THE AGE OF ELIZABETH: LYLY, GREENE, LODGE, SIDNEY.
I.
In the rapidity and scope of intellectual and material progress, the
age of Elizabeth is unequaled in English history. The nation seemed to
pass from the darkness of night into a sunshine which would never end.
Freed from the trammels which had hitherto impeded their way, all
classes put on a new vigor, a new enterprise, and a new intelligence,
which brought advancement into every walk of life. The spread of the
Copernican doctrine of the revolutions of the earth, and the relations
of our planet to the solar system gradually drove before it the old
anthropocentric ideas. Men looked into the heavens and saw a new
universe. In the grand scheme of creation there unfolded before them,
they read in spite of themselves the comparative insignificance of
their own world, and an overwhelming blow was dealt at the narrowness
and superstition which had hitherto characterized their thoughts. A new
world, too, was fast becoming known. The circumnavigation of the earth
by Drake, the visits of other Englishmen to the shores of Africa and
America, even to the Arctic seas, awakened a deep and healthful
curiosity. There arose a passion for travelling, for seeing and
studying foreign lands. Those who were forced to remain at home
devoured with eagerness the books of those who wandered abroad. The
effects of this widening of the mental and physical horizon are
observable in the new occupations which absorbed the energies of men,
and in the new social life which all classes were beginning to lead.
Improvements in husbandry doubled the productiveness of the soil, and
greatly enhanced its value. The development of manufactures made
English woolens in demand throughout Europe. In commerce the new spirit
of enterprise was strikingly apparent. Tradesmen and nobles, ministers
of state, Elizabeth herself--all who could, ventured something in the
ships which sailed for America or Africa in the hope of golden cargoes.
The Russia company brought home furs and flax, steel, iron, ropes, and
masts. The Turkey merchants imported the productions of the Levant,
silks and satins, carpets, velvets, and cloth of gold. By the side of
these were laid in London markets, the rice, cotton, spices, and
precious stones of India, and the sugar, rare woods, gold, silver, and
pearls of the New World.[37]
Under the influence of this new enterprise and prosperity, the picture
of social life becomes more pleasing. The English noble succeeded to
the feudal baron, the manor to the fortress. With the coat of mail and
huge two-handed sword passed away the portcullis and the moat. The new
homes of the nobility, erected during Elizabeth's reign, were marked by
a beauty and luxury in keeping with the new ideas of their owners. The
eye still rests with admiration on the numberless gables, the quaint
chimneys, the oriel windows, the fretted parapets of the Tudor
building. Within, the magnificent staircases, the great carved
chimney-pieces, the massive oaken furniture, the costly cabinets, and
elaborate tapestries all attested the new wealth and the new taste of
the occupants. A large chamber of Hardwicke Hall was decorated with a
frieze representing a stag hunt, and beneath that the story of Ulysses
wrought in tapestry.[38] Harrington rejoiced in the number of "goodly
chambers, large gardens and sweet walks" of Elizabeth's palaces. The
"goodly chambers" were filled with cloths of gold and silver, with
satin-covered furniture, and silk coverlids lined with ermine. In the
houses of knights and gentlemen were to be seen a great profusion of
"Turkic worke, pewter, brasse, fine linen, and thereto costlie cupbords
of plate worth five or six hundred or a thousand pounds."[39] The lord
of the manor no longer took his meals with all his retainers in the
great hall, throwing the bones and scraps from his wooden trencher to
his dogs. He withdrew into a separate apartment, and dined with a new
refinement. A hitherto unknown variety of food covered the table,
served on pewter, china, or silver, instead of the primitive trencher.
The bands of retainers who had hung round the castle, living at the
expense of its lord, and ready to follow him in his career of violence,
were gradually being absorbed in useful and industrial pursuits. Among
the yeomanry the general progress was exceedingly noticeable. The
character and worth of this important class were commented upon by
Holinshed.[40] "This sort of people * * * commonlie live wealthilie,
keepe good houses, and travell to get riches. They are also for the
most part farmers to gentlemen, or at the leastwise artificers, and
with grazing, frequenting of markets, and keeping of servants (not
idle servants as the gentlemen doo, but suche as get bothe their owne
and part of their master's living), do come to great welth, in so much
that manie of them are able and doo buie the lands of unthriftie
gentlemen, and often setting their sonnes to the schooles, to the
universities, and to the Ins of the Court, or otherwise leaving them
sufficient lands whereupon they may live without labour, do make them
by those meanes to become gentlemen: these were they that in times past
made all France afraid, and albeit they be not called Master, as
gentlemen are, or Sir, as to knights apperteineth, but only John, and
Thomas, etc., yet have they beene found to have doone verie good
service; and the kings of England in foughten battels, were woont to
remain among them (who were their footmen), as the French kings did
among their horsemen; the prince thereby showing where his chief
strength did consist." This middle class were enjoying a luxury and
comfort undreamt of by their fathers, or indeed by the nobility of
feudal times. Thatched cottages smeared with mud were fast being
succeeded by brick or stone houses, finely plastered, with glass
windows, chairs in place of stools, and tables in place of rough boards
lying loosely on tressles. "Farmers learned also to garnish their
cupboards with plate, their joined beds with tapestrie and silken
hangings, and their tables with carpets and fine naperie, whereby the
wealth of our countrie * * * doth infinitelie appeare."[41] The new
comforts, enumerated by Harrison, presented a striking contrast to the
condition the "old men" had been satisfied with in their "yoong daies,"
"Our fathers (yea, and we ourselves also) have lien full oft upon
straw pallets, on rough mats * * * and a good round log under their
heads instead of a bolster or pillow. If it were so that our fathers,
or the good man of the house, had within eleven years after his
marriage purchased a matteras or flockebed, and thereto a sacke of
chaffe to rest his head upon, he thought himself to be as well lodged
as the lord of the towne." The new comforts were the result, not of
extravagance, but of prosperity. Notwithstanding the rigid economy of
the old times, men "were scearce able to live and paie their rents at
their daies without selling of a cow, or an horse or more, although
they paid but four pounds at the uttermost by the yeare, * * * whereas
in my time," says Harrison, "although peradventure foure pounds of old
rent be improved to fourtie, fiftie, or an hundred poundes, yet will
the farmer as another palme or date tree, thinke his gaines verie small
toward the end of his terme, if he had not six or seven yeares rent
lieing by him, therewith to purchase a new lease, beside a faire
garnish of pewter on his cupboard, with so much in od vessell going
aboute the house, three or four feather beds, so manie coverlids and
carpets of tapestrie, a silver salt, a bowle for wine * * * and a
dozzen of spoones to furnish up the sute."[42] The country gentleman
sitting in his hall, hawk on hand, with his hounds about him, made a
profuse hospitality his chief pride, and out-door sports the resource
of his leisure and conversation. Greek and Latin were gradually making
their way into his store of knowledge, hitherto limited to the romances
and chronicles. But as Ascham complained, there was little sweetness to
flavor his cup of learning. "Masters for the most part so behave
themselves," said Peacham, "that their very name is hatefull to the
scholler, who trembleth at their coming in, rejoyceth at their absence,
and looketh his master (returned) in the face, as his deadly
enemy."[43]
The amusements of the rural population partook of the character of
material prosperity and material enjoyment which were so prominent in
Elizabeth's reign. There is no sign of the prevailing improvement in
the condition of men more suggestive than the effervescence of spirits
which broke loose on every holiday and at every festival. On the first
day of May "the juvenile part of both sexes are wont to rise a little
after midnight, and walk to some neighboring wood, accompany'd with
music and the blowing of horns, where they break down branches from the
trees and adorn them with nosegays and crowns of flowers. When this
done, they return with their booty homewards about the rising of the
sun, and make their doors and windows to triumph in the flowery
spoil."[44] "But their cheefest jewell they bring from thence is their
Maie poole whiche they bringe home with great veneration, as thus: They
have twentie or fourtie yoke of oxen, every oxe havyng a sweete
nosegaie of flowers, tyed on the tippe of his hornes, and these oxen
drawe home this Maie poole."[45] Games, dances, rude dramatic
performances succeeded each other for hours, interspersed with feasting
and drinking. An extravagant fancy sought expression in the excitement,
of grotesque actions and brilliant costumes. The Morris dancers
executed their curious movements, clad in "gilt leather and silver
paper, and sometimes in coats of white spangled fustian,"[46] or in
"greene, yellow, or some other light wanton collour," bedecked with
"scarfs, ribbons and laces hanged all over with golde ringes, precious
stones and other jewells," and "aboute either legge twentie or fourtie
belles."[47] Robin Hood's Day, Christmas, Twelfth Night, Harvest Home,
Sheepshearing, were all celebrated in turn with a liveliness of spirit,
a vigor of imagination, and a noisy enjoyment of the good things of
life which showed that Merry England had at last succeeded to the gloom
of the Middle Ages.
