Fair queen of love, thou mistress of delight,Thou gladsome lamp that wait'st on Phoebe's train,Spreading thy kindness through the jarring orbsThat, in their union, praise thy lasting powers;Thou that hast stay'd the fiery Phlegon's course,And mad'st the coachman of the glorious wainTo droop, in view of Daphne's excellence;Fair pride of morn, sweet beauty of the even,Look on Orlando languishing in love.Sweet solitary groves, whereas the NymphsWith pleasance laugh to see the Satyrs play,Witness Orlando's faith unto his love.Tread she these lawnds, kind Flora, boast thy pride:Seek she for shade, spread, cedars, for her sake:Fair Flora, make her couch amidst thy flowers:Sweet crystal springs,Wash ye with roses when she longs to drink.Ah, thought, my heaven! ah, heaven, that knows my thought!Smile, joy in her that my content hath wrought.
Fair queen of love, thou mistress of delight,Thou gladsome lamp that wait'st on Phoebe's train,Spreading thy kindness through the jarring orbsThat, in their union, praise thy lasting powers;Thou that hast stay'd the fiery Phlegon's course,And mad'st the coachman of the glorious wainTo droop, in view of Daphne's excellence;Fair pride of morn, sweet beauty of the even,Look on Orlando languishing in love.Sweet solitary groves, whereas the NymphsWith pleasance laugh to see the Satyrs play,Witness Orlando's faith unto his love.Tread she these lawnds, kind Flora, boast thy pride:Seek she for shade, spread, cedars, for her sake:Fair Flora, make her couch amidst thy flowers:Sweet crystal springs,Wash ye with roses when she longs to drink.Ah, thought, my heaven! ah, heaven, that knows my thought!Smile, joy in her that my content hath wrought.
Hitherto Greene had yielded to the popular demand for plays of theTamburlaineclass, full of oriental colour and martial sound, with titanic heroes and a generous supply of kings, queens, and great captains: no less than twenty crowned heads compete for places on the list of dramatis personae in his first three plays. The character of Angelica, however, and stray touches of pastoralism in the last play, hint at an impending change. The author's mind,tired of subservience, was beginning to trace out for itself new paths, leading him from camps to the fresh countryside. To the end Greene retained his kings, possibly for their spectacular effect. But he abandoned warfare as a theme.
Friar Bacon and Friar Bungaywas written under the new inspiration. We have already referred to the motley nature of this drama. No other of the writer's plays exhibits so many and such rapid changes of scene, some situations actually demanding the presentation of two scenes at the same time. In spite of this the different sections of the story remain tolerably clear as we proceed, and the interest never flags for longer than the brief minutes when prosy Oxford dons talk learnedly. Four groups of characters attract attention in turn; the young noblemen and Margaret, the three kings and the Spanish princess, the country yokels and squires, and the magicians. By careful interweaving all four groups are related to one another and none but the Margaret plot is permitted to develop any complexity. In this way something like unity is attained.
The play begins with Prince Edward in love with the country girl, Margaret of Fressingfield. He, Earl Lacy, and others have taken refreshment at her father's farm after a hunt, and the prince has fallen a captive to her beauty and simplicity. It is decided that a double attack must be made upon her heart, Prince Edward invoking the magic aid of Bacon, while Lacy stays behind to woo her on his behalf. Lacy's part is not easy. Disguised as a farmer he meets Margaret at a village fair and does his best to plead for 'the courtier all in green', only to be himself pierced by the arrow that struck his prince. When, therefore, Prince Edward arrives at the friar's cell and peers into his marvellous crystal, he sees Lacy andMargaret exchanging declarations of love, with Friar Bungay standing by ready to wed them. The power of Friar Bacon prevents the ceremony by whisking his cowled brother away, and the furious prince hurries back to Fressingfield. He is resolved to slay Lacy; nor does that remorseful earl ask for other treatment; Margaret, however, offers so brave and noble a defence of her lover, taking all blame upon herself and avowing that his death will be instantly followed by her own, that at length more generous impulses rise in the royal breast, and instead of death a blessing is bestowed. Together the prince and the earl repair to Oxford to meet the King, the Emperor of Germany, the King of Castile, and the latter's daughter, Elinor, who is to be Prince Edward's wife. In their absence other admirers appear upon the scene, a squire and a farmer being rivals for Margaret's hand. Quarrelling over the matter, they put it to the test of a duel and kill each other. By an unhappy coincidence their absent sons are looking into Bacon's magic crystal at that very time, and, seeing the fatal consequences of the conflict, turn their weapons hastily against each other, with the result that their fathers' fate becomes theirs. Margaret remains loyal to Lacy, but mischief prompts the latter to send her one hundred pounds and a letter of dismissal on the plea of a wealthier match being necessary for him. Unhappy Margaret, rejecting the money, prepares to enter a convent. Fortunately Lacy himself comes down to set matters in order for their marriage before she has taken the vows, and though his second wooing is done in a very peremptory, cavalier fashion, she returns to his arms. Their wedding is celebrated on the same day as that of Prince Edward and Elinor of Castile.—Independent of this romance, but linked to it through the person of Prince Edward, are thevisit of the kings to Oxford, the wonder-workings of Friar Bacon, and the mischievous fooling of such light-headed persons as the king's jester, Ralph Simnell, and the friar's servant, Miles. Friar Bacon's power is exercised in the spiriting hither and thither of desirable and undesirable folk, the most notable victim being a much vaunted and self-confident German magician who has been brought over by the emperor to outshine his English rivals. There is some fun when Miles is set to watch for the first utterance of the mysterious brazen head, and, delaying to wake his master, lets the supreme moment pass unused. The curses which this mistake calls upon him from Friar Bacon bring about his ultimate removal to hell on a devil's back.
