ance, to the descendants of Sir Hugh Clopton, its original builder. In 1702 it was torn down by Sir John Clopton, and an entirely different structure erected in its place.1 This second building was demolished in 1759, since when the site has remained vacant. In modern times the foundations of New Place have been exposed by excavation, and these alone stand as mute reminders of the poet's splendor in his latter days at Stratford. 1 There is no pictorial representation of the earlier house. CHAPTER XXVII THE MAKING OF THE PLAYHOUSE BEFORE we can intelligently discuss the problems connected with the publication of Shakespeare's plays, we must understand the attitude of contemporary men of letters towards dramatic composition, and the peculiar conditions under which theatrical manuscripts were produced. Elizabethan critics and poets alike held that while plays written in imitation of Greek and Latin models were a legitimate and even noble species of composition, plays written in the popular style, designed for the "common actors" and the amusement of the rabble, were ephemeral products of a mercenary pen, as art hardly worth serious consideration. Thus the eminent poet Samuel Daniel, though he did not hesitate to publish stately dramas in the classical form, exclaimed with fervency: God forbid I should my papers blot With mercenary lines . . . No, no! My verse respects not Thames nor theatres. And this was the attitude of literary men in general. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that the popular dramatists took their work lightly. As a rule they looked upon the manuscript which they prepared for sale to the actors not primarily as literature of a high order, with permanent value as such, but as mainly a utilitarian product for the theatres a group of situations practicable on the stage, and a collection of speeches adapted to the mouths of actors in the heat of action. Not being at all designed for closet reading, for its proper effect it 1 was vitally dependent on actual stage representation. As Shakespeare's fellow-playwright, Marston, put it: "Comedies are writ to be spoken, not read. Remember, the life of these things consists in action." 1 In other words, the manuscript contributed to the actors by the playwright was regarded as but a part of a more important whole the whole being a public scenic performance in which the author and the actors collaborated. 2 And since the object of this scenic performance was to entertain the miscellaneous throng at a theatre, the successful playwright had first of all to consider the means to that end. He could not ignore the restrictions imposed by the Elizabethan stage, or the narrow limitations of the actors. Nor for a moment could he forget the tastes of a public which expressed its likes and dislikes in the most vehement way. As Webster says in a Preface to The White Devil: "If it be objected this is no true dramatic poem, I shall easily confess it, non potes in nugas dicere plura meas, ipse ego quam dixi. Willingly, and not ignorantly, in this kind have I faulted: for should a man present to such an auditory the most sententious tragedy that ever was written . . . yet after all this divine rapture, O dura messorum ilia, the breath that comes from the uncapable multitude is able to poison it." As a result of these inescapable limitations the dramatists usually worked in a practical rather than purely 1 Address To the Reader, prefixed to The Fawn (1606). Webster likewise insists that the "great part of the grace" of his plays "lay in the action." This, it should be remembered, was not the "picture stage" of modern times, but the "platform stage" inherited from the inn yards, projecting into the middle of the theatre and virtually surrounded by spectators. The complaint is frequently heard from the dramatists. Thus Thomas Dekker (A Knight's Conjuring, 1607) declares that though a playwright "who is worthy to sit at the table of the Sun, waste his brains to earn applause from the more worthy spirits, yet when he has done his best he works but like Ocnus, that makes ropes in hell; for, as he twists, an ass stands by and bites them in sunder, and that ass is no other than the audience with hard hands." artistic spirit; and since their labor was frankly mercenary, and unsubject to the eyes of readers, they often composed hurriedly and even carelessly.1 Kirkman informs us that many of Heywood's manuscripts were "written loosely in taverns" on odd sheets of paper; and we are told by Heywood himself in 1633-long before he had finished his career- that he had produced, or at least had "a main finger" in, two hundred and twenty plays. Naturally, work produced in this fashion was not intended for the press at all, and the authors shrank from a critical examination of their lines. Marston, when his Malcontent was published against his will, complains: "Only one thing afflicts me, to think that scenes invented merely to be spoken should be enforcedly published to be read"; and when his Parasitaster was similarly given to the press, he writes: "If any shall wonder why I print a comedy, whose life rests much in the actor's voice, let such know that it cannot avoid publishing." To avoid publishing, indeed, was the desire of most Elizabethan play-makers. Jasper Mayne, a dramatist of no mean ability, when his City Match was issued in 1639 despite his earnest wishes, affixed a statement to the readers declaring that he “had no ambition to make it this way public, holding works of this light nature to be things which need an apology for being written at all" — not to speak of their being published. The almost negligible literary value the age set on plays -nos haec novimus esse nihil, says Webster — is clearly indicated by the tone of their dedications, or perhaps more effectively by their lack of dedications. It is significant that not one of Shakespeare's plays was thought worthy of a dedication. The publisher, Francis 1 "Henslowe's dramatic accounts for the period 1592 to 1603 show that the playwrights employed by his companies averaged one new play about every two and a half weeks" (to be exact, one in 2.7 weeks). —Alwin Thaler, Shakspere to Sheridan, p. 234. Burton, in offering The Stately Tragedy of Claudius Tiberius Nero to Sir Arthur Mannering in 1607, writes: "If custom, right worshipful, had so great a prerogative as that nothing crossing it were at all allowable, then might I justly fear reprehension for this my dedication, having, to my knowledge, but a singular [i.e., single] precedent herein; and the reason wherefore so many plays have formerly been published without Inscriptions unto particular Patrons, contrary to custom in divulging other books, although perhaps I could nearly guess, yet because I would willingly offend none, I will now conceal." Even when at a later date authors, taking courage, ventured to dedicate plays to their friends or patrons,1 they invariably felt called upon to apologize for so doing, and to justify themselves by citing the custom of antiquity and of other nations - for had not "the greatest of the Cæsars" and "the great princes" of Italy, to cite Webster, deigned to accept such trifles? 2 Heywood in dedicating The English Traveler to Sir Henry Appleton in 1633, hopes that he will not "think it any undervaluing" of his worth; and in offering his popular Court success, Love's Mistress, to the Earl of Dorset in 1636, he urges that plays are not "so despicable as to be held unworthy the countenance of great men.' In a similar vein George Chapman, in dedicating The Widow's Tears to Mr. John Reed, expresses doubt "if any work of this nature be worth the presenting"; and in defence of his dedicating The Revenge of Bussy d'Ambois to Sir Thomas Howard he resorts to the old excuse that the princes of Italy had deemed the acceptance of a play no "diminution to their greatness." Even Jonson, with 1On this point see the Dedication to Chapman's The Revenge of Bussy d'Ambois. 2 Cf. the dedications of The Devil's Law Case, Cæsar and Pompey, The Duke of Milan, A New Way to Pay Old Debts, The Duchess of Malfi, The Widow's Tears. |