni- ture are in a house. Anticipation is a fundamental form of dra- matic interest and an essential consideration 126 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM in plot construction. Its exercise is thus con- demned by Jonson in the interlude after the second scene of the third act of Every Man out of his Humor: — Mit. ... I wonder what engine he will use to bring the rest out of their humors ! Cor. That will appear anon; never preoccupy your imagination withal. Let your mind keep company with the scene still. . . • With better judgment he insists on the ne- cessity of having more than one action, these being related, a higher unity is then attained. Disc. (III. 424a) : — Now that it should be one, and entire. One is considerable two ways : either as it is only separate and by itself, or as being composed of many parts, it begins to be one as those parts grow, or are wrought together. That it should be one the first way alone, and by itself, no man that hath tasted letters ever would say ; especially having required before a just magnitude and equal proportion of the parts in themselves. Neither of which can possibly be if the action be single and separate, not com- posed of parts, which laid together in themselves, with an equal fitting proportion, tend to the same end; which thing out of antiquity itself hath de- ceived many, and more this day it doth deceive. BEN JONSON 127 F. Characters. The language used by the different persons in a play must be consistent with the character given them by the poet. Conv. (III. 470) : — Sidney did not keep decorum In making every one speak as well as himself. Ibid. (III. 472) :— Guarini, in his Pastor Fido, kept not decorum, in making shepherds speak as well as himself could. Ibid. Lucan, Sidney, Guarini, make every man speak as well as themselves, forgetting decorum, for Dametus sometimes speaks grave sentences.' The actions of the persons must be consist- ent with their character. Prefixed to Every Man out of his Humor is a description of the character of each person in the play. When the author gets to Mitis he says : — Mitis is a person of no action, and therefore we have reason to afford him no character. One striking example of lack of insight on the part of Jonson was brought out above, 1 Cf. p. 31, note. 128 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM when we saw him depreciating the impor- tance of plot; another, equally striking is in order. He failed to realize that the falling action, where there is such, must be carried forward by degrees — must be a development — like the rising action. This Jonson flatly denied ; misleading himself and his public by means of an analogy. In the interlude after Act IV. of Every man out of his Humor, Cordatus, who represents the author, de- clares : — Why herein his art slppears most full of luster, and approacheth nearest the life : especially when in the flame and height of their humors, they are laid flat, it fills the eye better, and with more content- ment. How tedious a sight were it to behold a proud exalted tree lopt, and cut down by de- grees, when it might be felled in a moment? and to set the ax to it before it came to that pride and fulness, were as not to have it grow. He did realize then that there must be a development in the rising action. Inasmuch as a good plot is constructed with an eye to the conclusion, to which the falling action leads, his depreciation of the latter is in keep- ing with the small respect he had for plot at all. BEN JONSON 129 G. Unities. ■ We have already seen that Jonson did not approve of a strict unity of action. Not only did he desire a unity constructed out of multi- plicity, which would be sanctioned by any modern student as a proper perception — he even made the introduction of digressions an essential consideration, equal in importance to the conservation of the unity of time. Disc. (III. 424a) : — . . . it behooves the action in tragedy or comedy to be let grow, till the necessity ask a con- clusion; wherein two things are to be considered: first that it exceed not the compass of one day; next that there be place left for digression and art. In the prolog to The Fox, he tells us that he observes all necessary laws : — The laws of time, place, persons, he observeth, From no needful rules he swerveth. He observes therefore the laws of time and place, but not of action. For this member of the famous classical trinity he substituted the law of persons. The stress he laid upon the treatment of characters has already been dealt with in another section. I30 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM How, in his mind, the unities of time and place were essential to what he considered ra- tionality is seen in the following: — E. M. in h. H., Prol. :— Though need make many poets, and some such As art and nature have not bettered much; Yet ours for want hath not so loved the stage, As he dare serve the ill customs of the age, Or purchase your delight at such a rate. As, for it, he himself must justly hate: To make a child now swaddled, to proceed Man, and then shoot up, in one beard and weed. Past threescore years ; or with three rusty swords, And help of some few foot and half-foot words, Fight over York and Lancaster's long jars, And in the tiring-house bring wounds to scars. He rather prays you will be pleased to see One such to-day as other plays should be; Where neither chorus wafts you o'er the seas. Nor creaking throne comes down the boys to please ; Nor nimble squib is seen to make afeard The gentlewomen ; nor rolled bullet heard To say, it thunders ; nor tempestuous drum Rumbles, to tell you when the storm doth come : But deeds and language, such as men do use. And persons such as comedy would choose, When she would show an image of the times. And sport with human follies, not with crimes.* 1 This repeats in spirit what had been said by Whetstone and Sidney. BEN JONSON 131 Mag. L., Interlude after Act I.: — Boy. . . . So if a child could be born in a play, and grow up to a man in the first scene, before he went off the stage; and then after to come forth a squire, and be made a knight; and that knight to travel between the acts and do wonders in the Holy Land, or elsewhere; kill pay- nims, wild boars, dun cows, and other monsters; beget him a reputation, and marry an emperor's daughter for his mis- tress ; convert her father's country ; and at last come home lame, and all-to-be-laden with miracles. Damplay. These miracles would please, I assure you and take the people; for there be of the people that will expect miracles, and more than miracles from this pen. Boy. Do they think this pen can juggle? . . . who expect what is impossible or beyond nature, defraud themselves. The first of these tvi^o quotations is from Jonson's earliest play; the second, from the last but one. In all these years apparently his mind did not change. E. M. 0. 0. h. H., Induction : — Mitts. . . . what's his scene? Cordatus. Marry, Insula Fortuna, sir. Mit. O, the Fortunate Island : mass, he has bound himself to a strict law there. Cor. Why so? 132 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Mit. He cannot lightly alter the scene, without crossing the seas. Cor. He needs not, having a whole island to run through, I think. Mit. Nol how comes it then, that in some one play, we see so many seas, countries, and kingdoms, passed over with such ad- mirable dexterity? Cor. O, that but shows how well the authors I can travel in their vocation, and outrun the apprehension of their auditory.^ Jonson therefore gave a most liberal inter- pretation of the law of Unity of Place. If he was willing to include the limits of Eng- land and Scotland, one would imagine that he would not have caviled about the compar- atively narrow Dover Strait. But it illus- trated the ridiculous predicaments into which playwrights of the Jonson type forced them- selves. The quotation has been taken out of chron- ological order and put at the end because it contains an explanation of Jonson's attitude. He was opposed to taking liberties with time and place, not because these were essentially wrong, but because such liberties shot beyond the apprehension of the audience. He did 1 Cf. also the reference to the unity of time in the Sejanus extract on p. iqi. BEN JONSON 133 not have that faith in the power of the imagi- nation that Shakspere had; therefore he did not belong to the Romantic School. Yet how much he, in spite of himself, had in common with his great contemporary and the romantic school is illustrated by the interludes in the same play, wherein he repeatedly urges his public to exert its imagination, in order to be carried from scene to scene. A striking in- stance, reminding one of Shakspere, follows Act IV.:— Cordatus. To help your longing, signior, let your imagination be swifter than a pair of oars: and by this suppose Puntarvolo, Brisk, Fun- goro, and the dog, arrived at the court gate, and going up to the great chamber. H. Other Problems of Construction, The interludes in The Magnetic Lady are all interesting in connection with the present study. In addition to illustrations of topics already discussed, they contain a few ideas not definitely expressed elsewhere. Dra- matic exposition is the theme of the interlude after Act I. The Boy, who represents the author, begins: "Now, gentlemen, what censure you of our protasis, or first act?" 134 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Probee, representing the sensible, favorably- inclined section of the audience, promptly re- sponds :— Well, boy, it is a fair preseiatment of your ac- tors, and a handsome promise of somewhat to come hereafter. This, then, is Jonson's statement of the function of the first act, and the technic of the drama has not yet changed sufficiently to enable anyone to find fault with it. In the first act, the main dramatis personce must be introduced, and the plot so well suggested as to arouse the anticipation of the audience for an interesting performance. Of course Pro- bee could not have bestowed higher praise; but the stupid Damplay, whose name indi- cates his office, complains : — But there is nothing done in it or concluded; therefore I say, no act. and the Boy retorts: — A fine piece of logic ! do you look, Master Dam- play, for conclusions in a protasis ? I thought the law of comedy had reserved them to the catas- trophe ; and that the epitasis, as we are taught, and the catastasis had been intervening parts, to have been expected. But you would have all come to- gether, it seems: the clock should strike five at OQce, with the acts. BEN JONSON 135 The interlude after Act IV. deals with a mdre interesting theme. The almost rigid convention of five acts, naturally pointing to the third act for the climax, permitting a symmetrical arrangement of action and re- action, was a nuisance to the Elizabethan play- wright. The fact is that the symmetrical ar- rangement is unnatural, the fall really being more rapid than the rise. Hence the dram- atist, having the predetermined two acts to fill in after the climax, whether he had ma- terial for them or not, usually made a bung- ling job of it. Much has been said of the un- interestingness of Shakspere's fourth acts. Occasionally he succeeded with it, as in Othello which is not constructed on the con- ventional plan, and in The Merchant of Venice where the sub-plot is more important than the main one. Usually, however, the fourth act is an example of padding; and sometimes the padding is artistic workman- ship ; as, for example, in Julius Ccesar. The problem did not vex Jonson much, since he cared little about the plot anyhow. If he was given five acts, it was his business to fill in those five acts with a sufficient number 136 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM of episodes to interest the audience to the end. This is the dialog after Act IV. : — Damplay. Why, here his play might have ended, if he would have let it ; and have spared us the vexation of a fifth act yet to come, which every- one here knows the issue of already, or may in part conjecture. Boy. That conjecture is a kind of figure-fling- ing, or throwing the dice, for a meaning was never in the poet's purpose perhaps. Stay, and see his last act, his catastrophe, how he will per- plex that, or spring some fresh cheat, to enter- tain the spectators with a convenient delight, till some unexpected and new encounter break out to rectify all, and make good the conclusion. With Jonson, then, it was a case of padding the fifth act, a thing even more undesirable than performing the same operation on the fourth. A wise perception concerning the method of constructing plays is found in the prolog to The Fox. There he as much as says that the incidents must be constructed to fit the plot, not the plot to fit the incidents. This is hardly in keeping with his usual attitude to- ward the plot: — Nor made he his play for jests stolen from each table, But makes jests to fit his fable. BEN JONSON 137 Again, in the Induction to The Magnetic Lady, he has a clever figure illustrating how a play must run clearly and smoothly to the end, the parts being so adjusted as to make any other arrangement impossible (II. 394b) :— For I must tell you (not out of mine own dic- tamen, but the author's) a good play is like a skein of silk; which if you take by the right end, you may wind off at pleasure on the bottom or card of your discourse in a tale or so, how you will; but if you light on the wrong end you will pull all into a knot or elf-lock; which nothing but the shears or candle will undo or separate. A little further he asserts the necessity for absolute clearness of presentation: — I have heard the poet affirm that to be the most unlucky scene in a play which needs an interpreter. The inartistic practise, so common in those days, and not unknown to the modern theater- goer, of interspersing the play with jigs and jugglery to lend variety, was a thing Jonson could not tolerate. Alch., To the Reader: — . . . for thou wast never so fair in the way to be cozened, than in this age, in poetry, especially in plays : wherein, now the concupiscence of dances and antics so reigneth, as to run away from nature 138 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM and be afraid of her is the only point of art that tickles the spectators. The length of any given scene was an im- portant consideration with Jonson. This dialog occurs in the interlude after Act I., in Every Man out of his Humor: — Mitts. ... he might have been made to stay, speak somewhat in reproof of Sordido's wretchedness now at the last. Cordatus. O, no; that would have been ex- tremely unproper; besides he had continued the scene too long with him, as 'twas, being in no action. Mitts. You may enforce the length as a neces- sary reason ; biit for propriety, the scene would very well have borne it, in my judgment. Cordatus goes on to prove that a prolong- ation of the scene would not have been in keeping with the characters of the persons. A similar dialogue occurs after Act II. i : — Mitts. Methinks, Cordatus, he dwelt somewhat too long on this scene ; it hung in the hand. Cor. I see not where he could have insisted less and to have made his humors perspicuous enough. Mitis. True, as his subject lies; but he might have altered the shape of his argument, and ex- plicated them better in single^ scenes. Cor. That had been single indeed. Why, be BEN JONSON 139 they not the same persons In this, as they would have been in those? and is it not an object of more state, to behold the scene full, and relieved with variety of speakers to the end, than to see a vast empty stage, and the actors come in one by one, as if they were dropped down by a feather into the eye of the spectators ? Observe that character is made the deter- mining factor in construction. After the second scene of the third act Jon- son defends the propriety of violent scenes in comedy, citing the authority of Plautus in support of his opinion : — Cor. What! You supposed he should have hung himself indeed? 'Mit. I did, and had framed my objection to it ready, which may yet be very fitly urged, and with some necessity; for though his purposed violence lost the effect, and extended not to death, yet the intent and horror of the object was more than the nature of a comedy will in any sort admit. Cor. Ayl What think you of Plautus, in his comedy called Cistellaria? there where he brings in Alcesimarchus with a drawn sword ready to kill himself, and as he is e'en fixing his breast upon it, to be restrained from his resolved outrage by Silenium and the bawd ? Is not his authority of power to give our scene approba- tion? 140 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Even such a detail as the provision for supers was not overlooked by him. In the same play, at the beginning of the second act, we read: — Mitts. What be these two, signior? Cor. Marry, a couple, sir, that are mere stran- gers to the whole scope of our play; only come to walk a turn or two in this scene of Paul's, by chance. What deliberation went to the making of one of Jonson's plays I He had a theoretic principle at the basis of every detail of his practise. NOVELTY AND ORIGINALITY. We saw above how Jonson made fun of Munday for writing plays in the old style — for keeping "that^ old decorum." Related to his contempt for the old plays is his pride in his own originality. Cynth. Rev., ProL: — In this alone, his Muse her sweetness hath. She shuns the print of any beaten path ; And proves new ways to come to learned ears. So proud was he of his own originality, and so sensitive of his right to his own invention, BEN JONSON 141 that he was pitifully jealous of plagiarism from his worla. The following references to the practise are worth quoting. Epigram LVI: — Poor Poet- Ape, that would be thought our chief, Whose works are e'en the frippery of writ, From brokage is become so bold a thief. As we, the robbed, leave rage and pity it. At first he made low shifts, would pick and glean. Buy a reversion of old plays ; now grown To a little wealth, and credit in the scene, He takes up all, makes each man's wit his own : And told of this he slights it. Chalmers and Gifford believe this to refer to Shakspere. It is not inappropriate; and if we are reminded of Shakspere, the epigram becomes significantly suggestive of the differ- ence in the temperament of the two drama- tists. Shakspere would have smiled at the charge. He never accused anybody of pla- giarizing him. Epigram C, On Playwright: — Five of my jests, then stolen, passed him a play. In the prolog to Epicoene, he tells us that the jokes that are cracked over tables at or- dinaries are stolen from his plays : — 142 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Nor is it only while you keep your seat Here that his feast will last ; but you shall eat A week at ordinaries on his broken meat. Other references to the topic may easily be found in his writings.