Here then is a slight but charming story of romance, supported through the length of a whole play by all the adventitious aids which Greene can command. One of the minor characters, Ralph Simnell, invites passing notice as the rough sketch of a type which Shakespeare afterwards perfected, the Court Fool: his jesting questions and answers may be compared with those of Feste inTwelfth Night. Disguised as the prince, to conceal the identity of the real prince at Oxford, he is served by the merry nobles and proves himself humorously unprincely. But that which has given most fame to the author is the love-plot. The Fressingfield scenes bring upon the stage a direct picture of simple country life—of a dairy-maid among her cheeses, butter and cream, and of a country fair with farm-lads eager to buy fairings for their lassies. Unfortunately, under the influence of the fashionable affectation, Margaret is unusually learned in Greek mythology, citing Jove, Danaë, Phoebus, Latona and Mercury within the compass of a bare five lines. The indebtedness of Greene to Lyly'sCampaspefor the idea ofa simple love romance as plot has been acknowledged. In the use of pastoralism, too, he borrowed a hint, perhaps, from Peele. Yet, when both debts have been allowed, the reader of Greene's comedy is still left with the conviction that his author had the secret of it all in himself. He had a hint from others, but he needed no more.
Our quotations illustrate the story of Margaret.
(1)[EnterPrince Edwardmalcontented, withLacy, Warren,&c.]
(1)
[EnterPrince Edwardmalcontented, withLacy, Warren,&c.]
Lacy.Why looks my lord like to a troubled skyWhen heaven's bright shine is shadow'd with a fog?Alate we ran the deer, and through the lawndsStripp'd with our nags the lofty frolic bucksThat scudded 'fore the teasers like the wind:Ne'er was the deer of merry FressingfieldSo lustily pull'd down by jolly mates,Nor shar'd the farmers such fat venison,So frankly dealt, this hundred years before;Nor haveI seen my lord more frolic in the chase,—And now chang'd to a melancholy dump.Warren.After the prince got to the Keeper's lodge,And had been jocund in the house awhile,Tossing off ale and milk in country cans,Whether it was the country's sweet content,Or else the bonny damsel fill'd us drinkThat seem'd so stately in her stammel red,Or that a qualm did cross his stomach then,But straight he fell into his passions.. . . . . .P. Edward.Tell me, Ned Lacy, didst thou mark the maid,How lovely in her country-weeds she look'd?A bonnier wench all Suffolk cannot yield:All Suffolk! nay, all England holds none such....Whenas she swept like Venus through the house,And in her shape fast folded up my thoughts,Into the milk-house went I with the maid,And there amongst the cream-bowls she did shineAs Pallas 'mongst her princely huswifery:She turn'd her smock over her lily armsAnd div'd them into milk to run her cheese;But whiter than the milk her crystal skin,Checkéd with lines of azure, made her blushThat art or nature durst bring for compare.
Lacy.Why looks my lord like to a troubled skyWhen heaven's bright shine is shadow'd with a fog?Alate we ran the deer, and through the lawndsStripp'd with our nags the lofty frolic bucksThat scudded 'fore the teasers like the wind:Ne'er was the deer of merry FressingfieldSo lustily pull'd down by jolly mates,Nor shar'd the farmers such fat venison,So frankly dealt, this hundred years before;Nor haveI seen my lord more frolic in the chase,—And now chang'd to a melancholy dump.
Warren.After the prince got to the Keeper's lodge,And had been jocund in the house awhile,Tossing off ale and milk in country cans,Whether it was the country's sweet content,Or else the bonny damsel fill'd us drinkThat seem'd so stately in her stammel red,Or that a qualm did cross his stomach then,But straight he fell into his passions.
. . . . . .
P. Edward.Tell me, Ned Lacy, didst thou mark the maid,How lovely in her country-weeds she look'd?A bonnier wench all Suffolk cannot yield:All Suffolk! nay, all England holds none such....Whenas she swept like Venus through the house,And in her shape fast folded up my thoughts,Into the milk-house went I with the maid,And there amongst the cream-bowls she did shineAs Pallas 'mongst her princely huswifery:She turn'd her smock over her lily armsAnd div'd them into milk to run her cheese;But whiter than the milk her crystal skin,Checkéd with lines of azure, made her blushThat art or nature durst bring for compare.
(2)[Prince Edwardstands with his poniard in his hand:LacyandMargaret.]
(2)
[Prince Edwardstands with his poniard in his hand:LacyandMargaret.]
Margaret.'Twas I, my lord, not Lacy stept awry:For oft he su'd and courted for yourself,And still woo'd for the courtier all in green;But I, whom fancy made but over-fond,Pleaded myself with looks as if I lov'd;I fed mine eye with gazing on his face,And still bewitch'd lov'd Lacy with my looks;My heart with sighs, mine eyes pleaded with tears,My face held pity and content at once,And more I could not cipher-out by signsBut that I lov'd Lord Lacy with my heart....What hopes the prince to gain by Lacy's death?P. Edward.To end the loves 'twixt him and Margaret.Margaret.Why, thinks King Henry's son that Margaret's loveHangs in th'uncertain balance of proud time?That death shall make a discord of our thoughts?No, stab the earl, and, 'fore the morning sunShall vaunt him thrice over the lofty east,Margaret will meet her Lacy in the heavens.
