Complete Plays, The Read online

  "Weep with me, all you that read

  This little story;

  And know, for whom a tear you shed

  Death's self is sorry.

  'Twas a child that so did thrive

  In grace and feature,

  As Heaven and Nature seem'd to strive

  Which owned the creature.

  Years he number'd scarce thirteen

  When Fates turn'd cruel,

  Yet three fill'd zodiacs had he been

  The stage's jewel;

  And did act (what now we moan)

  Old men so duly,

  As sooth the Parcae thought him one,

  He play'd so truly.

  So, by error, to his fate

  They all consented;

  But, viewing him since, alas, too late!

  They have repented;

  And have sought, to give new birth,

  In baths to steep him;

  But, being so much too good for earth,

  Heaven vows to keep him."

  Many of the points discussed in this chapter are still the subject of controversy. The theories of the stage adopted here are, in general, those of V. E. Albright, The Shakespearean Stage (Macmillan, 1909). Among the numerous books and articles on these topics, the most useful are: G. F. Reynolds, Some Principles of Elizabethan Staging (Modern Philology, Vols. 3 and 4); Brodmeier, Die Shakespeare Bühne (Weimar, 1904); Fleay, Chronicle History of the London Stage (London, 1890); Henslowe's Diary, ed. by W. Greg (London, 1904); and the works of Creizenach and Schelling referred to in the preceding chapter.

  [1] Another predecessor, the great hall of a noble or a university, is mentioned in the section on the private theaters.

  [2] In at least some of the theaters, the stage seems to have narrowed toward the front.

  [3] With this whole paragraph, cf. Albright, pp. 81 ff., and 104-105.

  [4] This memorandum book of Philip Henslowe, the great manager, is one of our chief sources of information about the Elizabethan theater.

  [5] For Shakespeare's share, cf. Chapter I.

  CHAPTER IV

  ELIZABETHAN LONDON

  Shortly after Shakespeare came to London, England demonstrated her new greatness to an astonished world; by the defeat of Spain's greatest fleet, the "invincible Armada," England showed herself as no longer a small island nation, but as Mistress of the Sea. In this victory culminated the growth which had begun under Henry VII, first of Tudor sovereigns. Naval supremacy was, however, but a sign of a much greater and more far-reaching transformation—a transformation which had affected science, literature, and religion, and one which filled the men of Shakespeare's time with such enthusiasm for the past, such confidence in the present, and such hope for the future, as has hardly been paralleled in the world's history.

  During the century which had elapsed since 1485, Copernicus's discovery that the sun and not the earth was the center of our universe, had revolutionized the map of the heavens, as Columbus's discovery of America had revolutionized the map of the world. Thus stimulated, scientific investigation started afresh, working in accordance with the modern methods formulated by Francis Bacon, while voyage quickly followed voyage, each new discovery adding fuel to the fire of enthusiasm. Wonderful tales of new lands and unimagined wealth spread from mouth to mouth. The voyages of Martin Frobisher, Anthony Hawkins, and Francis Drake opened new worlds, not only to English imagination, but also to English trade. It was they and men like them who gave to England her unexpected naval and commercial supremacy.

  The latter was partly a result of the former. Elizabeth's victories over foreign enemies strengthened her power at home, and assured that freedom from internal discord which is essential to commercial prosperity. No sovereign distracted by danger from without could have mastered the factions which had sprung up within. The great religious movement known as the Protestant Reformation had not stopped in England with the separation of the English from the Roman Church under Henry VIII. It had brought into existence the Puritan, austere, bigoted, opposed to beauty of church and ceremonial, yet filled with superb moral and religious enthusiasm. It had brought about the persecution of Catholics and the still more merciless persecution of Protestants during the Catholic reaction under Queen Mary. Its successes, which began again with Elizabeth's reign, gave occasion for continual intrigues of Catholic emissaries. It all but plunged the nation into civil war, a war averted only by the victory over Spain and by the statesmanship of Elizabeth. Freed from the fear of war, however, Puritan and Churchman, each in his own way, could apply his enthusiasm to the works of peace.

  With the return of peace and security, moreover, England first felt the full effect of the literary Renaissance. The revival of classical learning had already transformed the art and literature of the continent, especially that of Italy. When, therefore, England turned again to the classics, it turned also to the Italian culture and literature to which the Renaissance had given birth, and from these sources English literature received new beauty of thought and form.

  It was, then, in a new England that Shakespeare lived, an England intensely proud of the past which had made the present possible, an England rich enough and secure enough to have leisure and interest for literature, an England so vigorous, so confident, that it could not fail to bring out all that was latent in its greatest genius.

  The City of London.—All this enthusiasm and activity reached its highest point in London. Even more then than now, London was the center of influence, the place to which the greatest abilities were irresistibly attracted, and in which their greatest work was done. But the London of Shakespeare's time was vastly different from the London of to-day. On all sides, except that washed by the Thames, the mediaeval walls were still standing and served as the city's actual boundary. Outside them were several important suburbs, but where now houses extend for miles in unbroken ranks, there were then open fields and pleasant woods. The total population of the city hardly exceeded a hundred thousand, while that of the suburbs, including the many guests of the numerous inns, amounted to perhaps a hundred thousand more. Hence, although there undoubtedly was crowding in the poorer quarters, London was a much more open city than it is to-day. The great houses all had their gardens, and a few minutes walk in any direction brought one to open country.

  Westminster, now well within the greater London, was then only the most important suburb. Here was the Hall in which Parliament met, and, not far away, Whitehall, the favorite London residence of the Queen. Attracted by the presence of royalty, many of the great nobles had built their houses in this quarter, so that the north bank of the Thames from Westminster to the City was lined with stately buildings.

  The Thames was London's pleasantest highway. It was then a clear, beautiful river spanned by a single bridge. If one wished to go from the City to Westminster, or even eastward or westward within the City itself, one could go most easily by boat. The Queen in her royal barge was often to be seen on the river. The great merchant companies had their splendid barges, in which they made stately progresses. One went by boat to the bear gardens and theaters on the south bank. Below the bridge, the river was crowded with shipping. At one of the wharves lay an object of universal interest, the Golden Hind, the ship in which Drake had made his famous voyage round the world.

  Within the city, most of the streets were narrow, poorly paved, and worse lighted. Those who went about by night had their servants carry torches, called "links," before them, or hired boys to light them home. Such sanitation as existed was wretched, so that plagues and other diseases spread rapidly and carried off an appalling number of victims. The ignorance and inefficiency of the police is rather portrayed than satirized in Shakespeare's Dogberry and Verges. Such evils were common to all seventeenth-century cities, but these cities had their compensations in a freedom and picturesqueness which have disappeared from our modern towns.

  The Citizens.—In Elizabethan London, as in every city, the men who represented extremes of wealth and poverty, th
e courtiers and their imitators, the beggars and the sharpers, are those of whom we hear most; but the greater part of the population, that which controlled the city government, was of the middle class, sober, self-respecting tradespeople, inclined towards Puritanism, and jealous of their independence. Such people naturally distrusted and disliked the actors and their class, and used against them, as far as they could, the great authority of the city. In spite of court favor, the actors were compelled by city ordinances to build their theaters outside the city limits or on ground which the city did not control. Several attempts were made to suppress play acting altogether, ostensibly because of the danger that crowded audiences would spread the plague when it became epidemic. In spite of this official opposition, however, the sober citizens formed a goodly part of theater audiences until after the accession of King James, when the rising tide of Puritanism led to increased austerity. At no time were the majority of the citizens entirely free from a love for worldly pleasures. They swelled the crowds at the taverns, and their wives often vied with the great ladies of court in extravagance of dress.

  St. Paul's.—The great meeting place of London was, oddly enough, the nave of St. Paul's Cathedral. This superb Gothic church, later destroyed by the Great Fire, was used as a common passageway, as a place for doing business and for meeting friends. In the late morning hours, the men-about-town promenaded there, displaying their gorgeous clothes and hailing those whom they wished to have known as their acquaintances. If a gallant's cash were at low ebb, he loitered there, hoping for an invitation to dinner. If he had had a dinner, he often came back for another stroll in the afternoon. At one pillar he would find lawyers standing; at another, serving men seeking employment; at still another, public secretaries. Here one could learn anything from the latest fashion to the latest political scandal. Meanwhile, divine worship might be going on in the chancel, unobserved unless some fop wished to make himself conspicuous by joking with the choir boys. Thus St. Paul's was a school of life invaluable to the dramatist. We know that Ben Jonson learned much there, and we can hardly doubt that Shakespeare did likewise.

  The Taverns.—Another center of London life was the tavern. The man who would now lunch at his club then dined at an 'ordinary,' a table d'hôte in some tavern. Men dined at noon, and then sat on over their wine, smoking or playing at cards or dice. In the evening one could always find there music and good company. One tradition of Shakespeare tells of his evenings at the Mermaid tavern. "Many were the wit-combates," writes Fuller, "betwixt him [Shakespeare] and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish great gallion, and an English man of War; Master Jonson (like the former) was built far higher in Learning; Solid, but Slow in his performances. Shake-spear, with the English man-of-War, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his Wit and Invention." Francis Beaumont, the dramatist, wrote the following verses to Ben Jonson:—

  "What things have we seen

  Done at the Mermaid, heard words that have been

  So nimble, and so full of subtle flame,

  As if everyone from whence they came

  Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest,

  And had resolved to live a fool the rest

  Of his dull life; then when there hath been thrown

  Wit able enough to justify the town

  For three days past; wit that might warrant be

  For the whole city to talk foolishly

  Till that were cancelled; and when that was gone,

  We left an air behind us, which alone

  Was able to make the two next companies

  (Right witty, though but downright fools) more wise."

  At the Theater.—Having dined, the Elizabethan gentleman often visited one of the numerous bookshops, or else went to the theater, perhaps to the Globe. In the latter case, since this theater was on the south bank of the Thames, he was most likely to cross the river by boat. A flag, floating from a turret over the theater, announced a performance there. The prices paid for admission varied, but the regular price for entrance to the Globe seems to have been a penny (about fifteen cents in the money of to-day). This, however, gave one only the right to stand in the pit or, perhaps, to sit in the top gallery. For a box the price was probably a shilling (equivalent to two dollars), the poorer seats costing less. At the aristocratic Blackfriars, sixpence (one dollar) was the lowest price. At this theater, the most fashionable occupied seats on the stage, where they were at once extremely conspicuous and in the way of the actors; but this custom probably did not spread to the Globe before 1603. At the Blackfriars, too, one could have a seat in the pit, while at the Globe the pit was filled with a standing, jostling crowd of apprentices and riffraff. In the theater every one was talking, laughing, smoking, buying oranges, nuts, wine, or cheap books from shouting venders, just as is done in some music halls to-day. Once the trumpet had sounded for the third time, indicating the beginning of the performance, a reasonable degree of quiet was restored, until a pause in the action let the uproar burst forth anew. At an Elizabethan theater there were no pauses for shifting scenes. Consequently the few introduced were determined either by convention or by breaks in the action. At the Blackfriars and more aristocratic theaters, there was music between the acts, but at the Globe this was not customary until a comparatively late date, if ever.

  An audience like that at the Globe, made up of all sorts and conditions of men from the highest nobility to the lowest criminal, was, quite naturally, not easy to please as a whole. Yet, after all, the Elizabethans were less critical in some respects than we are. Although many comparatively cheap books were published, reading had not then become a habit, and a good plot was not the less appreciated because it was old. The audiences did, however, demand constant variety, so that plays had short runs, and most dramatists were forced to pay more attention to quantity than to quality of production. The playwrights had, nevertheless, one great advantage over ours. Since the performances were given in the afternoon, and since theaters like the Globe were open to the weather, these men wrote for audiences which were fresh and wide-awake, ready to receive the best which the dramatist had to give.

  It was under such conditions as these that Shakespeare worked. He wrote for all classes of people, men bound together, nevertheless, by a common enthusiasm for England's past and a common confidence in England's future; men who were constantly coming in contact with persons from all parts of Europe, with sailors and travelers who had seen the wonders of the New World and the Old; men so stimulated by new discoveries, by new achievements of every sort, that hardly anything, even the supernatural, seemed for them impossible. Outside of ancient Athens, no dramatist has had a more favorable environment.

  SCENE III. A ROOM IN POLONIUS’ HOUSE.

  Enter Laertes and Ophelia

  Laertes

  My necessaries are embark’d: farewell:

  And, sister, as the winds give benefit

  And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,

  But let me hear from you.

  Ophelia

  Do you doubt that?

  Laertes

  For Hamlet and the trifling of his favour,

  Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood,

  A violet in the youth of primy nature,

  Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,

  The perfume and suppliance of a minute; No more.

  Ophelia

  No more but so?

  Laertes

  Think it no more;

  For nature, crescent, does not grow alone

  In thews and bulk, but, as this temple waxes,

  The inward service of the mind and soul

  Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,

  And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch

  The virtue of his will: but you must fear,

  His greatness weigh’d, his will is not his own;

  For he himself is subject to his birth:

  He may no
t, as unvalued persons do,

  Carve for himself; for on his choice depends

  The safety and health of this whole state;

  And therefore must his choice be circumscribed

  Unto the voice and yielding of that body

  Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you,

  It fits your wisdom so far to believe it

  As he in his particular act and place

  May give his saying deed; which is no further

  Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.

  Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain,

  If with too credent ear you list his songs,

  Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open

  To his unmaster’d importunity.

  Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister,

  And keep you in the rear of your affection,

  Out of the shot and danger of desire.

  The chariest maid is prodigal enough,

  If she unmask her beauty to the moon:

  Virtue itself ’scapes not calumnious strokes:

  The canker galls the infants of the spring,

  Too oft before their buttons be disclosed,

  And in the morn and liquid dew of youth

  Contagious blastments are most imminent.

  Be wary then; best safety lies in fear:

  Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.

  Ophelia

  I shall the effect of this good lesson keep,

  As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,

  Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,

  Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;

  Whiles, like a puff’d and reckless libertine,

  Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,

  And recks not his own rede.

  Laertes

  O, fear me not.

  I stay too long: but here my father comes.