* DICTION. Diction was an important consideration with Jonson, In his address to the readers of Sejanus he gives the following as requisite qualities of a tragedy: — . . . truth of argument, dignity of persons, gi-avity and height of elocution, fulness and fre- quency of sentence. Cynth. Rev., Prol.: — . . . his poesy; which, he knows, affords Words above action. . , .^ Naturalness of speech is always to be aimed at; the bombast of Tamburlaine is intoler- able. Disc. (III. 400a) : — iCf. I., 39b; s8ab; 89a; 146b; i65ab; 2S7b; 36sb; III., 25 lb, 480. 2 Cf. also extracts from The Case and E. H. in h. H., under Plot. BEN JONSON 143 The true artificer will not run away from na- ture as he were afraid of her; or depart from life and the likeness of truth ; but speak to the capacity of his hearers. And though his language differ from the vulgar somewhat, it shall not fly from all humanity, with the Tamerlanes and Tamer- Chams of the late age, which had nothing in them but the scenical strutting and furious vociferation, to warrant them to the ignorant gapers. Disc. (III. 397b) : — But now nothing is good that is natural; right and natural language seems to have least of the wit in it; that which is writhed and tortured is counted the more exquisite . . . as if no face were fair that were not powdered or painted ? no beauty to be had but in wresting and writhing our own tongue ? Nothing is fashionable till it be deformed; and this is writing like a gentleman. All must be affected and preposterous as our gal- lant's clothes. Dr. Grossmann thinks this an attack on Euphuism. Perhaps it is. In order to be certain we should have to know the date when the passage was written. Not all the linguistic fashions prevalent during Jonson's life were Euphuism. In Every Man out of his Humor, however, he has two flings at that institution. II. I. (I. 88b) :— 144 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Fast. She does observe as pure a phrase, and use as choice figures in her ordinary conferences, as atiy be in the Arcadia. Carlo. Or rather in Greene's works, whence she may steal with more security. V. 7. (I. 137b) :— , Wallace. . . . O, Master Brisk, as 'tis in Euphues, "Hard is the choice," etc. He objected to the use of outlandish words. Cynth. Rev., II. i. (I. 162b) : — Cupid. She is like one of your ignorant poetasters of tinje, who, when they have got acquainted with a strange word, never rest till they have wrung it in, though it loosen the whole fabric of their sense. Poetaster, V. I. (I. 261a) : — Virgil. You must not hunt for wild outland- ish terms, To stuff out a peculiar dialect; But let your matter run before your words. And if at any time you chance to meet Some Gallo-Belgic phrase, you shall not straight Rack your poor verse to give it entertain- ment, But let it pass ; and do not think yourself Much damnified, if you do leave it out, When nor your understanding, nor the sense Could well receive it. BEN JONSON 145 REFINEMENT. Like so many of his contemporaries Jon- son disclaimed all complicity with indecency. Gynth. Rev., Induction: — It is in the general behalf of this fair society here that I am to speak, at least the more judicious part of it, which seems much distasted with the im- modest and obscene writing of many in their plays. Fox, Dedication (I. 334) : — For my particular, I can, and from a most clear conscience, affirm, that I have ever trembled to think toward the least profaneness; have lothed the use of such fowl and unwashed bawdry, as is now made the food of the scene. Epigram XLIX., (Ill, 235a) :— Playwright me reads, and still my verses damns, He says I want the tongue of epigrams ; I have no salt, no bawdry he doth mean ; For witty, in his language, Is obscene. METRICS. On this topic there are a number of pas- sages worth quoting. World in the Moon (III. 136b) : — Chronicler. Is he a man's poet or a woman's poet, I pray you ? 146 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM 2 Herald. Is there any such difference? Factor. Many ; as betwixt your man's tailor and your woman's tailor. / Herald. How, may we beseech you? Factor. I'll show you : your man's poet may break out strong and deep i' the mouth, . . . but your woman's poet must flow and stroke the ear, and, as one of them said of himself sweetly — Must write a verse as smooth and calm as cream. In which there is no torrent, nor scarce stream. This couplet is also used as an illustration in the Discoveries, with this comment (III. 399a) :— Others there are that have no composition at all, but a sort of tuning and riming fall, in what they write. It runs and slides, and only makes a sound. Women's poets they are called, as you have women's tailors. You may sound these wits, and find the depth of them with your middle finger. They are cream-bowl, or but puddle deep. He suggests here that more than verse is re- quired to make poetry. This idea is more directly stated in the following extracts: — Disc. (III. 419a) : — Hence he is called a poet, not he which writeth" in measure only, but that feigneth and formeth a fable, and writes things like truth. For the fable BEN JONSON 147 and fiction is, as it were, the form and soul of any poetical work or poem. Ibid. (III. 420b) :— The common rimers pour forth verses, such as they are, extempore; but there never comes from them one sense worth the life of a day. A rimer and a poet are two things. Conv. (III. 470) : — Samuel Daniel was a good, honest man, had no children; but no poet.* Ibid. (III. 471):— That the translations of Homer and Virgil in long Alexandrines were but prose. ^ Ibid. (III. 472) :— That he thought not Bartas a poet, but a verser, because he wrote not fiction. Jonson's opinion of the sonnet form is thus expressed by Drummond in the Conversations (III. 472) :- He cursed Petrarch for redacting verses to son- nets; which he said were like that tyrant's bed, where some who were too short were racked, oth- ers too long cut short. ^Of the same poet he says in The Forest, XII.: — . . . though she have a better verser got, (Or poet, in the court-account). . . 148 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM The sonnet was not the only form to dis- please him; he detested all complex rime schemes. Drummond tells at the opening of the Conversations: — That he had an intention to perfect an epic poem entitled "Heroologia," of the worthies of this country roused by fame ; and was to dedicate it to his country ; it is all in couplets, for he detesteth all other rimes. Said he had written a Discourse of Poesy both against Campion and Daniel, espe- cially this last, where he proves couplets to be the bravest sort of verses, especially when they are broken, like hexameters; and that cross-rimes and stanzas (because the purpose would lead him be- yond eight lines to conclude) were all forced. This information only emphasizes how deeply interested, reflectively, Jonson was in all phases of his art. THE TITLE. Jonson, like his contemporaries, was not particular about the scientific appropriate- ness of the titles of his plays. Cat., To the Reader: — The Muses forbid that I should restrain your meddling, whom I see already busy with the title and tricking over the leaves. BEN JONSON 149 In the Induction to The Magnetic Lady; or Humors Reconciled, there is another refer- ence to hypercritical fussing over the title (II. 393b) :— Damplay. But why Humors Reconciled, I would fain know? Boy. I can satisfy you there too, if you will. But perhaps you desire not to be satisfied. jonson's influence. Much has been written on this topic. We have come to picture the Elizabethan drama- tists divided into two camps; one headed by Shakspere, the other by Jonson. Yet, it seems to me that if we examine the question coldly, we are forced to use more modest terms in describing Jonson's achievement in this direc- tion, than are commonly employed by the Jon- son enthusiast. Dr. Symmes says: Ben Johnson est, pour son epoque, le dictateur, le champion des pre- ceptes classiques. No doubt about it; but who followed those precepts? Can one — I put the question with diffidence — can one dramatist of the time, who is held in any great esteem to-day, be pointed to as one of his actual disciples? It is true that he had i^o ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM admirers and worshipers, who even called themselves the Tribe of Ben, and who ex- alted him to a position similar to that oc- cupied later by his famous namesake. But among the literary members of the tribe Her- rick is the only one who is of any consequence to-day; and he was not a dramatist. Again, the great playwright Beaumont, who was not a member of the tribe, in a metrical letter to Jonson J^I. CXVb), declares that he has learned everything from him. I wonder how many have felt that Beaumont was more like Jonson than like Shakspere? We need not doubt Beaumont's sincerity. His expression of gratitude only illustrates how small Jon- son's influence, from the point of view of ob- jective results, really was. Here was a dram- atist who thought he belonged to the school of Jonson and did not. If it be asked why Jonson, who was a man of such unusually strong personality, and who deliberately declared himself to be the bearer of a dramaturgic gospel, — if it be asked why he had so little influence on the drama of his day, the answer is that he was not of his day — he belonged to a succeeding age. He was a herald of the classical school which culmi- BEN JONSON 151 nated in the i8th century. If then we search for his influence, not in the drama, but in the non-dramatic literature of his day, we shall find it. Another stream of influence, and one more pertinent to the present discussion, is suggested by the following statement by Dr. Symmes {Debuts; p 169) : Son influence est immense, plus meme dans I'histoire de la critique que dans I'histoire de la litterature. It is as a force in the development of criti- cism that Jonson can claim precedence over Shakspere. While Shakspere's critical per- ceptions showed a profounder wisdom than those of Jonson, yet, being advanced in such unobtrusive fashion, they could have little influence. Mr. Saintsbury, in his History of Criticism (II. 229), has this remark respecting Jonson's position in the development of criticism : — By the time of our last Italian writer, Faustino Summo (Vanquelin is accidentally, and Ben Jon- son not so accidentally, later in other countries, but neither represents a stage so really advanced), Criticism has, besides its ancient books of the Law, quite a library of modern prophets, commentators, scribes. If one did not control himself, this might provoke him to the use of strong language. A 152 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM library of commentators and scribes there was indeed — an appallingly large one — but of prophets? O, no. The host of commenta- tors and scribes managed to get a few proph- ecies out among them, but no prophets. (For my premises I rely largely on Mr. Sairitsbury's book.) By the time of Jonson's death, the only prophet that had appeared above the critical horizon since Aristotle, was Shakspere. He alone marked a more ad- vanced stage of criticism. The trouble is that Jonson's ideas are not set down for us by him in a book, to be conned by rote. We must re- member, however, that even in an elaborately worked out system, dignified and pretentious as it may appear, the number of real ideas might easily be a limited one. Yet, if only for the sake of Jonson's reputation with Mr. Saintsbu.ry, I wish that commentary on Horace had not been destroyed in that con- founded conflagration. CHAPTER IV CRITICISM AFTER 1600 SHAKSPERE'S critical views were ad- vanced in such an incidental manner that it would be permissible to assume that he did not arouse any appreciable amount of reflec- tion among his fellow playwrights. But the loud manner in which Jonson kept harping on so many dramaturgic problems rendered it impossible for any dramatist of the time to remain ingenuous or indifferent regarding his art. The present chapter will be devoted to a presentation of the critical reflections of the playwrights after 1600; beginning therefore just after Jonson had started to stir the atmosphere with his critical opinions. NATURE OF POETRY. Chapman, in the prolog to All Fools (1604), broaches the problem of the relation between creation and criticism: — 153 154 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM The fortune of a stage (like Fortune's self), Amazeth great judgments; and none knows The hidden causes of those strange effects, That rise from this hell, or fall from this heaven : Who can show cause why your wits, that in aim At higher objects, scorn to compose plays, . . . Should (without means to make) judge better far, Than those that make ; and yet ye see they can. Jonson, we saw, believed that only the poet is competent to judge poetry. Whether or not Chapman believed what he said in this at- tempt to flatter, does not matter. The thought is there. Outside the playwrights' ranks, in- deed, the opinion was a popular one. The difference between poetry and history is asserted in the following. The first is a rap at Jonson's Sejanus. Marston. Sophonisba {printed 1606). To the general Reader: — Know that I have not labored in this poem to tie myself to relate anything as" an historian, but to enlarge everything as a poet. To tran- scribe authors, quote authorities, and translate Latin prose orations into English blank verse, hath, in this subject, been the least aim of my studies. Dekker. The Whore of Babylon (1607). Lectori : — And whereas I may (by some more curious in censure than sound in judgment) be critically taxed CRITICISM AFTER 1600 155 that I falsify the account of time, and set not down occurents according to their true succession, let such (that are so nice of stomach) know, that I write as a poet, not as an historian, and that these two do not live under one law. In the following, Chapman tells us that the material for art is not art until the artist's imagination has given it shape. The thought and its application tend to show that Chap- man got the suggestion from Shakspere, but the manner of expression proves that he had made the idea his own. Byron's Conspiracy (1607) III. i: — Byron: . . . But as the stuff Prepared for arras pictures, is no picture. Till it be formed, and man hath cast the beams Of his imaginous fancy through it, In forming ancient kings and conquerors, As he conceived they looked and were attired, Though they were nothing so : so all things here Have all their price set down from man's concepts. Which make all terms and actions, good, or bad. Two dramatists confess that great labor is expended in the making of a play. Dekker. The Devil is in it (1612). Epil. :— If for so many moons and midnights spent To reap three hours of mirth, our harvest-seed iS6 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Lies still and rot, the devil's in it then indeed: Much labor, art, and wit make up a play. Shirley. Commendatory verses on Mas- singer's Renegado (1630) : — And if there be A tribe who in their wisdoms dare accuse This offspring of thy Muse, Let them agree Conspire one comedy, and they will say, 'Tis easier to commend than make a play. Shirley. St. Patrick for Ireland (1640). Prol. :— For your own sakes, we wish all here to-day Knew but the art and labor of a play ; Then you would value the true Muses' jiain ; The throes and travail of a teeming bram. To ridicule the idea that a poem is an in- spired creation for which the poet is not re- sponsible, Shirley, in another play belonging to the same year, The Humorous Courtier, makes the foolish lord Depazzi advance it (11. 2) :- Madam, while you live. Your dreaming poets are the best, and have Distilled raptures ; spirits that converse with them. And teach them what to write. CRITICISM AFTER 1600 157 The drama must not be inconsistent with nature. In Shirley's Love in a Maze ( 1631 ) , IV. 2. Caperwit complains : — Your dance is the best language of some comedies, And footing runs away with all ; a scene Expressed with life of art, and squared to nature, Is dull and phlegmatic poetry. STATUS OF POETRY. Poets continued to be an unesteemed body in Elizabethan times. We may learn this from the dramatists themselves. Chapman. May-Day (161 1). I. 2: — Quintiliano. . . . After dinner there will be a play, and if you would be counted complete, you must venture among them; for otherwise they'll take you for a scholar or a poet, and so fall into contempt of you. In Richard Brome's clever comedy entitled The Antipodes (1638), there are scenes sup- posed to be laid in a town called Antipodea London, which is the antipodes of London not only geographically, but also in every other respect. In Act III., sc. 2, the Londoners are astonished at the prosperity of the poets, and Letoy explains: — iS8 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Yes, poetry Is good ware In the Antipodes, though there be some ill payers, As well as here; but law there rights the poets. If poetry as a whole was not esteemed, we need not be surprised that the drama was not highly honored. Even the playwrights some- times did not dare to assert the dignity of their craft. Massinger. Bondman (1624). Dedica- tion : — . . . The consideration of this encouraged me to shroud this trifle under the wings of your noble protection. Massinger. Unnatural Combat. Dedica- tion (1639) : — That the patronage of trifles, in this kind, hath long since rendered dedications and inscriptions obsolete and out of fashion I perfectly understand. In the dedication of The Maid of Honor he also calls the play "this trifle." But this is to be regarded as the conventional modesty proper to dedications. In the dedication of The Unnatural Combat already quoted, he goes so far as to say that poets belong to the profession because of unfortunate circum- stances, reminding us of the insinuation made CRITICISM AFTER 1600 159 by Thos. Randolph (d. 1635) in Hey for Honesty I. i., that even Shakspere wrote for the love of money. Sometimes the dramatist would timidly or apologetically endeavor to urge that the drama was not such an unworthy thing after all. Massinger. Duke of Milan. Dedication (1623):— If I were not most assured that works of this nature have found both patronage and pro- tection among the greatest princesses of Italy, and are at this day cherished by persons most eminent in our kingdom, I should not presume to offer these, my weak and Imperfect labors at the altar of your favor. This was a popular argument. Heywood uses it over and over again. Chapman has it in the dedication of Widows' Tears, and Dek- ker in the dedication of Match me in Lon- don. Occasionally, however, a playwright dared to state outright that poetry was a great form of art. After the procession of various kinds of asses which ends the first act of Love's Mis- tress (1633), Hejrwood makes Apuleius de- clare that there is no such creature as a Poet Ass ; and in the first scene of that act Apuleius i6o ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM declares that "all true poets' raptures are di- vine." Nat Field in his address to the reader of Woman is a Weathercock claims: — . . . Nor slight is my presentation though it is a play. and Chapman asserts in the dedication of Ccesar and Pompey: — . . . scenical representation is so far from giving just cause of any least diminution, that the personal and exact life it gives to any history or other such delineation of human actions, adds to their luster, spirit, and apprehension. The dramatic art receives its apotheosis in 1647, in Shirley's preface to the Beaumont and Fletcher Folio: — Poetry is the child of nature, which, regulated and made beautiful by art, presenteth the most harmonious of all other compositions; among which (if we rightly consider) the dramatical is the most absolute, in regard of those transcendant abilities which should wait upon the composer; who must have more than the instruction of libraries (which of itself is but a cold contem- plative knowledge), there being required in him a soul miraculously knowing and conversing with all mankind, enabling him to express not only the phlegm and folly or thick-skinned men, but the CRITICISM AFTER 1600 161 strength and maturity of the wise, the air and insinuations of the court, the discipline and reso- lution of the soldier, the virtues and passions of every noble condition, nay, the counsels and char- acters of the greatest princes. Shirley speaks very lightly here of scholar- ship as a requisite for the dramatist Many did not agree with Shirley. Jonson had made accurate scholarship essential, particularly in historical dramas. The Prolog to Massin- ger's Believe as You List ( 1631 ) pleads insuffi- ciency of scholarship on the part of the author if "what's Roman here . . . draw too near a late and sad example." He tells the audience that the author . dares not boast His pains and care, and what books he hath tossed And turned to make it up. Shakerley Marmion, in the prolog to A Fine Companion declares: — Not as your Ignorant poetasters use. In spite of Phcebas, without art or learning, To usurp the stage, and touch with impure hands The lofty buskin, and the comic style. Marmion is plainly a faithful son of the Tribe of Ben. 1 62 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Nat Field, in the address already quoted, shows us what the popular opinion was : — . . . thou think'st it impossible for one to write a play, that did not use a word of Latin, though he had enough in him. Shirley's eloquent words were an answer to this popular opinion. PURITAN OPPOSITION. Allusions to Puritan opposition are plenti- ful in the Elizabethan drama, but hardly any are pertinent enough to be quoted. The pas- sage in The Roman Actor has already been alluded to. Another, and a very interesting one for the idea it contains, is spoken by Cler- mont in Chapman's Revenge of Bussy D'Ambois, I. I : — Nay, we must now have nothing brought on stages But puppetry and pied ridiculous antics : Men thither come to laugh, and feed fool- fat; Check at all goodness there, as being profaned: When wheresoever goodness comes, she makes The place sacred ; though with other feet Never so much 'tis scandaled and polluted. Let me learn anything that fits a man, In any stables shown, as well as stages. CRITICISM AFTER 1600 163 FUNCTION OF THE DRAMA. The purely didactic function lost its pres- tige. Very few citations make no reference to any other function ; and in some of these it would have been dramatically inappropriate for them to do so. Chapman, in 1613, in the dedication of The Revenge of Bussy D'Ambois, gives this as the purpose of tragedy: — . . . material instruction, elegant and sen- tentious excitation to virtue, and deflection from her contrary; being the soul, limbs, and limits of an authentical tragedy. and at the beginning he speaks of the play as containing matter "deserving your reading, and excitation to heroical life," and in the first scene of the play, Guise says : — I would have these things Brought upon stages, to let mighty misers See all their grave and serious miseries played. As once they were in Athens and old Rome. Apparently he believed that his didactic attitude had the sanction of classic antiquity, and it may be that Massinger acted on this as- sumption in II. I, of the Roman Actor, where 1 64 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Philargus is forced to see a play in order to be cured of avarice. At the end of Beaumont and Fletcher's Philaster, the King says : — . . . Let princes learn By this to rule the passions in their blood, For what Heaven wills can never be withstood.^ Similarly at the end of the first of Beau- mont and Fletcher's Four Plays in One, we have a defense of the drama on the ground that it is morally instructive: — Eman. What hurts now in a play, 'gainst which some rail So vehemently ? Thou and I, my love. Make excellent use, methinks : I learn to be A lawful lover void of jealousy, And thou a constant wife. Sweet poetry's A flower, where men, like bees and spiders, may Bear poison, or else sweets and wax away. Be venom-drawing spiders they that will I I'll be the bee, and suck the honey still. Probably the most popular view was that the drama had a twofold aim which was com- monly worded Profit and Delight. The great number of commendatory verses pre- fixed to the Beaumont and Fletcher Folio ^ Cf. also the end of The Maid's Tragedy. CRITICISM AFTER 1600 165 harp on this theme, ascribing the greatness of the two authors to the fact that they had this aim in view. To be sure very few references to the double function are found in the works of playwrights. Those that I have been able to discover are here given. Heywood's motto, which he published on the title-page of all of his works that he edited, is the following quotation from Horace : — /iut prodesse solent, aut delectare. Henry Shirley, in his address to the reader of The Martyred Soldier (printed 1638) af- firms : — . . . it hath drawn even the rigid stoics of the time; who, though not for pleasure yet for profit have gathered something. The second edition of The Knight of the Burning Pestle contains a prolog claiming that the play had "counsel mixed with wit." The passage is verbally repeated, however, from the prolog to Lily's Sappho and Phaon, and was probably spoken only at the court performance of 1633. The most eloquent presentation of this theory is found in Massinger's Roman Actor. 1 66 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM The actor Paris is on the stand defending his life, and incidentally his profession (I. i.) : — . . . [People] grudge us, That with delight join profit, and endeavor To build their minds up fair, and on the stage Decipher to the life what honors wait On good and glorious actions, and the shame That treads upon the heels of vice, the salary Of six sestertii. This is only part of a long harangue in which Massinger evidently took the trouble to answer the charges brought by the Puritans against the English theater. There can be no doubt of this, since Paris launches into a lengthy speech in which he defends the theater in general, instead of, as he would naturally have done, confining himself to the charges brought against him personally. In- deed, these charges are almost disregarded. The remainder of the illustrations advance only the single motive of "delight." It may be that some of the dramatists were willing to leave the motive of "profit" implied, but their direct statements show which they emphasized. Some flatly deny the second motive. Nobody and Somebody (1603). Prol.: — CRITICISM AFTER 1600 167 A moral meaning you must then expect Grounded on lesser than a shadow's shadow. Marston. Dutch Courtezan (1604). Prol. :— And if our pen in this seem over slight, We strive not to instruct, but to delight.* Middleton. The Family of Love (1607). Epil. : — Gentles, whose favors have o'erspread this place. And shed the real influence of grace On harmless mirth, we thank you. Fletcher. Woman Hater {ibor^). Prol.: — I dare not call it comedy or tragedy; 'tis per- fectly neither; a play it is, which was meant to make you laugh. Dekker. The Devil is in it (1612). Epil. :— If for so many noons and midnights spent To reap three hours' mirth. . . . Fletcher and Massinger. Spanish Curate (1622). Prol.:— . . . to tell ye too, 'tis merry And meant to make ye pleasant and not weary. 1 Cf . also infra, p. 169. 1 68 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Jonson, Fletcher, and Middleton. The Widow (c. 1620). Prol. : — . . . to make you merry Is all th' ambition 't has, and fullest aim Bent at your smiles, to win itself a name. Beaumont and Fletcher. Little French Lawyer. Prol. : — And such a play as shall (as should plays do) Imp times dull wings, and make you merry too. 'Twas to that purpose writ. Fletcher. Woman's Prize. Prol. [not by Fletcher] : — The end we aim at is to make you sport ; Yet neither gall the city nor the court. Hear, and observe his comic strain, and when Ye are sick of melancholy, see 't again. 'Tis no dear physic, since 'twill quit the cost, Or his intentions, with our pains, are lost. Brome. Antipodes (1638). I. 5: — Letoy. ^ Sir, I have^ For exercises, fencing, dancing, vaulting; And for delight, music of all kinds ; Stage-plays and masks are nightly my pastimes. A little further on he indicates what plays were his pastime: — CRITICISM AFTER 1600 169 These lads can act the emperors loves all over, And Shakspere's chronicled histories to boot; And were that Caesar or that English earl That loved a play and player so well now living, I would not be outvied in my delights. Marston, who was so positive about deny- ing a serious purpose, did not think such a de- nial inconsistent with the theory that the drama is a reflection of life. In The Fawn, belonging to the same year as The Dutch Courtezan (in which he made the denial), the prolog combines the two ideas : — . . . the nimble form of comedy, Mere spectacle of life and public manners. Chapman pointed out that the reflection of life seen on the stage is not like the reflection seen in a mirror. Revenge of Bussy D'Amhois. Dedication (1613):— And for the authentical truth of either person or action, who (worthy the respecting) will ex- pect it In a poem whose subject is not truth, but things like truth? Poor envious souls they are that cavil at truth's want in these natural fictions. Shirley thought the drama ought to reflect life in such a way as to expose vices. The fol- 170 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM lowing from Act I, sc. i, of The Lady of Pleasure (1635) speaks of a certain immoral ball. The allusion is to Middleton's play, The Family of Love: — Barnwell. 'Tis but the Family of Love trans- lated Into more costly sin ! There was a play on't, And had the poet not been bribed to a modest Expression of your antic gambols in't, Some darks had been discovered, and the deeds too: In time he may repent, and make some blush. To see the second part danced on the stage. SATIRE IN THE DRAMA. It was generally recognized that social satire was one of the legitimate functions of the drama."^ But inasmuch as the dramatists were always exposed to the charge of personal allusion, they frequently found it necessary to repel the suggestion. Marston. Malcontent (1603). Prol. : — To wrest each hurtless thought to private sense, Is the foul use of ill-bred impudence. and in the address to the reader printed in the following year : — 1 Chapman, in the prolog to All Fools (1604), objects to it. CRITICISM AFTER 1600 171 I have not glanced at disgrace of any . , . unto every worthy mind it will be approved so general and honest as may modestly pass with free- dom of satire. Ibid. The Fawn (1604). Prol. : — . . . here no rude disgraces Shall taint a public or a private name. Fletcher. JVoman-Hater (1607). Prol.: — But you shall not find in it the ordinary and overworn trade of jesting at lords, and courtiers, and citizens, without taxation of any particular or new vice by them found out, but at the persons of them. Such, he that made this thinks vile. Dekker. Gull's Hornbook (1609) VI.: — . . . the stage, like time, will bring you to most perfect light, and lay you open. Beaumont and Fletcher. Knight of the Burning Pestle ( 1 6 1 1 ) . Prol : — Fly far from hence All private taxes. Fletcher and Massinger. Spanish Curate (1622). Prol.: — To tell ye 'tis familiar, void of glory, Of state, of bitterness — of wit, you'll say, For that is now held wit tends that way Which we avoid. 172 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM In Massinger's Roman Actor (1626), Paris, the actor, is accused of personal satire and libel. Heywood Iron Age, 2nd Part. To Reader (1632):— I know not how they may be received in this age, where nothing but satirica dictaeria, and comica scommata are now in request. For mine own part, I never affected either, when they stretched to the abuse of any person public or pri- vate. Marmion. Fine Companion (printed 1633). Prol.:— In all ages It hath been free for comic writers, If there were any that were infamous, For lust, ambition, or avarice. To brand them with great liberty. Shirley. Duke's Mistress (1636). Prol.: — For satire, they do know best what it means. That dare apply ; and if a poet's pen. Aiming at general errors, note the men, 'Tis not his fault; the safest cure is; they That purge their bosoms, may see any play. Brome. Antipodes (1638), II. 5: — Quailpipe. . . . For nothing can Almost be spoke, but some or other man, Takes it unto himself; and says the stuff, CRITICISM AFTER 1600 173 If it be vicious or absurd enough, Was woven upon his back. Far, far be all That bring such prejudice mixed with their gall. This play shall no satiric timist be To tax or touch at either him or thee, That art notorious. 