Margaret.'Twas I, my lord, not Lacy stept awry:For oft he su'd and courted for yourself,And still woo'd for the courtier all in green;But I, whom fancy made but over-fond,Pleaded myself with looks as if I lov'd;I fed mine eye with gazing on his face,And still bewitch'd lov'd Lacy with my looks;My heart with sighs, mine eyes pleaded with tears,My face held pity and content at once,And more I could not cipher-out by signsBut that I lov'd Lord Lacy with my heart....What hopes the prince to gain by Lacy's death?
P. Edward.To end the loves 'twixt him and Margaret.
Margaret.Why, thinks King Henry's son that Margaret's loveHangs in th'uncertain balance of proud time?That death shall make a discord of our thoughts?No, stab the earl, and, 'fore the morning sunShall vaunt him thrice over the lofty east,Margaret will meet her Lacy in the heavens.
James the Fourthis not, as the title seems to indicate, a chronicle history play. It is the story of that king's love for Ida, the daughter of the Countess of Arran, and of the consequent unhappiness of his young queen, Dorothea. Technically it is Greene's most perfect play,being carefully divided into acts and scenes, and containing a plot ample enough to dispense with much of that extraneous matter which obscured his former plays. An amusing stratum of comic by-play underlies the main story without interfering with it. Nevertheless the central details are unattractive, presenting intrigue rather than romance, so that the effect is less pleasing than that of the previous comedy.
In the hour of the Scottish monarch's union with Dorothea, daughter of the English king, his wandering eyes fall upon and become enamoured of Ida, who is standing by amongst the ladies of the court. With dissembling lips he bids farewell to his new father-in-law; then, alone, soliloquizes on his own wretchedness. Ateukin, a poor, unscrupulous and ambitious courtier, overhears him and offers his services, which are accepted. Ateukin, accordingly, makes overtures to Ida, but without success. Returning, he persuades the king to sanction the murder of his queen, to be accomplished by the French hireling, Jaques. By accident the warrant for her death comes into the possession of a friend of hers, who prevails upon her to flee into hiding, disguised as a man and accompanied by her dwarf. They are followed, however, by Jaques, who, after stabbing her, returns to announce the news to Ateukin. The latter informs the king and at once sets out to secure Ida's acceptance of her royal suitor, only to find her already married to a worthy knight, Eustace. Aware of the consequences to himself of failure he flees the country. Meanwhile Queen Dorothea, who was not mortally wounded, is successfully tended in a hospitable castle, her disguise remaining undiscovered. This produces a temporary difficulty, the lady of the castle falling in love with her knightly patient; but that trouble is soonremoved, without leaving any harm behind. The King of England invades Scotland on behalf of his ill-used daughter; a reward is offered for her recovery; and on the eve of battle she appears as a peacemaker. Happiness crowns the story.
The interest and value of the play lies in the two characters, Ida and Dorothea. In the outline given above small space is assigned to the former because her part is almost entirely confined to minor scenes in which she and her mother talk together over their fancy-work, and Eustace pays successful court for her hand. But by her purity and maidenly reserve she merits our attention. It is a pity that her virtue makes her rather dull and prosaic. Dorothea's adventures in disguise show Greene profiting perhaps by the example of Peele, although the loss of so many contemporary plays warns us against naming models too definitely. The popularity of disguised girls in later drama and their appearance in the works of Peele, Lyly and Greene, point to their having been early accepted as favourites whenever an author sought for an easy addition to the entanglement of his plot. Faithful love in the face of desertion and cruelty is the dominant note in Dorothea's character as it was in that of Angelica.—Slipper and Nano, two dwarf brothers, engaged as attendants respectively on Ateukin and Queen Dorothea, provide most of the humour. More worthy of note are Oberon, King of the Fairies, and Bohan, the embittered Scotch recluse, who together provide an Induction to the play. We are reminded of the Induction toThe Taming of the Shrew. Ben Jonson also makes use of this device. In this particular Induction the story of James the Fourth is supposed to be played before Oberon to illustrate the reason of Bohan's disgust with the world; but these two persons recur several times to round offthe acts with fairy dances and dumb shows, which have no reference to the main play. In Greene's verse we discover a half-hearted return to rhyme, passages in it, and even odd couplets, being interspersed plentifully through his blank verse.
To make amends for our slight notice of Ida in the outline of the play we select our illustration from a scene in that lady's home.
[TheCountess of ArranandIdadiscovered in their porch, sitting at work.]
[TheCountess of ArranandIdadiscovered in their porch, sitting at work.]
