It sometimes happens, in the history of national amusements, that a name
survives while the thing itself is forgotten. This has been remarkably
the case with our court Masques, respecting which our most eminent
writers long ventured on so many false opinions, with a perfect
ignorance of the nature of these compositions, which combined all that
was exquisite in the imitative arts of poetry, painting, music, song,
dancing, and machinery, at a period when our public theatre was in its
rude infancy. Convinced of the miserable state of our represented drama,
and not then possessing that more curious knowledge of their domestic
history which we delight to explore, they were led into erroneous
notions of one of the most gorgeous, the most fascinating, and the most
poetical of dramatic amusements. Our present theatrical exhibitions are,
indeed, on a scale to which the twopenny audiences of the barn
playhouses of Shakspeare could never have strained their sight; and our
picturesque and learned _costume_, with the brilliant changes of our
scenery, would have maddened the "property-men" and the "tire-women" of
the Globe or the Red Bull.[2] Shakspeare himself never beheld the true
magical illusions of his own dramas, with "Enter the Red Coat," and
"Exit Hat and Cloak," helped out with "painted cloths;" or, as a bard of
Charles the Second's time chants--
Look back and see
The strange vicissitudes of poetrie;
Your aged fathers came to plays for wit,
And sat knee-deep in nut-shells in the pit.
But while the public theatre continued long in this contracted state,
without scenes, without dresses, without an orchestra, the court
displayed scenical and dramatic exhibitions with such costly
magnificence, such inventive fancy, and such miraculous art, that we may
doubt if the combined genius of Ben Jonson, Inigo Jones, and Lawes, or
Ferobosco, at an era most favourable to the arts of imagination, has
been equalled by the modern _spectacle_ of the Opera.
But this circumstance had entirely escaped the knowledge of our critics.
The critic of a Masque must not only have read it, but he must also have
heard and have viewed it. The only witnesses in this case are those
letter-writers of the day, who were then accustomed to communicate such
domestic intelligence to their absent friends: from such ample
correspondence I have often drawn some curious and sometimes important
information. It is amusing to notice the opinions of some great critics,
how from an original mis-statement they have drawn an illegitimate
opinion, and how one inherits from the other the error which he
propagates. Warburton said on Masques, that "Shakspeare was an enemy to
these _fooleries_, as appears by his writing none." This opinion was
among the many which that singular critic threw out as they arose at the
moment; for Warburton forgot that Shakspeare characteristically
introduces one in the _Tempest's_ most fanciful scene.[3] Granger, who
had not much time to study the manners of the age whose personages he
was so well acquainted with, in a note on Milton's Masque, said that
"these compositions were trifling and perplexed allegories, the persons
of which are fantastical to the last degree. Ben Jonson, in his 'Masque
of Christmas,' has introduced 'Minced Pie,' and 'Baby Cake,' who act
their parts in the drama.[4] But the most _wretched performances_ of
this kind could please by the help of music, machinery, and dancing."
Granger blunders, describing by two farcical characters a species of
composition of which farce was not the characteristic. Such personages
as he notices would enter into the Anti-masque, which was a humorous
parody of the more solemn Masque, and sometimes relieved it. Malone,
whose fancy was not vivid, condemns Masques and the age of Masques, in
which, he says, echoing Granger's epithet, "the _wretched taste_ of the
times found amusement." And lastly comes Mr. Todd, whom the splendid
fragment of the "Arcades," and the entire Masque, which we have by
heart, could not warm; while his neutralising criticism fixes him at the
freezing point of the thermometer. "This dramatic entertainment,
performed not without prodigious expense in machinery and decoration, to
_which humour_ we certainly owe the entertainment of 'Arcades,' and the
inimitable Mask of 'Comus.'" _Comus_, however, is only a fine dramatic
poem, retaining scarcely any features of the Masque. The only modern
critic who had written with some research on this departed elegance of
the English drama was Warton, whose fancy responded to the fascination
of the fairy-like magnificence and lyrical spirit of the Masque. Warton
had the taste to give a specimen from "The Inner Temple Mask by William
Browne," the pastoral poet, whose Address to Sleep, he observed,
"reminds us of some favourite touches in Milton's _Comus_, to which it
perhaps gave birth." Yet even Warton was deficient in that sort of
research which only can discover the true nature of these singular
dramas.
Such was the state in which, some years ago, I found all our knowledge
of this once favourite amusement of our court, our nobility, and our
learned bodies of the four inns of court. Some extensive researches,
pursued among contemporary manuscripts, cast a new light over this
obscure child of fancy and magnificence. I could not think lightly of
what Ben Jonson has called "The Eloquence of Masques;" entertainments on
which from three to five thousand pounds were expended, and on more
public occasions ten and twenty thousand. To the aid of the poetry,
composed by the finest poets, came the most skilful musicians and the
most elaborate machinists; Ben Jonson, and Inigo Jones,[5] and Lawes
blended into one piece their respective genius; and Lord Bacon, and
Whitelocke, and Selden, who sat in committees for the last grand Masque
presented to Charles the First, invented the devices; composed the
procession of the Masquers and the Anti-Masquers; while one took the
care of the dancing or the brawlers, and Whitelocke the music--the sage
Whitelocke! who has chronicled his self-complacency on this occasion, by
claiming the invention of a _Coranto_, which for thirty years afterwards
was the delight of the nation, and was blessed by the name of
"Whitelocke's Coranto," and which was always called for, two or three
times over, whenever that great statesman "came to see a play!"[6] So
much personal honour was considered to be involved in the conduct of a
Masque, that even this committee of illustrious men was on the point of
being broken up by too serious a discussion concerning precedence; and
the Masque had nearly not taken place, till they hit on the expedient of
throwing dice to decide on their rank in the procession! On this
jealousy of honour in the composition of a Masque, I discovered, what
hitherto had escaped the knowledge, although not the curiosity, of
literary inquirers--the occasion of the memorable enmity between Ben
Jonson and Inigo Jones, who had hitherto acted together with brotherly
affection; "a circumstance," says Gifford, to whom I communicated it,
"not a little important in the history of our calumniated poet." The
trivial cause, but not so in its consequences, was the poet prefixing
his own name before that of the architect on the title-page of a Masque,
which hitherto had only been annexed;[7] so jealous was the great
architect of his _part_ of the Masque, and so predominant his power and
name at court, that he considered his rights invaded by the _inferior_
claims of the poet! Jonson has poured out the whole bitterness of his
soul in two short satires: still more unfortunately for the subject of
these satires, they provoked Inigo to sharpen his pen on rhyme; but it
is edgeless, and the blunt composition still lies in its manuscript
state.
While these researches had engaged my attention, appeared Gifford's
Memoirs of Ben Jonson. The characteristics of Masques are there, for the
first time, elaborately opened with the clear and penetrating spirit of
that ablest of our dramatic critics. I feel it like presumption to add
to what has received the finishing hand of a master; but his jewel is
locked up in a chest, which I fear is too rarely opened, and he will
allow me to borrow something from its splendour. "The Masque, as it
attained its highest degree of excellence, admitted of dialogue,
singing, and dancing; these were not independent of one another, but
combined, by the introduction of some ingenious fable, into an
harmonious whole. When the plan was formed, the aid of the sister-arts
was called in; for the essence of the Masque was pomp and glory.
Moveable scenery of the most costly and splendid kind was lavished on
the Masque; the most celebrated masters were employed on the songs and
dances; and all that the kingdom afforded of vocal and instrumental
excellence was employed to embellish the exhibition.[8] Thus
magnificently constructed, the Masque was not committed to ordinary
performers. It was composed, as Lord Bacon says, for princes, and by
princes it was played.[9] Of these Masques, the skill with which their
ornaments were designed, and the inexpressible grace with which they
were executed, appear to have left a vivid impression on the mind of
Jonson. His genius awakes at once, and all his faculties attune to
sprightliness and pleasure. He makes his appearance, like his own
Delight, 'accompanied with Grace, Love, Harmony, Revel, Sport, and
Laughter.'
"In curious knot and mazes so
The Spring at first was taught to go;
And Zephyr, when he came to woo
His Flora, had his _motions_[10] too;
And thus did Venus learn to lead
The Idalian brawls, and so to tread,
As if the wind, not she, did walk,
Nor press'd a flower, nor bow'd a stalk.