The prevailing prosperity and activity were naturally even more
apparent in London than in the rural districts. The city was growing
rapidly, filling up with warehouses and shops, with palaces and
dwellings. The people in general were attracted to it by the growing
trade and industry, and by the theatres, taverns, bear-gardens, and
other places of amusement, the number of which was constantly
increasing. The nobility and gentry sought the splendor of Elizabeth's
court to spend their leisure and their wealth. The middle or commercial
classes of the city, like the corresponding agricultural classes in the
country, were enjoying the fruits of their industry and attaining a
respectable position of their own. The houses and furniture belonging
to them struck a foreigner with astonishment and pleasure[48]; "The
neate cleanlinesse, the exquisite finenesse, the plesaunte and
delightfull furniture in every point for household wonderfully rejoyced
mee; their chambers and parlours, strawed over with sweet herbes,
refreshed mee; their nosegayes finelye intermingled wyth sondry sortes
of fragraunte floures in their bed-chambers and privie roomes, with
comfortable smell cheered me up and entierlye delighted all my senses."
The profusion of expenditure, and the love of show resulting from the
sudden increase of wealth, affected even the apprentices of the city.
The Lord Mayor and Common Council, in 1582, found it necessary to
direct apprentices; "to wear no hat with any silk in or about the
same. To wear no ruffles, cuffs, loose collar, nor other thing than
a ruff at the collar, and that only a yard and a half long. To wear
no doublets * * * enriched with any manner of silver or silke. * * * To
wear no sword, dagger, nor other weapon but a knife; nor a ring, jewel
of gold, nor silver, nor silke in any part of his apparel."[49]
It was, however, at Elizabeth's court, and among the nobility, that the
tendencies of the time were most marked. The literature of this
era--never surpassed in brilliancy and power--was the work of poets and
dramatists. It was the outcome of a poetical and dramatic life. Even
the fiction which belongs to the period was colored by the same
fondness for dramatic incident and poetic treatment. The enthusiasm
which had animated the nobility in their martial life went with them to
the court of Elizabeth. There it showed itself in gallantry, in love of
show, and in a devotion to amusement and to self-cultivation which
internal peace had at length made possible. Men of whom any age might
be proud crowded the scene. Cecil and Walsingham among statesmen, Drake
among discoverers, Bacon and Hooker among thinkers, Raleigh and Sidney
at once among courtiers, soldiers, and scholars. The prevailing
extravagance and variety of dress was simply the outward sign of a love
of whatever was brilliant and new. The fashions of France, of Spain, of
Turkey, even of the Moors contributed to the wardrobe of the English
gallant. "And, as these fashions are diverse, so likewise it is a
world to see the costlinesse and the curiositie: the excesse and the
vanitie: the pomp and the braverie; the change and the varietie: and
finallie the ficklenesse and the follie that is in all degrees:
insomuch that nothing is more constant in England than inconstancie of
attire."[50] Each one aimed at making the best appearance. The long
seams of men's hose were set by a plumb line, and beards were cut to
suit the face, "If a man have a leane and streight face, a Marquess
Ottons cut will make it broad and large; if it be platter-like, a long,
slender beard will make it seeme the narrower." "Some lustie courtiers
also, and gentlemen of courage doo weare either rings of golde, stones,
or pearle in their eares, whereby they imagine the workmanship of God
not to be a little amended."[51] All are familiar with the brilliant
female dress of the time. The enormous starched ruffs of various
colors, the long stomachers stiffened with wire and studded with
jewels, the costly stuffs enriched with gold and silver, made up a
costume which has never been surpassed in extravagance and fanciful
exaggeration.
The queen herself set the example of brilliancy of costume, and took
care to be outshone by none. Sir John Harrington relates that "Ladie M.
Howarde was possessede of a rich border, powdered wyth golde and pearle
and a velvet suite belonginge thereto, which moved manie to envye; nor
did it please the queene, who thought it exceeded her owne. One daye
the queene did sende privately, and got the ladie's rich vesture, which
she put on herself, and came forthe the chamber amonge the ladies; the
kirtle and border was far too shorte for her majestie's heigth; and
she asked everyone, 'How they likede her new fancied suit?' At length
she askede the owner herself, 'If it was not made too shorte and ill
becoming?'--which the poor ladie did presentlie consente to. 'Why,
then, if it become not me, as being too shorte, I am minded it shall
never become thee, as being too fine; so it fitteth neither well.' This
sharp rebuke abashed the ladie, and she never adorned her herewith any
more."[52]
It was the fashion to walk in the aisles of St. Paul's Church, which
became a general rendezvous for business or pleasure. A facetious
writer of the time, instructing a young gallant how to procure his
clothes, and to show them off to the best advantage, gives an amusing
picture of the prevailing vanity and foppery. "Bend your course
directly in the middle line, that the whole body of the church may
appear to be yours; where, in view of all you may publish your suit in
what manner you affect most * * * and then you must, as 'twere in anger,
suddenly snatch at the middle of the inside, if it be taffeta at the
least; and so, by that means, your costly lining is betrayed. * * * But
one note, by the way, do I especially woo you to, the neglect of
which makes many of our gallants cheap and ordinary, that by no means
you be seen above four times; but in the fifth make yourself away,
either in some of the semsters' shops, the new tobacco office, or among
the booksellers, where, if you cannot read, exercise your smoke, and
enquire who has writ against this divine weed. * * * After dinner you
may appear again, having translated yourself out of you English cloth
into a light Turkey grogram, if you have that happiness of shifting;
and then be seen for a turn or two to correct your teeth with some
quill or silver instrument, and to cleanse your gums with a wrought
handkerchief; it skills not whether you dined or no; that is best known
to your stomach; or in what place you dined; though it were with cheese
of your own mother's making, in your chamber or study. * * * If, by
chance, you either encounter, or aloof off throw your inquisitive eye
upon any knight or squire, being your familiar, salute him, not by his
name, Sir such a one, or so; but call him Ned, or Jack, etc. This will
set off your estimation with great men; and if, though there be a dozen
companies between you, 'tis the better, he call aloud to you, for that
is most genteel, to know where he shall find you at two o'clock; tell
him at such an ordinary, or such; and be sure to name those that are
dearest, and whither none but your gallants resort."[53]
With all the luxury of furniture and dress, with all the new elegance
and ceremony of court life, there naturally remained much disorder,
violence, and coarseness throughout the social system. Although the
laws concerning the maintenance of order in the streets were strict,
forbidding any one even to "blowe any horne in the night, or whistle
after the hour of nyne of the clock in the night," yet they were not
effectively enforced. A member of the House of Commons described a
Justice of the Peace as an animal, who for half a dozen of chickens
would dispense with a dozen penal laws[54]; and Gilbert Talbot spoke of
two serious street affrays, which he described in a letter to the Earl
of Shrewsbury as "trifling matters."[55] The gallows were kept busy in
town and country. The habits of violence, and the old fondness of the
nobility for fighting out their own quarrels, lingered in the prevalent
custom of duelling. Ladies, and even the queen herself, chastised their
servants with their own hands. On one occasion Elizabeth showed her
dislike of a courtier's coat by spitting upon it, and her habit of
administering physical correction to those who displeased her called
forth the witty remark of Sir John Harrington: "I will not adventure
her Highnesse choller, leste she should collar me also." The first
coach appeared in the streets of London in Elizabeth's time and the
sight of it "put both horse and man into amazement; some said it was a
great crab-shell brought out of China; and some imagined it to be one
of the Pagan temples, in which the Cannibals adored the divell." The
extravagance and luxury of the feasts which were given on great
occasions by the nobility were not attended by a corresponding advance
in the refinement of manners at table. In a banquet given by Lord
Hertford to Elizabeth in the garden of his castle, there were a
thousand dishes carried out by two hundred gentlemen lighted by a
hundred torch-bearers and every dish was of china or silver. But forks
had not yet come into general use, and their place was supplied by
fingers. Elizabeth had two or three forks, very small, and studded with
jewels, but they were intended only for ornament. A divine inveighed
against the impiety of those who objected to touching their meat with
their fingers, and it was only in the seventeenth century that the
custom of eating with forks obtained general acceptance, and ceased to
be considered a mark of foppery.