Countess.Fair Ida, might you choose the greatest good,Midst all the world in blessings that abound,Wherein, my daughter, should your liking be?Ida.Not in delights, or pomp, or majesty.Countess.And why?Ida.Since these are means to draw the mindFrom perfect good, and make true judgment blind.Countess.Might you have wealth and Fortune's richest store?Ida.Yet would I, might I choose, be honest-poor:For she that sits at Fortune's feet a-lowIs sure she shall not taste a further woe,But those that prank on top of Fortune's ballStill fear a change, and, fearing, catch a fall.Countess.Tut, foolish maid, each one contemneth need.Ida.Good reason why, they know not good indeed.Countess.Many, marry, then, on whom distress doth lour.Ida.Yes, they that virtue deem an honest dower.Madam, by right this world I may compareUnto my work, wherein with heedful careThe heavenly workman plants with curious hand,As I with needle draw each thing on land,Even as he list: some men like to the roseAre fashion'd fresh; some in their stalks do close,And, born, do sudden die; some are but weeds,And yet from them a secret good proceeds:I with my needle, if I please, may blotThe fairest rose within my cambric plot;God with a beck can change each worldly thing,The poor to rich, the beggar to the king.What, then, hath man wherein he well may boast,Since by a beck he lives, a lour is lost?Countess.Peace, Ida, here are strangers near at hand.
Countess.Fair Ida, might you choose the greatest good,Midst all the world in blessings that abound,Wherein, my daughter, should your liking be?
Ida.Not in delights, or pomp, or majesty.
Countess.And why?
Ida.Since these are means to draw the mindFrom perfect good, and make true judgment blind.
Countess.Might you have wealth and Fortune's richest store?
Ida.Yet would I, might I choose, be honest-poor:For she that sits at Fortune's feet a-lowIs sure she shall not taste a further woe,But those that prank on top of Fortune's ballStill fear a change, and, fearing, catch a fall.
Countess.Tut, foolish maid, each one contemneth need.
Ida.Good reason why, they know not good indeed.
Countess.Many, marry, then, on whom distress doth lour.
Ida.Yes, they that virtue deem an honest dower.Madam, by right this world I may compareUnto my work, wherein with heedful careThe heavenly workman plants with curious hand,As I with needle draw each thing on land,Even as he list: some men like to the roseAre fashion'd fresh; some in their stalks do close,And, born, do sudden die; some are but weeds,And yet from them a secret good proceeds:I with my needle, if I please, may blotThe fairest rose within my cambric plot;God with a beck can change each worldly thing,The poor to rich, the beggar to the king.What, then, hath man wherein he well may boast,Since by a beck he lives, a lour is lost?
Countess.Peace, Ida, here are strangers near at hand.
When Greene surrendered the attractions of sanguinary warfare and the panoplied splendour of conquerors to treat of the pursuit of love in peace he descended from the exclusive ranks of high-born lords and ladies to the company of simple working folk, presenting a farmer's daughter, winsome, loving and virtuous, and worthy to become the wife of an earl. This aspect of the Fressingfield romance must have had a special appeal for those of his audiences who stood outside the pale of wealth and aristocracy. An earlier bid for their applause has been seen in the figure of the blacksmith, Adam, whose sturdy defence of his trade was referred to when we discussedA Looking-Glass for London and England. If Greene wroteGeorge-a-Greene, the Pinner of Wakefield, and there is a strong probability that he did, he carried forward the glorification of the lower classes, in this play, to its furthest point.
It is a hearty yeoman play; the time represented, the reign of one of the Edwards. The plot revolves about the rebellion of an Earl of Kendal. The principal figure is just such a stout typical hero of a countryside as Robin Hood himself, but more law-abiding. His rough honest loyalty is up in arms at once on the least disrespect to the crown. When Sir Nicholas Mannering, on behalf of the rebel Earl of Kendal, insolently demands a contribution of provisions from Wakefield, George tears up his commission and makes him swallow the three seals. Bycraft—being disguised as a hermit-seer—he takes prisoner Kendal and another nobleman, and so single-handed crushes the rebellion. About the same time the ally of Kendal, James of Scotland, is captured by another country hero, Musgrove, a veteran of great renown but no less in age than 'five score and three'. Thus the yeomen prove their superiority over traitor nobles. But George has other affairs to manage. Fair Bettris, who runs away from a disagreeable father to join him, suddenly refuses to marry him without her father's consent, not easily obtainable in the circumstances. However a trick overcomes that difficulty too in the end. Meanwhile the fame of the lass excites the rival jealousy of Maid Marian, who insists on Robin Hood's challenging George's supremacy. In three single fights Robin's two comrades, Scarlet and Much, are overthrown and Robin himself is driven to call a halt: his identity being discovered, George treats him with great honour. In accordance with former practices kings are brought upon the scene. The King of Scotland, as we have seen, is captured by Musgrove. King Edward of England and his nobles, in disguise, visit Yorkshire to see the redoubtable George who has crushed the king's rebels. An ancient custom of 'vailing (trailing) the staff' through Bradford, or, as an alternative, fighting the shoemakers of that town, produces a laughable episode. The king at first 'vails' at discretion, but is compelled by George and Robin to adopt a bolder attitude; George then beats all the shoemakers, who, at the finish, however, recognizing him, award him a hearty welcome. All are brought to their knees at the revelation of the king's identity, but Edward is merry over the affair, offering to dub George a knight. This distinction the latter begs to be allowed to refuse, saying,
—Let me live and die a yeoman still;So was my father, so must live his son.For 'tis more credit to men of base degreeTo do great deeds, than men of dignity.
—Let me live and die a yeoman still;So was my father, so must live his son.For 'tis more credit to men of base degreeTo do great deeds, than men of dignity.
Closing the play the king pays high honour to the worshipful guild of shoemakers.
And for the ancient custom ofVail staff,Keep it still, claim privilege from me:If any ask a reason why or how,Say, English Edward vail'd his staff to you.
And for the ancient custom ofVail staff,Keep it still, claim privilege from me:If any ask a reason why or how,Say, English Edward vail'd his staff to you.
An amount of careless irregularity unusual with Greene is displayed in the verse, pointing to hasty production. But the whole play is humorous, vigorous and healthy. George's man, Jenkin, a dull-witted, faint-hearted fellow, is the clown. There is an abundance of incident, though not the complexity ofFriar Bacon and Friar Bungay. We have noticed the historical atmosphere repeated from that play and fromJames the Fourth. With regard to the love-plot, Bettris has only a small part, but in her preference for George above a nobleman who comes wooing her, and in her simple rank, she is quite like Margaret. Thus, when her titled admirer offers himself, she sings,
I care not for earl, nor yet for knight,Nor baron that is so bold;For George-a-Greene, the merry Pinner,He hath my heart in hold.
I care not for earl, nor yet for knight,Nor baron that is so bold;For George-a-Greene, the merry Pinner,He hath my heart in hold.
We select our main extract from the scene in which George, the loyal yeoman, defies Sir Nicholas Mannering, the traitorous noble, and flouts his commission. Those present include the local Justice and an assembly of the citizens. George has just pushed his way to the front.
Mannering (to Justice). See you these seals? before you pass the townI will have all things my lord doth want,In spite of you.George.Proud dapper Jack, vail bonnet to the benchThat represents the person of the king,Or, sirrah, I'll lay thy head before thy feet.Mannering.Why, who art thou?George.Why, I am George-a-Greene,True liegeman to my king,Who scorns that men of such esteem as theseShould brook the braves of any traitorous squire.You of the bench, and you, my fellow-friends,Neighbours, we subjects all unto the king,We are English born, and therefore Edward's friends,Vow'd unto him even in our mothers' womb,Our minds to God, our hearts unto our king;Our wealth, our homage, and our carcassesBe all King Edward's. Then, sirrah, weHave nothing left for traitors but our swords,Whetted to bathe them in your bloods, and die'Gainst you, before we send you any victuals.
Mannering (to Justice). See you these seals? before you pass the townI will have all things my lord doth want,In spite of you.
George.Proud dapper Jack, vail bonnet to the benchThat represents the person of the king,Or, sirrah, I'll lay thy head before thy feet.
Mannering.Why, who art thou?
George.Why, I am George-a-Greene,True liegeman to my king,Who scorns that men of such esteem as theseShould brook the braves of any traitorous squire.You of the bench, and you, my fellow-friends,Neighbours, we subjects all unto the king,We are English born, and therefore Edward's friends,Vow'd unto him even in our mothers' womb,Our minds to God, our hearts unto our king;Our wealth, our homage, and our carcassesBe all King Edward's. Then, sirrah, weHave nothing left for traitors but our swords,Whetted to bathe them in your bloods, and die'Gainst you, before we send you any victuals.
George-a-Greenebrings us to the end of Greene's dramatic work. The qualities of that work have been pointed out as they occurred, but it may be as well to recapitulate them in a final paragraph. Foremost of all will stand the crowded medley of his plots, filling the stage with an amount of incident and action which is in striking contrast to Lyly's conversations and monologues. The public appetite for complex plots was stimulated, but unfortunately very little progress was made in the art of orderly dramatic arrangement and evolution. Indeed, this feature of Greene's plays may be thought to have been almost as much a loss as a gain to drama. Its popularity licensed an indifference on the part of lesser authors to clarity and restraint, and encouraged the development of those dual plots which are to be found, connected by the flimsiestbonds, in the works of such men as Dekker and Heywood. To the same influence may be traced Shakespeare's frequent but skilful use of subordinate plots. For the second quality of Greene's work we name the charm and purity of his romantic conceptions. The fresh air of his pastoralism, the virtue, constancy and patience of his heroines, entitle him to an honourable position among the writers who have reached success by this path. Thirdly, but of equal importance, is his sympathetic presentment of men and women of the middle and lower classes; he was here an innovator, and some of our most pathetic dramas may be traced ultimately to his example. His admirable 'low comedy' scenes, on the other hand, though they prove their author to have been gifted with considerable humour, merely continued the practice of Lyly, as his rant and noisy warfare echoed the thunder of Marlowe. The general soundness, even occasional excellence, of his verse and prose must be allowed to be largely his own.