"But in what," says Gifford, "was the taste of the times _wretched_? In
poetry, painting, architecture, they have not since been equalled; and
it ill becomes us to arraign the taste of a period which possessed a
cluster of writers of whom the meanest would now be esteemed a prodigy."
Malone did not live to read this denouncement of his objection to these
Masques, as "bungling shows;" and which Warburton treats as "fooleries;"
Granger as "wretched performances;" while Mr. Todd regards them merely
as "the humour of the times!"
Masques were often the private theatricals of the families of our
nobility, performed by the ladies and gentlemen at their seats; and were
splendidly got up on certain occasions: such as the celebration of a
nuptial, or in compliment to some great visitor. The Masque of Comus was
composed by Milton to celebrate the creation of Charles the First as
Prince of Wales; a scene in this Masque presented both the castle and
the town of Ludlow, which proves, that although our small public
theatres had not yet displayed any of the scenical illusions which long
afterwards Davenant introduced, these scenical effects existed in great
perfection in the Masques. The minute descriptions introduced by Thomas
Campion, in his "Memorable Masque," as it is called, will convince us
that the scenery must have been exquisite and fanciful, and that the
poet was always a watchful and anxious partner with the machinist, with
whom sometimes, however, he had a quarrel.
The subject of this very rare Masque was "The Night and the Hours." It
would be tedious to describe the first scene with the fondness with
which the poet has dwelt on it. It was a double valley; one side, with
dark clouds hanging before it; on the other, a green vale, with trees,
and nine golden ones of fifteen feet high; from which grove, towards
"the State," or the seat of the king, was a broad descent to the
dancing-place: the bower of Flora was on the right, the house of Night
on the left; between them a hill, hanging like a cliff over the grove.
The bower of Flora was spacious, garnished with flowers and flowery
branches, with lights among them; the house of Night ample and stately,
with black columns studded with golden stars; within, nothing but clouds
and twinkling stars; while about it were placed, on wire, artificial
bats and owls, continually moving. As soon as the king entered the great
hall, the hautboys, out of the wood on the top of the hill, entertained
the time, till Flora and Zephyr were seen busily gathering flowers from
the bower, throwing them into baskets which two silvans held, attired in
changeable taffeta. The song is light as their fingers, but the burden
is charming:--
Now hath Flora robb'd her bowers
To befriend this place with flowers;
Strow about! strow about!
Divers, divers flowers affect
For some private dear respect;
Strow about! strow about!
But he's none of Flora's friend
That will not the rose commend;
Strow about! strow about!
I cannot quit this Masque, of which, collectors know the rarity, without
preserving one of those Doric delicacies, of which, perhaps, we have
outlived the taste! It is a playful dialogue between a Silvan and an
Hour, while Night appears in her house, with her long black hair
spangled with gold, amidst her Hours; their faces black, and each
bearing a lighted black torch.
SILVAN. Tell me, gentle Hour of Night,
Wherein dost thou most delight?
HOUR. Not in sleep!
SILVAN. Wherein then?
HOUR. In the frolic view of men!
SILVAN. Lov'st thou music?
HOUR. Oh! 'tis sweet!
SILVAN. What's dancing?
HOUR. E'en the mirth of feet.
SILVAN. Joy you in fairies and in elves?
HOUR. We are of that sort ourselves!
But, Silvan! say, why do you love
Only to frequent the grove?
SILVAN. Life is fullest of content
When delight is innocent.
HOUR. Pleasure must vary, not be long!
Come then, let's close, and end the song!
That the moveable scenery of these Masques formed as perfect a scenical
illusion as any that our own age, with all its perfection of decoration,
has attained to, will not be denied by those who have read the few
Masques which have been printed. They usually contrived a double
division of the scene; one part was for some time concealed from the
spectator, which produced surprise and variety. Thus in the Lord's
Masque, at the marriage of the Palatine, the scene was divided into two
parts, from the roof to the floor; the lower part being first
discovered, there appeared a wood in perspective, the innermost part
being of "releeve or whole round," the rest painted. On the left a cave,
and on the right a thicket, from which issued Orpheus. At the back part
of the scene, at the sudden fall of a curtain, the upper part broke on
the spectators, a heaven of clouds of all hues; the stars suddenly
vanished, the clouds dispersed; an element of artificial fire played
about the house of Prometheus--a bright and transparent cloud, reaching
from the heavens to the earth, whence the eight masquers descending with
the music of a full song; and at the end of their descent the cloud
broke in twain, and one part of it, as with a wind, was blown athwart
the scene. While this cloud was vanishing, the wood, being the under
part of the scene, was insensibly changing; a perspective view opened,
with porticoes on each side, and female statues of silver, accompanied
with ornaments of architecture, filling the end of the house of
Prometheus, and seemed all of goldsmiths' work. The women of Prometheus
descended from their niches, till the anger of Jupiter turned them again
into statues. It is evident, too, that the size of the proscenium, or
stage, accorded with the magnificence of the scene; for I find choruses
described, "and changeable conveyances of the song," in manner of an
echo, performed by more than forty different voices and instruments in
various parts of the scene. The architectural decorations were the pride
of Inigo Jones; such could not be trivial.
"I suppose," says the writer of this Masque, "few have ever seen more
neat artifice than Master Inigo Jones showed in contriving their motion;
who, as all the rest of the workmanship which belonged to the whole
invention, showed extraordinary industry and skill, which if it be not
as lively expressed in writing as it appeared in view, rob not him of
his due, but lay the blame on my want of right apprehending his
instructions, for the _adoring_ of his art." Whether this strong
expression should be only _adorning_ does not appear in any errata; but
the feeling of admiration was fervent among the spectators of that day,
who were at least as much astonished as they were delighted. Ben
Jonson's prose descriptions of scenes in his own exquisite Masques, as
Gifford observes, "are singularly bold and beautiful." In a letter which
I discovered, the writer of which had been present at one of these
Masques, and which Gifford has preserved,[11] the reader may see the
great poet anxiously united with Inigo Jones in working the machinery.
Jonson, before "a sacrifice could be performed, turned the globe of the
earth, standing behind the altar." In this globe "the sea was expressed
heightened with silver waves, which stood, or rather hung (for no axle
was seen to support it), and _turning softly_, discovered the first
Masque,"[12] &c. This "turning softly" producing a very magical effect,
the great poet would trust to no other hand but his own!
It seems, however, that as no Masque-writer equalled Jonson, so no
machinist rivalled Inigo Jones. I have sometimes caught a groan from
some unfortunate poet, whose beautiful fancies were spoilt by the
bungling machinist. One says, "The _order of this scene_ was carefully
and ingeniously disposed, and as happily put in act (for the _motions_)
by the king's master carpenter;" but he adds, "the _painters_, I must
needs say (not to belie them), lent small colour to any, to attribute
much of the spirit of these things to their pencil." Campion, in one of
his Masques, describing where the trees were gently to sink, &c., by an
engine placed under the stage, and in sinking were to open, and the
masquers appear out at their tops, &c., adds this vindictive marginal
note: "Either by the _simplicity_, _negligence_, or _conspiracy_ of the
_painter_, the passing away of the trees was somewhat hazarded, though
the same day they had been shown with much admiration, and were left
together to the same night;" that is, they were worked right at the
rehearsal, and failed in the representation, which must have perplexed
the nine masquers on the tops of these nine trees. But such accidents
were only vexations crossing the fancies of the poet: they did not
essentially injure the magnificence, the pomp, and the fairy world
opened to the spectators. So little was the character of these Masques
known, that all our critics seemed to have fallen into repeated
blunders, and used the Masques as Campion suspected his painters to have
done, "either by simplicity, negligence, or conspiracy." Hurd, a cold
systematic critic, thought he might safely prefer the Masque in the
_Tempest_, as "putting to shame all the Masques of Jonson, not only in
its _construction_, but in the _splendour_ of its show;"--"which," adds
Gifford, "was danced and sung by the ordinary performers to a couple of
fiddles, perhaps in the balcony of the stage." Such is the fate of
criticism without knowledge! And now, to close our Masques, let me apply
the forcible style of Ben Jonson himself: "The glory of all these
solemnities had perished like a blaze, and gone out in the beholder's
eyes; so short-lived are the bodies of all things in comparison of their
souls!"[13]