The co-existence of coarseness and brilliant luxury, so characteristic
of the time, is curiously apparent in the amusements of the city and
the court. The whole people, from Elizabeth to the country boor,
delighted in the savage sports of bull and bear-baiting. In the
gratification received by these exhibitions, appear the remains of the
old bloodthirstiness which had once been only satisfied with the sight
of human suffering. The contrast is striking when we turn to the
masques, the triumphs, and the pageants which were exhibited on great
occasions by the court or by the citizens of London. The awakening of
learning and the new interest in life were expressed in the dramatic
entertainments which mingled the romantic elements of chivalry with the
mythology of ancient Greece, in the rejoicings of men over present
prosperity and welfare. The accounts of the festivities during the
progresses of Elizabeth, so ably collected by Nichol, read like a tale
of fairyland. When the queen visited Kenelworth she was met outside the
gates by sybils reciting a poem of welcome. At the gates the giant
porter feigned anger at the intrusion, but, overcome by the sight of
Elizabeth, laid his club and his keys humbly at her feet. On posts
along the route were placed the offerings of Sylvanus, of Pomona, of
Ceres, of Bacchus, of Neptune, of Mars, and of Phoebus. From Arthur's
court tame the Lady of the Lake, begging the queen to deliver her from
the Knight without Pity. Fawns, satyrs, and nymphs brought their
greetings, while an Echo replied to the addresses of welcome.
Amusements of every variety occupied the succeeding days. Hunting, bear
baiting, fireworks, tilting, Morris dances, a rustic marriage, a fight
between Danes and English, curious aquatic sports,--all succeeded each
other, interspersed with brilliant feasts. Poems founded on the legends
of Arthur, or drawn from the inexhaustible sources of mythology, were
recited in the pauses of festivity, or sung beneath the windows of the
queen. The same readiness of invention and luxuriance of fancy
characterized all the celebrations of the time. The love of the
dramatic which applauded Pyramus and Thisbe in the rural districts,
made actors of the courtiers. When the French commissioners came to
negotiate the marriage of Elizabeth with the Duke of Anjou, they were
entertained with a triumph, in which the Earl of Arundel, Lord Windsor,
Master Philip Sidney, and Master Fulk Grevil, impersonating the four
"foster children of Desire," carried by force of arms the "Fortress of
Beauty," which represented Elizabeth herself.
The age of Elizabeth, although it had worked itself free from the
intellectual sloth of the Middle Ages, although it was familiarizing
itself with an almost unknown world abroad, and creating a new world at
home, yet had inherited with little qualification the violence, the
cruelty, and the unbridled passions of the centuries which had gone
before. All this variety of life was expressed in the drama, which, as
a reflection of contemporary thought and manners, was to Elizabeth's
time what the novel is to our own. Before the end of this reign there
were eighteen theatres in London, all crowded with audiences which
embraced every class of the people,--from the noble and court gallant
who played cards on the stage, to the workmen and apprentices who
fought and bandied coarse jests in the pit. The names of Marlowe, of
Shakespeare, of Johnson, are sufficient to remind us of the grandeur to
which the Elizabethan drama attained, under the influence of prosperity
at home, victory abroad, and the quickening of the national
intelligence which followed the revival of learning. But while the
stage reflected all that was most noble, it reflected also all that
was most base in human nature. Ecclesiastical discipline had been laid
aside, and the unrestrained passions of men, which in actual life found
vent in violence and debauchery, were gratified by the dramatic
representation of the worst crimes and most vitiated tastes. The
Puritans brought about reformation and self-restraint, by enforcing a
new code of morals all the more rigid from the looseness which on every
side they found to combat. In closing the theatres, they were actuated,
in Mr. Green's words, by the hatred "of God-fearing men against the
foulest depravity presented in a poetic and attractive form."[56]
While the drama reflected alike the good and the bad, all the finer
aspirations of the time found expression in poetry. Spenser, Sackville,
Drayton, Donne, Hall, the two Fletchers, are but leaders in a band of
more than two hundred, who made this period unrivalled in the annals of
English poetry. It was a time of unexampled prosperity, of an enlarged
freedom, of an active intelligence, when men were eagerly seeking for
whatever was novel and brilliant; when translations without number of
the classical writers and contemporary foreign works were welcomed
alike with the "costly attire of the new cut, the Dutch hat, the French
hose, the Spanish rapier, the Italian hilt." "It is a world to see how
Englishmen desire to hear finer speech than the language will allow, to
eat finer bread than is made of wheat, or wear finer cloth than is made
of wool." Such are the words in which John Lyly, the Euphuist,
characterized his own time, and they were the words of one who
expressed in his own writings the tendency to fanciful exaggeration,
which was so strong among the men about him.
[Footnote 37: Froude's "History of England," vol. 8, p. 429.]
[Footnote 38: Stone, "Chronicles of Fashion."]
[Footnote 39: Holinshed, vol. I, p. 315; Drake's "Shakespeare and his
Times", vol. 1, p. 72.]
[Footnote 40: Holinshed, vol. I, p. 275; Drake's "Shakespeare", vol. 1,
p. 99.]
[Footnote 41: Harrison's "Description"; Drake's "Shakespeare," vol. 1,
p. 101.]
[Footnote 42: Drake's "Shakespeare and his Times," vol. 1, p. 101.]
[Footnote 43: Henry Peacham, "Compleat Gentleman," 1624.]
[Footnote 44: Bourne; Drake's "Shakespeare," vol. 1, p. 153.]
[Footnote 45: Stubbes, "Anatomie of Abuses," p. 168.]
[Footnote 46: Douce, "Illustrations of Shakespeare."]
[Footnote 47: Stubbes; Drake's "Shakespeare," vol. 1, ch. vi.]
[Footnote 48: Laevinius Lemnius; Drake, vol. 2, p. 113.]
[Footnote 49: Nichol's "Progresses of Elizabeth," vol. 2, p. 391.]
[Footnote 50: Harrison: Drake's "Shakespeare and his Times," vol. 2, p.
87.]
[Footnote 51: Harrison's "Description of England"; Holinshed, vol. I,
pp. 289-90; Drake's "Shakespeare and his Times" vol. 2, pp. 88, 89.]
[Footnote 52: "Nugæ Antique", Drake's "Shakespeare and his Times," vol.
2, p. 90.]
[Footnote 53: "The Gull's Horn Book"; Drake's "Shakespeare and his
Times", vol. 2, p. 184.]
[Footnote 54: Lodge's "Illustrations."]
[Footnote 55: _Idem._]
[Footnote 56: Green, "Short History of the English People," p. 429.]
II.
It is to the drama that we must look for the most complete literary
expression of the social condition of the period. The student of
history must regret, indeed, that the realistic novel, with its study
of human thoughts and motives, with its illustration of manners and
customs, so valuable in a reconstruction of the past, should have been
delayed till the end of the seventeenth century. But though there be
regret, there cannot be surprise. The reigns of Elizabeth and the
Stuarts cover the period of court life; when men lived in public, and
sought their intellectual entertainment in crowds at a theatre, as now,
in a time of citizen-life, they seek it in private, by the
study-lamp.[57] In a dramatic age the creations of the imagination will
be placed behind the footlights, and in a period of quiet and
reflection they will be placed between the covers of a book. In the age
of Elizabeth the writers of fiction neither studied the characters and
manners of the men about them, nor aimed at any reflection of actual
life. But their tales and romances were the natural fruit of their
intellectual condition, and form an interesting if not a valuable
portion of English fiction. In them are reflected the happiness, the
poetry, the love of novelty, and the ideality of the time. The stirring
incidents of chivalric romance were no longer in vogue, and the subject
became an idealized love. But the most striking feature of Elizabethan
fiction is the great importance attached to style. The writer cared
more to excite admiration by the turn of his phrases and the ornaments
of his language, than to interest his reader by plot or incident.
In 1579 John Lyly published his curious romance, "Euphues, the Anatomy
of Wit," a work which attained a great popularity, and made the word
Euphuism an abstract term in the language to express the ornate and
antithetical style of which this book is the most marked example. In
Lyly's own day it was said by Edward Blount that the nation was "in his
debt for a new English which hee taught them." Since then, the verdict
of posterity has been that Lyly corrupted the public taste, and
introduced an affected and overloaded manner of writing which had a
mischievous influence upon literature. A careful examination of Lyly's
work, and of the condition of the English language in the last quarter
of the sixteenth century, will not sustain either of these views. The
Euphuistic style was not of Lyly's invention. He acquired it from the
men about him, and merely gave it, through his writings, a distinct
character and individuality. In a letter of Elizabeth to her brother
Edward VI, long-before "Euphues" was written, occurs the following
passage: "Like as a shipman in stormy wether plukes down the sails
tarrying for bettar winde, so did I, most noble kinge, in my
unfortunate chanche a Thursday pluk downe the hie sailes of my joy and
comforte, and do trust one day that as troublesome waves have repulsed
me backwarde, so a gentil winde will bringe me forwarde to my
haven."[58] This is a moderate specimen of the ornate and exaggerated
language which was following the new acquisitions of learning and
intelligence, just as extravagance in dress and food was following the
new prosperity and wealth. Men wished to crowd their learning and
cultivation into every thing they said or wrote. As the language was
not yet settled by good prose writers, the more affected a style, the
more numerous its similes, and far-fetched its allusions, the more
ingenious and admirable it was considered to be. There resulted a
sacrifice of clearness and simplicity to a strained elegance. Still, in
the Euphuistic style, tedious and grotesque as it often is, appear the
first serious efforts, among English prose writers, to attain a better
mode of expression. The results which followed the absence of a
standard written language at home were strengthened by the general
acquaintance with foreign literature. Italy in the sixteenth century
was the leading intellectual nation, and the example of the refined and
over-polished manner of writing there prevalent had much to do with the
growth in England of a fondness for affected mannerisms and fancied
ornaments of language. The new ideas in regard to poetry and
versification which Wyat and Surrey had brought from Italy, were but
the beginning of an extensive Italian influence. It was not without
reason that Ascham inveighed against "the enchantments of Circe brought
out of Italy to mar men's manners in England." Italian works were
translated and circulated in great numbers in England, and among these
the most popular were the gay and amorous productions of the story
tellers.[59]
Born in Kent in 1554, John Lyly studied at Magdalen College, Oxford,
and received the degree of Master of Arts. Not a very diligent
scholar, he disliked the "crabbed studies" of logic and philosophy,
"his genie being naturally bent to the pleasant paths of poetry," but
he was reputed at the University as afterward at Elizabeth's court, "a
rare poet, witty, comical, and facetious." During his life in London he
produced a number of plays and poems which have given his name a not
inconsiderable place in the list of Elizabethan poets and dramatists.
He is now best known, where known at all, by his prose work "Euphues,"
which was so much admired at Elizabeth's court, that all the ladies
knew his phrases by heart, and to "parley Euphuism" was a sign of
breeding. For many years Lyly lingered about the court waiting for a
promised position to reward his labors and support his declining years.
But in vain. "A thousand hopes," he complained, "but all nothing; a
hundred promises, but yet nothing." Lyly died in 1606, leaving, as he
said, but three legacies; "Patience to my creditors, Melancholie
without measure to my friends, and Beggarie without shame to my
family."
The deeper meaning of Lyly's work, which lies beneath the surface of
his similes and antitheses, has escaped almost all his critics.[60] It
is suggested by the title, "Euphues, The Anatomy of Wit." In the
"Schoolmaster," Ascham explained how Socrates had described the anatomy
of wit in a child, and the first essential quality mentioned by
Socrates, and that most fully discussed by Ascham was Euphuês which
may be translated of good natural parts, as well of the body as the
mind. Euphues, then, as well in the story in which he figures, as
afterward in the essays or which he is the supposed author, is the
model of a young man at once attractive in appearance, and possessing
the mental qualities most calculated to please. While the story is
meant to attract readers, the essays and digressions introduced into
the work are intended to inculcate the methods of education which Lyly
taught in common with Ascham. It was, however, the manner rather than
the matter which gave to "Euphues" its prominence and popularity. The
story is but a slender thread. Euphues and Philautus are two young
gentlemen of Naples, bound together by the closest ties of friendship.
Philautus is deeply enamored of a lady named Lucilla, to whom in an
unfortunate moment he presents Euphues. The meeting is at supper, and
the conversation turns on the question "often disputed, but never
determined, whether the qualities of the minde, or the composition of
the man, cause women most to lyke, or whether beautie or wit move men
most to love." Euphues shows so much ingenuity in the discussion of
this interesting subject that Lucilla transfers her affections to him.
Upon this the two friends quarrel and exchange letters of mutual
recrimination couched in the most elaborate language. Philautus writes:
Although hereto Euphues, I have shrined thee in my heart for
a trustie friende, I will shunne thee hereafter as a trothless
foe. * * * Dost thou not know yat a perfect friend should be lyke
the Glazeworme, which shineth most bright in the darke? or lyke the
pure Frankencense which smelleth most sweet when it is in the fire?
or at the leaste not unlike to the damaske Rose which is sweeter in
the still than on the stalke? But thou, Euphues, dost rather
resemble the Swallow, which in the summer creepeth under the eues
of euery house, and in the winter leaveth nothing but durt behinde
hir; or the humble Bee, which hauing sucked hunny out of the fayre
flower, doth leaue it and loath it; or the Spider which in the
finest web doth hang the fayrest Fly.
To these bitter reproaches Euphues replies that "Love knoweth no
Lawes," and in support of the proposition cites as many cases from
mythology as he can remember. The faithless Lucilla, however, soon
treats Euphues as she had before treated Philautus, and marries a third
lover whom they both despise. The friends are then once more united,
and lament in each other's arms the folly of Lucilla. A second part of
the work appeared in the following year, in which Euphues and Philautus
are represented on a visit to England. Philautus marries, and Euphues,
after eulogizing the English government, Elizabeth, and all her court,
retires forever "to the bottom of the mountain Silexedra."
The educational essays dispersed throughout the book display a good
sense which even Lyly's style cannot conceal. Ascham and Lyly were
alone in deprecating the excessive use of the rod, and in so doing were
far in advance of the age. Cruelty seems to have been a common
characteristic of the school-teacher. "I knew one," said Peacham, "who
in winter would ordinarily in a cold morning whip his boyes over for no
other purpose than to get himself a heat; another beat them for
swearing, and all the time he swears himself with horrible oathes that
he would forgive any fault save that. * * * Yet these are they that
oftentimes have our hopefull gentry under their charge and tuition, to
bring them (up) in science and civility."[61]
The style which proved so attractive to Elizabeth's courtiers had
three principal characteristics, which the reader will perceive in the
extracts hereafter to be given--a pedantic exhibition of learning, an
excess of similes drawn from natural history, usually untrue to nature,
and a habit of antithesis, which, by constant repetition becomes
exceedingly wearisome. Euphues, wishing to convince his listeners of
the inferiority of outward to inward perfection, pursues the following
argument:
The foule Toade hath a fayre stone in his head, the fine golde is
found in the filthy earth; the sweet kernell lyeth in the hard
shell; vertue is harboured in the heart of him that most men
esteeme misshappen. Contrarywise, if we respect more the outward
shape, then the inward habit, good God, into how many mischiefs do
wee fall? into what blindnesse are we ledde? Due we not commonly
see that in painted pottes is hidden the deadlyest poyson? that in
the greenest grasse is ye greatest serpent? in the cleerest water
the vgliest Toade? Doth not experience teach vs, that in the most
curious sepulcher are enclosed rotten bones? That the Cypresse tree
beareth a faire leafe, but no fruite? That the Estridge carrieth
faire feathers, but ranke flesh? How frantick are those louers
which are carried away with the gaye glistering of the fine face?
"In the coldest flint," says Lucilla, "there is hot fire, the Bee
that hath hunny in hir mouth, hath a sting in hir tayle; the tree
that beareth the sweetest fruite, hath a sower sap; yea, the wordes
of men though they seeme smooth as oyle: yet their heartes are as
crooked as the stalke of luie."
Lyly's antithetical style is well illustrated by the following passage,
in which he means to be particularly serious and impressive:
If I should talke in words of those things which I haue to conferre
with thee in writings, certes thou would blush for shame, and I
weepe for sorrowe: neither could my tongue vtter yat with patience,
which my hand can scarse write with modesty, neither could thy ears
heare that without glowing, which thine eyes can hardly vewe
without griefe. Ah, Alcius, I cannot tell whether I should most
lament in thee thy want of learning, or thy wanton lyvinge, in the
on thou art inferiour to all men, in the other superiour to al
beasts. Insomuch as who seeth thy dul wit, and marketh thy froward
will, may well say that he neuer saw smacke of learning in thy
dooings, nor sparke of relygion in thy life. Thou onely vauntest of
thy gentry: truely thou wast made a gentleman before thou knewest
what honesty meant, and no more hast thou to boast of thy stocke,
than he, who being left rich by his father, dyeth a beggar by his
folly. Nobilitie began in thine auncestors and endeth in thee, and
the generositie that they gayned by vertue, thou hast blotted with
vice.[62]
The popularity of "Euphues" excited much imitation, and its influence
is strongly marked in the works of Robert Greene. Born in Norfolk in
1560, Greene studied at Cambridge and received the degree of Master of
Arts. After wasting his property in Italy and Spain, he returned to
London to earn his bread by the pen. As a pamphleteer, as a poet, and
especially as a dramatist, Greene achieved a considerable reputation.
But his improvident habits and a life of constant debauchery brought
his career to a close, amidst poverty and remorse, at the early age of
thirty-two. He died in a drunken brawl, leaving in his works the
evidence of talents and qualities which the degradation of his life had
failed to destroy.
Greene's "Arcadia" was published in 1587, and bears in its fanciful
title of "Camilla's Alarum to Slumber Euphues," the evidence of its
inspiration. Even among pastorals the improbability of this story is
surpassing. Damocles, king of Arcadia, banished his daughter with her
husband and son. Sephestia, the daughter, arrived in a part of Arcadia
entirely inhabited by shepherds. There she becomes a shepherdess under
the name of Samela, and meets her husband, Maximus, who is already
tending sheep in the same neighborhood with the name of Melicertus.
Strange to say, Sephestia fails to recognize her husband, and receives
his addresses as a favored lover. Soon after, Pleusidippus, Sephestia's
son, is stolen by pirates, and adopted by the king of Thessaly, in
whose court he grows up. The fame of Sephestia's beauty reaches her
father and her son, who, ignorant of the relationship in consequence of
Sephestia's change of name, both set out to woo the celebrated
shepherdess. The repulsive scene of the same woman being the object at
once of the passion of her father and her son is ended by Damocles
carrying off Sephestia to his own court, where he proposes to execute
Maximus as his successful rival, and Sephestia for her obstinate
refusal of his addresses. The Delphian oracle, however, interposes in
time by declaring the identity of Sephestia, and the story terminates
as usual in weddings and reconciliations.
The conventional shepherd's life is well described in the "Arcadia,"
and the pastoral tone is skilfully maintained. The language, however,
is confessedly euphuistic, as may be seen by the author's comment on a
speech of Samela:
Samela made this reply, because she had heard him so superfine, as
if Ephebus had learned him to refine his mother's tongue; wherefore
though he had done it of an ink horn desire to be eloquent, and
Melicertus thinking Samela had learned with Lucilla in Athens to
anatomize wit, and speak none but similes, imagined she smoothed
her talk to be thought like Sappho, Phaon's paramour.
The following passage could hardly be distinguished from the writings
of Lyly:
I had thought, Menaphon, that he which weareth the bay leaf had
been free from lightning, and the eagle's pen a preservative
against thunder; that labour had been enemy to love, and the
eschewing of idleness an antidote against fancy; but I see by
proof, there is no adamant so hard, but the blood of a goat will
make soft, no fort so well defended, but strong battery will entry,
nor any heart so pliant to restless labours, but enchantments of
love will overcome.
Melicertus addresses Samela, whom he finds feeding her flocks, in the
following terms:
Mistress of all eyes that glance but at the excellence of your
perfection, sovereign of all such as Venus hath allowed for lovers,
Oenone's over-match, Arcadia's comet, Beauty's second comfort,
all hail! Seeing you sit like Juno when she first watched her white
heifer on the Lincen downs, as bright as silver Phoebe mounted on
the high top of the ruddy element, I was, by a strange attractive
force, drawn, as the adamant draws this iron, or the jet the straw,
to visit your sweet self in the shade, and afford you such company
as a poor swain may yield without offense; which, if you shall
vouch to deign of, I shall be as glad of such accepted service, as
Paris was first of his best beloved paramour.
Another of Samela's lovers, despairing of success, "became sick for
anger, and spent whole ecologues in anguish."
Greene's story of "Pandosto," of "Dorastus and Fawnia," which attained
a great popularity, and went through at least fourteen editions, is
well known as the foundation of Shakespeare's "Winter's Tale."
Shakespeare has followed Greene in the material points of the story,
even so far as to make Bohemia a maritime country. But the genius of
the dramatist is manifest in the miraculous and happy ending which he
substitutes for the unlawful love and inconsistent suicide of Pandosto
in the work of Greene. Shakespeare borrowed from the text, as well as
from the plot of the novelist. The lines,
The gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter
Became a bull, and bellowed: the green Neptune
A ram, and bleated; and the fire robed god,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
As I seem now,
are evidently a reproduction of the soliloquy of Dorastus:
And yet Dorastus, shame not at thy shepheard's weede: The heavenly
Godes have sometime earthly thoughts: Neptune became a ram, Jupiter
a bull, Apollo a shepheard; they Gods, and yet in love; and thou a
man appointed to love.[63]
The story of "Philomela," "penned to approve women's chastity," is the
best of Greene's tales, and approaches more closely the modern novel
than any work of the time. It is related with much less than the usual
prolixity, and contains two characters of distinct individuality. The
scene is placed in Venice, partly in consequence of the Italian origin
of the story, and partly, it would seem, because writers of fiction
imagined that the further distant they could represent their incidents
to have occurred, the more interest and probability would attach to
them. Philippo Medici possessed a wife Philomela, renowned, "not for
her beauty, though Italy afforded none so fair--not for her dowry,
though she were the only daughter of the Duke of Milan--but for the
admirable honours of her mind, which were so many and matchless, that
virtue seemed to have planted there the paradise of her perfection."
Philippo was so prone to jealousy, that he suspected even this paragon,
and worked himself into a belief in her infidelity by such euphuisms as
these: "The greener the Alisander leaves be, the more bitter is the
sap, and the salamander is the most warm when he lieth furthest from
the fire," therefore "women are most heart-hollow, when they are most
lip-holy." Inflamed by this reasoning, he induced a friend, one
Lutesio, to attempt his wife's virtue, enjoining him to bring immediate
information in case of any evidence of success. Lutesio, after some
misgivings, undertook the task, and under the influence of Philomela's
beauty, found it a very agreeable one. His most elaborate discourses on
love in the abstract were met by Philomela with replies fully as long
and fully as lofty, but when he made the conversation personal, and
declared his attitude to be that of a lover, he was met with a virtuous
indignation which fully bore out the reputation of Philomela. Even this
conclusive test did not satisfy the jealous mind of the wretched
Philippo. Having hired two slaves to swear in court to his wife's
infidelity, he procured her banishment to Palermo. By the efforts of
the Duke of Milan, this infamous proceeding was finally exposed, and
Philippo, overcome by remorse, set out in search of Philomela. At
Palermo, he accused himself, in a fit of despair, of a murder which had
been committed in that city. But while the trial was in progress,
Philomela, in order to shield her husband, appeared in court and
proclaimed herself guilty of the crime. The innocence of both was
discovered. Philippo, as he deserved, died immediately in an "ecstacy,"
and Philomela "returned home to Venice, and there lived the desolate
widow of Philippo Medici all her life; which constant chastity made her
so famous, that in her life she was honoured as the paragon of virtue,
and after her death, solemnly, and with wonderful honour, entombed in
St. Mark's Church, and her fame holden canonized until this day in
Venice."
The character of Philomela possesses strong traits of feminine virtue
and wifely fidelity. Philippo has little distinctiveness except in his
extreme susceptibility to jealousy--a fault which was exaggerated by
the author to set off the opposite qualities of Philomela. The story
has no little merit in regard to the construction and sequence of the
narrative, and holds up to admiration a high moral excellence. But its
interest is seriously impaired by the same defect which marks all the
fiction of the time. Philomela is almost the only tale which makes any
pretence to being a description of actual life, or which deals with
possible incidents. Yet the language, although it has some elegance, is
so affectedly formal, that all sense of reality is destroyed. When
Philippo's treachery to his wife is discovered, and he himself is
plunged in remorse, it is in such words as these that he speaks of his
exposure: "There is nothing so secret but the date of days will reveal;
that as oil, though it moist, quencheth not fire, so time, though ever
so long, is no sure covert for sin; but as a spark raked up in cinders
will at last begin to glow and manifest a flame, so treachery hidden in
silence will burst forth and cry for revenge."[64]
A prose idyl is the term which best describes the courtly and pastoral
character of Lodge's "Rosalynde," the last work of fiction of any
importance which distinctly bears the impress of euphuism. Published in
1590, the ten editions through which it passed during the next fifty
years are sufficient evidence of its popularity. It is probably the
only work of fiction of Elizabeth's time which could be read through at
the present day without impatience, and its story and personages are
well known to all through their reproduction in Shakespeare's "As You
Like it." The author of "Rosalynde" was a man of very varied talents
and experience. The son, it is believed, of a Lord Mayor of London, he
graduated at Trinity College, Oxford, and followed successively the
professions of an actor, soldier, lawyer, and physician. In the
intervals of these occupations, he found time to join in two
privateering expeditions to the Pacific, and to publish a number of
literary productions, of which the most successful were dramas and
poems. He is thought to have died of the plague in 1625.
"ROSALYNDE. EUPHUES' GOLDEN LEGACIE: _Found after his death in his
cell at Silexedra, Bequeathed to Philantus' sonnes nursed up with their
Father in England. Fetched from the Canaries by T.L., Gent._" Such is
the fanciful title of the story which Shakespeare transformed into "As
You Like it." In the comedy, the characters of Touchstone, Audrey, and
Jacques are added, but otherwise the dramatist has followed his
original quite closely. He made use, not infrequently, of the language
as well as the incidents of Lodge, which in itself is sufficient
praise. "Rosalynde," is, indeed, a charming tale, containing agreeable
and well drawn characters, dramatic incidents, and written in an
elevated strain of dignity and purity. Occasionally, the influence of
"Euphues" is manifest:--"Unhappy Saladyne, whom folly hath led to these
misfortunes, and wanton desires wrapt within the laborinth of these
calamities. Are not the heavens doomers of men's deedes? And holdes not
God a ballance in his fist, to reward with favour and revenge with
justice? Oh, Saladyne, the faults of thy youth, as they were fond, so
were they foule; and not onely discovering little nourture, but
blemishing the excellence of nature."
A more natural and attractive passage is the discussion between
Rosalynde and Alinda,[65] regarding their escape from court.
Rosalynde began to comfort her, and after shee had wept a fewe kind
teares in the bosome of her Alinda, she gave her heartie thankes,
and then they sat them downe to consult how they should travel.
Alinda grieved at nothing but they might have no man in their
company; saying it would be their greatest prejudice in that two
women went wandering without either guide or attendant. "Tush
(quoth Rosalynde), art thou a woman and hast not a sodeine shift to
prevent a misfortune? I, thou seest, am of a tall stature, and
would very wel become the person and apparel of a Page: thou shalt
bee my mistresse, and I wil play the man so properly, that (trust
me) in what company so ever I come I will not be discovered: I wil
buy me a suite, and have my Rapier very handsomely at my side, and
if any knave offer wrong, your Page wil shew him the poynt of his
weapon."
Shakespeare has followed this scene very closely in "As You Like It."
_Ros._ Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
_Cel._ I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber smirch my face;
The like do you; so shall we pass along
And never stir assailants
_Ros._ Were it not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh.
A boar spear in my hand; and in my heart,
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will,--
We'll have a swashing and a martial outside.
As many other mannish cowards have
That do outface it with their semblances.[66]
The most brilliant and characteristic work of fiction belonging to the
Elizabethan era composed by a man who was himself regarded by his
contemporaries as the embodiment of all the qualities they most loved
and admired. During the three hundred years which have elapsed since
the death of Sir Philip Sidney, the same enthusiastic praise has
accompanied the mention of his name. Sir William Temple, writing in a
critical time, and when the effect of Sidney's personal character need
no longer have biassed a literary judgment, pronounced Sir Philip to be
"the greatest poet and the noblest genius of any that have left
writings behind them."[67] Such were the words of a man of genius, who
was acquainted with the works of Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Spenser.
While all admirers of Sidney must regret a praise of his literary
abilities so exaggerated and mistaken, the eulogies which have been
lavished upon his personal character have never been thought to surpass
the worth of their object. Sir Philip Sidney, in the short life
allotted to him, had added to his personal beauty and amiable
disposition all that was most fitted to win the admiration of his time.
His rare accomplishments, his chivalrous manners and unusual powers of
conversation made him so great a favorite at court, that it was the
pride of Elizabeth to call him "her Philip." A considerable knowledge
of military affairs, and a fearless gallantry in battle, combined, with
Sidney's genial disposition, to win for him the universal affection of
the army. The violence of the Middle Ages lingers in Sir Philip's angry
words to his father's secretary: "Mr. Molyneux, if ever I know you to
do so much as read any letter I write to my father, without his
commandment or my consent, I will thrust my dagger into you. And trust
to it, for I speak it in earnest." But the spirit of generosity and
self-sacrifice, which we are also accustomed to associate with mediæval
knighthood, was realized in the famous scene on the battle-field before
Zutphen. With good natural talents and an untiring industry, Sir
Philip acquired a knowledge of science, of languages, and of
literature, which gave him a reputation abroad as well as at home. The
learned Languet relinquished his regular duties without prospect of
pecuniary reward "to be a nurse of knowledge to this hopeful young
gentleman."[68] The regrets of the universities at Sidney's death
filled three volumes with academic eulogies. But a better testimony
than these volumes to the general admiration for Sidney's talents, and
to his position as a patron of literature, is to be found in the
beautiful lines in which Spenser lamented his benefactor, and in two
sentences by poor Tom Nash[69], who knew but too well the value of what
he and his fellow-laborers had lost: "Gentle Sir Philip Sidney, thou
knewest what belonged to a scholar; thou knewest what pains, what toil,
what travel conduct to perfection; well could'st thou give every virtue
his encouragement, every art his due, every writer his desert, cause
none more virtuous, witty, or learned than thyself. But thou art dead
in thy grave, and has left too few successors of thy glory, too few to
cherish the sons of the Muses, or water those budding hopes with their
plenty, which thy bounty erst planted." The public manifestations of
grief at Sidney's death, and the rivalry of two nations for the
possession of his remains, seem to have proceeded rather from the fame
of his personal virtues than from the accomplishment of great
achievements. It was recorded on the tomb of the learned Dr. Thornton
that he had been "the tutor of Sir Philip Sidney," and Lord Brooke
caused the inscription to be placed over his own grave: "Fulke
Greville, servant to Queen Elizabeth, counsellor to King James, and
friend to Sir Philip Sidney."
The work of a man who belonged so thoroughly to his own time, and who
united in himself talents and virtues so remarkable could hardly fail
to be of historical interest. Such is the value now belonging to the
"Arcadia"--a work unrivalled in its own day, and deserving the
admiration of the present, but which has been left behind in the great
advance of English prose fiction. In the courtly pages of the "Arcadia"
are brilliantly reflected the lofty strain of sentiment characteristic
of Elizabeth's time, and the chivalry, the refinement, and the
impetuosity of if its noble author. "Heere have you now," wrote Sir
Philip to his sister, the Countess of Pembroke, "most deare, and most
worthy to be most deare Ladie, this idle worke of mine. * * * Youre
deare self can best witnesse the manner, being done in loose sheetes of
paper, most of it in your presence, the rest by sheetes sent unto you,
as fast as they were done." It would be tedious to the reader to
receive a detailed description of the story which extends through the
four hundred and eighty pages of Sidney's folio. The plot turns on the
fulfilment of a Delphian prophecy, in fear of which Basilius, king of
Arcadia, retires to a forest with his wife and two daughters. One
daughter, Philoclea, lives with her father Basilius, and the other,
Pamela, is confided to the care of Dametas, a country fellow, in the
service of Basilius, who lives close by with his wife. Pyrocles, prince
of Macedon, and Musidorus, prince of Thessaly, are wrecked on the coast
of Arcadia, where they soon become enamored of the two daughters of
Basilius. To the better attainment of their ends, Pyrocles obtains
admittance to the house of Basilius in the disguise of an Amazon, and
Musidorus enters the service of Dametas in the character of a shepherd.
The story which is unrolled in the remainder of the work relates the
extraordinary occurrences which are necessary to the fulfilment of the
Delphian prophecy, together with the intrigues and adventures of the
young lovers. Shipwrecks, attacks by pirates, rescues, journeys through
Arcadia among poetic shepherds, a war with the Helots, through forests
and carving sonnets on trees,--such are the scenes which succeed each
other with unending variety. On the arrival of Pyrocles and Musidorus
in Arcadia, the reader is introduced to that ideal land, never more
happily described than by Sidney's pen[70]:
The third day after, in the time that the Morning did strow roses
and violets in the heavenly floore against the comming of the
sunne, the Nightingales, (striving one with the other which could
in most daintie varietie recount their wrong caused sorrow,) made
them put off their sleepe, and rising from under a tree, (which
that night had bin their pavillion,) they went on their journey,
which by and by welcomed Musidorus eies (wearied with the wasted
soile of Laconia) with delightfull prospects. There were hills
which garnished their proud heights with stately trees: humble
vallies, whose base estate seemed comforted with the refreshing of
silver rivers: medowes, enameled with all sorts of eie pleasing
flowers; thickets, which being lined with most pleasant shade, were
witnessed so too, by the cheerfull disposition of manie well tuned
birds: each pasture stored with sheep feeding with sober securitie,
while the prettie lambes with bleating oratorie craved the dammes
comfort: here a shepheards boy piping, as though he should never be
old: there a young shepheardesse knitting, and withall singing, and
it seemed that her voice comforted her hands to worke, and her
hands kept time to her voice's musick. As for the houses of the
country, (for manie houses came under their eye,) they were all
scattered, no two being one by th' other, and yet not so farre off
as that it barred mutuall succour: a shew, as it were, of an
accompanable solitarinesse, and of a civill wildeness.
Amid such scenes dwell Basilius and his wife, whose two daughters are
described by Sidney in language unsurpassed for delicacy and charm.
Of these two are brought to the world two daughters, so beyond
measure excellent in all the gifts allotted to reasonable
creatures, that we may thinke they were borne to shew, that nature
is no stepmother to that sexe, how much so ever some men (sharp
witted onely in evill speaking) have sought to disgrace them. The
elder is named Pamela, by many men not deemed inferiour to her
sister: for my part, when I marked them both, me thought there was,
(if at least such perfections may receive the word of more,) more
sweetness in Philoclea, but more majestie in Pamela: mee thought
love plaied in Philoclea's eies, & threatened in Pamela's; me
thought Philoclea's beautie only perswaded, but so perswaded that
all hearts must yield; Pamela's beautie used violence, and such
violence as no heart could resist. And it seems that such
proportion is betweene their mindes; Philoclea so bashfull, as
though her excellencies had stolne into her before she was aware,
so humble, that she will put all pride out of countenance; in
summe, such proceeding as will stirre hope, but teach hope good
maners. Pamela of high thoughts, who avoids not pride with not
knowing her excellencies, but by my making that one of her
excellencies to be void of pride: her mother's wisdome, greatnesse,
nobilitie, but (if I can guesse aright) knit with a more constant
temper.[71]
The description of an envious man in the second book,[72] which
suggested to Sir Richard Steele his essay in the nineteenth number of
the _Spectator_, is another good example of Sidney's ability in
delineating character. The passage in which Musidorus is represented
showing off the paces of his horse,[73] a subject especially adapted to
excite the best effort of the author, is a very remarkable effort of
descriptive power, for the insertion of which, unfortunately, space is
wanting here. Sidney might have quoted his description of Pamela
sewing, to justify his belief that "It is not rhyming and versing that
maketh poesy":
Pamela, who that day having wearied her selfe with reading, * * * was
working upon a purse certaine roses and lillies. * * * The flowers
shee had wrought caried such life in them, that the cunningest
painter might have learned of her needle: which, with so pretty a
manner, made his careers to & fro through the cloth, as if the needle
it selfe would haue been loth to haue gone fromward such a mistresse,
but that it hoped to returne thitherward very quickly againe; the
cloth looking with many eyes vpon her, and louingly embracing the
wounds she gaue it: the sheares also were at hand to behead the silke
that was growne too short. And if at any time shee put her mouth to
bite it off, it seemed, that where she had beene long in making of
a rose with her hands, she would in an instant make roses with her
lips; as the lillies seemed to haue their whitenesse rather of the
hand that made them, than of the matter whereof they were made;
& that they grew there by the suns of her eyes, and were refreshed
by the most * * * comfortable ayre, which an unawares sigh might
bestow upon them.[74]
Charles I. passed many hours of his prison life in reading the
"Arcadia," and Milton[75] accused him of stealing a prayer of Pamela
to insert in the "Eikon Basilike": "And that in no serious book, but
the vain amatorious poem of Sir Philip Sidney's 'Arcadia'; a book in
that kind, full of worth and wit, but among religious thoughts and
duties not worthy to be named: nor to be read at any time without good
caution, much less in time of trouble and affliction to be a
Christian's prayerbook." This prayer is in itself so beautiful, coming
from the lips of Pamela, and the greater part of it suits so perfectly
the unhappy circumstances of King Charles, that at the risk of unduly
multiplying our extracts from the "Arcadia," it will be inserted
here:--
And therewith kneeling downe, euen where shee stood, she thus said:
O All-seeing Light, and eternall Life of all things, to whom
nothing is either so great, that it may resist; or so small, that
it is condemned: looke vpon my misery with thine eye of mercie, and
let thine infinite power vouchsafe to limite out some proportion of
deliuerance vnto me, as to thee shall seeme most conuenient. Let
not injurie, O Lord, triumph ouer me, and let my faults by thy hand
bee corrected, and make not mine vnjust enemy the minister of thy
justice. But yet, my God, if in thy wisdome this be the aptest
chastisement for my vnexcusable folly: if this low bondage be
fittest to my ouerhigh desires: if the pride of my not inough
humble heart be thus to be broken, O Lord I yeeld vnto thy will,
and joyfully embrace what sorrow thou will haue mee suffer. Onely
thus much let me craue of thee, (let my crauing, O Lord, be
accepted of thee, since euen that proceeds from thee,) let me
craue, euen by the noblest title, which in my greatest affliction I
may give myself, that I am thy creature, and by thy goodness (which
is thyselfe) that thou wilt suffer some beame of thy Majestie so to
shine into my minde, that it may still depend confidently on thee.
Let calamitie be the exercise, but not the ouerthrow or my vertue;
let their power preuaile, but preuaile not to destruction; let my
greatnesse be their pray; let my paine bee the sweetnesse of there
reuenge: let them, (if so it seeme good vnto thee) vexe me with
more and more punishment. But, O Lord, let neuer their wickednesse
haue such a hand, but that I may cary a pure minde in a pure body.
(And pausing a while.) And O most gracious Lord, (said she) what
euer become of me, preserve the vertuous Musidorus.[76]
The "Arcadia" combines the elements of both the chivalric and the
pastoral romance. Sidney's familiarity with the legends of Arthur,
together with his own gallantry and love of adventure, peculiarly
adapted him to describe martial scenes. But the chivalry of Sir Philip
is not more apparent where he describes the shock of arms than where,
with such exquisite delicacy, he writes of women. The student of
English fiction would fain linger long over the pages which describe
the loves of Pamela and Philoclea. For when these pages are laid aside,
it is long before he may again meet with the poetry, the manly and
womanly sentiment, and the pure yet stirring passion which adorn the
romance of Elizabeth's Philip. Three centuries have passed away since
the "Arcadia" was written, and we who live at the end of this period
not unjustly congratulate ourselves on our superior civilization and
refinement. And yet in all this time we have arrived of no higher
conception of feminine virtue or chivalrous manhood than is to be found
in this sixteenth-century romance, and during one half of these three
hundred years there was to be seen so little trace of such a
conception, whether in life or in literature, that the word love seemed
to have lost its nobler meaning and to stand for no more than animal
desire. There is not in English fiction a more charming picture of
feminine modesty than that of Pamela hiding her love for Musidorus.
How delightfull soeuer it was, my delight might well bee in my
soule, but it neuer wente to looke out of the window to doe him any
comforte. But how much more I found reason to like him, the more I
set all the strength of my minde to conceale it. * * * Full often
hath my breast swollen with keeping my sighes imprisoned: full
often have the teares I draue back from mine eyes turned back to
drowne my heart. But, alas, what did that helpe poore Dorus?[77]
Hardly less beautiful is the gradual yielding, through pity, of
Pamela's maidenly heart.
This last dayes danger having made Pamela's loue discerne what a
losse it should haue suffered if Dorus had beene destroyed, bred
such tendernesse of kindnesse in her toward him, that she could no
longer keepe loue from looking out through her eyes, and going
forth in her words; whom before as a close prisoner, shee had to
her heart onely committed: so as finding not onely by his speeches
and letters, but by the pitifull oration of a languishing behaviour,
and the easily deciphered character of a sorrowfull face, that
despaire began now to threaten him destruction, she grew content
both to pitie him, and let him see shee pitied him. * * * by making
her owne beautifull beames to thaw away the former ycinesse of her
behaviour.[78]
That portion of the "Arcadia" which relates to pastoral life owes its
origin to Spanish and Portuguese works. But there were not wanting to
Sidney's experience actual examples of that peaceful existence to
which, in troubled times, men have so often turned as a pleasing
contrast to their own cares, and dangers. The shepherds of the Sussex
Downs, pursuing through centuries their simple vocation, unheeded by
the world, untouched by revolution or civil war, tended their sheep
with little thought or knowledge of the world beyond the downs, and
presented to the poet a picture of calm content, in pleasing contrast
to the active or terrible incidents which more frequently made up the
sum both of romance and of actual life. The shepherds of the "Arcadia"
make even less pretence to reality than the martial heroes. They are
usually poets and musicians; speaking in courtly phrases, and occupied
with amorous adventures, they serve sometimes to relieve, and sometimes
to heighten, the more stirring scenes.
A third element in the "Arcadia" is the comic, and with this, as might
be expected from the rather crude ideas of humor prevalent in the
sixteenth century, Sidney met with indifferent success. The wit depends
on the ugliness, the perversity, and the clownish character of Dametas,
his wife, and their daughter Mopsa. It partakes of the nature of the
practical joke, and though it no doubt amused the courtiers of
Elizabeth, is too clumsy for a more cultivated taste. But although
Sidney's comic scenes may no longer amuse, it must be said that they
are free from the low coarseness and ribaldry which have furnished
merriment to times which pretended to a much higher standard of wit and
education than his own. An interesting contrast may be made between a
comic passage of the "Arcadia,"[79] representing a fight between two
cowards, and perhaps the only scene in the "Morte d'Arthur" of
humorous intent,[80]--that in which King Mark is ignominiously put to
flight by Arthur's court fool disguised in the armor of a knight.
In the history of English literature, Sir Philip Sidney's romance will
always have a prominent place as the first specimen of a fine prose
style. The affectations and mannerisms which are its chief defect were
due to the unsettled condition of the language, and to the influence of
foreign works, which the general love of learning had made familiar to
cultivated Englishmen. The position of the "Arcadia" in fiction is
established by the exquisite descriptions of nature and the life-like
sketches of character which will often reward the patient reader. That
prolixity, which more than any other cause has made the work obsolete,
and, as a whole, unreadable, was a recommendation rather than an
objection at the time of publication. The "Arcadia," standing almost
alone in the department of fiction, and far superior to its few
competitors, took the place of a small circulating library. A spirit of
lofty ideality pervades the work of Sir Philip Sidney, which is
expressive of the aspirations of his time. In the fictions of that age
is to be seen a constant attempt, not always successful, to dignify
life, to exalt the beautiful, and to conceal or condemn the base.
Everyday life was not tempting to the writer, because it contained too
much that was repulsive. The story teller and the poet painted amid
unreal scenes that happiness and virtue which they thought more easily
to be conceived in an ideal land of knights and shepherds, than amidst
the cares and dangers of their own existence.[81]
[Footnote 57: Paine's "History of English Literature," book iii, ch. 1.]
[Footnote 58: Nichol's "Progresses," vol. I, p. 3.]
[Footnote 59: The Italian tales were issued in various collections,
such as Painter's "Palace of Pleasure," Whetstone's "Heptameron," the
"Histories" of Goulard and Grimstone. One of the best of these
collections is "Westward for Smelts," by Kinde Kit of Kingstone, circa
1603, reprinted by the Percy Society. It is on the same plan as
Boccaccio's "Decamerone," except that the story-tellers are fish-wives
going up the Thames in a boat. Imitations of the Italian tales may be
found in Hazlitt's "Shakespeare's Library," notably "Romeo and
Julietta." Most of these are modernized versions of old tales. I may
here add, as undeserving further mention, such stories as "Jacke of
Dover's Quest of Inquirie," 1601, Percy Soc.; "A Search for Money," by
William Rowley, dramatist, 1609, Percy Soc.; and "The Man in the Moone,
or the English Fortune-Teller," 1609, Percy Soc.]
[Footnote 60: The most comprehensive remarks on Lyly and "Euphues" are
to be found in the _London Quarterly Review_ for April, 1801, and are
due to Mr. Henry Morley.]
[Footnote 61: Henry Peacham, "Compleat Gentleman." See Drake's
"Shakespeare and his Times."]
[Footnote 62: Shakespeare ridiculed the affectations of contemporary
language in "Love's Labour Lost." Among the characters of Ben Jonson
are some good Euphuists. In "Every Man out of his Humour," Fallace says
(act v, sc. x), "O, Master Brisk, as 'tis said in Euphues, Hard is the
choice, when one is compelled, either by silence to die with grief, or
by speaking to live with shame." In "The Monastery," a novel which the
author himself considered a failure, Sir Walter Scott represented a
Euphuist. But the language of Sir Piercie Shafton is entirely devoid of
the characteristics of Euphuism, and gives a very false impression
concerning it. (See introduction to "The Monastery.") Compare passages
quoted in the text with one in chap. xiv ("Monastery") beginning: "Ah,
that I had with me my Anatomy of Wit." Also _passim_.]
[Footnote 63: The lines quoted from the "Winter's Tale" are in act iv,
sc. 3. For Greene's words see "Dorastus and Fawnia," in Hazlitt's
"Shakespeare's Library," part I, vol. 4, p. 62. The resemblance between
the two passages is pointed out by Dunlop ("History of Fiction," p.
404). Collier in his introduction to "Dorastus and Fawnia" denied this
obligation of Shakespeare to Greene. But he was evidently led into this
error by liking the following passage, instead of the one quoted in the
text, for the foundation of Shakespeare's lines: "The gods above
disdaine not to love women beneathe. Phoebus liked Sibilla: Jupiter Io;
and why not I, then Fawnia?"]
[Footnote 64: Another of Greene's tales, possessing much the same
merits and the same defects as those already mentioned is "Never too
Late."]
[Footnote 65: Shakespeare's Celia.]
[Footnote 66: Act I, sc. 3.]
[Footnote 67: "Miscellanea," part ii, essay iv.]
[Footnote 68: Gray's "Life of Sidney," p. 8.]
[Footnote 69: "Pierce Penniless."]
[Footnote 70: Folio, 1622. p. 6.]
[Footnote 71: Folio, 1622, p. 10.]
[Footnote 72: Folio, p. 130.]
[Footnote 73: Folio, p. 115.]
[Footnote 74: Folio, p. 260.]
[Footnote 75: See an "Answer in 'Eikon Basilike,'" Milton's Works,
Symmons' ed., v. 2, p. 408.]
[Footnote 76: Folio, p. 248.]
[Footnote 77: Folio, p. 116.]
[Footnote 78: Folio, p. 231.]
[Footnote 79: Book iii.]
[Footnote 80: "Morte d'Arthur," book x, chap. 12.]
[Footnote 81: A Scotchman named Barclay published a partly political
and partly heroic volume called "Argenis" in 1621. It was much
commended by Cowper the poet, but being written in Latin, is hardly to
be included in English fiction. See Dunlop, chap. x. Francis Godwin
wrote a curious story about 1602, called "The Man in the Moon," in
which is described the journey of one Domingo Gonzales to that planet.
Dunlop ("Hist. of Fiction") thought Domingo to be the real author. See
chapter xiii. This romance is chiefly remarkable for its scientific
speculations, and the adoption by the author of the Copernican theory.
It was translated into French, and imitated by Cyrano de Bergerac, who
in his turn was imitated by Swift in Brobdignag. See Hallam, "Lit. of
Europe," vol 3, p. 393.]