'Tis so far below Things in our orb, that do among us flow. That no degree, from Keyser to the clown, Shall say this vice or folly was mine own. In the next, and last, quotation, the author boasts the stinging power of his pen. Day. Parliament of Bees (1604). Au- thor's commission to his bees : — Though shriveled like parchment, Art can make 'em [i. e., the veins of his enemies] bleed. THE QUESTION OF AUTHORITY. Nothing could be more conclusive proof that this question, so far as the classical rules were concerned, was a dead issue, than the paucity of illustrations that can be given here. There are only four; and three of these are of small account. The first is Chapman's pref- ace to the Mask of the Middle Temple and Lincoln's Inn. It contains a defense of the ancient laws of poetry, which is of no value, being insincere and self-contradictory, having been written merely as a personal invective 174 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM against Campion. The second deserves to be quoted. It is from Webster's preface to the White Devil (printed 1612) : — . . . since that time I have noted most of the people that came to that playhouse resemble those ignorant asses who, visiting stationers' shops, their use is not to inquire for good books, but new books. . . . If it be objected that this is no true dramatic poem, I shall easily confess it; non potes in nugas dicere plura meas ipse ego quam dixi; willingly and not ignorantly in this kind have I faulted; for should a man present to such an auditory the most sententious tragedy that ever was written, observing all the critical laws, as height of style and gravity of person, inrich it with the sententious chorus, and, as it were, life 'n death in the passionate and weighty nuntius, yet after all this divine rapture, O dura messorum ilia, the breath that comes from the uncapable multi- tude is able to poison it. The third is only an incidental reference in the dedication of Heywood's Iron Age (1632), which quietly speaks of the ancient laws as being no longer in use : — . . . as it [the play] exceeds the strict lim- its of the ancient comedy (then in use) in form, so it transcends them many degrees, both in the fulness' of the scene, and gravity of the subject. They went out of use because the age re- belled against authority. We have already CRITICISM AFTER 1600 175 Ijeard Shakspere and Jonson voice this rebel- lion. Beaumont and Fletcher also, in the first scene of The Maid's Tragedy (1609), declare that to render it possible to produce a good play, the drama must be untrammeled: — Lysippus. Strato, thou hast some skill in poetry : What think'st thou of the mask? will it be well? Strato. As well as masks can be. Lys. As masks can be 1 Stra. Yes; they must commend their king, and speak in praise Of the assembly, bless the bride and bride- groom In person of some god: they'r tied to rules of flattery. The fourth illustration is supplied by The Return from Parnassus, and is first in chro- nology and importance. The play was writ- ten by a university man in 1601 and publicly acted the following year by the students in Cambridge. William Kemp and Rich- ard Burbage, respectively the leading come- dian and the leading tragedian of the time, are brought in in the following dialogue: — Kemp. Few of the university pen plays well, they smell too much of that writer Ovid and that writer Metamorphosis, and talk too much of Proserpina and Jupiter. Why here's our fellow Shakspere puts them all down, ay and 176 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Ben Jonson, too. Oh, that Ben Jonson is a pestilent fellow; he brought up Horace giving the poets a pill, but our fellow Shakspere hath given him a purge that made him bewray his credit. Burbage. It's a shrewd fellow indeed. The exceptional significance of this extract lies in the fact that it is an expression of senti- ment publicly delivered by the world of scholarship. STANDARD OF JUDGMENT. We saw that both Shakspere and Jonson despised popular opinion. In the whole range of Elizabethan literature, so far as I have been able to discover (aside from the two dubious examples noted in connection with Jonson), there is but one instance of a play- wright defending the popular judgment. That instance occurs in the Induction to Marston's What You Will (1601). Though it is long, it is well worth quoting: — Doricus. . . . What leprous humor Breaks from rank swelling of these bubbling wits? Now out upon 't. I wonder what tight brain Wrung in this custom to maintain contempt 'Gainst common censure; to give stiff counter buffs, CRITICISM AFTER 1600 177 To crack rude scorn even on the very face Of better audience. 'Slight, is 't not odious ? Why, hark you, honest, honest Phylomuse, (You that endeavor to indear our thoughts To the composer's spirit), hold this firm: Music and poetry were first approved By common sense ; and that which pleased most, Held most allowed to pass : not rules of art Were shaped to pleasure, nor pleasure to your rules. Think you that if his scenes took stamp in mint Of three or four deemed most judicious. It would inforce the world to current them, That you must spit defiance on dislike ? Now, as I love the light, were I to pass Through public verdict, I should fear my form, Lest aught I offered were unsquared or warped. This is probably a rap at Jonson. It is hard to see to whom else it might apply. It was written in 1601, and up to this time no drama- tist, so far as I know, except Jonson, had ag- gressively disparaged popular opinion. Shak- spere came soon after, and the rest did not be- gin to come in for several years. Next to Jonson, Dekker was the bitterest vilifier of the common sort. In the proemium to the Gull's Hornbook ( 1609) the poorer por- tion of the audience are called "the garlick- mouthed stinkards"; and in the sixth chapter he says that in the theater the poets 178 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM barter away that light commodity of words for a lighter ware than words : plaudites, and the breath of the great beast; which, like the threatenings of two cowards, vanish all into air. In the prolog to // This be not a Good Play he speaks of them with similar contempt. He is grossly insulting in the prolog to The Devil is in It (1612) : — A play whose rudeness Indians would abhor, If't fill a house with fishwives, "Rare," they all roar. It is not praise is sought for now but pence, Though dropped from greasy-apron audience. The remaining illustrations are by other authors.^ Middleton. No Wit, no Help Like a Woman's (1613). Prol. : — . . . if attention Seize you above, and apprehension You below. . . . Fletcher. Hen. VIII. , V. 4. 64:— Porter. These are the y6uths that th- der at a play-house and fight for bitten a' les ; that no audience but the Tribulati 1 of Tower Hill, or the Limbs of Lime >use, their dear brothers, are able to endure. 1 See also Webster under The Question of Authority, and Shirley under General Requisites. CRITICISM AFTER 1600 179 Ibid. Plays have their fates, not as in their true sense They're understood, but as the influence Of idle custom madly works upon The dross of many tongued Opinion. Henry Shirley. Martyred Soldier (printed 1638). Epil.:— Who once made all, all rules, all never pleased. Fain would we please the best, if not the many ; And sooner will the best be pleased than any. One easily gets the impression that the in- telligence of the groundlings was the constant butt of the pla5rwrights, yet I have given all the examples I have found. It is not surpris- ing that there are so few — it is rather sur- prising that there are so many. How did the dramatists dare be so bold? If we attempt to answer this question, we may count on one certainty: there never was a theatrical man- ager that would permit a useless thing to be done if there was danger of impairing the box office receipts. Plainly the financial interests were not imperiled. It might be urged that the passion for the theater was so strong that you could not drive the offended audience away. This passion could not be relied on i8o ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM since there was competition between theaters. The porter in Henry VIII. informs us that "no audience" could endure the vulgar crowd; indicating that the groundlings were not counted among the audience. It may be then that those who could afford to pay the high- est prices would be attracted to a theater that was not frequented by the poorer classes. It might be profitable to look up in what theater or theaters the plays cited in this section were acted. Yet the fewness of illustrations argues that it was generally not desired to drive the groundlings away. Remember that Hamlet does not make a sweeping statement against them. He qualifies it with the words "for the most part," leaving it open for anyone to in- clude himself among the minority. Another point deserves consideration in this connec- tion: the people that could be classed with fishwives could not have been common patrons of the regular theaters. This would appear evident after an examination of the tables of rates of wages in those days, as given by Thorold Rogers in the third volume of his History of Agriculture and Prices in Eng- land, beginning on page 685. CRITICISM AFTER 1600 181 PLAGIARISM. Ford has two allusions to the subject. Lovetfs Melancholy ( 1628) . Prol, : — Our writer for himself would have you know That in his following scenes he doth not owe To others' fancies, nor hath lain in wait For any stolen invention, from whose height He might commend his own, more than the right A scholar claims, may ^ warrant for delight. Fancies Chaste (1637). Prol.: — . . . in it is shown Nothing but what our author knows his own Without a learned theft. MECHANICS OF PLAY-MAKING. A. Plays to be Seen, Not Read. How fully Marston understood this is seen from the two illustrations following: — Malcontent (printed 1604). To Reader: — . . . only one thing afflicts me: to think that scenes invented merely to be spoken, should be inforcively published to be read, and that the least hurt I can receive is, to do myself the wrong. But since otherwise would do me more, the least inconvenience is to be accepted. I have myself 1 If we read by for may we have sense. 1 82 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM therefore set forth this comedy; ... I shall entreat . , . that the unhandsome shape which this trifle in reading presents, may be par- doned, for the pleasure it once afforded you when it was presented with the soul of lively action. Fawn (printed 1606). To the Reader: — If any wonder why I print a comedy, whose life rests much in the actor's voice, let such know that it cannot avoid publishing; let it therefore stand with good excuse that I have been my own setter out. . . . Comedies are writ to be spoken, not read; remember the life of these things con- sists in action. These remind one very much of a well- know^n similar statement made many years later by Moliere. Shirley. The Brothers (printed 1652). Dedication : — . . . though it appear not in that natural dress of the scene, nor so powerful, as when it had the soul of action. Dekker on the other hand, tries to persuade the reader of The Whore of Babylon (printed 1607) that the author can be judged fairly only in the reading, since most actors spoil the lines. He argues that the relation between author and actor is analogous to that between CRITICISM AFTER 1600 183 musical composer and player. Dekker prob- ably spoke thus to improve the sale of the book. B. Making Conditioned by Time. Heywood. Four Prentices of London (printed 1610). Dedication: — . . . knowing withal that it comes short of that accurateness both in plot and style, that these more censorious days with greater curiosity ac- quire, I must thus excuse : that as plays were then some fifteen or sixteen years ago — it was in the fashion. Henry Shirley. Martyred Soldier (printed 1638). To the Reader:— That this play's old, 'tis true; but now if any Should for that cause despise it, we have many Reasons, both just and pregnant to maintain Antiquity, and those too, not all vain. We know (and not long since) there was a time Strong lines were not looked after, but if rime, O then 'twas excellent. Who but believes That doublets with stuffed bellies and big sleeves And those trunk-hose which now our life doth scorn. Were all in fashion and with custom worn ? . . . With rigor therefore judge not but with reason. Since what you read was fitted to that season. 1 84 ELIZABETHaA CRITICISM Shirley. Imposture (1640). Prol.: — He has been stranger long to the English scene, Knows not the mode. Shirley had been some years in Ireland, writing plays there in the meantime, yet he feared that the fashion might have already changed at home. C. Making Conditioned by Audience. Middleton. No Wit, no Help Like a Woman's (1613). Prolog: — How is't possible to suffice So many ears, so many eyes ? Some in wit, some in shows Take delight, and some in clothes; Some for mirth they chiefly come. Some for passion, — for both some ; Some for lascivious meetings, that's their arrant ; Some to detract, and ignorance their warrant. How is't possible to please Opinion tossed on such wild seas? Similar statements are made by the pro- log to the anonymous play, The Parricide (1624), and by the prolog to Shirley's Duke's Mistress (1636). Hejrwood frankly ac- knowledges the necessity of making conces- sions. CRITICISM AFTER 1600 185 Love's Mistress, II. i : — Midas. I'll show thee In a dance. Apuleius. Art sometimes must give way to ignorance. Throughout the play dances are introduced as concessions to Midas with the long ears. Beaumont and Fletcher. Custom of the Country. Prol. : — . . . the plot neat, and new, Fashioned like those are approved by you. D. Collaboration. The following, from Jasper Maine's com- mendatory verses on Beaumont and Fletcher printed in the 1647 Folio, ought to make glad the heart of Professor Brander Matthews. It contains precisely the views on this subject which he has been maintaining against the conventional scholar: — Whether one did contrive, the other write. Or one frame the plot, the other indite; Whether one found the matter, th' other dress, Or th' one disposed, th' other did express ; Where'er your parts between yourselves lay, we. In all things which you did, but one thread see. Nor were you thus in works and poems knit. 1 86 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM As to be but two halves, and make one wit; But as some things we see have double cause, And yet the effect itself from both whole draws, Yet if we praise you rightly, we must say Both joined, and both did wholly make the play, Nor writ you so that one's part was to lick The other into shape ; nor did one stick The other's cold inventions with such wit. As served like spice, to make them quidc and fit, . In you 'twas league, in others impotence ; And the press which both thus amongst us sends. Sends us one poet in a pair of friends. E. Dramatic Species. Fletcher. Woman-Hater (1607). Pro- log:— I dare not call it comedy or tragedy; 'tis per- fectly neither. Ibid. Captain (1613). Prol. : — This is nor comedy, nor tragedy, Nor history, nor anything that may (Yet in a week) be made a perfect play. In the prolog to Henry Fill., comedy and history are classed below tragedy as was the case in Chapter I. CRITICISM AFTER 1600 187 In the following passage, Shirley describes in uncomplimentary terms, the contemporary method of constructing a mask. Royal Master (1638), II. i: — Bombo. . . . though I appear not in't, I may have a humor to make a mask, if they Stay supper. lacomo. Thou make a maskl Bom. I do not say I'll write one, for I have not My writing tongue, though I could once have read: But I can give, if need be, the design, Make work among the deal boards, and perhaps Can teach them as good language as an- other Of competent ignorance. Things go not now By learning; I have read, 'tis but to bring Some pretty impossibilities, for anti-masks, A little sense and wit disposed with thrift. With here and there monsters to make them laugh: For the grand business, to have Mercury, Or Venus' dandiprat, to usher in Some of the gods, that are good fellows, dancing. Or goddesses ; and now and then a song. To fill a gap : a thousand crowns, perhaps. For him that made it, and there's all me wit! 1 88 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM In his preface to The Faithful Shep- herdess (pr. 1609), Fletcher gives us a note- worthy statement (borrowed according to Professor Thorndike, from Guarini) of the important distinctions between various types : — If you be not reasonably assured of your knowl- edge in this kind of poem, lay down the book, or read this, which I wish had been the prolog. It is a pastoral tragi-comedy, which the people see- ing when it was played, having ever a singular gift in defining, concluded to be a play of country-hired shepherds, in gray cloaks with cur-tailed dogs in strings, sometimes laughing together and some- times killing one another; and, missing Whit- sunales, cream, wassel, and morris-dances began to be angry. In their error, I would not have you fall, lest you incur their censure. Understand, therefore, a pastoral to be a representation of shepherds and shepherdesses with their actions and passions, which must be such as may agree with their natures, at least not exceeding former fictions and vulgar traditions; they are not to be adorned with any art, but such improper ones as nature is said to bestow, as singing and poetry; or such as experience may teach them, as the virtues of herbs and fountains, the ordinary course of the sun, moon and stars, and such like. But you are ever to remember shepherds to be such as all ancient poets and modem, of understanding, have received them : that is, the owners of flocks, and not their hirelings. A tragl-comedy Is not so called in re- CRITICISM AFTER 1600 189 spect of mirth and killing, but in respect it wants deaths, which is enough to make it no tragedy, yet brings some near it, which is enough to make it no comedy, which must be a representation of familiar people, with such kind of trouble as no life be questioned ; so that a god is as lawful in this as in a tragedy, and mean people as in a comedy. F. Mixture of Types. Mixture continued to be frankly allowed; yet the evidence on this point is disappointing, for (not considering Jonson) no higher es- thetic principle was developed in its defense than that no mixed audience would stand a pure type. Webster. White Devil (1612). III. 2: — Francisco. My tragedy must have some idle mirth in't. Else it will never pass. Middleton. No Wit, no Help Like a Woman's (1613). Prol. : — We shall both make you sad and tickle ye. Middleton and Rowley. The World Tost at Tennis (1619). Prol.: — This our device we do not call a play. Because we break the stage's laws to-day Of acts and scenes : sometimes a comic strain I90 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Hath hit delight homeJn a master-vein, Thalia's prize ; Melpomene's sad style Hath shook the tragic hand another while ; The Muse of History hath caught your eyes, And she that chants the pastoral psalteries : We now lay claim to none, yet all present, Seeking out pleasure to find your content. It is evident from this that mixing was still done with a mildly guilty conscience. The apologetic tone is here used because the play was presented before the nobility. Ford. Broken Heart (1629). III. 5: — Penthea. ... on the stage Of my mortality my youth hath acted Some scenes of vanity, drawn out at length By varied pleasures, sweetened in the mix- ture, But tragical in the issue. The next illustration also shows that the pure type was regarded as the proper thing for tragedy and comedy. History appar- ently was not so restricted even theoretically. Kirke. Seven Champions of Christendom (printed 1638). Dedication: — The nature of the work being history, it con- sists of many parts ; not walking in one direct path of comedy or tragedy, but having a larger field to trace ; which, methinks, should yield more pleasure to the reader, novelty and variety being the only CRITICISM AFTER 1600 191 objects these our times are taken with: the trag- edy may be too dull and solid, the comedy too sharp and bitter; but a well mixed portion of either, doubtless would make the sweetest har- mony. Ford boasts that his Perkin Warbeck ( 1633) , is not mixed with comedy. The pro- log boasts : — . . . nor is here Unnecessary mirth forced to endear A multitude. But the fact that the term tragi-comedy was used so commonly without having its pro- priety questioned, proves that the rigid aca- demic distinctions were no longer taken very seriously. G. The Theme. Only themes of sufficient magnitude were to be chosen for dramatic treatment. Marston. What You Will (1601). Prol. :— A silly subject too, to.i simply clad, Is all his present. Middleton and Dekker. Roaring Girl (161 1). Epil.:— 192 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Some for the person will revile the scene, And wonder that a creature of her being Should be the subject of a poet, seeing In the world's eye, none weighs so light. Marston hints here that the poet has a bet- ter sense of relative values than other people. It continued to be the superstition that local themes could not be of sufficient magni- tude. Heywood and Brome. The Late Lanca- shire Witches (1634). Prol.: — No accidents abroad worthy relation Arriving here, we are forced from our own nation To ground the scene that's now in agitation. The project unto many here well-known: Those witches the fat jailer brought to town. An argument so thin, persons so low Can neither yield much matter, nor great show. Expect no more than can from such be raised. So may the scene pass pardoned though not praised. Heywood also, in the prolog to A Chal- lenge for Beauty (1635), asserts the superior- ity of the English drama over the foreign, partly on the ground that its themes are more dignified : — They do not build their projects on that ground, Nor have their phrases half the weight and sound Our labored scenes have had. CRITICISM AFTER 1600 193 In the prolog to The Royal King (1633), he gives a long account of the strenuous ef- forts he has made during his career to find ap- propriate themes, for the pleasure of the pub- lic. The most important passage follows: — . . . ' nay, 'tis known That when our chronicles have barren grown Of story, we have all invention stretched, Dived low as to the center, and then reached Unto the Primum Mobile above Nor 'scaped things intermediate, for your love. I have already quoted in another connec- tion, the passage in the prolog to The Spanish Curate^ containing the line : — To tell ye 'tis familiar, void of glory, Of state. . . . Sir William Alexander, who wrote a num- ber of curious historical plays in rime, argues in his Anacrisis (c. 1634) , that a theme drawn from history is better for tragedy than an original one : — Many would bound the boundless liberty of a poet, binding him only to the birth of his own brains, affirming that there can be no perfection but in a fiction ; not considering that the ancients, upon whose example they ground their opinion, did give faith unto those fables whereby they would abuse 194 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM our credulity, not only as to true history, but as to true divinity, since containing the greatness of their gods and grounds of their religion which they in their own kind did strive superstitiously to ex- tol ; so that hereby they would either make our re- ligion or our affection thereunto inferior unto theirs, and imaginary matters to be more celebrated than true deeds, whose envied price, affectionately looked upon, must beget a generous emulation in any virtuous reader's mind. The treasures of poesy cannot be better bestowed than upon the appareling of truth, and truth can- not be better appareled to please young lovers than with the excellencies of poesy. I would allow that an epic poem should consist altogether of a fiction; that the poet soaring above the course of nature, making the beauty of virtue to invite, and the horror of vice to affright the beholders, may liberally furnish his imaginary man with all the qualities requisite for the accomplishing of a per- fect creature, having power to dispose of all things at his own pleasure. But it is more agreeable with the gravity of a tragedy, that it be grounded upon a true history, where the greatness of a known per- son, urging regard doth work the more powerfully upon the affections. H. Appeal to the Imagination. The esthetic principle emphasized by ro- manticism that art must appeal to the imagi- nation, was developed largely through the limitations imposed by the conditions of artis- CRITICISM AFTER 1600 195 tic production. The crude actuality of Eliza- bethan stage-setting furthered the cause of ro- manticism. Heywood. Fair Maid of the West (1630) , chorus after V. : — Our stage so lamely can express a sea, That we are forced by chorus to discourse What should have been in action. The interpretive imagination must be "brought into play. Ibid. Love's Mistress, I. end : — Midas. And for thy scene ; thou bringst here on the stage A young green sickness baggage to run after A little ape-faced boy thou term'st a god ; Is not this most absurd? Apuleius. Misunderstanding fool, thus much conceive, Psyche is Anima, Psyche is the soul ; The soul's a virgin, longs to be a bride ; The soul's immortal, whom can she woo But heaven ? whom wed but immortality. The dialogue continues thus to explain the allegory in detail. I. General Requisites. First let us illustrate what the vulgar de- mand called for. ,196 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM W. B. Verses on Massinger's Bondman (1624):— Here are no gipsy jigs, no drumming stuff, Dances, or other trumpery to delight. Or take, by common way, the common sight. Shirley. Doubtful Heir (c. 1640), 2 Prol.:— No shows, no dances, and what you most delight in, Grave under slanders, here's no target-fighting Upon the stage, all work for cutlers barred; No bawdry, nor no ballads; this goes hard; But language clean; and, what affects you not, Without impossibilities the plot: No clown, no squibs, no devil in't. Now follow quotations telling what quali- ties the dramatists claim to aim at: — Marston. Fawn (1604). Epil. :- But yet if you that . . . have surveyed the frame Of this slight scene, if you shall judge his flame Distemperately, weak, as faulty much — In style, in plot, in spirit. Fletcher. Love's Cure (1622). Epil.: — Such will be apt to say there wanted wit, The language low, very few scenes are writ With spirit and life. CRITICISM AFTER 1600 197 Ford. Broken Heart (1629). Epil. : — Let some say, "This was flatl" some, "Here the scene Fell from its height" ; another that the "mean Was ill observed in such a growing passion As it transcended either state or fashion." <, Massinger. Verses on Shirley's Grateful Servant (1630) : — Here are no forced expressions, no racked phrase, No Babel compositions, to amaze The tortured reader. Jay. On Massinger's New Way to Pay Old Debts (1633) : — The crafty mazes of the cunning plot. The polished phrase, the sweet expression, the con- ceit Fresh and unsullied. Shirley. Doubtful Heir ( 1640) . Epil.* : — Is the plot current? may we trust the wit Without a say-master to authorize it ? Are the lines sterling ? do they hold conceit ? Berkenhead on Beaumont and Fletcher (1647):- 1 Cf . also Heywood, Eng. Traveler, Prol. ; and Shirley, Love in a Maze, V. 2. 198 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM All's safe and wise; no stiff affected scene, Nor swollen nor flat, a true, full natural vein. The unknown author of the prolog to Fletcher's Woman's Prize, shows that he had some modern ideas regarding play-making : — We do entreat the angry men would not Expect the mazes of a subtle plot, Set speeches, high expressions, and, what's worse In a true comedy, politic discourse. Dekker, in the prolog to The Devil is in It (1612), has given a remarkable statement of what the good playwright ought to accom- plish with his play:-^ Give me that man Can call the banished auditor home, and tie His ear with golden chains to his melody : Can draw with adamantine pen even creatures. Forged out of the hammer, on tiptoe to reach up And (from rare silence) clap their brawny hands, T'applaud what their charmed soul scarce under- stands. That man give me, whose breast filled by the Muses With raptures, into a second them infuses : Can give an actor sorrow, rage, joy, passion. Whilst he again, by selfsame agitation. Commands the hearers, sometimes drawing out tears. Then smiles, and fills them both with hope and fears. CRITICISM AFTER 1600 199 That man give me. And to be such a one Our poet this day strives, or to be none.^ J. The Plot. Middleton and Dekker. The Roaring Girl {1611). Epil.:— Some perhaps do flout The plot, saying : 'tis too thin, too weak, too mean. Brome. Antipodes {i62S),y.B: — Letoy. The music, songs, And dance I gave command for, are they ready ? Quailpipe. All, my good lord; and (in good sooth ) I cannot enough applaud your hon- or's quaint conceit in the design; so apt, and so (withal) poetice legitimate, as I may justly say with Plautus — Letoy. Prithee say no more; but see upon my signal given, they act as well as I de- signed. Some dramatists approved of a perfectly simple plot. Heywood. Fair Maid of the West (printed 1631). To the Reader: — I hold it no necessity to trouble thee with the"^ argument of the story, the matter itself lyitig so 1 Cf. also Marston, Second Part of Antonio and Mellida (1600), the end. 200 ELIZABETHAN CRIXiCISM plainly before thee in acts and scenes, without any deviations, or winding incidents. Prolog to Fletcher's Chances: — . . . we do entreat that you would not Expect strange turns and windings in the plot Some thought diflferently, however: — Shirley. Cardinal (1641). Prol: — A poet's art is to lead on your thought Through subtle paths and workings of a plot. Cartwright on Fletcher (1647) • — No vast uncivil bulk swells any scene, The strength's ingenious and the vigor clean : None can prevent the fancy, and see through At the first opening ; all stand wondering hbw The thing will be until it is ; which thence With fresh delight still cheats, still takes the sense; The whole design, the shadows, the lights such That none can say he shows or hides too much: Business grows up, ripened by just encrease. And by as just degress again doth cease ; The heats and minutes of affairs are watched, And the nice points of time are met, and watched; Nought later than it should, nought comes before ; Chemists and calculators do err more : Sex, age, degree, affections, country, place, The inward substance and the outward face; All kept precisely, all exactly fit. What he would write, he was before he writ. CRITICISM AFTER 1600 201 K. The Unities, Not much was said about the unities, prov- ing that they were dead laws. Lodowick Barry, in the prolog to his Ram- Alley (1610), declares his observance of all the classic laws, specifying the three unities asserted by Jonson : — Observing all those ancient streams Which from the Horse-foot fount do flow As time, place, person: Ford. PerkinWarbeck {1622)- Prol.: — We cannot limit scenes, for the whole land Itself appeared too narrow to withstand Competitors for kingdoms. Marston acknowledges the sub-plot in the Fabulce Argumentum of the Dutch Courte- zan : — The difference between the love of a courtezan and a wife is the full scope of the play_, which inter- mixed with the deceits of a witty city jester, fills up the comedy. In the mask in the first act of The Maid's Tragedy (1609), Beaumont and Fletcher al- lude to the unity of time and imply that the imagination does away with its necessity: — 202 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM . . . poets, when they rage, Turn gods to men, and make an hour an age. L. Conventions. In the May-Day (1611), II. 4, Chapman ridicules the common stage practise of pre- tending to be disguised by merely changing the outer garment ; and Fletcher lightly satir- izes two stage traditions in the prolog to The Woman Hater (1607) : — Some things in it you may meet with, which are out of the common road. A duke there is, and the scene lies in Italy, as those two things lightly we never miss. There are some allusions to the convention- ality of certain stock characters. Chapman. M. D'Olive (1604), IV. i :— Rhoderique. Here we may strike the Plaudite to our play ; my lord fool's gone — all our audience will forsake us. Anon. Parricide (1624). Prol.: — Most like no play but such as gives large birth To that which they judiciously call mirth ; Nor will the best works with their liking crown. Except it be graced with part of fool or clown. Middleton. A Mad World ( 1606) , V. 2 :— CRITICISM AFTER 1600 203 Sir Bounteous. . . . they put all their fools to the constable's part still. Chapman. May-Day {1611), II. ^: — Lorenzo. . . . Methinks a Friar's weed were nothing. Angela. Out upon't; that disguise is worn threadbare upon every stage, and so much villainy committed under that habit, that 'tis as suspicious as the vilest. Middleton. Mayor of Queenborough (1622), V. I : — Simon. Give me a play without a beast, I charge you. 2nd Player. - That's hard ; without a cuckold or a drunkard ? Middleton also alludes to a stock situation. In the play-within-the-play in V. 2 of The Mad World, a constable sits tied and gagged for some time. One of the audience re- marks : — But what follows all this while, sir? methinks some should pass by before this time, and pity the constable. M. Prolog and Epilog. There are numerous comments on these in- stitutions, usually of a decidedly derogatory 204 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM nature. Since they are hardly worth quoting, I give here some references: Shirley — Brothers, Prol. ; Bird in a Cage, IV. 2. (Dyce II. 431); Imposture, Prol.; Fletcher — Woman-Hater, Prol.; Nice Labor, Prol.; Custom of the Country, Epil. ; Massinger — Unnatural Combat, Dedication; Believe as You List, Epil. N. Provision for Supers. Armin. Two Maids of More-clacke (ed. Grosart, p. 68) : — Enter Lady, Mistress Mary, Mistress Tabitha, and some other women for show. Brome. Antipodes, II. 2: — By-Play. Only we want a person for a mute. Letoy, Blaze when he comes shall serve. DICTION. Literary qualities are almost invariably in- cluded among the general requisites given above. Some passages treat of these partic- ularly. Shirley has two raps at bombast — one in his verses on Massinger's Renegade where he says : — CRITICISM AFTER 1600 205 Others would fright the time Into belief, with mighty words that tear A passage through the ear. the other is in The Humorous Courtier, II. 2, where he devotes considerable space to ridi- culing what he calls "hyperbolizing." In Love in a Maze, I. 2. (Dyce, II. p. 284) , Shirley makes fun of Sidney and Chaucer; and in the same play — II. 2. (Dyce, II. p. 302) — he has a long tirade against the abuse of adjectives that would be of interest to a certain well-known college president. Henry Shirley (who must not be confused with his more famous namesake), declares definitely that a play must please the ear as well as the eye. Martyred Soldier, Epil. : — Two senses must be pleased : . . . And he that only seeks to please but either, While both he doth not please, he pleaseth neither. REFINEMENT. In view of the many protestations of decency coming from the Elizabethan play- wrights, it is amazing how so much indecency managed to get into the Elizabethan drama. Besides the examples given under general 2o6 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM requisites, here are some more references: — Marston, Sophonisba, Epil. ; Fawn, Prol.; Middleton and Dekker, Roaring Girl, Epil. ; Beaumont and Fletcher, Custom of the Coun- try, Prol.; Woman-Hater, Prol.; Knight of the Burning Pestle, Prol.; Heywood, A Maidenhead, To the Reader; Shirley, The Politician, Dedication; Coronation, Prol.; Doubtful Heir, i Prol. and 2 Prol.; Duke's Mistress, Prol. ; The Imposture, Prol. ; Mar- mion. Fine Companion, Prol.; Glapthorne, Whitehall (p. 247) ; Ford, Broken Heart, Prol. All will agree that the following is worth quoting. It is from Cartwright's verses on Fletcher (1647) : — Shakspere to thee was dull, whose best jest lies I' th' ladies' questions, and the fool's replies; Old-fashioned wit, which walked from town to town In turned hose, which our fathers called the clown ; Whose wit our nice times would obsceneness call, And which made bawdry pass for comical : Nature was all his art ; uiy vein was free As his, but without his scurrility. This judgment is rendered all the more re- markable by two noteworthy facts: first, that Shakspere never protested to the public that CRITICISM AFTER 1600 207 he shunned indecency; secondly, that Shak- spere is to a modern audience the least in- decent of Elizabethan playwrights. METRICS. The significance of the following statement made by Daniel, who was something of a dramatist also, is apparent. It occurs in the Defense of Rime (1603), which was an an- swer to Campion's Observations in the Art of English Poesy: — And I must confess that mine adversary hath wrought this much upon me, that I think a tragedy would indeed best comport with a blank verse and dispense with rime, saving in the chorus, or where a sentence shall require a couplet. Chapman. Cces. and Pomp. {it^i). Dedi- cation : — and the hasty prose the style avoids, obtain to the more temperate and staid numerous elocution. Chapman's verse is indeed more easily un- derstood than this prose. This much is clear ; it is an affirmation of the superiority of verse over prose for dramatic purposes. 2o8 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM ACTING. Important qualities in the actor : Marston. What You Will (1601) II. i :— Pedagogue. I was solicited to grant him leave to play the lady in comedies presented by children; but I knew his voice was too small, and his stature too low. Chapman. Wid. Tears (1605), III. i: — Tharsalio. Is he perfect in's part? has not his tongue learned of the Sylvans to trip at the toe? Argus. Sir, believe it, he does it precisely for accent and action, as if he felt the part he played; he ravishes all the young wenches in the palace. The importance of preparation for appar- ently spontaneous acting is brought out in the following from the same play, IV. i : — Tharsalio. . . . thou wepst. So have I seen many a moist auditor do at a play, when the story was but a mere fiction. And didst act the Nuntius well; would I had heard it. Couldst thou dress thy looks in a mournful habit? Lycus. Not without preparation, sir; no more than my speech — 'twas plain acting of. an inter- lude to me to pronounce the part. CRITICISM AFTER 1600 209 In the same scene, the fact that overdoing a part is bad, is brought out: — Tharsalio. True sorrow evermore keeps out of sight. This strain of mourning with sepulcher, like an overdoing actor, affects grossly, and is indeed so far forced from the life, that 't be- wrays itself to be altogether artificial. The entrance and the exit are crucial mo- ments for the actor; the latter rather more serious than the first. Middleton observed this, as seen from A Mad World (1606), V. 2:— Sir Bounteous. Ay, that's the grace of all, when they go away well. Shirley. Grateful Servant (pr. 1630). Reader: — . . . most of them [i. e., the actors of the play] deserving a name in the file of those that are eminent for graceful and unafEected action. The actors of those days had their "line" as well as those of to-day, as seen by the follow- ing from the epilog to Shirley's Duke's Mis- tress (1636) : — . . . imagine^ I have but played the part which was most against my genius of any that ever I acted in my life. 2IO ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Hamlet's advice to the players is closely imitated by Brome in The Antipodes, II. i. The passage is too long to be quoted. NAMING A PLAY. Shirley. Bird in a Cage., IV. 2: — Eugenia. The New Prison! why ? Donella. O 'tis an excellent name. Ibid. Triumph of Beauty : — Toadstool. . . . what if we left out the golden fleece? Bottle. What if you left out the play? the golden fleece! why 'tis the name, and the only thing in the play. This scene is an imitation of the corres- ponding scene in Midsummer Night's Dream. Even the name Bottle is patterned after Bot- tom. Ibid. Doubtful Heir, I Prol. : — Such titles unto plays are now the mood : Aglaura, Claricilla, — names that may (Being ladies) grace, and bring guests to the play. This is clear when we remember that the play was first produced under the title of Rosania, or Love's Victory. CHAPTER V SUMMARY AN attempt has been made in the forego- ing chapters to prove that there was a growth of a large critical consciousness among the dramatists who flourished during the indefinite period known as the Elizabethan Age. In order to do this, the topics of criti- cism which evoked expression from the dram- atists have been arranged in what seemed to be the most logical system, with the utter- ances of the playwrights arranged under these topics in chronological order. Let us now sum up the results of our investigation, topic by topic, following the order pursued in the preceding pages. On the fundamental questions pertaining to the nature of poetry the earlier dramatists had nothing to say. It was not Nature of until towards the end of the century that Shakspere began to advance ideas on the subject which were 211 212 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM the essence of romanticism. He emphasized the inspirational aspect of poetic creation, and proclaimed the supremacy of the imagi- nation in the realm of art — imagination exer- cised both by the artist in creating his work and by the public in interpreting it.^ Close upon Shakspere's heels came Ben Jonson with a contrary view. Not inspiration, he de- clared, but diligent labor, produces poetry. He maintained, however, the indispensability of a natural talent born with the poet, differ- ing from the talent required by other occu- pations only in its rarity, and therefore to be the more highly prized. But this talent would be utterly fruitless without the neces- sary training and application. The posses- sion of scholarship and the strict supervision of reason are essential.* Jonson was thus the beginner of that classical school which cul- minated in the i8th century. To be sure, the regular criticism in England before Jonson was classical; and Professor Spingarn, in- deed, speaking of Ascham as critic, calls him "the first English classicist." * But that meager contribution is of doubtful signifi- cance in the evolution of English criticism. 1 Pp. 42, 47ff. ^ Pp. goff. » Lit. Crit, p. 255. SUMMARY 213 Jonson got his suggestions from Italy and France, and only beginning with him may be traced a more or less distinct line of develdp- ment. Moreover, Jonson's theory of poetic creation was not derived from his immediate predecessors, either English or continental. Their view was really romantic. They held that making poetry was a divine operation.^ Now, it was Jonson's rationalistic theory that grew in influence until it controlled literary production and, in the i8th century made poetry a "mere mechanic art." But among his contemporary dramatists, Jonson's views did not find a favorable reception. The Tribe of Ben graduated no playwrights of any consequence, and the attitude adopted by the later dramatists of our period on the question of poetic creation was in the main that as- sumed by Shakspere." Jonson's influence was, however, felt, as is seen in the way the element of Labor was emphasized by such men as Dekker and Shirley.* Yet to Shirley 1 Cf. lb., p. 264. This view goes back to the Greeks. Plato alludes to it several times, and in the Phaedrus classi- fies the poetic impulse as a form of madness. Aristotle {Poet., XVII.) says that "poetry implies either a happy gift of nature or a strain of madness." 2 Pp. issf., I94f. « Pp. issf. 214 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM belongs the credit of having spoken, in the year which marks the downward limit of our study, the final words against Jonson's doc- trine/ The Elizabethan dramatists were early con- fronted with the question of the why and the wherefore of dramatic production. As in all eases where the value of any ScTDnmia/ human activity is brought into question, the plea of a utilitarian purpose is the most obvious defense and the one best calculated to silence cavil, so here it was the first resort of the playwright. It was advanced by Edwards, Fulwell, Gascoigne, Whetstone, Lodge, and Wilmot.* To do so was particularly natural in the present in- stance since the didactic func- Morai Function, tion of the drama was the tra- ditional theory based more or less on fact. Indeed, Gascoigne, and probably some more of the early dramatists, had in view no other conscious purpose than to teach. The prevailing opinion, however, ad- mitted the function of entertainment, but only as a means.* Toward the end of the sixteenth century Nash and Dekker were iP. i6o. a pp. Sff. »Pp. 4ff- SUMMARY 215 ready to avow pure entertainment as the func- tion of comedy} Shakspere went further and disregarded the moral justification en- tirely, at the same time advancing a new utilitarian function which was not a moral function by declaring that pleasure is whole- some.^ Later, pure pleasure as the function Entertainm t ^^ comcdy was championed by Function of such men as Marston, Middle- °"* ^* ton, Massinger, Beaumont, and Fletcher;' and for the drama in general there prevailed the double function which went by the conventional name of Profit and p^ - . Delight, a phrase borrowed DeUght, from Horace.* This "double scope," as Jonson called it, was not identical with that mentioned a moment ago as having found favor with the earlier dramatists, inasmuch as the Delight was not now looked upon as a means to the end Profit; both the profit and the delight were consid- ered ends in themselves. In the meantime social satire had made its way into the province of the drama as one of its legitimate functions. It became common iPp. 9f. »Pp. i67flf. "Pp. SSf- *Pp. io3f., i6sf. 2i6 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM quite early, but the dramatists then did not venture to avow it ; Lodge alone among them not hesitating to recognize its unquestionable propriety.* Later its most ardent defender was Jonson, who insisted on its legitimacy in all cases where individual persons were not involved." To him the drama was an earnest criticism of life; and his views regarding satire in the drama were almost universally accepted by his contemporaries, the only dissenting voice we hear being Chapman's." The validity of the classic laws was a press- ing question. In the beginning of our period there was a general recognition teori?y?^ of Horace's authority. Ed- wards, author of Damon and Pythias, acknowledges it;* otherwise the early dramatists are silent on the question, dis- regarding his canons in practise. Shakspere repudiated all external authority absolutely." It is just possible that the great poet was in- fluenced in this respect by Giordano Bruno. The latter was in England during Shak- spere's early manhood, and while there pub- 1 Pp. 7, lof. » Pp. I70ff. » P. SSf. 2 Pp. 99, I04ff. * P. 12. SUMMARY 217 lished, in 1585, his Eroici Furori, in which he attacks the authority of Aristotle's rules. In the words of Professor Spiilgarn : "he ex- presses his contempt for the mere pedants who judge poets by the rules of Aristotle's Poetics. His contention is that there are as many sorts of poets as there are human sentiments and ideas, and that poets, so far from being sub- servient to rules, are themselves really the authors of all critical dogma." ^ The evidence pointing to a familiarity on Shakspere's part with the works of Bruno is hardly convincing ; so the thought of any con- nection between the two men, so far as this question is concerned may be safely rejected. Yet the idea expressed by Bruno that the poet is above rules, may have made its way into the critical theory of the Elizabethan dramatists by another channel. Daniel Heinsius ex- pressed the thought in 161 2 and Ben Jonson, in the Discoveries, translated his statement. It is reasonable to suppose that the literary theorists were familiar with any important critical utterances of a thinker who had achieved such notoriety as Bruno, The lat- ter may, therefore, have suggested the idea to ^Lit. Crit, p. 166. 2i8 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Heinsius, who put it into his De tragcedicB Constitutione, where Jonson found it/ However, Heinsius' statement of it, and there- fore Jonson's, was not as absolute as either Shakspere's or Bruno's. Jonson's classical training prevented his becoming too much of a romanticist on any question. His attitude was determined by two conflicting forces that struggled within him: his profound venera- tion for the ancient authors, whom he knew so well, and his spirit of haughty independence that repelled dictation. His common-sense and practical experience taught him that the rules of the ancients were not applicable to his own theater; so he came to the conclusion that no laws can be laid down to govern lit- erature for all time. Furthermore, he saw that the ancient authors themselves did not abide by a fixed norm, but that, on the con- trary, as time went on, writers modified exist- ing forms. He could not see, then, but that he "should enjoy the same license." '^ Never- theless, he strenuously maintained that under no circumstances can the ancients be disre- garded. Though they are not to be obeyed and followed blindly, yet they must always be 1 pp. 109, 112. ^ p. III. SUMMARY 219 respected as indispensable guides. "Non domini nostri, sed duces fuere." ^ By thus denying the authority of the an- cients — for deny it he did, notwithstanding his respectful language — ^Jonson, whether he intended to or not, set himself up as a spokes- man of the romantic school. No other dramatist took the trouble to discuss the ques- tion. Shakspere expressed his opinion in forcible terms, but he did not deign to argue the matter. Two reasons for this silence in the romantic camp suggest themselves : First, there was no visible enemy in the field. To be sure, Chapman and Webster each took oc- casion once to assert the authority of the classical laws,^ but their assertions presented nothing specific, and were of doubtful sin- cerity, being spoken out of a bitterness of heart due, in Chapman's case to his enmity of Campion, and in Webster's to the failure of his play. Secondly, the classical laws did not disturb the practise of playwriting. No play for public performance adhered even ap- proximately to the ancient form, and prob- ably no author, aside from Jonson and his few unimportant disciples, gave any serious iPp. loSff. 2 Pp. 1731 220 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM consideration, in planning his work, to the claims of that form. In practise, therefore, ancient authority was nil. In theoretical dis- cussion, however, we know that it was not en- tirely disregarded, since we have expressions of opinion by various playwrights. What Jonson's attitude was we have seen. What was the attitude of Chapman and Webster cannot be determined, because the data sub- mitted, for reasons already indicated, are of doubtful value. What Thomas Heywood thought is clear: In breaking down the "strict limits" of the ancient drama, an oppor- tunity was created to transcend that drama.' The incidental manner in which he speaks of the present inapplicability of the ancient laws, indicates what a foregone conclusion it was then (1632) in the consensus of opinion. Having rejected the authority of the an- cients, what standard did the Elizabethan playwrights fall back upon? Judging by the plays extant, such as Like Will figment' /o Like, Damon and Pythias and Appius and Virginia, there can be little doubt that the early dramatists frankly adopted the popular judgment as "■ P. 174. SUMMARY 221 their criterion. In these plays all respect for what is styled classic art is thrown to the winds, and every effort is strained to satisfy anything but a refined taste (although, let us remember, some of these were also per- formed at court). But when the theater be- came a more representative institution, at- tracting the more refined elements of the com- munity, the attitude of the playwright could not help being modified. There was a differ- ent audience to write for. For reasons indi- cated aboye,^ the average intelligence of the audience at a regular theater could not have been low ; hence to write for such an audience must have satisfied the artist as well as the public. Therefore no question as to the pro- priety of the adopted standard could arise so long as the plays written according to that standard succeeded. Indeed, nothing was said about the matter until the question was brought to an issue by a dramatist who did not adopt the popular standard, and, there- fore, whose plays did not succeed. That dramatist was Ben Jonson, He insisted that his own judgment must be his sole guide, and when his works failed on the stage he fell to iPp. I79f. 222 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM abusing the "multitude." He wrote only for "learned ears," he declared; and if he found but one who was pleased with his work, that one should be a theater unto him.^ Jonson was answered by Marston, who maintained that the art which pleases the majority is the best art.^ Marston's statement is really an admirable piece of criticism, showing that his opinion was more than a mere impression or an unsupported contention. His argument is both psychological and historical. Rules of art are quite apart from art itself. Such rules are not formulated to accord with the psychologic nature of pleasure, nor do we reg- ulate our emotion of pleasure to accord with rules that may have been prescribed. The process of distinguishing good art from bad has been a simpler and more natural one. Poetry was produced, and it pleased some and not others; and that which pleased most was as a matter of course considered best. On the same principle the world to-day cannot be bound to accept the verdict of three or four deemed most judicious. Such a pronounced democratic doctrine as this seems to be would be received with lit- iPp. ii3flE. 2 P. i76f. SUMMARY 223 tie favor even in our own day, so no wonder that we do not find Marston's view upheld by his contemporary playwrights. On the con- trary, the occasional disparaging comments they made on the groundlings would give us the impression that they sided with Jonson. But this impression would probably lead us into error. It is likely that their attitude re- sembled that of Marston more than that of Jonson. What prompted Marston to protest was Jonson's wholesale condemnation of the theater-going public ; that is, the public which patronized the regular theaters. This pub- lic, as already pointed out, must have been a tolerably intelligent one. Now there is noth- ing in Marston's statement to suggest that he had in mind any other portion of the popula- tion. The disparagements coming from the various playwrights were in most cases di- rected only against the very poorest element of the audience ; and since this did not consti- tute a considerable proportion of the attend- ance, these playwrights were not attacking those whom Marston was defending. We may therefore infer that, on the whole, the standard adopted, in theory as well as in prac- tise, was the consensus of intelligent opinion.* 1 Pp. I77if. 224 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM The problems thus far discussed might be considered as belonging primarily to the prov- ince of the philosopher — not so those to be grouped under the present head. Pteymffini/ ^^^Y ^^^ cvolved and solved in practise. Arising out of con- ditions that develop at a given time they are met by the craftsman by adjusting his work to the demands of those conditions. Hence, what the Elizabethan dramatist had to say on questions concerned with the actual making of plays must have peculiar interest and value. That the art of writing plays was one gov- erned by laws peculiar to itself was a fact that rapidly compelled the conscious recognition of the playwrights. For in- JheArt.' Stance, the primary, yet by no means obvious, distinction be- tween the drama and other literary forms, that the drama is made to be seen and not read, and that it must be constructed accord- ingly, was very distinctly perceived by Whet- stone in 1578.* Marston, in 1604, and again in 1606, gave an intelligent presentation of the idea,* and in 1652 Shirley spoke about it as if it were a well-known fact' iP. 17. "Pp. i8if. »P. 182. SUMMARY 225 The Elizabethans inherited from the Mid- dle Ages definitions of tragedy and comedy which influenced their theory and practise throughout the period. These SpedM."' definitions, as presented by the Renascence critics, contained two main points, one pertaining to plot, the other to character : first, the ending of a trag- edy is the culmination of a series of increas- ingly intense misfortunes, while the ending of a comedy is the happy solution of a distress- ing complication of affairs; second, tragedy deals only with noble persons, perferably with royalty, while comedy deals with ordi- nary people. These distinctions, which plainly hark back to Aristotle, were generally recognized. Scaliger, to be sure, in an effort to be original, went back of Aristotle to the practise of Aischylos and thence drew the principle that an unhappy ending is not es- sential to tragedy. He says: "Hence it is by no means true, as has hitherto been taught, than an unhappy issue is essential to tragedy. It is enough that the play contain horrible events." ^ But apparently his opinion here was without weight. The Elizabethan 1 Cf. Padelford, pp. s8f . 226 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM dramatists adhered to the principle of the un- happy issue, and, indeed, interpreted "un- happy issue" to mean death/ It is possible, however, that Scaliger's theory of the comic was not without its eflfect in England ; for in this, too, he had an original opinion. From some plays by Plautus he inferred that a happy ending in a comedy was not an essential, for sometimes the issue is unhappy for some of the characters. Jonson, who knew his Scal- iger, wrote in accordance with this principle. If we examine Guarini's statement, as quoted by Fletcher,^ of the distinctions be- tween the various dramatic species, we shall be impressed with the manner in which the English dramatists discarded the continental formula for a comic plot. We see that the distressing complication of affairs in a comedy must not be so serious as to endanger the life of any character. To mention the Merchant of Venice is to suggest the English play- wrights' attitude on this point. Jonson, who was scrupulous regarding technical propriety, defended the introduction of violent scenes in comedy by appealing to the practise of Plau- tus.^ IP. 22. *Pp. l88f. sp. 139. SUMMARY 227 The other requirement of the Renascence definitions of tragedy and comedy — that trag- edy shall deal only with the highest class and comedy with any but that class — was also con- siderably modified by the English playwright. Characters of the lowest social position were present in Elizabethan tragedy from the out- set, and comedies frequently included noble personages in their dramatis personce. So much for the practise of the dramatists regard- ing this question — to what extent their prac- tise was accompanied by a theory cannot be de- termined, since they failed to express them- selves on the matter. Specimens of pure tragedy or pure comedy, according to the Renascence formula, are not many in the Elizabethan drama. From the beginning comic scenes were in- Spe^s!°* terspersed in tragedies, in or- der, as the playwright ex- plained, to supply a variety of entertainment. This was in keeping with popular tradition, but emphatically in opposition to classical doctrine. So sacred was the individuality of species that when a new form known as tragi- comedy was invented, there was considerable displeasure among conservative circles on the 228 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM continent. This form shared the character- istics of both tragedy and comedy, but not in the free manner which prevailed in the Eng- lish drama. It differed from tragedy in that characters of low station were admissible, and that the ending had to be happy although the action had to point to a different conclusion. It found a more congenial home in England where it became the favorite form during the later period of the Elizabethan drama. When it was established the earlier form be- came despised.^ This fact was owing, it can- not be denied, partly to a chastening influence among the playwrights; yet it is doubtful whether they could find any difference be- tween Strumbo and Touchstone, or whether they could distinguish, from the standpoint of artistic construction, the superiority of Lear over Cambyses. Their contempt was no doubt due as much to the decay of the old spontaneity as to anything else. How natural it was for the English drama- tist to combine the serious with the comic is forcibly indicated by the fact that Jonson, of all men the last of whom it would be ex- pected, stepped forth as the sole defender of ip. 206. SUMMARY 229 the admissibility of comic situations in the pastoral/ It is a sort of irony that the pas- toral was of little importance in England. Why could not Jonson be as firmly convinced of the propriety of comic situations in a trag- edy? Romantic criticism might have been the richer for it. Nevertheless, what we have is quite an achievement for romanticism, although such important dramatists as Web- ster, Middleton, and Ford sanctioned the mix- ture of types in a half-hearted way only.'* To be sure, no more profound principle of es- thetics was developed than that the mixed type was more enjoyable than the pure one, yet it was something to realize that enjoyabil- ity is a criterion in art. Both in traditional practise and in Renas- cence doctrine the themes of the serious drama were required to be the loftiest possi- ble. In the English drama- tist's mind, "loftiness" was in- separable from remoteness. Either the time or the place or, preferably, both had to be distant, and the main characters had to be re- moved from ordinary life. How self-evi- dent this convention of "loftiness" was to the 1 Pp. iipf. 2 Pp. iSgt. 230 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM playwright is apparent from the respect in which it was held even by such a genius as Shakspere. He did not adhere to it merely as a custom; he revealed by frequent utter- ance a positive admiration for it. Even comedy was subject to the convention, differ- ing in this respect from classical comedy. Exceptions to the rule were proffered with apologies. Jonson, indeed, insisted, in no complimentary terms, that for the kind of comedy he wrote, the England of his day af- forded as good a ground as any other coun- try.^ Before the advent of Jonson the playwrights had nothing to say about the construction of a play, but no sooner did he make his appear- » ance than he set his contem- Plot, , . , . , . porary dramatists thmkmg on the subject; and they presently bettered the instruction — at least, in one respect. They came to agree, as he did not, on the impor- tance of plot; differing only on what consti- tuted a good plot. Some, like Heywood, maintained that the simpler the plot, the bet- ter; while others, like Shirley and Cart- wright, insisted that a subtle, complicated 1 Pp. 26flf., 66f., 120, 191 ff. SUMMARY 231 plot, that taxed the ingenuity of the author to unravel, was to be preferred/ Jonson, by his ideas on this topic, proved that he was not born to write plays. His conception of a plot was that of a series of episodes. There was nothing definite about the number of epi- sodes; they were to be limited only by the patience of the audience. As soon as the spec- tators had received enough to satisfy them, the catastrophe could be tacked on, and the play brought to a close.* This came from the man who was painfully anxious about the science of every detail of his work. Of course, Jonson's theory of plot-construc- tion was opposed to the classical unity of action. The other two unities had his patri- otic allegiance, and it is signifi- Umties. 11, ,1 cant that the only one of these laws which is approved to-day should have been disregarded by him. It is significant because it emphasizes his rationalistic predi- lections. The question of the unities of time and place illustrates better than anything else the difference between romanticism and 1 iggf. This dispute harks back to Aristotle. C£. Poet. X. 2i24ff.. i33ff. 232 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM classicism. Here we have reason (in a limited sense) on one side and imagination on the other. The classicist says it is opposed to reason to have the locality change before your eyes, or to have a long period of time elapse within a few hours. The romanticist de- clares that whether it is opposed to reason or not, such situations are perfectly proper in a work of art since the human mind by the ex- ercise of the imagination can conveniently grasp them. Art, he says, does not appeal primarily to the reason but to the imagina- tion, and the power of the imagination is un- limited. The Elizabethan dramatists, on the whole, had a profound faith in this power of the imagination, and to it they consciously appealed. Jonson, on the other hand, could not appreciate it, and was convinced that his romantic contemporaries outran the appre- hension of their auditory when they violated the unities of time and place. ^ Jonson's insistence on the unity of place — to which, it will be remembered Aristotle makes no allusion — proves that he was under the influence of Castelvetro, who was the first to formulate the law." Such influence will, 1 p. 132. 2 Cf. Spingarn, Lit. Crit., pp. 97S. SUMMARY 233 perhaps, also explain Jonson's position in the matter of plot, for Castelvetro had spoken lightly of the unity of action.^ It was just the reverse with Jonson's contemporaries. They condemned the unities of time and place, but said nothing against the unity of action.'* Even Jonson could not remain consistent on this point — in one place he demands a har- monization of the parts.* Aside from Jon- son the unity of time found only one de- fender, and he was one of the earliest drama- tists: Whetstone.* Whetstone's defense was probably written before Castelvetro's influ- ence had reached England, so he knew noth- ing about the unity of place. Such technical questions as those concern- ing dramatic conventions, the prolog, the epi- log, the provision for supers, and the acting, the regular critics did not stoop to consider. Either they were ignorant of their existence or they thought their importance of too practical a nature. But to the playwrights they were a matter of increasing significance. As time went on they became more and more conscious that they were employing stock situations » Ibid., p. 99. » P. 126. " Pp. 69f., 20if. * P. 30. 234 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM and stock characters. The early playwrights were blind to them, but they be- and'chMacters^ Came objects of ridicule to such men as Jonson, Chapman, and Middleton.* They even came to see that, like other arts, the drama had its own essential conventions to which it had to yield; for in- stance, the employment of the vernacular even when the scene is laid in a foreign land.^ The dumb show was a common feature in the beginning but it was early ridiculed oflf the stage.^ The prolog and epilog held their ground better, but under in- ProTo^'gfEpUog. creasing disapproval. As early as 1568 Fulwell had a rap at the prolog,* but it was spared violent treatment until later when, together with its companion, the epilog, it was lashed by such men as Shak- spere, Fletcher, Massinger, and Shirley.® It is an excellent illustration of the growth of critical observation among the dramatists, that while the uselessness of such striking ap- pendages as the prolog, epilog, and dumb show became more and more apparent, the iPp. I22ff., 202f. *P. 32. 2 P. 72. » Pp. 7of., 204. » P. 72. SUMMARY 235 value of such an obscure feature as the super for purposes of theatrical effectiveness, be- came more and more recognized, once the hint w^as given by Jonson.^ Beginning with Marlow the accepted form for the poetic drama was the heroic blank verse. Marlow selected this form in the -. . spirit of a reformer, determined to rescue the drama from jig- ging veins of riming mother wits, and he suc- ceeded practically to the full extent of his de- sire. Only in one small particular did he fail. His successors refused to follow his ex- ample of casting the prolog and epilog into blank verse, showing that they did not feel these to be an intrinsic portion of the play.^ That the Elizabethan dramatists became in- timately familiar with the art of acting is only natural. There are, indeed, plenty of facts . . connected with their craft which nCtltlGf might be expected to escape even their critical observation; but not so the acting of their plays. Writing, as they had to, so much of their work with the actor directlv in mind — frequently, if not usually, a definite actor — and seeing their works rehearsed and 1 Pp. 140, 204. 2 Pp. 36^ 74^ 207. 236 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM played over and over again, now ably, now poorly, they could not long remain ignorant of even the nice points of the histrionic art. That they did not is attested by the numerous pregnant comments on it that they began to make toward the middle of the period under consideration.* Earlier than this all we find is that Edwards, in 1564, had a general notion that the speeches ought to be "well pro- nounced" and the action "lively framed." ^ But if the Elizabethan dramatist resembled the modern playwright in that he wrote with a view to the details of stage production, he - ,. differed from him in that the Literary Quality. , i-^ ^ t u- merely literary aspect of his work was a matter of consequence with him. The succession of fashions in speech in Eliza- bethan times stimulated the critical reflection of the playwright, and he learned to despise literary artificialities ; with the result that the drama managed to steer pretty clear of them. Euphuism and bombast (or "hyperbolizing," as they called it) were the special objects of their ridicule.^ It is this very solicitude for a phase of dramatic production which to-day is 1 Pp. 36f-. 74ff-, 2o8ff. " P. 36. » Pp. 35*-, TSU 205- SUMMARY 237 a matter of unconcern, if not contempt, to the successful playwright, that enabled the Eliza- bethan era to contribute a glorious acquisi- tion to the treasury of the world's literature; and it is an important argument in favor of the thesis defended in the present volume — that there was a growth of a critical con- sciousness among the Elizabethan dramatists — that the attention paid to diction was not a matter of unconscious activity, but the result of deliberate reflection on the part of the play- wright. * It now remains to take up some general questions such as would arise in reflecting on the materiaci as a whole without any attempt to determine the special char- cSSridirations. acteristics of the parts. Our subject-matter presents a pecul- iar difficulty, for we are trying to treat as a unit what is in fact a composite. Not what one man deliberately and methodically de- veloped is the topic of our investigation, but what many men at various times and inde- pendently of each other incidentally gave ut- terance to. Hence we are confronted by contradiction and disproportion. Formal completeness is out of the question. Yet the 238 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM task of establishing some sort of unity in our material is not by any means a Com"JSfe hopeless one. The latter was produced within a certain pe- riod, and the mental product of any age finds an integrating factor in the spirit of that agie. The spirit of the Elizabethan age was the spirit of the Renascence, a rebellious spirit that de- manded the freedom of the individual. Such a spirit in literature we characterize as ro- mantic, and under its influence the shackles of the past are shaken off and something new is created. The criticism under consideration revealed its romantic nature by accomplish- ing both these things — it denied the authority of rules which had been handed down and as- serted the validity of new truths which had been learned by experience. Among these new truths two are of profound significance in the history of criticism: first, that freedom is essential to art; second, that Contribution *^^ imagination is supreme in the sphere of art. It must be remembered that we are dealing with what is only the second genuine contribution to a theory of poetics, the first being Aristotle's treatise. Practically all that had been done SUMMARY 239 in between was a paraphrase of the latter. There can be no doubt that Aristotle would have granted willing recognition to the dic- tum that freedom is essential to art. This is such a self-evident proposition. He did not state it himself because the opportunity was lacking for him to formulate it. He at- tempted to discover the intrinsic laws of the drama by an examination of the drama of his country. Now this had been produced under the free guidance of an artistic impulse. The Greek dramatists inherited no material dog- mas to obey or to violate. It was quite other- wise with the Elizabethan playwright. He was introduced to a model and a code of rules. The model was the depraved Roman tragedy and the code a perversion of Aris- totle's Poetics. Both of these were opposed to the dictates of their own instinct, and righteous instinct won the day. They re- fused to submit to uncongenial directions and this conscious rebellion naturally developed, in self-justification, the conception of the in- validity of external authority. Aristotle clearly expressed the idea that an art form at any given time may be in a state of progressive evolution. He says: "Whether tragedy has 240 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM as yet perfected its proper types or not; and whether it is to be judged in itself, or in rela- tion also to the audience, — ^this raises another question." * This is a profound perception. It was remarked after the Greek theater had borne its best fruit and had entered upon a process of degeneration, yet Aristotle real- ized that the best that had been done was not necessarily patterned after the best possible model that might have been evolved or might still be evolved. The implication of course is that any laws that might be educed from a literary product cannot be set up as an invio- lable canon for future generations. Aris- totle did not explicitly state the fact, because there could be no denial of laws before any laws had been formulated. If Aristotle came close to the conception of the first of the new truths listed as the Eliza- bethan dramatists' contribution to a poetic theory, he did not and could not conceive the second. No Greek could. It was not in keeping with the Greek Weltanschauung. The difference between the Greek view of art and the modern view is the difference between the Greek worship of the rational, the finite, ^Poet.. IV. II. SUMMARY 241 the perfect, and the modern apotheosis of the mystical, the infinite, the imperfect. Greek ideals rose little above the world of fact, hence their representation could be controlled by the reason; on the other hand, to-day the world of fact is such a small portion of the vast universe we pass our conscious existence in, that the reason which governs sensuous experience is inadequate as a guide for the imagination which soars aloft into the region of our ideals and bodies them forth in the per- during forms of art. Hence the principle of the supremacy of the imagination in the sphere of artistic creation is the natural out- growth of modern life. What was the relation between the theory we have been studying and the practise of its exponents? In the main there is harmony between the two. Both are, in Practise?"^ general, romantic. Further, literary history justifies the a priori inference that the practise preceded the theory; and this inference is confirmed by an examination of the chronology of our mate- rial. Where the practise was not in the ro- mantic spirit — as sometimes in the case of Jon- son — the theory came first. Occasionally, 242 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM also, in the romantic practise some change would be effected through conscious dissatis- faction with an existing fashion; as, for ex- ample, when Marlow made blank verse the medium for tragedy. Did the theory, on the whole, have any effect on the practise? If the playwrights had never drawn any generalizations from their work, would the drama have been visi- bly different? Probably not. But from what we know of human nature we may con- clude that the conscious belief that he had the law on his side must have acted as a stim- ulus to the dramatist. It may be argued that the confidence engendered by the possession of a romantic theory was the cause of the pro- duction of such extravagantly constructed plays as Pericles and Winter's Tale. This may be so ; yet on the other hand it may also be true that the possession of a theory helped to render the vogue of such plays short-lived. The theory, on the whole, was probably bene- ficial to the practise. The question may be asked whether the Elizabethan dramatists were not indebted to some extent for the development of their critical consciousness to the regular criticism SUMMARY 243 of the past and of their own time? The an- swer must undoubtedly be in uiMCritidsm!^" *^^ affirmative. As to contem- porary criticism, the hostility of the Puritans put the playwrights on the de- fensive; so they had to discover reasons for their craft. As to the numerous treatises based on Aristotle's Poetics, these certainly were more or less known among the play- wrights. Aside from Jonson whose famili- arity with them is well-known and so much of whose theory was vitally influenced by them, we have definite knowledge that Thomas Heywood, Chapman, and Fletcher were ac- quainted with them, and there is more than slight evidence that Shakspere and Webster were not ignorant of them. In one of the epistles prefaced to his Apology for Actors, Heywood has a passage bearing on the point: ". . . we may as freely answer as they ob- ject, instancing myself by famous Scaliger, learned Doctor Gager, Doctor Gentiles, and others, whose opinions and approved argu- ments on our part I have in my brief dis- course altogether omitted, because I am loth to be taxed in borrowing from others ; and be- sides, their works, being extant to the world. 244 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM offer themselves freely to every man's perusal." If these works offered themselves freely to every man's perusal we have no right to believe that a knowledge of them was con- fined to those whom we can actually prove to have read them. Granting, therefore, that the Elizabethan dramatists were more or less ac- quainted with classical criticism, in what way did this acquaintance affect their own theo- retical reflection? It served as a stimulus to bring their ideas to a focus. Here were defi- nitely stated doctrines — their own ideas could therefore be formulated in answer to them. Having considered our material in its re- lation to the past, let us now ask what was its relation to the future. The fact that the task of investigating it has been reserved to this late day is sufficient answer to the question. It has no connection with the tee^F^tare futurc. It was forgotten a gen- eration after it was created. A new spirit crept into life, a spirit not con- genial to romantic theories. Hence a new critical canon established itself and held its position for over a century. When, towards the end of the eighteenth century, it was forced to give way, the same literature which SUMMARY 245 had given birth to the forgotten doctrine, gave birth anew to a criticism which closely resembled her first-born, by inspiring such men as Schlegel and Coleridge. It is just possible that these had their attention called to the significance of some of the important quotations used in this study, but there is no evidence for the hypothesis. Modern ro- mantic criticism was undoubtedly an inde- pendent growth. It seems then that we have here the extraordinary fact of an isolated phenomenon in the history of literature — a product with no evolutionary connection with either the past or the future. My task, such as it is, is finished. The in- vestigation has shown that the luxuriant over- flow of Elizabethan dramatic literature was _ , . accompanied by a critical con- Conclusion. . '^ , . . , sciousjness which became more prevalent and 'definite as time went on. Furthermore, the present volume embodies what I consider the only dramatic criticism of any value which the period under consider- ation gave birth to. In defense of my posi- tion I cannot do better than quote what Pro- fessor Spingarn, whose authority in this matter is unquestioned, has to say about that 246 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Elizabethan dramatic criticism which is not included in the present study. He says : "Dra- matic criticism in England began with Sir Philip Sidney. Casual references to the drama can be found in critical writings an- terior to the Defense of Poesy; but to Sidney belongs the credit of having first formulated, in a more or less systematic manner, the gen- eral principles of dramatic art. These prin- ciples, it need hardly be said, are those which, for half a century or more, had been under- going discussion and modification in Italy and France, and of which the ultimate source was the Poetics of Aristotle. Dramatic criticism in England was thus, from its very birth, both Aristotelian and classical, and it remained so for two centuries. The beginnings of the Elizabethan drama were almost contemporary with the composition of the Defense of Poesy, and the decay of the drama with Jonson's Dis- coveries. Yet throughout this period the ro- mantic drama never received literary exposi- tion. The great Spanish drama had its crit- ical champions and defenders, the English drama had none. It was, perhaps, found to be a simpler task to echo the doctrines of oth- SUMMARY 247 ers, than to formulate the principles of a novel dramatic form." We learn, therefore, that the regular criti- cism in England was an echo of continental criticism, having no relation to the actual Eng- lish drama. Is it not hard to see what appre- ciable value can be accredited to criticism that is but an echo; particularly if it is an echo of a criticism which is itself only a scholastic elaboration of some other criticism? As criticism it has no value at all. Indeed, the world would have been better off if all those commentaries on Aristotle had never been written. Perhaps, instead of complaining, we ought to send up thanks for being spared all the similar works that might have been written but were not; for there is no limit to the number that might have been handed down for no other apparent purpose than to try the self-sacrificing industry of scholars like Professors Saintsbury and Spingarn. The student is compelled to give his attention to such work not because he finds wisdom there, but because it is a power exerting influ- ence ; even though — as in the present instance — the influence is an evil one. In itself, the continental criticism was but a hairsplitting 24« ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM dififerentiation of terms without a knowledge of the things connoted, and heiice running into empty speculations and silly trivialities. For example, Maggi asks: "If in a tragedy we should send a messenger to Egypt, and he would return in an hour, would not the spec- tator regard this as ridiculous?" And again, Robortelli is certain that when Aristotle limited the action of tragedy to a single revo- lution of the sun he meant to exclude the night; "for as tragedy can contain only one single and continuous action, and as people are accustomed to sleep in the night, it follows that the tragic action cannot be continued be- yond one artificial day." "Nay," interrupts Segni, "he must have included the night, since things dealt with in a tragedy are more likely to happen at night." "But," persists the ob- stinate Robortelli, "night is naturally the time for repose." "Yea," retorts the undaunted Segni, "but unjust people act contrary to the laws of nature." Such puerility is typical of what the mys- terious human consciousness is capable of evolving out of itself when it is not inclined to accept the assistance of empirical investiga- tion. Of course any theory is of value only SUMMARY 249 insofar as it is geiieralization from fact. It is this truth which gives value to the criticism embodied in the present volume. Thus the doctrines enunciated by the dramatists are su- perior to those preached by the professional critics, both practically and theoretically: practically, because they are an outgrowth of actual problems presented by the English theater of the time ; and theoretically, because, being an outgrowth, of new conditions, they constitute a new contribution to analytic thought. It is in these utterances that the romantic drama received literary exposition. BIBLIOGRAPHY Alexander, Sir Wm. — Anacrisis. [In Drum- mond's Works. 171 1. p. 159. Also in Rogers, C. — Memorials of the Earl of Stirling. 2 v. Edinb. 1877. II. pp. 205-210.] Aristotle's Theory of Poetry and Fine Art. ed. Butcher. London. 1898. Arnaud, C. — Les theories dramatiques au XVII* siede. Paris. 1888. Aronstein. — Ben Jonson's Theorie des Lust- spiels. (Aiiglia 17) 1895. Shakspere und Ben Jonson. (Eng, Stud. 34) 1904- Ascham, R. — ^Works. ed. J. A. Giles. Lon- don. 1 856-1 872. Baker, H. B. — The London Stage: Its History and Traditions. 1576-1888. London. 1889. Bang and de Vocht — Klassiker und Humanisten als quelle alterer dramatiker. (Eng. Stud. 36.) 1906. Bertana, E. — La Tragedia. Milano. n. d. [1906.] Bohn, W. E. — ^The Development of John Dry- den's Literary Criticism. (Pub. Mod. Lang. Ass. 20.) Bait. 1907. 250 BIBLIOGRAPHY 251 Borinski, K. — Die Poetik der Renaissance. Ber- lin. , 1886. Bosanquet, B. — History of Aesthetic. London. 1892. Breitinger, H. — Les unites d'Aristote avant Le Cid de Corneille. Geneve. 2 ed. 1895. Cartwright, R. — Shakspere and Jonson. Dra- matic versus Wit-Combats. London. 1864. Castelain, M. — Ben Jonson. Discoveries. A Critical Edition. Paris. 1907. Chettle, H. — Kind Hearts Dream. ( Percy Soc. ) London. 1 842. Cloetta, W. — Beitrage z. Litteraturgesch. d. Mittelalter u. d. Renaissance. 2 vol. Halle. 1890-92. Cunliffe, J. W. — ^The Influence of Seneca on Elizabethan Tragedy. London. 1893. Daniello, B. — La Poetica. Vinegia. 1536. Denores, J. — Poetica. Nella qual ... si tratta secondo I'opinion d'Arist. della Tragedia, dal Poema Heroico, e della Comedia. Padova. 1588. Desprez de Boissy, C. — Lettres sur les Spectacles avec une Histoire des Ouvrages pour et contre les Theatres. Paris. 1774. Ebner, J. — Beitrage zu einer Gesch. d. dra- matischen Einheiten in Italiep. (Munch. Beitr. z. rom. u. eng. Philol. 15.) Er- langen u. Leipzig. 1898. [Contains bibliography.] 252 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Fenton, G. — ^A Form of Christian Policy Gath- ered out of the French. London. 1574. Field, N. — ^The Remonstrance of N. Field. . . . ed. Halliwell. London. 1865. Fleay, F. G. — Shakspere and Puritanism. (Ang. 7.) Halle. 1884. Galletti, A. — ^Le teorie drammatiche e la tragedia in Italia n nel secolo XVIII. Cremona. 1901. Gascoigne, G. — Certain Notes of Instruction Con- cerning the Making of Rime in English. 1 57 5- [Reprinted in Arber's Reprints, and Haselwood's Ancient Critical Essays.] Gosson, S. — School of Abuse, ed. Arber. Lon- don. 1868. The Ephimerides of Phialo . . . and a Short Apology for the School of Abuse. London. 1579. Plays Confuted in Five Actions. London. 1582. Greene, H. — A Refutation of the Apology for Actors. London . 1 6 1 5 . Grossman, H. — Ben Jonson als Kritiker. Berlin. 1898. Diss. Halliwell, J. O. — ^English Theater: a Collection of Documents. London. 1870. Hamelius, P. — Was dachte Shakespeare iiber Poesie? Bruxelles. 1899. Die Kritik in der englischen Literatur des 17 und 18. Jahrhunderts. Leipzig. 1897. 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Ben Jonson's Wirkung auf Zeitgenossische Dramatiker. (Anglistische Studien. 20.) Heidelberg. 1906. Lodge, T. — A Defense of Poetry, Music, and Stage Plays. ed. Laing. London. 1853. 254 ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM Magnus, L. — Documents Illustrating Elizabethan Poetry; by Sir Philip Sidney, George Put- tenham and Wm. Webb. London. 1906. Minturno, A. — De Poeta Libri Sex. Venetiis. 1559- Northbrooke, J. — A Treatise wherein . . . vain Plays or Interludes . . . are re- proved. London. 1579. (Repr. Lond. 1843.) Padelford, F. — Select Translations from Scaliger's Poetics. (Yale Stud, in Eng. 26.) N. Y. 1905. Peacham, H. — Compleat Gentleman. London. 1622. [Enlarged 1634. Reprinted with introduction by G. S. Gordon. Clar- endon Press. 1906. Chapter X entitled Of Poetry.] Penniman, J. H. — ^The War of the Theaters. Boston. 1897. Puttenham, R. — ^Art of English Poesy, ed. Arber. London. 1869. Rainolds, J. — Th' Overthrow of Stage-plays. Middleburg. 1599. 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S. — The controversy between the Puritans and the stage. (Yale studies in English. 20.) N. Y. 1903. Van Dam, B. A. P. — ^The Authority of the Ben Jonson Folio of 161 6. (Anglia 26.) Vives, J. L. — De consultatione. [Written at Oxford, 1532.] ed Majan. II. 244- 248. De ratione dieendi. [Written at Bruges, 1532.] ed. Majan. II. 93-134. De causis corruptarum artium. ed. Majan. VI. 5ff. Wernaer, R. M. — ^The new constructive criticism. (Piib. Mod. Lang. Ass. 22.) Bait. 1907. Wilson, J. S. — ^The missing title of Thomas BIBLIOGRAPHY 257 Lodge's reply to Gosson's School of Abuse. (Mod. Lang. Rev. 3.) 1908. Wylie, Laura J. — Studies in the evolution of English criticism. Boston. 1894. Note. — An indispensable handbook for stu- dents of any phase of literary criticism is Gayley and Scott's Methods and Materials of Literary Criticism. It embodies what is practically a com- plete bibliography of the subject.