George Peele has left behind him a name associated with sweetness of versification and graceful pastoralism. When, however, we try to recall other features of his work, the men and women of his creation, or scenes from his plots, we find our memory strangely indistinct. It is not easy at first to see why; but probably the cause is in his lack of strong individuality. He had not the gift of his greater contemporaries of throwing vitality into his work. When they took up an old story they entered into possession of it, creating fresh scenes and introducing new and effective actors; above all, in their most successful productions, they grasped the necessity of having one or more clearly defined figures, which, by their strongly human appeal, or their exaggerated traits, shouldgrip the attention of the spectators with unforgettable force. Marlowe was the supreme master of this art; Diogenes, Sir Tophas, Margaret of Fressingfield, Queen Dorothea, and others are examples of what Lyly and Greene could do. The same vitality is visible in their best known plots and scenes. Apelles loved Campaspe long ago in the pages of history, and was forgotten there; Lyly made him woo and win her again, and now their home is for ever between the covers of his little volume. Greene tells the story of Earl Lacy's love for Margaret, and the details of that delightfully human romance return to us whenever his name is mentioned. But what characters or scenes spring up to proclaim Peele's authorship? He dramatized the narrative of Absalom's rebellion, and, as soon as the end of the play is reached, the theme, with the possible exception of the first scene, slips back, in our minds, into its old biblical setting; it belongs to the writer ofThe Book of Samuel, not to Peele. He wrote a Marlowesque play, similar to Greene'sAlphonsus, King of Arragon, but failed to create out of his several leaders a single dominant figure to compare with Alphonsus. The same might be said of hisSir Clyomon and Sir Clamydesand hisEdward the First; and hisOld Wives' Taleis a by-word for confusion. Only in the sub-plot ofThe Arraignment of Parisdoes he present a character that may be said to owe its permanence in English literature to him. The first love of Paris is there told so prettily, with so pathetic a presentation of the heart-broken Oenone, that at once the deserted maiden won a place in English hearts and minds; Tennyson's poem is an exquisite wreath laid at the foot of the monument raised by Peele to her memory. On the other hand, the main plot, retelling the old legend of the Apple of Discord, is painted in the same neutral tints as coloured his other plays.Such slight distinction as it may have it draws from association with a matter of extraneous interest, the conversion of the action into an elaborate compliment to Queen Elizabeth; the goddesses, and Paris in his relation to them, gain nothing at his hands, while Hobbinol, Diggon and Thenot are the dullest of shepherds. Unapt for witty or clownish dialogue, Peele rarely attempts, as Lyly and Greene did, to give fresh piquancy to an old story by the addition of subordinate humorous episodes; when he does, as inEdward the First, the result can hardly be termed a success.
Peele's eminence as a dramatist, then, must be sought for in the two features of his work mentioned in our opening sentence, namely, sweetness of versification and graceful pastoralism. Of these the latter is found only in a single play,The Arraignment of Paris, and is one of the few products of the author's originality. Lyly was possibly indebted to it for the background and minor figures of certain scenes inGallathea, and Greene may have owed something to its influence. Certainly neither dramatist ever equalled its delicate descriptions of passive Nature.[56]The preponderance of mythology, however, the dearth of real human beings, the unnaturalness permitted to invade nature—so that even the flowers are grouped, as in an absurd parterre, to represent the forms of goddesses—make Peele's pastoralism, despite the undeniable charm of many passages, inferior to Greene's representation of English country life.
Turning next to his verse, we recognize that it is here above all that his excellence is to be found. Nevertheless a word of caution is needed. So many of his readers have been charmed by his verse that it seems almost a pity to remind them that he wrote more than twoplays, and that the same brain that composed the favourite passages inDavid and Bethsabealso produced quantities of very indifferent poetry in other dramas.Sir Clyomon and Sir Clamydesis written in tedious alliterative heptameters. FromEdward the Firstthe most ardent admirer of Peele would be puzzled to find half a dozen speeches meriting quotation. The verse ofThe Battle of Alcazaris in all points similar to that of Greene's Marlowesque plays, imitating and falling short of the same model. In fact Peele's reputation as a versifier rests almost entirely on the contents of those two plays which most students of his work read,The Arraignment of ParisandDavid and Bethsabe. Of the first it may be said boldly, without fear of contradiction, that, considered metrically, the verse is unsuited to ordinary drama. The arbitrary and constantly changing use of heroic couplet, blank verse (pentameters), rhyming heptameters, alternate heptameters and hexameters rhyming together, and the swift transition from one form to another in the same speech, possibly help towards the lyrical effect aimed at; the nature of the plot licenses a deviation from the ordinary dramatic rules; but such metric irresponsibility would be out of place in any ordinary play. There is a rare daintiness in some of the lines; they are truly poetic; but we must remember that goddesses and the legendary dwellers about Mount Ida may be permitted to speak in a language which would be condemned as an affectation among folk of commoner clay. Setting these objections aside—though they are important, as demonstrating the limited amount of Peele's widely praised dramatic verse—we may offer one general criticism of the verse of both plays. The best lines and passages charm us by their exquisite finish, their seductive rhythm and imagery, not by their thought. Sometimes the warmglow of his patriotism, which was his most sincere emotion, inspired verses that move us; noble lines will be found inEdward the FirstandThe Battle of Alcazar, as well as in the better known conclusion toThe Arraignment of Paris. But we may look in vain through his dramas for lines like those quoted on an earlier page fromFriar Bacon and Friar Bungay(beginning, 'Why, thinks King Henry's son'), or these, placed in the mouth of Queen Dorothea, repudiating the idea of revenge:
As if they kill not me, who with him fight!As if his breast be touch'd, I am not wounded!As if he wail'd, my joys were not confounded!We are one heart, though rent by hate in twain;One soul, one essence doth our weal contain:What, then, can conquer him, that kills not me?[57]
As if they kill not me, who with him fight!As if his breast be touch'd, I am not wounded!As if he wail'd, my joys were not confounded!We are one heart, though rent by hate in twain;One soul, one essence doth our weal contain:What, then, can conquer him, that kills not me?[57]
For the sake of comparison with these two passages let us quote the famous piece fromDavid and Bethsabe.
