Читать книгу Philip Massinger - Alfred Hamilton Cruickshank - Страница 5

Briefly thus then,

Since I must speak for all—your tyranny

Drew us from our obedience. Happy those times

When lords were styled fathers of families,

And not imperious masters! when they number'd

Their servants almost equal with their sons,

Or one degree beneath them! when their labours

Were cherish'd and rewarded, and a period

Set to their sufferings; when they did not press

Their duties or their wills, beyond the power

And strength of their performance! all things order'd

With such decorum, as wise lawmakers

From each well-govern'd private house deriv'd

The perfect model of a Commonwealth.

Humanity then lodged in the hearts of men,

And thankful masters carefully provided

For creatures wanting reason. The noble horse

That, in his fiery youth, from his wide nostrils

Neigh'd courage to his rider, and brake through

Groves of opposed pikes, bearing his lord

Safe to triumphant victory, old or wounded,

Was set at liberty and freed from service.

The Athenian mules that from the quarry drew

Marble, hew'd for the temples of the gods,

The great work ended, were dismiss'd and fed

At the public cost; nay, faithful dogs have found

Their sepulchres; but man to man more cruel,

Appoints no end to the sufferings of his slave;

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Since pride stepp'd in and riot, and o'erturned

This goodly frame of concord, teaching masters

To glory in the abuse of such as are

Brought under their command; who grown unuseful,

Are less esteem'd than beasts. This you have practis'd,

Practis'd on us with rigour; this hath forced us

To shake our heavy yokes off; and, if redress

Of these just grievances be not granted us,

We'll right ourselves, and by strong hand defend

What we are now possess'd of.125

In a lower key of manly dignity is the speech of Charalois before the Judges in The Fatal Dowry. It begins thus:

Thus low my duty

Answers your lordships' counsel. I will use,

In the few words with which I am to trouble

Your lordships' ears the temper that you wish me;

Not that I fear to speak my thoughts as loud,

And with a liberty beyond Romont;

But that I know, for me that am made up

Of all that's wretched, so to haste my end,

Would seem to most rather a willingness

To quit the burden of a hopeless life

Than scorn of death or duty to the dead.126

As an example of a high-spirited passage, a speech may be given from The Bondman. Cleora, the heroine, comes forward in a meeting of the Senate to urge patriotic effort on her fellow-countrymen. Timoleon, the general, is in the chair, and she addresses him first:

Cleora. If a virgin,

Whose speech was ever yet ushered with fear;

One knowing modesty and humble silence

To be the choicest ornaments of our sex

In the presence of so many reverend men,

Struck dumb with terror and astonishment,

Presume to clothe her thought in vocal sounds,

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Let her find pardon. First to you, great sir,

A bashful maid's thanks, and her zealous prayers,

Wing'd with pure innocence, bearing them to heaven,

For all prosperity that the gods can give

To one whose piety must exact their care,

Thus low I offer.

Timoleon. 'Tis a happy omen.

Rise, blest one, and speak boldly. On my virtue

I am thy warrant, from so clear a spring

Sweet rivers ever flow.

Cleora. Then thus to you,

My noble father, and these lords, to whom

I next owe duty; no respect forgotten

To you my brother, and these bold young men

(Such I would have them) that are, or should be,

The city's sword and target of defence,

To all of you I speak; and if a blush

Steal on my cheeks, it is shown to reprove

Your paleness, willingly I would not say,

Your cowardice or fear; think you all treasure

Hid in the bowels of the earth, or shipwreck'd

In Neptune's wat'ry kingdom, can hold weight,

When liberty and honour fill one scale,

Triumphant Justice sitting on the beam?

Or dare you but imagine that your gold is

Too dear a salary for such as hazard

Their blood and lives in your defence? For me,

An ignorant girl, bear witness! heaven, so far

I prize a soldier, that to give him pay,

With such devotion as our flamens offer

Their sacrifices at the holy altar,

I do lay down these jewels, will make sale

Of my superfluous wardrobe, to supply

The meanest of their wants.127

This passage is printed in a broadside (headed “Countrymen”) relating to the expected invasion of England by Bonaparte, to be found at the British Museum. A short [pg 038] statement of the plot of The Bondman is followed by a quotation of Act I., 3, 213–368, with one or two slight omissions. Possibly Gifford inspired its publication.

Perhaps the most eloquent passage in Massinger is the speech of Paris, the Roman actor, before the Senate, in defence of his profession:

Aretinus. Are you on the stage,

You talk so boldly?

Paris. The whole world being one,

This place is not exempted; and I am

So confident in the justice of our cause,

That I would wish Cæsar, in whose great name

All kings are comprehended, sate as judge

To hear our plea, and then determine of us.

If to express a man sold to his lusts,

Wasting the treasure of his time and fortunes

In wanton dalliance, and to what sad end

A wretch that's so given over does arrive at;

Deterring careless youth by his example,

From such licentious courses; laying open

The snares of bawds, and the consuming arts

Of prodigal strumpets, can deserve reproof;

Why are not all your golden principles

Writ down by grave philosophers to instruct us,

To choose fair virtue for our guide, not pleasure,

Condemn'd unto the fire?

Sura. There's spirit in this.

Paris. Or if desire of honour was the base

On which the building of the Roman empire

Was raised up to this height; if, to inflame

The noble youth with an ambitious heat

T'endure the frosts of danger, nay, of death,

To be thought worthy the triumphal wreath,

By glorious undertakings, may deserve

Reward, or favour from the commonwealth;

Actors may put in for as large a share

As all the sects of the philosophers;

They with cold precepts (perhaps seldom read)

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Deliver, what an honourable thing

The active virtue is; but does that fire

The blood, or swell the veins with emulation,

To be both good and great, equal to that

Which is presented in our theatres?

Let a good actor, in a lofty scene,

Show great Alcides honour'd in the sweat

Of his twelve labours; or a bold Camillus

Forbidding Rome to be redeem'd with gold

From the insulting Gauls; or Scipio,

After his victories, imposing tribute

On conquer'd Carthage; if done to the life,

As if they saw their dangers, and their glories,

And did partake with them in their rewards,

All that have any spark of Roman in them,

The slothful arts laid by, contend to be

Like those they see presented.

Rusticus. He has put

The consuls to their whisper.

Paris. But, 'tis urged

That we corrupt youth and traduce superiors.

When do we bring a vice upon the stage,

That does go off unpunish'd? Do we teach,

By the success of wicked undertakings,

Others to tread in their forbidden steps?

We shew no arts of Lydian panderism,

Corinthian poisons, Persian flatteries,

But mulcted so in the conclusion, that

Even those spectators that were so inclined,

Go home changed men. And for traducing such

That are above us, publishing to the world

Their secret crimes, we are as innocent

As such as are born dumb. When we present

An heir, that does conspire against the life

Of his dear parent, numbering every hour

He lives, as tedious to him; if there be,

Among the auditors, one whose conscience tells him

He is of the same mould, we cannot help it.

Or, bringing on the stage a loose adulteress,

That does maintain the riotous expense

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Of him that feeds her greedy lust, yet suffers

The lawful pledges of a former bed

To starve the while for hunger; if a matron

However great in fortune, birth, or titles,

Guilty of such a foul, unnatural sin,

Cry out 'tis writ for me, we cannot help it.

Or when a covetous man's express'd, whose wealth

Arithmetic cannot number, and whose lordships

A falcon in one day cannot fly over;

Yet he so sordid in his mind, so griping,

As not to afford himself the necessaries

To maintain life; if a patrician

(Though honour'd with a consulship) find himself

Touch'd to the quick in this, we cannot help it.

Or, when we shew a judge that is corrupt,

And will give up his sentence, as he favours

The person, not the cause; saving the guilty,

If of his faction, and as oft condemning

The innocent, out of particular spleen;

If any in this reverend assembly,

Nay, even yourself, my lord, that are the image

Of absent Cæsar, feel something in your bosom

That puts you in remembrance of things past,

Or things intended, 'tis not in us to help it.

I have said, my lord; and now as you find cause,

Or censure us, or free us with applause.128

I will quote three more passages: one to show how lifelike in description Massinger can be; the second, to show how he can ennoble the expression of love; the third, to show how tender he is at his best.

The first is from The Maid of Honour. A soldier comes in with news for the besieged general, who is standing on the walls of Siena, looking for aid from his friends:

Enter a Soldier.

Ferdinand. What news with thee?

Soldier. From the turret of the fort,

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By the rising clouds of dust, through which, like lightning

The splendour of bright arms sometimes brake through,

I did descry some forces making towards us;

And from the camp, as emulous of their glory,

The general, for I know him by his horse,

And bravely seconded, encounter'd them.

Their greetings were too rough for friends; their swords,

And not their tongues, exchanging courtesies.

By this the main battalias are join'd;

And if you please to be spectators of

The horrid issue, I will bring you where,

As in a theatre, you may see their fates

In purple gore presented.129

The second is from The Duke of Milan, where Marcelia expresses her love for her lord, Sforza, the Duke of Milan.

Marcelia. My worthiest lord!

The only object I behold with pleasure,

My pride, my glory, in a word, my all!

Bear witness, heaven, that I esteem myself

In nothing worthy of the meanest praise

You can bestow, unless it be in this,

That in my heart, I love and honour you.

And, but that it would smell of arrogance

To speak my strong desire and zeal to serve you,

I then could say, these eyes yet never saw

The rising sun, but that my vows and prayers

Were sent to heaven for the prosperity

And safety of my lord, nor have I ever

Had other study, but how to appear

Worthy your favour; and that my embraces

Might yield a fruitful harvest of content

For all your noble travail, in the purchase

Of her that's still your servant; by these lips,

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Which pardon me that I presume to kiss——

Sforza. O swear, for ever swear!

Marcelia. I ne'er will seek

Delight but in your pleasure; and desire,

When you are sated130 with all earthly glories,

And age and honours make you fit for heaven,

That one grave may receive us.

The third is from A Very Woman; the disguised John Antonio is telling his story at Almira's request:

Not far from where my father lives, a lady,

A neighbour by, blest with as great a beauty

As nature durst bestow without undoing,

Dwelt, and most happily, as I thought then,

And bless'd the house a thousand times she dwelt in.

This beauty, in the blossom of my youth,

When my first fire felt no adulterate incense,

Nor I no way to flatter, but my fondness;

In all the bravery my friends could show me,

In all the faith my innocence could give me,

In the best language my true tongue could tell me,

And all the broken sighs my sick heart lend me,

I sued and serv'd; long did I love this lady,

Long was my travail, long my trade to win her;

With all the duty of my soul I serv'd her.131

At times the poet rises to what is not far removed from inspiration; and such lines as the following from The Parliament of Love make good the claim of English to be the imperial language of the world. King Charles seeks to justify the honours which he, the “most Christian king,” gives to the statue of Cupid; he then continues thus:

Charles. 'Tis rather to instruct deceived mankind,

How much pure love that has his birth in heaven,

And scorns to be received a guest, but in

A noble heart prepared to entertain him,

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Is by the gross misprision of weak men,

Abused and injured. That celestial fire,

Which hieroglyphically is described

In this his bow, his quiver, and his torch,

First warm'd their bloods, and after gave a name

To the old heroic spirits; such as Orpheus,

That drew men, differing little then from beasts,

To civil government; or famed Alcides

The tyrant-queller, that refused the plain

And easy path leading to vicious pleasures,

And ending in a precipice deep as hell,

To scale the rugged cliffs on whose firm top

Virtue and Honour, crown'd with wreaths of stars,

Did sit triumphant.132

But there is another characteristic of Massinger's style and that perhaps more obvious still; it is full of courtliness and grace. A perusal of The City Madam, where the subject is the absurdity of the ladies of the Mansion House who ape the manners of the West End, suggests the question whether Massinger was ever attached to the Court. We do not know. He must, at any rate, have moved amongst refined and educated people. Napoléon said that Corneille's plays ought to be performed to an audience of ambassadors and ministers of state;133 in the same way, in reading Massinger, we feel that we are moving freely in the palaces of the great. There is comparatively little here of dialect134 or low life; we are at once taken up [pg 044] into high life with all its virtues and its faults. The kings and courtiers behave and express themselves as we should expect them to do; the politeness and the compliments which we hear on every side have the merit of being entirely natural. And if there is little to remind us of Dickens, there is still less to recall Thackeray. There is no air of snobbishness; such is the dexterity of our author that we do not feel like Jeames Yellowplush, that we are awkward menials watching the doings of the titled and the great. Not only do the characters move with an inborn grace which is free from self-analysis and self-contempt, but they take the audience up into their company; and as the gallants of that era used sometimes to sit upon the stage, close among the actors,135 so in reading Massinger we feel that we are unconsciously present at the scenes he portrays.

This is as much as to say that the stage of those days responded to a real and living need in the minds of the audience; there was nothing exotic or artificial about it, as there seems to have been about our plays ever since the Puritans turned things upside down. It will be said [pg 045] that this enchanted atmosphere belongs to all the greater playwrights of the age alike. And this is true; it is one of the secrets of their abiding charm. Brander Matthews, in dealing with the unreality of Massinger's atmosphere, says that “some of Shakspere's most delightful plays, The Merchant of Venice for one, and Much Ado for another, are charming to us now only because we are quite willing to make believe with the poet” (op. cit., p. 311). And so, when Leslie Stephen asks if we are “invigorated” by the perusal of Massinger's plays,136 I reply to that apostle of common sense that I am not only charmed and delighted, but invigorated. And why? Because I am admitted to a world of heroism and romance.

But may we not put the matter more broadly still? When we read the Cavalier lyrics of Suckling, Herrick, and Lovelace, when we think of Falkland, when we stand before the portraits of Vandyck, do we not feel that modern England was in danger until lately of losing something? There is an aroma there of chivalry which had almost faded from our ken. And yet there is an element in our shy and dumb English nature to which this atmosphere is congenial, however overgrown with money-making our minds had seemed to be. Nor, as the student of history knows well, had the Puritans in the Civil War the monopoly of religion and duty. Indeed, the Civil War was a true tragedy, because both sides had right, both fought and bled for what they believed to be [pg 046] the truth. To-day, in spite of our many domestic discords, no party spirit discounts the gallant deeds of which we have read daily, and of which of necessity only a fraction has been publicly rewarded. Perhaps the flame of romance will breathe once more in our midst, now the War is over, purified by suffering, and quickened by the memory of those serene yet manly spirits whom we have lost on the battlefield, whose departure in the dayspring of life seems, as it were, to have extinguished so many stars in the vault of heaven. They put aside the calls of culture and pleasure, and the natural ambition to do something in the world before they were abolished by death. They have willingly given for their country all that they had; they have given themselves. If we remember their devotion with gratitude it may purify us from the commonplace, the vulgar, and the selfish. They, at any rate, can address the power of evil, which for the moment seemed to triumph, in the words of Dorothea: