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The influence of Marlowe on Shakespeare Mawdsley, Mary Dorothy 1927

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The I n f l u e n c e of Marlowe on Shakespeare by M.D.Mawdsly o 0 0 An Essay submitted for the Degree of Master of Arts, in the Department of English. 0 0 o Table of contents. - o -I. State of the Drama when Marlowe began to write. li. rhe Doubtful Plays. ixi. General Tendency of Marlowe's Drama...Homantic Tragedy. IV. Uew Conception of Tragedy.. .The Heroic Personalit,.;. V. The Machiavellian Element. VI. Conscience as a i'actor, VII. The Weakling as a Hero. ^ 1 1 1 » Unity, IX. Seriousness. X. The Chronicle History. II. Use of Historical Material. XII. Blank Verse. XIII. Bombast, XIV. Lyrical Qualities. XV. Conclusion. 0 0 0 1 The State of the Drama when Marlowe began to write. llie aim of this essay is to determine the nature and extent of the influence exerted by Marlowe on the drama-tic work of Shakespeare. Obviously the first step will be to examine the condition of the drama when Marlowe began to write in order that the changes in form and manner of ex-pression which Marlowe inaugurated may later be appreciated, 1 brief surypry of the condition of the drama at the beg-inning of the Elizabethan period will accordingly be attempt-ed in this section. The English drama had its origin in the dramatic 1 elements of the ohmtch service. S'rom a few words inter-polated into the liturgy on festival days rose the miracle plays and these rapidly passed from the church into the hands of the trade guilds, under their management the plays arranged themselves in cycles representing the J3ib-lical course of events from creation to judgment. ITie aanliest tropes of which we have any record date back to the ninth century: the developroent in the church began prob-ably about the middle of the 11th century and did not ex-tend beyond the middle of the l^ t^h. At that date the mir-1. 'i,*he material of this section is mostly based on the early chapters in Sohelling's English Drama. 2. acle playa began to be played by the craft guilds, xhe non-ijiblioal elements in the plays in turn gave rise to the jvlar-alitiie which showed greater originality in construction, but were characterised only by allegorical abstractions. By the Blizabethan period the miracle plays had ceased. Mor-alities, however, continued to be produced, and a new incen-tive was given to the use of the drama for moral purposes by the Keformaticn in England, in the later moralities, and in some of the abstract figures inserted in the first plays whose characters hovered on the borderland between abstract-ions and real personnages, this propogandist note is felt. In Bale's Eling Johan. for instance, there is a tendency to confuse the characters with moral abstractions and by making John a defender of protestantism against the oppression of Rome to convert the whole into a didactic treatise, i'he prs-oocupation with religious questions which was a feature of the fienaissance caused a sporadic continuance of the form up to the time of Shakespeare, The influence of the Court on iSlizabethan drama was also considerable. Queen iilizabeth was passionately fond of elaborate ceremonies and theatrical displays, i'he court accordingly baoEune the centre of many pageants and masques wnich though performed at court all contributed something to the stage technique of the popular theatre, for while 3. not in themselves drama, they contained dramatic elements, and as no expense was spared in the lavishness of their production they contributed new ideas to the popular plays which were, of necessity, more simply staged, The court plays were also much affected by class-ical influence, 'fhis arose from the interest in the plays of Seneca, "His heightened style, his moralising, his lofty commonplaces unctuously expressed, even his sensationalism, his blood and terror, all fell in naturally with the temper of the young romantic age. While his professional manner, show of technique, his conventional verse and rhetoric, equally suited the time." "^  Grorboduc (1562) was the first play written xmder Senecan influence and ov;ing to this in-fluence it was a tragedy in form, the first written in Eng-lish. I'he theme, it is true, was English, but it was sel-ected owing to its resemblance to Senecan themes, 'i'o this class belong such plays as Gascoigne' s iJocagta (1566.) and Thomas Hughes' ITie Misfortunes of Arthur (158V.) Classical influence also early affected iiinglish comedy, xhe first comedy was doubtless Halph Roister Doister by Liicholas Udall which was intended for school production to replace the latin plays of I'lautus which it had been customary to give. A later Italian influence was soon felt. Gasooigne's Supposes acted in 1566 was the 1. Schelling - JSng. jjrama. p. 41. 4. ''tne first Buooeeeful adaptation of an Italian oomody and the earliest example of a play written throughout in £;ng-lish prose."^ jtiyly continued the type; he was a born courtier and bis \vor<8 contain many aliegrorloal regerenoes to isllaabeth and events in court oiroles. ^^ efore j^ mrlowe began to write, lyly had already written such plays as MSSfiftESSL* JSndlaion. and Sapho and Phao. h.e introduced into his plays the interest of a oomposite plot but paid little attention to the oonneoting of the various stories which would have resulted in unity, he wrote his comedies alter itesooigne 8 example in prose which he employed with great eleganoe. <jreorge Peele also cjompeted with I«yly ia tne writ-ing of court comedy. Peele, howavar, was essentially a poet and the success of his dramas v.-as largely dependent on the gracefulness of the poetry in wnich they were devel-opsd. aia Arraignment of raris belongs to this period, £he later work oi Peele was written for tne popular play-houses where he sotight to compete with jkiarlowe though the nature of his genius did not permit him to eclipse the work of his rival in popular favour, iSie plays of the popular theatres were naturally less dominated by laws of dramatic construction than those produced at the inns of uourt. ne find here an indigenous X* Ibid p. 43. 5. form in the Ghroniole jaistory which was inspired by the patriotic feeling of the age and deTeloped its theme in the epic manner without regard to dramatic construction. Its aim was to depict the events of national history and it did this hy recounting at random all the incidants of a certain period, regardless of their coherence. As had been the ease in the early miracle plays, moreover, a comic •lement, purely fictitious and unrelated to the main theme, was super-imposed on the historical material. I'he "earl-iest and rudest of the chronicle plays" was The Famous yiotories of Henry Y which Shakespeare later remodelled, and it was to this class that Peele later contributed his iiidward I The Senecan influence which was so pronounced in the court theatre was also felt in the popular playhouses, i^o this class belongs the anonymous play Loorine, and a more modem Italian influence contributed to the production of Tanored and Gismunda which had appeared earlier in the inns of Court but was re-written for the popular sta^e in 1591. Mediaeval heroic romances also contributed mat-erial to the stage. iiSxamples of this are air Ulspaon and Sir ulamydes and Greene's Orlando I'-urioso. Peeles Old Wives' Tale parodied the type. 1. ibid p. 57. i . 6. i'hese varied influences probably united to prod-uce ityd's bpanish Tragedy, the date ot which is uncertain, but which certainly appeared early in Marlowe's career if not before he began to write. lilancing over the field, then, we notice that the oourt plays were much under Italian influanoe, derived both from Beneca and from the later romantic plays of Italy, i'ha greatest writer of court plays was undoubtedly Lyly who improved upon the drsimatic structure of his predecessors. In the public theatres the same influence was also felt, but the popular movement was, as might be expected, away from rule to the development of an indig-enous type, i'hls was the chronicle history which exem-plified the uncertainty of ionn which was a general feat-ure of the popular drama, ihere was a lack of coherence in construction, and moreover, no attempt was made to keep comedy and tragedy as distinct types but the two were mingled without discrimination in the same play. xhe same uncertainty that governed the const-ruction of these plays was evinced in the style in wlich they were written. »e have seen that uasceigne and Lyly used prose for their comedies, 'jUie older custom had been to use what is known as the »hymed fourteener of which the following is a typical example: 7. ky counsaile grave and sapient with Lords of legall traine Attentive ears towards me bend and mark what shall be sain. (Gambyses.) xhe lines contained seven feet, and rhymed in couplets, I'he Seneoan plays, however, beginning with Gorboduo ware writ-ten in blank verse. jJhis form which was still composed with great rigidity gave as yet no evidence of the possibility for subtle variation which it later revealed, no one form had therefore shown any teadency to supersede the other, but all three existed side by side and sometimes mingled in the same play, xhe hand of a genius was required to bring decision to the form of the drama, and determine the style in wnich it should be written, I'hat genius was found in Christopher Marlowe, o 0 0 8. 11, The Doubtful Plays. i>efore discussing in detail the nature of the relationship between Marlowe and Shakespeare, it is necess-ary to define the limits of our comparison. iTie way to establish satisfactory evidence is, obviously, to deal only with plays to which the authorship of bhakespeare and Mar-lowe has been definitely established, ii'or the purposes of tiiia essay, therefore, we will ignore the so-called 'doubt-ful plays' - that is, plays in whioh the responsibility of authorship has not been satisfactorily proved, ihere are certain plays generally assigned to Shakespeare which are thought by some not to be his, or at least not his alone; there are plays in which it is thought that Shakespeare and Marlowe collaborated; and, lastly, there is a third class of play assigned to Marlowe on insufficient evidence; all of which therefore will not enter into the discussion, it is perhaps as well, however, to indicate what these plays are, so that the legitimate basis of our investigations may be revealed, jj'irst, then, must be considered x'itus Andronicus. 1 i'-leay thinks this may be by Marlowe and the assumption derives some probability both from the style and subject matter of the play, if not Marlowe s but Shakespeare's 1. Chronicle of the ii^ ng. Drama, vol. li, p. 64. 9, then it may be said to have heen written under strong iuar-lovian influence for the theme is one that would have appealed very muoh to him. it is full of horrors, and the titulary hero dominates its every page. Again it has been maintained that the old play on which ahakespeare based his i'aming of the Shrew was writ-1 ten by Marlowe, It would seem difficult to credit Mar-lowe with the humorous passages so foreign to his genius. i'lext may be considered the nenry vl trilogy, i'he play on which 1 iienry Vi is based has been lost, but it was possibly by ^ireene. it has been thought that his ill natured comments on ohakespeare may have been provoked by 2 the latter* s use of his play, xiOwever as cschelling points out the wars of xork and Lancaster were the subject Of a great popular interest at that time and inrevising these plays for the stage, kihakespeare was merely following a general practice, ihe plays take their place in the historical cycle which beginning with Mng john.^ goes on to its culminating point in Henry vx.i.i so that they have an integral part in the weries. Vie are fortunately poss-essed of the plays on which aenry vi Parts 2 and 3 were based, ihe first of these is called " The i-irst Part 1. ward p. 358, 2. wusserand - A Literary Hist., vol, IXA, p. 186, note, 3. Sohelling f Ohronicle Play, pp. 74-97, 10. of the Contention betv/ixt the two famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster ..•. with the Notable Rebellion of Jack Cade" and ariceared in 1594: the third part v/as based on "The true trageiie of Richard Dute of Yorke .... with the whole con-tention betweene the two bouses of Lancaster and Yorke" and apT)eared in 1695. In these plays there is no attempt at dram-atic unity except such as is secured by successive treatment of the same characters in the different plays, and in the vilefioation of the character of Joan of Arc, the historic method is frankly abandoned from lov,' motives of national pre-judice. It has been thought that Marlowe had a hand either in the wri"':in? or the revision of tbep.e plays. W^iethe^ this is so or not, it does seem undeniable that Shakespeare h&i ^ large part in the revision. Richard III seems to follow directly upon 5 Henry ¥1, and Shakespeare would not be likely to make his play fit so closely in a sequence altogether by another hand. Moreover Shal®speare's hand appears to be indicated by the nature of the alterations made in 2 and 3 Henry YI from the parallel passages In the older plays. Schelllng would give Shakespeare only isolated scenes in 1 Henry ¥1 such as would probably be assigned to ''a young 1 and yet untried hand," and give him a larger share in the two later plays. Just how great a hand Marlowe had in the plays 1. Schelling - Chronicle Play, p, 84. 11 it is wqually hard to determine. We feel that Shakespeare shows himself greatly under Marlowe's influence in Hichard III and _II, and it is possible that the earlier collabor-ation of the authors may have been partly responsible for the influence so undoubtedly sustained by Shakespeare. !Cwo other historical plays have been the subject of oonsiderable discussion. Shakespeare's King John is based upon two older plays - one of which, llie Troublesome Haigne of Kin^ John has been sometimes attributed to Mar-2 lowe, and even to Shakespeare himself. The play is not divided into acts and thescenes follow without coherence. The minor charcoters are not sketched with any distinctness except for the Bastard Faulconbridge whom Shakespeare took over making the most of the character indications given in the older play. The incidents are practically the same in both plays. It is of interest to note the frequent quoting of latin tags, so similar to the customary practice of Marlowe. Another play of considerable literary interest is Jjldward III. It contains a romantic episode of Edward Ill's love for the beautiful Countess of Salisbury which has been assigned by many to Shakespeare on account of its vigorous portraiture. iTleay conjectures that Marlowe wrote the play 1. Ward, p. 222 12. from holinshed and that Shakespeare inserted the stoiy of the countess. Besides these plays in which the hands of Marlowe and of Shakespeare are variously seen, there are five plays sometimes attributed to Marlowe in addition to those com-monly admitted to be his, The first of these is Iocrine» Ward considers that the style alone would prove this imposs-ible. The next is Lust's Dominion. Marlowe's share in the authorship of this play would seem to be sufficiently dis-proved by the mention of the death in Act I of Philip II of Spain who did not die till five years after its supposed author, Marlowe is also believed to have had a hand in ighe Alarum for London, or Siese of Antwerp which was probably the work of Marston, perhaps under Shakespeare's supervision, ghe Maiden's Holiday was entered on the Stationer's Hegister in 1564 as by Marlowe and Day, We know, however, that var-ious reasons influenced the Elizabethan printer in placing an author's name on the title page, and we cannot therefore assign full confidence to that alone. S*he play has been lost, being destroyed by Warburton's cook, i'inally, is'leay would make Marlowe the author of The True History of George Soanderba^e on the strength of an ill-natured reference by Gabriel harvey. One of i'leay's main arguments for assign-ing these various plays to Marlowe appears to be that giving 13. Marlowe the same rate of production that holds in Shakes-peare's case, he ought to have produced two plays a year, and in reality we have only seven plays "by his hand, The arg-ument, to say the least of it, is unconvincing. Wone of these plays therefore will be considered in tracing the influence of Marlowe on Shakespeare* Ho con-olusions based on such insufficiently authenticated author-ship could be of value. The plays that we can definitely ascribe to Marlowe ara; 1. Xamburlaine the Great, Part I of which appeared in 1587 and was published in 1590. Patt II appeared directly after the first part. E. S)he Trv.gicall History of Doctor fauatuB. about 1588- published 1604. 3. Ihe Jew of Malta, after 1588 - published 1633. 4. Edward II. enterea on the Stationer^ Hegister 1593. ITiere are also two plays of inf-erior merit; Dhe Massaore at Paris, and The Dra^edy of Dido, which last may have been an earlier work and was apparently finished by i'homas Nashe. It will be by examining these plays that conclusions will be drawn as to the characteris-tics of Marlowe s drama. An examination of Shakespeare's earlier plays will then be attempted to see in what res-pects they partake of these characteristics. o 0 0 14. Ill, General x'endency of Marlowe's Drama - xiomantio Tragedy. The first step in our consideration of the relation-ship between Marlowe and i>ha^ respeare will obviously he to examine the general tendency of Marlowe's drama and see whether jihaiceepeare's plays usually followed the same trend. As we have seen there was great confusion both in atyle and form of the drama when Marlowe began to write. Marlowe s forcible nature constantly shows itself, and no-where more than in the decided fashion in which he dealt with tne problem, ae decided at once and very definitely to fol-low the Seneoan style of blank verse, and the influence he thus exerted on the style of succeeding dramatists will be dealt with in a later section. In form, however, he seemed to prefer the romantic tragedy to that in the Seneoan trad-ition. One way in which Marlowe shows this freedom from classical tradition is in his choice of subjects. It has already been remarked that the first English benecan play was not based upon a claseical storj^. Gorboduc dealt with Boglish legendary characters, but the choice of theme as we have remarked was dictated by the resemblance of tne story to tne tales of the classic modils. Marlowe made no effort to deal with classical themes but snowed tne greatest free-dom in his choice of subjects, in his first play, 2aabur-ft 16. laiae. he found his material in iioslem t;radition; I'he jew of toalta and Doctor Ji'austus represent a still greater divergence from type, i^ either iiarabas nor ii-austus belonged to the class of princes from wnich alone classic tradition selected the tragic hero. Barabas was a member of a down trodden and des-pised race; jj'austus, a studast in a lierman university, i'he great originality whown in choice of theme is therefore at once obvious. In .adward ii Marlowe once more shows his free-dom from classic tradition by going back to the subject matter of the chronicle histories, xhe Massacre at iraris is an original and daring innovation - an attempt to deal in the drama with the contemporary history of a foreign country, in his last play, alone, Marlowe selected a classical theme. x'he fact th .t he could write about classic subjects if he would, makes his avoidance of them the more striking, liiore-ovar wa know that he was given a claswical education and he strews fragments of Latin liberally over nis pages, uis avoidance of classical themes, therefore, was deliberate. i'he drama based on mediaeval romance such as oir , 0 ulymon and air UlamyAea had made two important contributions to stage technique, it had maintained an interest in ser-ious story at a time when the native influence seemed to be directing its attention exclusively to farce, and it had foousaed tne attention upon a heroic personnage."^ ior both 1. iucker ijrooke, p. 59. 16. these reasons it appealed to Marlowe, ne was interested in depic-cing the resolute hero rather than in dealing with the plot interest of the Beneoan play, and hy ehoosing heroic romance as his theme, was ahle to satisfy his preference. Moreover the heroic drama did not concern itself seriously with tragic form, iior was 'i.'amburlaine developed 2 as a tragedy, "it did not,"says nicker ±irooke, "show any claar conception of that wise economy of tragic material wnioh rejects all irrelevant horrors and so manages the rest as to heighten the climactic interest of the close, itiere is here no culminatiim of suspense as the play approaches the inevitable solution of a great problem, rather we fol-low the progress of the mighty conqueror through a suc-cession of breathless glories till arbitrarily the excite-ment drops and the play ends on the lowered key of peaceful marriage or triumphant death." The same attitude governs the ariiangement of material in all Marlowe's other plays except Mward_ii, in Edward II he seems definitely to.have directed his technique to the composition of a tragedy, but in his other plays he is concerned only with the life and death of a resolute hero, nis plays, though constructed on the lines of the chronicle plays, have, however, greate* unity owing to the controlling interest exerted by the pro-«1. Ibid, loG. clt. 17, tagonist, i'hey achieve a sort of tragic unity, therefore, even though plot construction vdth Marlowe has heen sub-servient to interest in the heroic character. And this absorption with the individual is the dominant note of his tragedy. 'X'amburlaine deals with the conqueror whose amazing achievements held the audience breathless: Doctor j'auatus conquered the field of knowledge through the aid of magic: i'he Jew of Malta amassed untold wealth, riven in his best constructed play, Mward 11, Mar-lowe is concerned v/ith the personality of his hero, ihe earlier writers of chronicles would have made the play a succession of unconnected events. Marlowe makes it a pro-found study of weakness of character. It is this concen-tration upon the individTial that made Marlowe develop the psychological note in the drama, and paved the way for the profound study of a human soul wiiich iihakespeare later gave us in Mamlet, liOt only was the romantic drama conoernad with the individual, but it liked to depict the individual subduing overwhelming difficulties, uoth these traits are marked features of the work of Marlowe and illustrate his eman-cipation from aenecan tradition. In Jiidward xi.. indeed, the hero fails to achieve the marvellous for in many respects jsdward jj. represents tendencies not habitual to Marlowe. 18. iet even here, the resolute character of Mortimer satisfies tae same romantic tradition. »»e can sum up, then, by saying first, that Marlowe deliberately chose romantic subjects in preference to class-ical; second, that his handling of plot was in general accord with the loese chronicle manner; and, lastly, that he foc-uaaed his attention on his protagonist to the development of whose character he made the plot subservient, xn all this Shakespeare followed Marlowe's example, lie had not the classical training that Marlowe had received and it is to be expected, therefore, that he would prefer themes drawn from native history or mediaeval romance. A consideration of his work will show that a very small number of his plays were drawn from classical themes: jiinglish themes provided him with fourteen; Mediaeval romance with sixteen, and classical, with seven. This shows conclusively, there-fore, that his general tendency was in the direction of the romantic theme. An examination of the Chronicle histories will show that with the exception of the two written in direct imitation of Marlowe's Edward II there is the loose development of the chronicle play, in this he goes farther than Marlowe, for while we have granted that Marlowe did not consciously aim at tragic form in his earlier plays, he did achieve it to some extent, by means of the unity imposed 19. by the oaHtral character, Shakespeare was more influenced by the careless stinicture of the native plays as might be expected from his less sound classical training, and therefore his histories were more markedly native in form than iwarlowe's. Lastly, Shakespeare, too, was interested in the individual, and this concentration upon character is again foreign to the classical influence, ihe greater ability that Shakespeare possessed in depicting character caused him to go much further along these lines than did Marlowe, so that the psychological motives of his char-acters becamie one of the most absorbing interests of jiis plays, m ail three ways, then, choice of subject, development of plot, and interest in character, Shakespeare followed the same tendencies as Marlowe, and, as we shall see, more or less directly under his influence. Just vifhere tnis influence was exerted, and how far it extended, it will be our purpose to indicate in detail in the succeeding sections of this essay. o 0 o 20. IV.Hew Conception of Tragedy - The Heroic Personality. "Marlowe's choice and treatment of plots seem, indeed, dictr^ ted by a new conception of tragedy, as dealing not merely with a life and death, or a bloody crime or a rever-sal of fortune, but with the heroic struggle of a great per-"sonality doomed to inevitable defeat." iliese words, of Thorndike's may be taxen as a guide for our investigations on this subject. The Senecan plays as we have seen dealt with stories of unnatural crime; the native plays recounted rambling tales of the life and death of the characters who gave their name to the plays. A glance at the plays which had preceded Marlowe will show that none of these dealt with -'the heroic struggle of a great person-ality doomed to inevitable defeat." Marlowe's type of tragedy therefore originated with him. Ldbus examine Marlowe's tragic method, therefore, and then see where, and to what extent ohaJrespeare followed him. Marlowe spent very little effort in describing minor characters, iie was not at all interested in the interplay of character on character, though this is a very important field for the drama, since it is what actually occurs in life, and as the stage pretends to give a representation of life, this method wouH undoubtedly add to the reality of the 1. 'rhomdike - Tragedy, p. 90. Il  ^  2 1 . portrait. Later it became Shakespeare's achievement to show his characters influenced for weal or woe hy those around them, iiis favorite method of depicting character was by developing dramatic contrast, I'hus Cassius and xirutus offset each other: so do ir'rince iial and not spur, or liiehard II and Bolingbroke. j^y developing pairs of characters in this fashion he was enabled to show that one character might affect another and it is by recognising this great principle of life that Shakespeare has left be-hind so many characters v/ho seem so truly alive, and who are sometimes even more familiar to us than those among whom we live. Marlowe, however, used a very different method, ne picked out one leading character, conceived him as dominated by a powerful motive and pictured all the events of his drama as dependent upon that motive, uow, if Marlowe had drawn a character of only ordinary power and surrounded him as we have indicated by characters slightly sketched and important only through their relationship to the hero, he would have succeeded in making that hero stand out in bold relief even as (Julliver among the Lilliputs. iiut this was not enough for Marlowe. His exaggeration is two-fold -not only must the hero be surrounded by pigmies, but he, himself, must be a super-man, not a Gulliver at all tut one of the rao9 «f jir»idingnag. 22. This is by no means an exaggerated picture of his method, and we can readily appreciate that though his picture is hardly credible as a living portraiture, it is vastly impressive - especially if we can be brought to accept the possibility of existence for such a character. 1 shall hope to show later that in his one use of this method, Shakespeare did succeed in making him credible and thus brought the type to its highest possible develop-ment. AS we look at Marlowe's work to-day we can hardly admit that his heroes always are credible. Ite audience of a modern representation of Marlowe's Jew of Malta appar-' 1 ently found the task beyond their power. isut in Mar-lowe' s time few in his audience questioned the matter so closely, xhey acclaimed with enthusiasm these super-men whose insatiable longings were after all the dramatic rep-reseatation of the Kenaissanoe spirit. An age which be-lieved in the power of alchemy and searched for the foim-tain of eternal youth found nothing impossible, xhe avid interest with which such an audience acclaimed Mar-lowe s heroes exerted a powerful effect on the entire tendency of the drama, for an audience which had watched the accomplisliments of xamburlaine and jf'austus would not 1. iilakkwoods, iJec. 22, Yol. 212, pp. 833-4. 23. again admire tragedy of a loss absorbing interest. Hambling narratives of -'life and death", even the absorbing interest of Senecan crime, now had to give way to "the heroic struggle of a great personality doomed to inevitable defeat," -,;ohn Addington Symonds has given the term "L'Amour de 1''impossible" to the overwhelming ambition of Marlowe's heroes, '£la.e leading motive he says is; "the love or lust of unattainable things; beyond the reach of physical force, of sensual faculty, of m&stering will; but not beyond the scope of man's inordinate desire, man's infinite capacity for happiness, man's ever craving thirst for beauty, power, and knowledge."-^ The motive in each play may be thus summed up: in I'amburlaine it is the desire for world power; in faustus. knowledge; in The Jew of Malta, riches; in Mward ii. affec-tion; in Mdo, love, xn the same way, liuise in ihe Massacre at Paris is dominated by ambition. A few quotations will illustrate this dominance of insatiable desire. Tamburlai ne says that he and his men, m conceit bear jsmpisrea on our speares, 2 Affecting thoughts ooequaU. with the cloudes. jiaustus exclaims, U what a world of profit and delight, uf power, of honour,i of omnipotence xs promised to th^ studious ArtizanV All things that mojie betweene the quiet poles ahallie'.'? at my commaund, 3 a, 1. o.a.iiymonds - Shakesp. Predecessors, p. 486. 2, i-amb. 1, I, ii, 260 S. is-austus. 81. E4. The Jew of Malta wishes for, Infinite riches in a little roome. 1 Guise expresses the same inordinate ambition. Set me to scale the high Peramides, And thereon set the Diadem of Fraunce, lie either rend it with my nayles to naught. Or mount the top with my aspiring v/inges, Although my downfall be the deepest hell. 2 It is this intensity of desire which elevates the theme of Marlowe's drama. We can grant that his characters are often monstrous or absurd, but the drama is saved from the sordid or the ridiculous by the grandeur of the emotion by which it is motivated. An examination of the career of Tamburlai ne will serve to show both the monstrous add the absurd. I'ambur-laine boasts, I hold the Pates bound fast in yron chaines. And with my hand turne Fortunes wheel about, And sooner shall the Sun fall from his Spheare, Than Tamburlaine be slaine or ouercome. 3 He carries a king about with him in a cage and yokes others to his chariots; he cuts his arm to show his children how to endure pain and stab, s one of his sons because he is a coward. The death of Zenocrate moves him to a burst of fury; Wliat, is she dead? ,Techelles, draw thy sword. And wound the earth, that it may cleaue in twaine, 1. Jew of Malta. I, i, 72. E, Maasaore at Paris. 100. b. 1 Te-mburlaine. 17 ii, ^ 6^9. ;*• 25. And we disoend into th'infernall vaults, To haile the fatall Sisters hy the haire. And throw them in the triple mote of Hell, For taking hence my faire Zenoorate. 1 And he destroys the town in which she died because it has robbed him of his love. But the end of all this is defeat. With Tamburlaine the defeat comes as death which he cannot avoid with all his bluster, i?or Tamburlaine, the Scourge of God must die. 2 The same general: tendencies might be observed in the careers of Marlowe's other heroes. In what way has ahalcespeare been influenced by this conception of tragedy? In one play he copies the method closely and that is in Richard III. Here we have the same type of protagonist, and his career offers an interesting parallel. Eichard III is dominated by the same overwhelm-ing ambition, and his career Twaa through ss inceedible a series of events as ever marked the caurse of Tamburlaine. Says Jusaerand: "Corpses are brought once more all gory on the stage. If actual beheadings offer difficulties, at least all the preparations are made before us, the last speech of the victim is delivered in our presence, ... the axw falls behind the scenes, and the instant after the head is brought in." 3 And in the end Richard meets the 1. 2 Tamburlaine. II, iii, 3064. 2. 2 Tamburlaine, V, iii, 4641, 3. JusBerand, III, p. 189. *• E6. same defeat that overcame Marlowe's heroes, though here it comes in a |?ashion more alcin to the conclusion of Doctor gaustus than of Tamburlai ne. 'Jamburlaine ' s death is not conceived by Marlowe as a punishment for any laws trans-gressed; the dramatist has exhausted his material, Tambur-laine has blustered his way from one conquest to another and now that the material is exhausted, he must ceatse to be in order that theplay may come to a close, and accord-ingly he dies. Ihe death of 2enocrate might perhaps be regarded as a preparation for 'famburlaine's defeat but Mar-lowe makes no effort to use this scene to that end. It stands as an isolated incident in the midst of Tamburlalne'S achievements, inspires a beautiful lyrical passage, but in no way prepares for tlie catastrophe, in fact, the death of TamburiAine can not be regarded as a catastrophe at all, since there is no conscious art in bringing it about and it merely results from exhaustion of material. In Doctor gaustus Marlowe consciously prepares for the end by developing the growing sense of guilt in i'austus, and the growing horror of his punishment. A few lines quoted from the last scene will serve to show this. The clock strikes eleven and in another hour the devil will come for his soul: g. Ah gaustus, *• Now hast thou but one bare hower to liue. And then thou must be damnd perpetually: 27. Stand stil you euer moouing spheres of heauen, That time may cease, and midnight neuer come: 2hen comes the effective passage from the Amores which Mar-lowe has inserted with unerring ear for harmony and grandeur: 0 lente, lente curite noctis equi: 2he stiarres mooue stil, time runs, the clocke wil strike, 'i'he diuel wil come, and i'austus 'must he damnd. ; Finally in spite of the devil's abjuration he calls three times on Christ: See see where Christs blood streames in the finnament, One drop would saue my sould, halfe a drop, ah my Christ. Ah rend not my heart for naming of my Christ, Yet wil I call on him: oh spare me Luciferi And the measure quickens with the last brief struggle: Ygly hell gape not, come not Lucifer, lie burne my hcokes, ah Mephastophilis. 1 Etien all is over, i^ he students enter to find only the mang-led body from which the fiend has exacted his fearful price. In.the same way Shakespeare prepares us for the death of Hichard. The resolution which has sustained him through-out his career, fails him at the close. We see him exer-cise his devilish power for the last time in his meeting with Queen Elizabeth. (Act lY, Scene iv.) 'iJhen Hatcliffe and Gatesby enter to announce the arrival of Hiohmond's fleet, and Hiohbrd breaks down: ii.Rioh Some light-foot friend post to the inike of aorfolk: Kateliff, thyself, or Catesby; where is he? Gate. Mere, my good lord, K.Hich. Gatesby, fly to the duke. Gate". "I will, my lord, with all convenient haste. 1. Dr. Faustus, 1419, 28. X.Rlch. Hatcliff, come hither. Post to tialisbury; When thou com'st thither, - (To Uatesby) mill, , unmindful villain, nhy stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke? Qat^; I'-irst, mighty liege, tell me your highness' pleasure. What from your G-race I shll deliver to him. K.Rich. Oi true, good Catesby; bid him levy straight ilie greatest strength and power he can make. And meet me suddeiily at Salisbury. Gate. 1 go. Rat, 'ahat, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury? i£.Rioh. why, what womldst thou do there before I go? Rat. Your highness told me I should post before. jsnter Stanley. a. Rich. My mind is chang'd. 1. He has no confidence in his followers nor any in himself. He has not "that alacrity of spirit nor cheer of mind" Z that he was wont to have; he is afflicted by the ghosts of his former victims; till at last he cries out in despair, "0 Ratcliff: I fear, I fear." 3 Mere then Shakespeare drew a typical Mariovian hero; he dominates the play by the immensity of his desires; he performs acts as incredible as those of Tamburlaine's; but in the end Fate is too- much for him and he meets defeat. Finally the catastrophe which ends the play is drawn in a similar manner to that in Doctor Faustus. where Shakespeare succeeds more than Marlowe is in the plausibility ox hia character. Richard 111 has always been and still remains one of the most successful plays for a great actor. Obviously the play of the super-1. JAichard 111, iv, iv, 441 seqq. 2. Ibid, V, iii, 73. 3. Ibid, V, iii, 215. , 29. man offers great possibilities for an actor; the personality of Alleyn must have helped considerably in the impression made by Marlowe's plays, iiut as already indicated, we to-day would refuse to belleye in Marlowe's-heroes. Yet we are still able to believe in iiiehard and to a large extent this is due to the "vigorous colloquialism of his speeches," "In the main;* says iQiorndike," he speaks with a naturalness and directness far greater than was usual in tragic heroes, and the natural-speaking itichard oftan makes plausible and convincing the theatrical and rhetorical villain." o More-over he is surrounded by characters who are not natural and by contrast with these he gains in credibility, jrom the very first, too, he appeals to our sympathy to palliate his crime. It is his deformity, says Kichard, that has made him an outcast from mankind, we cannot withhold our pity as we realise how great has been his incentive to crime, and we feel that such incentive makes possible even such a career as his. Hichard III may therefore, be regarded as the final de-relopment of Marlowe's type of tragedy, it was impossible to ring many changes upon the one-man play. i<'or one thing the type called for a certain sameness of treatment, for another, only a few characters could lend themselves to that form of development, and when these were exhausted 1. ihorndike p. 1B2. 30. the form would have to cease from lack of material, it left, however, one valuable contribution to dramatic fonn which will be dealt with later. o 0 0 31. Y. The Machiavellian ii;leraent, Italy oontrihuted a great deal to the iilizabethan stage, rhis influence was threefold, first through the tieneoan plays, secondly through Italian romantic drama, and lastly through the dtctrines of Machiavelli, and in all three cases one important resalt was the determination of the qharaoter of the stage villain. Accordingly this became one bequest made by the jslizabethan drama to the 1. drama of succeeding times. Seneoan tragedy was largely occupied with tales of Tumatural sin. Apparently islizabethan audiences revelled in scenes of appalling crime and a tragedy to be successful had to end with a stage strewn with ooppses, liesides this inheritance from the drama of Seneca a similar trend was given by the introduction of a more modern Italian influence which added a touch of passionate romance to the same theme of unnatural crime. I'o this class belong such plays as Tanored and Gisrounda. Lastly this phase of the drama v.as further encouraged by a prreat interest in the doctrines of Machiavelli. iaachiavelli died in 1527 and almost immed-iately became regarded in isuropean minds as the incarnation of diabolic cunning, ihe book, il irrincipe which set forth his political convictions circulated widely in i^ urope, 1, xhomdlki p. 510. 32. and its efiect on political morals became immediately evid-ent. Probably one reason why Machiavelli's doctrines spread so rapidly was that they were an adequate expression of a general tendency,towards moral laxness in politics. Obviously a book will not become popular unless it does answer a need of its age, but there is no doubt that Machiavelli-s doctrines intensified this tendency, uourt-hope gives an instance of this, when jLj.ng John of France failed to secure the amount of his ransom, he returned to captivity as the only honourable thing to do. After the spread of the Machiavellian doctrines, a later king of jfrance, rrancia i,^  did not hesitate to break his parole d'honneur. and seek to justify his action, ihis is a strik-ing instance of the influence of Machiavelli. His influ-ence in Jiingland was exemplified by the so-called Italianate Englishman who sought to put into ordinary practice the same principles, since the doctrine of Machiavelli were so wide spread, one would expect to find traces of it in the drama, and especially so since it could easily be incorporated into the theme of the Senecan or romantic plays. At least one play under the name of Itiachiavelli appears in the pages of iienslowe and a niimber of allus-ions to him can be found in the isilizabethan writings, we ^, iiiary pp 1S-I4'-- for 1^91 and hence after Jdarlowe' s play. 33. would expect Marlowe to be fascinated by the subject on account of the opportunity it gave him for the portrailrure of another aspect of virtu, A touch of ikiachiavelli had appeared earlier, however, in one play which we still poss-ess - Kyd-s opaAish gragedy. One of Lorenzo's motives for the slaying of Horatio would 5>ppear to be a desire to com-mit crime for its own sake. This, however, is but a sub-sidiary element in the play. In 'fhe Jew of Malta, Marlowe raises the theme to a dominant place by making his protag-onist the exponent of Machiavellian doctrine, ue believe, therefore, that jiyd first introduced the Machiavellian note in a play which probably preceded !Bhe jew of Malta, but so far as we know, it is to Marlowe that the honoar belongs of drawing the first protagonist dominated by Machiavellian motives. iiefore going further, just what is meant by the Machiavellian note' had better be defined. It seems to be summed up by the twofold idea of crime and duplicity, xhe villain was not only to commit such horrible crimes as were to be included in the play, but he was to glory in doing them; carry out crimes without cause for the pure joy of plotting and giving suffering to others; be without compunction and without remorse. The catastrophe in a tragedy does not pre-suppose 34. a wiclced character who is its cause. Sufficient cause for a catastrophe may often be found in the nature of the cir-cumstance of the protagonist, or in a comjiination of these two. The tragedy of Oedipus Kex. for instance was not precipitated from without, in our own literature, the non-kingly elements of the nature of Richard il are sufficent to explain his downfall without having to regard ±ioling-broke as a villain who precipitates the fall. Jiowever the pcai'-oceupation with crime of jinglish iaeneoan tragedy necessitated a villain who could be responsible for a suffieient number of sudden deaths, murders and suicides to make the theatre a succewsful rival for the bear-baitings and cockfights which would otherwise attract the mult-itude, m the earlier plays, the villain had had a reason for committing his orimes; Porrex slew his brother in order to obtain the crown; I'anored was inspired by a desire to separate (iismunda from her lover. But the Machiavellian villain found a ^oy in the performance of crime quite apart from any benefits to result therefrom. at the commencement of The Jew of Malta, the prologue is spoken by Maohiavelli in person: Albeit the world thinke iaacheuill is dead, xet was his soule but flowne beyond the Alpes, And now the (i-uize is dead, is come from .c'ranQe i'o view this Land, and frolicke with his friends. To some perhaps my name is odious, j5ut such as loue me, gard me from their tongues. 35. And let them know that i am Macheuill, And weigh not men, and therefore notmens words; Admired i am of those that hate me most, though some speaive openly against my bookes, xet will they reade me, and thereby attaine To Peters Ohayre: And when they east me off, , Are poyson'd by my oliming followers. I count religion but a childish I'oy, And hold there is no sinne bjit xgnorance. ise are told with no uncertainty that the protagonist is to resemble Machiavelli in character: I craue but this, Grrace him as he deserues. And let him not be entertain d the worse Jiecsase he fauours me. Having spoken the prologue, Machiavelli then leaves the stage to Barabas who proceeds to carry out the twofold role of crime and duplicity, i'his duplicity, however, it must be understood extends only in the relations'! • between the protagonist and the other chaiucters in the play, i'o the audience, the Machiavellian hero is engagingly frank'~ in order that they may appreciate liow c»mpletely he is deceiving the others. "Jiarabas", says Bhorndike, ''is conoeived under the inspiration of Machiavelli and perhaps also of stage practice, as an intriguing villain with all the accompan-iments ever since familiar in drama and fiction. He is the source of all evil, and utterly without conscience; he avows his villany isicj to the audience and he works by crafty intrigue with the aid of an equally conscienceless accomplice;" A short survey of his career will illustrate his methods. 36. In the beginning of the play we have some sympathy for iJarabas since his wrongs at least ^ive motive for his Is tred of the governor, but it is not long before his crimes seem to be inspired by a sort of universal hatred. 2he wrongs he has suffered at the hands of the governor are not a sufficient explanation of the motive which makes him set Don Mathias and iodowick to siay each other, and he eoon commits one crime after another without any motive at all. He poisons his daughter because she has deserted him and his hatred extends to the entire convent in which she has taken refuge; when the eijry is besieged he begins a lengthy coil of deception and intrigue which finally causes his wwn death by the instrument he has prepared for others, Jiarabas gives us a picture of his own nature in his conversation with Ithamors: Bar. Hast thou no Trade? then listen to my woi^ds. And 1 will teach that shall stioke by thee: iiirst be thou Iroyd of these affections, OompassAon, loue, vaine hope, and hartless feare, ae mou^ 'd at nothing, see thou pitty none, _ jjut to thy selfe smile when the christians moane. jie describes his actions thus: As for my selfe, I walke abroad a nights And kill sioke people groaning under walls:,. And now and then, to cherish L^hristian theeves, I am-content to lose some of my urownes; That i may, walking in my Gallery, aee''em goe pinion'd along by my doore. i3eing young, i studied iPhysicke, and began xo pfactia* first vpoh the Italian; There i enricih; d the Priests with burials, 1 . Act i l , 119\6Z s e q q . 37 v^ad aiwayes -Kept the Sexton's armes in ure Y/ith digging graues and ringing dead mens Imels: And after that was I an Engineere, And in the warres 'twixt granee and Germanie Ynder pretence of helping.Charles the fifth. Slew friend and enemy with my stratagems. Then after that was I an Vserer, And with extorting, cozening, forfeiting. And tricks belonging vnto Brokery, i fill'd the lales with Bankrouts in a yeare. And with yoTing Orphans planted Hospitals, And euery Moone made some or other mad. And now and then one har^ himselfe for griefe. Pinning vpon his breast a long great Scrowle How I with interest tormented him. Ithamore will not be outdone by his master but describes himself as occupied. In setting Christian villages on fire. Chaining of Bunuches, binding gally-slaues. One time I was an Hostler in an Inne, And in the night time secretly would I steale To trauellers Chambers, and thereout their throats: Once at lerus&lem, v.-here the pilgrims ]aieel'd, I strowed powder on the Marble stones. And therewithal! their knees would ranckle, so That I haue laugh'd agood to see the cripples Groe limping home to Christ end ome on stilts. It will be seen from this that Ithamore still further stresses the Machiavellian motif. In both characters the same ;&oy is evinced at conceiving and executing evil, both are utterly without pity for their victiin or remorse for their crime, jiior does Barabas break down when he sees himself foiled at last, but dies resolutely breathing forth his latest hate. The Machiavellian note is sustained to the end. In the prologue to ihe Jew of Malta there is a ref-ence to the (iuise, 'This character appears in a later play 38. by Itorlowe, 'Jhe Massacre at Paris where though not the pro-tagonist he is once more the exponent of the Machiavellian doctrine. He reveals himself in Scene 2, lines 91-166 as full of inordinate ambition which he cloaks under the guise of religion, and he too dies courageously. We see, then, that Marlowe was much impressed by the Machiavellian type, and we:are not surprised to find Shakespeare portraying the same character in on e of the plays showing a Marlovian influence. 'Hie character of Biohard III is developed in the Machiavellian manner. He declares his intentions on his first appearance: I am determined to prove a villain. And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, Hy drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams. To set my brother Clarence and the king In deadly hate the one against the other: And if Mmg Sdwsrd be as true and just As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, •j?his day should Clarence closely be mew'd up, About a prophecy which says that G Of Bdward's heirs the murderer sfaall be. Dive,thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes, 1 Here we have all the Machiavellian characteristics; a frank confession to the audience of the intention to be a villain, a ;joy in deception of others and in the performance of evil deeds. The crimes that he commits and the dec-eptions that he practises would have rejoiced the heart of Barafeas. Clarence regards him as his ally, when in reality 1. Eiohard III. ,j. I, i, 50-41. . 39. he is the instigator of his murder; Hastings goes unsus-piciously to his death in the tower, congratulating himself on having tJloucester's friendship: Hast. His Grace looks cheerfully and smooth this morning: There's some conceit or other likes him well. When that he bids good morrow with such spirit. I think there's never ra man in Christendom Can lesser hide his hate or love than he; j'or by his face straight shall you know his heart. Stan. What of his heart perceived you in his face Hy any livelihood he show'd to-day? East.Marry, that with no man here he is offended; ii'or, were he, he had shown it in his looks. 1 Almost immediately Richard enters and Hastings is hurried off to death, Richard's duplicity and commanding magnetism are both reveile^arly in the play. Anne, widow of Prince Edward of Wales, enters following the dead body of Henry VI. Her first speech is a long add terrible curse upon Richard, the author of this deed and the cause of her widowhood. V7hen Richard enters, she reviles him and then we are shown his amazing power over those he wishes to influence. He is suave and patient, replying to her insults by ascervations of his love for her, till she is interested by his very audacity. When she wishes her eyes were basilisks that they might strike him dead, he ventures everything by baring his breast and offering her his sword that she may kill him: 1. Ibid, Illr: i* ,48. 40. Ii thy revengeful heart c&nnot forgive, loi here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which if thou please to hide in this true "breast, And let the soul forth that adoretii thee, I lay it open to the deadly stroke, And hujnhly "beg the death upon my knees. • (he lays his hreast open: she offers at it v/ith his Bword.) Nay, do not parser for I did kill King Jienry; But •' twas thy "beauty that provoked me. JSay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stahh'd young Mward; (ishe again offers at his breast.) But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. (She lets fall the sword.j (Take up the sword again or take up me. When she fails to carry out her threat he knows that Anne is conquered, and it is a Machiavellian oonquest for hardly is she off the stage before he exclaims: las ever woman in this humour woo'd? Was ever womaii in this humour won? . I'll have her; but I will not keep her long. 1 Before the play is over, Anne dies of a broken heqrt, and with equal perfidy Richard woos his neiee through the mediation of her mother, Jiis success in persuading Eliza-beth to favour his suit to her daughter only rouses fresh scorn for the victim of his duplicity: 2 Helenting fool, and shallow, changing woman! IChus far then, Shakespeare followed the type closely, 'fhe conclusion, however, is not borrowed from Marlowe's pictures of Machiavelli, but is influenced by another aspect of Marlowe's art, and can therefore be ignored here, 1. Ibid, I, 11, 175 seqg. E. Ibid, lY, iv, 4.2)2, 41. A trace of Marlowe's influence can again he seen in a play v?ritten during fcJhakespeare's maturity. lago is not a Marlowean progeny in the seune Iray that Bichard III is, but he reveals Machiavellian characteristics which seem to have been inspired by the aame source. Like Ithamore in The Jew of Malta he is a servant of the protagonist whom he deAeftvas, and he confesses his duplicity in the first scene: I follow him to serve my turn upon him; It is as sure as you are Eoderigo, Were I the Moor, I would not be lago: In following him, I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, J&ut seeming so, for my peculiar end: Ji'or when my outward action doth demonstrate fiie native act and figure oit my heart In compliment extern, 'tis not long after Jiizt I will wear my heart upon my sleeve jj'or dawes to peck at: I am not what I am, 1 It might be Barabas who gives the advice of ActI, bcene 3, "Put money in thy purse." Ihe series of crimes which lago plans are in the Machiavellian tradition, and one scene is based on a very similar incident in jQhe Jew of Malta. In the same way that Barabas incited i;on Mathias and ludowigo to kill each other, lago incites Cassio and Hoderigo. i'he similarity of this touch convinces us of the reality of the MarloTfian influence even in a play so far removed from Shakespeare's period of apprenticeship. le have seen then that Marlowe not only gave a 1. (Ithello.I, i. 4Eseqq. 4E. distinctly Machiavellian twist to the Blizabethan villain, bu"c that he elevated hira to the position of protagonist. ^^ HiQhard I H , Shakespeare developed his theme in a simi-lar manner. Finally in the play of Othello though the Machiavellian character is no longer the protagonist, he reappears with a distinct trace of Marlovian influence in the character of lago. o O 0 43. YI VI. Consoienoe as a Factor. The psychological element was not a factor in the Snglish Senecan plays. If a crime was coramitted. the aud-ience was informed of the motive, it is true, "but neither the thoughts of the criminal before the orime nor his later re-action were dwelt upon, nor were the thoughts of those affected by the crime of any greater importance. A consider-ation of Sorboduc will reveal at once the truth of this. Here there is no insistence whatever on the psychological effect of the action. Though murders are committed, we are not conceraad with the psychoie>gical sdEJ^ d^aasaexttapcscaAac^ H. influence of these acts. One act becomes the motive for the next while apparent simplicity of moti^ re and singleness of intention governs the action in each case. It is perhaps natural that -primitive drama should concentrate its attention primarily upon event, and that the re-action of the individual to event, should occupy the attention of a more cultivated period. The mind of an a.p:e of greater advance finds it impossible to contemplate inten-se physical suffering for with advance has come opportunity for introspection and as one enters into the feelings of the victims, refinement of torture becomes impossible. This tendency tJDward introspection which we find has accoin-44-pa&ied the development of man in real life, shows itself in the drama hy a prreater emphasis upon the psychological effect of action on the characters in the drama. • Some preparation for this form of drama, however, was made hy the old moralities. These delighted to represent good and evil angels stru^glins: for the control of a man's soul. In these allegories, the prood and evil which was in man's nature was personified and as real characters inter-fered in the course of theaaction. What the psychological drama did, was to refine this material of the old moralities till the conflict became no longer external hut internal. The firmly defined character of these external influences became, in the more highly developed form, the varying motives which ebb and flow in man's nature. Man's nature is not simple but complex -there is no clear-cut distinction between hiiman impulses but all merge and inter-act to produce the final result. Hecojfenition of this great truth will alone produce tragedy in its highest form. In this section, then, we will be concerned with three nuestions: who first recognised this principle in the drama, v/hat WPS Marlowe's contribution, and where did Shakespeare copy from him? The first play to devote attention to this feature was probably Kyd's Spanish Tragedy. The date of this play 45. is not definitely established, hut while there is some doubt as to whether or not it preceded Tamburlai ne , the majority of critics would place it before Doctor gaustus. Tamburlaine had no hesitations, no moments of doubt or distrust; the psychological aspect is entirely lackina; in this play. In the Spanish 'Iraged.y however, this feature is stressed in Hieronimo, who may be said to have been the precursor of Hamlet. His irresolution, his suspicion of the motives of those around him, the brealcin/^  down of his mind under the strain of his mental sufferinfr, - all thi s is a new note in the drama, and all this may be found Again in Shakespeare'?? masterpiece. iThe one pla3r of Marlowe's in which the psychological element appears is Doctor gaustus. This element, as we have pointed out, is lackir^ in Tamburlaine, and it is equally missing from The Jew of Malta. Meditation of a melancholy east is found in Edward II but nothing approaching the ab-sorption v/ith mental reactions to outside events, which is what we mean by the ps ychological factor. It is possible that the entrance of this element in Doctor gaustus is trace-able to the influence of Kyd, but the use made of it by Marlowe is original* In The oyanish Tragedy as in ErjvlP't, the psycholopr-ical absorption interferes with the possibility of action on 4fi. the pp.rt of one 7'h'^  h^a a prreat incentlTe to notion - the JFivenpring of a personnl in;1f-ry; thnt i t . In "both thn.se "^ 'laye it is still ccnneoted with the reyenrre element of thri Snnecan trapredy. In W^xl^^f^, t.}:e 99yoholo«?ioal element anpears as the workinFr of conscience in tVie mind of one who has sinned; that is. it anpeare tfor the first tiw© unconnected *ith the revenue element, it is this elGmont of oonsoienoe which is new in M^^l'^we, and '^H-!ch is unioue in juootor yanatua of all his works. We have shown that, as a nile, Marlowe regards the action of liis plays in an un-moral fashion; the rightness or wrongness of an action does not interest hini» he is interested in the achievements of his characters only as these achievements are the result of the hero's virtu. In gaustus he rises higher, for the first time clearly differentiates between right and wrong, and brings out the idea of punisloment for those who break the moral laws. LOie growth of this concern over the moral aspect of nis action, it is interesting to trace in Faustus. In the early scenes, we find Marlowe introducing, under the influence of the old moralities good and evil angels who attempt to influence the actions of i'austus. These angels may be considered as persoriifications of the two forces struggling for mastery in his brain, but They disappear eventually, giving room altogether to the mental 47. weighingof the arguments for and against his actions of which they had been the living embodiment, !Ehat they were inten-ded to represent this struggle can be seen from their close co-ordination with the thoughts of Faustus. Here is their final appearano e: gau. I, goe accursed spirit to vgly hell, lis thou hast damn'd distressed yaustus sould; 1st not too late? .^ nter good Angell and euill, Euill A. Too laie"; Good A« Heuer too late, if i?austus can repent, Buill A. If thou repent diuels shall teare thee in peeoes. Good A, Hepent, & they shal neuer race thy skin, ^eui^j_y^^els). gau. Ah GhriHt my Sauiour, Seeke to saue distressed gaustus soule, 1 We notice here that their warnings are in the foiro that .b'aus-tug' own communings would have taken, but much greater force was given to the conception by the disappearance of these spirits and the consequent absorption in the mental sturggle. At first there is no trace of irresolution in Faastus, He exclaims proudly, (Scene Had i as many soules as there be starres, ide giue them al for Maphastophilis: 2 Later comes doubt and hesitation, and this continual struggle between the two sides of his nature is the dominant interest in the play, gaustus has changed indeed when he exclaims: Accursed gaustus, where is mercie now? I do repent, and yet I do dispaire: Hell striues with grace for conquest in my breast. What shall! do to shun the snares of death? 3 1. Dr. gaustus 688. 2, Ibid, 528. 3. Ibid, 1300. 48. But almost instantly he renews his "bargain with Lucifer and "begs pardon for having "been false to his agreement. And so he fluctuates from joy in the power he has bought to fear at the thought of the price he must pay. Kie end is agony: Oh God, If thou wilt not haue mercy on my soule, let for tJhrists sake, whose bloud hath ransomd me, Impose some end to my incessant paine. Let Faustus liue in hel a thousand yeeres, A hundred thousand, and at last be sau'd. 0 no end is limited to damned soules. Why wert thou not a creature wanting soule? Or, why is this immortall that thou hast? Ah Pythagoras metemsucosis, were that true, This soule whould flie from me, and I be changde Vnto some brutish beast: al beasts are happy, if or when they die, . Sheir soules are soone dielsolud in elements. But mine must liue still to be plagde in hel: Curst be the parents that ingendred me: Uo faustu^, curse thy selfe, curse -kicifer. Hiat hath depriude thee of the ioyes of heauen. Here then is on© of the first great studies of a soul in anguish. The play of Shakespeare's which may be said to have been definitely influenced by this new tendency in Marlowe's drama, is Richard III. Shakespeare was always interested in character development and we find instance after instance of emotional conflict in his plays; take, for example, the pitiful effect of remorse on Lady Macbeth. In concentrating on this aspect of mental struggle Shakespeare was undoubtedly influenced by both Marlowe and Kyd. We have already suggested that Kyd's influence was probably supreme in Hamlet; the 1. Ibid, 145£. 49. emotionalconfliot in Maoheth, however, is more nearly akin to Marlowe's treatment in Doctor gaustus. This type of conflict he had learnt to handle hy copying Marlowe's methods in Richard III. 'i?he entire play, as we have already seen was con-ceived in the Marlovian manner. At first Hichard is pure Maehiavelli: we can see no remorse, no mental conflict what-ever throughout the whole period of his success. 'Ihis appears, however, with the reversal of his fortunes. I'here is absolute-ly no explanation for iiichard's break-down other than the feeling of remorse tthich cripples the power of his will. He himself tells us that the odds are all on his side: K.Rich, 'ifho hath^ descried the number of the traitors? Bor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. X.Rich. Vi(hy, our battalia trebles that account; iiesides, the king's name is a tower of strength, which they upon the adverse faction want. 1 Yet when he falls alseep in his tent he is troubled by the ghosts of his former victims, 'Ite use of ghosts is, of course, a Senecan touch, but they may be regarded - like the angels in jj'austus - as an attempt to give reality to the thronging visions which assail his mind. After they leave, Richard starts up and we see him assailed by the same hor-rible doubts that afflicted Faustus. ^^j^Have mercy, jesui Softi 1 did but dream. • *0 c'owerd conscience, how dost thou afflict me^ 2 1. Richard III. V, iii, 9 2. Ibid, Y, iii, 177. 50. And again. My conscience hath a thousand several tongues. And every tongue brings in a several tale, Aiad. ^ Tery tale condemns me for a villain. I^r^ury, perjury, in the high'st degree: Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree; All several sins, all us'd in each degree. Throng to the "bar, crying all, 'Ouiltyi guilty! i lote the suggestion that the ghosts -^i^ere hut thoughts flying through Kichard's brain. The working of conscience through-out is very similar to that workings of conscience in Faustus. At the last he tries to throw off the influence of this remorse which is unmanning him: Letnot^babbling 4raams affright our souls; Uonsci«nce is a^ '^ ord that cowards use, Devis'd At first to keep the strong in awe: Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law. 2 It is surprising how often the word 'conscience' does appear in the play. 'i*he last place where we would expect to meet it is in the speeches o±' the professional murderers, and yet note: s e c . Murd. I'he urging of t h a t word 'judgment' hath brea a ^md of remorse i n me. £ l r s t M u r d . vvhatl a r t thou af ra id? a e c . Murar Mot to k i l l him, having a warrant for i t ; Du-c xo De daran'd for k i l l i n g him, fiuarmthe which no warrant can defend me Ji'irst Murd. how dost thou feel thyself now? i^jec. Murd7 ciome certain dregs of conscience are yet witnm me. •b'irst Murd. Hemember our reward when the deed s done, sec. MurTT 'Zoundsi he dies: I had forgot the reward. •c'lrsx iviurd. there's thy cgnejsJLence now? oec. intura. In the inike of Gloucester's purse. First Murd, 00 when he opens his purse to give us our rsward, Ctty conscience flies out. oec. Murd. x'is ho matter; let it go: there's few or none will entertain it. 3 1. V, iii, 194. 2. V, iil, 310. 3. I, iv, 108. 51. Again after the murder has been committed, I^rell describes how the scoundrels were affected by the deed. "i3oth" he 1 says, " are gone with conscience and remorse.'' Professional murderers are the last people whom one would expect to be so affected, especially since in the drama they were little more than conventional figures. I'hat they should have been used to intensify the motif of remorse, shows how greatly ahakespeare was affected by the idea of conscience in the drama. The same theme teappears in another of the plays of this early period, i^ lng .jOhn is not a play which bears many signs of being composed under Marlowe s influence, but the same idea of remorse enters into it, though it does not play as big a part here as in aiohard I n . in Act iv, acene ill, when t/ohn is questioning juubert to whom he has entrusted the murder of the young prince Arthur, one of the nobles says of the Icing, The cilour of the Iting doth come and go ±>etween his pimrpose and his conscience, iiike heralds ' twixt two dreadful battles set. 2 As we have seen that this idea of remorse for crime is a new feature in Marlowe, this again must be considered as conceived under Marlovian influence. une other feature must be mentioned before the subject is abandoned, it is a natural tendency in the drama of 1. iV, iii, EO 2. £ohnIV, ii, 76. 5£, psychologicil reaction to make a great use of soliloquy. This feature was brought into the JSnglish drama through Senecan tragedy, but its development is closely connected with the drama of mental emotion. An examination of Tam-burlaine reveals the hero frequently expressing his inten-tions in speeches of great length, but invariably before •y others who act as auditors to his harangue. 'i*he idea of coinnranion with self went hand in hand with the idea of a mental struggle. This mental struggle is most vivid when one is alone and hence has to be revealed in soliloquy, iiyd had realised this in The Spanish Tragedy and the first use of it in Jiaarlowe comes in Doctor ji'austus. It was also of value to express the machinations of the Machiavellian con-spirators and hence reappears in The t;ew of ialalta, Richard XI-i uses it for both purposes. At first it is the instrument by which he reveals his coolly-calculated crimes; at the end it is the instrument of his great emotional struggle. The soliloquies in xiamlet and i/iacbeth show the final develop-ment of this instrument, if the use in Jiamlet owes little to Marlowe, the use in Macbeth would seem to be a develop-ment of Mchard ixl revealing the same communings v^ ith conscience which distinguish its use in x)octor Ji'austus. •x'o sum up then, it may be said that Marlowe gave to the psychological drama which had been introduced by iiyd a new development by introducing the element of conscience. 53. It is in Macbeth that Shakespeare developed tiiis form to its highest possibility, but in iiiohard xxi he appears to be acting very closely under the influence of Marlowe and he introduces the workings of sonscienoe in another early play, idlng John, ii'inally the drama of psychological development both in iiyd and Marlowe ma e use of the soliloquy and this >' feature, too, was adopted by kihakespeare. 0 0 0 54. Yll. 2he Weakling as a Mero. It seems almost incredible that itorlowe, who gave us so many picttires of the resolute hero should first have employed irresolution as a tragio motive. Yet this is what we find in aciward 11 and the same theme was adopted by Shak-espeare in his itichard ii. let us examine tlae nature and extent of this similarity. It is easy to see why no previous dramatist had attemp-ted to wjtite a play with a weakling as the hero, xhe type did not lend itself to benecan orime, and it was impossible as the hero of a romantic play, for both these needed a strong character. 'Weakness could only become interesting in the drama as the psychological motives to action began to absorb the interest of the dramatist and as iia have seen interest in the analysing of motives began with iiyd and Marlowe. The characters of I'he Spanish Tragedy, however, were not weaklings so that this particular form of the psychoaiogioal play is traceable to ii«iarlowe alone. i'he discovery of dramatic value in weakness of char-acter rather than in strength is a distinct contribution to dramatic art, and iisarlowe is more especially to be commended for the discovery since the type is not natural to his genius, which delighted in the actions of such super-men as we have already outlined, uur admitation increases. 55. moreover, as we realise not only that he first discovered this possibility hut that \vork:ing with so different a theme, he produced a play of such merit that it is by many regarded as his masterpiece. ifidward ii, however, is not altogether apart from Marlowe's earlier heroes, ne, too, is dominated by a single emotion, in this instance, a desire for affection, ijut instead of causing the protagonist to accomplish the im-possible even though defeat came at last, this emotion in Jfidward is the cause of his weakness. The same emotion motivatas ahakeapaare's Richard li and with the same result. However, Shakespeare has given us a fuller picture of Rich-ard's character than was drawn by Marlowe, it was not his method to disregard the complexities of human nAture in order to bring cut in bold relief one emotion only, iiichard is a weakling, and he is passionately attached to his friends, jiut he is much moi'e than this. ««e know him as lovinp; his country with almost feminine feeling, as an unstable nature rising to heights of emotion, and sinking to the lowest depths of despair with little cause in either case, and chiefly we know him as a sentimentalist, •'•t is interesting to note that though the trait is not so fully developed in iJdward's character; yet it is not wholly lacking, compare the following passages from the two plays: 56. 0 hadet thou euer heene a king, thy hart PieroeoL deeply with sence of ray distresae, uould not hut take compassion of my state. Stately and proud, in riches and in traine, Vihilom i was powerfull and full of pompe, jiut what *s he, whorae rule and emperie Haue not in life or death made miserahleY Uome apenoer, come .baldocke. come sit downe hy me. Make triall now of that philosophie, I'hatin our famous nurseries of artes Thouo suckedst from £lato, and from Aristotle, jrather, this life contemplatiue is heauen, 0 that 1 might this life in quiet lead, xjut we alas are chaste, and ycu my friends, iour liues and my dishonor they pursue. iet gentle monkes, for treasure, golds nor fee. Do you "betray vs and our companie. 1 I'he same thoughts pass through Richard's jjiind: Of comfort no man speak: let's talk o*f graves, of worms and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes write sorrow on the bosom of the earth; Lets choose executors and talk of wills: And yet not so, for what can we bequeath a ave our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives, and all are liolingbroke's. And nothing can we call our ovm but death. ;\nd 1;hat small model of the bL^ rren earth Viliich serves as paste and cover to our bones, For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of 1-rings: How some have been deposed, some sloin in war. Some hiiunted by the ghosts thay have deposed, Some poisoned by their wises, some sleeping kill'd All murder'd for within the hollow orown That rounds the mortal temples of a kinp: Keeps death his court, and there the antick sits. Scoffing his state and grinning at his •Domp....2 So similar in thought and construction are the two plays throughort, that a comparison is almost inevitable. We have seen the similarity of character in the two xrotag--^ Edward II. 1876. 2. Hiohard II, III, ii, 144. 67. onists; let us next consider the use made of the minor characters, and finally examine the construction of the two plays. For the first time in this play Marlowe makes an effort to abandon the one-man play and present a series of independent pictures. Hence a number of characters are .»' Riven definite development; Mortimer, Gaveston. Spencer, and Isabella, are all developed beyond Marlowe's usual cus-tom, iet us examine each of these characters in order to determine their place in the story of the weaklins hero, . and then turning to Shakespeare, see if he has m.ade any similar use of his minor characters. Two of the characters developed by Marlowe are the ' king's favorites - Gaveston and Spencer - and may therefore b» flrompared with Bushy. Bagot, and Green, in RTchard II. V/e have to admit that Marlowe's favorites are better char-acterised than Shakespeare's, but in both plays they per-form the same function - it is the king's devotion to these favorites which is largely responsible for his downfall. But if Marlowe achieved greater success here than did Shakespeare in his play we cannot feel that his -nortrait Of Isabella was enually successful. It is hard to ;free her from a charge of inconsistency, and this is a fault of which Shakespeare's Queen cannot be accused, :.t first Isabella is a loving wife, neglected by her husband, and 58. bearing her neglect "ith exemplary patience, b^ d^denly she chanp:es. becomes her husband's most violent enemy worMn?; for his downfall, and not hesitating to abet his death. The chan.«:e is not sufficiently explained and from the point of view of drematic construction is indefensible. It has how-ever been sup-gested that this chani?:e in Isabella's nature was probably a part of Marlowe's plan "to enlist the aud-ience on the oueen's side at first, «s a loving and injured wife, and then after the reverse action was under way... to intensify pity for the victim by every device.''! If we accept this interpretation we are at once struci^  by the sim-ilar use made of the oueen bv bhakespeare. Here we have no inexplicable change of character, but the love of Richard's -^ ueen for her husband is used to intensify our T)ity for the fallen monarch fully as much as is the hate of Isabella i^ Edward II. Thus Shakespeare achieves the same end as Marlowe though by different and dramatically more defensible meaxis. Marlowe denicts the callous •:^t-!.itude of the cueen in order to awa>en our symioathiea for the kinp-'s troubles. In two scenes Shakespeare introduces the queen for exactly the same puruose, to awaken our symurthies for the king. The first scene where this is done is in the scene ^^ |x^ §t3p«Ka±i iBwtwgwxluuQuLJuL with the garde;fner jnst after Richard has fallen into Bolingbroke's h'mds (III. iv,) and the second 1. Schellin/^ - Qhron. Play lop 72-3, nuotinp- from Sd. II ed. by McLaughlin. 1894. "D-ieS-59. is in the pathetic farewell s0^e between hnshand and v;ife. which follows Tipon Eiohard's deposition. (V;i.) lastly, Mortimer, Edward's chief enemy, can "he com-pared •© Bolingbroke in Richard II. In Mortimer, Marlowe drew a character ©f "bhe type dear to his heart - he is the fam-iliar emhodiment of hoiindless ambition, though here reduced "^  to second place. But he is not much more "than a vulgar intriguiE for the crown, playing on the starved affections of a weak woman, seeking to pervert the young prince." 1 Shakespeare showed greater art in his conception of the char-acter of Bolingbreke. He was no "vulgar intriguer" but an effective foil to the wealmess of iiichard's character, poss-essing all the attrilsutes of greatness suitable to a monarch, the absence of which have led to Richard's downfall. We admire his character and are tempted to overlook his shadowy claims to the throne as we appreciate his eminent fitness for the position. Here, then, Shakespeare has dt9S^i®^E5r parted company with Marlowe, and going definitely past the one-man tragedy has prepared the way for the fuller canvas of his later plays. IText let us consider the construction of the two plays. In both there is the same attempt to arouse contempt for the hero in prosperity and pity in adversity. Marlowe's Edward II alienates his barons by his stubborn determination to restore 1. Schelling, Chron. Play, p. 69. 60. his favorite to power, he robs and imprisons the Bishop of Coventry who has opposed him, and treats his wife with un-relenting harshness, Shakespeare's Richard II wastes the nation's money on his favorites and then makes good the def-icit by farming out his taxes and forcing the nobles to contri-bute large gifts to his coffers. He does not even hesitate -*^  to rob the lands of his good uncle, John of Gaunt, and in Shakespeare's play as in Marlowe's, it is this stubborn in-sistence on his selfish desires that precipitates the tragedy. In some ways we do not feel that Shakespeare managed the material of his play as well as did Marlowe, notably in the useless addition of a second challenge scene, and in the diffusion of interest caused by the introduction of Aumerle's conspiracy, To a large extent, however, the plays move along very similar lines, I!hus the deposition scene in Richard II, IV, 1, parallels with the same scene in Edward II 1987, and a quotatifi>n from both will serve to show the similarity in construction. In Marlowe's play, the king Is besnught to feive up his crown: Leices.My lord, why waste you thus the time away? They stay your answer, will you yeeld your crowne? In Shakespeare's, Richard is asked: To do that office of thine own good will Which tired majesty did make thee offer, 1!iie resignation of thy state and crown To Henry Bolingbroke. 61. and again: I thought you had been willing to resign,... Are you contented to resign the crown? in which we see the same irresolution on the part of the abdicating monarch. In both, the king removes the crown and then thinks better of his action: Here, take my crowne, the life of Edward too. Two kings in England cannot raigne at once: But stay a while, let me be king till night, (That I may gaze vpon this glittering crowne. So shall my eyes reoeiue their last content, il^  head, the latest honor dew to it, And ioyntly both yeeld vp their wished right... Inhxunaine creatures, nurst with Tigers milke. Why gape you for your soueraignes ouerthrow? My diadem I meane, and guiltless liie. See monsters see, lie weare my crowne againe... In Richard II the nature of Bolingbroke is, as always, con-trasted with that of the king: Richard. Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown: Here cousin. On this side my hand and on that side thine Mow is this golden erovvu like a deep well IThat owes two buckets filling one another; The emptier ever dancing in the air. The other down, unseen and full oi water: iEhat bucket down and full of tears am I, Drinking my griefs,whilst you mount up on high. It is then that he is asked if he is not willing to resign and hastily giving Bolingbroke all the insignia of royalty breaks out: Make me,*liat nothing have, with nothing griev'd. And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd long mayst thou live in iiichard's seat to sit. And soon lie xiichard in an earthy pitl 6S. Grod save King Harry, unking'd Hichard says. And send him many years of sunshine daysi This is a close parallel of Edward's: Make me despise this transitorie pompe. And sit for aye inthronized in heauen. Gome death, and with thy fingers close my eyes, Gr if I liue, let me forget my selfe. There is a somewhat similar re-action, too, in "both plays, Mward relieves himself after abdicating by tearing up the paper which entrusts him as prisoner to Matrevis and Gurney, One feels at once that this is just the pathetically impotent thing a weakling would do. In the same way, ^jhakespeare's Hichard II relieves his feelings by dashing to pieces the mirror in which he has sought to read the alteration in his countenafloe which ought to have accompanied the alteration in his fortunes. Having noted the great similarity in the construction of these scenes, we cannot but be surprised that the scene in Shakespeare's play was forbidden during the early produc-r tions for political reasons, while in Marlowe s it escaped censure. In both plays, the abdication scene marks a change in the dramatist's attitude towards his protagonist, for he now uses every effort to make us pity the deposed monarch, we have already noted the use made of the queen to this end. In Shakespeare's play we have also the affecting account of 63. the Icing's entry into London. (Act, Y, bcene ii.) kore-over Shakespeare attempts to gain sympathy for his monarch by giving him at his death the resolution he lacked in life; (Enter Ext on and Servants., armed. ) K, Rich. How now! what means death in this rude assault? Villain, thine own hand yields thy death's instrument. (anatching a weapon and killing one.; LrO thou and fill another room in hell. (He kills another: then liizton strikes hin down. I'hat hand shall burn in never-quenching fire That staggers thus my person. jiJxton, thy fierce hand Hath with the king's blood stain'd the kings own land. Mount, mount, my souli thy seat is up on high. Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die, iJJies.) jsxton As full of valour as of royal blood: jioth have l spilt; 0; would the deed were good; i)'or now the devil, that told me i did well, aajts that this deed is chronicled in hell. 1 Marlowe's final scene is longer and s]jows his talent at its highest, His skill always lay rather in the devel-opment of individual scenes than in sustained effort, and it is in the portrayal of the ©risis that he is at his best. Marlowe begins by over-accentuating the physical horrors of Edward's prison. Ihis is done deliberately in order to gain our sympathies for the imprisoned monarch. Shakespeare had tried to gain our sympathies by showing us his weakling at last a man of action, Marlowe had convinced him of the advisability of gaining sympathy for the dying hero, and he showed his originality merely by using slightly different means to achieve the end which Marlowe had shown as desirable. Here is Marlowe's description of the king s prison, it 1. Hi chard li.. Y, v, 106. 64. would be almost nauseating were it not for the poets skill: 1 M&tr. (jurney, x 'wonder tl:^  king dies not, iseing in a vault vp to the knees in water. To which the channels of the castell runne, jTom whence a dampe continually ariseth, '£bat were enough to poison any man. Much more a king brought vp so tenderlie. ixurn. And so do 1, Matreuis: yesternight 1 opened but the doore to throw him raeate. And 1 was almost stifeled with the sauor. To this horrible place comes liightbom, the murderer: Edward, ahose there, what light is that, wherefore comes thou? iilght. 10 comfort you, and bring you ioyfull newes, •adward. omall comfort findes poore .adward in thy loo^ces, Villaine, i know thou comst to murther me. •ulght. i'o murther you my most gratious lordeY iParre is it from my hart to do you harme, rhen isdward recounts the horrors of his imprisonment, and adds this piteous touch: i'ell Isabell the (iueene, i lookt not thus. When for her sake 1 ran at tilt in i'raunce. 'Hhen comes the end: Li^ht, 0 speake no more my lorde, this breakes my heart. Lie on this bed, and rest your selfe a while. M w . ihese lookes of thine can harbor nought but death. I see my tragedle written in thy browes, xet stay a while, forbeare thy bloudie hande. And let me see the stroke before it comes, I'hat euen then when i shall lose my life, iay minde may be more stedfast on my viod. Light. vihat meanes your highnesse to mistrust me thus? jsdwa. what meanes thou to dissemble with me tr.usY jjight. ihese handes were neuer stainde with innocent bloud, iior shall they now be tainted with a kings. iSdw^rd. i!-orgiue my thought, for hauing such a thought. One iewell haue i left, Beceiue thou this. Still feare i, and l know not whats the cause, iiut euerie ionte shakes as i giue it thee: !• .adward Ix. E448 - 2565. 65, 0 if thoTi harhorst murther in thy hart, let this gift change thy minde, and sane thy soule. Know that i am a king, oh at that name, 1 feele a hell of greefe: where is my crowne? iione, gone, and doe i remains aliueY jjight. lOur ouerwatohde my lord, lie downe and rest. •ffidw. iiut that greefe keepes me waking, i shonlde sleepe, js'cr not these ten daies haue these eyes lids closd. Uow as X speake they fall, and yet with feare Open againe. u wherefore sits thou heare? jjjght. if yon mistrust me, ile he gon my lord. isdw. iiO. no, for if thou meanst to murther me, W o u wilt returne againe, and therefore stay. Light. ue sleepes. Sdw. 0 let me' a6t die yet, stay, 0 stay a while. •Ljlght.J3.ow now my iiOrde. •adw. oomething still busseth in mine eares. And tels me, if i sleepe 1 neuer wake, I'his feare is that which makes me tremble thus. And therefore tell me, wherefore art thou come? Light.xo rid thee of thy life, iaatreuis come, I'here is no doubt of the dramatic effectiveness of this. As a catastrophe it is undoubtedly more impressive than ahak-espeard's, with this then we may conclude our comparison. By examining the characters of the protagonists in each play, the use made of the minor characters, and the constraction of the plays, we have been able to show a great many points of similarity, m the first place, it must be admitted that Shakespeare derived his idea from Marlowe; in the same way he aimed first to alienate and secondly to s ecure sym-pathy for his hero and to do this used, at times identical methods, at others different methods, yet aiming at Buch •Identical results that they too show the influence of Mar-lowe *s work. Identical are the faults with which both 66. depiot the monarch and the entire ordering of the abdication scene. Une notices a similarity in the meditative caste of mind revealed by the kings in adversity: moreover both kings are surrounded by groups of three - favorites, queen, and opponent, who are used in much the same manner, jsven where ohakespeare has used a different method he has aimed at the SBune effect, as has been shown in the pity gained for the deposed king in one play by the hate in the other by the love of his queen; and similarly through sympathy developed by tne nature of the catastrophe - in the one play through accentuating the horrors of the prison; in the other through depicting the weakling as at last a man of action. l»e ci>nclude, then, by admitting bhakespeare' s great debt to Marlowe, both for the idea and the development of the weakling hero in tragedy. 0 0 0 67. Viii. Unity. Marlowe's contrihution to the drama has generally "been considered to he along the lines of style rather than of form. The majority of critics agree that -^arlowe's genius was not especially dramatic. J.Ghurton Collins even goes so far as to say that Marlowe's genius was the reverse of dramatic and that the exia-encies of the period in which 1. he lived forced him to cast his wori^  into dramatic form. However, even though much of this is true, it may be claim.-ed that Marlowe first grave unity to the drama. When he produced ^sjnhurlaine in 1587, two types of plays were in existence - first, an indigenous type based largely on native history: second, a Senecan type. The first type made no attempt at unity of action; the story was told without any idea of dramatio art, events unfolding themselves as they occurred, without any intention on the part of the dramatist to select his material, eliminate what would not tend to the development of his theme, and arrange what was retained so that a dramatic effect might be "Droduced. The Seneoan plays, on the other hand, were more susceptible to controlling laws; they were intensely formal and it might thereby be expected that the • material which composed them would have been selected with "1. Harrison - Shakesp. gellows. v. S54. J.C.Collins - Essays and' Studies, p. 68. a view to unity. However this was not the cas«. Discrim-ination in this matter had not yet been reached and though the dramatist wrote in five acts, and restrained himself by many conventions associated with the type, he made no effort to restrict himself by what we would recognise as a law of dramatic unity, IThe treatment of one theme, and the subordination of everything in the play to that one theme appears to b© due to the influence of Marlowe, Only two other drama.tists deserve mention in this connection. It mast be admitted that Lyly contributed mat-erially to plot construction, by developing the idea of a composite plot. However lyly did not go the necessary one step iurther and knit the various parts of his plot firmly together, Marlowe's plot was never composite so that Lyly exerted no influence on him, but he did apparently aim at the unity that Lyly failed to achieve. The other dramatist who should be referred to here is Kyd. The Spanish Tragedy possesses distinct unity. The date of fhe Spanish iUra^ edy is not definitely Iniown as has been before remarked, and. we have no proof that it preceded gamburlaine, If it could be proved that it did prececleit, Jiyd ought indeed to share with Marlowe the honour of giving unity to the drama. How-ever, this one play of Kyd's, had it been unique in its use of unity, might have exerted no influence:oil-:the- drama*' 69. Marlowe consistently unified the material of his tragedies and we feel that it is attempts to emulate the popularity of these that caused the observance of the principle hy his contemporaries. We have already seen that it would he useless to look in the native plays for the principle of unity. Grorhoduc will serve as an illustration of the want of unity in the English Senecan plays, 2he argument of the tragedy gives the followirig sacount oi the plot; "Gorhoduc, king of Brittaine, diuided his realme in his lifetime to his sonnes, i'errex and Porrex; the sonnes fell to disoention; the yonger killed the elder; the mother, that more dearly loued the elder for reuenge killed the younger; the people moued with the cru-eltie 01 the fact, rose in rebellion and slew both father and mother; the nobilitie assembled and most terribly des-troyed the rebels; and afterwardes, for want of issue of the prince, whereby the succession of the crowne became vncer-taine, they fell to ciuill warre, in which both tiiey and many of their issues were slaine, and the land for a long time almost desolate and miserably wasted." Apart from the quantity of material which in itself wotild destroy unity, the arrangement of the material wn the play shows a disreg-ard for the principle. By the end of Act lY we have had the death of i'errex and Porrex. At the beginning of Act T 70. we are apprised that since the completion of Act IV the Queen and Grorhoduc have been slain by an uprising of the people and the act continues with the jumble of unrelated matter which hai to be crowded into it. Unity so palpably lacking up to this time, appears in lamburlaine, but it must be admitted that in this, and in most of his other plays, Marlowe did not achieve unity oonsoiously. unity was produced indirectly through the nature of the protagonist, and this unity, then, - the first in Bnglish drama - may be called the unity of a powerful protagonist, Marlowe, as we have seen, was anxious to pre-sent pictures of a resolute hero - his plays are the plays of the super-man, to whom all else is subordinated, whether of event or of characterisation, Everything that happenso throughout the play is dependent upon the protagonist and the minor chariicters only exist in relation to him. Here, then, is distinct unity, even though we admit that Marlowe did not consciously strive for it but achieved it indirectly. It must be admitted that his unity is only achieved at a great cost. In the first place, the action suffers. Unity, as we understand it, would demand the treatment of one groat crisis to the development and resolution of vhioh everything in the play would be directed. Marlowe does not attempt to treat one crisis alone; his plays are com-71. posed of many actions, each of which would he quite unrelated were it not for the dominating influence of the protagonist who performs them. The protagonist does secure a sort ox unity 4or us which is a great gain in view of the chaotic series of events which would result were it not for his con-trol. But Marlowe's conception of the character of the pro-tagonist prevents him from conceiving an elahorate plot lest the interaction of its various aspects should remowe the protagonist from M s dominant position. Hence we have the unity of the compelling personality but no attempt a$ the higher unity which would include plot construction. In the next place, characterisation suffers. Had Marlowe further developed his suhordinatiocharacters, atten-tion would have heen removed from the protagonist, the only type of unity that the drama had yet Imown would have heen sacrificed, and hence, while we regret the shadowy charact-erisation of Marlowe's minor characters we appreciate the value of this shadowy characterisation in preserving the specious form of unity which Marlowe secured, and which after all, was a great advance over none at all. Dramatic unity as we know does exist in plays of many well developed characters, all of whom are strong enough to influence the action. All that is needed is a force directing this energy toward one given purpose and 72. the result is unity of the highest type. Only in one play did Marlowe aim at this end, and that is in adward II. We have already seen that the protagonist in this play was not of the type Marlowe generally selected; in this play too, he apparently attempted more careful characterisation than had "been his custom, and in his plot he showed very great power of condensation and arrangement. Since the play varies so consideraoly from his usual type, we fee.l Justified in thinking that he exerted more conscious tech-nique in its construction and therefore that the unity which it has is the result of deliberate art and not of chance as had been the case in his earlier plays. Moreover, this unity as we have pointed out is unity of the highest type -the unity which is inseparable from great art. This play, however, will be considered at length in Sections X and ZI. Vie can, for the moment, therefore, direct our attention to the unity of the controlling personality which is com-mon to all his other plays, examine the value of this unity, and the use m de of it by Shakespeare, leaving the influ-ence of Bdward II altogether out of the discussion. •Ihat the unity of the canpelling personality is common to all Marlowe's other plays is obvious at once. In gamburlaine everything that occurs is dependent upon Saip _ burlaine's desire for world-conquest; it is this which motivates his various campaigns, explains his attitude to 73. his captives, to his sons, and even to the virgins of Dam-ascus, The account of the varied incidents of a lifetime is no longer rambling and incoherent since everything in the play is unified to give one impression - world conquest. Xet that this occurs without intention is obvious. Marlowe tells his tale in the chronicle manner; he does not seem '' to be selecting material deliberately in order to give us a fixed impression, he is telling all the events that com-posed the life of his hero and he ends with the hero's death not, as v/e have seen, in order to get tragic effect, but in the chronicle manner, beoa-i3i.se his material is exhausted. Yet so completely is he dominated by the desire for world power - that even events narrated so entirely without sel-ection, all tend to one purpose and give the effect of unity. The same unity can be observed in all the other plays except jjidward II. ijow where was iihakespeare influenced by this manner of Marlowe's? Obviously in the one play which set forth the resolute personality - that is in Kichard III. Hera we have exactly the same technique, ihe other char-acters in the play are deliberately Subordinated to iiichard ahd he, alone, dominates the action; he brings about ular-encefe downfall, marries Anne, murders ladwaitd v and his 7''"youi%.. bltoJtlier, executes jiuckingham, and eventually falls in battle against liichmond, iiere there is no attempt at sel-74. eoting one great crisis and making it the subject of a uni-fied play, l^he incidents of a lifetime are told in t he chron-icle manner and the play is unified only hy the controlling influence of itichard's character. It is therefore absolutely in the tradition of Marlower As usual, too, bhakespeare did not neglect the value of what he had learnt in the days of his discipleship but in the days of his mastsry continued to make use of what he had found effective in the craft of others. Kichard IIx may be considered as a direct attempt to copy Marlowe's methods and achieve unity in the same fashion. i:5ut ijreizenach points out that .Bhakespeare made use of a similar type of unity in nearly all the great tragedies. Only Lear may be said to have a composite plot, Othello, Macbeth, Hamlet, have a simplicity of design which results in a unity much akin to Marlowe's, and which if we cannot trace it directly to his influence, since bhakespeare had long emerged from the pupil stage when he composed these plays, yet makes use of the best that lay inthe type, m these plays the higher form of unity, which Marlowe perhaps barely understood and only once attempted, is the basis of the design. We ho longer have a series of unrelated events, but the play presents one great action, which rises to a crisis and is eventually resolved with consummate al?t. 1. p. 254,. 75. iiut Shakespeare has not forgotten the value of the -inifying personality, and he is incorporated in the design in order that the simplicity of the conception may add to its force. And the unity of the controlling personality, thus welded upon the true conception of dramatic unity, has proved itself eminently forceful, xhough we must ddmit, then, that in these plays, Shakespeare is far from a disciple of Marlowe but has become a conqueror in his own field, yet the germ of his method may be traced back to what he learned in his deliberate use of iviarlovian unity in rtichard Iil. Our conclusion is, then, that Marlowe contributed to the drama, perhaps unconsciously, the first unity which can be traced in it. rhis unity WQS dependent solely upon the power of the protagonist, sinee the material of the drama was in no way unified, but remained the same series of unrelated events which had been familiar to the early chron-icle plays, ig Kichard Ixx Shakespeare copied Marlowe s method and in the days of his mastery incorporated the unity of the compelling personality with the higher unity of design in order to add force to his great tragedies. c u e 76. IX Seriousness. There was no very cle^r distinction in the minds of the iiilizahethans between the aarious types of the drama. The native drama disregarded both comedy and tragedy in order to evolve an altogether new type - the chronicle play - and even in plays more closely in touch with classic example, there was no hard and fast distinction between tragedy and comedy. The title of a play by Thomas Preston will suffice to show the confusion of types that existed; "A lamentable Tragedie mixed full of plesant mirth, contain-ing the life of Gambises king of Peroia, from the beginning of his kingdome, unto his death, bis one good deed of execution, after that many wiclced deedes and tyrannous murders, committed by and through him, and last of all, his odious death by uods Justice appointed,"•'• lilor was there any attempt in the development of these tragi-comedies to use the comic element to further the plot. The comic passages were quite unconnected and served not only to cause a confusion of tone but to destroy unity. Sidney complains in his Apologia for Poetri^that all their plays "be neither right Tragedies, nor right uomedies: mingling jiings and ulownes, not because the matter so carrieth it: but thrust in Olownes by head and shoulders, to play a part in 1. iiutered on £>tationers* register 1569-70. 2. Bidney..p.65. 77. maiestioall matters, with neither decenoie nor discretion. bo as neither the admiration and commiseration, nor the right sportfulness, is by their mungrell Tragy-comedie obtained," in the famous prologue to the first part of xambur-laine where also he declares his intention to use blank ^ verse for the writing of his plays, jUiarlowe declared his intention to lead his hearers from such conceits as Clown-age keeps in pay" to the tants of iicythian i'amburlaine, and thus at once separated hiiiiself from the confused ten-dencies of his age. Marlowe's muse was essentially tragic, and this concentration of interest on a tragic theme may have been occasioned by his inability to write comedy. "I must state my conviction," says isullen, "that Marlowe never attempted to write a comic seene. xhe muses had dowered him with many qualities - nobility and tenderness and pity -but the gift of humour, the most grateful of all gifts, was withheld." I'his is doubtless true, certainly it would be Impossible to point to a single comic scene in any of his plays wiiioh is indisputably by ii,srlowe s hand, iiut the achievement of purifying tragedy irom the unrelated and often unworthy elements with wiiich it had been adulterated was none the less great, iie saw that the comic elements as they had been used in tragedy up to that time were weakening 1. Bullens xntroduction to karlowe•s wor s...p. xxviii. 78. its effect and determined to raise tragedy to greater heights by writing in an elevated style and by clearing it of these baser elements. unfortunately the plays have not come doTOi to us in an unoorruptsd form. Apparently the jilizabethan audiences were not ready for tragedy in an undiluted form and comic scenes by other hands were interpolated into the original text. j.n the first edition of ramburlaine which appeared in 1590, the printer, xiichard t/ones, thought it necessary to preface the play by an address in which he tells us that he has "purposely omitted and left out some fond and frivolous gestures of digressing, and, in my poor opinion, far unmeet for the matter, which 1 thought might seem more tedious unto the wise than any way else to be regarded, though haply they have been of some vain-oonceited fondlings greatly gaped at, what time they were shewed upon the stage in their graced deformities: nevertheless now to be mix-tured in print with such matter of worth, ±t would prove a great disgrace to so honourable and stately a history." Creizenach remarks that the text of I'amburlalne as we have it is "too good to have been based on a version taken down 2 during the performance." we have to believe, then, that the comic interpolations were in the manuscript received by the printer but the prologue leaves us no room to be-1.--jciullen's liditlon p. 5. 2. Creizenach, p. 239, 79. lieve that they were hy Marlowe's hand, I'he satirist. Hall, ridicules the effect of these inserted passages on the stage, performed hy "a selfe-misformed lout" who "laughs and grins, and frames his mimik face, and justles straight into the prince's place." we know how bhakespeare disliked the clown who,dominated the action at inopportune times: "Let those that play your clowns," says Mamlet to the player, speak no more than is set down for them; for there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too, though in the mean time some see-essary question of the play be then to be considered; that^s villainous, and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it." The text of .b'austus is unfortunately not as pure as that of Tamburlaine and here we have a number of scenes of buffoonery which detract from the effect of the play. I'hey are not in accord with the spirit of £austus,nor is the style Marlowe's - for instance, they are written in prose -and it is generally admitted that they are not by his hand. AA the text of rhe t^ ew of Malta is also felt to be very corrupt, we feel justified in believing here, too, that it was not a part of Marlowe^s plan to use the confusion of comedy and tragedy that was popular in his age. He an-nounces his intention to present tragedy freed from all 1. ±sullen, xxi 2. Hamlet, in, ii, 43. 80. comic elements in the prologue to his first play, and the style of such comic passages as still remain in the teact of his later plays justifies our belief that they are not by his hand and are therefore no indication of a change of intention. It has been remarked that Marlowe almost certainly had no gift for the writing of comedy so that the elimin-ation of comic passages from his work was no sacrifice of talent on his part, bhakespeare's comic mus*, on the other hand, could be exceedingly happy, as we know, and therefore when he composed two plays entirely free from comedy, we are justified in regarding it as a tribute to the influence of Marlowe. In his later plays, bhakespeare developed a new type altogether. It was his contribution to the drama to use comic passages in his great tragedies as a sort of gro-tesque to enhance the tragic effect; all his later tragedies furnish instances of this. In xiichard ii and Kichard iii. however, he controlled his own tendencies through respect for Marlowe s example and produced two tragedies wholly free from any comiqelement. Schelling remarks, also, that in revising I'he troublesome Kaigne in order to produce his play of Mng oohn, bhakespeare "reduced the comedy element of the older play to the single figure of the iiastard i>aulconbridge." It is indeed very questionable that even ji'aulconbridge 1. ang. Ohron. Play, p. 48. 81. performs suoh a function here, and we feel once more that Marlowe-s influence probably provoked the seriousness of this play, by the end of jiichard II. however, lahakespeare was already weakening in his allegiance, and threw out a hiint of the humourous characters that were to be included in the later plays. Marlowe deserves great praise for thus raising the -tone of tragedy, JSven so learned a dramatist as iien ^ onson did not always see the distinction between tragedy and comedy.^ Moreover writers who, like iuarlowe, had not the skill to write comedy themselves often collaborated with others in order to produce the popular form of tragi-oomedy. Marlowe always impresses us by the power of his decisions. Again and again he shows himself markedly orie-inal, and he apparently made up his mind Tinmoved by eitjier example or favour. It is not to be wondered at that so forcible a nature should have left an impression upon the mind of his greatest contemporary, and occasionally we are struck by the convincing nature of this impression, iiuch is the oase here, where ohakespeare by eliminating all comic elements from two plays, and moderating them in a third, con-fesses himself an apostle of Marlowe's. 0 0 0 1. Greiaenach, p. 240 8S. X. 1!he Use of Historical Material, The historj- play is a form of the drama which is distinctively jinglish. Its origin can be traced hack to the comic element in the miracle and morality plays. Being indigenous in growth, it was little affected by the Sen-ecan tradition - though Sorboduc and The Misfortunes of Arthur can be quoted as plays based on legendary history developed in the Seneoan manner. These, however, are not typical in form. The historical play was more susceptible to native influences such as the ballads of St. tieorge or Hobin Hood, and th^ Hock iniesday Plays than to classical influences. It recounted the varied incidents in the life of some historic personality, without any attempt to fit the material into the form of either comedy or tragedy. The basis of the material might be either legendary - such for instance as in Locrine. or The True ghronicle History of King Leir - or contemporary history - such as The jPamous Yiotories of Henry the fifth. Moreover these themes were attacked in two separate ways; either with very little , or indeed no, attention to historic fact as in (Jreene's James IV or else with some attempt to follow historic tmth as in The gamous Victories before mentioned. I'roperly speaking, it is only the plays dealing with current histoiy,.and 83. treating it with some attempt to follow historic truth that deserve the name of chronicles. xhe majority of these history plays were produced during the reigns of jiilizabeth and James. Sohelling counts 1 only about a dozen plays before 1590. 'i'wo, possibly three, of these were written in the iienecan style and imne were not of the type as it later developed, two are pseudo-hist-orical plays such as James XV. three are undoubted chronicle plays, in the next ten years, the liistorical play achieved its greatest popularity, owing to the increased national feeling after the defeat of the Armada in 1588. Ihe plays were entirely of the people. UeitJier the Universities nor th« Inns of Court took an active share in the develppment, and this probably accounts for the lack of a Senecan spirit which would probably have entered into them if their develop-ment had been left less in popular hands. I^ iey were prod-uced in the popular theatres, a large : number of them by Henslowe's companies, and practically all of Shakespeare's contemporaries contributed to the type. Marlowe as we know made one contribution in Edward II, and practically a third of Shakespeare's work in the i'irst Folio was classed under the heading of histories. It will be of interest, then, to see what changes Marlowe introduced into the type, and to what extent Shakespeare made use of 1. Ohron. Play, p.525. 84. his innovations. i>robal)ly the best way to determine what Marlowe did for the Chronicle history is to examine a typical play by another author, and then contrast it with Marlowe's Edward II. Let us examine Peele's Edward I which was probably produced in 1590 about the same time as Marlowe's play. The national feeling which inspired the chronicle history as a whole is immediately obvious here. 'Ihe note is struck in the speech by the Queene Mother which begins the play, and it is obviously a patriotic hatred of Spaniards which inspires the calumnious attaclc on Queen Eleanor of Castile. The play promises us in its sub-title the "sincking of Queene Elinor at Gharingcrosse, and her rising againe at Potters hith, otherwise called Queene hith." Upon iier first appearance the Queen is anxious to send to Spain for the costumes needed for her coronation, since she regards J3ritish costumes as inferior. She follows this up with a career of unnatural cruelty which culminates in the remark-able punishment described above. Apart from this quite unjustifiable perversion of history, the pla,y offers us a series of unconnected events beginning with Edward's return from the Moly Land, continuing with the Welsh rebellion under Llewellyn, and various Scotch uprisings, mingled with a variety of other matter, such as various comic interludes, 85. and the romance of Gloster with Elinor's daughter, lone. We would not ask to-day that a dramatising of history should preserve untouched all that actually occurred. Real-ity is not often dramatically effective in itself hut needs to he made so hy artistic concentration and arrangement. In this play, however, we find history altered for no dramatic purpose at all, out altered for hase reasons of national prajudioe. Hotioe, too, that the chronicle manner militates against dramatic unity since a series of events in themselves unrelated are told merely because the chronicle history airris at presenting all that actually occurred. The idea of sel-ecting from these real events for dramatic purposes does not eeemeto have occurred to the early writers of the type. Lastly note the inclusion of non-historic material in order to give comic relief, it is in just these three ways that Marlowe differed from his contemporaries. We have already dealt with his elimination of the comic element from tragedy. In the next section we will consider his conversion of the loosely constructed chronicle history into tragic form; and in this examine his method of handling historical material to pro-duce dramatic effect. ITie material which Marlowe incorporated into his Edward II extended over a period of twenty years. It would seem therefore that the haphazard chronicle method of deal-ing with it would he suggested at once, and particdMrly so 86. since in all his previous plays Marlov/e had followed the chronicle method of relating a life and death in preference to selecting one dramatic incident, and he had bound to-gether this unrelated material only by the dominating influ-ence of his protagonist. In this one play, however, Mar-lowe showed real dramatic power in the arrangement of his material. His aim as iias been already indicated was not to describe a whole life, but to depict the fall of a weakling, caused by the absence of the kingly qualities which were necessary to his position. lo depict this, Marlowe haft had to re-a*range his historic material in order to make it dramatically effective. J^ he troubles in Ireland in 1315 and 1316 have been made to occur at the same time as the trouble in Scotland in 1318, and both are attributed to the interfea?enc6 of Gaveston though he really had died before they occurred. In the same way, V/arwick's life is extended in order that he may be made to pay the penalty for hip share in Gaveston's downfall. Perhaps the most effective instance of Marlowe's power is the use made of Spencer in the play. Mis rank is lowered in order that he may parallel more effectively with the upstart, Gaveston, and he is made to follow Gaveston immediately in the king's favour, though he really belonged to the opposing faction till 1318. "We have here," says Schelling, "the artist's use of material 1, Eng. Qhron. Play, pp56-7. 87. wherehy the essential is distinguished with unerring tact from the non-essential and a truer and severer logic imparted to the sequence of events and to the characters and their relations to each other than can ever exist in life." ;3. In every instance that Marlov/e has altered history, he has done so in order to increase dramatic effect, nor has there been any perversion of historic fact, but the result of this re-arrangement has been to make dramatically effect-ive an historically accurate portrait. Yse object with rea-son to the perversion of the character of Eleanor of Castile in Peele's play since it is quite unnecessary to the dram-atic effect. Marlowe in depicting the character of the queen attempts to justify her known treachery towards her husband by tracing it to his earlier Heglect of her. This is a justifiable addition to historic material, because while not distorting historic tntith, it does aid in giving dramatic consistency to the character, Viie know Isabelle was false to her husband; Marlowe tries to make her character artist-ically possible by suggesting the king's neglect as a motive. Peele deliberately distorts history with no dramatic just-ification whatever. It cannot be claimed, however, that Marlowe's skill was ever pre-eminent in the depicting of character. Jie does not altogether succeed in making Isa-bella dramatically consistent, but we do feel he attempts to do so and fails not for lack oi the attempt but because 1. Ibid, p. 67. 88. M s skill was not equal to the task, i'rom this example, we can see, therefore, what is justifiable and what is not justifiable in the adajpting of historic material to the drama. In Riohard II, Shakespeare handled a theme very closely akin to Marlowe's and in the same way he altered historic material to secure dramatic effect, A number of instances of this can be quoted. (1.) In III, iii, Shakespeare describes an inter-view between Northumberland and Kichard at ii'lint castle. In this interview he condenses the occurrences ox two interviews, one at Oonway, and another at iflint some time after. ' • (E.) \i'hen Norfolk's death is described, Holinshed does not tell us that he joined the crusades, "Against black Pagans, ITurks, and Saracens," 1 Me does tell us that during his banishment, jiolingbroke engaged in battle against the infidels ofPrutaenland." ihis feat is transferred to Norfolk in order that our sympathy at Norfolk's death in banishment may be inten-sified and thus aid in alienating our sympathies from Eichard who is about to be deposed. (3.) Carlisle's speech opposing Hichard's deposi^-tion occurs before the event in Shakespeare's play though 1* Hichard II. lY, 1, 96. 89. it really occurred about a month after. This agedn is dram- " atioally effective for it would destroj^ the unity to have Carlisle appear later in Hiohard's defence. Placed where it ia, it adds to the dramatic effect by stressing the power of Bolingbroke v;ri0 is able to arrest uarlisle for de fending tiie king, and that it is dramatically effective is due to bhakespeare'B skill in transposing it. (4.) une of the most important ways in which iihak-espeare alters iiolinshed is by the use he maJres of the queen to increase our symp,thy for jiichard, ihe scene with the gardener. 111, iv, is purely bhakespeare's invention. So, too, is the pathetic farewell seene in V,i. In reality Blchard and Isabtrlie met for the last time before j-dchards departure for the irish wars, iior did she escape immed-iately to I'-rance after Kichard s deposition, but was detained by ±Jolingbroke for some time, i'he use made of the queen is thus a distinct indication of bhakespeare's power to treat historic material with dramatic effectiveness. 15.) The gardeners are non-historic characters intro-duced in order to increase our sympathy with idchard. The same is true of the groom who visits iiichard in his impris-onment, A number of non-historic characters had appeared in Peele's pLay, but these were not used to advance the plot, but rather added an independent interest chiefly of a comic nature, hence they served to destroy not to create unity. 90, (6.) iLolinshed gives us the basis for the use made of Exton, but his treatment by Bolingbroke after the murder is again an effective interpolation by Shakespeare. (7.) The length of Kichard's imprisonment has been considerably cut down. Mis captivity in thw tower and his transference to Leeds are both overlooked. Kiohard had been imprisoned in both these places before being taken to Pomfret whore he was killed. 18.j rhe account of itichard's death follows closely one of the descriptions given of it. Shakespeare, however, deliberately chose this story in preference to some others because of the dramatic effectiveness of making his irres-olute king at last exert himself, and gain further sympathy for his fate by the valour of his defence. 1 I'hese are some of the principal divergencies from iiolinshed in Shakespeare's play, and in each of them we see dramatic art being used in the compression, transposition, or addition resorted to. it is not out of place to comment that had Shakespeare gone further and removed the incident, of Aumerle's conspiracy, he would have added considerably to the dramatic effect of the play, we see, however, a distinct attempt on the part of Shakespeare to make artistio use of his sources, in this he is far removed from the inartistic use we have remarked in Peele and is confessing 1. Shakespeare's Holinshed, pp. 77-130. 91. himself a follower of Marlowe. Marlowe had used greater skill in arranging his material since he had to compress the events of twenty years into tns short space of five acts. I'he events of Hichard li do not exteni much over two years and henoe less art was needed in reducing them to shorter compass. Both dramatists, however, were inspired by the same motive -the desire to use historic material with dramatic efxectiveness, 0 0 0 92. XI* The Chronicle History. Marlowe's second gift to the Chronicle nistory was his moulding of the inchoate form which it had heen up to his time into the form of pure tragedy. v»e have already seen that he first appreciated the value of handling his historical material artistically, and by exaraing Shakes-peare's use of the sources for his Kichard II have seen a similar attempt on his part to give dramatic"effectiveness to reality. But Marlowe went a step further, he made his jgdward II purely tragic in form. Although Shakespeare con-tinued to make artistic use of his material in all his chron-icle plays, it is in only two of these and these his first two, that he keeps to the tragic form inaugurated "by Marlowe. In all the succeeding historic plays, though of course he rose far heyond the incoherence of ieele, largely "because of his artistic use of material, he no longer attempted to give to his work the intense form of tragedy, ills later histories are rather of the epic type, and full of the patriotic spirit which was present in all the Jilizabethans with the single exception of Marlowe. The comic interlude supplied in iiidward I hy the friar and his G-uenthian re-appears in ahakespeare in the goodly fellowship of ij'alstaf^ f and his Doll, i-istol and i^ 'luellen, to mention but a few 93. whom we could ill spare from Shakespeare's creations. A hint of this cliange is given already at the end of Hichard II when Bolingbroke atffes the whereabouts of his son, though the play itself is free of any comic element. In his later plays, however, he breaks altogether from the influence of Marlowe and goes back to the manner of the earlier writers of Qhronicle histories. It is in the two earlier plays of iiichard II and Hichard III that we find him, like Marlowe, making his historical material fit into the form of pure tragedy. Let us first examine how this is done by Marlowe in Mward II and then observe how nearly k>hakespeare followed him* In the first place, there is an utter absence of comic relief in Edward XI. It is perhaps not amazing that this is so, since Marlowe's genius was obviously tragic and not comiC, but in thus severing comic relief from the history play, Marlov/e was doing something even more original than by his similar severing of comic relief from the tragedy proper. tJlassical example might inspire him to omit such elements from tragedy, but the history pS^ ay as we have seen was not based upon the classical drama: it was a purely indigenous form, had risen from the comic element in the miracles and moralities and always had contained a comic element, A similar absence of comic relief is observable 1. Hote: We can except the one or two plays quoted above 94. in Kichard 111 and iilohard II and this is a convincing proof of Marlowe's influence, since here it can be due to no lack of ability to write a comic scene, ahakespeare's skill in producing comio characters might easily have led him to introduce them where they would not be amiss. Moreover Shakespeare deliberately introduced them into his great trageiies where there was far less excuse for their intro-duction. It is true he did not intend these scenes to pro-voke mirth in themselves but intended them to intensify the essentially tragic natmre of his theme, iiowever by intro-ducing them at all he was f&llowing the native tendency as opposed to the classical, i^ ot that ahakespeare had any in-tention to mingle comedy and tragedy as had been the case with the early dramatists, but he saw the possibility of the grotesque to enhance the tragic effect. Marlowe as we have seen, did not introduce the grotesque into his tragedies, and we feel this abstinence on the part of Shakespeare in | the two history plays above mentioned must be due to Marlowe'8 influence, since he who used the comic element in his trag-edies would hardly be expected to abstain from it in his histories where it was invariably present. Another variation from the chronicle play in Marlowe, (cont. fr. p. 93.) which were written in the Senecan manner , and though based on historical themes were not in the chron-icle tradition. Moreover these wereplays of court and not of the popular playhouses. s> 95. is his neglect of the patriotic appeal. It has blready been remarked that this was one of the distinctive features of the history play. 2hese pla, s were the result of an increased feeling of nationalism which had directed men's interests to the history of their country, and their appeal lay through the national spirit rather than through any ap-peal which might lie in them as a form of art. In dropping this appeal, Marlowe again made a distinct departure from prevailing methods, lidward II interested Marlowe as mat-erial out of which could be constructed the one,type of drama in which he was interested - the tragedy, xlae fact that the material he was about to use was historical did not affect his method of handling it. In the same way that he had abandoned the conic passages which had been the in-variable concomitant of the histoiy play, so too, he dropped the patriotic appeal and developed his materi&l along purely tragic lines. In iii chard I J. ijhkkespeare did not follow him in thus abandoning the patriotic appeal. One of the passages which is interpolated by ishakespeare into his source IB tne famous speech in pc«ise of i^ ngland beginning, "This royal throne of kings, this eceptered isle." xhis magnificent passage placed in the mouth of the dying tiohn of tiaint, breathes all the patriotic fervour that distinguished the ohakes-1. Hiohard ii, Ix, i, 40. 96. pearian agev:' In the later histories, too, when Shakespeare had shaken off Marlowe's influence altogether, and returned to the form of the chronicle histories, the patriotic note common to them is always present, it is not evident however in .tilchard ill and it would seem that Marlowe • s influence is responsible, The play in the Marlovian manner has a Machiavellian hero, and a psychological note of remorse; it is a history play which in the Marlovian manner is free of all Gcaiiic passages, it is tragic in form and it lays no emphasis on the patriotic spirit, when Richard addresses his army, it is true, he attempts to stir national feeling-against the ii'rench invaders, but that is nothing more than the form of encouragement he v/ould be expected to use at such a time, BOX is ths national feeling stressed in many other passages where it would have been easy to introduce it. The misrule of Kichard IX inspires John of Gaunt to a long lament on the vanished glories of his native land, rhose who are against Kichard ill are inspired by personal wrongs -the death of a husband or a son; even the ghosts which appear to the two leaders before the battta do not strike a note of patriotism but recount their individual suffering under iiichard's tyranny. Since this is so foreign to the chronicle type, and occurs in a play so much under Marlowe s influence, we feel that it, too, may be traced to him. 97. Next, let us consider the careful arrangement of Marlowe's play in order to give tragic effect, iiere there is no unconnected series of events held together only hy the power of the protagonist, though this has "been Marlowe's TfUgthod up to this time and it might easily be expected here since it was the general method of the history play, jiut instead Marlowe has a definite design. He wishes to show the struggle and defeat of a weak king. The whole play is grouped al)0ut this central idea, and we hare already seen how the historical material has heen used to enchance the effect, in the first part of the play our sympathies were alienated from ra chard hy the emphasising of his short-comings. After Edward's fall, however, Mortimer's char-acter is revealed to us in a; less favourable light. His vulgar ambition is now emphasised in order that our sjmi-pathies may turn to Kichard, and to this same end we have the stressing of lasbella's cruelty, and the wretchedness of jiidward's prison. The catastrophe of the play has been ranked among the most powerful in the whole range of lit-erature. xhe same tragic unity can be traced in the two his© tories of Shakespeare's which show Marlowe's influence. Richard Iii dominates the play of which he is the protag-onist. Here are no unconnected incidents, in the chron-; f. 98. icle manner, hut the entire play aims at the description of the gradual rise to power and the sudden fall of a tragic hero. When we examine Shakespeare s variation from his sources we are the more impressed hy his determination to foeuSLattention on the career and character of Kichard. The amazing scene "between i-iichard and Anne {I,iij is among the most important of iihakespeare s interpolations and it is also one of the most effective in bringing out the su'E^ e villainy of the man. Another interpolation by bhakespeare is the widowed queen, Margaret, ihe full consideration of her use in the play belongs to a later section, but it is not out of place to notice here that she assists in stressing the tragic note by preparing us for liichards overthrow, x'he fall of Richard then becomes a true catastrophe, com-pleting a play which has kept closely to the ^ines of pure tragedy. The same treatment is given to xdchard Ii. The development here parallels exactly with the development in iidward Ii, even though the conolusionEhardly possesses the same dramatic force. Bince in his later history plays Shakespeare returned to the chronicle manner we realise how greatly he was influenced by Marlowe at the comjnence-ment of his career, xhe influence extends to the exclu-sion of all comic relief from both xiichard ii and Kiohardiij, 99. though aa we have seen suon exclusion was not in Shalcespeare's usual manner and was moreover a decidedly new note in the history play. It is felt as well in the absence of a dom-inant note of patriotism from xiichard ixi. though this was oommon to all the other dramatists except ioarlowe, and would seem almost demanded by a play whose theme was derived from national history. And finally it is Marlowe's aecen-ianoy that is responsible for tiie moulding of his first two histories in the form of pure tragedy, a form which was not employed in the chronicle plays before karlowe and w^s later abandoned by Shakespeare, himself, when he nad passed beyond Matlowo'8 influence. o 0 0 100. XII. Blank Verse. One important contribution made hy Marlowe to the English stage, was the employment of hlank verse in the popular drama. 1!he first person to use "blank vierse in England was Surrey: the first person to use it in the drama was Saokville, "but it is to Marlowe that we owe its use in t^e popular drama, and it is in his verse that we see for the first time that it is not a ifiorm to restrain the genius of a poet v/ithin formal lines, "but that with its infinite possibilities for inflection and variety, it may be made a fit vehicle for the entire range of human emotion. It is impossible to think of Shakespearean drama robbed of the melody which is given to it by a verse which can be modulated to express the most whimsical fancy or swell to the grandeur of the deepest passion. Yet that so wide a range lay within the scope of this metrical form was not dreamt of till Marlowe had shown its flexibility, and Shakespeare with the musical instrument ready to hid hand had but to breathe into it the fancies of his genius, "vi/hen the achievements of Marlowe with blank verse are compared with the achievements of his predecessors, the greatness of the debt to him seems over-whelming. Let us first consider the introduction of blank • 101. verse into England, then examine a few typical passages from the early plays which made use of it, and finally hy com-paring Marlowe's use of the metre, wee how much Shalrespeare owed to him. The first use of "blank verse in English was in the translation of the second and fourth hooks of the Aeniid by Surrey in 1557. It has been thought that he may have wished to find a metre which would give the effect of the latin mea-sure and decided upon iambic pentametre, using stress to take the place of Latin quantities. If this was his reason then his skill in discerning that the shorter line and the shorter measure would be more effective in English than a literal transposition of stressed and unstressed accents for the long and short syllables of the Latin metre is much to be commended, since it is a well known fact that dactyllic hexametre in English is a very turgid metre. It is not necessary to examine the form of Surrey's verse in detail; "if the translation is not great poetry, it deserves praise as the first use of the metre in English. Kie first use of blank verse in the drama was in Sorboduo which was given for the first time in 156£. The play contains many long speeches which make it read very heavily. Even v^ here these speeches disappear for a few shorter passages of conversation, it is noticeable that 102. those conversing make use of entire lines - that is the poetical line is not broken up by the various speakers, but each makes use of a passage metrically complete in itself. Jfor instance the following: Clotyn. I thinke the world will now at length beware. And feare to put on armes agaynst their princei Mand. If not, those trayterous hartes that dare rebell, Leththem beholde the wide and hugie lieldes With bloud and bodies spread of rebelles slayne, Hhe lofty trees clothed with the corpses dead !rhat strangled with the corde do hang thereoni Aros. A lust rewardi such as all times before Haue ever lotted to these wretciied folkes, Grwen. But what meanes he that commeth here so fast? 1 These lines are too formal to give any reality to the conv-ersation. Hotice the dull monotony of the lines, the accents observed with painful regularity, which give the impression that the thought has been enslaved by the metre. Such a condition is fatal for the poet who should not be shackled by his metre but use the loim that fits his sub-ject with greatest ease. 'Ho achieve freedom it is not necessary to abstain from all rule, but the medium should be sensitive, not restraining the emotion but fluctuating in response. If we had never had anything but the dull regularity of Gorboduc to pound out its measures across our literature, it would have been impossible as a vehicle for the drama which above all other forms requires a med-ium that will be sensitive to all the subtle variations of character which it is its purpose to depict. • 1. Gorboduo, Y» ii, 58. .,. . 10i5. uther plays "beside uorboduo used blank verse before i^rlowe. An examination of the blank verse in uascoigne's tjocasta {1566; and 'j?homas Hughes' Misfortunes of Arthur (1587) will show that in these plays it is equally formal, m t)ooaata there are many examples of sticoraythic dialogue. I'or example: ate. ViJhoma thou art come to spoyle and to deface. Po. 0 kiods, give eare unto my honest oause. £jte. with forreine power his countrie to invade ro, 0 holy temples of the heavenly uods. 1 And this goes on at great length, while this breaks up the play into shorter speeches, it must be remembered that Gas-coigne is not responsible since the play is an adaptation of one by iSuripides; moreover this formality is as deadening as the longer speeches of iiorboduo. very occasionally, too, a line is broken by placing it in the mouth of two speakers, but the metrical form of the line is rigidly observed, thus: Sac, i^ ow in thy sacred name I bowell here rhis sacrifice. Tyre. And what entrails hath itv in The Misfortunes of Arthur an interesting attempt is made to break down the line unit: Pador. Pat case you win, what grief? Arthur. Admit i do, what JoyY oador. Then may you rule, Arthur, when i may die. iJador. TO rule is much. • Arthur, tjmall, if we covet nought. uador. Who covets not a crown? Arthur, ne that discerns the sword aloft, (jador. That hangeth fast. Arthur, jbut by a hair. 2 1. Act li, bcene i. E. Act Ixi, Scene 1, 104. The same formality exists, however, it will be noted that in nearly every case, the second passage spoken by a speaker is of sufficment length to make out the decasyllabon line if united to his first, Accordingly we feel that though there is a shortening of the haftffler strokes, they beat on just the same; there is nothing vi4.al in the measure. Jhe Arraignment of Paris (1584.) by Peele is composed in a mixture of rhyme and blank verse. Act ¥, iSeene i, breaks into blank verse at line 1E34: Pian. It is enough, and goddesses attende: Were wons within these pleasaunt sinady woods, where neither stonne nor Buns distemperature Haue power to hurte by cruell heate or colde, Vnder the clymate of the milder heaven, Where seldome lights loves angrie thunderbolt ij'or falour of that soueraygne earthly peere. We can summarise the value of all these contributions to the form briefly as follows: 1. i'here is absolute regularity of accent. 2. 'ihe line is a distinct unit; there is no tendency to run on to the next line. 3. i'he speeches vary in length but are always rigidly formal consisting of; a. very long speeches, b. Shorter speeches, each of which pre-serves intact the line unit. 4. Sticomythlc dialogue of the whole or part line. With the exception of Peele's, these plays were not ^ intended for the popular stage but were written in the Sen-105. ecan tradition for the Inns of Court, Bie themes as v;e have noted were Seneoan; the metre was very probably intended to be the English equivalent of Latin hexametre. In Peele's play there is uncertainty in the use of 'hla.nk. verse. Most of the play is composed of rhyming lines, as follows: run. Pallas, the storme is past and gone, and Phoebus Gleares the skies. And loe, beholde a ball of golde, a faire and worthie prize. Yen. i'his posie wils the apple to the fayrest giuen be, I'hen is it mine; for venus hight the fayrest of the three. it is in this measure, the rimed fourteener, that the popular plays were written before Marlowe. And yet in 1587, Marlowe, a young man of twenty-three, produced 'i'amburlaine which he difinitely chose to write in blank verse announcing in the prologue his reasons for doing so: jj'rom ;)iggiag veins of rhyming mother wits. And such conceits as clownage keeps in pay, we'll lead you to the stately tent of war, where you shall hear the bcythian I'amburlaine: xhreateiing the world with high astounding terms. And scourging kingdoms with his conquering sword. One would have expected a beginner to show deference to the users of the prevailing form by employing their metre in his early work, or at least to have shown some uncertainty in making a decision, l»)ot only is this uncertainty absent, but Marlowe is so convinced of the value of the change, that he announces it boldly with a reference to the "rhyming 106. mother wits" who have not yet 1B d the disoerrunent to ahandon rhyme. Had he "been less successful in using the new measure, the introduction might indeed have seemed ostentatious, hut at once we find his style vital, pulsating, ready to follow the genius of its master through varying moods, ihere is no longer a monotonous heat, but an infinite variety, and the measure proves itself capable of such a range of feeling as the "boastful speeches of the conquering I'amhurlaine, and the exquisite love lyric in praise of kienocrate. I'o obtain this effect, Marlowe did not scorn to use metrical devices familiar to those who had employed the metre before him, but he added many new features of his own, iixamples both of new devices introduced by him and of his use of those already familiar, follow. A number are deliberately chosen from ' 'famburlai ne to shov/ witn what ease Marlowe handled the mea-sure even at the commencement of his career. 1 i. Vari^ ed, uaesura: ii'or there my palace royal / shall be placed, vtihose shining turrets / shall dismay the heavens And cast the fame of ilion's tower / to hell. E Jamburlaine, Iv, iv, H E . li. Light (feminine) ending of line: Beauteous rubies, sparkling diamonds. Jew. I, i, E7. I note that the line seems to be trochaic tetraraetre.} !• These references are taken from isullen's edition. All other quotations from Marlowe were taken from •i'ucker-i3rooke's edition since it was the latest text, nere, however, where a« direot comparison with iihakespeare is involved, it was thought better to use a modernised version to parallel with the Oxford bhakespeare. 107. My bosom inmatei but i must dissemble, .iew, iv,i, 51. I I I . iiexametre: i must be pleased per fo rce , wretched zienocrate. 1 'x'amburlaine. I , i i , 258. Jianperors and kings Are but obeyed i n t h e i r s eve ra l p rovinces . l . l ' ambur la ine , i , i , 56. IV. Line with omitted s y l l a b l e a t comiiienoement: I , and body too but what of tha t? jj'aus .us, v, 130. V. Line "with a d d i t i o n a l s y l l a b l e a t commencement: r e l l me, are t he re many heavens above the moonY ii-auatus, VI, ^ S. Bags of fiery opals, saphires, amethysts. Jew, I, i, 25. VI. Use of eouivalents for metrical foot: But fearftil echoes thunder in mine ears, Faustus, thou art di-mnedi Then swords and Vnives.. Faustus. VI, 20 Abjure t h i s maffic, tu rn to God asrain: To God? - he loves thee not -Faustus , V, 10. VII. Varied stress in a regular line: Infinite riches in a little room. Jew, I, i, 36. See where Christ's blood streams in the firmament, Faustus. AVI, 78. VIII. Irregular accentuation: And by the love of Fylades and Orestes. (the iamb is replaced by n anapaest.) IX. Incomplete line: Ah, half the hour is past I 'twill all be past anonI 0 God! If thou wilt not have mercy on my soul.. Ffoistus. XVI, 96 108. X. Line broken up for conversation: Jew, I, H, between Barabas and Abip-ail.. .248. Edward II. il, v, 85. Y, ii, 74. XI. btichomythia; Paus tus , I I I , 65. (This was not much n.sed by Marlowe.) XII. Hun on line: ind from the bounds of Afric to the banks Of G-anges shall his mif?hty arm extend. 1 Tambn.rlaine. Y, ii, 5E3. And sooner let the fiery element Dissolve and make your kingdom in the sky. Than this mere earth should shroud yoTsr majesty. 8 Tamburlaine. II, iv, 57. It is our country's cause, •That here severely we will execute Unon thy oerson: hane: him at a bough. Edward II. II, v. 25. (llote th-! a;reater ease of transition from line to line than was evident in Uamburlaine.) XIII. 'illiteratiiig sound: BarbaroTis and bloody Tamburlaine. Thus to deprive me of my crown ;md life I Treacherous and false Theridamas, Even at the mornin,Q; of my happ3?. state. 1 Tamburlaine, II, vii. 1 These metaphysics of magiciaiis. And necromantic books are heavenly. lines, circles, scenes, letters, and characters: ganstus, I, 47. XIY. Use of Rhyme. Marlov/e's play. Dido, contains a ,o:rea.t many instances of rhjraiing lines, but it must be remembered that Marlowe iid not work on this play alone so that too much shculd not be based on this. Rhymed lines begin to appear in The Jew. Occasionally an effect is produced by the in-sertion of a rhyming couplet: 109. _War, Alarum i to the fight I St. Qeoxfr.e for England, and the harons' right. Edward II. III,iii,55. X¥. Use of Prose: In the majority of cases "/here prose apDears in Mar-lowe's plays it v'ould seem to he the work of another hand... interpolated comic scenes, for example, lie did seem, however, to ap;)reciate the effect of prose to indicate p:raat emotional crises. One instance of this occurs in 1 Tamburlaine. V, ii, Zahina's speech on the discovery of the dead body of her husband. Again in gaustus there is a fine passage in preee which would seem to be ilarlowe's since it expresses the same emotion as the solilocu^/ which follows in verse. It is at the very end of the play, 11,1356 - 1418 in 'Pucker Brooke's edition-XVI. Poor lines: It is to be expected that such experimenting with n new metrical form occasionally resulted disastrously. A faulty text may account for some of these but we find it impossible to scan such a line as this: •'.Vould it not grieve a king to be so abused. 1 Jarnburlalne, II, ii, 5. It is surprising, though, v/ith what readiness Marlowe learnt to control his metre. These eKamples give some idea of the arariety that Marlowe maaaged to fKi^e to his metre. The variety that Shakespeare achieved is familiar to us all, but some instances of uses similar to examples given from M?^rlowe, follow chosen from the inlays in which Marlowe's influence was the most marked: I . Varied Caesura: I f n o t , / I ' l l use the advantage of my power, And l ay the summer's d u s t / . i t h showers of blood • HainSd" from the wounds'of s laup:hter 'd Enerlishman: 110. The which/how far off from the rnind of Bollnfrhrokd It is,/such crimson tempest should hedrenoh The fresh f?reen lap/of fair Sine; Rich8.rd's land... Richard"II. III. iii, 42. II, Light ending: This was extremely popular with Shakespeare from the first and nuBierous examples can he Riven. This hlessed plot, this earth, this realm, this Ens-land. Richard II, II, i. 50. III. Hexametre: And he himself not present? 01 forjfend it, God. Bichard II.IY.i, 129. I that am. rudely stamp'd, aiad want love's majesty. Richard III, I, i, 15.' lY. Line with omitted syllahle at commencement: Speak v/ith me, pity me, ODen the door. Richard II. V. iii, 77. Y. Line T/ith additional syllahle at commencement: Villain, thine aiim hand yields thy death's instrument. Richard II, Y, v, 107. YI. Use of ecuivalents for metrical foot: I live with hread like you, feel want. Taste grief, need friends: suhjected thus, How can you say to me I am a king? Richard II. Hi,iii, 176. VII. Yo.ried stress in a regular line: As is the sepulchre in stuhhorn Jev/ry Of the world's ransom, hlessed Mary's Son. Richard II. II. i, 55. YIII, Irregular accentuation: But for our trusty hrother-in-law and the ahhot. , Richard II. Y. iii, 127. 1 1 1 . IX. Incomplete line: 'fhroufyh "brazen trumDet send the "breath of par ley In to h i s r u i n ' d e a r s , ond thus d e l i v e r : Henry Bolinghrcire On hoth h i s '^'oiees doth M s s KinT Richard ' s hand. Richard I I . I l l , i i i , ?.3. Grlou. ijnons- this princely heap, if any here, By false intelliscence, or wron^ o: surmise. Hold me a foe; If I unwittinffly, or in my rape. Have aught committed that is hardly borne... Blchard III, II. i, 55. X, Line broken up for conversation: Richard II. Y, ii, conversation of Anmerle. Yor"k:, and the Buchess. Eichard III. V, iii, conversation of Richard, ITorfolk, and Surrey on Bosv;orth field. il. Stichomythia: Shakes-peare used this occasionally in his earlier flajTs but it disappears as he adsanoes. Both Richard II and Richard III contain examples: Richard II. II, i, between Gaunt and Richard. Richard III, I. ii, between Inne and Gloucester (an instance of half-line stichomythia.) ZII. Run on line: It is noticeable that even thou-c-h Ma"'lor;e achieves lines that run from one tr^ the other, his work srenemll'^ does use the line as a unit, and a run-on line only extends the pause a little further. Shakespeare's advance in the use of his metre is marked by the easier flow in the transition of thought from line to line. Jusserand gives the figures for run-on lines as 1 in 18 in Love's Labours Lost; and 1 in 3 in 'Bie Tempest. ^ Witliout neoessarily accepting these figures, we can nevertheless state generally that the advance does seem to go hand in hand with the use of the metre. • 1. Jusserand, p. 346. ) H E . XIII. Alliteration: There are passages in Shakesfpare's early plays where alliteration is carried to such excess that there is doubt in the minds of the critics as to v/hether it is done in deliberate mockery. It is noticeable that Marlowe ia not lead away in this manner, but uses alliterating sound to add rhythm to the metre. Numerous uses of this sort can also be i'ound in Shakespeare. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege. And all unlock'd for from your highness' mouth: A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be oast forth in the common air, Eave I deserved at your highness' hands. Richard II. I, iii, 154. XIY. Use of Hhyme: It has been noticed that Marlowe did insett a few rhyming passages in his later plays though none at all appeared in his first. ITie reverse is the case with Shakespeare. The early plays seem to show a much bigger proportion 'of i^yme than the later. Jusserand gives 10E8 .rhymed lines in Love's Labours Lost; 579 blank verse. In The Tempest he gives 2 rhymed lixies: in The Winter's Tale, none.-'- Shakespeare used rhyme effectively all through his plays to suggest com-pletion, as at th close of an incident in a sceue or to mark the end of the scene itself. Many examples can be given from Richard II. It is less common in Kiohard III though it is frequently used to end a scene, XV. Use of Prose: Later in his career, Shakespeare obtained some very subtle effects by the arrangement of prose and verse in contrast. The sleep-walking scene in Macbeth may be paralleled with the scene quoted from Tamburlai ne as an instance of prose used to sjiov/ agitation of mind. There is no prose in Richard II. We feel that this ia probably due to Marlowe's influence since he did not customarily alternate prose and verse, as we have seen. There are a few uses in Richard XII, but they do not seem to be particularly efxective. ihe murderers use prose upon their first appearance, I, iv, buu they use verse later on. The citizens speak prose in II, iii, • I. Ibid, loo,cit. 113. It is hard to tell v/hether Marlowe's influence had any-thing to do with the use of prose in the scene referred to from Macbeth. It seems safer to concluie that Mar-lowe's influence is to be found in the very slight use made of it in the early tragedies. XVI. Poor Lines: Shakespeare, too, was experimenting with a new mediua and oocasionally came to disaster. Tv/o lines can be quoted from iiichard II. We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not? Ill, iii, 127, I will be satisfied, let me see it, I say. V, ii, 71. In both dramatists, therefore, we have seen definite efforts to achieve variety, to maice the rhyme a sympathetic medium for many emotions. Some of the effect was secmitard by a deliberate copying oi wiiat had been familiar in the classical drama, as for instance, the use of stichomythia; some of the attempts at metrical variation resulted in giving an appearance of artificiality, as for instauce, the use of alliteration; but all were aiminp: in the right direction, it cannot of course oe claimed that in tne instances cited above Shakespeare was delitrerately copi^ ing Marlowe's example. iTie examples were given to Bhow, first, tn.^ t iiiarlowo achieved great variety in the use of his metre; and secondly, tnat Shal© speare achieved a similar variety. Marlowe settled the question of the s;^le of tae drama by the exoellenoe of his blank verse, xsefore him, as we huve seen, there was some uncertainty, after him th»re was none, for he used blank verse so well as to abolish 114. argument. When Shakespeare hegan to write, therefore, there was no question of the advisilaility of this or that style. Marlowe had established the form by his own pre-eminent success, and Shaicespeare, in common with all the immediate followers of Marlowe, used blank verse as the inevitable form for tragedy. Peele's "blank verse, as we know, was often very graceful, but it lacked the grandeur which later appeared in Marlowe. It is this quality in Marlowe's verse which made it the fittii:ig medium for the drama of the heroic personality, 'fhe grandeur, the sonorous and stately march of his verse, was carried over into Shakespeare. It is a quality that v^ e recognise at once and that we aasociate, uncoiisoiously per-haps, with the poetry of the Jilizabethans. let, as we have seen, this quality was not common to those who em-ployed blank verse before Marlowe but appeared for the first time in his work. Shakespeare, therefore, is indebted to Marlowe for the grandeur of his style. Shakespeare, we may conclude by summarising, has a threefold debt to iiiarlowe for the qualities of his style. it was karlowe who first settled that blank verse should be the medium for the drama, he led in showing the infinite variety of wjiioh the form was capable, and he first gave it the dig"nity and grandeur which we recognise again in Shak- ^ espeare. 0 0 0 115. XIII. Bombast, [flie grandeur which Marlowe gave to "blank verse made it a fit vehicle to express the overwhelming amhitions of his protagonists, but in striving for grandeur, imrlowe easily fell into bombast. It would appear that at first he felt something of this sort to be necessary to displace the rhyme he had abandoned. Me promised "high astounding terms" as a substitute in the prologue to his first play and the ten-dency to rant is thereby traceable to this intention. It is a marked feature of his early plays; Tamburlaine is full of it. Ben joiison speaks of "flying from all humanity vath the Tamerlanes and Tamer-Ohams of the lateiage which had noth-ing in them but the scenical strutting and furious vocifer-ation to warrant them to the ignorant gapers." One of the famous scenes which partakes of this tendency is the one in which I'amburlaine addresses the captive monarchs who are drawing his chariot; Holla, ye pampered lades of Asia; What, can ye draw but twent;y miles a day? 'Phe aosurdity of this struck even the age which had been swept off its feet by Marlowe's magnificent surge of poetry, and Shakespeare parodies it in Henry lY, Part Ii, oy making i^ istol sgpak of, 1. t imber, p . 4 1 . E. t gamWrlaine, IV, i i i , ;5980. 116. packhorses And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia Which cannot go but thirty miles a day. 1 This is a famous example, but the play is full of them. iTie tendency to bombast increases whenever Sambur-laine is on the stage but neither his followers nor his enemies are free from it, Mycetes tries to speak in the same blustering tone as his great enemy, but we do not feel that he is altogether successful in keeping to it: I long to see thee baeke returne from thence, iliat I may view these milk-white steeds of M n e All loden with the heads of killed men. And from their knees euen to their hoofes below, Besmer'd with blood, that makes a dainty show, ^ Somehow the word 'dainty' makes the entire speech seem forced and unaatural. Mycetes wishes to give an impression of the , same lust for battle that is in Tamburlaine, but lamburlaine's speeches are consistently vigourous, while ivi^ 'Cetes seems to suggest a coward trying to put on a blustering front to hide his fear. Tamburlaine could never have spoken the words uttered by kycetes after his defeat: Accurst be he that first inuented war, I'hey knew not, ah,,they knew not simple men, iiov; those were hit by pelting uannon shot, iitand staggering like a quiaering Aspen leafe, ii-earing the force of ijoreas boistrous blasts. ^ xhis shows the oleae connection between the tendency to rant, and karlowe's conception of the tragic hero. An !• 2 Henry lY, II, iv, 176. S. 1 g'amburlalne, I, i, 84. 3. Ibid, li, iv, 664. 117. examinations of the quotations used to illustrate the char-acter of the tragic hero in beotion lY will show how much iiom"bast is used to give the idea of grandeur whi eh was inseparable from Marlowe's idea of the heroic personality. 'i'he protagonist in iiidward II differs from iiiarlowe's customary conception of the tragic hero, iie alone is not a superman, and Marlowe's style in this play is accordingly more subdued that is his custom. It is true that adward 11 eontains in Mortimer the familiar type though here he is opponent and not protagonist. Mortimer, therefore, often uses bombast which is otherwise lacking from the general style of the play. bince it is not definitely decided whether uido belongs to the earlier or later period of Marlowe's career, it is hard to decide whether the style represents a recrud-esoence of the bombastic form, or whether it is represen-jjative of the same youthful period as xamburlaine. It must be reraembered, too, that as aashe collaborated in the work, Marlowe need not be regarded as solely responsible for such lines as the following: At which the frantioke Queane leapt fi)n his face. And in his eyeliiia hanging by the nayles, A little while prolonged her husbands life: At last the soulaiers puld her by the heelss. And swong her howling in the emptie ayre, uhich sent an eccho to the wounded Jilng: whereat he lifted vp his bedred lims, » And would haue grappeld with AChilles sonne. 118. 4.orgettlng both his want of strength and hands, iihioh he disdaining whiskt his sword about. And with the wind thereof tne j^ ing fell do^vne.. 1 It is hard to accept these lines as karlowe'a, rhey represent the bombastic style carried to utter absurdity, and we are inclined to believe that iihakespeare s description of the same aoene in tne player's speech in iiamlet was intended as a parody of this passage in karlowe. Jiombast, tnen is the outstanding fault into wnich Marlowe's highsounding blank verse tended to slip, and as we have seen this bombast is closely connected with the Marlovian conception of the tragic hero. One would expect, accordingly, to find Shakespeare making the stjiie blunder in tne play whose hero is conceived after j,iarlowe s exanple, that is in liichard III. It is rather Burprisi ig, therefore, to find that this is not the oasje. xtiohard, ni-nseli, as has been peviously remarked is convincing largely becuuse of the colloquialism of hts speech, ^rue he announces to us from time to time that he is about to commit a series of evil deeds, but tne speeches in which ne announces his intentions oannot be regarded as bombast because he actually does carry out what he nas announced, i.hen xamburioine tells us ne holds tne fates bouna fast in iron chains, we are justified in regarding tnis as bombast but v/i.en .lichard says: • 1. ijido. ii, i, 559. 119. 1 do the wrong, and first "begin to brawl, ihe secret mischiefs that i set abroach i lay unto the grievous charge of others... jbut then i sigh, and, with a piece of scripture, I'ell them that U-od bids us do good for evil: And thus I clothe my naked villany Biith odd old ends stoln forth of holy writ. And seam a saint when most 1 play the devil. 1 we are stinick at once by the irigourous naturalness of his speech. It is this which gives the character greater force-fulneaa than Marlowe ever produced by the grandiloquence of his braggart speeches. It is true that many of the other characters in the play are unnatural; the queens seem to give a choric background to txie vivid reality of Kichard-s actions, but this unreality is not obtained through karlovian bombast, but, as we shall see, by passing from the dramatic mood to the epic. It is with a feeling of considerable sur-prise, therefore, that one relinquishes the search, rearful deeds have been promised, but then fearful deeds have been done, and this is altogether different from bombast. Are we to assume, then, that bhakespeare never fell into this error of styleV In his later plays as we have seen he ridiculed it, and in one play he made most successful use of it in order to bring out a character contrast, hot-spur in 1 Jdenry lY is very bombastic in tone, and this language coming from him seems eminently suited to his fiery temperament, le are reminded of liuise by the famous speech: jiy heaven methinks it were an easy leap 1- Hichard IIx, I, iii, 324. 120. i'o pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon, Or dive into the bottom of the deep, where fathom-line could never touch the ground. And pluck up drowned honour by the locks; bo he that doth redeem her thence might wear without oorrival all her dignities. 1 Over his dead body, the prince of »vales says: i'are thee well, great he art i 111-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunki When that this body did contain a spirit, A. kingdom for it was too small a bound; And now two paces of the vilest earth Is room enough. E Hero then it would appear that Shakespeare had made use of Marlowe's device in order to prrtray the boundless ambition which as we know was a marked feature of Marlowe's char-acters. Shakespeare seems to have seen that a natural style was necessary to give credibility to so unnatural a monster as Richaard, and also to have appreciated the value of bombast to represent boundless ambition . It is not, however, possible to say that Shakespeare used bombast only to heighten efieot, and nevsr fell into it as an error of style, m Macbeth, for example, an instance can be quoted v.here he makes an extremely forceful use of bombast to emphasise Macbeth s realization o± nis guilt; ..ill all great ijeptunes ocean wash this blood clean from my handv no, this my hand will rather i'he multitudinous seas incarnadine. Making the green one red. 3 iJut again in the same play, an instance can be quoted where 1- 1 Henry IV. I, iii, 201 E. Ibid, Y, V, 87. 3. Macbeth, 11, ii, 61. lEl. his use is not successful, v;here one feels he has needlessly tortured the thought: And pity, like a naked new-Toorn babe. Striding the blast, or heaven-s cherubin, horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, xhat tears shall drown the wind. 1 It would appear, then, that iihakespeare early realised this quality in Marlowe's style, and though the surge of his imagination did occasionally impell him in the same direation, he never wholly abandoned himself to the impulse, and on a few occasions successfully used bombast to gain a specific effect, we can admit the influence, therefore, even though we also admit that the use was not identical. o 0 0 1. Ibid, I, vii, 21. ISE. XIY. Lyrical Passages. Jiy lyrical passages is not meant the introduction of lyrics into the drama by putting such verses into the mouths of the characters. IQiis was a common device in the native drama and was later adopted by Shakespeare who wove many charming lyrics into his plays. In one play, indeed, !Ehe Merry Wives of Windsor. Ixl, 1, it is a lyric of Marlowe's that is quoted. Ihe first plays written in blank verse did not introduce lyrics in this fashion, and Marlowe followed them in this respect, singularly enough since he undoubtedly could have produced exquisite lyrics judging from the two we have by his hand, 'what is meant by the lyric touch is the occasional turning aside from the development of plot to give expression to a note of pure poetry. ihat at heart iti.arlowe is first and always a poet is incontrovertible, iie touched the heavy awkward metre of the drama and left it light and airy, sensitive to the finest shades of feeling, it was no longer a medium for the mouth-ing of sententious rhetoric but became instinct with real life, it is this feeling for poetry which makes the lyric mood so often eclipse the dramatic in moments of deep emotion, ij'or instance, in 'Jamburlaine, iienoorate is dead, ^nd 123. the audience must be made to feel sorrow at her loss, iiad Marlowe's mind been solely of the dramatic caste, he would have made the scene pathetic by the circumstances with which it would have been surrounded; her dying words would be given, the emotions of her friends would be represented, and in fine the audience would be brought to sympithy with the dying kien-oorate through the nature of the action. Her death would be an incident in the drama and dramatic means would be used to make it effective. But Marlowe seems to find the dramatic mood insufficient and he rises out of the drama altogether in a swell of pure poetry. Thus, it is true, he gains the sympathy that was dramatically necessary, but he gains it by other than dramatic methods. Moreover he makes no attempt to suit the words to the character of his speaker. It is not dramatically fitting that the Scythian conoueror should be a poet; in fact it is not i'amburlaine speaking at all, but Marlowe sounding an infinity of changes upon the melody of the name of i^enocrate: Jijow walk the angels on the walles of heauen. As uentinels to warne th immortall soules, xo entertaine deuine zenocrate. Apollo. Uynthia, and the ceaslesse lamps xhat gently look'd vpon this loathsome earth, ijhine downwards now no more, but deck the heauens 10 entertaine diuine zenocrate. The christall springs whose taste illuminates defined eies with an eternall sight, Like tried siluer runs througn paradiee Xo entertaine diuine 2^enocrate. • rhe Oherubins and holy ijeraphins 124. That sing and play before the king of Icings, Vse all their voices and their instruments TO entertaine diuine Zenocrate. And in this sweet and currious harmony. The trOd that tunes this musicke to our soules: iiolds out his hand in highest maiesty To entertaine diuine ^.enoorate. 1 ' One does not feel that it is a conscious turning aside from the theme to a display of metrical skill - the poet has for the moment e@llp3ed the dramatist and Tamburlaineis loss of 2enocrate has inspired him to a lyric passage in praise of the loveliness of woman. The same passionate feeling for beauty raises us above the troubles of jiaustus to the lyric passage in praise of Helen: Was this the face that lancht a thousand shippes? And burnt the toplesse Towres of Ilium? Sweete Helen, make me immortall with a kisse: ... 0 thou art fairer then the euening aire. Clad in the beauty of a thousand starres. 2 The sombre shades of this play lift but once and then only through the influence of a wraith, an insubstantial phantom of beauty who is of no value at all to the dramatist, but is overwhelmingly convincing to the poetic mind, so unceasing in its search for the ideal. The lyric note is felt again even in so sordid a setting as 'Hhe Jew of Malta, and here inspired by nothing higher than the love of a scoundrel for his paramour; 1. 2 Tamburlaine, IJ., iii, 2983. « E. I'austua, i'6kii. lES. Gurt. I haue no hushand, sweet, 1'le marry thee. Ith. Content, hut we will leaue this paltry land, And sail from hence to ci-reece, to louely ijreece, I'le be thy lason, thou my golden j?leece; Vihere painted Sarpets o're the meads are hurl'd. And Bacchus-Urtnyards ore-spread the world; where Woods and I'irrests goe in goodly greene, I'le he Adonis, thou shalt he Loues Queene, The Meads, the Orchards, and the Primrose lanes, Instead of Sedge and Heed, heare Sugar Canes; i'hou in those yrroues, by i)is aboue, i>halt liue with me and be my loue. 1 I'he lines are exquisite, but dramatically unfitted to the speaker. It is again iviarlowe who speaks, the play and all its puppets have gone from his mind for the moment. I'hese lines are especially interesting, moreover, as the nearest approach to an inserted lyric we have in Marlowe's works. They express th^ same emotion as his well-known lyric ref-erred to above, and it will be noted that although the iambic pentameter is still retaire d, the blank verse is abandoned for rhyme. The three examples quoted are among the most famous in Marlowe, but many other examples might have been chosen, iispecially is this true of i'amburlaine. Compare for instance the romantic picture held out to Zenoorate,(i, i, ii, 278; beginning, "jjisdains Zenocrate to live with me?", Tambur-laine»s speech before setting out to isabylon, (11, Iv, iii, 4076.) and the promises made by Gallapine to his jieeper, (11, I, iii, E510.i &ome of the effect of these passages is obtained by the skiliful use of sonorous names, a trick 1. tJew, IV, 1805. 126. of which Milton later made a similar use. Even a.casual glance through Marlowe's plays convinces us of the frequent use of lyrical passages. And now how far did ijhakespeare mingle the lyric strain with the dramatic? An effective use can he cited from each of the two plays in which Marlowe's influence is most visible, in iiichard II, .^ ohn of li-aunt' s speech (Ii,i.) is a purely lyrical outburst, xn some ways, of course, the use made of the lyric is not ixiarlovian. I'or instance, the passage is used to stress patriotic feeling, and as we know, this feeling was altogether absent from Marlowe. let it is like Marlowe in that it rises'quite above the necessities of the action on a lyric note of deep emotion. Again it is in perfect ac-cord with the character of ^ohn of uaunt, whereas we have noted that Marlowe did not pay much attention to the dramatic coherence of his lyric passages. But then Shakespeare•s genius was dramatic as well as lyric and we would expect him to take a greater care than Marlowe to preserve unity of character. ^^ Hichard III there is again a very fine example of the introduction of a lyric passage in the wailing of the three queens llv, iv.J "it wDuld be difficult," says Sehelling, "to find in the range of the iiinglish drama a scene 12.7. reproducing so completely the nature and the function of the Greek chorio ode." 1 'Dhe path of Richard has led upward till now. In the previous scene, however, there is a note of misfortune to come, and the theme is taken up by the mourning queens, so that though success crowns Richard's efforts in the conversation with Elizabeth which follows, we feel the note is false, and are drawn \raok almost at once to the deeper note of remorse and fear that is the prelude to the end. Once again it is worthy of remark that Shakespeare has not been carried out of his theme by the power of his poetry, but has used it to intensify the dramatic effect, whereas Marlowe merely substituted one effect for the other. Yet the lyric passage itself, is developed along very similar lines to Marlowe's. We have already noticed the use of anaphora in the repetition of the name of Zenocrate, She same device is used here with choric effect: Q-. Mar. 2ell o'er your woes again by viewing mine: I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; I had a Harry, till a Richard kill'd him: Thou hadsx an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; Thou hadst a Richard, til!). a-Bichatrd.kill'd. him:.! __^uch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him; I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him; Q.Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence, too, and Richard kill'd him. It will be noticed that this is a type of formal lyric quite different from the lyrical touches in Shakespeare's later plays, and more in accord with Marlowe's method of inserting unrelated lyrics. There is not the unconscious Transition i. bohelling - Chronicle Play, p. 94. 128. from lyrio to dramatic that occurs for example in the des-cription of uphelia'S death (iiamlet, iv, vii, 163.) I'he lyric passage stands distinct, while the story moves on as it were in another plane, xhere is then something of the aloofness of touch noticeable in karlowe's lyrical passages, .*and the formality of construction is again quite in his i'o conclude. «e feel that deep emotion often caused iwarlowe to rise outside the limits of the drama to regions of pure poetry, iihakespeare did not so readily for-get himself, and more often made his lyric flights intensify the dramatic effect, but in the i.iarlovian manner, these passages show the poet carried away from the dramatic to the lyrio note, and in xtichard ill especially we feel the reality of marlowe's influence in the construction and use of these episodes. 0 0 0 129. XV. Gonolusion. We have nov/ concluded our survey and it only remains to siunmarise the nature and extent of the influence exerted by Marlowe on Shakespeare. '" It has been shown that when Marlowe began to write there was uncertainty both as to the form the drama should take, and the style in which it should be written. £^hree definite influences were moulding the form of the drama: the olasaioal influence received through the plays of Seneca; the modem Italian influence received through the romantic drama; and the iiadigenoils historical plays inspired b^ the growth of a national feeling. The same confusion that existed in the subject of the drama existed in the form; prose, blank verse, and the rhymed fourteener contending with each other for supremacy. In determining what iiiarlowe did to bring order out of chaos, we discarded all the plays to which his authorship oould not be definitely established in order that conclusions as to the style or matter of his plays might be based on as sure a foundation as possible. In the same way, the only plays of Shakespeare in which Marlovian influence was exam-ined were plays to wnich Shakespeare's authorship was settled beyond dispute. In this way similar tendencies in the drama^ of Marlowe and Shakespeare oould be examined without any fear 130. that the similarity might be due to their collabosation in the work in question, or to the extraneous addition of a third influence which might not be easily estimated. We restricted the examination of Marlowe's plays then to the two parts of 'Jamburlaine. Doctor gaustus. Jhe Jew ot kalta, Edward II, She Massacre at Paris, and in references to Dido allowed for the possibility of Masheis influence. The Shakespeare plays considered, belong to the early period of his development thoiigh an occasional indication of Marlovian inspiration in his later work was referred to. Moreover the influences noted were not ox the nature of parallel expressions, but were definite tendencies shown in the development of style and dramatic art. In the romantic tragedy which became Marlowe's form of tragic expression, he developed the idea of the heroic personality, his plai,^ s were dominated by single figures who were each swayed by overwhelming ambitions. Every one of Marlowe's plays represented this form in some aspect or another, and bhaie speare in Hichard III left one play of the type undoubtedly inspired by the Marlovian conception of the tragic hero. In one of Marlowe's plays, The Jew of Malta, the moral outlook oi" the protagonist is affected by Macniavellian influences; that is, xhe hero in this play is a self-con-fessed villain, glorying in the performance of crime and the 131. ease with which he can deceive those around him. A note of Machiavelli had probahly appeared before 'ilie Jew of Malta in ghe Spanish tragedy, hut Marlowe first made the Machia-vellian character a protagonist so that Machiavellian motives are not merely incidezital hut dominate the play. In this S^kespeare followed him in his Richard III. Richard makes no pretence of hiding his evil intentions from the audience. Instead he takes them into his confidence that they may appreciate how he exults at the credulous siipplioity of those around him. nxs character is distinctly based on that of his prototype. Shakespeare's moral attitude, however, was too high to allow him to carry out this idea to the very end as Marlowe had done. In the conclusion of this play, therefore, other tendencies enter in, but these, too, are adopted from Marlowe. It is a curious anomaly that lilarlowe who had written a play in which the outlook was distinctly non-moral, sinee The Jew of Malta attempts no conclusions on the morality of the acts of which it is composed, ahould first have intro-duced conscience as a factor in the drama. It is this note of remorse on which Richard III closes; it is discoverable, also, curiously enough, in the words of the professional murderers not only in Richard III, but also in John, and it is traceable to Marlowe's IPaustus. i'his is the first psychol-* 132. ogical study of a soul in anguish, and it is not surprising that iihakespeare employed the same methods in the conclusion of his Hichard III. Marlowe's refusal to estimate the morality of his Machiavellian protagonist makes that work impossibly melodramatic and unheal in its portrayal of human nature. Shakespeare's acceptance of ultimate mora.1 values "by the introduction of a note of remorse in the con-elusion of xiichard Iii makes the work at once great art, because it makes it accord with reality and gives it the high moral tone without which great art is impossible. It is noticeable, however, that in one play iihaksspeare thus combines the two characteristics which were original to i^arlowe' s dipama. •j}he lasting nature of the influence, thus admitted, can be perceived, moreover, by the introduction of similar methods in the plays of his maturity, i'hus iago represents the Machiavellian element in a later play, and Macbeth is a splendid example of conscience as a factor in the development of tragedy. Another type of protagonist to be found in Marlowe for the first time is the weakling, bhakespeare not only copied this idea from Marlov/e, but he developed Kichard ii along parallel lines to Marlowe's jgidward Ii. iintiee scenes have been developed in a similar manner, minor characters have been introduced to produce a similar effect, and the • 123. sympathy of the audience in "both plays was first alienated from and then secured for the monarch by similar devices, i-he use of irresolution as a tragic motive was an original contribution to the drama. Shakespeare made a close study of Marlowe's methods of handling it in Kichard ii and later produced Hamlet as his final contribution to the type. Marlowe made one more gift to the drama by giving it unity, vvith the exception of .adward Ii, which can be ignored here, this unity was incidental to his conception of the tragic hero. Shakespeare in his Hichard III obtained unity by the same device of the powerful protagonist which was common to most of Marlov/e's ?/ork, and the adoption of this tendency in a play so definitely under Marlowe's influ-ence would also ap-oear to have been inspired by Marlowe. •The force of a unity so obtained, Shakespeare at once recop;-nised. and it is noticeable that this type of imity nlays a large part in most of his great tragedies. Marlowe's definite refusal to admit horseplay and buffoonery in tragedy was another great gift to the drama. It. is ture that hee had'no gift for the writing of comic scenes, but the prologue to his first play seems to indicate that he rejected them deliberatiiy as unfit for inclusion y;ith a tragic theme. After all, if he had wished to include comedy and realised his own inability to write it, he h?3.d the 134, example of others to suggest collahoration in order to pro-duce the hetero,o;eneous comhination of comic and tra;<5;iG that was popular at the time. He never seems to have submitted to this mixture of types, and we believe that the comic scenes that did find their way into his plays were not included with his connivance. It is a convincing: proof of the extent'of Marlowe's influence that Bhakespeare who could produce com-edy so easily, and who later abandoned M^rlnwe's esKunpls and IntrotLuoed comedy into his more serious plays, though not indeed on account of the same confusion of types, should have adhered strictly to the tragic form in the two plays which show most traces of Marlovian inspiration. There are no comic passages in either Hichard II or Richard III. Before Marlowe, the history plays being indigenous and thereby not subject to clatbical influences, were devel-oped without regard to dramatic rules. Marlowe's genius, as we have seen, was essentially tragic, and though he wrote one play on a native historical theme, he showed his orig-inality both by the artistic use he made of his material and by the elevation of the fDrm from the loosely developed chronicle to tragedy, We have here none of the comic relief common to the chronicle plays, not even the note of patriot-ism which appears in all the Elizabethan dramatists except Marlowe, bhakespeare acknowledged the strength of Marlowe's* 135. influence by making similar use of the sources for his histories, and hy developing Richard III and Hichard II as pure tragedies, in his later plays, Shakespeare went ^ack to the loose chronicle manner, hut these two were produced under Marlowe's influence and hence copied him in their form. Neither play, as already mentioned,contains comic passages though these play a large part in the histories wtitten after Marlowe's influence was less felt. Moreover, even the patriotic note is not stressed in Hichard III though it appears in iiichard II and plays a prominent part in the succeeding plays. ±>oth in the use of sources, then, and in the development of form, Shakespeare's early histories undoubtedly show Marlovian influence. ijut besides influencing the form of Lihakespeare^s work, Marlowe also influenced the style. In the first place, Matlowe was the first to use blank terse in the popular drama. As we have seen there was much uncertainty at the time as to the style to be used, but after Marlowe's success, there could be no further question, ae added variety to the stereotyped measure which blank verse had been, and he gave it a grandeur which made it a fitting vehicle of expression for the powerful motives by which his characters were dominated. Shakespeare used blank verse with the SFime power and there is no doubt that Marlowe taught him both what to aspire to in his verse and how to 136. achieve it. A comparison ox tr.e sxyle of tne earlier plays with that of ^ ^arlowe shows at times similar laethods of producing effect. It is important to note, hovrever, that C)ha>espeare very rarely slips into oombast though as •we have seen he early learnt to malce artistic use of it as an element of his style; on the other hand, Marlowe frequently a'bandoned the dramatic tone for lyric passages of great j^ poetic beauty and this tendency is also visible in Shakes-peare. . Moreover the lyric passage in xiichard 111 resembles in its formal construction the lyrical passages in iiarlowe's drama. Our examination leads us to conclude, therefore, that the influence exerted by iiarlowe on Shakespeare was very considerable in the matter, in the form, and in the style of his early plays, and that traces of his influence may be seen even in the work of Shakespeare's maturity, karlowe is the only one of his contemporaries to whom Shakespeare ever referred, and this may perhaps be regarded as an ac^ 'Oiowledgenent of the influence that we have tried to define here, throughout the vrhole of his career Shakespeare freely accepted from his predecessors and from his contemporaries suggestions with regard to both matter and form, it i£ but natural, therefore to find that, in his earliest period, . 137. before his own manner had been fully formed, he should have adopted what impressed him most in the powerful worlc of his greatest predecessor. o 0 o -ii aiiaer® pirj. I,. lEii;t:-i3a^ ^r jj£rlrw«. 1 1 . jiiiitxt2.1113 aH a^ainas^sar^-Ai^ Hira., «»'<i- -imtaf rirg-Q.'&rft.jg-STregrgauX "^argjf^ s, i s j r r*^, Lciiil^r:,. ^tS^ays sasl. a1ig"«^ :'T. gg '^ y^ ^am^girg 2x H-^ g !S2a£l:L'Sii Xggwg^.ai'l.ig-Hojororaar^  Ikesiicm^ 1.9-22.. , ii. Bcswell-Stone, W.O. Shakespeare's Holinshed. End. Edition, Ohatto 6c Hindus, London, 1907. Brooke, O.F.Pucker, xhe Tudor Drama, iioughton kifflin, Cambridge, 1911. Butcher, Aristotle's l^eory of Poetry and j^ ine Art. 4th edition, reprinted with corrections, kacMillan, London. 1911. Collins, tj.Ghurton. Essays and Studies, Mackillan, London, 1895. Courthope, w.J. A History of English Poetry. 5 vols. MaoMillan, London, 1903. Crelaenach, wm. The English Drama in the Age of Shakespeare, Ti^uaslated from Gesiohte des Heuren Dramas, Lippincott, Philadelphia, 19TST Scwden, Ed. Jranscripts and Studies, End edition, Kegan Paul Trench, Trubner & Go., London, 1896. Ellis H. Shristopher Marlowe edited by Havelock Ellis, with a general introduction fcn the iinglish Drama during the reigns of Elizabeth and James I by J.A.Symonds, Vizetelly, London, 1887. Elze, K.. iflssays on Shakespeare, translated by L.Dora Schmitz, Mackillan, London, 1874. Fleay, i\G. A Biographioal Chronicle of the English Drama, 1559-1642^ E vols., Heeves ic Purner, London, 1891. Greene, Robt. A Grotesworth of Wit bought with a Million of Repentance. I'he .bodley aead Quartos, edited by (x.B. Harrison, John Lane, London, 19E3. Harrison, G.B. bhagespeare's j'ellows, John Lane, London, 1923. The Story of Elizabethan Drama. Cambridge, Henslowe' s Diary. Edited by iij.W.ureg, two parts, London, 1904 & 1908. Henslowe's Papers, edited by W.W. Greg, London, 1907, iii. Hotson, J.Leslie. 'Jhe Death of Christopher Marlowe. She nonesuch i?ress, London, 1925. (End. Impress 1 on. ) Ingram, J.H. Christopher Marlowe and Hiis Assooiates. Grant Richards, London, 1904. Jonson, Ben. Timber, ihe Temple Classics, End edition, Dent, London, 1902. Jusserand, J.J. A Literary History of the English People 3 vols., i'isher Unwin, London, 1909. Loe, Sidney. Christopher Marlowe, Reissue ox Dictionary of National iil|3graphy. Vol. XII, 1909. A Life of William Shakespeare, ilew edition, rewritten and enlarged, MacMillan, Kew.itork, 1916. Raleigh, Sir Walter. The Age of Klizabeth in Shakespeare's JtSnpland. Vol. I, Chap. I, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1916. Saintsbury, Geo. Shakespeare - Life and Plays, in The Cambridge history of Literature, Cambridge, 1910. Seocombe, Thomas. (& 0.W.Allen) The Age of Shakespeare, Vol 1, Geo, Bell & Sons, London, 1903. Schelling, Felix B. English Drama. Dent & Sons, London, 1914. The iiinglish Chronicle Play, Macmillan, Hew lork, 1902. Sidney, Sir Phillip. Apolo^ie for ^oesie (M>95,) edited by iid. Arber, Constable, Westminster, 190T. Smith, G.Gregory, Chap. VII, Cambridge History of Literature, Vol. V, Cambridge, 1910 Spens, Janet. ii;lizabethan Drama. Methuen Sc Co, London, 19E2 Symonds, J.A. Renaissance. Encyclopedia Brittnnica, Vol. xilll, pp 83-93, nth,edition, Cambridge, 1911. Introduction to Christopher Marlowe, v. supra iSllis. • Shakespere'Sp- Predecessors in the English , Drama. 2nd. ed. reprinted, Murray, London, 1924. iv. Swinburne, A.C. Ihe Age of Shakespeare. 2nd. Impression, Chatto and Windus, London, 1909. Contemporaries of Shakespeare, edited "by Edmund Gosse and Thos. Jas, Wise, Heinemann, London, 1919. Thorndike, Ashley H. Iragedy, Houghton Mifflin, Gamhridge, 1908. Ward, A.W. A History of English Dramatic Literature to the Death of t^ ueen Anne. 5 vols., I^ ew and Eevised iiidltion. MaoMillan, London, 1899. iynne, Arnold. 'Jhe Q-rowth of English Drama, Oxford, 1914. y. Magazine Articles. Bioenix Society act Jew of Malta, under initials A.E., iilakkwoods, Dec. 1922, pp. 8i53-4, Vol. 212, Leonard Scott Biblication Co., lew xork. Schelling, ?.S. Doctor gaustus and j^ rlar J3aoon, i%e liation, Jl. 1, 1915, pp. 12-13. Vol. 101, The KationPress, New lork. Swinburne, A.G. Christopher Marlowe and some Minor Contemp-oraries, I'iorth American iteview. May'16, 742-8, i^io. 203, i\few York. xhe iJnglish iieview Symons Arthur, A iJote on the Genius of Marlowe,^^Apr. i823. 206-16, Vol. 36, London. 0 0 o 


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