Now comes my lover tripping like the roe,And brings my longings tangled in her hair.To joy[58]her love I'll build a kingly bower,Seated in hearing of a hundred streams,That, for their homage to her sovereign joys,Shall, as the serpents fold into their nestsIn oblique turnings, wind their nimble wavesAbout the circles of her curious walks;And with their murmur summon easeful sleepTo lay his golden sceptre on her brows.
Now comes my lover tripping like the roe,And brings my longings tangled in her hair.To joy[58]her love I'll build a kingly bower,Seated in hearing of a hundred streams,That, for their homage to her sovereign joys,Shall, as the serpents fold into their nestsIn oblique turnings, wind their nimble wavesAbout the circles of her curious walks;And with their murmur summon easeful sleepTo lay his golden sceptre on her brows.
This has the charms of melody and graceful fancy; it is of the poetry of Tennyson'sLotos Eaterswithout the message. The others have the energy of thought, of passion; they do not soothe the ear as do Peele's verses, but they strike the deeper chords of the human heart.None of the three passages should be taken as fairly representing its author's normal style, but the contrast illustrates the essential nature of the difference between the work of Peele and Greene.
The reader who agrees with what has been said above will be prepared to acknowledge that Peele must stand below Greene, at least, in the ranks of dramatists. Strength and individuality are the life-blood of successful drama, and these he lacked. Yet he merits the fame awarded to his group. He was a poet; the refinement, the music, the gentler attributes of his best verse were a valuable contribution to the drama; his sweetness joined hands with Marlowe's energy in helping to drive from the stage, as impossible, the rude irregular lines that had previously satisfied audiences.
It has been claimed that he was also, to some extent, an artist in plot-structure. The mingle-mangle of scarcely connected incidents which did duty with Greene for a plot, the irrepressible by-play with which Lyly loved to interrupt his main story, were rejected by him.Edward the Firstis an exception; in his best plays he achieved a certain dignified directness and simplicity. But he was as incapable as Greene of concentration upon one point, or of working up the interest to an impending catastrophe. He was content with chronological order for his guide; his directness is the directness of the Chronicle History.The Battle of AlcazarandDavid and Bethsabefollow this method as completely as his avowedly chronicle play,Edward the First. It is a strange thing how plot-structure fell into abeyance in comedy after its long and strenuous evolution through the Interludes toRalph Roister DoisterandGammer Gurton's Needle. We must confess, however reluctantly, that those early plays set an example in unity and concentration of interestthat was never surpassed by any of the comedies of the University Wits. Lyly may be said to have come nearest to it, though, handicapped by a passing affectation, he could never excite the same degree of interest. Greene's plots lack unity, and Peele's emphasis. We have to wait for Shakespeare before we can see comedy raised above the architectural standard set by Nicholas Udall.
The list of Peele's plays, in approximate order of time, is as follows:The Arraignment of Paris(1584),Sir Clyomon and Sir Clamydes(printed 1599),Edward the First(printed 1593),The Battle of Alcazar(printed 1594),The Old Wive's Tale(printed 1595),David and Bethsabe(printed 1599).
The Arraignment of Parissets forth, in five acts, the old Greek tale of Paris, the three goddesses, and the golden apple. Juno, Pallas and Venus graciously condescend to visit the vales of Ida, and are loyally welcomed by the minor deities of the earth, Flora especially making it her care that all the countryside shall wear its brightest colours. During their brief stay, Juno finds the golden apple, inscribed withDetur pulcherrimae. After some dispute Paris is called upon to give judgment, and awards the prize to Venus. There the Greek tale ends. But Peele adds an ingenious sequel. Juno and Pallas, indignant at the slight put upon them, appeal against this decision to a council of the gods. This brings quite a crowd of deities upon the stage, unable to devise a solution to such a knotty problem of wounded pride. Paris is summoned before this high court, but clears himself from the charge of unjust partiality. Finally it is agreed that the arbitrament of Diana shall be invited and accepted as conclusive. She, by a delicate compromise, satisfies the jealous susceptibilities of the three goddesses by preferring above them a nymph, Eliza, whose charms surpass their totalled attributes ofwealth, wisdom, and beauty. The story is provided with two under-plots, presenting opposite aspects of rejected love. In the one, Colin dies for love of disdainful Thestylis, who in her turn dotes despairingly upon an ugly churl. In the other, Oenone holds and loses the affections of Paris, stolen from her by the beauty of Venus; this is the most delicate portion of the whole play. Pretty songs are imbedded in the scenes—Cupid's Curseis a famous one—and many lines of captivating fancy will be found by an appreciative reader. On a well-furnished stage the valley of Mount Ida, where Pan, Flora and others of Nature's guardians direct her wild fruitfulness, where shepherds converse in groups or alone sing their grief to the skies, and Paris and Oenone, seated beneath a tree, renew their mutual pledges, must have looked very delightful. One cannot help thinking, however, that the gods and goddesses, probably magnificently arrayed and carrying splendour wherever they went, seriously detracted from the appearance of free Nature. Nevertheless, by the poet and the stage-manager they were, doubtless, prized equally with the rural background and the shepherds, perhaps even more than they. To them is given pre-eminence in the play. Indeed, what particularly impresses any one who remembers the stage as he reads, is the watchful provision for spectacular effect in every scene. It is this, combined with the author's choice of subject and characters, which has led to the comparison of this comedy with a Masque. The resemblance, too manifest to be overlooked, gives an additional interest to a play which thus is seen to hold something like an intermediary position between drama proper and that other, infinitely more ornate, form of court entertainment. Viewing it in this light, we are no longer surprised to read, in a stage direction at theclose, that Diana 'delivers the ball of gold to the Queen's own hand'. After all, the play, like a Masque, is little more than an exaggerated and richly designed compliment, the most beautiful of its kind. In selecting suitable extracts one is drawn from scene to scene, uncertain which deserves preference. The two offered here illustrate respectively the tuneful variety of Peele's verse and the delicate embroidery of Diana's famous decision.
