A Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 1

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• Publié par: zewyang
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 49
• Langue: English

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Old English
Plays, Vol. I, by Various
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Title: Old English Plays, Vol. I A Collection of Old
English Plays
Author: Various
Release Date: December 5, 2003 [EBook #10388]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG
EBOOK OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOL. I ***
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and
PG Distributed ProofreadersA COLLECTION OF
OLD ENGLISH PLAYS,
VOL. I
In Four Volumes
EDITED BY
A.H. BULLEN.
1882-1889
CONTENTS:
The Tragedy of Nero
The Mayde's Metamorphosis
The Martyr'd Souldier
The Noble SouldierPREFACE.
Most of the Plays in the present Collection have
not been reprinted, and some have not been
printed at all. In the second volume there will be
published for the first time a fine tragedy (hitherto
quite unknown) by Massinger and Fletcher, and a
lively comedy (also quite unknown) by James
Shirley. The recovery of these two pieces should
be of considerable interest to all students of
dramatic literature.
The Editor hopes to give in Vol. III. an unpublished
play of Thomas
Heywood. In the fourth volume there will be a
reprint of the Arden of
Feversham, from the excessively rare quarto of
1592.
INTRODUCTION TOTHE TRAGEDY OF
NERO.
Of the many irreparable losses sustained by
classical literature few are more to be deplored
than the loss of the closing chapters of Tacitus'
Annals. Nero, it is true, is a far less complex
character than Tiberius; and there can be no
question that Tacitus' sketch of Nero is less
elaborate than his study of the elder tyrant. Indeed,
no historical figure stands out for all time with
features of such hideous vividness as Tacitus'
portrait of Tiberius; nowhere do we find
emphasised with such terrible earnestness, the
stoical poet's anathema against tyrants "Virtutem
videant intabescantque relicta." Other writers would
have turned back sickened from the task of
following Tiberius through mazes of cruelty and
craft. But Tacitus pursues his victim with the
patience of a sleuth-hound; he seems to find a
ruthless satisfaction in stripping the soul of its
coverings; he treads the floor of hell and watches
with equanimity the writhings of the damned. The
reader is at once strangely attracted and repelled
by the pages of Tacitus; there is a weird
fascination that holds him fast, as the glittering eye
of the Ancient Mariner held the Wedding Guest. It
was owing partly, no doubt, to the hideousness of
the subject that the Elizabethan Dramatists shrank
from seeking materials in the Annals; but hardly
the abominations of Nero or Tiberius could dauntsuch daring spirits as Webster or Ford. Rather we
must impute their silence to the powerful mastery
of Tacitus; it was awe that held them from treading
in the historian's steps. Ben Jonson ventured on
the enchanted ground; but not all the fine old
poet's wealth of classical learning, not his
observance of the dramatic proprieties nor his
masculine intellect, could put life into the dead
bones of Sejanus or conjure up the muffled sinister
figure of Tiberius. Where Ben Jonson failed, the
unknown author of the Tragedy of Nero has, to
some extent, succeeded.
After reading the first few opening-lines the reader
feels at once that this forgotten old play is the work
of no ordinary man. The brilliant scornful figure of
Petronius, a character admirably sustained
throughout, rivets his attention from the first. In the
blank verse there is the true dramatic ring, and the
style is "full and heightened." As we read on we
have no cause for disappointment. The second
scene which shows us the citizens hurrying to
witness the triumphant entry of Nero, is vigorous
and animated. Nero's boasting is pitched in just the
right key; bombast and eloquence are equally mixt.
If he had been living in our own day Nero might
possibly have made an ephemeral name for
himself among the writers of the Sub-Swinburnian
School. His longer poems were, no doubt,
nerveless and insipid, deserving the scornful
criticism of Tacitus and Persius; but the fragments
preserved by Seneca shew that he had some skill
in polishing far-fetched conceits. Our playwright
has not fallen into the error of making Nero "out-Herod Herod"; through the crazy raptures we see
the ruins of a nobler nature. Poppaea's arrowy
sarcasms, her contemptuous impatience and adroit
tact are admirable. The fine irony of the following
passage is certainly noticeable:—
"Pop. I prayse your witt, my Lord, that choose
such safe Honors, safe spoyles, worm without
dust or blood.
Nero. What, mocke ye me, Poppaea.
Pop. Nay, in good faith, my Lord, I speake in
earnest:
I hate that headie and adventurous crew
That goe to loose their owne to purchase but
The breath of others and the common voyce;
Them that will loose their hearing for a sound,
That by death onely seeke to get a living,
Make skarres their beautie and count losse of
Limmes
The commendation of a proper man,
And so goe halting to immortality,—
Such fooles I love worse then they doe their
lives."
It is indeed strange to find such lines as those in
the work of an unknown author. The verses gain
strength as they advance, and the diction is terse
and keen. This one short extract would suffice to
show that the writer was a literary craftsman of a
very high order.
In the fourth scene, where the conspirators are
met, the writer's power is no less strikingly shown.met, the writer's power is no less strikingly shown.
Here, if anywhere, his evil genius might have led
him astray; for no temptation is stronger than the
desire to indulge in rhetorical displays. Even the
author of Bothwell, despite his wonderful command
of language, wearies us at times by his vehement
iteration. Our unknown playwright has guarded
himself against this fault; and, steeped as he was
to the lips in classical learning, his abstinence must
have cost him some trouble. My notes will shew
that he had not confined himself to Tacitus, but
had studied Suetonius and Dion Cassius, Juvenal
and Persius. He makes no parade of his learning,
but we see that he has lived among his characters,
leaving no source of information unexplored. The
meeting of the conspirators is brought before our
eyes with wonderful vividness. Scevinus' opening
speech glows and rings with indignation. Seneca, in
more temperate language, bewails the fall of the
high hopes that he had conceived of his former
pupil, finely moralizing that "High fortunes, like
strong wines, do trie their vessels." Some spirited
lines are put into Lucan's mouth:—
"But to throw downe the walls and Gates of
Rome
To make an entrance for an Hobby-horse;
To vaunt to th'people his ridiculous spoyles;
To come with Lawrell and with Olyves crown'd
For having been the worst of all the singers,
Is beyond Patience!"
In another passage the grandiloquence and the
vanity of the poet of the Pharsalia are well
depicted.The second act opens with Antonius' suit to
Poppaea, which is full of passion and poetry, but is
not allowed to usurp too much room in the
progress of the play. Then, in fine contrast to the
grovelling servility of the Emperor's creatures, we
see the erect figure of the grand stoic philosopher,
Persius' tutor, Cornutus, whose free-spokenness
procures him banishment. Afterwards follows a
second conference of the conspirators, in which
scene the author has followed closely in the steps
of Tacitus.
One of the most life-like passages in the play is at
the beginning of the third act, where Nimphidius
describes to Poppaea how the weary audience
were imprisoned in the theatre during Nero's
performance, with guards stationed at the doors,
and spies on all sides scanning each man's face to
note down every smile or frown. Our author draws
largely upon Tacitus and the highly-coloured
account of Suetonius; but he has, besides, a telling
way of his own, and some of his lines are very
happy. Poppaea's wit bites shrewdly; and even
Nimphidius' wicked breast must have been chilled
at such bitter jesting as:—
"How did our Princely husband act Orestes?
Did he not wish againe his Mother living? Her
death would add great life unto his part."
As Nero approaches his crowning act of
wickedness, the burning of Rome, his words
assume a grim intensity. The invocation to the
severe powers is the language of a man at strife atonce with the whole world and himself. In the
representation of the burning of Rome it will
perhaps be thought that the author hardly rises to
the height of his theme. The Vergilian simile put
into the mouth of Antonius is distinctly misplaced;
but as our author so seldom offends in this respect
he may be pardoned for the nonce. It may seem a
somewhat crude treatment to in