Chapter V: Act V: , in the dexterity with which three smaller plays are introduced

into the action without in the least confusing the construction. In making an actor the hero of the play, and in giving him so many opportunities of showing his art, Massinger no doubt felt every confidence in the genius of J. Taylor, but perhaps the chief charm of the play is due to the reflection which it inspires in the mind of the reader, that it expresses with fire and conviction the struggling author’s high ideal for the theatre as a social institution, and his esteem for actors. On the other hand, there is little comic relief, and little female interest beyond the infatuation of the Empress. Indeed, the women who take part in the play are one and all unattractive, and though it might be fairly urged that they are probably adequate portraits of the originals, we cannot help feeling that the author ought to have seen that they were timid sketches. In other words, we are face to face here with an acknowledged limitation of Massinger’s art. Nor should it be forgotten that while the play is full of noble and even impassioned rhetoric,(456) there are one or two prosy passages(457) and several small improbabilities.(458) In the third of the inserted plays Domitian, taking the part of an actor, avenges himself on Paris. This device by which characters in a play avenge themselves by taking parts in a subordinate play, occurs in the famous _Spanish Tragedy_ of Kyd, and in Middleton’s _Women, beware Women_. Most successful of all is the splendid climax of Act IV., where we have the clash of interest required by the highest form of tragedy; we sympathize with Paris, and yet we feel that the Emperor, who has been wronged, must avenge himself signally and at once.

It is the tragi-comedies which give me the most pleasure, the romantic plays with a happy ending, such as _The Great Duke of Florence_, _The Emperor of the East_, _The Bashful Lover_ (the last of Massinger’s plays which we possess), _A Very Woman_; closely allied with these is _The Maid of Honour_. _The Great Duke of Florence_ is full of courtesy and grace; there are some charming passages of poetry, and the metre is liquid and easy. The whole play is bathed in the sunshine of youth, and while there is some good comedy in it, there is little for the expurgator to do. The characters are all drawn with skill and propriety, especially the Duke, the Duchess of Urbin, and Lidia. Petronella in disguise is Massinger’s best comic creation.

In _The Emperor of the East_, with a trivial plot and some improbability in details, there is much admirable work, especially at the beginning. The two courtiers get to the point at once, mentioning Pulcheria in I., 1, 10. It was a play at which the author worked hard, and of which he thought highly.(459) The two good women, the sister and the wife, are well drawn, and we understand how natural it is that they should be antipathetic; we welcome the allowance they make for one another,(460) we sympathize with the humiliation of each in her turn, and we rejoice in their reconciliation. Especially pleasing are the gentle dignity of Eudocia in III., 4, and her slowness to take up Chrysapius’ suggestion in IV., 1. The Emperor is not an attractive character, as he is at once weak and violent; but we have to remember that he is very young, and also that he has been kept in leading-strings all the earlier part of his life. I should like to believe, with many critics, that the prose scene, in which the Empiric figures, is not due to Massinger. It is a study in the manner of Ben Jonson. Another touch of the older master is “The Projector,”(461) who is, however, on very much fainter lines than Meercroft in _The Devil is an Ass_. Imitation of Shakspere is prominent in _The Emperor of the East_. Scenes I., 1, and III., 1, remind us of Henry VIII’s courtiers. The pictures in Act II. seem to be suggested by a similar scene in _The Merchant of Venice_. Act IV., 5 recalls _Othello_, III., 4; Act V., 2, 105-8 is modelled on _Othello_ III., 3, 330-3.(462)

_A Very Woman_ or _The Prince of Tarent_ is based, as the Prologue tells us, on an old play; the author’s modesty cannot forbear saying that, good as it was before, it is “much better’d now.” By this he probably means that substantial additions have been made, that the plot has been put into better shape,(463) and that perhaps the comic element is cut down. Boyle assigns about two-fifths of the play to Massinger, including the quarrel between Cardenes and Antonio, and the great love scene between Antonio and Almira, but excluding the careful treatment of Cardenes’ melancholy by Paulo the doctor.(464) I should myself unhesitatingly assign the latter scene to Massinger. The only scenes which can be safely attributed to Fletcher are those of the slave-market,(465) and that where Leonora seeks to console Almira.(466) The sprightly vivacity of the former and the tenderness of the latter are good evidence for this assignation. A perusal of this admirable masterpiece leads us to the conclusion that if Massinger, instead of collaborating with Fletcher, had rewritten the plays of the latter, our literature would have been greatly enriched.

I would not deny that a man may have several styles, and may write in the manner of another; especially is this possible when the other has been his bosom friend. Still there are a grace and delicacy about _A Very Woman_ which seem to suggest the hand of Fletcher. The characters are drawn with great refinement and vividness. There is a pair of devoted friends, Antonio and Pedro, and over against them two charming ladies, Leonora and Almira, the former at once sensible and kind, the latter almost worthy of a place beside Shakspere’s heroines. The great love scene, though suggested by Desdemona and Othello, is not unworthy of Shakspere himself.(467) Cuculo is an amusing study of the old courtier, such as we get elsewhere in Massinger. Borachia, the lady who loves wine, is drawn with a lighter hand than Massinger’s; yet I feel that Fletcher, unassisted or unpruned, would have made the scenes in which she appears grosser than they are. Antonio, the Prince of Tarent, reminds us of a clean-limbed, honest English public-school boy; he is slow to take offence, but brave when provoked, sorry for the mischance of which he is the innocent cause, courteous, and ready on all occasions.

The plot has been shaped with great attention to detail. Thus, when Antonio, disguised as a slave, first meets his friend Pedro, his master Cuculo does not allow him to speak,(468) so that Pedro has no chance of identifying him by his voice. Later on, however, Pedro has an intuition that the slave is other than he seems to be:

“I do see something in this fellow’s face still
That ties my heart fast to him.”(469)

He treats him as a friend, as though his intuition pierced through the external disguise,(470) and when the recognition takes place he naturally remarks:

“Have I not just cause,
When I consider how I could be so stupid,
As not to see a friend through all disguises.”(471)

Again, we have an indication at the end of the slave-market scene that the slave who followed Paulo will be an important link in the plot:

PAULO. Follow me, then;
The knave may teach me something.

SLAVE. Something that
You dearly may repent; howe’er you scorn me,
The slave may prove your master.(472)

It is this slave who leads the pirates in their attempt to carry off Leonora and Almira.

When Antonio appears in his former dress(473) we ask, how did he get it? The answer is, from the Captain, his fellow-slave, whose life he had saved in the past by interceding with the Viceroy.(474) Lastly, the Duke’s reference (V., 2, 130) to the advice which the Viceroy had given him in II., 2, is one of those careful touches making for unity of design in which Massinger delights.(475)

No doubt the plot is not free from improbabilities; in real life Antonio would have revealed himself to Pedro, and Pedro and Almira would both have recognized him. We have already seen that Massinger is so fond of a story that he sometimes forgets to let his characters guide it. To round off the play harmoniously, Antonio should have had a soliloquy, to explain to the audience who he was, to lament over the change of his fortunes, to express a hope that all would come right in the end, to reassert his devotion to Pedro, and to protest his loyalty in spite of everything to Almira. Perhaps something of the sort was cut out.

_The Bashful Lover_ is the last play of “the strange old fellow”(476) that we possess; it reminds us in several respects of Fletcher; in the romantic atmosphere,(477) the overwrought devotion of the hero, the bustling action and the complexity of the plot, and in a metrical detail.(478) On the other hand, the smooth and careful construction, the subordination of the comedy, the constant use of parentheses, and, above all, the vacillations of the violent Lorenzo, are characteristics of Massinger. There are many noble personages in the play, and considerable tenderness. Matilda’s character is drawn well at the start; in the latter part she rather tends to become a lay figure. A princess with three aspirants to her hand, of whom two are princes, while the one she loves is to all appearance of lowly birth, is awkwardly placed. The same fault, as Boyle points out,(479) might be found with the hero, Hortensio; the fact is that the story rather carries the characters along in its sweep than is developed by them; moreover, Massinger seems in the last two acts to be more interested in the psychological study of Lorenzo’s emotions than in his hero’s fortunes. With all its beauties, the play betrays the advancing years of the author by a certain heaviness of touch, although the episode of Ascanio, the disguised page, is carried through with great delicacy and skill, and the varied incidents of Act II. make the battle one of the most lifelike in literature.

_The Maid of Honour_ is well planned, and the characters well contrasted. Indeed, anyone who doubts Massinger’s skill in this respect will be convinced by this play. Though the end is sombre, it is, as Leslie Stephen has pointed out, dignified and inevitable. As Bertoldo was sworn to celibacy, Camiola could not have married him, even if her self-respect had allowed it.(480) Here again we get an imperious lady, the Duchess Aurelia, who changes her mind too rapidly, but cannot be charged with viciousness. The comic touches, a foolish lover and a pair of effeminate courtiers, are quite good. The various moods of Adorni—his deepening devotion to Camiola, his humility at her rebuke, his fidelity in doing her commands, his temptation to commit suicide—are admirably portrayed. The King, too, is well drawn; he is a complex character, who is not wholly bad. The rough old soldier Gonzaga is a lifelike study, but the figure who dominates the play is the high-spirited and beautiful heroine. The careful skill of the author is shown in many details, among others, in the way in which Camiola, before taking the veil, persuades the King to forgive Fulgentio. For this to be possible the way is paved by the King’s change of mind as to Camiola’s character in IV., 5. The end of the play shows in what way Massinger is a greater artist than Fletcher. The latter would certainly have married off the Duchess Aurelia to the King or the Duke of Urbin, and provided Gonzaga with a wife.

No student of our comic drama can ignore the brilliant vigour of _The City Madam_.(481) The characters one and all contribute to an harmonious unity, the most lifelike perhaps being Sir John Frugal, the bluff, successful British merchant, tender-hearted, yet ashamed of being unbusinesslike, and a good judge of men. The plot moves easily, not overloaded with satire. The women remind us of Ben Jonson’s women, but with less strength there is a greater art shown here than Ben Jonson had at his command. The great triumph of the play is the hypocrite Luke, to whom some splendid rhetoric is assigned. He arrests our attention from the first; though not on the grand scale like Sir Giles Overreach, he is an innate villain, who only lacks opportunity to be capable of anything, a sordid soul, who does not know what goodness is. The two ’prentices are of the same kidney as Quicksilver in _Eastward Ho_.

For sheer vitality and strength three of the plays stand out conspicuously: _The Bondman_, _The Renegado_, and _The Guardian_. Though they are disfigured by one or two coarse scenes, one is carried along in reading them as if one were in a sailing-boat, dancing along a fresh sea. Of _The Bondman_ Monck Mason says: “I don’t recollect any play whatsoever that begins or ends in a manner so pleasing, uncommon, and striking.” It contains four well-drawn characters—Timoleon, Marullo, Leosthenes, and Cleora. The plot is lively, though some critics, I think unjustly, have accused the author of cutting the knot in the fifth act. The disguised brother and sister who meet in Act III., I should perhaps indicate their relationship. Timandra does not explicitly mention her brother till V., 1, 64. A reference earlier in the play to the wrong which Leosthenes had done her would certainly make for clearness. There is much fine eloquence in the play. The one or two offensive comic scenes are not essential to the plot.

_The Renegado_ has an Oriental setting, which alone would make it attractive on the stage. The character of Donusa is on the grand scale, one of Massinger’s successes; the Merchant, the Jesuit, and Grimaldi are all well drawn. There is some fine oratory and a good plot, which works up to an exciting end. There is not much in the comic line of value here.

The plot of _The Guardian_ is more complicated than is usual with Massinger. It contains some charming banditti scenes, while Alphonso’s fictitious narrative in the last act is one of the strongest pieces of writing in our author. The guardian, Durazzo, the kind-hearted but cynical and quick-tempered old man of the world, is one of Massinger’s most successful creations. On the other hand, it will be allowed that there is too much concession in _The Guardian_ to a corrupt taste, due perhaps to poverty and the depression of failure. The character of Iolante is unattractive; her intrigue with a man who turns out to be her brother is odious; her repentance is cheap and unconvincing. The earlier part of the play in its movement and morals alike reminds us of Fletcher.

_The Picture_ is full of power, and enriched with some good strokes of satire; the alternations of mood in the chief characters are represented with skill, while the magic portrait on which the plot hinges seems to take a natural place in the story. There is, however, a crudeness and hardness of texture about the play, though Mathias and Sophia are well drawn, especially the latter. Everything comes right at the last, and true love is vindicated after the display of some proper pride; but one feels that the three venture their honour too far. “He comes too near who comes to be denied.” The King’s faults are overdrawn; the Queen very nearly spoils the play; the young courtiers, though realistic, are unpleasant; the comic element is poor and farcical.(482) In dealing with a psychological theme, Massinger was trying to adjust to the hard-and-fast concrete outlines of the drama a story which would have been easier to manage and more attractive to read if it had been cast in the form of a novel. There would then have been possible gradations of light and shade, which would have made the treatment less bald. It would have supplied Richardson with a problem worthy of his heart-breaking and long-drawn analysis.

_The Duke of Milan_ is a gloomy play, with a somewhat intricate plot, presenting to us that strange “Italianate”(483) world of treachery and poison with which Webster, Ford, and Tourneur make us familiar. We must remember, on the other hand, that Italy gives an atmosphere which domestic plays like _The Yorkshire Tragedy_ and _Arden of Feversham_ lack. As in _The Bondman_ and _The Unnatural Combat_, the plot is developed late, though hints are given before. Thus, the ill-treated sister is early referred to,(484) while the last words of the same act prepare us for Francisco’s villainy. The finest scene in the play is Act III., 1, which is bathed in the romantic atmosphere so congenial to our author. Sforza submits to his enemy, the Emperor Charles, without forfeiting our esteem, while the Emperor shows a noble magnanimity. There is a subdued comic element in the person of Graccho, the musician.

_The Duke of Milan_ is carefully written(485) and skilfully constructed; the author has taken great pains to draw the characters of Sforza and Marcelia, though Francisco is perhaps more successful than either.(486) The Duke’s last words are the clue to his character:

I come: Death, I obey thee!
Yet I will not die raging; for alas!
My whole life was a frenzy: good Eugenia,
In death forgive me.(487)

The chief “frenzy” of his life was his devotion to his wife Marcelia. This peerless beauty combines pride(488) with a kindly simplicity which is no match for Francisco; while she dearly loves her husband and forgives him in her last words, she is not altogether attractive. On the other hand, her anger with Sforza for leaving orders that she should be killed if he did not return safe from his hazardous enterprise is natural, and the scene in which she receives him coldly and provokes his violent anger would be effective when acted.(489) We are inevitably reminded of _Othello_, and the comparison is most instructive as revealing the great gap which separates the pupil from the master. Marcelia is not so gracious as Desdemona, nor Sforza so strong as Othello, nor Francisco so devilish as Iago. As is usually the case with Massinger, the fifth act carries along our interest to the end. We do not weep, but we are certainly moved by the horror of the Duke’s death. The princesses of the Ducal House are responsible for an improbable scene(490) when they flout Marcelia in the absence of her lord. Their behaviour reminds us of the ladies in _The Roman Actor_. In style _The Duke of Milan_ is marked by several passages of fine poetry and a comparative absence of the parenthetic construction.

_The Fatal Dowry_ is a famous and much-admired play, adapted by Nicholas Rowe in the eighteenth century to form the basis of his _Fair Penitent_.(491) There are some fine scenes here, notably the funeral, which is as effective as anything our poet has written. On the other hand, the scene in which Rochfort is robed and blindfolded, and assents to his daughter’s death, recalls Fletcher in its improbability; nor is it likely that Beaumelle would marry Charalois at such short notice. All we can say about this is that hurried weddings are one of the presuppositions of the Jacobean drama.(492) There are an heroic atmosphere, a fine friendship, and much rhetoric of a high order in _The Fatal Dowry_. Moreover, as the moral lines at the end point out, there is the clash of law and natural vengeance in this play, which is a legitimate source of dramatic power. Charalois, Romont, Malotin, and Pontalier are all well drawn: the “sweet and gentle nature” of Charalois is particularly attractive, though he is not incapable of passionate anger,(493) which makes the punishment he inflicts on his guilty wife in IV., 4 more credible. On the other hand, a story is at a disadvantage in which the father, though generous and dignified, is impulsive and quixotic, the heroine is worthless, and her lover contemptible.(494) The style in places is less lucid than usual, which may be due to the co-operation of Field; moreover, the metre is more halting than Massinger’s is wont to be, and I think it probable that the play has been carelessly printed. There is much spirited sarcasm in Act III., and some fun in Act IV.(495)

_The Unnatural Combat_ is full of splendid rhetoric; indeed, there are perhaps too many soliloquies. This early work is grim as an iron-bound coast; yet the affairs of the honest, brave, and poverty-stricken captain, Belgarde, provide a lighter element, and the moralizing of the pert page in III., 2 is both sensible and light-handed in execution. The reason for the son’s antipathy to his father is hinted at from time to time in the first act; its disclosure is postponed too late. We should also have been prepared for the wrongs and treachery of Montreville, which burst upon us too suddenly in the last act. The evil passion of Malefort is powerfully depicted; here, again, we have a careful study of conflicting emotions. Though he struggles against his evil desires, we feel that a bad man must come to a bad end.(496) The play would have been better rounded off if in the initial part some indication had been given that he seemed to everyone a man whose mind, for some mysterious reason, was unbalanced and unhinged.(497) Once allow that such a theme can be tolerable as that which we have here, and the hints which Montreville drops from time to time are adequate to stir the suspicion of the spectator.

The style is more like rhythmical prose than that of any other of Massinger’s plays. Here alone in our author do children occur, and that in an unpleasing context.(498) The ghosts of Malefort’s victims, which appear in the last scene, seem to me a legitimate and powerful episode. It was natural to compare this violent play with Chapman’s tragedies; Malefort reminding us of _Bussy d’Ambois_ and Byron; but there is little in common between the two authors. In the first place, Massinger knows how to construct a play; in the second place, there is hardly a line in _The Unnatural Combat_ which is obscure, whereas in the last act of _Bussy d’Ambois_, Chapman’s masterpiece, there is hardly a line which is intelligible.

The _Parliament of Love_ contains much fine poetry(499) and one great forensic scene, such as our author loves.(500) It is, however, in too fragmentary a state for us to judge it fairly.(501) The atmosphere is unreal, the interest flags, the boisterous comedy is unattractive. There are more women than is usual in Massinger, and duelling and friendship inspire two noble scenes (III., 2; IV., 2). Though vice is humbled, we ask here, as in _The Picture_, does virtue gain by the way in which its opposite is portrayed? And are not the characters, male and female alike, undiscriminated? The interest, in other words, is concentrated in the triple story, and doubtless we feel some satisfaction in the punishment of Clarindore, the betrayer of secrets.(502) There are a good many half-lines in the manner of Fletcher.

Though _Believe as You List_(503) is full of dignity and poetry, it has a plot without much nexus, of the sort which Aristotle would blame as ἐπεισοδιώδης.(504) We are wafted from Carthage to Bithynia, from Bithynia to Lusitania, from Lusitania to Sicily. Though Antiochus is truly a king even in his misfortunes, and excites our respect and compassion, the play can hardly have been a success. The melancholy tinge is too uniform; the improbabilities of the recognitions are too glaring. The Courtesan and Berecinthius cannot be said to have added to the gaiety of nations; of the other characters Flaminius alone has individuality. The peculiar circumstances under which the play was written may help to explain the fiasco.

_The Old Law_ does not owe much to Massinger. As it was a favourite play, it may have owed its association with his name to revision on his part.(505) There is a charming tenderness in places and a rollicking improbability about the whole scheme, both alien to the staid Massinger. The humour is not his, but better; his phraseology is markedly absent;(506) the prose scenes show another conception of art; the careless metre suggests Rowley. It is clear that whoever wrote the comic parts of _The Old Law_ was responsible for Chough, Trimtram, and the Roarers in _A Fair Quarrel_. The scene is laid in “Epire,” a region which seems to have been regarded by our ancestors as a place for strange things to happen, and a vague background like the city of Callipolis;(507) it seems to have the same character in the present day. A King of “Epire” figures among Diocletian’s court in _The Virgin Martyr_, and in _The Dumb Knight_(508) we find a Duke of Epire. The classical allusions and Latin phrases suggest that the author of _The Old Law_ was a man of some culture.

My task is now ended. I shall consider myself happy if I persuade some of my readers to make the acquaintance of Massinger’s plays.(509) We have lately been celebrating the tercentenary of Shakspere’s death. The best way of honouring a great author is to read his writings; but to appreciate aright the greatness of Shakspere we should be wise to combine with our study a just estimate of his contemporaries and satellites; and, of the many dramatists of that century, none seem to me more worthy of affectionate consideration than Philip Massinger. It is especially instructive to return to his writings from the perusal of the masterpieces of his contemporaries; though from time to time they display rich gifts of pathos, poetry, and humour, they are too often marred by waywardness, unnaturalness, want of proportion, and grossness; it is a relief to resume the study of an author whose work is sober, well balanced, dignified, and lucid. While he shares with them the modern atmosphere of romance and adventure, he is the most Greek of his generation; and this is the real secret of his abiding charm. The passionate, the abnormal, the lurid, the farcical elements, in which his contemporaries revel, are not, indeed, entirely absent, but they are less conspicuous; the luxuriance of the thicket does not hinder the wayfarer from following the path; we pluck the roses without tearing our flesh on the thorns; and as we contemplate the marble splendour of his verse we almost forget that sculpture has its limitations.