(1)[JunobribesParisto award her the apple.]
(1)
[JunobribesParisto award her the apple.]
Juno.And for thy meed, sith I am queen of riches,Shepherd, I will reward thee with great monarchies,Empires, and kingdoms, heaps of massy gold,Sceptres and diadems curious to behold,Rich robes, of sumptuous workmanship and cost,And thousand things whereof I make no boast:The mould whereon thou treadest shall be of Tagus' sands,And Xanthus shall run liquid gold for thee to wash thy hands;And if thou like to tend thy flock, and not from them to fly,Their fleeces shall be curlèd gold to please their master's eye;And last, to set thy heart on fire, give this one fruit to me,And, shepherd, lo, this tree of gold will I bestow on thee!
Juno.And for thy meed, sith I am queen of riches,Shepherd, I will reward thee with great monarchies,Empires, and kingdoms, heaps of massy gold,Sceptres and diadems curious to behold,Rich robes, of sumptuous workmanship and cost,And thousand things whereof I make no boast:The mould whereon thou treadest shall be of Tagus' sands,And Xanthus shall run liquid gold for thee to wash thy hands;And if thou like to tend thy flock, and not from them to fly,Their fleeces shall be curlèd gold to please their master's eye;And last, to set thy heart on fire, give this one fruit to me,And, shepherd, lo, this tree of gold will I bestow on thee!
[Juno'sShow. A Tree of Gold rises, laden with diadems and crowns of gold.]
[Juno'sShow. A Tree of Gold rises, laden with diadems and crowns of gold.]
The ground whereon it grows, the grass, the root of gold,The body and the bark of gold, all glistering to behold,The leaves of burnish'd gold, the fruits that thereon growAre diadems set with pearl in gold, in gorgeous glistering show;And if this tree of gold in lieu may not suffice,Require a grove of golden trees, so Juno bear the prize.
The ground whereon it grows, the grass, the root of gold,The body and the bark of gold, all glistering to behold,The leaves of burnish'd gold, the fruits that thereon growAre diadems set with pearl in gold, in gorgeous glistering show;And if this tree of gold in lieu may not suffice,Require a grove of golden trees, so Juno bear the prize.
(2)[Dianadescribes the island kingdom of the nymphEliza,a figure of theQueen.]
(2)
[Dianadescribes the island kingdom of the nymphEliza,a figure of theQueen.]
There wons[59]within these pleasant shady woods,Where neither storm nor sun's distemperatureHave power to hurt by cruel heat or cold,Under the climate of the milder heaven;Where seldom lights Jove's angry thunderbolt,For favour of that sovereign earthly peer;Where whistling winds make music 'mong the trees;—Far from disturbance of our country gods,Amidst the cypress-springs, a gracious nymph,That honours Dian for her chastity,And likes the labours well of Phoebe's groves.The place Elyzium hight[60], and of the placeHer name that governs there Eliza is;A kingdom that may well compare with mine,An ancient seat of kings, a second Troy,Y-compass'd round with a commodious sea.
There wons[59]within these pleasant shady woods,Where neither storm nor sun's distemperatureHave power to hurt by cruel heat or cold,Under the climate of the milder heaven;Where seldom lights Jove's angry thunderbolt,For favour of that sovereign earthly peer;Where whistling winds make music 'mong the trees;—Far from disturbance of our country gods,Amidst the cypress-springs, a gracious nymph,That honours Dian for her chastity,And likes the labours well of Phoebe's groves.The place Elyzium hight[60], and of the placeHer name that governs there Eliza is;A kingdom that may well compare with mine,An ancient seat of kings, a second Troy,Y-compass'd round with a commodious sea.
Sir Clyomon and Sir Clamydesmerits a passing notice if only because it contains the earliest known example of a girl disguised as a page, the Princess Neronis waiting upon her lover in that office. As has been pointed out, however, in the discussion ofGallathea, Peele makes no really dramatic use of the novel situation. If the dramatist had been content with one knight instead of two, or had even vouchsafed the aid of acts and scenes, his readers would have been able to follow the succession of events much more clearly than is now possible: as it is, between Clyomon and Clamydes, the Golden Shield and the Silver Shield, there is constant confusion. But Peele was not born for chivalrous romance. A writer who could allow one of his heroes to begin his career by a piece of schoolboy trickery followed by headlong flightto escape detection, and could make the sea-sickness of his other hero the cause of his introduction to the lady of his heart, had not the true spirit of romance in him. We meet our old acquaintances, the thinly disguised Vice and the rude clown of uncouth dialect, under the names of Subtle Shift and Corin; abstractions also reappear in Rumour and Providence. The crudity of the verse will be sufficiently illustrated in the first line: