CONSTANTIN MANEA

ENGLISH LITERATURE AND CIVILIZATION

– BEGINNINGS TO BUNYAN –

PITEŞTI UNIVERSITY PRESS

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 CONTENTS

EARLIEST ENGLISH LITERATURE. WHEN DOES ENGLISH LITERATURE BEGIN?

… p. 5
THE BEGINNINGS. FIRST HISTORICAL RECORDS … p. 5
THE ROMAN OCCUPATION OF BRITAIN … p. 7
THE GERMANIC INVASION … p. 8
THE EARLIEST FORMS OF ENGLISH LITERATURE.
POETRY BEFORE PROSE. LITERATURE BEFORE BOOKS … p. 11
EARLY NATIONAL POETRY … p. 14
THE FIRST ENGLISH EPIC – BEOWULF. … p. 15
THE HISTORICAL VALUE OF THE EPIC … p. 19
OLD ENGLISH CHRISTIAN POETRY … p. 23
PROSE IN THE EARLY FEUDAL PERIOD. ANGLO-SAXON PROSE … p. 25
FROM ALFRED TO THE NORMAN CONQUEST … p. 27
THE NORMAN CONQUEST … p. 28
THE CRUSADES … p. 32
THE MAKING OF THE NATION. MAGNA CHARTA. THE PARLIAMENT … p. 32
FEUDAL LITERATURE AFTER THE NORMAN CONQUEST. FEUDAL COURTLY
LITERATURE. ANGLO-NORMAN LITERATURE (FROM THE END OF THE 11TH
CENTURY TO THE 14TH CENTURY). THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE SCÔPS … p. 34
THE HISTORY OF THE ARTHURIAN STORY-CYCLE DOWN TO MODERN TIMES …
p. 37
LATIN LITERATURE IN ENGLAND IN THE TWELFTH AND THE THIRTEENTH
CENTURIES … p. 40
EARLY TRANSITION ENGLISH … p. 41
THE GAWAIN POET / THE PEARL POET … p. 43
THE HUNDRED YEARS’ WAR. ITS CAUSES AND EFFECTS. THE BIRTH OF
NATIONALISM. ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND PATRIOTIC FEELING. THE BLACK
DEATH. THE PEASANTS’ REVOLT … p. 49
THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. THE END OF THE MIDDLE AGES. PIERS PLOWMAN
AND ITS SEQUENCE … p. 52
THE BEGINNINGS OF ENGLISH PROSE … p. 54
THE CHANGING ENGLISH LANGUAGE. THE WARS OF THE ROSES … p. 55
CHAUCER AND HIS AGE … p. 57
OTHER POETS OF THE CHAUCERIAN PERIOD. JOHN GOWER … p. 77
THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY. ENGLISH POPULAR BALLADS … p. 79
THE DRAMA AND DRAMATISTS BEFORE SHAKESPEARE. THE MEDIAEVAL
DRAMA … p. 84
THE TUDORS … p. 89
THE ELIZABETHAN AGE (1558-1603) … p. 91
THE RENAISSANCE … p. 93
THOMAS MORE’S UTOPIA … p. 96
DRAMA IN ELIZABETHAN ENGLAND. THE ESTABLISHMENT OF ‘THE THEATRE’
… p. 100
PRE-SHAKESPEAREAN DRAMATISTS … p. 102
THE UNIVERSITY WITS. JOHN LYLY, GEORGE PEELE, ROBERT GREENE,
THOMAS LODGE, THOMAS NASHE, THOMAS KYD … p. 103
PHILIP SIDNEY … p. 114
EDMUND SPENSER … p. 121
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE … p. 133
FRANCIS BACON … p. 146

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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE … p. 151
SHAKESPEARE’S CONTEMPORARIES. JACOBEAN DRAMA. BEN JONSON … p. 207
THE STUARTS … p. 215
OTHER DRAMATISTS AND PLAYS OF THE ELIZABETHAN AND JACOBEAN
PERIODS … p. 218
JOHN DONNE … p. 221
GEORGE HERBERT … p. 224
ANDREW MARVELL … p. 225
CHARLES I STUART. THE CIVIL WARS. THE COMMONWEALTH … p. 227
JOHN MILTON … p. 232
THE CAVALIER LYRISTS … p. 245
JOHN BUNYAN … p. 247
BIBLIOGRAPHY … p. 253

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 EARLIEST ENGLISH LITERATURE. WHEN DOES
ENGLISH LITERATURE BEGIN?
The literature of any country, nation or people is best understood if it is studied
against the background of the larger historical and cultural developments of the region.
Literature is widely thought to be shaped by the world which creates it, and, in certain
respects, it helps to create the world which shapes it. Therefore the development of English
literature may be understood only in close connection with the social and political life of the
country itself. It is a fact that literature has always reflected the various processes that took
place in society itself, processes that shaped and formed it.
In order to achieve that kind of understanding, our first duty is to get a glimpse of the
earliest knowledge of the land, and observe the changing and shaping of the language, and
then focus our attention on the writers and their works. It is always difficult to point to the
absolute beginning of a national history or of a national literature, just as it is difficult to
identify, among innumerable rills, the actual source and beginning of a great river. “The
history of a national literature, however much destined to be international, is part at first of
the national story; but it is a separate part, for man is older than his songs, and passed through
many stages of development before he found his way into the kind of self-expression that we
call literature” (The Concise Cambridge History of English Literature, George Sampson).

The Beginnings. The First Historical Records

The history of civilized man in Britain is very old, although the first mention of that
country was made by the Greek historians of the ancient times. The races inhabiting Britain
long before the beginnings of recorded history are unknown to us. Immediately after the end
of the last ice age, when the ice cap melted, flooding the then mainland and turning it into
what are now the North Sea and the English Channel, Britain became an island – as we know
it today. Essentially unknown to us are the natives who made tools from flakes or core of
flint, or the new type of human beings who inhabited Britain probably around 50,000 BC,
mainly gatherers and fishers; and also the (presumably Iberian) builders of the Stonehenge
shrine (a Neolithic sanctuary in Salisbury Plain, Wiltshire, built in separate stages over more
than one thousand years).1
The first immigrants probably came over from the continent shortly after the last Ice
Age (about 5,000 BC) using small round boats of bent wood covered with animal skins;
hunters of the mammoth and the reindeer, their settling down was facilitated by the easy way
of access that the flats of the South and East coastlines, as well as the navigable rivers have
always presented. The Neolithic (or New Stone Age) people were the small, dark, long-
headed Iberians, who settled the western parts of Britain and Ireland, the builders of the
“henges” – centres of religious, political, cultural / artistic and economic power and activity.
They were followed (after 2400 BC) by the “Beaker” people, taller, round-headed and more
strongly built people, skilled in metal-working, and probably speakers of an Indo-European
language, who heavily populated the Thames valley and the south-east areas of Britain; they
no longer used communal burial barrows, but buried their dead separately. It is the Beaker
people who brought barley to Britain. The only serious geographical obstacle opposed to the
invaders of all times were, besides the widespread woodland and marsh, the mountain ranges
lying in the North and West (in Wales, North-Western England and Scotland). As a general
rule, the phenomenon of tribal invasion and migration, repeated again and again throughout
England’s history, was the historical schema of the formation of Britain and of the British as
a nation.
The first inhabitants of Britain whose name and (partly) history are known to us
were the Celts. Their predecessors – the pre-Celtic peoples, hunters and users of flint, then

1 The monument dates from about 2800 BC – and originally consisted of thirty upright stones (carved of
sandstone) united at the top, with a horseshoe arrangement of trilithons at the centre; the position of the
‘altar stone’ may suggest that the sanctuary was used as an astronomic observatory. The ‘bluestones’ were
brought from today’s Wales. Stonehenge is not the only prehistoric structure on Salisbury Plain.

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shepherds as well – are known by the generic name of Iberians. They succeeded in raising
themselves, during the stone and bronze ages, from savagery to the first steps of civilized
life. Many of the improvements in their lives (especially agriculture, metal work, and long-
ship building) were probably taught to those islanders by merchants coming from the South:
the inhabitants of Mesopotamia, Egypt, Crete, and Tyre. Trade connections grew up along
with the spreading of roads – trackways linking up the various centres of early civilization.
From the 7th to the 3rd century BC, the Celtic tribes, originally occupying North-
west Germany and the Netherlands of today, were moving across Europe in many different
directions – on a vast area, from Britain to Asia Minor. The major bodies of the Celts settled
in France, in the valley of the Po, in Spain, in Pannonia, in the Balkans, etc. Tall light-haired
(i.e. fair- or red-haired), mainly blue-eyed warriors, skilful in ironwork, which was replacing
bronze, and in arts and crafts much admired by today’s archaeologists, the Celts were
tribesmen or clansmen, bound together by legal and sentimental ties of kinship – which
constituted the moral basis of their society. Their organization was not strictly territorial, the
kings being tribal chiefs, perpetually at war with one another. Although agriculture
continued to progress (the Celts, a high-spirited kind of people, loved, together with fight
and boasting, drinking mead, i.e. grain fermented with honey), the major part of their food
was supplied through hunting and animal breeding – large herds of swine wandered by the
thousands, through the virgin oak-forests – as well as fishing and bee-keeping. Technically
advanced, they could make better weapons than the people who still used bronze. The most
advanced regions of the Celtic civilization in Britain lay in the South and South-east: mainly
hamlets (or trevs), consisting of light structures of timber or dried mud, easily destroyed
during the ceaseless tribal wars. It is conceivable that the Celtic newcomers drove many of
the older inhabitants of Britain westwards into what are nowadays Wales, Scotland and
Ireland, eventually controlling all the lowland areas of the British Isles. The last Celtic
arrivals from the Continent were the Belgic tribes, who were closely related to the Gaulish
populations in today’s France (i.e. the ancient Gaul).
THE ROMAN OCCUPATION OF BRITAIN was started by Julius Caesar’s
expedition across the English Channel, in 55 BC, during one of his Gallic wars, an
expedition meant in the first place to punish the Southern tribes of the Britons for keeping
close political intercourse with their brethren in Northern Gaul, but no less to obtain the
Roman people’s admiration and to get new sources of wealth – in the form of tribute, slaves,
etc. Many of the Britons put up a strong resistance against Caesar’s disciplined legions,
using their impetuous infantry and scythed chariots driven by the yellow-haired, athletic
aristocracy (in Latin, carrum is a Celtic loan, like other terms, e.g. sapo “soap”, braca
“breeches”, etc.).
Although a failure in a strictly military and financial way, Caesar’s expedition in
Britain, together with the conquest of Gaul (58-51 BC), brought the southern British tribes
into the orbit of Latin civilization; a peaceful penetration of the island resulted from the
work of Caesar, paving the way for the conquest under Claudius (AD 43). Emperor
Claudius had only to fight against the Celts whose chiefs were half Romanised. As in other
parts of the world, the Roman method of conquest was to make a carefully planned system
of military roads, guarded by forts. The conquered area was but restricted, including the
eastern and southern plains (i.e. today’s England and Wales) but failing to include the
North, a permanent base for military attacks coming from the Brigantes, the Picts and the
Caledonians. It was with a view to defending Romanized Britain that emperor Hadrian built
the famous wall bearing his name (123 AD), later renovated by Severus.
Romans and Britons intermarried, towns grew and prospered, peace was maintained
under Roman law (owing to the great fortresses of York, Chester, Caerleon – see the still
significant Latin word castrum, the root of such derivative segments as -caster, -chester, -
cester, forming tens of British place names, e.g. Lancaster, Doncaster, Colchester,
Manchester, Winchester, Gloucester, Leicester); moreover, the very name of Britain is
presumably of Celtic origin – it comes from the Gr(a)eco-Roman word Pretani standing for
the inhabitants of Britain (with the later Latin form Britto), whence the Roman name of the
island, Britannia. Still, the Roman Britain cities were rather small and less thriving than the

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big commercial and urban centres of the Mediterranean South.2 Yet, London owes its
importance and its origin as a city to this precise period, though the name of London is
Celtic (with the Latin counterpart Londinium). A bridge-head where roads could ford the
Thames, as well as the best landing-place for continental commerce coming up the estuary,
London concentrated, owing to its “first edition” bridge, half of the great roads built by the
Romans. Roman London, established soon after the Roman invasion in AD 43, became a
walled city in the 2nd century. It had more than 20,000 inhabitants and counted as one of the
most important trading centres in northern Europe.
By and large, the Roman heritage in England seems to amount to these three
valuable things: good roads, the traditional importance of certain city sites (especially
London), and (Welsh) Christianity.

THE GERMANIC INVASION

The Romanized Britons, left without the defence of the Roman legions, at a moment
when the Empire itself began to fall apart (the early 5th century), got involved in conflicts
with the Celtic tribes: Irishmen, Scots and Picts. Britain was eventually conquered by the
Germanic tribes of the Angles, Saxons and Jutes, a conquest which was to leave an indelible
mark on England’s and Britain’s history. Originally coming from the shores of the Baltic
and belonging to the same Germanic family as the Goths, Vandals, Franks, Burgunds and
Teutons, who benefited by the Roman Empire’s decadence, they left their homelands
located along the north-western coast of today’s Germany and Denmark, to pour into
Britain, as sea-rovers, pirates and plunderers – although many of them were actually seeking
richer ploughlands. The Anglo-Saxons settled the greater part of Britain, while the Jutes
settled Kent and the Isle of Wight. Now, the process of civilization was well under way all
over Britain: “They experienced migration and contact with a population of another race, the
partially Romanized Celts, they relinquished a half-nomadic life for a life concentrated in
fixed places, they exchanged war, misery and famine for a state of relative peace and
prosperity, and finally they underwent a deep and fervent mass conversion to Christianity,
which disorganized the system of morals while it reformed it…” (Émile Legouis, Louis
Cazamian, A History of English Literature, p. 8).
Fierce, courageous and loyal when following their chiefs on marauding expeditions,
they had a high sense of honour. Their religion was that of Thor and Woden (or Wotan,
Odin) – after which names most of the English days of the week are called (Tuesday < Tiw’s
day, Wednesday < Woden’s day, Thursday < Thor’s day, Friday < Freya’s day). They were
characterised by a remarkable leaning towards things artistic and spiritual: they created a
body of epic3 poetry celebrating such heroes as Siegfried or Sigurd, Siegemund, etc., and
had a taste for decorative arts and craftsmanship. They used the Runic alphabet. 4
The testimony of chroniclers and historiographers may be of some help in knowing
their ways and beliefs, although some Roman writings of this kind can be at times biased,
partial or incomplete: “There is no relevance in what Tacitus tells of the religion of these
[Germanic] tribes, their gods who corresponded to Mercury, Mars, and Hercules, their cult
of Ertha, the Earth Mother, the forests of their superstition in which their atrocious human
sacrifices were consummated.” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 7).

2 Roughly speaking, there were three kinds of towns / urban settlements in Roman Britain: the coloniae, the
municipia, and the civitates.
3 The simplest definition of epic may be the story in poetry of the adventures of a brave man (or men)
4 Runes: the characters of a number of ancient alphabets, the best known of which was the script used for

writing the Germanic languages, especially of Scandinavia and Britain, from c. AD 200 to c. AD 1200. The
runes were chiefly adapted from the Latin alphabet, and were scratched or carved on wood, metal, stone,
bone, or animal skins. They came to be thought of as a secret / esoteric alphabet or code (cf. Icelandic rn
“a secret”); in fact, the English word rune has a derived meaning – “an aphorism, poem, or saying with
mystical meaning or for use in casting a spell”, and the adjective runic also means “having some secret or
mysterious meaning: runic rhyme” (after the Webster’s Unabridged Encyclopedic Dictionary)

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 Their form of government was the autocratic kingship, exercised by some member
of the / a royal family supposed to have a divine genealogy. There are no reliable chronicles
recording the Anglo-Saxon conquest of Britain, except the Welsh tradition (Gildas’ Book of
Lamentation, written in Latin, to which are added the legends relating to the half-mythical
King Arthur, who opposed a fierce resistance to the Germanic tribes.5
The history of England from about AD 600 to AD 850 is the story of rise and fall of
petty kingdoms (e.g. Wessex, Mercia, Northumbria, East Anglia). Yet, this nation,
occupying most of the fertile arable land in the southern part of the island of Britain (so,
outside what is now Scotland, and also excluding Wales), was united by the Christian
religion, their common traditions, and also by a language (or rather, group of Germanic
dialects) that was already distinct from the “Saxon” of continental Germany.
Anglo-Saxon society knew two classes: the earls (the ruling class, who could claim
kinship to the founder of the tribe) and the churls / ceorls (bond(s)men, whose ancestors had
been former captives of the tribe – see the very etymology of the word bondsman).
Great feasts were an important part of Anglo-Saxon life: the scôps (i.e. the
professional bards) recited and sang to the company assembled in the great mead-hall
legends relating to the brave deeds of great Germanic heroes; few of these poems have come
down to us, the most valuable and famous being Beowulf – the only poem of its kind, in
fact.
In AD 597, Augustine, Pope Gregory’s emissary, came to Britain to convert the
Anglo-Saxons to Christianity,6 a conversion that widened their spiritual and intellectual
outlook: schools were set up in monasteries (or minsters, e.g. Westminster)7, where the
young Anglo-Saxons could learn the Scriptures as well as the Graeco-Roman writings.8
That also accounts for the political influence of the Church; one could hardly distinguish
between church and State. The Anglo-Saxon kings helped the Church to grow, as the
Church helped the former to increase their (mainly political) power. The most remarkable of
the Anglo-Saxon kings, Alfred the Great (often compared to Charlemagne, ruler of the
Frankish empire on the Continent), was a skilful ruler and warrior, who opposed the Viking
(Danish) invasion,9 as well as a scholar, author and inspirer of many writings (mainly
translations, e.g. Bede’s translation of the Latin Bible).
His enemies were Viking10 Danes, who plundered the Northern and central regions
in swift raids or surprise attacks. They were followed by settlements, threatening the whole
of the island. Having managed to check the Danish menace, at least to a certain extent,
Alfred had to cede to the Danes the northern and central portions of England (including
London), an area subsequently known under the name of Danelaw, or Danelagh. Guthrun,

5 Actually, what we can be sure of is the existence of numerous stories of determined Celtic resistance to
the Anglo-Saxon invasion in the sixth century, a resistance directed by a prince claiming imperial authority;
these were later associated with the largely mythological exploits of the fabled King Arthur.
6 This mission is considered by many historians a ‘re-christianization’ of the Anglo-Saxons. (Saint)

Augustine (later also known as Austin) was to become the first Archbishop of Canterbury in AD 601.
Bede (673-735), the first great English historian, says that Augustine’s mission to England was reinforced,
four years after his arrival, by new clergy from Rome bringing with them “everything necessary for the
worship and service of the Church”. Bede adds that these pastoral requisites included “many books”; thus,
the old runic alphabet of the Germanic tribes was gradually replaced by Roman letters.
7 Minster: (in Britain) 1. A church actually or originally connected with a monastic establishment. 2. Any

large or important church, such as a cathedral. The term was derived from Vulgar Latin *monisterium, later
on *monister, a variant of Latin monasterium “monastery”; see also German Münster.
8 As all this newly brought written literature was in Latin, the language that the Roman Church had directly

inherited from the defunct Roman Empire, England was included in the mainstream of Western European
culture, a Christian culture which clung to its roots: the ancient civilizations of Greece, Rome and Israel /
Palestine.
9 The Vikings were also known as Norse. In English, the term Norse means “the (ancient) Norwegians or

their language” and is derived from a Germanic etymon (maybe the Dutch word, norsch < noordsch
“North”).
10 The word Viking means either “pirate” or “the people of the sea inlets”. The new raiders came from

what is now Norway and Denmark.

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the Viking ruler, was christened. So, the only Saxon ruler who could hold out against the
Vikings was King Alfred of Wessex, who won a decisive battle in AD 878, which enabled
him to conclude a treaty with the Vikings.
Feudalism, as a political and economic system, was now close at hand:11 the thegn
(or thane)12 devoted his life to hunting and war, and to the service of his own overlord –
inspired by personal loyalty, while claiming to offer protection to a helpless population;
differentiation of function led to inequity, or else away from equality. The sums extorted
from the peasantry as taxes were ruinous, and the freeholders became serfs. At the same
time, law-making was quite efficient, and the landlords were given increased powers,
among other things because they were part of, or sided with, the category of those who
could read and write (and their names, unlike the peasants’, were written down on
documents, e.g. charters, diplomas, etc.). Royal authority was recognized in England more
widely and also more genuinely than in any other European country at the same epoch.
Canute (or Cnut), a Viking’s son and the leader of the Danish Vikings settled in
Britain, became king of England through reconciliation of the two races (or rather ethnic
groups) on a basis of equality and taking support on the Church. But his incapable successors
soon dissipated that loose confederation – doomed to be conquered by the Normans in a near
future.

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The earliest forms of English literature have perished (like the earliest forms of other
national literatures). The implication of the conventional tripartite division into:
 Old English (the term that has now generally displaced the term “Anglo-Saxon”);
 Middle English; and  Modern English is that the connection between Old English (the
language spoken in England between the sixth and the twelfth centuries AD) and Middle
English (its successor from c. AD 1150 to c. AD 1500) is similar to that between Middle
English and Modern English (from c. 1500 to the present day). In fact, however, Middle and
Modern English merge into each other gradually, and almost imperceptibly, whereas the
change from Old to Middle English was rapid and rather drastic, a “linguistic revolution”.
In much the same way, one can state that English literature as well has three main
periods:  Old English literature, which conventionally extends from ca. 449/700 to
1100/1200;  Middle (or mediaeval) English literature extending from 1100/1200 to about
1500 (and divided in its turn, historically and didactically, into: (a) Anglo-Norman literature
(1100/1200-1340) and (b) Chaucer’s age (1340-1400);  Modern English literature (after
1500).
POETRY BEFORE PROSE: It has been found that the earliest kind of literature in all
languages is always verse. Verse seems to be the natural expression of strong emotions.
The word POET is ultimately derived from the Greek word poētēs, variant of poiētēs
‘maker, poet’, from poiein ‘create’; so, a poet was “a Maker”. In Old English a poet was
called simply a “Maker”. Sir Philip Sidney says, in his Apology for Poetrie: “It cometh of this
word poiein, which is to make; wherein I know not, whether by lucke or wisdom, wee
Englishmen have mette with the Greek, in calling him a Maker.”
In Saxon times the poet was called a Scôp (= a Shaper). Among the Norsemen he was
a Scald; this word meant Loud-talker, and is connected with the Modern English word
“scold”. The Celts (Irish, Scotch, and Welsh) called their poets Pards. Among the Germans of
today the poet is called a Dichter. The French of the Middle Ages called him a Trouvère (= a
‘finder’ or ‘inventor’) in the North, and in the South a Troubadour. Generally speaking, the

11 The term feudalism is etymologically connected with fee (“an inheritable estate in land held of a feudal
lord on condition of the performing of certain services; a territory held in fee”) or feud (“a fee”, see above)
– Webster’s Unabridged Encyclopedic Dictionary.
12 Thegn / thane [ðein]: A member of the several classes of men, ranking between earls and ordinary

freemen, and holding lands of the king or lord by military service; etymologically related to Germanic Degen
“warrior; hero”.

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trouvères made songs or ballads of a narrative or epic character; the songs of the troubadours
were lyric13, or amatory / erotic.
LITERATURE BEFORE BOOKS: We are so accustomed to regard literature as
identical with books that we often forget that many of the great world poems existed, were
learnt, taught and recited for hundreds of years, before they were written down. Homer’s Iliad
and Odyssey were sung by professional reciters, called “Rhapsodists”, who went about, from
city to city, and recited portions of his celebrated poems at feasts, in the halls of the great, or
even in the streets. The same practice existed among the Celts and Teutons, and many
romances dealing with heroes, mythical and real, have been handed down from generation to
generation until they were put to writing. In this manner many of the songs and ballads of
Scotland were passed on by word of mouth, from generation to generation, and not committed
to paper till the end of the 18th or the beginning of the 19th century, by such men as James
Hogg and Walter Scott.14
No written literature was brought over by the Anglo-Saxons and Jutes when they
settled down in Britain. Nothing definite remains of the songs or stories possessed by the
Britons whom Caesar found in southern England, and next to nothing of the literature
possessed by the Britons during the centuries of the Roman occupation.
The earliest literature has much to do with life and journeys that were a constant
struggle against the grim and pitiless elements; the sea was also as hostile to man as the land.
It is known that nature played an important part in their poetry. It was sung my professional
men:
- the scôps / scops – poets proper, who both composed and chanted their songs;
- the gleemen: they merely performed the songs and poems composed by others.15
They both were the preservers of the old sagas and historical traditions of the tribe.
Each tribe had its own minstrels who were highly esteemed (some of them were also wizards
and / or heathen priests).
The exclusively poetical literature of the Anglo-Saxons16 is preserved in four major
manuscripts:
1. The Junius Manuscript – named after the scholar Junius (real name: Dujon, a
friend of John Milton);
2. Codex Exoniensis, which was granted to Exeter Cathedral in the 11th century and
including pious poems, riddles, and sententious verse;
3. The long poem Beowulf and a biblical fragment, Judith, which was unknown till
the end of the 18th century. They are treasured up in the British Museum.
4. The manuscript which was discovered in North Italy in the library of Vercelli in
1832. This manuscript includes only poems entirely religious.
When the aboriginal English still lived by the northern seas, they shared with their
kindred an alphabet of “runes” (i.e. sacred and / or mysterious, esoteric letters). The runic
alphabet took a form that lent itself to rough carving, and certain famous inscriptions upon
stone, metal or bone still remain. Each rune had its own name, which was also the name of

13 A lyric(al) poem is a piece of poetry – originally one meant to be sung – which expresses the poet’s
thoughts and feelings (mainly in a direct way).
14 James Hogg (1770-1835): Scottish poet and prose-writer, Walter Scott’s friend, author of Scottish

Pastorals, The Mountain Bard, The Forest Minstrel, Pilgrims of the Sun, The Poetic Mirror, The Jacobite Relics of
Scotland, etc. * Walter Scott (1771-1832): Scottish poet, novelist, editor and critic, a prominent
representative of the romantic movement in Britain, author of The Lay of the Last Minstrel, Marmion, The
Lady of the Lake, The Bridal of Triermain; Guy Mannering, Old Mortality, The Heart of Midlothian, The Bride of
Lammermoor, Kenilworth, Rob Roy, Ivanhoe, The Legend of Montrose, Quentin Durward, etc.
15 Here is the dictionary definition of the word gleeman: “strolling professional singer, a minstrel”; the

term glee (akin to glow) means: “1. exultant joy; demonstrative pleasure, or merry behaviour; 2. a song for
three or more voices, popular especially in the 18th century; music”.
16 This period of time in the history of English literature is usually referred to through two different terms

– “Anglo-Saxon” and “Old English”; the former is of far older cultural stock and use, while the latter
implies the idea of cultural continuity between the England of the sixth century and the England of the
nineteenth or twentieth century.

10
some familiar thing. Runes went out of use in the ninth and tenth centuries.17 Their place had,
however, been usurped long before that period by the Roman alphabet, which the English
received from the early missionaries. The missionary and the Roman alphabet travelled
together, and it was the Christian scribe who first wrote down what heathen memories had
preserved. A school of Roman handwriting was established in the south of England by
Augustine and his missionaries, but its existence was brief and there is but little evidence of
its activity; what could survive down to the present time was the Christian influence coming
from Ireland, as the most powerful cultural activity was at the time based there. When
Northumbria was christianized by the Irish, the preachers taught their disciples to write the
word in characters “more pleasing to God” than the runes of heathendom. So the English
learnt the penmanship of the Irish and soon they were able to give an evidence of their skill as
the magnificent Lindisfarne Gospel of about 700 AD.18
After the (Norman) Conquest, the native hand disappeared. Now the scribes were
monks or nuns who wrote with truly religious patience in the cloisters of the monasteries
(only the fortunate few had a special scriptorium, or writing room). Gradually, a professional
class of scribes came into existence.

EARLY NATIONAL POETRY

The first English poet known by name (or nickname) is Widsith, the “Wide
Wanderer”, a scop of the sixth century AD. He gives glimpses of his own life in a poem of
about 150 lines (in the Exeter Book). The poet has wandered a great deal from one tribe to
another, and he enumerates the princes who gave him presents. The enumeration of the
Germanic tribes is extremely valuable to our knowledge of history and geography. Among
these princes are: Attila king of the Huns, Hrothgar, Hagen (who is celebrated in the German
epic Niebelungenlied).19 Widsith is also valuable through the details concerning the travelling
minstrels, who hawked their songs from court to court. It describes the tribal halls, as well as
the way the minstrels were welcomed and rewarded for their songs.
The reverse side of the minstrel’s life is conveyed by Deor’s Lament (or Deor’s
Complaint, or Deor for short). Deor is a minstrel, too, but not a wanderer. He belongs to the
house of his chief but his happiness is short-lived, for he is soon disgraced by his master who
prefers his rival. Resignation is the dominant mood of his lyric. Deor is the only Anglo-Saxon
poem with a strophic form. Each stanza ends with a refrain. Deor’s Lament is generally
regarded as the first English lyric.
The Wanderer (in the Exeter Book) is a moving elegy of 115 lines; it is the lament of
a man who has lost his protecting lord, and wanders over the waters to find a resting place.
The Seafarer (in the same Exeter Book) appears in the form of a dialogue between an old
man, who knows the joyless life of the sea, and a young one, who will not be deterred from
maritime adventure by the sad tale of the old fellow. At the same time, it may be considered a
monologue of a man who, hating the cruelty and hardships of sea life, knows that for him
there is no other life.

17 See also footnote about runes above.

18 Christian Ireland sent missionaries to the Angles, and began building the monasteries which were
among the first civilizing influences in Northumbria; subsequently, differences arose between the Anglo-
Saxons, according to the two centres of Christianity (Canterbury and Northumbria); the struggle for
supremacy lasted till the 664 Synod of Whitby, which associated the newly formed church to Rome.
19 Nibelungenlied ['ni:blunli:d], a 13th century German poem, relating a story included in the

(Poetic, or Elder) Edda – i.e. a collection of Old Norse legends – about the life and death of Siegfried, a
prince of a Germanic tribe dweling in what is now the Netherlands. The Nibelungs were, in the poem,
Siegfried’s supporters, or the Burgundians who stole the hoard of the dwarfs from him. (Nibelung < Old
High German nibel “mist”).

11
 In the same Exeter Book we may also find a short piece called The Ruin, which
describes the downfall of a palace or rich city (probably Bath).
Two more short pieces, The Wife’s Complaint and The Husband’s Message, are as
obscure as the previous one, and are equally difficult to read.
Also in the Exeter Book were preserved ninety-six wonderful poems that are in fact
riddles. Old English literature was rather partial to this type of condensed metaphor: see the
kennings20 (stereotypical metaphors of maximum concentration, e.g. sea travel for “life”,
sea-steed “a ship”, helm-bearer “a warrior”, etc.). The aspects these riddles reflect of the
Germanic world is everyday ways and habits; they often describe household objects, artefacts
/ artifacts, natural phenomena, elements of animal life, and so on. Some of them testify to a
well-formed sense of humour, and occasionally display sparkles of wit, subtle poetic thinking
or condensed lyrical refinement, and even double entendre.

SUPPORT TEXTS

WIDSITH (7th century?)

“Widsith (The Far-traveller) spake, unlocked his word-hoard1 he who of the men of
the tribes of earth had wandered most among the peoples: … ‘So I have wandered through
many strange lands, throughout the wide world. There, cut off from kindred, I have found
good and evil; far abroad from kinsmen2 I have gone. Therefore I can sing and tell a story, say
before the company in the mead-hall how the great nobles have dealt full well with me…
When Scilling and I, with a clear voice, raised the song before our royal lord, loud
with the harp sounded the melody; then many a man, exultant in mind, those who knew,
spake and said that they never had heard a better song... So, following their destiny,
wandering, the gleemen3 pass by men of many lands; they tell their need, speak their thank-
words, always south or north they meet someone wise in songs, free with gifts, who would
raise his renown before men, make known his sway, until it all shall pass, light and life
together. Who so maketh songs of praise shall have lasting honour under the heavens.’’
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) spake, unlocked his word-hoard = (he) spoke (spake este forma învechită sau poetică de
Past Tense a lui to speak); (2) kinsman: rudă, neam; (3) gleeman: cântăreţ ambulant,
menestrel.

DEOR’S LAMENT (7th century?)

“Weland himself knew exile, the resolute hero endured affliction;1 sorrow and
longing he had as follows, winter-cold wretchedness; he found woe… He overcame that, so
may I this!
We have heard of Eormanric’s wolfish mind; he ruled the widespread folk of the
realm2 of the Goths; that was a grim3 king! Many a man sat bound in sorrows, expecting
woe,4 wishing earnestly5 the end of that kingdom. He overcame that, so may I this! …
I, as to myself, will say this; that for a while I was bard of the Heodening, dear to a
prince, Deor was my name. Many winters I held a good office, and had a kind lord, until now
Heorrenda, a songskilful man, has taken the land-right, which the lord of men to me before
time had given. I overcame that, so may I this!”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) affliction: mîhnire, amar, supărare (mare / adîncă); durere; năpastă; (2) woe: nenorocire,
calamitate; (3) realm: (arhaic, poetic) regat, împărăţie; tărîm, ţară; (4) grim: hain, nemilos,
neîndurător, neînduplecat; mânios, înverşunat; macabru, sinistru; (5) earnestly: cu toată
seriozitatea, serios; din tot sufletul, sincer.

THE BATTLE AT FINSBURG (7th century?)

20 See also footnote infra.

12
 “‘This is never burning of gables!’1 cried the King, young in war. ‘This light
dawneth2 not from the east, nor flieth here a dragon, nor burn here the (horns of this hall, but
here they bear forth … the war-birds sing, the grey-wolf howleth,3 the war-wood, shield
answereth to shaft.4 Now shineth the moon, the full moon under heaven, now woe-deeds
arise, which will urge on this feud5 of the folk. But awaken ye now, warriors mine, hold firm
your hands, think upon bravery, turn to the forefront, be in hearth!’
Then arose many a gold-laden thane, girded6 his sword upon him. Then to the door
went the lordly warriors, Sigeferth and Eaha drew their swords; and at the other doors Ordlaf
and Guthlaf; and Hengest himself followed their track. Then was the sound of slaughter
within the walls, the keel-like7 shield in the hands of the brave had to shatter8 the bone-helm9.
The castle-floor rang; at last in the conflict Garulf, son of Guthlaf, fell, the first of all the
warriors; about him were many heroes, bodies of the brave. The raven hovered 10, swart11 and
dusky12, the sword-gleam shot forth, as if all Finsburg were on fire!”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) gable: (arhit.) fronton, coama casei, pinion; (2) dawneth (= dawns): a veni (d. lumină), a
răsări, a se zări; (3) howleth (= howls): a urla; (4) shaft: săgeată, suliţă; (5) feud: vrajbă, ură,
dihonie, duşmănie (între clanuri / familii); (6) gird: a încinge, a strînge; (7) keel: navă, corabie;
shield: scut, pavăză; (8) to shatter: a sfărîma, a zdrobi; a spulbera; (9) the helm: cîrma; (10) to
hover: a se roti, a plana (d. păsări); (11) swart: [= swarthy] (archaic or poetic) oacheş; închis la
culoare; (12) dusky: întunecat, întunecos.

A CHARM: FOR CATCHING A SWARM OF BEES (7th century?)

“Take earth, throw it with thy right hand under thy right foot and say: ‘Take I under
foot, I have found it. Lo!1 may earth avail against every kind of creature, and against malice,
and against spite,2 and against the mickle3 tongue of man’.
And throw earth upon them when they swarm4 and say: ‘Sit ye, royal women, sink to
the earth! Never fly ye wild to the wood. Be ye as mindful of my good, as every man is
mindful of food and of home.’”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) Lo!: (arch.) = Look!; (2) spite: ură, pică, venin, ciudă, răutate; (3) the mickle tongue…: gura
mare / limba lungă a…; (4) swarm: roi (de albine).

WALDHERE (before the 10th century)

“… (She) eagerly heartened him: ‘The work of Weland, truly, deceiveth not any man,
who can wield the hoary Mimming.1 Oft in the battle, bloodstained and sword-wounded, there
fell man after man. Aetla’s2 van-warrior,3 now let not thy strength fail today yet, thy mastery
fall! But come is the day, that verily thou must one or the other – lose thy life, or long
dominion4 own among men, son of Aefhere!
Not at all, my beloved, do I chide5 thee, saying that ever I have seen thee at the
sword-play, through coward fear of any man, flee from the battle or escape from the field,
shelter thy body, though many foes hewed6 their bills7 at thy corselet8; but ever thou soughtest
further to fight, over the mark: therefore I dreaded the fate for thee because thou soughtest to
fight too fiercely in warfare with the other hero. Honour thyself by good deeds, while thy
good fortune prevail9’.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) can wield the hoary Mimming: poate s-o mânuiască pe Mimming (i.e. sabia) cea ascuţită;
(2) Aetla: Attila; (3) van-warrior: războinic care luptă în avangardă; (4) dominion: stăpînire;
imperiu (= rule); (5) I chide thee (= I chide you); to chide: a certa, a dojeni, a mustra, a ocărî;
Past Tense chid, Past Part. chid, chidden; (6) the foes hewed: duşmanii loveau / izbeau (cu…);
(7) bill: “a mediaeval weapon like a halberd with a hook instead of a blade”; (8) corselet /
corslet: platoşă; pieptar de zale; (9) to prevail: a izbîndi, a învinge, a avea câştig de cauză.

THE RUNE SONG (10th century(?) – version of old poem)

13
 “Wealth is a comfort1 to all men, yet must every man deal it out freely, if he wish to
win honour from the Lord.
The bull is fierce2 and hath great horns, a very savage beast; he fighteth with his
horns, a famous moor-stepper;3 it is a high-pitted4 creature.
Need is a trouble in the breast,5 yet oft shall it be for a help to the children of men,
and for healing6 to all, if they heed it betimes (in this life).
Ice is very cold, immeasurably slippery,7 it glistens,8 glass-bright, most like to gems,
a frost-wrought9 floor, fair to see.
Ing was first amid10 the East-Danes seen of men, until he after went East, over the
wave; his chariot11 followed: thus the Heardings named the man.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) comfort: alinare, mîngîiere; (2) fierce: aprig, turbat, furios, sălbatic; (3) the moor-stepper:
cel-care-calcă-peste-bărăgane; (4) pitted: crestat, vrîstat; (5) breast: piept; sîn (şi fig.); (6)
healing: vindecare; (7) slippery: (a)lunecos; (8) to glisten: a (stră)luci; a scînteia; (9) frost-
wrought = made by frost (“îngheţ, ger”); wrought: forma veche de Past Tense şi Past
Participle a verbului to work; (10) amid (= amidst): among “printre”; (11) chariot: car (de
luptă).

THE RUINED CITY (8th century?)

“Wondrous is its wall-stone: fates have broken, have chattered1 the city, the work of
giants is perishing. The roofs are fallen, the towers in ruins, the towers with grated doors
despoiled,2 rime3 on the lime,4 the ramparts5 shorn6 down, fallen, with age undereaten.7 The
earth-grasp, the hard grip of the ground, holds the mighty workers, decayed,8 departed: till a
hundred generations of men pass away. Oft its wall abided,9 goat-grey and red-stained,
through rule, steady under storms … bright were the burg-dwellings, bath-halls many, high
the clustered pinnacles,10 great the warlike sound, many a mead-hall, full of mirth11 of men,
until the strong Wyrd12 changed it … There stood the courts of stone: the stream threw forth
hot and spreading billows:13 a wall encircled all its bright bosom,14 where the baths were, hot
within; that was well fitted men.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) to shatter: sfărîma; a dărîma; (2) to despoil: a jefui, a prăda, a despuia (de…); (3) rime:
(poetic) brumă, chiciură, promoroacă; (4) lime: var, suprafaţă văruită; (5) ramparts: metereze;
(6) shorn: retezat (cu sabia etc.) < to shear (sheared / shore – shorn / sheared); (7)
undereaten: ros, săpat; surpat; (8) decayed: putrezit, descompus; (9) oft = often; (10) to abide:
a rezista (la…); (11) pinnacle: foişor, turn(uleţ ascuţit); (12) mirth: bucurie, voioşie; (13) Wyrd:
Soarta, Destinul (concept văzut de vechii germani ca o zeitate atotputernică); (14) billows:
trîmbe (groase de fum), nori groşi (de fum); (15) bosom: sîn, piept (fig.).

THE WIFE’S COMPLAINT (8th century?)

“Full wretched, I sing this song about myself, my own fate. I can say this: that of the
miseries I have borne, newly or of old, since I grew up, none were greater that now; ever I
know sorrow through my exile! First, my lord went forth1 from his land, over the swirl of the
waves; then had I sorrow at dawn, for where in the land might my master be? Then I went
forth, a friendless exile, to seek service in my woeful2 need. The kinsman of my lord had
devised,3 with dark thought, how they might sunder us, so that we two, far apart in the world,
lived most miserably, and weary4 the longing to me…5
Full oft6 we two had vowed that except death alone, naught7 else should divide us:
now that is all changed; now is it as if our friendship had never been. Far and near must I
endure much enmity on account of my beloved.8 They bade me dwell in the thicket9 of the
wood, under an oak tree in the earth-cave. Old is this earth hall. I am all weary longing; dim10
are the dells,11 high the hills, cruel the hedges, with briars12 over-grown, a joyless dwelling.
Full oft the departure of my lord lieth bitterly upon me. Friends are in the land, dear living
ones; they lie on their beds when I, in the dawning,13 go lonely under the oak tree in this earth
cave. There I may sit the summerlong day, there I can weep my exile fate, my many

14
sorrows,... It may be, exiled afar, in the distant folk-land, that my friend sitteth,14 under the
rocky cliffs, frozen with the storm, my beloved, weary-minded, flooded with water in that
drear15 hall. My beloved endureth much sorrow of heart: he remembereth too often a happier
dwelling. Woe is to him who, in yearning16 must wait for his dear one.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) went forth: (he) left / set out; (2) woeful: amarnic, cumplit; (3) to devise: a urzi; (4) weary:
obositor, apăsător; plictisitor; (5) longing to me…: dor, tînjire, alean; (6) full oft = very often;
(7) naught = (arch.) nothing, none; (8) on account of my beloved [bi'lvid]: pentru cel la care
ţin / pe care-l iubesc; (9) thicket: desiş, bunget; (10) dim: întunecat, întunecos, mohorît; (11)
dell: vîlcea, vale; (12) briars = brier: rug, tufă de mărăcini; (13) dawning = at dawn: în zori;
(14) sitteth: (he) sits; (15) drear = dreary (poetic): trist, întunecat, mohorît; (16) yearning:
tînjire, alean, dor(inţă arzătoare).

RIDDLES (8th century?)

“Which of the heroes is so wary and so wise that he can say who driveth me on my
journey, when I rise up strong, sometimes fierce, mighty, I thunder, at times rush fearfully
over the earth, burn the folk-hall, ravage the dwellings, the wreck ariseth, ashen1 over the
roofs? Clamour2 is on earth, men battling with death. Then I shake the wood, the fretful
forest,3 fell the trees, overwhelmed with water, with mighty powers sent far and wide to press
upon my way. I have upon my back what ere has covered forms of men, flesh and spirits of
earth-dwellers together upon the shore. Say who hideth4 me, or what I am called who bear
these burdens?”
(Answer: A Storm on land)

“Sometimes I withdraw, when men ween5 it not, under the crowding of the waves, to
seek the earth, the ground of ocean; the sea is stirred, the flood troubled, the foam tossed;6 the
whale-mere7 roareth, loudly rageth;8 the waters beat the shore, at times dash9 upon the steep
cliffs with stone and sand, sea-weed10 and wave, then I, fighting, covered with sea-might, stir
the earth, the vast sea-ground; I cannot loose11 me from the sea-covering, ere he let me, he
who is my leader on every journey. Say, o thoughtful man, who draweth me from the breast
of the ocean when the waters again become still, the waves gentle, which veiled me before.”
(Answer: A Storm on sea)

“I am a lonely one, wounded with the iron, hurt with the battle-axe, sick of war-
works, weary of swords. Oft I see war, the fierce fighting; I look not for comfort, that succour
may come to me in the battle, ere I have perished utterly with my leaders; but the ‘hammers’
forging’, keen-edged, sword sharp, the handwork of smiths,12 strike at me, bite me in the
citadels. I ever must await a more evil conflict. Never leech-kin13 in folk-dwelling could I
find, who might heal the wound with herbs,14 but the cuts from the swords grew larger,
through the death strokes15 by day and by night.”
(Answer: A Shield)

“My raiment16 is still when I tread17 the earth, or rest in the dwelling, or drive the
water. Sometimes my trappings18 and this high air upraise19 me over the houses of men, and
then the strength of the clouds beareth me far and wide over the folk. My garments 20 rustle21
loudly, and sound sweetly, sing beautifully, when I am not touching flood and field, a faring
spirit.”
(Answer: A Swan)

“I saw a creature wondrously bearing booty22 between its horns a bright air-vessel,
beautifully adorned, bearing booty home from the war-path, it would build a bower23 for
itself in the citadel, skilfully set it up, if so it might. Then came a wondrous creature over
the ‘roof of the wall’, it is known to all earth-dwellers; snatched then the spoil24 away, and
drove home the wanderer against her will; thence departed west, going vengefully, hastened

15
forward: Dust arose to heaven, dew fell on earth, night came forth. None of men knew
afterwards the path of that creature.”
(Answer: The Moon and the Sun)
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) ashen: cenuşiu; pămîntiu; (2) clamour: vuiet, zgomot mare; zvon puternic; (3) fretful
forest: pădure fremătătoare; (4) hideth: (he) hides; (5) ween: (înv.) a (se) gîndi, a-şi da cu
socoteala; (6) the foam tossed – to toss: a se zbuciuma, a se clătina cu putere; (7) the whale-
mere roareth = the sea roars: marea mugeşte / urlă (cf. mere – înv. hotar); (8) rageth = (it)
rages: vuieşte, bubuie, hohoteşte; (9) to dash: a arunca, a izbi (cu putere); (10) sea-weed:
ierburi de mare; (11) to loose: a se elibera; a lăsa liber / slobod (dintr-o strînsoare); (12)
smith: faur, fierar; (13) leech-kin: (înv.) doftori, vraci; (14) herbs: ierburi / buruieni de leac;
(15) death strokes: lovituri aducătoare de moarte; (16) raiment: (poetic) strai(e), haină /
haine; (17) to tread: a păşi, a călca (pe…); (18) trappings: haine scumpe, costum de paradă,
găteli; (19) to upraise: (înv.) a ridica, a înălţa, a urca; (20) garments: veş(t)minte /
veş(t)mînt, strai(e); (21) to rustle: a foşni; (22) booty: pradă (de război); (23) bower: (poetic)
sălaş, locaş; (24) the spoil: (or spoils) – pradă, captură (de război).

CYNEWULF’S LAMENT (8th century)

“Great will be my need that the Holy One should give me help, when the dearest of
all are divided from me, when the two wedded ones rend asunder1 their kinship, their mighty
heart-love, and my soul shall go forth from the body on that journey, I know not whither, 2 to
the unknown land; from this world must I seek another, with my former works, I must go with
my ancient deeds. Sad shall I turn hence!3 C.Y. and N; the King shall be wroth, the Giver of
Victory, when stained with sins, E.W. and U. shall abide,4 with trembling, what He will doom
to them, after their deeds, as life’s reward. L.F. shall quake, and anxiously wait. All the
grievousness5 I shall remember the wounds of sin, which late or early I have wrought 6 in the
world. I pray each man of human kind who may sing this song that he earnestly and fervently
remember me by my name, and pray the Creator that the Guardian of Heaven may give me
help, the Lord of Might in that great day.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) to rend asunder: a rupe (în două), a sfărîma; (2) whither: (înv.) încotro, unde; (3) hence:
încoace, aici; (4) abide: a locui, a sălăşlui; (5) grievousness: grozăvie; amar, întristare; (6)
wrought (arch., poet.) = worked.

THE MONTH OF MAY (10th century?)

“Forthwith1 into the city, lovely in adornments,2 in woods and in herbs, May cometh
gliding,3 beauteous, gloriously to town, bringeth good abundantly among the people
everywhere… bringeth to men sunbright days and summer to town, warm weather. Then the
fields quickly bloom with blossoms, ariseth also, over the earth, the rapture of many kindreds
of living things, there they give manifold4 praise to the King.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) forthwith: (de)îndată; (2) adornments: podoabe; (3) to glide: a pluti în zbor, a plana; (4)
manifold: numeros; felurit.

THE BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH (AD 937)

“In this year King Aethelstan, lord of earls and ring-giver of men, together with his
brother Edmund the Aetheling, won lifelong fame with the edge of the sword in the strife near
Brunanburh… They, the offspring1 of Edward, cleft the shieldwall, hewed the warlinden2
with the leavings-of-hammers3. From their forefathers it was born in them to guard their land,
their hearths and homes against every foe. The enemy failed, the Scottish folk and the sailors
fell doomed.4 The field was sodden with the sweat of men when the sun rose up in the
morning tide and glided5 over the earth, that far-famed star, bright candle of God the eternal

16
Lord, till the noble creature sank to its seat. There lay many a man pierced6 with spears, many
a Northman shot over the shield; also the Scotsman, weary, sated7 with war.
Through the long day, with well-tried warriors, the West Saxons pressed forward on
the track of the hateful folk; they hewed direfully8 at the flank of the flyers with their mill-
sharpened swords.9 The Mercians withheld not their hard hand-play from any man of those
who with Anlaf in the ship bosom over the ocean had sought the land, doomed to fight. Five
young kings lay dead there on the field of war, put to sleep with the sword. There were also
seven of the earls of Anlaf. Innumerable was the army of sailors and Scotsmen. There the
prince of the Northmen was forced to flight, driven of need hence to the stern 10 of the ship,
and with him a little band. They thrust the craft on the water, the king went forth on the
fallow11 flood to save his life.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) offspring: odrasla, progenitura (lui…); (2) cleft the shieldwall, hewed the warlinden…: to
cleave – a spinteca, a crăpa; to hew – (înv.) a lovi / izbi (cu o armă); (3) the leavings-of-
hammers = the swords; (4) fell doomed: seceraţi de soartă / cu firul vieţii curmat; (5) to glided
(over the earth): a (a)luneca / a se scurge uşor (pe pămînt); (6) pierced: străpuns; (7) sated:
sătul; (8) they hewed direfully at…: au lovit / izbit crunt / grozav / cumplit / cu străşnicie; (9)
mill-sharpened: ascuţite pe tocilă / piatră; (10) stern: pupa (unui vas / unei corăbii); (11)
fallow: galben-cafeniu; roşietic.

THE SEAFARER / ‘translated’ by Ezra Pound in 1911, and published in The New
Age (1911), and Cathay (1915)
“May I for my own self song’s truth reckon, / Journey’s jargon, how I in harsh days /
Hardship endured oft. / Bitter breast-cares have I abided, / Known on my keel many a care’s
hold, / And dire sea-surge, and there I oft spent / Narrow nightwatch nigh1 the ship’s head /
While she tossed close to cliffs. Coldly afflicted.2 / My feet were by frost benumbed.3 / Chill
its chains are; chafing3 sighs / Hew my heart round and hunger begot4 / Mare-weary mood.
Lest man know not / That he on dry land loveliest liveth, / List5 how I, care-wretched, on ice-
cold sea, / Weathered6 the winter, wretched outcast / Deprived of my kinsmen; / Hung with
hard ice-flakes, where hail-scur7 flew. / There I heard naught save the harsh sea / And ice-
cold wave, at whiles the swan cries, / Did for my games the gannet’s8 clamour. / Sea-fowls’
loudness was for me laughter, / The mews’9 singing all my mead-drink. / Storms, on the
stone-cliffs beaten, fell on the stern / In icy feathers; full oft the eagle screamed / With spray
on his pinion.10 / Not any protector / May make merry man faring needy. / This he little
believes, who aye in winsome life11 / Abides ’mid burghers12 some heavy business, / Wealthy
and wine-flushed, how I weary oft / Must ’bide above brine. / Neareth nightshade, snoweth
from north, / Frost froze the land, hail fell on earth then, / Corn of the coldest. Nathless 12
there knocketh now / The heart’s thought that I on high streams / The salt-wavy tumult
traverse alone. / Moaneth13 alway my mind’s lust14 / That I fare forth, that I afar hence / Seek
out a foreign fastness. / For this there’s no mood-lofty man over earth’s midst, / Not though
he be given his good, but will have in his youth greed;15 / Nor his deed to the daring, not his
king to the faithful / But shall have his sorrow for sea-fare / Whatever his lord will. / He hath
not his heart for harping, nor in ring-having / Nor winsomeness to wife, nor world’s delight /
Nor any whit else save the wave’s slash,16 / Yet longing comes upon him to fare forth on the
water.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) nigh: (înv., poetic) lîngă; (2) coldly afflicted: suferind de frig; (3) benumbed: amorţit; (4)
chafing sighs: oftaturi / ofuri înfierbîntate; (5) (hunger) begot = Pas Tense form of to beget: a
da naştere la, a cauza; (6) list (înv., poetic) = listen; (7) to weather: a vremui, a se dezlănţui; (8)
hail-scur: potop de chiciură; (9) gannet: gîscă-de-mare; (10) mew: pescăruş; (11) pinion:
(poet.) aripă; (12) winsome: atrăgător, plăcut; (13) burghers: tîrgoveţi; (14) nathless (also
natheless): (înv.) cu toate acestea, totuşi; (15) moaneth = (it) moans: geme; (16) lust: patimă,
sete; (17) greed: lăcomie; (18) nor any whit alse save the … lash (= anything else): nimic
altceva afară de … şfichiuirea / şfichiul / tăietura valului.

17
 THE FIRST ENGLISH EPIC

The first long narrative poem in English literature is the poem entitled Beowulf. It
was for centuries recited or sung to the harp by the scôps of the Northern peoples (or tribes).
Many critics and historians consider it to have been composed in the peninsula we now call
Jutland, and in that portion, named Angeln (i.e. today’s Schleswig), which is the oldest form
of the word England.
Recent criticism assigns its composition to the eighth century, the old Norse legends
having been handed down and put into shape by a West-Saxon writer, in the language whose
country it is. It is a narrative poem of 3,183 lines, now preserved in the British Museum, after
many adventures. Like the epic of Homer, Beowulf has been subject to a close critical
examination that has produced almost as many opinions as there have been critics. Some hold
that its home is the Baltic shore, and that it was brought to England by the invading
Northmen. Others designate England as the place of composition and the Yorkshire coast as
the scene of the story.
What may be called the “stuff” of Beowulf is certain to be essentially heathen,
although in its present form it contains many passages of Christian character (sentiment and
reflections). This mixture indicates that the poem is a heathen / pagan legend, which received
its present expression from a Christian poet. The resemblance between the deeds of Beowulf
and those of other heroes points to the tendency of ‘primitive’ heroes to become each the
centre of stock adventure; yet, these characters were not genuinely primitive: “The
Niebelungenlieder, although compiled at a later date, give, at least in the Hagen epic, a
powerful picture of the warlike furies and the atrocious vengeances of the earliest ages.
Nothing like or approximating to them is to be found in the whole body of Anglo-Saxon
verse.” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 8).
The poem in itself comprises an introductory part, and 43 parts, or cantos. This
division is made in accordance with the number of parchment papers the poem was initially
written on. The introductory canto seems to have been added much later. Structurally, the
poem is divided in two great narrative themes: the former, Beowulf’s fight with the monster
Grendel, and then with the latter’s mother; the latter parts present Beowulf’s reign and his
fight, now an old man, with a dragon, the fight in which Beowulf finds his death, although the
victor. The narrative thread is hardened with digressions, secondary / subsidiary episodes,
tirades, descriptions, many of them being insertions from successive interpreters.
The story of the epic runs as follows: The scene of Beowulf is laid in Zealand – an
island of (today’s) Denmark. Hrothgar was the king of Zealand. He built a large hall for the
feasting of his thanes,21 and called it Heorot. This hall stood on the edge of a moor that was
haunted by a terrible man-beast called Grendel. This Grendel had the strength of thirty men;
his nails were monstrous claws, and his head, when he was eventually slain, had to be carried
by four strong men. The monster lives with his grisly mother in a deep-sea cave, in a deep
hollow among the rocks. At night, after the warriors have feasted and lain down to sleep,
Grendel stalks through the mist over the moorland, smites the door in, falls upon the nearest
sleeping warrior, and tears him to pieces. Suddenly, Beowulf grips his right arm. The hall
heaves and cracks with the struggle and the cries of the man-beast; Beowulf holds on, and at
length rends the arm of Grendel from its socket. The monster flees to his sea-cave to die.
In the morning there is great joy in Heorot; there are games and horse-racing; scops
make songs, and there is revelry of every kind. The King and Queen come to look at the arm
of the monster. Beowulf receives noble gifts, and the tables are set for a new and splendid
feast. After the feast, all lie down to sleep for the night. But the terrible mother of Grendel
appears, snatches up the arm of her son, seizes a noble thane, and makes off into the darkness.
She is a “death-spirit”, a slayer of men, a creature of mirk22 and mist, a “sea-wolf”, a sea-
woman, a “wolf of the sea-depths”.

21 Thanes / thegns: noblemen (see also footnote above).

22 Mirk, murk: darkness; gloom.

18
 Beowulf vows to slay her. So he crosses a moorland-waste, a waste of rocks and
crags, of stagnant pools and shaking bogs, of shaggy woods and the haunts of wolves. Then
he comes to a ghastly lake, at the bottom of which lives the Mother of Grendel. Beowulf dons
his shirt of mail; he takes in his hand his faithful sword Hrunting, which his old friend
Hunferth had made for him, and dives into the deep. He sinks from morning till noon, and
from noon till eve he goes on sinking. At length, just before his feet touch the bottom, the
monster-Mother seizes him and carries him off to her den. His sword is powerless against her;
and she flings him on the ground.
Looking round, he sees on the floor of the cave a mighty sword, “made by huge men
of old, of powerful edge, of glory of warriors”. He seizes the hilt, draws the sharp blade,
strikes out fiercely, “till the hard weapon smote23 her neck, and broke the bone-rings”.24
Hrothgar’s thanes, who sit round the hall, say one to another, “we shall see him no
more.” But the thanes of Beowulf refuse to give up hope, and at last see their friend and
leader rise from the mere,25 the golden hilt and the heads of Grendel and his mother in his
hands. Four of them carry the gory26 head to Heorot, and fling it at the feet of Hrothgar.
“Now”, says Beowulf, “thy warriors and thou may sleep in peace to-night in Heorot”. And
they heap gifts upon Beowulf – horses and grey war-shirts and golden collars. Then Beowulf
and his warriors hoist sail, and go over the sea to their own prince, King Hygelac, king of
Gothland. And Hygelac gives Beowulf a sword inlaid with gold, gives him “power over seven
thousand men”, presents him with a palace and with the rank of a prince.
There are other stories in the poem, and Beowulf’s last adventure is a fight with a
dragon fifty feet long, whose breath eventually poisons him. Beowulf, now lord of the Geats,
kills the dragon, with the help of Wiglaf, but is also fatally wounded; Wiglaf recovers the
dragon’s hoard. A huge pyre is raised on Hroneness, a lofty sea-cape in West Gothland, over
Beowulf’s remains, where his followers burn the body of their valiant lord, and then build a
barrow; the poems ends with a prophesy of disaster for the Geats.
It will be fair to say that the genuine understanding of the poem largely depends on
the empathy, but also the cultural comprehension, of the reader-listener: “If we wish to feel
that Beowulf is good poetry, we should place ourselves, as evening draws on, in the hall of
the folk, when the benches are filled with warriors, merchants and seamen, and the Chief sits
in the high seat, and the fires flame down the mist, and the cup goes round – and hear the
Shaper strike the harp to sing this heroic lay.27 Then, as he sings of the great fight with
Grendel or the dragon, of the treasure-giving of the King, and of the well-known swords, of
the sea-rovings and the sea-hunts, and the brave death of men, to sailors who knew the
storms, to the fierce rovers who fought, and died with glee, to great chiefs who led their
warriors, and to warriors who never left a shield, we feel how heroic the verse is, how
passionate with national feeling, how full of noble pleasure. The poem is great in its own
way; and the way is an English way” (Stopford Booke, History of English Literature).
The poem Beowulf is an unfinished epic; it is written in alliterative verse, and
contains over three thousand lines; it is said to contain only five similes, but it abounds in
metaphors: these two-element compounds were then called kennings;28 thus the sea is called
the “whale-road” or the “water-street”; a king is a “ring-giver”, a ship is “the sea-bird”, “the
sea-horse”, “the wave-farer”, “the wave-traveller”, “the wave-steed”.
It is quite apparent that the story was brought to England from the mainland, and was
most probably sung in the North of England in the seventh century. From the North it passed

23 Smote : Past Tense form of the verb to smite “to strike or to hit hard; to injure, to slay; to deliver or
deal (a blow, hit, etc.)”; another, archaic, Past Tense form is smit.
24 Bone-rings: Vertebrae.
25 Mere: 1. (Obsolete) Any body of sea water. 2. (British dialectal term) A lake or pond (cf. Latin mare

“sea”).
26 Gory: Covered or stained with gore (i.e. blood); bloody (Rom. “însângerat, încruntat”).
27 Lay: 1. A short narrative or other poem, especially to be sung. 2. A song.
28 Kenning: A conventional and poetic phrase used for, or in addition to, the usual name of a person or

thing, especially in Icelandic or Anglo-Saxon verse.

19
to the South, and was couched in West-Saxon English; and this is the form in which an early
eleventh-century manuscript preserves the epic.
The epic refers to actual historical events, namely to the victory of the Franks (a
Germanic tribe that settled down in France) over the Goths led by Hegelac / Hygelac, at about
512 or 520 AD. Hygelac’s nephew, Beowulf, is said to have distinguished himself among the
defeated Goths. In the memory of the people, the historical hero came to be associated with
the legendary hero who had slain an ogre / a monster and a fire-spitting dragon. That is how
Beowulf assumed the mythical character of one who through his bravery had overcome the
adverse elements which the rude Anglo-Saxons stood in awe of. The scene of the story is
presumably not Britain but Denmark, and the country of the Geats (i.e. Goths) lies in the
south of today’s Sweden. The hero himself is a Geat (Goth). What makes Beowulf a national
epic is, thus, the language as well as the metrical form in which it was composed. The poem
was written in Old English, in the West Saxon dialect.
The poem reflects the life and customs of the Anglo-Saxons, in time prior to
feudalism. “The sea of our forefathers was not a gracious Mediterranean washing with blue
water the steps of marble palaces, but an ocean grey and tumultuous beating upon dismal
shores and sterile promontories. The very land seems as cruel as the sea. No song of lark or
nighingale gladdens life for these shore-dwellers (…) With rude implements they scratch the
soil, and, in hope of the harvest, greet the earth…” (George Sampson, The Concise
Cambridge History of English Literature, p. 1).29 Supernatural incidents were added to the
realistic picture of life. The commentaries to the events presented in the book are chiefly
Christian and were probably made by monks who compiled it at a later date. The poem is
made up of a variety of elements, which make the poem both a historical and a mythological,
both a realistic and fantastic, both a pagan and Christian work;30 the statement should be
qualified, though: “Anglo-Saxon literature is not a direct expression of the pagan age (…) The
Anglo-Saxons were already a settled people, tillers of the soil, enjoying protection against
theft and plunder, and an organised justice which deprived the individual of the right to
vengeance and, as much as possible, substituted fines for corporal punishment” (Émile
Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 7).
In sharp opposition to the Christian values and attitudes, Grendel, the predator, the
monster (presented in the poem as the descendant of the biblical Cain), who stalks at knight,
dwelling apart from men and from faith, is the (essentially un-Christian) evil spirit.
Beowulf’s greatness lies in his rare gifts, whether physical or moral, and his strength
and success ultimately reside in the support of his people, who greatly loved and honoured
him. The Geats called him “the people’s shepherd”. The poem closes with a warm tribute paid
to the hero:
“…of all kings on earth
of men (Beowulf) was mildest and most beloved
to his kin the kindest, keenest for praise. “
It might be said about the poem that through the character of Beowulf the epic author
wanted to embody the ideal of courage and noble character of the Anglo-Saxons, at an early
date. Moreover the hero is thoroughly human. In order to emphasize his humanity, there is
ample use of antithesis, Beowulf’s foes being shown as monsters, witches, ogres, dragons,
etc.

The historical value of the epic

29 It is a predominantly masculine hierarchy of acknowledged relationships and obligations (i.e. ties of

loyalty: the lord provides protection, nourishment and a place in an generally accepted hierarchy, for which
his warriors return service), which underlies the main ties of human society.
30 The larger considerations of life and death that the poem incorporates (e.g. war and peace, society and

the individual, manipulation of power, good and evil), no less than Beowulf’s supernatural acts (e.g. fighting
underwater for days), have encouraged Christian, mythic, and allegorical interpretations.

20
 The historical kernel and the legends included in the poem have their origin on the
Continent, yet the details that convey a picture of the forefathers’ life at an old Germanic
court are likely to have been drawn from the England of the unknown monk’s own day. The
picture of social life is crude and primitive: fighting undauntedly, never shrinking in the face
of nature’s adversity, of evil-doers or foes, eating and drinking well, revelling,31 singing and
listening to the minstrels (or scops) and gleemen, sleeping soundly, this was the course of the
Anglo-Saxons’ life.
The auspicious tribal organization presented in the poem shows clear signs of a
certain social stratification: the king and his “henchmen”, or Beowulf himself and his warriors
belong to the hereditary aristocracy, which was gradually coming into existence at a time
when the older, tribal organisation was being replaced by the feudal system, based on a new,
much stricter and more rigid hierarchy.
The dissolution of the tribal organization is also apparent, and it is obvious in the
motif of the hoard32 of gold that runs along the second part of the epic. The gold motif is also
the main dramatic element the story evolves around. It has been pointed out that there is a
significant presence in the poem of the theme of the treasure-hoard kept by the fire-spouting
dragon. Now appears a new attitude towards wealth, reflected by the fact that one of the Geats
was incited to steal gold from the dragon’s hoard. It is the thirst for gold which often recurs in
the Scandinavian epics (also in the German epic of the Nibelungenlied) that is an evidence of
numberless misfortunes awaiting the people (the closing section of Part II). By killing the
dragon Beowulf turns into a fighter against those economic elements that were menacing the
very existence of the tribal organisation. Beowulf, unlike his clansmen, was exempt of this
thirst for gold:
“Yet no greed for gold, but the grace of heaven
Over the king had kept in view.”
Another theme is that of the bonds between the king and his own people. Each
clansman was indissolubly linked with his own clan. The devotion to the king is to be seen in
lines like the following:
“So become it a youth to quit him well
With his father’s friends, by fee and gift,
That to aid him aged, in after days,
Come warriors willing, should we draw nigh,33
Liegemen34 loyal; by landed deeds shall an earl have.”
Important decisions were to be taken by an assembly of the king and his noblemen,
“Many nobles sat assembled and searched out counsel,
How it were best for bold-hearted men
Against harassing terror to try their land.”
The book offers us the possibility to look into the ways of the Anglo-Saxons’
everyday life. In the hall the King “dealt the rings” to his “henchmen”;35 there the king and
his men revelled at banquets, drank clear mead (i.e. an alcoholic liquor of fermented honey
and water) served in carven36 cups. The Queen, arrayed37 with gold, also attended the
carouse38 and handed the cup to brave heroes. During their feasting, they all listened to the
songs and legends recited by minstrels to the sound of their harps.

31 To revel ['revl] (old use): to spend time dancing, drinking, eating, etc., especially at a party.
32 Hoard: a collection of things that one keeps hidden because one likes them or considers them to be
valuable; treasure.
33 To draw nigh (literary, archaic): to come / draw near.
34 Liegeman: 1. a vassal; a subject; 2. a faithful follower.
35 Henchman: 1. a faithful / trusted supporter, attendant, or follower – especially of a political leader or

military commander. 2. a faithful (and unscrupulous) follower / attendant and supporter of a criminal.
36 Carven (poetic, archaic): carved, cut.
37 To array (literary): to dress in good quality clothes.
38 Carouse: carousal – a noisy or drunken feast or gathering; joyous revelry.

21
 The book also presents their attire,39 their weapons, as well as their burial customs
and rituals:
“then fashioned for him the folk of Geats
firm on the earth a funeral-pile,
and hung it with helmets, and harness of war…40
and they laid amid it the mighty chieftain,
heroes mourning their master dear.” (XLIII)
In other words, we may say that the poem conveys a vivid picture of the life of the
Germanic tribes, their love of war, song, and the sea; their love of nature, the loyal affection
between the tribal king and his henchmen; the boldness, courage and sense of duty of the
warriors; their reverence to the king as tribal chieftain is expressed by the epithets attached to
king Hrothgar and to his queen Healtheow: Hrothgar is “the jewel-giver”, “the beaker/ dealer
of rings”, “the famed prince”, “the doughty41 monarch”, “wise and brave”, “gracious
Hrothgar”, “his earls sit about their king”, “white-haired and old”.
As for Healtheow, she is: “queen of Hrothgar, heedful of courtesy”, “gold-decker”,
“the high-born lady”, “the ring-graced queen”, “the royal-hearted”.
The feeling of nature of the Germanic peoples is revealed in the apt epithets attached
to natural scenery or phenomena, or in the description of nature, epithets often interspersed
among the lines of the narrative episodes:
“Grendel lured or lurked42 in the livelong night of misty moorlands”; “waves were
churning43 sea with sand”.
Beowulf and his warriors:
“then moved over the waters, by night of the wind
that bark like a bird with breast of foam…”
Night, the time of Grendel’s ravages, is suggested in this way:
“… evening sun
in the harbour of heaven is hidden away…”
After Grendel’s defeat, nature, the sea itself, are stormy:
“bloody the billows were boiling there,
turbid the tide of rumbling waves
horribly seething, with sword-blood hot, by that doomed onedyed.” (Section XII)
Nature, as it is described in the poem, is totally inhospitable, gloomy, a thing which is
mainly due to the circumstances that the Anglo-Saxons, forefathers who could not supply the
scientific explanation of the natural phenomena and did not know any of the objective laws of
nature, found it difficult to subdue the elements and to harness them to work.
There are also many religious elements to be found in the poem. The original heathen
elements of the epic are blended with Christian interpolations, characteristic mainly of the
comments and reflections made on the various incidents by the monks who subsequently
recorded the poem. Beowulf, before fighting Grendel, expresses his last wishes to Hrothgar in
case he were slain in the fight:
“…but with gripe alone44
must I front the fiend and fight for life,
fee against foe.
…nor need’st thou then
to hide my head, for his shall I be
dyed in gore, if death must take me…
not further for me need’st thou food prepare…”

39 Attire (formal, literary): clothes.

40 Harness (archaic): armour for men or horses.
41 Doughty: steadfastly courageous / brave and resolute / determined.
42 To lurk: to go furtively, to slink, to steal (Rom. “a se furişa”).
43 To churn: to shake with violence or continued motion, to move about violently.
44 Gripe (= shield): 1. the forward end of the dished keel of a metal hull; 2. a handle, hilt, etc.

22
 This looks like a materialistic pagan outlook on death. Beowulf faces death simply,
serenely, a thing which gives the scene undeniable pagan grandeur. Beowulf bids Hrothgar:
“To Hygelac send, if Hild45 should take me,
best of war weeds,46 wearing my breast
armour excellent, heirloom47 of Hrethel
and work of Wayland48
Fares Wyrd49 as she must.”
As regards the faith in God the Almighty, the fatalistic conception of life, they are
essentially pagan. Alongside these pagan elements there are some lines testifying to the
Christian faith of the men pictured by the epic. Preparing to attack Grendel, Beowulf thinks
within himself:
“let wisest God,
sacred Lord, on which side soever
doom decree as he deemeth50 right”.
When Beowulf and his warriors land in Denmark:
“God they thanked
for passing in peace o’er the paths of the sea”.
There is an incongruity between the Christian religious mood of some episodes and
the rites of the funeral, which are definitely and unmistakably pagan. The Danish king who is
buried is placed in a vessel, richly adorned and laden with the king’s weapons and riches, then
the boat is allowed to float adrift over the ocean. There is some noble gravity of tone
throughout the epic, a dignified style and a regular structure of the form, which points to the
fact the epic suffered a certain influence of classical antiquity. The general atmosphere is that
of sadness, melancholy: the fight takes place at night; this is the sadness of the northern
landscape.
The pagan elements are, as is only natural in the context, quite numerous. The dead
are cremated; omens are observed to direct human conduct, and sacrifices are vowed at the
temple of idols. The praise of worldly glory, the theme of blood vengeance, and especially the
frequent references to the power of Wyrd look to a heathen past. Completely absent are any
references to Jesus Christ, the cross, angels, saints, holy relics, or Christian worship; it is
difficult to imagine a Christian work of the Middle Ages ignoring all of the above. Yet the
poet mentions Cain, the Deluge,51 Satan, and the virtues of moderation, unselfishness and
services to others, virtues which are highly praised.
The versification of the poem is highly characteristic of all Anglo-Saxon poetry, the
main distinctive features of which are:
- the fact that each line is divided into two short lines by means of a strongly marked
pause called cesura / caesura,52 placed in the middle of the sentence;
- alliteration.53
On the other hand, there is no end rhyme54 to be found in the poem.55 Parallelism is a
frequent figure of speech and compound words are in plenty.

45 Hild: personification of battle.

46 Weeds: clothes, garments.
47 Heirloom: a family possession transmitted from generation to generation.
48 Wayland: the Germanic correspondent of the Roman god Vulcan.
49 Wyrd: the personification of destiny.
50 (He) deemeth = (he) deems: he considers, he thinks.
51 The Deluge: the biblical / Noah’s Flood.
52 Cesura / caesura: (in prosody) a break, usually near the middle of a line / verse.
53 Alliteration: the use of (two or more) words that begin with the same sound (or letter) in order to make

a special effect especially in poetry.

54 Rhyme: ending two or more verse lines with the same sounds; two lines rhyme when each has the same

vowel sound bearing the last stress (or beat).

55 It seems that (end) rhyme was to be brought to Europe at a later date, apparently from the

Mediterranean civilisations, who took it over from the Arabs.

23
 Beowulf may be the picture of a symbolic Mankind warring against the dangers of the
deep and the fearful mists of the forest and the marshes – in short, against the unknown. It
could equally be the image of a Sun-God overcoming the cold mists of northern winters and
the chill of northern seas, Bee-wolf (= enemy of the bees) could be a sacred woodpecker or
bear eventually personified.56
Beowulf is the oldest complete epic, not merely in Old English, but in any Teutonic /
Germanic language. The author probably knew Vergil’s / Virgil’s Aeneid and possibly the
epics of Homer as the epic displays the familiar epic qualities: extended narrative, majestic
tone, the figure of the hero who performs superhuman deeds against enemies, and the
inclusion of supernatural agencies that intervene in the struggle. Beowulf is the idealized
warrior of a heroic age and the perfect exemplar, the very paragon of what the Anglo-Saxons
chiefly admired as masculine qualities. He is fearless, but not foolhardy, uncomplicated but
intelligent, serious but not dull, virile but by no means single-minded, simplistic or primitive.
Ironically, the first great work of English literature is set entirely in Scandinavia,
without any mention of England or the English.

SUPPORT TEXT

BEOWULF (8th century?)

X
“Then Hrothgar went with his hero-train,1
defence of Scyldings, forth from the hall;
fain2 would the war-lord Wealhtheow seek,
couch3 of his queen. The king of Glory
against this Grendel a guard had set,
so heroes heard, a hall-defender,
who warded the monarch and watched for the monster.
In truth, the Geats’ prince gladly trusted
his mettle,4 his might,5 the mercy of God!
Cast off then his corselet6 of iron,
helmet7 from head; to his henchman8 gave, –
choicest of weapons, – the well-chased sword,
bidding9 him guard the gear of battle.
Spake10 then this, Vaunt11 the valiant man,
Beowulf Great, ere12 the bed be sought; –
‘Of force in fight no feebler I count me,
in grim war-deeds, than Gendel deems13 him.
Not with the sword, then, to sleep of death
his life will I give, though it lie in my power.
No skill is his to strike against me,
my shield to hew though he hardly be,
bold in battle; we both, this night,
shall spurn14 the sword, if he seek me here,
unweaponed, for war. Let wisest God,
sacred Lord, on which side soever15
doom decree16 as he deemeth right.’
Reclined17 then the chieftain,18 and cheek-pillows held
the head of the earl, while all about him

56Cf. the idea of taboo words or notions; big or very dangerous animals, such as bears, wolves, wolverines,
bulls, etc. were not named by the primitive communities, for fear they might turn up or become
threatening – instead, they were given metaphorical / conventional names (see for instance Russian and
Slavic medved’ “bear” – literally, “the honey-eater”).

24
seamen hardy on hall-beds sank.
None of them thought that thence their steps
to the folk and fastness that fostered19 them,
to the land they loved, would lead them back!
Full well they wist that on warriors many
battle-death seized,20 in the banquet-hall,
of Danish clan. But comfort and help,
war-weal21 weaving, to Weder folk
the Master gave, that, by might of one,
over their enemy all prevailed,22
by single strength. In sooth23 ’tis told
that highest God o’er human kind
hath wielded24 ever! – Thro’ wan wan25 night striding,
came the walker-in-shadow. Warriors slept
whose best was to guard the gabled hall, –
all save one. ’Twas widely known
that against God’s will the ghostly ravager
him could not hurl26 to haunts27 of darkness;
wakeful, ready, with warrior’s wrath,28
bold he bided the battle issue.

XI
Then from the moorland, by misty crags,29
with God’s wrath laden,30 Grendel came.
The monster was minded of mankind now
Sundry31 to seize in the stately32 house.
Under welkin33 he walked, till the wine-palace there,
gold-hall of men, he gladly discerned,
flashing with fretwork.34 Not first time, this,
that be the home of Hrothgar sought, –
yet ne’er in his life-day, late or early,
such hardy35 heroes, such hall-thanes, found!
To the house the warrior walked apace,36
parted from peace; the portal opened,
though with forged bolts37 fast, when his fists had struck it,
and baleful38 he burst in his blatant39 rage,
the house’s mouth. All hastily, then,
o’er fair-paved floor the fiend40 trod41 on,
ireful42 he strode;43 there streamed44 from his eyes
fearful flashes, like flame to see.
He spied in hall the hero-band,
kin and clansmen clustered45 asleep,
hardy liegemen.46 Then laughed his heart;
for the monster was minded, ere morn should dawn,
savage, to sever47 the soul of each,
life from body, since lusty48 banquet
waited his will! But Wyrd forbade him
to seize any more of men on earth
after that evening. Eagerly watched
Hygelac’s kinsman his cursed49 foe,
how he would fare50 in fell attack.
Not that the monster was minded to pause!
Straightway he seized a sleeping warrior
for the first, and tore51 him fiercely asunder,52
the bone-frame bit, drank blood in streams,

25
swallowed him piecemeal:53 swiftly thus
the lifeless corpse was clear devoured,
e’en feet and hands. Then far there he hied;54
for the hardy hero with hand he grasped,
felt for the foe with fiendish claw,55
for the hero reclining, – who clutched it boldly,
prompt to answer, propped on his arm.
Soon then saw that shepherd-of-evils
that never he met in this middle-world,
in the ways of earth, another wight56
with heavier hand-gripe;57 at heart he feared,
sorrowed in soul, – none the sooner escaped!
Fain would he flee, his fastness seek,
the den58 of devils: no doings now
such as oft59 he had done in days of old!
Then bethought60 him the hardy Hygelac-thane
of his boast at evening: up the bounded,
grasped firm his foe, whose fingers cracked.
The fiend made off, but the earl close followed.
The monster meant – if he might at all –
to fling himself free,61 and far away
fly to the fens,62 – knew his fingers’ power
in the gripe63 of the grim one. Gruesome64 march
to Heorot this monster of harm had made!
Din65 filled the room; the Danes were bereft,
castle-dwellers and clansmen all,
earls, of their ale. Angry were both
those savage hall-guards: the house resounded.
Wonder it was the wine-hall firm
in the strain of their struggle stood, to earth
the fair house fell not; too fast it was
within and without by its iron bands
craftily66 clamped; though there crashed from sill
many a mead-bench – men have told me –
gay with gold, where the grim foes wrestled.
So well had weened67 the wisest Scyldings
that not ever at all might any man
that bone-decked, brave house break asunder,
crush by craft, – unless clasp of fire
in smoke engulfed68 it. – Again uprose din
redoubled. Danes of the North with fear
and frenzy69 were filled, each one,
who from the wall that wailing70 heard,
God’s foe sounding his grisly71 song,
cry of the conquered, clamorous72 pain
from captive of hell. Too closely held him
he who of men in might was strongest
in that same-day of this our life.

XII
Hot in any wise would the earls’-defence
suffer that slaughterous73 stranger to live,
useless deeming his days and years
to men on earth. How many an ear
of Beowulf brandished74 blade ancestral,

26
fain the life of their lord to shield,
their praised prince, if power were theirs;
never they knew, – as they neared the foe,
hardy-hearted heroes of war,
aiming their swords on every side
the accursed to kill, – no keenest blade,75
no farest of falchions76 fashioned on earth,
could harm77 or hurt that hideous fiend!
He was safe, by his spells, from sword of battle,
from edge of iron. Yet his end and parting
on that same day, of this our life
woeful should be, and his wandering soul
far off flit78 to the fiends’ domain.
Soon he found, who in former days,
harmful in heart and hated of god,
on many a man such murder wrought,
that the frame of his body failed him now.
For him the keen-souled79 kinsman of Hygelac
held in hand, hateful alive
was each to other. The outlaw dire80
took mortal hurt; a mighty wound
showed on his shoulder, and sinews cracked,
and the bone-frame burst. To Beowulf now
the glory was given, and Grendel thence
death-sick his den in the dark moor sought,
noisome abode:81 he knew too well
that here was the last of life, an end
of his days on earth. – To all the Danes
by that bloody battle the boon82 had come.
From ravage had rescued the roving83 stranger
Hrothgar’s hall; the hardy and wise one
had purged it anew. His night-work pleased him,
his deed and its honor. The Eastern Danes
had the valiant Great his vaunt made good,
all their sorrow and ills assuaged,84
their bale85 of battle borne so long,
and all the dole86 they erst endured,
pain a-plenty, – ’Twas proof of this,
when the hardy-in-fight a hand laid down,
arm and shoulder, – all, indeed,
of Grendel’s gripe, – ’neath the gabled roof.

XV
There was hurry and hest87 in Heorot now
for bands to bedeck88 it, and dense was the throng
of men and women the wine-hall to cleanse,89
the guest-room to garnish. Gold-gay shone the hangings90
that were wove on the wall, and wonders many
to delight each mortal that looks upon them.
Though braced91 within by iron bands,
that building bright was broken sorely;
rent92 were its hinges;93 the roof alone
held safe and sound, when, scared with crime,
the fiendish foe his flight essayed,94
of life despairing. – No light thing that,

27
the flight for safety, – essay it who will!
Forced of fate, he shall find his way
to the refuge ready for race of man,
for soul-possessors and sons of earth;
and there his body on bed of death
shall rest after revel.95
Arrived was the hour when to hall proceeded Healfdene’s son:
the king himself would sit to banquet.
Ne’er heard I of host in haughtier96 throng97
more graciously gathered rounf giver-of-rings!
Bowed98 then to bench those bearers-of-glory,
fain of the feasting. Featly received
many a mead-cup the mighty-in-spirit,
kinsmen who sat in the sumptuous hall,
Hrothgar and Hrothulf, Heorot now
was filled, with friends; the folk of Scyldings
ne’er yet had tried the traitor’s deed.
To Beowulf gave the bairn99 of Healfdene
a gold-woven banner,100 guerdon101 of triumph,
broidered battle-flag, breastplate102 and helmet;
and a splendid sword was seen of many
borne to the brave one. Beowulf took
cup in hall; for such costly gifts
he suffered no shame in that soldier throng.
For I heard of few heroes, in heartier mood,
with four such gifts, so fashioned with gold,
on the ale-bench honoring others thus!
O’er the roof of the helmet high, a ridge,103
wound with wires, kept ward o’er the head,
Lest the relict-of-files104 should fierce invade,
sharp in the strife,105 when that shielded hero
should go to grapple106 against his foes.
Then the earls’-defence on the floor bade lead
coursers eight,107 with carven108 head-gear,
adorn the hall: one horse was decked
with a saddle all shining and set in jewels;109
’twas the battle-seat of the best of kings,
when to play of swords the son of Healfdene
was fain to fare. Ne’er failed his valor
in the crush of combat when corpses fell.
To Beowulf over them both then gave
The refuge-of-Ingwines right and power,
o’er war-steeds110 and weapons; wished him joy of
Manfully thus the mighty prince,
hoard-guard for heroes, that hard fight repaid
with steeds and treasures contemned111 by none
who is willing to say the sooth aright.

XVI
And the lord of earls, to each that came
with Beowulf over the briny ways,112
and heirloom113 there at the ale-bench114 gave,
precious gift; and the price bade pay
in gold for him whom Grendel erst115
murdered, – and fain of them more had killed,

28
had not wisest God their Wyrd averted,116
and the man’s brave mood. The Maker then
ruled human kind, as here and now.
Therefore is insight always best,
and forethought117 of mind. How much awaits him
of lief118 and of loath,119 who long time here,
through days of warfare this world endures!

Then song and music mingled sounds

in the presence of Healfdene’s head-of-’armies
and harping was heard with the hero-lay
as Hrothgar’s singer the hall-joy woke
along the mead-seats, making his song
of that sudden raid on the sons of Finn ………”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) hero-train: suită a unui erou / viteaz / războinic / a unei căpetenii; (2) fain: “gladly, readily,
willingly”; (3) couch: (poetic) culcuş; (4) mettle: bărbăţie, ardoare (în luptă); (5) might: putere,
vlagă; (6) cors(e)let: platoşă, pieptar de zale; (7) helmet: coif, cască (de războinic); (8)
henchman: om de încredere; (ist.) scutier; (9) bidding: spunînd; poruncind; (10) spake = spoke;
(11) vaunt = boast; (12) ere: (înv.) înainte să… / de a…; (13) to deem: (înv.) a crede, a socoti;
(14) to spurn: a lovi cu…; a împinge; (15) on which side soever = on whichever side; (16)
doom decree: settle the fate; (17) to recline: a se apleca, a se înclina; (18) chieftain: căpetenie,
cap; conducător militar; (19) to foster: a nutri; a odrăsli; (20) to seize: a înşfăca, a prinde; (21)
war-weal: pradă de război, bogăţie strînsă în luptă; (22) to prevail: a birui, a ieşi biruitor
(asupra…); (23) in sooth: (înv.) într-adevăr, pe drept cuvînt; (24) hath wielded = has wielded;
to wield: a stăpîni, a conduce (peste…); (25) wan: pal, palid; livid; (26) to hurl: a arunca, a
(a)zvîrli, a repezi; (27) haunt: vizuină; cuibar; adăpost; (28) wrath: urgie; mânie; (29) misty
crags: “rocks wrapped in fog / mist”; crags: stînci, ţancuri; (30) laden: (arch.) “loaded, full
of”; (31) sundry: (old use) several, various; everybody; (32) stately: “imposing, grand”; (33)
welkin: (poetic) boltă cerească, tărie, înalt(uri), firmament(ul); (34) fretwork: ornament(e)
traforat(e) în lemn; (35) hardy: cutezător, temerar; plin de îndîrjire şi semeţie; (36) (walked)
apace: iute, cu pas grăbit; (37) bolts: zăvoare; piroane (mari); (38) baleful: distrugător,
groaznic; (39) blatant: zgomotos, nestăpînit; mugitor, mugind; (40) fiend: demon, monstru;
(spirit) rău; (41) trod = Past Tense form of to tread: a păşi, a călca; (42) ireful: (poetic)
mânios, cu (mare) pornire; (43) (he) strode = Past Tense form of to stride: a merge cu paşi
mari / cu pas întins; (44) to stream: a şiroi, a izvorî; (45) clustered: “gathered, assembled”; (46)
liegemen: (ist.) vasal; supus; om de credinţă, (om) credincios (al cuiva); (47) to sever: a
reteza; (48) lusty: pătimaş, viguros; (49) cursed foe: duşman blestemat; (50) to fare: a se
descurca; a proceda (într-un anume fel); (51) tore = Past Tense form of to tear [t]: a sfîşia, a
sfîrteca / sfîrtica, a rupe (în bucăţi); (52) asunder: în bucăţi; în două părţi / jumătăţi; (53)
piecemeal: bucată cu bucată; pînă la ultima bucăţică; (54) to hie: a se grăbi, a merge cu paşi
repezi / cu iuţeală; (55) claw: gheară / gheare; (56) wight: om, ins; (57) hand-gripe: înşfăcare,
strînsoare (puternică), prindere ca într-un cleşte; (58) den: bîrlog, vizuină (şi fig.); (59) oft =
often; (60) bethought = Past Tense form of to bethink: a-şi aminti (de); a se gîndi (la); (61) to
fling himself free: a se smuci, eliberîndu-se; (62) fens: smîrcuri, mlaştini / mlaştină, mocirlă;
(63) gripe: strînsoare, apucare (puternică); gheară; (64) gruesome: înspăimîntător, îngrozitor;
(65) din: zgomot, vuiet; (66) craftily: meşteşugit, cu măiestrie; (67) to ween: (înv.) a socoti, a
gîndi, a crede (că…); (68) to engulf: a înghiţi, a cuprinde; (69) frenzy: nebunie, delir, frenezie;
(70) wailing: tînguire, vaiet; (71) grisly: înspăimîntător, îngrozitor; (72) clamorous: asurzitor,
zgomotos, răsunător; (73) slaughterous: ucigaş, sângeros; atroce; (74) brandished blade
ancestral: îşi roti sabia / paloşul (stră)vechi; (75) keenest blade: paloş mai tăios / ascuţit / ager;
(76) falchion (= a broad, curved sword): paloş, spadă / spată; (77) to harm: a face rău, a
vătăma; (78) far off flit: zbură / se duse în zbor departe-departe; (79) keen-souled = brave; (80)
dire: crunt, straşnic, grozav; îngrozitor; (81) noisome = noxious, ill-smelling; abode: (înv.,

29
poetic) sălaş; (82) boon: dar, folos, câştig; pricopseală; (83) roving: rătăcitor, cutreierător; (84)
assuaged: a linişti, a alina, a potoli, a ostoi; a îndulci (fig.); (85) (their) bale: (înv.) durere,
suferinţă, amar; (86) dole: (înv., poetic) supărare, jale; (87) hest = behest: (înv., poetic, lit.)
ordin, comandă; (88) to bedeck: a împodobi; (89) to cleanse [klenz]: a curăţi; (90) hangings:
podoabe pe pereţi; draperii; (91) to brace: a lega, a prinde, a sprijini; (92) rent = Past Tense &
Past Participle form of to rend: a sfîşia, a rupe; (93) hinges: ţîţîni; (94) his flight essayed:
încercă să fugă; (95) revel: ospăţ, petrecere; (96) haughtier: mai mîndră / semeaţă; (97) throng:
adunare, întrunire, grup; (98) to bow [bau]; a se înclina, a face plecăciuni / o plecăciune; (99)
bairn: (înv., dial.) copil, fiu; (100) gold-woven banner: drapel, flamură (de luptă) cusută cu fir
de aur; (101) guerdon: (poetic) răsplată, recompensă; (102) breastplate: platoşă, pieptar; (103)
ridge: creastă (de coif); (104) the relict-of-files = the swords; (105) strife: luptă; (106) grapple:
încleştare; (107) coursiers eight: opt bidivii / fugari / armăsari; (108) carven = carved:
încrustat, împodobit; (109) set in jewels: bătut cu nestemate; (110) war-steeds: cai / armăsari
de luptă; (111) to contemn: a dispreţui; a nu lua în seamă; (112) the briny ways = the sea / the
ocean (cf. the briny deep / the briny flood) < brine: 1. apă sărată, apă de mare. 2. saramură. 3.
(poetic) marea, oceanul; (113) heirloom: odoare, obiecte de valoare (transmise, ca moştenire,
din generaţie în generaţie); (114) ale-bench – cf. ale: bere (mai slabă, englezească), alehouse:
berărie; (115) erst: (înv.) odinioară, demult; (116) their Wyrd = their fate; to avert: a abate; a
parà (şi fig.); a îndepărta, a întoarce (în altă parte); (117) forethought of mind: prevedere;
premeditare; (118) (how much… of) lief: (câtă…) bucurie; plăcere / plăceri; (119) loath: silă,
neplăcere, nefericire.

OLD ENGLISH CHRISTIAN POETRY

Roman-British Christianity left no recorded trace upon the course of English

literature. The (re)Christianizing of England (first by Celtic missionaries from Ireland through
the western islands of Scotland, and next by Augustine and his monks) changed much in the
matter and feeling of English poetry, but left its form and general machinery unaltered. The
subject of the poets’ songs is now the story of Christ and the deeds of saintly heroes.
Caedmon (637?-680): The first English poet born and bred in England was a monk
of Northumbria whose work flourished about the years 670 to 680 AD. He was a ‘lay-brother’.
He had never learnt to sing or to compose music; it is said that one night he had a strange
dream, in which he heard a voice say, “Caedmon, sing me something”. “But I cannot sing”,
he replied. “But you must sing to me”, the same voice insisted. “What must I sing, then?”
“Sing the beginning of created things”. And so Caedmon began a poem, in alliterative verse,
in praise of the Mighty Creator. When he rose in the morning, he found himself in full
possession of the rare gift of song, recalled his dream, and the verses he had composed, and
was able to continue them. He was brought before the Abbess, who recognized his gift as a
gift from Heaven. Having been received into the Abbey as a brother,57 he spent much of this
time in the preparation of manuscripts. He is said to have written paragraphs of the books of
Genesis, Exodus, and of Daniel. Yet it is doubtful if the last two are his; and even the first has
been much altered and added to.
It is to Baeda (or “The Venerable Bede”, 673-735 AD), a monk of Wearmouth and
Jarrow, in Northumberland, that we owe our knowledge of Caedmon, the “first English poet”
we know by name. Baeda was one of the most learned men of his time: he knew Greek and
Hebrew, as well as Latin. He wrote his works in Latin, the cultural language of the Middle
Ages, and his chief work is Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum, i.e. The Ecclesiastical
History of the English People, completed in 731. It is a work in which he speaks about the
beginning of Christian poetry in Anglo-Saxon (i.e. the language now mainly called Old
English), and about the way the poetical genius of Caedmon was found out.
Cynewulf (720-800) belonged to Northumbria as well. He was a scp or bard, and
some maintain that he was a priest, at one time the bishop of Lindisfarne Abbey. He is

57 Brother (pl. brethren, brothers): a monk.

30
actually Caedmon’s most important successor. Among the works generally ascribed to him
are the poems: Christ, Juliana / The Life of Saint Julian, Elene / The Life of Saint Helen, The
Fates of the Apostles. The poem Christ alone is original and it is published in translation, as a
classic work of old English literature. Cynewulf is also the author of The Riddles (ninety-five
in number, they were written on common objects of the country – oxen and dogs, a leather
bottle, an onion; or on nobler subjects, such as weapons of war, instruments of music, the
ploughman, the moon, etc.). The Vision of the Cross (or The Dream of the Holy Rood)58 was
written in his old age, and is a poetic account of his conversion to Christianity in his early
youth. The Elene tells us the story of the finding of the Holy Cross by St. Helen / Helena, the
mother of Constantine the Great.59

PROSE IN THE EARLY FEUDAL PERIOD. ANGLO-SAXON PROSE

While Anglo-Saxon / Old English poetry is predominantly archaic, Anglo-Saxon

prose comes much nearer to modern times, and more recent works in prose seem only to
continue the prose writing of the Anglo-Saxons. While Anglo-Saxon poetry was chiefly
concerned with the past, the prose turns to the present and the future. This structural
difference is due to the distinct purposes of the Anglo-Saxon poetry as opposed to those of the
prose writing in Anglo-Saxon times. Thus while the poetry aimed at rousing an emotional
state in the audience, Anglo-Saxon prose was mostly used for practical, mainly educational,
purposes. On the other hand, the poetry of the Anglo-Saxon period is written in a language
difficult to understand, requiring thorough studies and serious efforts on the part of the
modern English reader (be s/he an expert in the field), whereas the prose of the same period is
comparatively easy for him / her.
A major part is held, in this connection, by the (relatively) new Christian faith.
Indeed, Christianity greatly helped the advancement of learning, and thus the progress of
prose writing. It is true that much of the older literature of Christian England is written in
Latin, the cultural language of mediaeval and Renaissance times, which actually prevailed
into the age of Harvey and Newton.60 Such names as Aldhelm (in the south of England) in the
7th century AD, Bede / Beda (in the north, 672-735) and Alcuin (in the 6th century) are crucial
against the background of the general development of prose writing; Aldhelm (650?-709) was
a product of the school of Canterbury.
Yet, King Alfred (or King Alfred the Great, 849-901) is the greatest representative of
Anglo-Saxon prose. His glory reigns in itself. He was not only a preeminent scholar, but also
a soldier and a wise lawgiver and ruler. He is the only layman whose name is recorded in
England’s literature down to Geoffrey Chaucer. It is for the first time that a king bestows
attention upon learning and shows concern for culture. The victorious King of Wessex has
become a national legend. Though never a king of England, he was a thoroughly English
king, making his narrow plot of ground in Wessex the model of what a kingdom should be.
Thanks to Alfred’s efforts in the field of education and literature, the capital of the state he
ruled became the intellectual centre of England, while the West-Saxon dialect was
temporarily the literary and official language (i.e. the standard of literary writing of the time).
He set up schools and monasteries and called the best scholars from abroad to teach his

58 Rood: 1. (archaic) The Cross on which Jesus Christ died, Jesus’ cross. 2. A crucifix. 3. A cross as used in
crucifixion.
59 Incidentally, the Roman (and Byzantine) emperor Constantine I, or the Great (Flavius Valerius Aurelius

Constantinus, AD 274-337), who legally sanctioned Christian worship by the Edict of Milan, in 313, was
crowned in York, in mid-4th century.
60 William Harvey (1578-1657): English physician who discovered the circulation of blood – in 1628 he

published De Motu Cordis (On the Motion of the Heart). * Isaac Newton (1642-1727): English physicist and
mathematician, who laid the foundations of physics as a modern discipline. He discovered the law of
gravity, discovered that light is composed of many colours, and developed the basic laws of motion, which
are still used today; he began to investigate the phenomenon of gravitation – which resulted, in 1685, in his
universal law of gravity. His Principia (or Philosophiae naturalis principia mathematica) was published in 1687.

31
noblemen’s children. He himself started learning Latin at the age of forty, and then translated
Latin works into (Old) English; he also added comments and explanations to these books. He
set about translating Pope Gregory’s Pastoral Care (Latin title: Cura Pastoralis, or Regula
Pastoralis), in order to re-establish the discipline and training of the clergy (both of which
greatly suffered during the raids of the Northmen or Danes, i.e. Vikings). It is supposed that
he translated many parts of Bede’s renowned Ecclesiastical History (originally in Latin). He
also adapted, for the benefit of those who were educated, from common use Consolatio
Philosophiae / Consolation of Philosophy by Boethius (a Roman philosopher of the 5th and 6th
centuries AD). A Code of Laws (viz. a Christian code of laws) was drawn up under his
guidance. Alfred’s contribution to setting up a theory of translation (even if unpremeditated)
is paramount; he admits that a translation has to put up with the demands of the original text.
It is also under his reign that the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles came into existence, and he
also contributed to mould it. These chronicles were written by the monks, who continued to
register the most important annual events down to the death of King Stephen ( AD 1154), i.e.
after the Norman Conquest. The chronicles, compiled during his reign, include several war
episodes and folk-songs of the Anglo-Saxons, such as The Battle of Maldon (best
remembered for the encouraging words the Saxon leader addresses his warriors: “The mind
must be the firmer, the heart must be the braver, the courage must be the greater, as our
strength grows less… If anyone thinks now to turn away from this war-play, may he be
unhappy for ever after”). The Chronicle sponsored by King Alfred is remarkable both as the
first continuous history of a western / European nation in its own language, and as the first
great book in English prose. The account of the years 893-897, covering the struggles with the
Danes in southern England, is a masterpiece of historical narrative.
Alfred was a great personality both in the history and culture of his country; his
contribution to the moulding of English prose cannot be overlooked; he made prose style
clear, lucid and simple. For his great merits, he was looked upon as the father of English
prose. The most important source of information about his life is a short biographical sketch
attributed to Asser (d. 909), Bishop of Sherborne, whom Alfred called from Wales to aid him
in the re-establishment of learning.
After his death, Anglo-Saxon literature declined. This was mainly due to the wars
with the Danes and the Northmen / Norse who laid the country waste and wiped much of the
promising Anglo-Saxon culture.

SUPPORT TEXTS

KING ALFRED (9th century)

GREGORY’S PASTORAL CARE Part of Alfred’s Preface

“It came very often to my mind what wise men of yore 1 there were over England,
both of the religious and secular orders, and what happy times there were over England; and
how the kings who had rule obeyed God and his ministers,2 and how they kept their peace,
their virtue and their order at home, and enlarged their possessions abroad; and how it sped
well with them both in war and in wisdom; and also how eager were the religious orders both
about learning and about teaching, and all the services they had to render 3 to God; and how
men from abroad sought wisdom and teaching hither4 in our land, and how we now must get
them from abroad if we are to have them. So clean was it fallen away in England that very
few there were on this side of the Humber who could understand their service-books5 in
English, or even translate a letter from Latin into English; and I ween that there were not
many beyond the Humber. So few there were that I cannot even think of a single one south of
the Thames when I came to the Throne. Thanks be to God. Almighty that we now have any
supply of teachers.
When I then remembered, how the knowledge of the Latin tongue had fallen away
throughout England, and yet many could read English writing, then I began amidst other
diverse and manifold cares of this kingdom to turn into English the book which is called in

32
Latin Pastoralis, and in English Shepherd-book, sometimes word for word, sometimes
meaning for meaning, even as I had learned it from Plegmund my archbishop and from Asser
my bishop, and from Grimbold, my mass-priest6 and from John my mass-priest. After I had
learned it, then so far as I understood it, and so far as I could most clearly interpret it, I turned
it into English. And to each bishop’s seat in my kingdom I will send one.”

Different Men must be Taught in Different Ways

“It is not fitting7 that we should teach all men in one way, because they are not all of
one mind and of one behaviour. For often the same teaching which helpeth one hurteth 8
another, even of such sort are herbs and grass of many kinds, on some beasts fatten, on some
they die. Even as with soft whistling one quieteth a horse, so also with the same whistling one
may rouse9 a hound.
There are also many leechdoms10 which lessen some diseases and strengthen others;
bread, also, which increaseth the might of strong men lesseneth that of children. Because of
the difference of the hearers must the words of the teacher be different, so that he may fit
himself to all his hearers, to each after his own measure, and yet not so as to swerve at all
from the law and from right doctrine.
What may we say, then, are the inmost thoughts of men but as it were the strings of a
harp tightly stretched, which the harper very diversely striketh and moveth, and thereby
causeth that they make no sound different from that which he desireth? He toucheth all with
one hand because he willeth11 that they should make one tone, though he may move them
diversely. So must every teacher with one teaching, but varied counsels, stir up 12 the mind of
his hearers to one love and one belief.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) wise men of yore: oamenii înţelepţi / înţelepţii de demult; (2) his ministers: slujitorii Săi /
trimişii Săi; uneltele Sale pe pămînt (= preoţii); (3) to render: a da, a presta; (4) hither: (înv.)
aici; (5) service-book: carte de rugăciuni, ceaslov; (6) mass-priest: preot (de liturghie); (7) it is
not fitting: nu se cade / cuvine; (8) hurteth = (it) hurts; (9) to rouse a hound: a asmuţi un câine
/ dulău; (10) many leechdoms: (înv.) leacuri, doctorii; (11) he willeth = (he) wills: “he wants /
wishes”; (12) to stir up: a stîrni, a mişca (fig.), a tulbura.

THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD BY OROSIUS: Onthere’s First Voyage

“Onthere told his lord. King Alfred, that he of all men dwelt northmost. He said that
he dwelt in the northward land by the West Sea. Furthermore1 he said that land is very long
thence northwards but it is all waste except here there in a few places the Finns dwell, hunting
in winter and fishing in summer by the sea. He said that he at one time would try how far that
land lay to the due north, or wether any man dwelt to the north of the waste. Then he sailed
due north along by the land; all the way he had the waste land on the starboard2 and the open
sea on the larboard3 for three days. Then was he as far north as the whale hunter goeth at the
farthest. Then he still went due north as far as he would sail in other three days. Then bent 4
the land there to the east, or the sea in on the land, he knew not which, but he knew that he
there awaited a west wind, and somewhat of the north, and sailed then east along by the land
even as he could sail in four days. Then had he to await there a wind right from the north, for
the land bent there due south, or the sea in on the land, he knew not which. Then sailed he
thence due south along by the land even as he could sail in five days. Then there flowed a
great river up into the land. Then they turned up into the river, they dare not sail forth, past
the river because of hostility, for the land was all inhabited on the other side of the river.
He had not before come upon any inhabited land since he had gone out from his own
home. But there had been waste land all the way on the starboard, except fishers and fowlers5
and hunters, and those were all Finns; and there had been always the open sea on the larboard.
The Permians had very well cultivated their land, but the land of the Terfins was all waste
except where hunters dwelt, or fishers or fowlers.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY

33
(1) furthermore he said: şi, mai (departe,) spuse; (2) the starboard: tribord(ul vasului); (3) the
larboard: babord; (4) bent = Past Tense form of to bend: a ocoli, a merge împrejurul…; (5)
fowlers: vînători de păsări.

FROM ALFRED TO THE NORMAN CONQUEST

Alfred the Great died in the first year of the tenth century AD, a date that forms a
landmark in British and European history. A king of Wessex presently becomes ruler of all
England; a Danish ruler governs a northern empire from an English throne and the first
Norman influences begin to be felt. It was at this time the Chronicle proceeds, and it lasts for
two and a half centuries later (when the last English king had been dead for nearly a hundred
years, and the English language had vanished from court, school and society). Successive
ravages of heathen invaders continued to destroy much that had been raised up. The Continent
itself was in the shadow of the Dark Ages of barbarism; but the Benedictines, with their
reformation, brought a new light for the Continental culture.
During the reign of Edgar (the first king of England) there was a marked revival led
by some important scholars. During the years between 960 and 1000 there was great activity
in the production of homilies (i.e. sermons, or long and generally tedious and moralising
talks, or religious, edifying talks). They are somewhat “primitive” in their appeal to the terror
of Judgement (or Doomsday), but they are vigorous and sincere. They voice the almost
universal belief that the world would end in the year 1000.
Aelfric (955?-1022?) wrote three series of Homilies (990-994), using a poetical
manner with a sing-song alliterative rhythm which must have made his discourses
immediately attractive and memorable; his style is the best in Old English. Aelfric was also
an education(al)ist, and in this capacity he wrote a Latin grammar, a Latin-English vocabulary
and the familiar Colloqui meant to instruct the young scholars in the daily speech of the
monastery. The Colloqui is a conversation between a teacher, a novice and others who
represent the usual occupations of life. Aelfric also wrote the Lives of the Saints (993-996).
Besides the homilies there are three notable English versions of the Gospels which
were composed in the tenth century, The Lindisfarne Gospels being one of the most beautiful
of these manuscripts. It was written in about 700, but in about 950 a priest added to the Latin
script an interlinear gloss in his own dialect (i.e. the Northumbrian one).
There were also some legends written at the same epoch (eastern legends still had
their fascination for the English people). These legends have as heroes an entirely legendary
Alexander the Great, who was soon to figure largely in medieval romance. The age of Aelfric
and Alfred was indeed an age of prose, with some rare exceptions. The most interesting
among the poems of the period is The Domes Daege,61 a kind of vision-poem, typical of
mediaeval literature. The translation is one of the finest in Old English. It is more powerful
than its Latin original. After 1100 English poetry ceased to be written down for nearly a
century; but the “sung” rhythm never died out among the common folk, and, lingering
especially in the distant north, it found a new life in the popular ballads.

THE NORMAN CONQUEST

The Norman aristocracy led by William their duke (for that reason called the
Conqueror), were the descendants of the Scandinavians (Vikings, i.e. “men of the North”),
only they had become converts to Latin culture and Christian religion – the true basis of
their political unity and administrative force, along with their innate energy. Like their
Viking ancestors, the Normans, inhabiting that part of France ever since called Normandy,
another “Danelaw”, represented French feudalism and acted as conquerors in many parts of
Europe (e.g. Naples, Sicily, the British Isles).

61 Doomsday / Domesday: The Day of the Last Judg(e)ment, at the end of the world (cf. to deem “to
think, to consider; to judge”).

34
 King Cnut (or Canute) died in 1035, and his son died shortly afterwards, 1040, so
the royal council (the Witan), fearing disorder, chose Edward, one of the sons of Ethelred, a
Saxon, to be the new king. But Edward (known as Edward the Confessor) was more
interested in religious matters62 than in his task as a political leader. The new English king
was half Norman,63 and he had spent most of his life in Normandy. Edward died in 1066
without leaving an obvious heir. The Witan chose Harold, a brave, powerful Saxon noble
belonging to the most powerful aristocratic family in Wessex, but Harold’s right to the
throne was challenged by Duke William of Normandy; the latter claimed on the one hand
that the former king of England had promised the crown to him, and on the other hand that
Harold had made the same promise to him one or two years before.
The Battle of Hastings (AD 1066) was not only a great English, but also a great
European event; it set up the beginning of the era of “chivalrous” ideals as well as feudal
relationships within the boundaries of the modern world. Norman feudalism was strictly
territorial, according to the French model. The barons held lands from the Duke, so they
owed him military service, as a personal obligation. They had to take part in the Duke’s
wars, usually against Anjou or Brittany, supplying a quota of five, ten or thirty knights –
who in their turn held their lands from the barons. This military service was due for forty
days in the year, as a general rule.
The feudal society involved relationships that were definable as territorial, fixed and
heritable (passing from father to son), in a social pyramid or hierarchy having at the top the
Duke, under him the barons, and under each of them the knights; the peasants occupied the
lowest station; the peasant (the villein) was a serf bound to the soil and to his lord as owner
of the land.64 Vassalage couldn’t be transferred. From the political point of view, the Duke
had begun to impose on his barons an authority which the king of other feudal countries
could hardly hope to attain (e.g. the king of France). No single baron was strong enough to
defy the Duke with impunity. The Norman Duke had real administrative officers of his own
who exercised public functions. They were called vicomtes (subsequently – i.e. after the
Conquest – identified with the old English sheriffs < shire reeves).65 Norman finance was
the best in Europe; in Normandy, only the Duke had the right to mint money and private
castles could be erected only by his licence. The fact that the king considered himself as
being the sole legal master of the land is proved, among other things, by the survey-cum-
census recorded in what came to be known as Domesday / Doomsday Book.66
London became the main city of England by the 11th century. It gradually extended
beyond the (Roman) walls to link with the originally separate Westminster.
In 1066 the purely Anglo-Saxon history of England came to an end; in that year,
William the Conqueror invaded England and overcame the Anglo-Saxons at Hastings.
England was invaded not by a band of adventurers, but by the most highly organised
continental state of the day, possessing peculiar institutions, capable of rapid development
in the newly conquered territory. One should also add to the specific Norman energy in
action the power of the Church associated with the Ducal power (there were hundreds of
cathedrals, abbeys and monasteries in Normandy). The task of the invaders was greatly

62 It was Edward who had numberless churches built all over England; he was also the founder of the
church at Westminster (Westminster Abbey).
63 The Normans were, as the name itself suggests, people from the North, and the descendants of the

Vikings who had settled Normandy, the peninsula in northern France; after the settling, they adopted the
French language and the Christian religion as their own.
64 Villein / villain: a member of a class of partially free persons (unlike the former slaves) under the feudal

system, who were serfs with respect to their lord but had the rights of freedom with respect to others.
65 Approx. Romanian “cómite”.
66 Domesday / Doomesday Book (cf. to deem “to reckon; to consider”): a record of a survey of the land

of England made by order of William the Conqueror about 1086, giving the ownership, extent, value, etc.
of the properties.

35
facilitated by the lack of unity present in England, a land governed by (and divided into)
half a dozen great Earldoms.67
As mentioned before, the pretext for the conquest was provided by the confusion
following the death of Edward the Confessor, a weak leader; the heir to the throne was a
boy, Edgar the Atheling, to whom the earls (in the Witan) preferred Harold. William of
Normandy had strong claims to the throne of England. In 1066, England was attacked not
only by Williams, but also by Harold, king of Norway – in two almost simultaneously
invasions.68 On the 6th of October, 1066, the Anglo-Saxons were defeated by the impetuous
Norman cavalry near Hastings. Harold had not gathered the whole Saxon army (the fyrd),
and the Normans, although fewer, were much better armed and organised; the bulk of their
army was represented by mounted knights. King Harold was killed in the battle.
Immediately upon conquering England, William marched to London and captured
it, then he laid claim to all the land of the realm. On Christmas Day, 1066, William the
Conqueror was crowned king of England in Edward’s newly built church of Westminster
Abbey. Disposing of the former Anglo-Saxon owners, he granted large areas to his lords,
who in return promised William their services and those of their retainers.69 Every uprising
of the natives was cruelly put down by the Norman conquerors who led bloody reprisals
against the Anglo-Saxons; such was William’s great campaign in the North, when his
vengeance was terrible: between York and Durham he left no house standing and no human
beings alive that his horsemen could search out. For at least twenty years, the Norman army
acted as a real army of occupation. In fact, in terms of class-consciousness, the eleventh
century ruling classes can be essentially seen as an ‘imported’ feudal nobility, speaking a
different language and fostering alien cultural and literary forms; it gradually transformed
itself into a self-perpetuating leading class, which continued to look down on the lower
classes, and used elitist cultural values as a means of enforcing its influence and status.
The new civilisation, having as backbone the feudal system, 70 revolved about the
knight (the very symbol of chivalry – cf. Fr. chevalier “mounted soldier”) and the medieval
Church. The institution of chivalry softened to a considerable extent the harshness of
medieval life, binding the warrior by a certain code. It also contributed to raising the status
of woman, gaining a larger social (and, by all means, also cultural) role for her. The
magnificent cathedrals which raised their towers above the towns of England testified to the
fact that the Middle Ages were centuries of faith. Only in the Church were Englishmen of
all classes united. Education continued to be the province and privilege of the clergy: monks
and priests copied out manuscripts from the Greek and Roman writings; moreover, from
such rather humble beginnings came the organisation of Oxford and Cambridge as
universities.
William the Conqueror successfully prevented England form falling into the
anarchy of political feudalism prevalent on the Continent. He governed the realm by a
twofold system: through the contract of vassalage and, directly, through sheriffs and
commissioners (like those who made the Domesday Book or Survey of 1086, an inquest
carried out by the power of the king, and the only one of its kind in Europe at that time).

67 Earldom (obsolete): the territory or jurisdiction of an earl. * Earl: 1. A British nobleman of a rank next
below that of marquis and next above that of viscount; the earls (cf. Icelandic jarl “chieftain”) were called
counts for a time after the Norman Conquest; an earl’s wife is a countess. 2. (In Anglo-Saxon times) the
governor of one of the great divisions of England (e.g. East Anglia, Mercia, Wessex, Northumbria).
68 The Danish kings had not given up their claim to the throne of England. So, Harold had to fight – and

defeat – the Danes led by Harald as far as Yorkshire, after which he marched his troops to the south as fast
as possible in order to meet William.
69 It is generally estimated that over 4,000 Saxon landlords were brutally replaced by 200 Norman ones by

the year 1086; William gave half of all the farmland in England to his Norman followers, the noblemen /
barons, a quarter to the Norman-French clergy, and reserved a fifth for himself.
70 The feudal system was based on the holding of land by the vassals (of the king, to begin with) in return

for services and goods. The feudal hierarchy was made up of the following “pyramid”: 1. the king; 2. the
great nobles; 3. the lesser nobles and the knights; 4. the freemen; 5. the serfs / ceorls.

36
The king also consulted his council (Latin consilium) or court (Lat. curia) occasionally. His
right-hand man was Lanfranc, high prelate (a Primate).
One outcome of the Norman Conquest was the making of the English language.
While the Anglo-Saxon tongue was despised as a boorish jargon, it refined itself, loosing its
rather numerous, clumsy inflections and acquiring, together with many French words and
ideas, a new grace and suppleness. The English vocabulary is mainly French in words relating
to war, politics, justice, religion, hunting, cooking and art. (Here are just some examples:
accuse, acquit, adorn, advise, appetite, army, art, assault, attire, baron, battle, beauty, beef,
biscuit, boot, braise, buckle, button, cathedral, chamber, change, chapel, chapter, chase,
chemise, clergy, cleric, cloak, coat, collar, colonel, colour, combat, condemn, confession,
confrere, course, court, crime, damage, dance, defendant, design, diamond, dinner, duke,
ease, enemy, estate, evidence, falcon, feast, feudal, fine, forest, fraud, friar, fruit, garment,
garter, general, geometry, glorious, glory, govern, government, gown, grammar, guard,
habit, heir, heritage, image, jeweller, judge, just, justice, kerchief, large, legacy, leisure,
lesson, lieutenant, logic, major, marshal, melody, minister, miracle, music, mutton, navy,
noun, officer, painting, palace, paper, Parliament, part, partner, pay, peer, pheasant, pity,
place, please, pleasure, poet, pork, poultry, power, prayer, preface, prince, prison, prisoner,
prose, quail, rapier, realm, recreation, regiment, reign, robe, romance, ruby, rule, saint,
satin, scent, sculpture, sergeant, sermon, servant, service, siege, soldier, sovereign, state,
story, study, summon, supper, sure, title, travayl (“travel”), troops, use, vassal, vault, veal,
victorious, victory, virtue, etc.)71
William and his Norman, Angevin,72 and Plantagenet successors forced English into a
subservient position, from which it only gradually re-emerged as a language simplified in
structure and with its vocabulary, spelling and literary expression strongly influenced by the
impact of (Norman) French; on the other hand, the political, economic and geographical
importance of London, and not Winchester, as the administrative centre of the kingdom
helped to determine the future written and spoken forms of “standard” English.
The other two main cultural contributions of William’s conquest are: establishing an
exclusive aristocratic taste for the forms, tropes, and subjects of French literature, which
discontinued the old Germanic insularity; and fixing a social and cultural gap between a
(French- and) Latin-speaking ruling caste and the (relatively) empoverished mass of the
population, the illiterate peasants who conversed in English.

The Crusades

The religious zeal of the Middle Ages, doubled by papal propaganda and (in
England, at least) the prestige of mediaeval France, inspired the great religious movement
known as the crusades, whose object was to retake the Holy Land from the Muslims /
Moslems.73 Kings, knights and commoners flocked to take up their swords in this “Holy
War”. Leader of one of the crusades was Richard the Lion-Heart (in French: Coeur de
Lion), king of England, son of Henry II, and one of the most dazzling figures produced by
the Age of Chivalry. The First Crusade was launched in 1095, and for almost the next 200
years wave after wave of men from every Christian country battered against the Moslems.
While the crusades were ultimately unsuccessful in their efforts to liberate the Holy Land
from the Saracens and the Turks, they had a profound effect on all of Europe. For the first
time since the fall of the Roman Empire, great numbers of men travelled widely. Knights
from the bleak fortress-castles of England saw the palaces of Venice, the opulent cities of
Asia Minor, as well as of Byzantium. Scholars rediscovered the literature of ancient Greece
and Rome. The horizons of men were widened and civilisation took a great step towards the

71 Actually, it is widely and authoritatively claimed that, as early as the 13 th century, French was the
language of half the courts of Europe – and it was to remain so well into the 18th century.
72 Angevin is the adjective corresponding to Anjou (i.e. the Anjou dynasty).
73 The term Mohammedans is nowadays considered unacceptable by most Muslims.

37
modern world. “The Crusades not only stirred the religious feelings of Europe, they
quickened the imagination and stimulated the curiosity of the Western world as nothing had
done for centuries. Intercourse with the East, and the mingling of different tribes in the
crusading armies, brought about a “renascence of wonder” as far reaching in some of its
effects as the great Renascence itself. Modern romance was born in the twelfth century”
(George Sampson, The Concise Cambridge History of English Literature, p. 17).

The Making of the Nation. Magna Charta. The Parliament

Britain, reorganised after the Norman conquest, became strong enough to defend
herself behind the narrow seas; it began to develop a nationhood based on peculiar
characteristics, laws and institutions. The leaders in this work of evolution were the Anglo-
French kings (the first dynasty of England kings was that of the Plantagenets). The new
feudalism was used to enforce national unity; Henry II Plantagenet put an end to the anarchy
which had ravaged England during the reign of King Stephen. Henry II’s vast “family
empire” extended from the Scottish border to the Pyrenées, in southern France (his French
possessions included Normandy, Brittany, Maine and Anjou, Aquitaine and Gascony), with
Anjou its very political heart.
In the legal field, the kings from Henry II to Henry III enjoyed the power of creating
new forms of action and judicial procedures, to the detriment of the feudal and ecclesiastical
courts. It was Henry II who, for the first time, introduced the procedure of trial by jury (the
earlier, Anglo-Saxon method was the “ordeal”), as well as the assizes (decrees issued in an
“assize” – i.e. a session of notables).
Another capital event in the progress towards a national government was the
granting of the Magna Charta (Libertatum) – “The (Great) Charter of Liberties”. When
Henry II ascended the throne in 1154, nearly a hundred years after the Norman Conquest, he
found a confused and corrupt system of justice. Some of the courts were administered by the
king’s justices, others were under the jurisdiction of feudal barons; still others followed the
old Anglo-Saxon judicial code. Resolved that the King’s justice must be the same for all
people in every section of England, Henry divided the country into districts, appointed
judges to administer justice in each region, and expanded the functions of the jury.
King John,74 son of Henry II, totally disregarded the provisions for justice his father
had guaranteed by the Charter. He jailed men on false charges and refused them trials; he
impoverished the country by ruinous taxes. Exasperated beyond endurance, barons and
knights banded together and in 1215 at Runnymede, on the banks of the Thames River,
forced John to sign The Magna Charta. This document, which established by law certain
liberties for Englishmen, was revolutionary in its implication that the king, like his people,
was subject to the rule of law. King John suddenly died in 1216 as the nobles had revolted
against his reluctance to keep the agreement, and his death avoided all-out civil war. Yet
John’s reign marked the end of the long-lasting struggle between Church and state in
England.
During the reign of Edward I, grandson of John, the rights of Englishmen were
again extended. For some time parliaments (the word derives from the French word parler
“to speak, to debate”) had been held. Edward called the first Parliament, the Great
Parliament (of 1295) – in which all classes of the kingdom from barons to the lower clergy
were included. This Parliament became in time the most significant governmental body
developed by the English, one of the ancestors of representative assemblies the world over.
For centuries it had been the dream of the English kings to bring the entire island of
Britain under one dominion. Edward I spent most of his reign (1272-1307) trying to achieve
this goal, as he seemed a lot more interested in bringing the rest of Britain under his control
than in winning back the French territories his predecessors had conquered or inherited. He

74 John succeeded to his brother Richard I (nicknamed Coeur de Lion, “Lionheart”), one of the most
popular English kings, the very image of the perfect feudal king, who was killed in France while returning
from a crusade (in 1199).

38
successfully subdued the Welsh; but the struggle against the Scots, a freedom-loving Celtic
people toughened by centuries of border warfare with Romans, Saxons and English,
dragged on and on.
The conquest of Ireland was begun in the reign of Henry II, between 1169 and
1171, by adventurers from Wales, led by Richard de Clare, Earl of Pembroke, nicknamed
Strongbow. The natives’ resistance asserted itself by the guerrilla war waged in the marshes,
woods and mountains. Castle building and setting up of commercial (and strategic) port-
towns represented the cement of Anglo-Norman and then English rule in Ireland, under
which the natives’ lot was not always very easy. Many illustrious names of local leaders of
the struggle for independence count among the Celtic peoples’ heroes – be they Welsh:
Llewelyn the Great (Llewelyn ap Gruffydd, prince of Gwynedd) and his son, during the
reign of Edward I, and Owen Glendower, in Henry IV’s reign; or Scottish: (William)
Wallace, a Norman-Scottish knight, Douglas and Robert Bruce. After 1282 Edward began
an expensive programme of castle building in Wales in order for the English to be able to
keep this possession, now considered part of England itself (Edward’s eldest son was
proclaimed Prince of Wales). Henry II made Dublin the capital of his newly conquered land
possessions in Ireland. In Scotland, Bruce managed to be recognised as king of the Scots
and defeated the English army led by king Edward II at Bannockburn in the year 1314.

FEUDAL LITERATURE AFTER THE NORMAN CONQUEST. FEUDAL COURTLY

LITERATURE. ANGLO-NORMAN LITERATURE (FROM THE END OF THE 11TH CENTURY
TO THE 14TH CENTURY)

In the four centuries that followed the Norman Conquest (1066), England was
trilingual. Up to 1350 or even later, the ruling classes spoke and wrote in French, while the
country’s official and intellectual life was conducted in Latin. English, the speech / idiom of
the middle and lower classes, was hardly ever written at all, except for purposes of religious
edification. But in the second half of the 14th century English began to displace French and
Latin more or less everywhere. The year 1066 is a crucial point, because, from that date, the
language of the ruling classes was no longer English. When the Normans landed, Taillefer,
the jongleur,75 came first, and sang of Roland and Roncesvalles.76 The invasion of England by
Taillefer and his Song of Roland (or Chanson de Roland, in French) is as important as the
invasion of England by William and his knights. It was the coming of romance. In the end it
was the English language that prevailed / conquered; but in conquering, it suffered a great
change.
The darkest period of the tenth century had been the age of Aelfric, of Dunstan of the
Old English Chronicle, of Judith and The Battle of Maldon. But the poetic spirit of the
English people never died. Now, the language was enriched by the absorption of a
tremendous bulk of Romance vocabulary; the coming of great scholars from France and the
link between Paris and Oxford played a great role in the development of learning and culture.
The intercourse with the Continent had also a great importance. The Christian learning of the
West received impetus in the middle of the 11th century at the hand of Lanfranc, who made
the monastic school at Bec famous for its teaching (when he came to England he did not
forget his earlier care for books and learning). His successor was his pupil Anselm, a greater
genius, and a more profound thinker. Writers in English were at school under the new masters
of the land, whose cycles of romance provided ample material for translation.
75 Jongleur: (In mediaeval France and Norman England) an itinerant minstrel or entertainer, who sang
songs, often of his own composition, and told stories. (Etymology: jongleur < Lat. joculator “joker”).
76 Roncesvalles ['rnsvlz], Spanish [rnes'vljes]: Village in northern Spain, in the Pyrenees, just 8 km

of the French border, where the rearguard of Charlemagne’s army was defeated (by the Basques) in 778;
Roland, the leader of the French (or rather, Frankish) rearguard, was killed together with his 12 peers. The
French corresponding word for the place name is Roncevaux [rs'vo]. The 11th century romance Song of
Roland (Chanson de Roland) celebrates the deeds of valour and chivalry of Roland and his friend Oliver; a
knight of Charlemagne, the Frankish / French emperor, Roland died while covering the French retreat, in
a heroic battle against the Saracens.

39
 Modern romance was born in the twelfth century. The institution of chivalry, the
mystic symbolism of the church, the international currency of popular fabliaux,77 the
abundant importation of oriental stories of magic and wizardry made their contribution to
fantasy and strangeness of atmosphere.
The disappearance of the scôps
With the disuse of English among the people of rank and the complete ignorance of
English on the part of the Norman nobles, the office and the singing of the Saxon bard or
scp gradually fell into “the portion of outworn weeds and faces”. His place was taken by the
Norman trouvère, who recited or sang epic or narrative poems – called “chansons de geste”
(songs about feats, or great deeds) or fabliaux, or such long poems as the Roman de la Rose,
Reynard the Fox (in French Le Roman de Renard), and many others. (See end-of-section
Notes).
The Provenal troubadour, who sang short lyrics or amatory poems, never became
settled in England, and hence has had little influence on the literature of the time. Court and
castle long maintained and encouraged the trouvre and the jongleur.78
The feudal courtly poetry dealt with court life and was meant to beguile the time at
the aristocratic sections. On the one hand the literary products of this period attempted to put
forward the social and moral superiority of the ruling classes, and on the other hand they
expressed the efforts of the aristocracy to set up a certain moral discipline.
The poetry of the age consisted of lyrics and epic poems, called romances. They
were originally imaginative poems on legendary subjects, and heroes, noble lords, valiant
knights and their attendants, wondrous adventures, heroic deeds, the worship of a fair lady to
whom these knights were devoted to death and for whose sake they fought in tournaments and
rode forth, in search of glorious adventures, constant love were the themes of these romances.
Fantastic, far-fetched elements and situations were typical of the courtly romance. The
chivalrous romances felicitously expressed the ideals of the feudal society in the period of
maturity. These romances were composed in end-rhymed verse (quite different from the
alliterative verse of the previous period). Wandering minstrels recited and sang the French
metrical romances to aristocratic audiences, but rich knights and squires, and ordinary people
preferred the rough translations of these romances into English.
The term romance was originally used to distinguish poems in the vernacular French
(Old French, or le francien, was also known as le roman) from works written in Latin. The
characteristic features of the medieval romance are the following (see also Martin S. Day,
History of English Literature. To 1660, p. 45): * They are narratives presenting heroic
adventures, organised in rather loosely-knit episodes, and type characters rather than
individualised portraits; * The story is woven around the narrative motif of the lovely damsel
in distress who waits for the brave knight to deliver her from the castle where she is detained
by a foul villain; or the theme of the Quest (it may be a knight searching for the Holy Grail, or
an unacknowledged heir seeking his throne); * The stories are truffled with highly
imaginative encounters and extraordinary characters in fantastic settings – even marvellous,
fairy-tale elements, e.g. mythical animals, many-armed giants, enchanted forests and castles,
etc.; * The highly idealized concept of the medieval knight was an absolute ‘must’: the
perfect knight was a perfect embodiment of the epic hero, courageous and strong, but no less
a virtuous, moral, piously Christian, modest and altruistic man; * Interest in courtly love was
paralleled by the courtly love convention, which originated in 11th century Provence, in
southern France; it seems that this type of veneration / worship of women was indirectly
stimulated by the medieval cult of the Virgin; * Last, but not least, the extensive Christian
references (though sometimes conventionally superimposed), pointed to a (rather secular, at
times) interest in building up paragons meant to edify the readers.

77 Fabliau (pl. fabliaux): A short metrical tale belonging to the mediaeval French poets, usually humorous
and ribald. (Etymology: fabliau < irregular diminutive of French fable).
78 Juggler and jongleur have the same etymological root, i.e. Lat. joculator “a joker, a trickster” (see footnote

above).

40
 The metrical romances were usually bulky poetic pieces (ranging from 1,000 to 6,000
lines). The prosodic form they made use of was the octosyllabic couplet, or the six-, eight-, or
twelve-line stanza.
There were three important story-cycles in the French chivalrous poetry brought over
to England:
1. the “matter of Rome”; 2. the “matter of France”; 3. the “matter of Britain”.
“The matter of Rome” includes tales of antiquity, including those of Greece: legends
dealing with the life of Alexander the Great and the Trojan warriors. “The matter of France”
includes romances about the exploits of Charlemagne and his knights, or the struggle of his
paladins – Childe Roland, Childe Oliver, etc. – against the advancing Saracens; and “the
matter of Britain” consists of Arthurian stories, or tales about Arthur and his Knights of the
Round Table: these romances were centred round the legendary Celtic king Arthur, “the
flower of knights”, and his Knights of the Round Table.79
The latter stories were essentially dealing with the chief army leader of the defeated
Britons rather than with the leader of the victorious Anglo-Saxons. Though Arthur is looked
upon as a national English hero, the (full-fledged) romances were of French origin –
originally composed in a foreign language. The Arthurian cycle thus came down to more
modern times as a blend of various historical and legendary figures and events.

The history of the Arthurian story-cycle

down to modern times

Geoffrey of Monmouth (1100-1054, real name Arthur Geoffrey), Bishop of St.

Asaph, has been called “the father of English fiction”. He proposed to go back and describe
the kings who lived in Britain before the Incarnation of Christ. He was the first to commit to
paper, in Latin, the legends he had heard among the Welsh about the king Arthur and his
knights.80
The History of the Kings of Britain (Latin title Historia Regum Britanniae) is usually
considered more remarkable for its fancies than for its facts. Geoffrey of Monmouth filled the
blank space of pre-Christian and early Christian history with delightful stories alleged to have
been derived from an earlier British source, unknown to us (or, in his own words, a “most
ancient book in the British tongue”). He captured and embodied many traditions of the Celtic
West, which should have been lost without him. He made known the figures of the Trojan
King of Britain, of Lear and Cymbeline, of Sabrina and Locrine, or King Lud and of many
others. His History was completed about the year 1139 and became the most popular
production of its time. The appearance of this book, “a bright spring of romance”, marks an
epoch in the literary history of Europe. Poets, story-tellers, historians and scholars regarded it
as a rich mine of unexplored fact and fable; and in less than fifty years the story of Arthur and
the Round Table (or the Table Round) gave birth to romances in Germany and Italy, as well
as in France and England. Two Normans, Geoffrey Gaimar and Robert Wace, turned parts of
it into French verse; and the English writers, Layamon81 and Robert of Gloucester, translated
Wace into the English of the time. Wace called his poem the Geste des Britons (Deeds, or
Exploits of the Britons), and afterwards The Brut d’Angleterre.
Layamon’s Brut is very important since in its turn it made the treasure-house of
Celtic legends of the Britons accessible to the ordinary people. Layamon lent a new note of
simplicity and dignity to the old epics.

79 It is true that the most extensive development of all the “matters” occurred on the continent, not in
England / Britain.
80 The earliest full account of King Arthur’s exploits appears in the little-known Welsh tales of Culhwich

and Owen, and The Dream of Rhonabwy; though dating from before the 11th century, these two stories became
a late attachment to a collection of Welsh mythological tales taken from the 14 th century White Book of
Rhydderch and the Red Book of Hergest.
81 Layamon, or Laghamon, i.e. “Lawman” was a priest of Ernley, on the river Severn in northern

England.

41
 The following Arthurian romances have been preserved in English: Arthur, Arthour
and Merlin (13th-14th centuries), Ywain and Gawain (c. 1350), Lancelot (or Lancelot of the
Lake), Morte d’Arthur, Perceval of Wales, Sir Tristram. All of them mirror the main theme of
that time. A striking feature of these legends is the way in which they become associated with
other legends and myths, quite distinct from the Arthurian legends. Thus Geoffrey of
Monmouth associated these legends with the Celtic tale of the wizard Merlin. Later on, the
stories about the Knight Gawain were added to the cycle. One of the most beautiful romances
is Sir Gawaine / Gawayne and the Green Knight, dating from the 14th century. A religious
mystic romance of the Quest of the Holy Grail 82 is non-Celtic in origin. Another important
and widely known romance is that of Tristram and Iseult, a Celtic legend, one of the greatest
love-stories in world literature.83
The courtly poetry with its chivalrous romances was meant to idealize the brave
knight and his beloved woman (or damsel), who was placed high up in an ivory tower, and for
whom the knight was able to make the most extravagant deeds in order to win her love. It was
in fact the idealization of chivalry and of the beloved lady that formed the essence of these
romances. There were put forward the refined manners of the polite society, the subtle tastes
that had developed as a consequence of the more advanced culture of the Norman-French
leading classes. The concepts of courtoisie (“courtliness”) and courtois (“courtly”) henceforth
became attributes of the nobility. The authors of these romances cherished lofty ideals in
point of morality, character, and conduct. This poetry mirrors the transition from primitive,
tribal manners and a rude way of life to a superior stage of culture and morality. They are
primarily the product of imagination, in which the first signs of romanticism come to the fore:
lofty feelings wrapped in glamour, an idealized image of reality, a sense of remoteness,
mystery, escapism from everyday life with its cares and worries. They evinced a high
consideration for women – the noble ladies to whom the knights were affectionately devoted.
Woman was idealized as an epitome of beauty, gentleness, kindness, thus bringing solace to
the suffering knight. There is also the idealization of King Arthur; he exceeded by far the
limits of a national hero and was delineated as the ideal impersonation of the feudal knight.
The history of the Arthurian cycle saw a new flourishing during the 15th century.
Drawing upon it, Thomas Malory produced a splendid prose work, the great prose romance
called Le Morte d’Arthur (or The Death of Arthur / Arthur’s Passing), in 1454. This work is a
collection of the old legends within the Arthurian cycle about King Arthur and his Knights of
the Round Table / Table Round, of Lancelot, of Queen Guinevere, Sir Galahad and the quest
of the Holy Grail.

Notes:
(i) The Romaunt of the Rose was an early French poem, begun by Guillaume de Lorris before
1260 (Le Roman de la Rose), and continued forty or fifty years later by a writer called
Jean de Meung / Meun (1250-1305). It is a long allegory (of about 22,000 lines) on the
subject of love.
(ii) Reynard (or Renard) the Fox is the title of a long satirical epic poem, composed about the
middle of the 13th century, which delighted many generations in the Middle Ages. The

82(The) Holy Grail (or Grail): (in mediaeval legends) the cup or platter used by Jesus Christ at the Last
Supper (Rom. “Cina cea de Taina”), in which Joseph of Arimathea (one of Jesus’ lesser known disciples)
received Christ’s blood at the Cross; Arthurian legends (written after the 13th century) make reference to,
and describe, the several quests for it. (< Old French graal < Med. Latin gradalis “dish”)
83 However, it was the French mediaeval poet Chrétien (or Chrestien) de Troyes, who took full credit

for the new literary matter. Not long after Geoffrey of Monmouth, he refashioned or introduced most of
the characters and tales that are now considered as an integral part of the Arthurian story / cycle. In actual
fact, Chrétien de Troyes followed the chivalrous taste of his own century and produced tales of Arthurian
courtly love, such as Erec and Enid (1160), Lancelot du Lac (c. 1162), Yvain (c.1170), and The Count of the Grail
also known as Perceval (1180). He quite naturally transformed the Welsh names of the characters in
Geoffrey’s stories into medieval French. Moreover, he and all those who followed him essentially distorted
the Arthurian story, so that the true historical Arthur became lost in an amalgam of Celtic myth and literary
fantasy.

42
 proper name of the Fox – i.e. Reynard / Renard – became in French the common name
for that animal (formerly called goupil < Lat vulpiculus). It is one of the ordinary beast-
epics (or an extended fable) of the period, in which the poet satirises humans and things
or ideas alike, and inveighs84 against the vices of the age. Many poets have told and
retold the story – in Flemish, in Low German, and in High German. Goethe, in 1793,
wrote a freely paraphrased version of the Low German poem – Reinecke Fuchs – in
very pleasant hexameters.
(iii) Brut (or Brutus) was the name of a legendary chief, who was said to be the grandson of
Ascanius, and the great-grandson of Aeneas, and who, after the fall of Troy, became
king of (Great) Britain, after killing the giants who inhabited the island, and founding
London. There was, among all the older historians of the Middle Ages, a permanent
desire to connect all history with Troy and the Trojans (in much the same way the Latin
poet Virgil / Vergil had done in the “Golden century” of Roman classical letters by
writing about Aeneas’ exploits in his famous epic The Aeneid).

SUPPORT TEXTS

THOMAS MALORY (?died 1471)

MORTE D’ARTHUR, BOOK XXI, CHAPTER 5
The passing of Arthur
“‘My time hieth1 fast,’ said the King, ‘Therefore,’ said Arthur, ‘take thou Excalibur,
my good sword, and go with it to yonder2 water-side, and when thou comest3 there, I charge
thee4 throw my sword in that water, and come again, and tell me what thou there seest.’ 5 ‘My
lord,’ said Bedivere, ‘your commandment shall be done, and lightly6 bring you word again.’
So Sir Bedivere departed,7 and by the way he beheld that noble sword, that the pommel and
haft8 were all of precious stones, and then he said to himself, ‘If I throw this rich sword in the
water, thereof shall never come good, but harm and loss.’ And then Sir Bedivere hid
Excalibur under a tree. And as soon as he might, he came again unto the King, and said he
had been at the water, and had thrown the sword into the water. ‘What sawest thou there?’,
said the King. ‘Sir’, he said, ‘I saw nothing but waves and winds.’ ‘That is untruly said of
thee,’ said the King; ‘therefore go thou lightly again, and do my command, as thou art to me
lief and dear, spare not, tout throw it in.’
Then Sir Bedivere returned again, and took the sword in his hand; and then him
thought sin and shame to throw away that noble sword; and so eft9 he hid the sword, and
returned again, and told the king that he had been at the water, and done his commandment.
‘What saw thou there?’, said the King. ‘Sir’, he said, ‘I saw nothing but the waters wap 10 and
the waves wan.’11 ‘Ah traitor, untrue,’ said King Arthur, ‘now hast thou betrayed me twice.
Who would have weened12 that thou that hast been to me so lief and dear, and thou art named
a noble Knight, and would betray me for the riches of the sword. But now go again lightly, for
thy long tarrying13 putteth me in great jeopardy of my life,14 for I have taken cold. And but if
thou do now as I bid thee, if ever I may see thee, I shall slay thee with mine own hands, for
thou wouldest15 for my rich sword see me dead.’
Then Sir Bedivere departed, and went to the sword, and lightly took it up, and went to
the waterside, and there he bound the girdle about the hilts,16 and then he threw the sword as
far into the water as he might, and there came an arm and an hand above the water, and met it,
and caught it, and so shook it thrice and brandished, and then vanished away the hand with
the sword in the water. So Sir Bedivere came again to the King, and told him what he saw.
‘Alas’, said the King, ‘help me hence, for I dread me I have tarried over long.’
Then Sir Bedivere took the King upon his back, and so went with him to that water-
side. And when they were at the water-side, even fast by the bank17 hoved a little barge,18
with many fair ladies in it, and among them all was a queen, and all they had black hoods, and
all they wept and shrieked when they saw King Arthur. ‘Now put me into the barge’, said the
King; and so he did softly. And there received him three queens with great mourning, and so

84 To inveigh (formal): To criticise (somebody or something) strongly / harshly.

43
they set him down, and in one of their laps King Arthur laid his head, and then that queen
said, ‘Ah, dear brother, why have ye tarried so long from me? Alas, this wound on your head
hath caught over much cold.’ And so then they rowed from the land; and Sir Bedivere
beheld19 all those ladies go from him.
Then Sir Bedivere cries, ‘Ah, my lord Arthur, what shall become of me now ye go
from me, and leave me here alone among mine enemies?’ ‘Comfort thyself’, said the King,
‘and do as well as thou mayest, for in me is no trust for to trust in. For I will into the vale of
Avilion to heal me of my grievous20 wound. And if thou hear never more of me, pray for my
soul.’
But ever the queens and the ladies wept and shrieked, that it was pity to hear. And as
soon as Sir Bedivere had lost sight of the barge, he wept and wailed, and so took the forest,
and so he went all that night, and in the morning he was ware betwixt two holts hoar of a
chapel, and an hermitage.”21
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) my time hieth fast = my time hies; to hie: (poet.) a se grăbi, a se zori; (2) yonder water-side:
(înv., poet.) acel mal / ţărm, malul / ţărmul de-acolo; (3) thou comest: you come; (4) I charge
thee throw… = I entrust you with the task of throwing…; (5) thou seest: you see; (6) lightly:
uşor, iute; (7) departed = left; (8) the pommel and haft: mânerul şi plăselele; (9) eft =
eftsoon(s): (înv.) iarăşi, din nou; (10) to wap – cf. to whop = to flop: a cădea cu zgomot; a
plescăi r; (11) to wan: r; (12) ween: (înv., poet.) a socoti, a (se) gîndi; (13) tarrying – to tarry: a
zăbovi; (14) putteth me in great jeopardy of my life = greatly endangers my life; (15) thou
wouldest: (you) would / you wish; (16) he bound the girdle about the hilts: înfăşură / legă
cureaua pe după plăsele; hilt(s): plăsele, mâner; (17) even fast by the bank: chiar lîngă / alături
de mal; (18) … hoved a little barge: plutea pe valuri o barcă mică; to heave: (d. valuri etc.) a
se ridica şi a se coborî (ritmic); (19) beheld = Past Tense form of to behold: a privi; (20)
grievous: (prea)dureros; cumplit, amarnic, grozav / groaznic, straşnic; (21) an hermitage = a
hermitage: o sihăstrie / pustnicie, o chilie de pustnic.

Latin literature in England in the twelfth

and the thirtheenth centuries

After the coming of the Normans, learning revived and reached its zenith under
Henry II who gave, among other things, the Latin chronicles compiled during the twelfth and
the thirteenth centuries. It was indeed fortunate for England that its connection with France
became close at a time when Paris was about to rise to intellectual dominance over Europe.
Here, at the cathedral school of Notre-Dame, taught the eloquent, brilliant Abelard (d. 1142),
whose fame in teaching made Paris the resort for many scholars. The first important English
pupil of Abelard was John of Salisbury, whose works include an encyclopaedia of
miscellanies in eight books, called Policratius, a defence of the method and use of logic.
Walter Map, or Mapes was born about 1137 and studied in Paris; then, becoming
one of the king’s itinerant judges, he was appointed Archdeacon of Oxford. He was the author
of at an entertaining miscellany in Latin prose. To him are also ascribed some poems in
rhymed Latin verse, notably the Apocalypse, the Confession, and the Metamorphoses of
Bishop Golias, who is taken as a type of clerical vice. His name is also connected to some
stories belonging to the Arthurian cycle. Thus he is supposed to have written some prose
pieces, among which Lancelot du Lac (i.e. Lancelot of the Lake), including the Quest of the
Holy Grail and the Death of Arthur.
Roger Bacon (1214-1294), famed as Doctor Mirabilis / Admirabilis (after his death),
was the greatest of the Oxford Franciscans and one of the greatest of Englishmen. He also
studied in Paris. His liberal opinions brought him into trouble, and he was kept in strict
seclusion for no less than ten years. As a student he wrote three memorable works, Opus
Majus, Opus Minus and Opus Tertium (1267), all parts of a projected encyclopaedia of all
known science, written in his capacity as a promoter and teacher of sciences. These were
followed by his Compendium Studii Philosophiae (1271-2) and a Greek grammar.

44
 The first notable chronicler of the twelfth century is Simeon of Durham, who used
Bede’s History. His work was continued by some other scholars. The historian Geoffrey
Arthur, or Geoffrey of Monmouth, wrote in Latin twelve little books (1132-1135), which he
called The History of the Britons (Latin title Historia Britonum). The appearance of this book,
“a bright spring of romance” as it was called, marks an entire important epoch in the literary
history of Europe. The book took over and used numerous traditions of the Celtic West,
which otherwise would have died; it is Geoffrey of Monmouth who acquainted the reading
public with such heroes as Arthur and Merlin, Lear and Cymbeline, King Lud and Bladud,
Locrine and Sabrina. He also wrote the History of the Kings of Britain, which virtually
became the most popular work of its time.
The thirteenth century is the golden age of monastic historians, and at their head
stands Matthew Paris, maybe the greatest of all mediaeval chroniclers. He continued the
work of his predecessors down to his own death in 1259. Courtier and scholar, monk and man
of the world, Matthew Paris was, both by training and position, well qualified to undertake a
history of his own time. He had the instinct, the temper and the judgement of the born
historian. He is not a mere recorder of events in England or on the Continent, but also a
fearless critic and censor of public men and their doings. He succeeded in giving his
Chronicle (entitled Chronica Majora) a unity and a sustained interest possessed by no other
English mediaeval historian. He took great pains to collect and versify the facts he was in
possession of. He kept in touch with many correspondents at home and abroad. He was not
only a recorder but also a critic and a censor of public men and their doings. His Chronicle
was supplemented by the great work of Henry of Bracton (d. 1258). His work is not only the
most authoritative English law book of the time, but “the crown and flower” of English
mediaeval jurisprudence. There were numerous other chroniclers, but their names are less
important, especially from the literary historian’s angle.

Early Transition English

The century from 1150 to 1250 shows many changes in the English language: the
disappearance of inflections, the modification of pronunciation, the development of new
forms in verse and the modification of the very script. All these things will be found in the
literary productions of the time. Monks were compiling their chronicles and scholars did the
same thing with their treatises, in the learned or scholarly language, heavily influenced by
Latin and Norman French. On the other hand, the popular tongue (or the vernacular) lived on
in songs and verse that have not survived. The material of romance began to assume, so to
speak, an English habitation and a name. Poema Morale has a very interesting verse. Here,
for the first time in English, is found the rhymed “fourteener” line, a metre85 which is
attractive for its own sake. The poem was very popular as it was found in numerous
manuscripts. The desire for romance was gratified by a new kind of love poetry. France, in
the eleventh and twelfth centuries, had been flooded by a large number of popular love
poems, which were accompanied by the music of the troubadours and trouvères. Germany, in
the twelfth century, produced the Minnesinger.86 Italy also produced love poets, and Portugal
also possessed poets of the same kind.87 This general inspiration, originating in France and
passing over the frontiers on the lips of the troubadours, reached England soon after 1200. At
first it failed to affect English secular poetry. Yet it imparted a note of passion to religious
writing, which may be divided into four groups according to the aims the respective poems
have in view:  to teach biblical history;  to exhort to holier living;  to encourage the
religious life of women;  to express the ecstasies of devotion (especially a passion for the
person of Jesus and of his Mother).

85 A metre represents the number and kinds of feet (i.e. rhythm units, made up of syllables) in the lines of
poetry.
86 A Minnesinger is, etymologically, a “love-singer”.
87 It seems that these Mediterranean literary productions were originally of oriental – namely Arabic

inspiration.

45
 An important part of thirteenth century literature is that which forsakes theology
altogether, and turns to romance for romance’s sake. The greatest (and longest) work of this
kind is the Brut, written by Layamon (it seems that the name is more correctly spelt
Laghamon, i.e. “Lawman”), a priest of Ernley on the river Severn. He proposed to tell the
history of Britain from the time of the Flood, but he begins with the story of the Trojan
Brutus, and comes down to the death of Cadwalader, AD 689. Layamon stands in the same
relation to post-Conquest English as Caedmon does to pre-Conquest literature. The title of
Layamon’s amplified translation of Wace is The Brut, or Chronicle of Britain. It is written in
semi-Saxon, or, more correctly, “Transition English”. There are two manuscripts of
Layamon’s Brut in existence – both to be found at the British Museum.
The poem begins in this way: “There was a priest in the land / who was named
Layamon / He was son of Leoweneth / May the Lord be gracious to him! / He dwelt at Ernley
/ At a noble church / Upon the Severn’s bank / Good it seemed to him / Near Radstone /
Where he read books.”
The verse is alliterative, with now and then a slip of rime. Wace’s Brut contains
15,000 lines; Layamon’s – 32,250. The poem was probably completed about the year 1205,
the sixth year of the reign of King John. But Layamon made many additions to the version of
Wace – among others, the story of King Arthur’s being carried after death to Avalon – or, as
Tennyson calls it, “the island-valley of Avilion”:
Where fails not hail, or rain, or any snow,
Nor ever wind blows loudly, but it lies
Deep-meadow’d, happy, fair orchard-lawns
And bowery hollows crown’d with summer sea.
The Owl and the Nightingale, written in the Dorset dialect, is gaily serious and not
theological. It contains 1,794 lines and probably belongs to the very beginning of the
thirteenth century. The author and sources are unknown. The poem embodies the spirit as
well as the structure of Old French models, though it is not a mere copy. It is a “debate”,
conducted poetically and humorously, each opponent undertaking the defence of his nature
and kind: “The Owl and the Nightingale (…) is one of the disputoisons or tensons, held in so
much honour by the poets of Provence and France, an allegorical debate between an owl and
a nightingale who discuss the rival merits of their songs.” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian,
op. cit., p. 91). The nightingale represents the world, whereas the grave owl – the cloister. The
poem is interesting, and it represents an excellent exercise in octosyllabic couplets. It testifies
to the genuine life of native poetry at that time, being a delightful piece of poetry.

SUPPORT TEXT

LAYAMON’S BRUT (about AD 1250)

KING LEAR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS
“Sixty winters had Leir wholly governed this land. The king had three daughters by
his noble queen. He had no son to uphold his dignity (thereof he was sorry), but only his three
daughters. The eldest daughter was called Gornoille, the second Regau, the third Cordoille.
She was the youngest sister, in face fairest of all. She was as dear to her father as his own life.
Then, the king grew old, and weak in dignity of manhood, and he bethought him1 what he
might do with his kingdom after his day. He said to himself what was evil, ‘I will break up
my realm and give my daughters my kingdom and share it among my children. But first I will
prove which of them is my best friend, and she shall have the best part of my lordly land.’
Thus the king thought and thereafter he wrought. He called Gornoille his goodly
daughter out of her bower,2 to her father dear; and thus spake3 the old king where he sat
among his nobles. ‘Say to me, Gornoille, true words; very dear thou art to me, how dear am I
to thee? How much worth holdest thou me4 for wielding royal sway?’5 Gornoille was very
wary, as women are nearly everywhere, and said a leasing to her father the king. ‘Beloved
father dear, as I look for God’s mercy, so help me Apollin, for my faith is all in him, dearer
art thou alone to me than all this whole world. And yet I will speak with thee, thou art dearer
to me than my life, and this I say to thee for sooth,6 thou mayest well believe me.’ Leir, the

46
king, believed his daughter’s leasing,7 and thus the old king gave answer. ‘I say to thee,
Gornoille, beloved daughter dear, good shall be thy meed for thy greeting. I am greatly
enfeebled by my old age, and thou lovest me much more than is in life. I will divide my lordly
land entirely in three; thine8 shall be the best share. Thou art my daughter dear, and shalt have
for lord my best thane of all that I can find in my kingdom.’ Afterwards spake the old king
with his (second) daughter. ‘Beloved daughter Regau, what sayest thou to me for counsel?
Say thou before my people how dear I am to thee in heart.’ Then answered she with prudent
words: ‘All that is in life is not so dear to me as thy limbs9 alone, before my own life.’ But she
said nothing true, no more than her sister; all her leasing her father believed. Then answered
the king (his daughter pleased him), ‘The third part of my land I give to thee in hand; thou
shall take a lord where is most pleasing to thee.’10 Then still the king would not leave his
folly. He bade come before him his daughter Cordoille. She was the youngest of all, heedful
of truth and most prudent, and the king loved her more than both the othet two. Cordoille
heard the leasing which her sisters said to the king; she took to her a faithful mind, so that she
would not lie; she would say truth to her father, were it lief to him or were it loath to him.
Then said the old king (ill counsel followed him), ‘Hear I will of thee, Cordoille, so help thee
Apollin, how dear unto thee is my life’. Then answered Cordoille, loud and no whit 11 still,
with game and with laughter to her father beloved: ‘Thou art dear to me as my father and I to
thee as thy daughter, I have to thee soothfast love, for we are very near in kinship, and as I
look for mercy I will say to thee more: As much thou art worth as thou dost wield, and as
much as thou hast men will love thee, for soon he is loathed who possesseth little’. Thus said
the maiden Cordoille, and afterwards sat very still. Then was the king wroth for he was not at
all pleased and weened in his mind that it might be through ill manners that he were so
unhonoured by her, so that she would not honour him as her two sisters who both together
spake leasings. Then King Leir turned as black as if were a black cloth, his skin and his hue
turned, for he was greatly hurt; with wrath he was dazed so that he fell in a swoon. Then he
slowly recovered. The maiden was afraid when his wrath all broke out; it was evil that he
spake. ‘Hearken, Cordoille, I will tell thee my will. Of my daughters thou wert dearest to me,
now thou art to me the most hateful of all; shall thou never hold a portion of my land, but with
my daughters I will share my kingdom, and thou shall be troubled and dwell in misery. For
never weened I that thou wouldst thus shame me; therefore thou shall be as dead I ween. Flee
out of my eyesight. Thy sisters shall have my kingdom, and this is pleasing to me. The Duke
of Cornwall shall have Gornoille, and the Scottish king Regau the fair, and I give them all the
possessions that I am ruling over’. And all the old king did as he had said. Oft was she for her
father’s wrath.12 She went into her bower, and there she oft sat sorry because she would not
lie to her father beloved. The maid was put greatly to shame because she had shunned13 her
father and had followed then best counsel, and she abode in her bower, and suffered trouble
of mind, and mourned greatly.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) he bethought him: (înv.) se gîndi (el); (2) bower: iatac; budoar, alcov; (3) spake = (înv.)
spoke; (4) how much worth holdest thou me: cât mă preţuieşti (tu); (5) for wielding royal sway:
pentru că ţin sceptrul de rege, pentru că ţin cîrma regatului / ţării; (6) for sooth: (înv.) pe
dreptul adevăr; (7) leasing: vorbe goale / uşoare; (8) thine (înv.) = yours; (9) limbs = (înv.) your
limbs; (10) to thee = (înv.) to you; (11) no whit: (înv.) defel, deloc, nici un pic; (12) wrath:
mânie (cumplită), urgie; (13) to shun: a se da înapoi dinaintea, a ocoli.

The Gawain Poet / The Pearl Poet

The Pearl Poet is the supposed author of four untitled alliterative poems, written in
Northwest Midlands dialect, which were found in a unique manuscript known as MS. Cott.
Nero A x, a small volume found in the British Museum. They are generally referred to,
respectively, as Pearl, Purity, Patience, and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. The idea of
single authorship can be safely inferred from the close similitude of dialect, diction, style,

47
tonality and dimension. The first three poems are pre-eminently didactic in tone and purport,
while the fourth belongs to the chivalrous epic genre.
Some scholars attribute them to Huchoun (or Huchown, Scottish poet, author of Pistil
of Susan and Morte Arthur). Those who think it is Huchoun who wrote the four poems in the
Cott. Nero A x manuscript also credit him with the authorship of several other alliterative
poems, viz. The Wars of Alexander, The Destruction of Troy, Titus and Vespasian, The
Parlement of the Three Ages, Erkenwald, Wynnere and Wastowe, Golagros and Gawayne,
etc. Still other scholars attempted to identify the author with Strode, Chaucer’s friend, a
philosopher.
Incidentally, there are a number of poems of lesser literary value, like William of
Palerne or William and the Were-Wolf,88 translated from French, and Morte Arthur, attributed
to Huchoun of the Awle Ryale, where allegory is used to make contemporary allusions, a very
unusual thing in such literary productions.
Irrespective of his identity, the author of The Pearl, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
and the other two poems in the manuscript was well versed in the Bible, but no less in lay
poetry. Familiar with castles, tournaments, hunts, banquets, the ways of courtly society.
Moreover, he was well acquainted with the wild, solitary country of the west hills. His
worldliness did not hinder him in the least from being sincerely particular about moral
edification. His only secular work is Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, very much indebted to
the earlier Arthurian romances (see the Arthurian cycle supra), especially to Chrétien (or
Chrestien) de Troyes’ Perceval.
The first piece in the manuscript, The Pearl, is a one hundred-stanza poem, with
twelve four-stress line stanzas, representing a real feat of poetic structure. Its artistic beauty
essentially lies in the mastery of phrasing, the eloquent piety and the warm human feeling in
the poem.
This dream allegory seemingly laments the death of the poet’s two-year old daughter,
whose name must have been Margaret (in Old Greek margarítes means “pearl”); actually,
plays on words were quite frequent with the theologians of the time. The “joyless jeweller”
wanders along, looking for the pearl he has lost. In his dream the poet-narrator sees a jewelled
world of rare beauty, where he meets a fair maiden. The maiden is dressed in a dazzling white
dress, covered with pearls.
We can understand that his beloved has grown into the Heavenly Bridegroom’s
spouse. The beautiful lady explains to the poet that the grace she was thus bestowed upon
springs from equality before God as far as salvation is concerned. The poet can see her new
abode – the New Jerusalem (see the Book of Revelation),89 and tries hard, in his dream, to
reach this celestial city. A different interpretation of the poem is that it is actually an allegory
of the Eucharist,90 and even of mystics and its comparative “spiritual dryness”.
Its structure is intricate, though rather conventional, to the taste of the time: “The
allegorical element of his work is combined with a symbolism directly derived from the
Apocalypse, whence he borrows his concluding vision of the New Jerusalem. This mixture
constitutes the originality of the poem, and saves it from from the dry formula of the
prevailing type of allegory, with its too conventional frame. It acquires singular greatness and
religious fervour from its biblical inspiration. There is nothing in English poetry of this period
which better recalls Dante’s mystic visions or the refinements of feeling in Petrarch’s
sonnets“ (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 110).
This poem of 1,212 lines combines rhyme and alliteration. It displays a very
interesting ‘catch-word’ system, in care se repeta in primul vers al unei stanza un cuvint din
previous stanza.
Purity (also called Cleanness) expounds the title virtue through the scriptural stories,
by contrasting it to the best-known examples of impurity in the Bible: The Fall of the Rebel

88 Werewolf / were-wolf: ['wwulf, 'wiwulf] a tale character who, usually at night, changes into a wolf; a
man-wolf, lycanthrope, changeling; approx. Romanian “vîrcolac”.
89 The Book of Revelation – Romanian: “Apocalipsa (Sfântului Ioan)”.
90 The Eucharist – Romanian: “(sfânta) cuminecătură, împărtăşania”.

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Angels, the Deluge (or the Flood, i.e. Noah’s Flood), the destruction of Sodom and
Gomorrah, Nebuchadnezzar’s fate, the Feast of Belshazzar, etc. All of these are didactically
opposed to the great stances of purity represented by Jesus Christ and his Virgin Mother.
Patience tells the story of Jonah and the Whale,91 as an illustration of evil and
impatience. Thrown into the sea, Jonah is swallowed by the monstrous sea creature, which
carries him to the place where God wished him to go.
The storm scene presented in Patience is excellently depicted. Not only the naval
scenes are realistic and minute, but also the description of the interior of the ‘whale’. The
conversation between Jonah and God is dramatically vibrant and realistic in tone throughout.
* Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (Sir Gawayne and the Grene Knyght)92:
Sir Gawayne and the Grene Knyght is a 2,530-line stanzaic poem in alliterative verse,
with a rhyming pattern simpler than that in The Pearl. Irregularly, a short refrain is inserted.
The number of stresses per line differs from one line to the other.
The poem has four parts, or fits (MedE fyttes). In the first part (or fit) is presented the
challenge. When a giant knight coloured green enters the great hall of Arthur’s castle on
Christmas Day, saying that he challenged anyone present to strike him in return for a similar
blow, king Arthur offers to deliver the blow, but his nephew, Sir Gawain, undertakes the role
of a champion on behalf of the Knights of the Table Round. He strikes the blow, cuts the
giant’s head off, but the latter picks it up by the hair, tucking it under his arm, and then calmly
walks off. The agreement said that in a twelvemonth and a day he was to deal the return blow.
Part two is about the Knightly Quest: Gawain sets out on All Hallow’s Day93 to North
Wales. After a while, he gets lost in a forest on Christmas Day. He comes in sight of a comely
castle. He is honourably received here, by the lord of the castle, his lady, and an aged hag; the
Green Chapel is near by, he is assured by his hosts. His sojourn at the castle lasts three days.
Part three presents The Temptation: The lady of the castle forces her attentions upon
Sir Gawain, as the compact with the master of the place requires the two knights to give the
day’s trophies to each other. The lord of the castle presents Gawain with the game he has
hunted, and the latter gives in return the kisses he has got from the lady. But he fails to do so
on the third day, when the lady gives him a green girdle made of fine silk ‘with gold
schaped’; this baldric94 is said to be magical in preserving the life of the man who wears it: it
is the girdle of invulnerability. In concealing it from the lord of the castle, he commits a sin.
Part four presents The Return Blow: When the terms of the compact (i.e. agreement)
are to be fulfilled, Gawain travels to the Green Chapel, on New Year’s Day; he shrinks twice
from the tricks of the giant knight, but when he braces up to receive the third stroke, it only
slashes his neck. The Green Knight reveals himself as Bercilak (or Bertilak) de Hautdesert
(the French translation is “hight desert”); the aged hag is actually Morgan-le-Fay (or Morgan
la Faye, cf. Fr. la fée “the fairy”), Arthur’s fairy sister, who was in fact the initiator of the
whole stratagem. What she really meant was to put to shame the entire Arthurian court, by
corrupting one of the select group – in this case, Gawain. The scratch he eventually received
was the penalty for Gawain’s violation of the agreement. The moral of the story is that his
merit in resisting the main temptations was sufficient to save his life. Sir Gawain thus finishes
his adventure with all honour, which is only too evident from the fact that knights and ladies
back in Arthur’s court decide to wear green sashes to sanction Gawain’s moral (and,
consequently, knightly) triumph.
There are numerous unreasonable elements in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,
certainly of mythological origin, as there are a number of Celtic themes in the poem, too: the
beheading, the Temptation (anyway, the Temptation motif can also be given a Christian
reading); the beheading game occurs in other stories, as well.

91 Jonah and the Whale – Romanian: “Iona şi Chitul / Peştele cel mare…” (i.e. “balena”) – viz. “a giant marine
monster”.
92 The Middle English pronunciation of the protagonist’s name was ['g:win] or ['g:wn] (cf. French

Gauvain).
93 All Hallow’s Day: All Saints’ Day.
94 Baldric: a shoulder-belt, shoulder-band or shoulder-scarf.

49
 Whether it was composed as a single original work or part of a larger (hypothetical,
or non-extant) “Book of Brutus” (cf. Layamon’s Brut), is still uncertain. The poem stands out
as probably the best of the English Arthurian cycle – no doubt the best short narrative in the
language. A real ‘jewel of mediaeval romance’, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight has
vigorous strength, rhythm and variety.
Sir Gawain appears here in an entirely different light than that, more commonly
referred to, resulting from his later delineation (especially by Thomas Malory and his
successors), where he is mainly depicted as cowardly, treacherous and coarse.
It will be fair to say that Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is no easy poem. There
have been several interpretations given to the work:95 (1) The Green Knight is probably a pre-
Christian fertility deity (cf. The Green Man / Greenman, as a favourite name for rural pubs in
English). (2) The poem suggests a lesson on chivalry and knightly behaviour (teaching that
the weaknesss, which are abundant in human existence, can be atoned for by unfailing virtue);
there is textual evidence to this effect (viz. the motto Honi Soit Qui Mal Pence).96 (3) The
poem can be conceived as a lecture on the value of Christian chastity, honesty, faithfulness
and fortitude; the morality presented in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is broad, pervasive,
earnest, and yet not unpleasant or repulsive. (4) Maybe Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is a
holiday tale (cf. Shakespeare’e Twelfth Night, a period of winter festivals97 presupposing
merrymaking, revelry, a time when exciting tales of magic, marvels and adventure were told
around the hearth.)
Yet many critics believe that the poem contains a more wide-ranging, more serious
criticism of chivalry that has been noticed so far.
Firstly, it is worth noting that, in the poem, chivalry’s outer form and substance
manifest themselves to the detriment of the original values of the Christian religion from
which chivalry itself essentially sprang.
In a gender reading, the women in the poem (Bercilak’s wife, the sexual aggressor,
and Morgan-le-Fay, the instigator of the whole plot) represent a metaphor for anti-social
forces and dangers outside the control of the system of feudalism and chivalry, starting form
the basic assumptions to be found in a set of Biblical and classical models which establish
anything subversive as feminine. Lady Bercilak is, Bible-wise, the temptress, Eve, the sinner,
viz. the source and symbol of lust and the dangers of the flesh. In the poem’s conceivably
anti-feminist tirade, Gawain puts her in a long line of Biblical temptresses, including Delilah
and Bathsheba.
Lady Bercilak is also the pivot of the moral contradiction between courtly love and
spiritual love, evident in the dilemma Gawain has to face. The unique archetype of The Virgin
Mary, a model of female behaviour representing humility and obedience to God in her role as
The Mother of Jesus Christ, has a special relationship to Gawain: he is her knight, and this is
only apparent if we think that the Virgin’s image is etched on Gawain’s shield. If Mary
represents spiritual love, chastity, obedience and life, Lady Bercilak, on the other hand, is the
archetypal paragon of both courtly love and the Biblical temptress, with the natural
associations of lust, disobedience and death.
So, Gawain derives his spiritual and physical power and courage from this special
relationship with Mary. When, during his journey in search of the Green Knight, he is beset
by a number of hardships and is on the point of despair (he lies freezing in the forest), he
prays to Mary to find him shelter and a place to say Mass on Christmas Eve; she answers his
prayers and leads him to Bercilak’s castle. This is a completely different world: here, it is no
longer Gawain’s prowess that the courtiers are interested in, but courtly love expertise and
daring. King Arthur’s court stands for the early days of chivalry, when knightly spirit was still
95 See Martin S. Day, History of English Literature. To 1660, pages 68-69.
96 The correct Middle French form is Honni (or honny) Soit Qui Mal Y Pense – the motto and emblem of the
knightly Order of the Garter.
97 Twelfth Night “6 January, the feast of the Epiphany (Romanian Boboteaza)”; strictly, “the eve of the

Epiphany – formerly the twelfth and last day of Christmas festivities” – see also Yultide: the archaic term
designating Christmas; see also Yule “Christmas” (cf. Old Norse jól “a heathen festival lasting twelve
days”; the word later applied to “Christmas”).

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young and innocent, fond of jousting and warlike exploits rather than love; in Arthur’s court,
Guinevere sits under a dais, silent. In Bercilak’s court, his wife is a force to be reckoned with
in the bedroom.
Lady Bercilak’s bargain with Sir Gawain, a bargain of courtly love (which essentially
falls outside the limits of the male feudal hierarchy and its rules), virtually places man on an
equal footing with woman, not subject to the feudal loyalty system. This is an infringement of
the code of chivalry. In the other, habitual, contests, the rules are established by men; they are
clearly defined, while in this case the lady’s game is ambiguous.
Being able to see that his chastity is more important than his courtesy, Gawain is
desperately trying to balance spiritual love and courtly love. But, unable to make a clear and
unambiguous choice between the two, he accepts the girdle. When Gawain’s failure is
exposed by the Green Knight, Gawain shows deep shame at first, but, after he has been
absolved by the latter, he launches into a tirade about women, in which he presents himself as
one in the long line of the victims duped by temptresses; women, he basically says, may look
beautiful, but they can also be the route to death and decay. Displacing the blame, he is able
to regain his power within the story, and eventually returns not as a failure but as a fully
reinstated knight of honour.
The path the girdle takes as a symbol is the very image of the shifting of blame and
power in the poem: first, it is a love token, because it is offered by a woman; then, it becomes
a masculine life-protecting token; after the confession scene, it becomes a possession of the
Green Knight, which Gawain takes away as a symbol of his shame; back in King Arthur’s
court, it becomes a symbol of honour and a standard piece of the male outfit, as all the knights
of the Round Table decide to wear it.
Secondly, in a sociological reading, Bercilak’s punishment and Gawain’s
reinstatement in the social order are symbolic of the fact that the traditional loyalties within
the hierarchies were no longer easy to enforce; the members of the aristocracy were unable,
by the fourteenth century, to re-appropriate power, which was already diffused by the rise of
the merchant class, the growth of the cities, and the shift in peasant labour. As feudalism and
its cultural product, the Age of Chivalry, were in decline due to dramatic social and economic
changes under way in the 14th century. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight could be read as
both a nostalgic support of the feudal hierarchies and an implicit criticism of changes, which,
if left unchecked, will lead to its ultimate destruction. In this light, the female characters in the
story can be conceived as the Gawain poet’s main instruments in this critical attempt. By
opposing Morgan le Fay, and Lady Bercilak on the one hand (both representations of courtly
love archetypes, with the ensuing values of disobedience, lust and eventually death), and the
Virgin Mary (seen as the consecrated archetype of spiritual love, obedience, chastity, and
pure life), on the other hand, the poet tries to underline the conflict between courtly love
(tantamount to ‘fickleness’) and spiritual love (i.e. genuine love).
There is delicate psychology in the scenes of the temptation. Gawain is caught
between his desire to remain pure and the politeness due to his host. Sir Gawain and the
Green Knight is superior to Edmund Spenser’s Faerie Queene (Book the second), both from a
human, and a dramatic standpoint. “Thus the Anglo-Saxon mist enwraps this poem of Celtic
origin, a poem of chivalry and courtesy which has for hero, not the Gawain whom a tradition,
followed by Tennyson, made into the type of a quarrelsome, frivolous and volatile knight, but
Gawain of the unstained shield, who rivalled the valour of Lancelot and the chastity of
Perceval and Galahad” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 110).
The scenes of the narrative as well as the descriptive passages are colourful
(comparable to the mediaeval tapestries or the manuscript illuminations).98
The action is nimbly graceful and consistently achieved, while the dialogues are aptly
and expertly sustained. The description of the scenery (most likely that of the Lake Country,

98 Illumination – Romanian “inluminură (decoraţie dintr-un manuscris vechi / medieval)”.

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in north-western England)99 is absolutely remarkable; it evidences less apparent details, by
means of various effects of subtle presentation.
There is lightness of touch in the epic, as well as a certain humour: the theme is not
infrequently lightened by a smile. The language of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight shows
little Norman influence, and the poetic style occasionally exhibits genuine treasures of
sensibility.
The poem is written in head-rhyme. In an age of French-style rhymed poetry, the
very idea of alliterative romance may seem bizarre, but the artistic (and partly ideological)
outcome, as seen in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is really exhilarating: “This sudden
apparition of an ancient form is strange and almost disquieting” (…) “In comparison with the
jog-trot movement of the rhyming romances the best alliterative verse has extraordinary grip
and power; yet it has no effect on the main current of English poetry, which continues to
develop along the lines now familiar. The greatest productions of the alliterative revival are
contemporary with Chaucer; but he writes as if they had no existence, and would have written
no differently had he known them” (George Sampson, op. cit., p. 39).

The Hundred Years’ War. Its causes and effects. The birth of nationalism. English
language and patriotic feeling. The Black Death. The peasants’ revolt

The first European war that can be called national was the Hundred Years’ War as
waged by England. The armies she sent year after year to lay waste and plunder France were
small, but their efficiency was the outcome of a national organisation and a national spirit.
England had enjoyed internal peace and was passing from feudalism to nationhood; she
became for a while the plunderer and bully of her neighbours, first of all because she had
more power.
The plundering expeditions that made up the Hundred Years’ War were supposed to
be justified by the genealogical claims of Edward III (and, later on, Henry V) to the throne
of France. The actual causes of the conflict were though rather different from that: during
the reign of Edward III (1327-1377) commerce developed and England prospered.
Particularly important was the wool trade. Wool from English sheep was shipped to
Flanders to be woven into cloth for English markets. So important was this trade that the
export duty on raw wool was the chief financial support of the English government. This
prosperous trade irked and exasperated the king of France to such a degree that he began to
seize English wool ships. In retaliation, Edward III revived an old claim to the crown of
France. The war began in 1337 and was waged intermittently for more than 100 years and is
known as the Hundred Years’ War. It was not, at bottom, mainly the result of dynastic
ambition, but of national, popular and Parliamentary institutions. The new England passed
through a phase of expansionist militarism, profitable at first, in the end disastrous.
English ambitions, diverted from the already begun conquest of Scotland to France,
sought for more profit, ease and honour in the latter than in the former country. English
noblemen, younger sons and yeomen, when returning home from France, brought back their
share of booty – and of course a rich stock of tales for their admiring audience.
The war was supported by the parliamentary institution, which voted supplies for its
continuation and called to account ministers who failed to conduct it with success. Hatred of
the French was stronger among the common folk than in the bilingual upper class.
The armies and tactics employed by the two sides represented underlying social
facts, and registered changes of more than military importance. France was a kingdom very
different from the English one: it was not governed by sheriffs, king’s judges and coroners
sitting in the King’s courts, but in provinces and baronies, by its feudal princes and lords.
The peasant (i.e. the serf, the villein) was despised by the noble; there was no important
middle class, no substantial yeomen and no small gentry accustomed to serve the Crown and

99The Lake Country – i.e. the Lake District, or Lakeland: a region of lakes (viz. Grasmere, Windermere)
and mountains in Cumbria. (Cumbria is a county of NW England, which contains the Lake District and
much of the northern Pennines; Cumbria used to be the name of an ancient British kingdom).

52
carry on public business; the links connecting the French wealthy cities with the purely
feudal communities around them were weak – there was no cooperation between the
burgers. The French troops suffered defeat at Crécy (1346), Poitiers (1356) and Agincourt
(1415). They were feudal hosts, called out under feudal obligations, with all the military and
political indiscipline characteristic of feudal pride, and they had no idea of tactics except the
unsupported cavalry charge, whose shock had decided the issue of battles for many
centuries past. But the English archers put a term to its supremacy on the day of Crécy, thus
marking the beginning of the end of the Age of Chivalry and the emergence of the common
man. At Crécy the English long-bowmen dramatically routed the French cavalry and proved
that the unarmoured foot soldier was the equal of the horseman in armour. While the French
peasant was little regarded in war (his part was merely to pay the ransom for the estate, and
the ransoms extorted for the great capture of highborn prisoners at Poitiers forced the
starving peasantry of France into the revolt of “La Jacquerie” – cf. the generic name the
French peasant was called at the time, Jacques Bonhomme), the English peasant was in
better position. Furthermore, the Plantagenet kings had compulsorily organised all the
freemen for training in military service, on the principle of the Saxon fyrd – a large body of
militia were kept familiar with the use of those weapons which each man was compelled by
the state to possess (the practice at the butts behind the churchyard became a chief sport and
entertainment of village life; it was relished even among members of the clergy). In order to
select the invasion army, the king resorted to conscription; but as the war went on, the
principle of compulsion was abandoned in favour of hiring private ‘companies’ of private
warriors (long-service professional soldiers, enlisted for pay by some noble of knight, and
fighting for plunder, ransom and free quarters; sometime they even fought and ravaged on
the Continent on their own – e.g. in Italy). The army chiefs of Edward III deduced a new
method of warfare, combining the archer and the feudal knight in a single unit of battle. The
French tried, after Crécy, to imitate their victors – and fought on foot – which was not the
secret by itself, as their defeat at Poitiers proved (1356).
The first deliverance of France was made by Du Guesclin, who overthrew the treaty
of Brétingy, which in 1360 had assigned South-Western France to England. He relied on the
service of ‘free companies’, avoiding battle except when he could surprise the English of
take them at disadvantage. Du Guesclin besieged the castles from which the English ruled
the country – in which he was aided by the use of newly discovered gunpowder.
After a generation’s truce, Henry V revived Edward III’s pretensions to the French
crown. The English found themselves opposed by the disorderly feudal array – thus winning
the battle of Agincourt (1415).100 Henry V secured his hold on Normandy as an occupied
province, and thence extended his power to the banks of the Loire. Moreover, the quarrel
between the great feudal Houses of Orléans and Burgundy tore France in two. In 1420
Henry V was acknowledged heir to the French crown by the Treaty of Troyes; two years
later he died.
During the minority of Henry V came the second French revival, following
tactically on the lines of Du Guesclin; his successor was Dunois, who obtained an
unexpected ally – Joan of Arc, or ‘the Maiden of Orléans’ (1429-1431), who in one year of
glory and one year of martyrdom, turned to good account the French people’s national
sentiment. But more than 20 years passed after her death before the English power had been
completely worn away by the siegecraft of the French (1453). England lost the war and
relinquished her claims to French territory (save for the port of Calais which she kept for
another 100 years). But the war had one beneficial effect: there were no longer frictions
between Normans and Anglo-Saxons – henceforth, they were all Englishmen. It should be
added that the war with France sharply defined the new patriotic feeling in the form of racial
hatred of French – which outlasted the war, and helped to put an end to the subordination of
English to French culture which the Norman conquest had established.

100 The French place name is Azincourt [az'ku:R].

53
The English language

The speech of the East Midlands became the ancestor of modern English,
triumphing over the other dialects, partly because it was spoken in London, Oxford and
Cambridge, and partly because it was used by Chaucer, who enriched it with many French
words, and by John Wycliffe (or Wyclif), who enriched it with many words from the Latin
Vulgate (the Latin version of the Bible). They founded a school of imitators who used
mainly the same dialect. Their writings and translations were widely circulated in
manuscript; then, in the 15th century came Caxton’s printing press at Westminster – and in
this way a standard English was being formed for all those who could read – and for all who
wished to be regarded as educated people.
Although the common man had begun his slow rise (for the pageantry of chivalry
no longer blinded the people, and the great lords of castles and the religious leaders could no
longer hold the villagers in the complete subservience), the manorial system checked
progress and denied freedom.
In the mid-fourteenth century the terrible Black Death (i.e. the plague) killed an
estimated 40% of the population, and serfs, left without masters, escaped to a freer life in
the growing towns. Other serfs were driven from the manors when the lords turned to sheep
raising, which required fewer workers. In town and villages families deprived of home and
work became vagabonds and robbers. Out of the desperation of the labourers emerged the
Peasants’ Revolt of 1381, which was savagely crushed by the nobles.
During the same century, a middle class of merchants and craftsmen began its rise
to power and stability. Craftsmen were prospering and were establishing guilds to protect
their rights; many of these guilds (the weavers, the carpenters, the haberdashers) had fine
halls and their members dressed in gay, distinctive liveries.

THE END OF THE MIDDLE AGES

PIERS PLOWMAN AND ITS SEQUENCE

Few English poems of the Middle Ages have had more influence than those grouped
under the general title of The Vision of William Concerning Piers the Plowman. This poem
was eagerly read in the latter half of the fourteenth century, the time of its composition, and it
remained greatly popular in the next century, too. It gave a vivid picture of contemporary life
and it was a stern exposure of social and religious abuses.
Yet, little is known about its author. It was William Langland (or Langley), born in
1331-2 somewhere near the Malvern Hills.101 By 1362 he was in London, poor, and writing
his poem. He belonged to the farmer class and his whole life seems to have been spent at two
places – Malvern and London. He was an eager learner, though not a steady student; his
desire was to know “all the sciences under the sun, and all the sotyle craftes”.102 He was a
kind of secular priest (a priest who lived in the world, not in the cloister); his chief, and
perhaps his only, mode of earning a livelihood was by singing masses for the repose of the
souls of the dead, in other words he held a “chantry”. 103
Historic period: Langland lived through an eventful and troubled period of English
history. He saw the Treaty of Brétigny, when Chaucer, then about twenty, who had been
taken prisoner, was ransomed by aid of Edward III; he saw another war with France; he saw
the “Good Parliament” of 1376; he also saw the defeat and deposition of Richard II; he lived
through the longer half of the Hundred Years’ War. He lived a full and really eventful life.
Besides his famous poem Piers the Plowman, he also wrote another poem, called The
Vision of the Same Concerning Do Wel, Do Bet and Do Best. Both poems are related as

101 The Malvern Hills: Hills in Worcester and Hereford, extending for about 16 km, with the highest point
in Worcester Beacon (425 m).
102 The sotyle crafts = “The subtle (or refined) arts”.
103 Chantry: 1. An endowment for the singing or saying of Mass for the souls of the founders, or of

persons named by them. 2. A chapel so endowed.

54
dreams, the usual form in which poems were cast at that time (see also The Romaunt of the
Rose). The poet falls asleep on the Malvern Hills, on a fine morning in May, and has a
“merveiloys sweuene” 104
“In a somer season / when soft was the sonne / I shope me in shroudes / as I a shepe
105
were,
In habite as an hermite / unholy of workes, / Went wyde in this world / wondres to
here.”
(“I put myself into shrouds / as if I were a shepherd, / in cress like a hermit / not one
who keeps his cell, / but who goes about / in search of adventure”).
Piers (= Peter), in his dream or vision, sees a field full of folk. A Lady Meed (=Reward
or Bribery) is about to be married to Falsehood; but Theology intervenes and forbids the
marriage. The case is referred to the King in London. Many other scenes in London and in the
country follow; and the whole poem is an allegorical vision.106 The poem called Do Wel, Do
Bet, and Do Best, consists of another series of dreams, with an elaborate allegory. 107
The vision contains brief views of London life and manners – the everyday life of the
people of the city, their dress, their food, their wages, and so on. He mentions Cornhill, East
Cheap, Stratford, Tyburn, etc. His poem is written in alliterative verse and in that historical /
diachronic variant of English generally called Transition English.
Langland’s language: Dr. Skeat108 says that “the Prologue to Piers the Plowman and
the first 420 lines of Chaucer’s Prologue alike contain 86 per cent of Anglo-Saxon words. The
number of French words in our author is considerable.” The fact is that before the end of the
fourteenth century the English language had become saturated with French words; and neither
Chaucer nor Langland, nor any other writer, could avoid the use of them, if they wished to
express themselves truly and adequately. The dialect in which Langland writes is not pure:
East Midland, like Chaucer’s, but a mixture of Midland and of South.
The influence of Piers the Plowman lasted for several centuries. The name and the
figure of the Plowman (rather sketchy and conventional) appear in numerous poems and prose
writings. He became a symbol, and set the pattern of the social and religious criticism of his
own age.

SUPPORT TEXTS

WILLIAM LANGLAND (1332-1400?)

THE VISION CONCERNING PIERS THE PLOWMAN
The Confession of Sloth

“Then came Sloth1 with two slimy eyes2, and all beslobbered3. ‘I must sit’, said he,
‘or else I should nap;4 I may not stand nor stoop,5 nor kneel without a stool.’6 ‘What! awake
man!’, said Repentance, ‘and haste thee to shirt.’7
‘If I should die on this day, I should not care; I know not my paternoster perfectly as
the priest singeth it, but I know rhymes of Robin Hood and Randolph, Earl of Chester, but

104 (= a wonderful dream)

105 Shrouds = “clothes”.
106 Vision: A meaningful experience, in which a character, thing or event appears vividly or credibly to the

mind, under the influence of a divine or spiritual agency or condition.

107 Allegory: A literary piece (viz. a poem, a story, etc.) or a work of figurative art (especially a painting) in

which the events and characters represent ideas or teach a moral lesson; in fact, an allegory consists of a
series of metaphors (or an extended metaphor) or a parable, providing the description or illustration of one
thing in terms of another; mediaeval allegory often used animals as characters. Such symbolic (or highly
abstract) fictional characters will see a long literary career, e.g. Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene (1590-
96), or John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress (1678).
108 Walter W. Skeat: British scholar (1835-1912): a philologist, lexicographer, and man of letters, one of

the greatest investigators of the roots of the English language; his scholarship marked a remarkable
advance in the revival of the great works of early English literature: he gave critical editions of Piers the
Plowman (1867), and The Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer (1894-97).

55
neither of our Lord nor our Lady the least rhyme that ever was made, I have made forty vows8
and forgotten them in the morning; I never performed penance as the priest bade me, nor was
I ever yet right sorry for my sins. And if I pray any prayers, except it be in wrath, what I say
with my tongue is two miles from my heart.’
‘Every day, holidays and others, I am busy with idle tales at the alehouse, 9 and at
other times in churches God’s pain and passion I full seldom think on. I never visited sick
men nor fettered10 folk in prison, I would rather hear of harlotry11 or the cobbler’s12 summer,
game, or lying tales to laugh at and belie my neighbour, than all that Mark and Matthew, John
and Luke ever wrote. And vigils13 and fasting days, all these let pass, till matins14 and mass15
be done, then I go to the friars; if I come to ite, missa est, I hold myself served. I am not
shriven for a long time except sickness force me, not twice in two years, and then upon guess
I shrive myself. I have been priest and parson more than thirty winters, yet I can neither solfa
nor sing, nor read saints’ lives; but I can find a hare in a field or furrow16 better than I can
interpret plainly one clause in beatus vir or beati omnes, and tell it to my parishioners…’
‘If I buy and promise to pay, except it be tallied, I forget it as quickly, and if men ask
it of me six or seven times I deny it with oaths; and thus I vex honest men ten hundred times.
And my servants’ wages are a long time behind, grievous17 is it to hear the reckoning when
we make up accounts; so with ill-will and wrath I pay my workmen.’
‘If any man doth me a benefit, and helpeth me in need, I am unkind towards his
courtesy and cannot understand it, for I have and have had something of a hawk’s way, I am
not lured18 with love, except there lie aught under the thumb19. The kindness that my fellow-
Christians showed me of yore, I, Sloth, have I forgotten it sixty times since. By speech and by
sparing20 of speech, I have wasted many a time both flesh and fish, and many other victuals;21
both bread and ale, butter, milk, and cheese, I have wasted carelessly in my service, till it
could serve no mass. I wandered about in youth and gave myself to learn naught, and for my
sloth have been a beggar ever since’.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) sloth: lene(vie), trîndăvie; (2) slimy eyes: ochi urduroşi; (3) beslobbered: plin de bale,
mînjit, nespălat; (4) to nap: a picoti, a aţipi (un pic), a trage un somn(ic) / un pui de somn; (5)
to stoop: a se apleca; (6) stool: scăunel, scaun fără spătar; (7) to shirt = to dress; (8) vows:
legăminte; (9) alehouse: cîrciumă, berărie; (10) fettered: puşi în fiare / lanţuri; (11) harlotry:
desfrîu, preacurvie; (12) cobbler: cîrpaci, cavaf; (13) vigils: veghe, noapte de veghe; (14)
matins: utrenie; (15) mass: liturghie, slujbă; (16) furrow: (înv., poetic) pămînt de semănat; (17)
grievous: amarnic, dureros, mîhnitor; (18) lured: ademenit; (19) except there lie aught under
the thumb: fără ceva bani în mână; doar dacă are ceva bani; (20) sparing < to spare: a cruţa, a
precupeţi; (21) victuals: mâncăruri, bucate, merinde.

RICHARD THE REDELESS

The Author warns King Richard
“Ye came to your kingdom ere ye knew yourself, crowned with such a crown that no
king under heaven could have bought a better I trow.1 It was tallied so full with stones of
strength, with pearls of price to punish wrongs, with rubies red for judging the right, with
gems and jewels joined together, and peace among the people through penalty of thy laws. It
was full goodly graven2 with gold all about. The branches above bore a great weight; with
rare diamonds feared of all who wrought any evil within or without;3 with loyalty and love
joined firm to thy peers,4 and sweet sapphires that sought out all wrongs, besprinkled5 with
pity wherever it be at all; and entwined6 with truth and trust all about; a crown well made for
any Christian king. But where this crown has gone to it would need a scholar7 to know. But as
far as I can declare it, I mean to, and will name no name; but those that were nearest, they full
privily plucked8 the power away, and rode with royal state through your realm; and as tyrants
took what they pleased from husbandmen,9 and paid them on their pates10 when their pence
fell short. For none of your people durst11 complain of their wrongs for dread of your dukes
and their many-fold harms. Men might as well have hunted a hare with a tabor 12 as ask any
amends for what they had misdone, or any of their men, though one would plead; for all were

56
companions in fellowship that ye went with, and no single person to punish the wrongs. And
that maddened thy men, as it needs must, for woe they knew not to whom to complain, for as
it is said in the days of our elders, ‘Where servants and master be all alike great, full woe to
the habitations and those who dwell therein’.13 They led you with love who dreaded your law
to judge your dukes’ misdeeds, so bold they were. Thus was your crown cracked.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) I trow: (arch.) I think, I believe; (2) graven: încrustat; (3) within or without: pe dinăuntru sau pe
dinafară; (4) thy peers: cei de o seamă cu tine; (5) besprinkled: presărat; (6) entwined: împletit, îmbinat;
(7) scholar: cărturar, învăţat; (8) full privily plucked the power away: tot într-ascuns au smuls / răpit
puterea; (9) husbandman: gospodar, agricultor; (10) pate: (înv.) căpăţână, tărtăcuţă, dovleac; (11) durst
= (arch.) Past Tense form of to dare; (12) tabor: (ist., înv.) tobă mică; (13) therein = in them.

THE BEGINNINGS OF ENGLISH PROSE

The triumph of English over French is obvious after the outbreak of the Hundred
Years’ War. Three successive parliaments were opened by speeches in English (1362-1364),
a statute of 1362 ordered legal proceedings to be conducted in English; after the Black Death
(i.e. the great plague epidemic in mid-14th century), English instead of French was used as the
medium of instruction in schools. Books of information were to be put into English, and
translations became recognized authorities among the reading public of the fifteenth century,
and they may be regarded as the beginning of popular readable English prose.
The Travels of Sir John Mandeville had been a household word in eleven languages
and for five centuries before it was ascertained that Sir John never lived, that his travels never
took place. The book is a guide and itinerary for pilgrims to the Holy Land, but actually it is a
collection of tales and legends as well as oddities of natural history, put together from many
sources. The “plot” of the story is simple. A certain John de Mandeville, knight of Saint
Albans, left England in 1322 to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. He travelled all over the
world, and on his return in 1343 was taken ill at Liège, who was persuaded by a doctor to
write an account of his travels, in order to alleviate his sufferings. Perhaps the author was a
compiler of books, Jean d’Outremeuse, who wrote about an old man who confessed to
Outremeuse on his death-bed that he was John de Mandeville, Earl of Monfort, who had been
compelled to live in disguise because he had killed a man of rank. Whoever its author was, he
carried out the most successful literary fraud ever known in one of the most delightful books
ever written. It is said that more than 300 manuscripts are in existence, and that there are at
least three distinct English versions. The unknown translators of this book made a genuine
contribution to English literature.

SUPPORT TEXT

SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE (14th century)

THE MONKS WHO FEED DIVERSE BEASTS (from the TRAVELS)

“From that city (Cassay) men go by water, solacing1 and disporting2 them, till they
come to an abbey of monks that is fast by,3 that be good religious men after their faith and
law. In that abbey is a great garden and a fair,4 where be many trees of diverse manner of
fruits. And in this garden is a little hill full of delectable trees. In that hill and in that garden
be many diverse beasts, as of apes, marmosets,5 baboons and many other diverse beasts. And
every day when the convent6 of this abbey hath eaten, the almoner7 let bear the relief to the
garden, and he smiteth8 on the garden gate with a clicket9 of silver that he holdeth in his hand;
and anon10 all the beasts of the hill and of diverse places of the garden come out a 3,000 or a
4,000, and they come in guise11 of poor men, and men give them the relief12 in fair vessels of
silver, clean overgilt.13 And when they have eaten, the monk smiteth eftsoons14 on the garden
gate with the clicket, and then anon all the beasts return again to their places that they come
from.”

57
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) solacing < to solace: a-şi afla mîngîierea / alinarea, a înveseli (pe cineva); (2) to disport: a
petrece, a se veseli; (3) is fast by: e (foarte) aproape, chiar alături; (4) fair: bîlci, iamaroc; (5)
marmoset: maimuţică (din America de Sud); (6) convent: mănăstire, schit; (7) almoner:
persoana însărcinată cu împărţirea pomenilor; (8) smiteth = (he) smites < to smite (P.T. smote,
P.P. smitten): a lovi, a izbi; (9) clicket: clanţă; (10) anon: pe dată, (de) îndată, pe loc; (11) in
guise of: (înv.) la fel cum (vin săracii…); (12) the relief: ajutor, pomană; (13) clean overgilt:
cu totul aurite, pe de-a-ntregul / cu totul suflate cu aur; (14) eftsoons: (înv.) din nou, iar.

THE GRIFFINS IN THE LAND OF BACHARIA (from the TRAVELS)

“In that country be many griffins,1 more plenty than in any other country. Some men
say that they have the body upward2 as an eagle, and beneath as a lion; and truly they say
sooth, that they be of that shape. But one griffin hath the body more great and is more strong
than eight lions, of such lions as be on this half, and more great and stronger than an hundred
eagles such as we have amongst us. For one griffin, there, will bear flying to his nest, a great
horse, if he may find him at the point, or two oxen yoked together as they go at the plough.
For he hath his talons3 so long and so large and great upon his feet, as though they were horns
of great oxen or of bugles4 or of kine,5 so that man make cups of them to drink of. And of
their ribs and of the pens6 of their wings, men make bow, full strong to shoot with arrows and
quarrels.”7
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) griffins: (mitol.) grifon; approx. zgripţor; (2) upward: în partea de sus; (3) talons: gheare;
(4) bugles: (arch.) wild oxen; (5) kine: (arch.) cow; (6) the pens of their wings: penele de la
aripile lor; (7) quarrel: (ist.) săgeată de arbaletă.

The Wars of the Roses

Instead of the needed period of peace to recover from the war with France, the
second half of the 15th century was marked by warfare between the descendants of the Duke
of York and the Duke of Lancaster who were both sons of Edward III. Because the House of
Lancaster had a red rose as its emblem and the House of York a white rose, this civil war is
called the War of the Roses. After a period of bitter warfare during which the crown
changed hands several times, the Earl of Richmond of the House of Lancaster, a Welshman,
married Elizabeth, heiress of the House of York, and ascended the throne as Henry VII
(1485), the first of the Tudors. He put the ideals of peace and order on to a new institutional
basis, and thus was able to leave England in a position to seize great opportunities in the
coming era.
Along with the social upheaval came a change in the attitude towards the Church.
The way was paved for a new phase in English history. The country was moving towards
nationalism, a more modern economy, a questioning attitude towards the ecclesiastical – i.
e. spiritual power, and above all towards the idea that a man’s place in society was not
necessarily a fixed thing nor was his earthly existence so unimportant. The first whisper of
the Renaissance was in the air.

The changing English language

William the Conqueror and his Normans were of Viking stock. But having lived in
northern France for a hundred years they had acquired a northern variety of French. The
invasion force William led across the Channel represented a civilisation that was more
highly cultured than that of the Anglo-Saxons. After the victory at Hastings this disciplined
and organised people became the ruling class in England and their French supplanted Old
English / Anglo-Saxon as the official language. The Norman barons and their followers

58
spoke only French, their children learned French at home and in school, and all
governmental, legal and military matters were conducted in French. As a national language,
English seemed doomed to extinction. But, amazingly, English was victorious. It took about
three centuries for this victory to be accomplished and many different influences to bring it
about. Firstly, ordinary Englishman clung to their language. They did not willingly speak
French, though the leading class had to. In the second place, the English were the majority.
But perhaps the leading factor in the ultimate victory of English was a gradually developing
nationalism. Norman as well as Plantagenet kings claimed lands in France – and they had to
fight the kings of France. In these cases the Norman warriors from England began to think
of France as an alien land and of themselves as Englishmen. Some of the Norman kings
invited lords from France to come to England and bestowed land and wealth up to them.
Such “gifts” to “foreigners” were resented by the descendants of the original Norman
invaders, who regarded themselves as Englishmen. This national spirit and the resentment of
foreigners / newcomers advanced a growing tolerance of things English, including the
language.
Another factor in the victory of English was the advance in status of the native
English people. A great number of Englishmen rose to position of influence and respect.
Because they were part of the majority of the people, their use of English for the affairs and
business seemed natural and right. English was increasingly used, until 1362, almost exactly
three hundred years after the Norman Conquest, when the English language was declared by
royal decree the official language of the courts of law. In the schools it was in use by 1350
and by 1385 it was the language of all people.
Early in the fourteenth century, the growing status of English is indicated by the fact
that writers were turning by preference to English as their vehicle for writing. One of the
greatest English-born writers who decided to write his poems in English was Geoffrey
Chaucer.
The development of Middle English: When the Scandinavians and the English
mingled in the 8th and 9th centuries, they spoke languages derived from a common ancestor
tongue; the grammar of those languages was parallel, so no conflict developed. But when
Norman-French and English mixed, the speakers used languages more remotely related,
with entirely different types of grammar. As a result French and English could not blend or
fuse; it was the English grammatical type which emerged. The influence of French grammar
on English is virtually negligible, but the influence of French words of the English
vocabulary was one of the great formative forces in Middle and Modern English. It was not
until 1250, when the English had lost Normandy to the French king and the new English
nationalism had made itself felt, that the inflow of French words into English became
considerable. From this time on, borrowing accelerated – by 1400 the English vocabulary
was enlarged and enriched by a very great number of French words. These words, borrowed
before 1250, show the relationship between ruling and subordinate class. The English
people began to use words like noble, dame, servant, feasts, messenger, and large numbers
of words connected with religion, such as sermon, communion, confession, clergy, abbey,
convent. Most of these words were of Latin origin but were absorbed into English from
French forms (an interesting example – which should not, though, be overemphasised – of
the relation between the French and English peoples emerged from the names of food
animals that the English tended and the French ate as meats on the dinner table: deer or stag
were eaten as venison, pig or hog as pork, cow or bull became beef, calf – veal; sheep –
mutton).
French words adopted into English after 1250 show the merging of interests and
activities of the two peoples. Many words connected with government, law and business
(e.g. crown, state, realm, courtier, justice, equity, warrant, felony, manor, bill, petition,
estate, executor) were taken over from the French.
As the cultural interests and opportunities of the English increased, more words
from literature, art, medicine, fashion and social life were absorbed.
Thus by the close of the Middle English we find an English language still English in
grammar but vastly enriched in vocabulary (i.e. words and ideas) from the cultural resources

59
of French. The English language between the years 1000 and 1400 was greatly simplified in
structure. In essence it changed from being a language fairly rich in inflected forms to a
language of relatively few inflections.
This change is called the levelling of the inflections. Form of words, principally
endings, which once were distinct from each other in order to express grammatical
relationships, lost their distinctions until they merged into a few, and sometimes one single,
surviving form. As endings were gradually confused and lost, the grammatical relationships
which they expressed was taken over by patterns, and arrangement of words became very
important. By word-order we express relationships formerly indicated by endings. The
source of Modern English is the East Midland dialect spoken during the middle ages by the
city of London, the rapidly growing centre of government and commerce. This dialect came
to be looked upon as “the King’s English”, the official dialect of England. About 1370,
Geoffrey Chaucer chose to write in this dialect, like William Caxton, when introducing
printing to England, a century later. In this way the speech of a particular region became
“standard English”; most of Modern English is descended from this East Midland dialect,
although it will be fair to say that some of the other regional variants of English made their
contribution to the resulting admixture. But Chaucer’s writing was also the landmark
separating Middle English from its successor, Modern English – and that could be perceived
in the alteration and necessary reshuffling of later prosody: “Chaucer’s accurate and sure
versification ceased to be understood soon after his death. When the final e had become
entirely mute, Chaucer’s line, badly read and transcribed, and later badly printed, seemed to
be variable and irregular…” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 155).

CHAUCER AND HIS AGE

A sketch of his life: Geoffrey Chaucer belonged to a family that had resided in
London for at least several generations. His father and grandfather were vintners and men of
substance. The poet was born in London, no earlier than 1330, and no later than 1340, the
evidence pointing to the latter date rather than to the former. The son of a vintner, Chaucer
was educated at Cambridge and Oxford. His connections with the royal court began when he
was assigned page in the household of the Duke of Clarence, the third son of Edward III. His
life was eventful and his life experience was considerable: as a man, Chaucer knew the ups
and downs of life, he experienced both the joys and disappointments of human existence; as a
member of the retinue of Lionel, Duke of Clarence, he probably married Philippa, who was
an attendant of the Duke’s wife, Elizabeth, Countess of Ulster. In 1359 he went with Clarence
on Edward III’s great expedition to France. Chaucer was taken prisoner, but was ransomed
after a short time. The Treaty of Brétigny brought peace (or rather a truce), and Chaucer, soon
after his return to England, became a member of the king’s household.
Being risen in the service of the court, he was employed on many diplomatic
missions. In 1373 he visited Italy, which had an important influence on his literary career. A
year later he was appointed controller of the customs of wool, skins and tanned hides in the
port of London, and his income from various sources was really considerable. During three
years of prosperous life he wrote minor verse, ballads, roundels, etc., a few of which had been
preserved. The great body of his work was produced during the reign of Richard II.
In 1378 Chaucer was sent on another diplomatic mission to Italy. In 1386 he
represented the county of Kent in Parliament, in which strong proceedings were taken against
Chaucer’s patron, John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and the poet suffered from the
resentment of the Gloucester party. He was deprived of his public appointments, and his wife
soon afterwards died. He addressed himself, however, to his poetical work, and the next two
years were the most prolific of his literary career. In 1389 the young king took the
government into his own hands, and Chaucer was restored to his former offices. He was
appointed clerk of the king’s works at Westminster, the Tower, and his numerous manors. He
was deprived of his offices again in 1391, and in the subsequent years he suffered a good deal
from poverty and debt, and seems to have been in constant want of means. He was rendered
free of care in the last year of his life by the accession of Henry IV.

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 Geoffrey Chaucer died in 1400, and was buried in Westminster Abbey (“He died in
his own house in Westminster, and was buried in the Abbey, his place of interment being the
chapel of St Benedict, thereafter named Poets’ Corner” – George Sampson, op. cit., p. 65).
Chaucer’s literary creation: Geoffrey Chaucer is not merely the greatest English
poet of mediaeval (and early Renaissance) times, but he is one of the greatest English poets of
all times. There have been preserved no autograph manuscripts of any of his works. He
himself made no attempt to collect his writings, or to catalogue them, or even to finish them.
What is known of Chaucer is that he inherited the high courtly tradition of French poetry, and
that, with all his Italian acquirements and his English spirit, he was French in the grace and
skills of his technique. The French and Italians were to Chaucer what the Greeks and Romans
were to later poets, and they helped him to such mastery that the English poets of his own
century and of the next hailed him as their chief. “Chaucer’s first act of faith in the only
tongue which was to him a living language, nothwinstanding he clearly saw its defects, was to
inculcate in it all the delicacy and refinement he perceived in the poetry of France. He
disregarded the debased, artificial, and prosaic Anglo-Norman, and went straight to the
Continent to seek masters and models.” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 132).
Critics and historians usually (and conventionally) divide his literary activity in three
main periods: the French period (including the years in which he wrote love poems, and also
the period when he translated and augmented the French Roman de la Rose), the Italian
period (in which Chaucer-the poet wrote The House of Fame, under the direct influence of
Dante’s La Divina Commedia, as well as The Parliament of Fowls, a dream-allegory, The
Legend of Good Women, and Troilus and Cryseyde), and the English period. The most
important period of his creation is the so-called English period. The first period comprises his
early poems. Passing over the names of some minor pieces, the first important work
belonging to this period is The Romaunt of the Rose, the great allegorical poem of the Middle
Ages. In all his early work Chaucer was under French influence, the effect of which is
especially seen in the ease and grace so characteristic of his verse: “Like the French trouvères,
Chaucer has a lightness of heart which is not tumultuous but diffused. It is born of his
pleasure in life and is revealed by his taste for the well-lit pictures which call up spring, the
month of May, flowers, birds, and music. One line, in which he resumes the youth of his
Squire, might be the device of all his poetry: He was as fressh as the moneth of May.” (Émile
Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 134). The original work of two French poets, Guillaume
de Lorris and Jean de Meung / Meun, is of great length, extending to over 22,000 lines. The
translation, less than a third of the French poem, is divided into three parts: the first (1 to
1705) is generally admitted to be Chaucer’s; his supposed authorship of the second (to
15,810) is generally rejected; and the third, consisting of over 1,800 lines, is not “glaringly
unlike Chaucer’s work” (in the opinion of Dr. Skeat). The poem is – as was usual at the time
– cast in the form of a dream. A lover comes upon a garden. Entering, he is met by many
allegorical personages, and, coming to the well of Narcissus, he sees in the crystal stones at
the bottom a view of the garden and a beautiful rose-tree. Among its flowers was one
“So fair, that of the remenaunt noon / Ne preyse I half so wel as it.”
Love pierces him at once with five arrows, and then follows the long pursuit for the
possession of the rose.
The Boke of the Duchesse (or The Death of Blanche) was written in 1369, on the
death of Blanche of Lancaster, wife of John of Gaunt. It is strongly characteristic of his early
period, and shows his indebtedness to the French period. In his earlier works Geoffrey
Chaucer followed the conventional manners of the age, and the rules which governed the
prevailing taste in the personification of abstract ideas. He shows but little humour in the
poems of this period, for this great quality, so intrinsically characteristic of much of his later
works, developed with his years, extended observation, and ripe experience of public life.
Poems of Chaucer’s middle life: Chaucer’s second Italian mission had a marked
influence on his work as a poet. He, having learned Italian, made acquaintance with the works

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of Dante and Boccaccio.109 His poem Troilus and Criseyde was inspired from Boccaccio’s
Filostrato. This narrative poem has over 8,000 lines in length. In Chaucer’s hands Criseyde is
entirely attractive and more realistically depicted. By presenting this beautiful woman the
writer marks a step forward towards originality and realism: “In his Troylus he was half
Italian and half English. In his masterpiece he was to be all English.” (Émile Legouis, Louis
Cazamian, op. cit., p. 144). It is, maybe, for the first time in English literature that woman is
presented in flesh and blood.
“Criseyde was this lady name a-right:
As to my dome, an all Troyes citee
Was noon so fair, fur passing every wight
So nungellyk was her natyf beautee,
That lyk a thing immortal semed she,
As doth an hevenish parfit creature,
That doun were sent in scorning of nature.”
The Parlement of Foules: It is an allegorical poem of about the same period, and is
considered to have reference to the negotiations, which lasted a year, concerning the marriage
of Richard II with Anne of Bohemia, for whose hand there were three competitors. The poem,
written in seven-line stanzas, is cast in the form of a dream. The poet is reading The Dream of
Scipio by Macrobius (a Latin writer who died in AD 415) and, falling asleep, Scipio appears
and leads him to a beautiful garden, where the goddess Nature presides, and all the birds are
assembled to choose mates for the year. In her hand is a beautiful formel (=female) eagle, and
three competitors dispute as to which is to be the mate of the royal bird. Nature orders one of
each order of birds to give an opinion on the matter – and here Chaucer’s knowledge of open-
air life and a touch of his delicate humour find expression. Weary of the discussion, the
goddess asks the eagle to choose for herself, and she replies,
“My rightful goddesse of Nature,
Soth is it that I am ever under your yerde (= “correction”)
Lyk as is everiche other creature,
And moot be youres whyl my lyf may dure;
And therefor graunteth me my firste bone 110
And myn entente I wol yow sey right sone. . . .
Almighty quene, unto this yeer be doon
I aske respit 111 for to avysen me.”
The House of Fame: This poem (written in octosyllabic couplets) was produced in
1384. It was not finished and contains three books, and over 2,100 lines in length. It is also
written in the usual form of a dream. The poet finds himself in a temple of glass, in which are
golden images and paintings of figures and scenes from the whole range of classical literature.
He is carried to the House of Fame by an eagle, on command of Jupiter, for his service to the
cause of love. Still, the poet’s mood is less aereal than the artistic pose he has, so to speak,
embarked on: “In this imperfect and characteristic poem, Chaucer, with his intelligent,
bantering spirit, strolls through the ‘highest heaven of invention’. He refuses, once for all, to
give himself wholly to the sublime or to believe profoundly in purely spiritual conceptions.’
(Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 139).
The Legend of Good Women: This poem of 2,600 lines is composed in the rimed
heroic couplet. It is written in honour of women noted for their constancy. The poet dreams

109 Giovanni Boccaccio [b'k:tiu] (1313-1375): Italian poet, famous for the collection of tales called
The Decameron; also author of Filostrato and Teseide; influenced by Petrarch, also born in Florence. * Dante
Alighieri ['dnti li'gjeri] (1265-1321): Italian poet, born in Florence. His masterpiece La divina commedia
/ The Divine Comedy (1307-1321) is an epic account in three parts of the poet’s journey through Hell,
Purgatory, and Paradise, during (part of) which he is guided by the Latin poet Virgil; his scattered lyrics are
included in his Canzoniere; he also wrote La Vita Nuova / New Life.
110 Bone = boon: a benefit someone enjoys; a blessing, or a thing one should be thankful for (Rom.

“binefacere, binecuvîntare; dar, favoare”; here “rugăminte, hatîr”).

111 Respit = respite “a delay, an interval of relief” (Rom. “răgaz; pace, tihnă”).

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that he was reproved by the god of love for having written lightly of women and the immortal
passion. He is defended by Alcestis, who commands him to write:
“A glorious Legende,
Of Gode Wommen, maidenes and wyves,
That weren trewe in lovinge al hir lyves.”
This is to be given to the queen, so that the poem must have been written after 1382,
the year of her arrival in England. He tells the story of nine women, and for this general plan
he is indebted to Boccaccio and Ovid. The Prologue to this poem is of great interest and
literary value. It is the most personal, varied and complete utterance that is left from Chaucer.
But perhaps because he found the stories of these beautiful martyrs of love becoming
monotonous, he abandoned the whole project and turned to his masterpiece, The Canterbury
Tales. Yet, the style of his early period of creation is wholly commendable – that of a genuine
artist: “There is the charm of fluent simplicity, complete correspondence of words and
thoughts. Chaucer’s best verses merely note facts, external details, or characteristics of
feeling. There is constant restraint, alike in expressing emotion and satire. When he touches
the pathetic, he stops short of cries and weeping; he tempers his irony with wit, and he
provokes smiles rather than unchecked laughter. Everywhere there are undefinable sobriety
and good manners which imply that the poet is ruled by intelligence, rather than carried away
by passion. In other words, his temperamental and intellectual powers are perfectly
ballanced.” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 135).
The Canterbury Tales: The poem belongs to the third period of his creation, a
period which is considered to be the most original and realistic one. It is his greatest achie-
vement. He adopted the plan of Boccaccio in The Decameron, in which a number of tales are
told by ten ladies and gentlemen, who took up their residence in a villa outside the walls of
Florence while a plague epidemic was raging in the city. As a matter of fact, The Canterbury
Tales followed a pattern known as “frame-story”, which had already been used by Boccaccio
in his Decameron, and which was later used by Marguerite (or Margaret) de Navarre in her
Heptameron, too. The idea of collecting stories / tales was by no means a new one: popular
for a long time all over Europe and even in the Islamic world (e.g. The Arabian Nights).112 At
a time when the plot had not yet been discovered as a literary device, the “frame” was a
pretext for grouping together several stories. But his great ‘step forward’ was represented by
the natural return to his realistic genius: “He had been held by allegory or lyrical narrative
when his genius was impelling him, irresistibly, towards dramatic and realistic storytelling,
the weaving of a web in which the threads would be both comic and sentimental.” (Émile
Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 145).
The shrine of St. Thomas--Becket at Canterbury was a famous scene of pilgrimage
during the Middle Ages, and Chaucer chooses it as the scene of his tales. So the pretext of his
work is the yearly pilgrimages to the tomb of Thomas--Becket. The poet brings together at
the Tabard Inn, in Southwark, twenty-nine pilgrims under the charge of Henry Bailey, the
host. It is arranged that each pilgrim should tell two stories on the outward, and two others on
the homeward journey, and the best story-teller was to sup at the expense of the rest of the
party. The scheme was very ambitious, as it was not only to include some hundred and twenty
tales, including those of two persons, who joined on the road, but also the doings of the
pilgrims at Canterbury. Yet, the poet succeeded in writing only twenty-four, out of which four
were left unfinished (two of these are told by the poet himself, one is unfinished, and another
but a fragment).
Chaucer’s conception was far superior to that of The Decameron; the Italian
personages are of the same rank, and their stories become more or less monotonous.
Chaucer’s pilgrims, on the contrary, are from every walk of life and rank of society, except
the very highest and lowest; they are skilfully portrayed, and the stories they tell are
admirably selected so as to heighten the contrast; “he made his group of pilgrims into a
picture of the society of this time of which the like is not to be found elsewhere. Except for
royalty and the nobles on the one hand, and the dregs of the people on the other, two classes

112 (The) Arabian Nights: Romanian (Cele) O Mie şi Una de Nopţi or Halimà.

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whom probability excluded from sharing a pilgrimage, he painted, in brief, almost the whole
English nation.” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 147). The book begins with a
general prologue, which is a masterpiece of English and world literature. It is in this Prologue
that the poet places his action in time and space:
“When the sweet showers of April have pierced
The drought of March, and pierced it to the root
And every vein is bathed in that moisture
Whose quickening force will engender the flower;
It happened at this season, that one day
In Southwark at the Tabard where I stayed
Ready to set out on my pilgrimage
To Canterbury, and pay devout homage,
There came at nightfall to the hostelry
Some nine-and-twenty in a company,
Folk of all kind, met in accidental
Companionship, for they were pilgrims all:
It was to Canterbury that they rode . . . .”
It is also in this Prologue that he introduces his characters, one by one.
In Geoffrey Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales, the motif of the journey / travelling is
structural, providing for an adequate framework to the narrative / the epic poem. Actually, it
was inspired as such by previous literary works, in which the stories are told by various
people (voice characters), who get together on various occasions: one of this occasions is
really travelling / pilgrimage (cf. Boccaccio’s Decameron, in which the story-tellers are
citizens of Florence, gathered together by the danger of plague). But, unlike Boccacio: “It was
strongly individualized narrators, taken from the most diverse classes, whom he wished to
interpose between himself and his readers; and at last he had the very simple and yet quite
novel idea of a pilgrimage which would unite people of every condition.” (Émile Legouis,
Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 145). With Chaucer, the motif of the journey is highly illustrative
of the willingness and gusto the Renaissance man had for being in new places with people
and having new experiences. This is in fact a new humanity, who, in a way, can be said to re-
discover themselves: during their journey / trip / pilgrimage, such Renaissance people can
discover their own hidden selves, in action. In space, (but also in time, by means of their own
stories) they are perfect explorers, curious, receptive people. At least two of them have
callings related to travelling (the Seaman and the Pardoner).
In a way, Chaucer is the first modern English creator (especially prose-writer): he has
a special way of handling irony, which is definitely a modern feature of literary creation. His
characters are described one by one. The details are those that would strike the eye of a
fellow-traveller. The deliberately contrived disorder, giving an air of naturalness and
spontaneity, is another proof of Chaucer’s originality. The author as a fellow-pilgrim naively
notes what he sees or learns about the others in casual order. It is Chaucer’s assumed naivety
as an observer that turns him into a great ironist.
Chaucer had already experimented two different tones of voice in The Parliament of
Fowls. His two voices (i.e. the anonymous voice, the conventional literary man’s voice, on
the one hand, and the voice of a vividly present persona calling itself Chaucer, on the other
hand) exploit the dramatic effects of the most serious technical limitations of Middle English
literature: its dependence on oral recitation.
On April 23rd the party set off to Canterbury. When they leave, the bells of the
Monk’s horse are jingling in the breeze, and the Miller is playing a lively tune on his bag-
pipe:
“He liked to play his bag-pipe up and down
And that was how he brought us out of town.”
Lots are drawn to find out who is to tell the first tale; the lots fell on the Knight. Then
follow the tales, told in turns by each pilgrim; when at last the group comes in sight of the
spire of the Canterbury Cathedral, the poem breaks off.

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 Some of the stories were written independently at an earlier period and afterwards
they were included in the framework of the Tales. The two tales told by the poet himself are
The Rime of Sir Topas and The Tale of Melibee. The poet proves to be a great creative artist
as well as a realistic painter of character, and no less a skilful story-teller. He was less an
innovator and much more a great transformer; he resorted to a traditional scheme (or
framework) and used inherited plots and forms, to create a living picture of the society of his
own day. Geoffrey Chaucer presents his pilgrims against the (realistically depicted or evoked)
background of rank, profession and remarks about the place the respective pilgrim holds in
his rank and calling. He also adds descriptions of each pilgrim’s attire and some striking
physical features or personal habits and tricks. Contrasting different callings and trades as a
means of character-drawing may not seem something revolutionary or epoch-making
(especially to our eyes as modern readers), but: “It was, however, a novelty. It had no
precedent outside obscure corners of a rudimentary drama, and it was to mark a turning-point
in European thought. It was more than a literary innovation. It was a change of mental
attitude. Poetry turned, with tolerant curiosity, to the study of man and manners. For the first
time, the relation between individuals and ideas was clearly realized.” (Émile Legouis, Louis
Cazamian, op. cit., p. 147)
So, Chaucer’s characters belong to almost all the social strata and classes, e.g. the
Knight and the Squire represent the nobility as an outdated class, the Prioress, the Monk, the
Friar, the Parson and the Nuns represent the clergy, the Merchant, the Clerk of Oxford, the
Doctor of Physics, the Wife of Bath, the Cook, the Sailor, the Dyer, the Weaver and the
Miller represent the middle-class and the townsfolk; the Sergeant of Law and the Summoner
represent the law.
All these individuals representing every class from Plowman to Knight recreate the
social scene of Chaucer’s own age: “He is as truly the social chronicler of England in the late
fourteenth century as Froissart is the political and military chronicler of the same period.”
(Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 147). They are more than a framework: the poet
minutely presents their habits of thinking, prejudices, professional bias, familiar ideas,
personal idiosyncrasies.
Chaucer also gives us a vivid description of the chromatic elements in the garments
of various characters, e.g. the Knight is dressed in black and white; the Squire is dressed in
red and white, the Yeoman is dressed in green and white. The embroideries on the Squire’s
shirt resemble a “meadow bright”.
Each and every character is a coherent entity: the outer appearance of the characters is
in accordance with their inner disposition and with their stories. The characters are portrayed
by means of physical details, the language they speak and the content or type of the tale they
tell. The Summoner, for instance, has both a very ugly character and a repulsive outer
appearance; the Miller has a wart on his nose and on top of that wart he has a tuft of hair. He
has a reddish complexion and hair and, at his sight, the children usually run away.

The Pilgrims and the social ranks to which they belong

1. The nobility (the fighting, and also the ruling class). The Knight, who had fought
on many a battlefield and had seen many a foreign country; he is a wise and distinguished
man who prizes:
“…truth, honour, generous thoughts, and courtesy. . .”
Here is a hint at the ideal sort of knight. So, the Knight is a wise and distinguished
man. He praises truth, honour, courtesy, generosity. His romance about Palamon and Arcite
was later used as a source by Shakespeare and John Fletcher in their collaborative play The
Two Noble Kinsmen (1613).
There is also a line young Squire, the Knight’s son; he is a romantic youth “with curly
locks, as if they had been pressed.” He has “wonderful agility and strength”. As to his
garments, Chaucer humorously points out that

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 “He was embroidered like a meadow bright
All full of freshest flowers red and white . . .”
Chaucer hints at the funny impression the Squire’s highly adorned clothes made a
man of sober taste. As far as his accomplishments were concerned, they were remarkable but
in keeping with the education which young noblemen enjoyed at the time:
“He knew the way to sit a horse and ride,
He could make songs and poems and recite,
He knew how to joust and dance, to draw and write.”
His temperament reminds the author of the renewal of Nature in spring, and therefore
he uses an image related to those in the folk ballads:
“He was as fresh as is the month of May.”
2. The clergy: To this category belongs pilgrims of various ranks and types. The
higher and more prosperous ones include an aristocratic, dignified Prioress, Madame
Eglantyne, whose (mainly ironical) portrait is masterfully delineated by the poet:
“Her greatest oath was just ‘By St. Loy!’
And she was known as Madame Eglantyne . . .
And she spoke French well and elegantly
As she’d been taught it at Stratford-at-Bow,
For French of Paris was to her unknown.”
Her table manners are insisted upon, since they were unusually distinguished in that
period when there were no forks, when after dinner everyone had to wash their hands, and
when bones were flung on the floor. Therefore, it is remarkable that:
“She never let a crumb from her mouth fall;
She never soiled her fingers, dipping deep
Into the sauce; when lifting to her lips
Some morsel, she was careful not to spill
So much as one small drop upon her breast.”
Her greatest pleasure was in etiquette:
“Her courtly kind of grace” perfectly matched her kind-heartedness and love of
animals:
“She kept some little dogs, and these she fed
On roast meat, or on milk and fine white bread,
But how she’d weep if one of them were dead.”
Besides, this religious, sentimental woman was not indifferent to worldly finery and
jewels; she wore a coral bracelet, as well as a string of green beads:
“And from it hung a brilliant brooch of gold
On which there was engraved a large, crowned A
Followed by Amor vincit omnia…”
The Monk: He was far from meeting the common requirements imposed upon holy
men. His appearance, and also his attire showed that he did not despise worldly pleasures; he
was also a man of fashion. The Monk is fat, he likes worldly pleasures, he likes to eat a lot; he
is a man of fashion, his coat is trimmed with fine grey fur, and he has greyhounds as swift as
birds.
“I noticed that his sleeves were edged and trimmed
With squirrel fur, the finest in the land,
For fastening his hood beneath his chin,
He wore an elaborate golden pin,
Twined with a love-knot at the larger end.”
His abiding hobby was hunting and riding:
“Kept greyhounds swifter than a bird in flight,
Hard riding, and the hunting of the hare,
Were what he loved, and opened his purse for.”

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 The Friar belonged to a religious mendicant order. 113 An unprincipled man of loose
morals, a flatterer and a seducer, a drunkard and a reveller, who made a dishonest living by
giving absolution to anyone who could pay.
“He was an easy man in giving shrift,
When sure of getting a substantial gift. . . .
. . . .The pockets of his hood were stuffed with knives
And pins to give away to pretty wives.
He had a pleasant singing voice, for sure,
Could sing and play the fiddle beautifully. . . . .
He knew the taverns well in every town,
And all the barmaids and the inn-keepers,
Better than lepers or the street-beggars.”
In the Prologue the reader can find more representatives of the clergy who are
mentioned by the author: a Nun (who accompanies the Prioress), three Priests (but Chaucer
does not dwell on them), a Canon of religion, who joins the party of pilgrims on their way; he
is attended by a Yeoman; there is also a Pardoner, who is just back from “The Court of
Rome” with plenty of pardons and fake relics to sell. The Pardoner who sells indulgences is
Chaucer’s greatest masterpiece of character drawing, implying a whole world of moral
hypocrisy, but Chaucer’s irony is best expressed in the portrait of the Prioress. Her portrait is
built in sentences going in pairs, and the second sentence is always introduced by the
conjunction but, in a dichotomy of appearance versus essence: she had a perfect command of
the French language, but not the French spoken in Paris; she was well-bred, but her good
breeding meant that she let no morsel fall from her lips; she was very piteous, but her pity
concerned mice and dogs (not human beings); she was a nun, but her brooch was engraved
with the Latin proverb Amor vincit omnia (instead of Labor vincit omnia).
A place apart among the ecclesiastics is held by the poor town Parson. He belongs to
the humbler members of the clergy. In contrast with the other corrupt ecclesiastics, he stands
for the honest, hard-working priest who pursues no material profit and sees to his
parishioners’ needs. He leads a sober life and his only concern is to alleviate the sufferings of
those in distress. He is a living example of purity and selfless devotion to his fellows:
“He was a shepherd and no mercenary
Holy and virtuous he was, but then
Never contemptuous of sinful men,
Never disdainful, never too proud or fine
But was discreet in teaching and benign.”
3. The middle classes: The townsfolk, representative of the liberal professions,
craftsmen, etc. This class is represented by a pompous, self-complacent Merchant. Stress is
laid on his skill in making money and his concern to secure free naval routes for his
merchandise.
“He gave out his opinions pompously,
Kept talking of the profits that he’d made,
How, at all costs, the sea should be policed
From Middleburg in Holland to Harwich.
At money-changing he was an expert;
He dealt in French gold florins on the quiet.”
4. The liberal professions: The Clerk of Oxford (i.e. the student of Oxford), a gentle
man, wearing a threadbare coat and riding a lean horse, is delineated with a master’s art. He is
poor, because, being too fond of learning, he spends all his money on books:
“The horse he rode was leaner than a rake,
And he himself, believe me, none too fat,
But hollow-cheeked, and grave and serious,
Threadbare indeed was his short overcoat…”
All his fortune was:

113 The mendicant monks’ orders, such as the Franciscans, used to beg for money in order to live.

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 “A library, bound in black calf or red
Of Aristotle, and his philosophy . . .
And though he was a man of science, yet
He had but little gold in his strongbox;
But upon books and learning he would spend
All he was able to obtain from friends; . . . .
The thought of moral virtue filled his speech
And he would gladly learn, and gladly teach . . .”
The Doctor of Physic: 114 In this character we recognize the features of two ages; his
unscientific training reminds us of the backward state of science at that time; his lucre 115 is
characteristic of the dawn of that time. His practice is based on astrology and magic rather
than on science. All he did was to swindle his patients out of their money
“Skilled to pick out the astrologic moment
For charm and talismans to aid the patient,
He knew the cause of every malady
If it were ‘hot’ or ‘cold’ or ‘moist’ or ‘dry’
And where it came from, and from which humour.”
As for his attire
“He was dressed all in Persian blue and scarlet
Lined with taffeta 116 and fine sarsenet;”117
Yet:
“He didn’t do much reading in the Bible”
and he said:
“In medicine gold is the best cordial 118
So, it was gold that he loved best of all.”
He is a tight-fisted man, loves gold and has no scruples as to the ways of making
money. It is during the spells of pestilence that he became rich:
“He put by all he earned from pestilence.”
5. The rural classes: The representative al the landed gentry is the Franklin, a small
landowner, a freeholder but not a nobleman. He has an athletic figure and he leads a life of
plenty and sets store by tasty meals and drinks. Guests are welcome to his household:
“White was his beard, as white as any daisy;
Sanguine his temperament; his face ruddy;
He loved his morning draught or sops-in-wine,
Since living well was ever his custom, . . .
And he kept open house so lavishly. . .
His bread and ale were always of the best,
Like his wine-cellar which was unsurpassed.
Cooked food was never lacking in his house,
Both meat and fish, and that so plenteous
That in his home it snowed with food and drink,
And all the delicacies you could think.”
Like many other squires he holds various offices of honour in the country; he is a
Justice,119 a Sheriff.
6. The craftsmen: The prosperous townsfolk of the early middle classes are to be
found in Chaucer’s work. Among them we should include The Wife of Bath, the Dyer, the
Haberdasher, the Carpenter, the Weaver, the Upholsterer, all of them bearing the same livery

114 Physic: medicine (cf. physician).

115 Lucre: profit.
116 Taffeta: any of various fabrics of silk, linen, wool, etc., usually smooth, crisp, and lustrous, with a fine

crosswise rib effect.

117 Sarcenet or sarsenet: a very fine, soft silk fabric, used especially for linings.
118 Cordial: medicine for the heart.
119 I.e. a judge in a court.

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denoting membership in the same guild; their clothing actually points to their material
prosperity:
“A haberdasher, and a carpenter,
A weaver, dyer, tapestry-maker –
And they were in the uniform livery
Of dignified and rich fraternity.
A parish-guild; their gear all trim and fresh,
Knives, silver-mounted, none of your cheap brass;
Their belts and purses neatly stitched as well,
All finely finished to the last detail.
. . . They had a cook with them for all occasion,
To boil the chickens up with marrow bones,
Tart powdered,120 flavouring, spiced with galingale.” 121
The Wife of Bath: by name Alison, she is one of Chaucer’s most original
contributions to the portraits of the pilgrims. Everything is striking in her, starting from the
description of her appearance and her gaudy attire:
“There was a business woman from near Bath, . . . .
Her headkerchiefs were of the finest weave,
Ten pounds and more they weighed, I do believe,
Those that she wore on Sundays on her head.
Her stockings were of finest scarlet red,
Were tightly laced; shoes pliable and new.
Bold was her face, and handsome; florid too.
She had been respectable all her life.”
While all these things point to her being well-off, her tight red stockings point to her
rather flippant character. She is an exuberant, healthy and strong middle-aged woman
enjoying life to the full.
“And five times married, that’s to say in church,
Not counting other lovers she’d had in youth,
Of whom, just now, there is no need to speak.”
Yet she is a pious woman, as
“. . . she had thrice been to Jerusalem;
Had wandered over many a foreign stream;
And she had been at Rome, and at Boulogne,
St James of Compostella, and Cologne;
She knew all about wandering – and straying;
For she was gap-toothed, if you take my meaning.” 122
This widely travelled woman, rather coarse and vulgar in her speech and fond of
gossip is, however, no idle woman; she is a skilful weaver:
“So skilled a clothmaker, that she outdistanced
Even the weavers of Ypres and Ghent.” 123
The Wife of Bath is one of the best achieved personages of the whole series, a
perfectly sketched personage. She can be likened to such famous characters in world literature
as Rabelais’ Panurge or Shakespeare’s Sir John Falstaff; a universally valid, all-time
character, ”the famous Wife of Bath, indubitably the most vigorous of Chaucer’s creations,
(…) lives less by her tale than by the immense monologue in which she gives outlet to her
feelings as she rides along the road.” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 150).

120 Tart (adj.): sharp to the taste.

121 Galingale: a sedge of England, having aromatic roots.
122 Being gap-toothed was a sign of a lascivious nature, and also that the owner would travel.
123 Ypres and Ghent: Towns in Flanders, famous centres of the weaving industry at the time; today in

Belgium; the French name of the latter is Gand.

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 The Skipper: Though not a craftsman proper, he rounds off the miniature picture of
the various orders and walk of life of the fourteenth century society. His portrait aptly and
directly points to his profession:
“. . . Summer had tanned him brown;
As rough a diamond as you’d hope to find;
He’d tapped 124 and lifted many a stoup of wine 125
From Bordeaux, when the merchant wasn’t looking;
He hadn’t time for scruples or fine feeling . . .
He was shrewd adventurer, tough and hardy . . . .
And he knew ail the harbours that there were
Between the Baltic and Cape Finisterre,
And each inlet of Britanny and Spain. 126
The ship he sailed was called The Magdalen.”
He is fond of drinking and has no qualms of conscience as to his victims; as presented
by Chaucer, he was a merciless privateer (i.e. commander on a private armed vessel) that
captured many merchant vessels. “Sent his prisoners home” means that he threw them
overboard.
Other social strata living in the country are represented by The Miller, the cunning
Reeve, the shrewd Manciple, 127 the poor Ploughman and some others.
“A worthy manciple of the Middle Temple
Was there; he might have served as an example
To all provision-buyers for his thrift
In making purchase,128 whether on credit
Or for cash down; he kept an eye on prices,
So always got in first and did good business.
And there was a reeve, a thin and bilious man; 129
His beard he shaved as close as a man can;
Around his ears he kept his hair cropped short, 130
Just like a priest’s, docked in front and on top, 131
His legs were very long, and very lean,
And like a stick; no calf was to be seen. 132
. . . His master’s cattle, dairy, cows and sheep,
His pigs and horses, poultry and livestock
Were wholly under this reeve’s governance . . .
All of them feared him as they feared the plague.
His dwelling was well placed upon a heath,
Set with green trees that overshadowed it,
At business he was better than his lord, . . .
For he was cunning enough to get round
His lord by lending him what was his own.”
Whereas the ploughman
“A good and faithful labourer was he 133
Living in peace and perfect charity. . . .

124 To tap: to draw the tap or plug from, or to pierce (a cask, barrel, etc.).
125 Stoup [stu:p]: a glass, cup, mug or tankard used for drinking in former times.
126 Inlet: a narrow area of water reaching from the sea or a lake into the land, or between islands (Rom.

“braţ (de mare); golfuleţ”).

127 Manciple: an officer or steward of a monastery (or college, etc.) authorised to purchase provisions.
128 To (make) purchase: to buy.
129 Bilious: bad-tempered (cf. bile; also: choleric – cf. Greek chole “gall”).
130 To crop: to cut (someone’s hair) short.
131 To dock: to cut (especially an animal’s tail) short.
132 Calf: the part at the back of one’s leg between one’s knee and ankle.
133 Labourer: 1. one who labours (archaic = to work or till the soil / land); 2. someone who works

outdoors, and whose work requires bodily strength rather than skill or training (Rom. “argat; pălmaş”).

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 He’d thresh, and ditch, and also dig and delve, 134
And for Christ’s love would do as much again
If he could manage it, for all poor men,
And ask no hire. He paid his tithes in full, 135
Of what he earned and on his goods as well.”
He was an honest and hard-working man. The Ploughman is the representative of the
labouring peasantry. There is no trace of satire in the picture the writer makes him. All the
Ploughman does is to toil from early morning till night.
The poor Parson is depicted with tender and graceful touches. Patient in adversity, he
gave off his little substance 136 to the poor; he did not press for tithes; staff 137 in hand, he
walked throughout his wide parish; he “sette nat his benefice to hire”, and did not run to St.
Paul’s in London, to seek a “chaunterie for soules”,138 but stayed at home that no wolf might
enter his fold. 139 He followed no pomp and reverence. One has to note that only three
characters are treated without any touch of irony, namely: the Knight, who embodies the
highest ideals of chivalry and courtesy (and who was, maybe, all the less interesting to the
narrator’s eyes), the poor Parson, who displays genuine Christian behaviour, the Plowman,
who is an honest, good-hearted, hard-working fellow.
In striking contrast to him, the portrait of the luxurious Monk is drawn in a few
graphic touches. He is the owner of many fine horses, and is given much to the chase. He did
not soil his hands with work. The sleeves of his gown were tipped with costly fur, and his
hood fastened with a gold pin, from which hung a love-knot.140 The merry Friar was one
given to the worship of the world and the flesh, who sweetly held confession, and gave
pleasant absolution. The Summoner141 is inimitably drawn. He is a repulsive, scury-browed
knave,142 with a pimpled face, which no apothecary’s shop could clean. He has a worthy
companion in the Pardoner, or seller of papal pardons143 and relics, with glaring eyes, and
yellow hair hanging like hanks of flax.144
All these religious characters are amply criticised by the author. They are set in
contrast with the Clerk of Oxford who was ill-clad and ill-mounted and whose money went in
books. Never was a merrier set of travellers brought together, and we have not only in the
tales they left, but also in the happy incidents, apt allusions and descriptive scenes, a vivid
picture of the life of the England of that time.
One of the most distinct members of the gallery is Harry Bailey, the Host at the
Tabard Inn. He is living and moving in front of us and we hear him speak and making
personal remarks. He is a born host, a master of ceremonies and at the same time he is the one
who directs the story-telling with remarkable self-confidence, heedless of the other men’s
feelings, commenting on the stories. He also prizes and censures the story-tellers, imposes
upon the others his own tastes and infuses his sound humour, typical of the simple people,
into the whole scheme of the tales. In this way he appears as a typical representative of the

134 To thresh: to separate the grain or seeds from a cereal plant by means of a flail (Rom. “îmblăciu”); so,
to thresh = “a îmblăti (grâul etc.)”. To ditch: to dig a ditch (= a long narrow hole into the ground). To
delve (poetic, old use): to dig.
135 Hire (old use): wages, pay (Rom. “simbrie”). Tithe / tithes: the tenth part of agricultural produce or

personal income set apart – as an obligation or tax – for the support of the (mediaeval) church, priesthood,
etc. (Rom. “zeciuială, dijmă”).
136 Substance: possessions, means or wealth (cf. to squander one’s substance).
137 Staff: a stick, a rod or pole used for aid in walking or climbing, or as a weapon (Rom. “toiag, cîrjă; băţ”).
138 Chaunterie (Middle English) = chantry (see footnote above).
139 Fold: enclosure, pound, pen, pin (Rom. “ţarc, obor”).
140 Love-knot: a knot of ribbon as a token of love.
141 Summoner: Rom. “aprod, portărel” (to summon: to call or to order to some duty, task, or

performance; to call for the presence of (somebody), by a command or message).

142 Scurfy adj.: covered with scurf (scales or small shreds of epidermis that are continually exfoliated from

the skin) – Rom. “pecingine; mătreaţă”. Knave: 1. a dishonest, unprincipled person. 2. (archaic) a male
servant of humble position; a page.
143 Pardon (obsolete): a papal indulgence.
144 Hank: a skein (of thread or yarn); a length of thread or yarn; Rom. “fuior; clucă”.

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confident, active middle class people, endowed with sound common sense and joy of life –
characteristics typical of the new class that was rising in the (mainly commercial) towns. By
mocking at the old ways and tastes, Geoffrey Chaucer succeeded in paving the way for the
middle class culture that was to prevail in England.
The tales: Forming the main substance of the long narrative poem, the tales told by
pilgrims are extremely varied and are borrowed from various sources. Most of them are
original, so the pilgrims do not invent their tales, but retell them.
The main sources of the narrative substance of the tales: 1. Romances of chivalry:
The Knight’s Tale, The Squire’s Tale;
2. The Arthurian cycle: The Wife of Bath’s Tale;
3. Scriptural stories: The Sergeant of Law’s Tale, The Monk’s Tale;
4. French fabliaux: The Miller’s Tale, The Merchant’s Tale;
5. French Le Roman de Renard: The Nun’s Priest’s Tale.
Every tale is introduced by a prologue, which is short and presents different topics.
The Miller’s Prologue presents the argument between the Host and the Miller; the Sergeant-
of-Law’s Prologue shows what the Host told the pilgrims. Yet, the prologue of the Wife of
Bath’s Tale is the longest of all and the richest in information and comments. There are also
some stories which have an epilogue, so the construction of the book is highly interesting and
complex. The tales are linked with one another not only by the common background against
which they are set, but also by the remarks of the story-tellers themselves, as well as by the
critical remarks of the host. This thing lends the tales a highly dramatic effect.
As regards composition, of the twenty-four tales extant, twenty-two are composed in
verse – namely in rhymed couplets. The versification, in both the Prologue and the Tales, is a
compromise between the old and the new prosody. Chaucer invented the heroic couplet (a
rhymed couplet with five accented syllables in each line). Only two tales are in prose form:
the Tale of Melibee, told by Chaucer, and the Parson’s Tale – the last of the tales.
The tales are told in such a way that they are appropriate to the story-teller, to the
class the respective character belongs to, and so the tales add welcome finishing touches to
the portraits. Thus the Knight tells the chivalrous romance of Palamon and Arcite, who went
to kill Death; The Miller tells the story modelled on the satirical French folk stories called
‘fabliaux’; The Clerk of Oxford tells the story of Griselda, a love story full of devotion to the
well-beloved husband; The Prioress relates the tale Little Clergeon, a.s.o. In The Canterbury
Tales, psychological typology meets social typology: “Chaucer was not content to make his
pilgrims typical only of their several callings. Sometimes a classification of another kind
crosses with that by trades and enriches it. Thus the Squire stands for youth and the
Ploughman for the perfect charity of the humble, while in the Wife of Bath there is the
essence of satire against women.” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 149).
The tales go in pairs. The Friar, for instance, tells a story in connection with the
corrupt character of the Summoner. Taking the Friar’s story as an offence, the Summoner
tells a story about a corrupt Friar. At times, Chaucer uses pre-existing generalizations and
conventions, which he endows with the gist of literary ‘life’ / ‘existence’, hence his essential
realistic vein, the realism of a consummate all-time artist: “He adds individual to generic
features; even when he paints a type he gives the impression that he is painting some one
person whom he happens to have met”. (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 149).
Concerning Chaucer’s characters, William Blake rightly noticed that they “remain forever
unaltered” – that is, prototypes or archetypes.
In the twenty-four tales, Chaucer employed several literary species such as: the
courtly romance (in the Knight’s tale), the French fabliau (in the Miller’s tale and the Reeve’s
tale), the hagiographic legend of saints’ lives (the Second Nun’s tale and the Prioress’s tale),
the fable (the Nun’s tale), the sermon (the Parson’s tale). The rich inventiveness of this
resourceful manipulator of the narrative stuff becomes apparent if we consider at least the
following facts: when he died, it seems that he was still hesitating as to what character he
should assign certain tales to (out of the sixty stories he had initially in mind to write); so,
their re-allotment made the meaning of these pieces of the great puzzle to be altered; the fact
that many stories differ in function in keeping with their topical relationships to the narrator:

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“the same story may be told to reveal an alleged narrator” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian,
op. cit., p. 151); or the fact that, at times, he may be credited with a genuine capacity for
narrative invention: “The comic and realistic stories, which have analogies with the French
fabliaux, are (…) different (…) These he has so much enriched that he might be called their
creator.” (Legouis, Cazamian, op. cit., p. 152).
In a country that suddenly finds itself depopulated, procreation becomes one of the
essentials of the society’s survival. That is why the topic to which the pilgrims keep on
returning is love and marriage. The Cantebury Tales does not seem a work in which love is
highly regarded or exclusively treated, perhaps owing to the surfeit of love affairs and
amorous, courtly conventions of the former medieval lyrical poetry, as appearing with the
troubadours and trouvères. But, when it does appear, Chaucer ascribes it to real men and
women, flesh-and-blood characters, not to some conventional figures; a creator of types,
Chaucer is no less a creator of human life: “He also makes each pilgrim step out of the frame
in which he first placed him. The artist does not let us forget, on the road to Canterbury, that
each storyteller is a living being who has his own gestures and tones.” (Émile Legouis, Louis
Cazamian, op. cit., p. 149). These are characters belonging to an open and more dynamic
society, which does not avoid erotic issues, or even lascivious – even obscene – aspects (see
for instance the Miller’s Tale, recounting the gallant adventures of the Oxford student – very
much in keeping with the then new tradition of the townsfolk anecdote) – cf. Boccaccio’s
work.
To this type of love affair is radically – and parodically – opposed the story about
Griselde, the love-enduring wife persecuted by her husband; it is in keeping with the feudal,
knightly ideal, a male-dominated ideal, which imposes the idea of woman’s accepting every
possible servitude or form of slavery, love being only a by-product of her status. In a new
society like that of the pilgrims, a society represented mainly by women like the Wife of
Bath, and even the fashionable Prioress, the above ideal could at best be perceived in an
ironic light - from the angle of new social rules and standards, which could hopefully give
women a more independent status; that kind of woman can do what she wishes with her own
feelings, as a woman representative of the incipient Renaissance; she can tend towards
universality, the ideal of perfection and complexion, and self accomplishment.
Love is now part of real life, no longer a fiction, or a conventional sign of social
intercourse. Moreover, the General Prologue includes a hymn to the regenerative force of sun
and the rebirth of the dead year. Human love thus carries with it remnants of the half-buried
pre-Christian fertility cults. Beginning with Beowulf and the folk ballads, nature has been a
constant presence in English literature, because it has always accompanied the human
characters, and, on the other hand, it has opposed Man in a variety of ways.
In Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, nature only appears as a literary framework, having
the twofold aim of – (1) placing the travel (i.e. the pilgrimage) in space and time; (2) –
providing a verisimilar background to the fundamental narrative account (in the Prologue).
With Geoffrey Chaucer, constructing a new feminine identity is on a par with the de-
construction of the opposite type of feminine identity: the newly appeared feminine figure
represented a materialistic-oriented society, a group of pragmatic and energetic people, eager
to explore the world and own material goods, but no less culture, knowledge. The type of
woman that is now vanishing is the mediaeval figure: the woman who consents to submission,
dogmatic rules, prejudices and clichés.
For the first type, we could cite as a perfect paragon the Wife of Bath, who is part and
parcel of the group of the typical townsfolk, the incipient bourgeoisie. She is active, vigorous,
daring, her behaviour is free; she knows how to enjoy life to the maximum. The latter type
would be that of the medieval castle – with its maidens and damozels. This type of feminine
identity is almost extinct. What Chaucer could see in his immediate reality was the type of the
worldly woman, represented by the Prioress. The author builds up her identity by describing
her dress and ways, in the Prologue. She is a woman of the world, smartly dressed and
preoccupied by love matters (she has a brooch with the Latin inscription “Amor omnia

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vincit”); she too seems to enjoy life. The feminine type which is situated in perfect
contradistinction to the artificial, false, medieval feminine type, embodied by Griselde’s tale.
Chaucer’s intention was undoubtedly parodical when presenting that paragon of virtue,
Christian faith and willingness to make any sacrifice in order to serve her family, and also her
“husband and lord”. A woman for whom love was a mere “social norm” could only appear
caricatural to the eyes of Chaucer’s contemporaries.
The narrative implies real people, people belonging to the new society, freshly
appeared at once with the emerging Renaissance. It is a pragmatic society, a society of
concrete facts, people and limitations; it is made of townsfolk, craftsmen, artisans and sailors,
etc. In opposition to this gallery of social portraits illustrative of the whole of the English
society of the time, the natural setting is but conventionally presented in the narrative itself
(and, in fact, the Prologue as well). As a conclusion, we may say that the new type of
literature represented by The Canterbury Tales is the product of a verbal humanity, who
basically live through what they say and listen to, and to a lesser extend through the lyrical
strain – that of admiration for Nature’s marvels. Now, the mediaeval times, with their
sentimental, nature-loving troubadours and trouvères, with their idyllic, Arcadian presentation
of the world, is long forgotten – as Chaucer implies.
Chaucer’s art: There are thirty pilgrims who are engaged in the most diverse and
variegated trades, so the poet’s mission of depicting them is very difficult. Yet he proves to be
a fine painter and a skilful critic. He knew how to use the easiest and clearest method of
differentiation, which is to contrast various callings. Chaucer’s style can be described as
simple, natural, direct, ironic. Chaucer’s self-irony is obvious when the author himself is
hushed by the other pilgrims when he wants to tell a story in the form of an epic romance.
This manner of delineation results in a medley of colours and costumes, which at
once catches our eye. He also makes each pilgrim talk as befits his or her situation and nature.
It was a novelty in literature, and it marked a turning point in European thought, as it was
more than an innovation – it was a change of mental attitude. Let us remember that, after the
minute presentation in the General Prologue, the specific, life-conjuring gestures and actions
of each character are ‘re-discovered’ along the road.
Poetry turned to the study of man and manners. For the first time the relation between
individuals and ideas was clearly realised. Geoffrey Chaucer assumes the part of mere
interpreter, a chronicler of his day, a chronicler who relates, without altering a word or a tone,
stories that he has heard told. He gives us well-marked and picturesque individuals; every
kind of person in the Middle Ages is depicted for us readers in the book. Character study
represents the acme of his creation: in most of the cases, he tried hard, and finally managed to
capture individuality, and the world-as-it-is: “But where, before The Canterbury Tales, can
we find a poem of which the first object is to show men, neither exalted nor demeaned, to
display the truthful spectacle of life at its average? Chaucer sees what is and paints it as he
sees it. He effaces himself in order to look at it better.” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op.
cit., p. 154)
Geoffrey Chaucer proves to be a more cosmopolitan poet than his contemporaries; he
has been influenced by French and by Italian poetry and culture. The figures he painted on the
tale canvas are mainly glittering, joyous figures. In addition, he represents the lucid and at the
same time gay temperament of the Latinised Celt. Moreover, in him combine the advantages
of mature age and the enthusiasm of the pioneer: “He is at once very young and very mature;
he unites the charm of a beginning to the experience of long life.” (Émile Legouis, Louis
Cazamian, op. cit., p. 153).
What is also important is the fact that Chaucer does not pass straight from portrait to
tale. He does not let us forget that each story-teller is a living creature who has his or her own
gestures and tones. As they advance, they talk among themselves. They criticise each other,
and in this way they betray their preoccupations, feelings and interests. So a comedy of action
goes through the whole poem and connects its different parts. The persons created by him are
real human beings, they are discovered by their own acts, words and doings. The respective
tales are used to characterise the story-tellers. At the same time, the stories are chosen in such

74
a way that they are perfectly suited to the class the pilgrims belong to, and to their character
as well. Chaucer can be conceived as the ‘manipulator’ of this vast ‘human comedy’, in terms
of artistic, narrative presentation; here is what E. Legouis and L. Cazamian say about his gift,
in the exceptional stories he displays: “Chaucer goes as far as to give us stories which he
invites us to think repellent or ridiculous. The Monk recites a litany of lugubrious and
monotonous ‘tragedies’, which sadden the Knight’s good heart and make the Innkeeper yawn.
He is not allowed to tell his funereal beads to the end, and when interrupted relapses into
silence. The poet is prevented from finishing the tale of Sir Thopas which he allots to himself.
The Host of the Tabard chides him for singing a chivalrous ballad, with rhyme but without
reason.” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 151)
The stories are liberally sprinkled with digressions, which are basically meant to give
some further information. So, the poet looked face to face at the spectacle of men and set
himself the task of reproducing it directly. He becomes a real painter of life itself. Style
represents Chaucer’s forte, remarkable especially for its simple, humane, pathos and mild,
amiable understanding. As a matter of fact, it is the gentle-mindedness of an intelligent man:
“Of all writers of genius, Chaucer is the one with whom it is easiest to have a sense of
comradeship. Sympathy of this kind, founded on clear self-knowledge, is a form of
intelligence. If it were absolutely necessary to define in a word the novelty of Chaucer’s
masterpiece, it might be said to show, most of all, the progress of intelligence.” (Émile
Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 153).
His style is direct and simple and the words are used in a literary way, so that the
language looks fresh and lively. He unites the charm of a beginning to the experience of long
life. To say the truth, his very literary career saw an uninterrupted ascending course, in which
experiment always counts: “If all this poet’s work be regarded together, he is clearly seen
constantly to have advanced nearer truth. He found poetry remote from nature, its essence
being fiction in the accepted belief, while its task was the ingenious transposition of reality in
accordance with artificial rules. In the beginning, Chaucer submitted to the received code,
dreamt with his contemporaries, like them had visions of allegorical figures and combined
imaginary incidents… Then, by degrees, he reached the point of deeming nothing as
interesting and as diverse as Nature herself. Relegating his books to a secondary plane,
ridding himself entirely of the allegory and the dream, he looked face to face at the spectacle
of men and women, and set himself to reproduce it directly. He made himself the painter of
life.” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 152)
A realistic poet, who endeavoured to perfectly marry subject-matter to form, a literary
genius but no less a man of his own age, Geoffrey Chaucer unfortunately had epigonic
imitators (e.g. John Lydgate, Thomas Occleve (or Hoccleve), Stephen Hawes, John Skelton,
Robert Henryson, William Dunbar, Gavin Douglas, etc.), whose poetic effort was directed
along rather conventional, artificial or uninspired paths.
Concluding, let us repeat the words that Émile Legouis and Louis Cazamian (op. cit.,
p. 153) wrote in his praise: “Chaucer, without flattering his model, placed it in an atmosphere
which is good to breathe. No one can read him and not be glad to be in the world.”
Chaucer’s language is extremely rich. He used words from both Norman-French and
Anglo-Saxon. This mingling of the two languages contributed to the birth of modern English.
It is, therefore, no exaggeration to say that Chaucer “found the English language brick and left
it marble”. He took a great step ahead in combining conventional mediaeval literary patterns
and traditions with a profound interest in the men and women of the society of his time.
Geoffrey Chaucer, who begins English poetry, ends the Middle Ages and so he has fully
earned his traditional title of “Father (or Founder) of English literature”.

SUPPORT TEXTS
GEOFFREY CHAUCER (1340-1400)
THE PROLOGUE TO THE CANTERBURY TALES

“When the sweet showers of April fall and shoot

Down through the drought of March to pierce1 the root,

75
Bathing every vein in liquid power
From which there springs the engendering2 of the flower,
When also Zephyrus with his sweet breath
Exhales an air in every grove3 and heath4
Upon the tender shoots,5 and the young sun
His half-course in the sign of the Ram6 has run,
And the small fowl7 are making melody
That sleep away the night with open eye
(So nature pricks8 them and their heart engages)
Then people long9 to go on pilgrimages
And palmers long to seek the stranger strands
Of far-off saints, hallowed10 in sundry11 lands,
And specially, from every shire’s12 end
In England, down to Canterbury they wend13
To seek the holy blissful14 martyr, quick
In giving help to them when they were sick.
It happen’d in that season that one day
In Southwark, at The Tabard, as I lay
Ready to go on pilgrimage and start
For Canterbury, most devout15 at heart,
At night there came into that hostelry16
Some nine-and-twenty in a company
Of sundry folk happening then to fall
In fellowship, and they were pilgrims all
That towards Canterbury meant to ride.
The rooms and stables of the inn were wide;
They made us easy, all was of the best.
And shortly, when the sun had gone to rest,
By speaking to them all upon the trip
I was admitted to their fellowship17
And promised to rise early and take the way
To Canterbury, as you heard me say.
But none the less,18 while I have time and space,
Before my story takes a further pace,
It seems a reasonable thing to say
What their condition was, the full array19
Of each of them, as it appeared to me,
According to profession and degree,20
And what apparel21 they were riding in;
And at a Knight I therefore will begin.

There was a Knight, a most distinguished man,

Who from the day on which he first began
To ride abroad had followed chivalry,
Truth, honour, generous thought and courtesy,
He had done nobly in his sovereign’s war
And ridden into battle, no man more,
As well in Christian as in heathen22 places
And ever honoured for his noble graces…
And though so much distinguished, be was wise
And in his bearing23 modest as a maid.
He never yet a boorish24 thing had said
In all his life to any, come what might;
He was a perfect true gentle-Knight
Speaking of his appearance, he possessed

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Fine horses, but he was not gaily25 dressed.
He wore a fustian tunic stained and dark
With smudges26 where his armour had left mark;
He had his son with him, a fine young Squire,27
A lover and cadet,28 a lad29 of fire
With curly locks,30 as if they had been pressed.
He was some twenty years of age, I guessed…
He was embroidered like a meadow31 bright
And full of freshest flowers, red and white.
Singing he was, or fluting32 all the day;
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
Short was his gown, the sleeves were long and wide;
He knew the way to sit a horse and ride.
He loved so hotly that till dawn grew pale,
He slept as little as a nightingale.
Courteous he was, lowly33 and serviceable,
And cared to serve his father at the table.

There was a Yeoman34 with him at his side,

No other servant; so he chose to ride.
This Yeoman wore a coat and hood of green,
And peacock-feathered arrows,35 bright and keen36
And neatly sheathed, hung at his belt the while,
For he could dress his gear37 in yeoman style,
His arrows never drooped their feathers low38 –
And in his hand he bore a mighty bow.39
His head was like a nut, his face was brown.
He knew the whole of woodcraft40 up and down…

There also was a Nun, a Prioress;41

Simple her way of smiling was and coy.42
Her greatest oath43 was only ‘By St Loy!’
And she was known as Madam Eglantyne,
And well she sang a service, with a fine
Intoning through her nose, as was most seemly,44
And she spoke daintily45 in French, extremely,
After the school of Stratford-atte-Bowe;
French in the Paris style she did not know.
At meat her manners were well taught withal;46
No morsel47 from her lips did she let fall,
Nor dipped48 her fingers in the sauce too deep;
But she could carry a morsel up and keep
The smallest drop from falling on her breast.
For courtliness she had a special zest49
And she would wipe her upper lip so clean
That not a trace of grease was to be seen
Upon the cup when she had drunk; to eat,
She reached a hand sedately for the meat.
She certainly was very entertaining,50
Pleasant and friendly in her ways, and straining51
To counterfeit52 a courtly kind of grace,
A stately bearing fitting to her place,53
And to seem dignified in all her dealings…54
And she had little dogs she would be feeding
With roasted flesh, or milk, or fine white bread.

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Sorely55 she wept56 if one of them were dead
Or someone took a stick and made it smart;57
She was all sentiment and tender heart…

There was a Monk, a leader of the fashions;

Inspecting farms and hunting were his passions,
Fit to be Abbot, a manly man and able.
Many the dainty horses in his stable;
His bridle, when he rode, a man might hear
Jingling58 in a whistling wind as clear,
Aye,59 and as loud as does the chapel bell
Where my lord Monk was Prior of the cell…
He did not rate60 that text at a plucked hen
Which says that hunters are not holy men
And that a monk uncloistered61 is a mere
Fish out of water, flapping62 on the pier –
That is to say a monk out of his cloister.
That was a text he held not worth an oyster;
……………………………………….
What! Study until reason’s last dominion63
Poring64 on books in cloisters? Must he toil65
As Austin66 bade and till the very soil?
Was he to leave the world, upon the shelf?
Let Austin have his labour to himself.
This Monk was therefore a good man to horse;
Greyhounds he had, as swift as birds, to course.67
Hunting a hare or riding at a fence
Was all his fun, he spared for no expense.
I saw his sleeves were garnished at the hand
With fine grey fur, the finest in the land,
And where his hood was fastened68 at his chin
He had a wrought-gold cunningly69 fashioned pin
Into a lover’s knot it seemed to pass.
His head was bald and shone as any glass,
So did his face, as if it had been greased.
He was a fat and personable70 priest;
………………………………….
He was a prelate fit for exhibition,
He was not pale like a tormented soul;
He liked a fat swan best, and roasted whole.
His palfrey71 was as brown as is a berry.
There was a Friar, a wanton72 one and merry
A Limiter, a very festive fellow.
In all Four Orders there was none so mellow73
As he in flattery and dalliant74 speech.
He’d fixed up many a marriage, giving each
Of his young women what he could afford her.
He was a noble pillar to his Order.
Highly beloved and intimate was he
With county folk wherever he might be,
And worthy city women with possessions;
For he was qualified to hear confessions,
Or so he said, with more than priestly scope;75
He had a special license from the Pope.
Sweetly he heard his penitents at shrift76

78
With pleasant absolution, for a gift.
He was an easy man in penance-giving
Were he could hope to make a decent living; ………
Therefore instead of weeping and of prayer
One should give silver for a poor Friar’s care.
He kept his tippet77 stuffed with pins for curls,
And pocket-knives, to give to pretty girls….……
He knew the taverns well in every town,
And every innkeeper and barmaid too
Better than lepers, beggars and that crew,
For in so eminent a man as he
It was not fitting with the dignity
Of his position dealing with such scum.78
It isn’t decent, nothing good can come
Of having truck with slum-and-gutter dwellers,79
But only with the rich and victual-sellers.
But anywhere a profit might accrue80
Courteous he was and lowly of service too.
Natural gifts like his were hard to match.
He was the finest beggar of his batch81
And, for his begging-district, payed a rent;
His brethren82 did no poaching83 where he went
For though a widow mightn’t have a shoe,
So pleasant was his holy how-d’ye-do
He got his farthing84 from her just the same
Before he left, and so his income came
To more than he laid out ………….
This worthy’s name was Hubert, it appeared.
There was a Merchant with a forking beard
And motley dress,85 he told of his opinions the pursuits
In solemn tones, and how he never lost.
The sea should be kept free at any cost
(He thought) upon the Harwick-Holland ranges.86
He was expert at dabbling87 in exchanges.
This estimable88 merchant so had set
His wits89 to work, none knew he was in debt,
He was so stately in negotiation,
Loan, bargain and commercial obligation.
He was an excellent fellow all the same;
To tell the truth I do not know his name.

There was an Oxford cleric too, a student

Long given to Logic, longer than was prudent;
The horse he had was leaner than a rake,90
And he was not too fat, I undertake,91
But had a hollow look, a sober stare;92
The thread upon his overcoat was bare.93
He had found no preferment94 in the church
And he was too unworldly95 to make search.
He thought far more of having by his bed
His twenty books all bound in black and red,
Of Aristotle and philosophy,
Than of gay music, fiddles96 or finery.
Though a philosopher as I have told,
He had not found the stone for making gold.

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Whatever money from his friends he took
He spent on learning or another book,
And prayed for them most earnestly returning
Thanks to them thus for paying for his learning.
His only care was study, and indeed
He never spoke a word more than was need,
Formal at that,97 respectful in the extreme,
Short, to the point, and lofty in his theme.
The thought of moral virtue filled his speech,
And he would gladly learn, and gladly teach,
…………………………………………
A Haberdasher,98 a Dyer,99 a Carpenter
A Weaver and a Carpet-maker were
Among our ranks, all in the livery100
Of one impressive guild-fraternity.101
They were so trim and fresh their gear would pass
For new. Their knives were not tricked,102 out with brass,
But wrought with purest silver, which avouches103
A like display on girdles and on pouches.
Each seemed a worthy burgess,104 fit to grace
A guild-hall with a seat upon the dais.105
Their wisdom, would have justified a plan
To make each one of them an alderman;106
They had the capital and revenue,
Besides their wives declared it was their due.
And if they did not think so, then they ought;
To be called ‘Madam’ is a glorious thought,
And so is going to church and being seen
Having your mantle carried like a queen.
…………………………………………
A Doctor too emerged as we proceeded;107
No one alive could talk as well as he did
On points of medicine and of surgery,
For, being grounded108 in astronomy,
He watched his patients favourable star
And, by his Natural Magic, knew what are
The lucky hours and planetary degrees
For making charms and magic effigies.
The cause of every malady you’d got
He knew, and whether dry, cold, moist109 or hot
He knew their seat, their humour110 and condition.
He was a perfect practising physician.111
These causes being known for what they were,
He gave the man his medicine then and there.
All his apothecaries112 in a tribe
Were ready with the drugs he would prescribe.
And each made money from the other’s guile;113
They had been friendly for a goodish while.114
……………………………………………
In his own diet he observed some measure;
There were no superfluities115 for pleasure,
Only digestives, nutritives and such.
He did not read the Bible very much.
In blood-red garments, slashed116 with bluish-grey
And lined with taffeta, he rode his way;

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Yet he was rather close as to expenses
And kept the gold he won in pestilences.117
Gold stimulates the heart, or so we’re told;
He therefore had a special love of gold.

A worthy woman from beside Bath city

Was with us, somewhat deaf, which was a pity.
In making cloth she showed so great a bent118
She bettered those of Ypres and of Ghent.119
In all the parish not a dame dared stir120
Towards the altar steps in front of her,
And if indeed they did, so wrath was she
As to be quite put out of charity.
Her kerchiefs were of finely woven ground;121
I dared have sworn they weighed a good ten pound
The ones she wore on Sunday, on her head.
Her hose122 were of the finest scarlet red123
And gartered tight;124 her shoes were soft and new.
Bold125 was her face, handsome, and red in hue.126
A worthy woman all her life, what’s more
She’d had five husbands, all at the church door,
Apart from other company in youth;
No need just now to speak of that, forsooth;127
And she had thrice128 been to Jerusalem,
Seen many strange rivers and passed over them
She’d been to Rome and also to Boulogne,
St. James of Compostella129 and Cologne, 130
And she was skilled in wandering by the way.
She had gap-teeth,131 set widely, truth to say.
Easily on an ambling132 horse she sat
Well wimpled133 up and on her head a hat
As broad as is a buckler or a shield; 134
She had a flowing mantle that concealed135
Large hips, her heels spurred136 sharply under that.
In company she liked to laugh and chat137
And knew the remedies for love’s mischances,
An art in which she knew the oldest dances.
……………………………………….
The Miller was a chap of sixteen stone, 138
A great stout139 fellow big in brawn140 and bone.
He did well out of them, for he could go
And win the ram at any wrestling show.
Broad, knotty and short-shouldered he would boast
He could heave any door off hinge and post,141
Or take a run and break it with his head.
His beard, like any sow142 or fox, was red
And broad as well, as though it were a spade;143
And, at its very tip, his nose displayed
A wart144 on which there stood a tuft of hair
Red as the bristles145 in an old sow’s ear.
His nostrils were as black as they were wide,
He had a sword and buckler at his side;
His mighty mouth was like a furnace door.146
A wrangler147 and buffoon; he had a store
Of tavern stories, filthy148 in the main.

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He was a master-hand at stealing grain.
He felt it with his thumb and thus he knew
Its quality and took three times his due –
A thumb of gold, by God, to gauge an oat!149
He wore a hood of blue and a white coat.
He liked to play his bagpipes150 up and down
And that was how he brought us out of town……
He151 and a gentle Pardoner152 rode together,
A bird from Charing Cross of the same feather,153
Just back from visiting the Court of Rome.
He loudly sang ‘Come hither love, come home!’
The summoner sang deep ascends154 to this song
No trumpet ever sounded half so strong.
This Pardoner had hair as yellow as wax
Hanging down smoothly like a hank of flax.155
In driblets156 fell his locks behind the head
Down to his shoulders which they overspread;157
Thinly they fell, like rat-tails, one by one.
He wore no hood upon his head, for fun;
The hood inside his wallet158 had been stowed,159
He aimed at riding in the latest mode;
But for a little cap his head was bare160
And be had bulging eye-balls,161 like a hare.
He’d sowed162 a holy relic163 on his cap;
His wallet lay before him on his lap,
Brimful of pardons164 come from home all hot.
He had the same small voice a goat has got.
His chin no beard had harboured,165 nor would harbour,
Smoother than ever chin was left by barber.
I judge he was a gelding,166 or a mare.
As to his trade, from Berwick down to Ware
There was no pardoner of equal grace,
For in his trunk167 he had a pillow-case
Which, he asserted, was our Lady’s veil;
He said he had a gobbet168 of the sail
Saint Peter had the time when he made bold
To walk the waves, till Jesus Christ took hold.
He had a cross of metal set with stones
And, in a glass, a rubble169 of pigs’ bones.
And with these relics, any time he found
Some poor up-country parson170 to astound
On one short day, in money down, he drew
More than the parson in a month or two,
And by his flatteries and prevarication171
Made monkeys of the priest and congregation.
But still to do him justice first and last
In church he was a noble ecclesiast.
How well he read a lesson or told a story!
But best of all be sang an offertory,172
For well he knew that when that song was sung.
He’d have to preach and tune his honey-tongue
And (well he could) win silver from the crowd.
That’s why he sang so merrily and loud.

Now I have told you shortly, in a clause

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 The rank, the array, the number and the cause
Of our assembly in this company
In Southwark, at that light-class173 hostelry
Known as The Tabard,174 close beside The Bell.
And now the time has come for me to tell
How we behaved that evening; I’ll begin
After we had alighted175 at the Inn;
Then I’ll report oar journey, stage by stage,
All the remainder of our pilgrimage.
But first I beg of you, in courtesy,
Not to condemn me as unmannerly
If I speak plainly and with no concealings
And give account of all their words and dealings,
Using their very phrases as they fell.
For certainly, as you all know so well,
He who repeats a tale after a man
Is bound to say,176 as nearly as be can,
Each single word, if he remembers it,
However rudely spoken or unfit,
Or else the tale he tells will be untrue,
The things invented and the phrases new.
He may not flinch177 although it were his brother,
If he says one word he must say the other.
……………………………………………
Our Host gave us great welcome; everyone
Was given a place and supper was begun.
He served the finest victuals you could think,
The wine was strong and we were glad to drink.
A very striking man our Host withal
And fit to be a marshal178 in a hall.
His eyes were bright, his girth179 a little wide.
There is no finer burgess in Cheapside
Bold in his speech, yet wise and full of tact,
There was no manly attribute he lacked,
What’s more he was a merry-hearted man…”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) to pierce the root: a pătrunde (pînă la rădăcină); (2) the engendering: zămislirea, naşterea;
(3) grove: crîng, pădurice, dumbravă; (4) heath: pîrloagă, bărăgan (unde creşte mai ales iarba-
neagră); (5) tender shoots: mlădiţe fragede; (6) the sign of the Ram = Aries, or the Ram
(Romanian “Berbec”): sign of the zodiac (21 March-20 April); (7) fowl: păsări, păsăret;
păsărele; (8) pricks: a îmboldi; (9) to long: a dori, a tînji (după…); (10) hallowed < to hallow: a
venera, a cinsti, a considera sfînt; (11) sundry: felurite, multe; (12) shire: comitat, ţinut; (13) to
wend: (înv.) a merge, a se duce, a se îndrepta (spre…) – mai ales agale / încet / metodic; (14)
blissful: blagoslovit, binecuvîntat, sfînt, (prea)fericit; (15) most devout: prea(cucernic), pios;
sincer; (16) hostelry: (înv.) han, ospătărie; (17) I was admitted to their fellowship: am fost
primit în tovărăşia lor, mi-au dat voie să-i însoţesc; (18) none the less: nevertheless, yet, in
spite of that; (19) full array: îmbrăcăminte (de gală), găteală; (20) degree = rank, social status:
cin, rang; (21) apparel: echipament; haine, veş(t)minte, straie; (22) heathen: păgân(esc); (23)
bearing: înfăţişare, purtare; (24) boorish: grosolan, necioplit; (25) gaily dressed: îmbrăcat
strălucitor, în culori vii / pestriţe; îmbrăcat în strai pestriţ; (26) smudge: pată, mînjitură; (27)
squire: (înv.) scutier; (28) cadet: ucenic în meseria armelor; (29) lad: tînăr, flăcău; (30) curly
locks: bucle, cîrlionţi, zulufi cîrlionţaţi; (31) meadow: pajişte; livadă; (32) to flute: a cânta din
fluier (sau flaut); (33) lowly: modest, umil; smerit; la locul său; (34) yeoman: mic proprietar de
pămînt, răzeş; (35) peacock-feathered arrows: săgeţi cu pene de păun; (36) keen: ascuţit; (37)

83
gear: (înv.) straie, îmbrăcăminte; (38) to droop (sth.) low: a lăsa (ceva) să atîrne; (39) a mighty
bow: un arc tare / de nădejde; (40) woodcraft: arta vînatului, vînătoare; (41) prioress: stareţă;
(42) coy: sfioasă, retrasă; (43) oath: sudalmă; (44) most seemly: cât se poate de potrivit /
cuvenit / cuviincios; (45) daintily: cu eleganţă, în chip ales, în manieră aleasă; (46) withal:
(înv.) de asemenea, în plus; unde mai pui că…; (47) morsel: bucată, bucăţică, îmbucătură; (48)
to dip: a înmuia, a întinge (în sos etc.); (49) zest: interes, însufleţire, avînt; (50) entertaining:
plăcut, simpatic, antrenant; (51) to strain: a se sili, a-şi da osteneala (să…); (52) to counterfeit:
a imita, a copia; (53) a stately bearing fitting to her place: o purtare demnă, potrivită cu rangul
ei; (54) all her dealings…: tot ce făcea; (55) sorely: amarnic, cu durere; (56) wept = Past Tense
and Past Part. forms of to weep: a plînge (încet / fără zgomot), a deplînge; (57) to smart: a
lovi, a-l face să-l doară; (58) jingling: zornăind; (59) aye: da(, chiar aşa); (60) to rate: a preţui, a
socoti (cât…); a preţălui (ceva); (61) uncloistered: care nu stă în mănăstire / schit / sihăstrie;
(62) to flap: a se zbate; pier: dig, malul mării; (63) dominion: stăpînire, întindere; (64) to pore:
a studia atent (cărţi), a sta cu nasul în cărţi; (65) to toil: a trudi; (66) Austin = St Augustine: (67)
to course: a alerga; (68) fastened: prins, încheiat, încopciat; (69) wrought-gold cunningly
fashioned pin: agrafă de aur măiestrit / meşteşugit lucrată; (70) personable: arătos, chipeş,
chipos, frumuşel; (71) palfrey: (înv.) cal, armăsar (de călărie); (72) wanton: nebunatic; poznaş;
(73) mellow: prietenos, plăcut; (74) dalliant speech: vorbe de şagă / clacă; taclale; (75) scope:
de competenţa / care să stea în puterile unui preot; (76) at shrift: la spovedanie; (77) tippet:
eşarfă; (78) scum: (fig.) gunoaie, pleavă, drojdie, lepădături; (79) having truck with slum-and-
gutter dwellers: a avea de-a face cu drojdia societăţii, toţi sărăcanii / toate scursurile (fig.);
(80) to accrue: a spori; (81) of his batch: din tagma lui, (fig.) din acelaşi aluat (ca şi el); (82)
his brethren: confraţii săi; (83) poaching: braconaj; (84) farthing: bănuţ; obol; (85) forking
beard: barba în furculiţă; motley dress: strai pestriţ; (86) ranges = direction; (87) to dabble: a
se ocupa / ţine de (ceva); a face (ceva) de mîntuială; (87) estimable: vrednic; demn de respect;
(89) his wits: mintea, capul; (90) cleric = clerk: notar; leaner than a rake: mai slab ca un ţîr (in
the original text, rake: greblă); (91) to undertake: (înv.) a spune (ceva) sigur; (92) sober stare:
privire serioasă, aşezată; (93) the thread upon his overcoat was bare: haina i-era roasă pînă la
urzeală; (94) preferment: mărire, înaintare în cin / grad; (95) unworldly: nemirean, legat de cele
duhovniceşti; (96) fiddle: scripcă, vioară; (97) formal at that: pe deasupra, ceremonios; (98)
haberdasher: marchitan, negustor de mărunţişuri; (99) dyer: boiangiu; (100) livery: livrea; (101)
guild-fraternity: breaslă; (102) tricked out (with brass): calpe, falsificate (cu alamă / tinichea);
(103) to avouch: a adeveri, a întări; (104) burgess: (ist.) cetăţean / locuitor al unui oraş cu rang
municipal; (105) dais: baldachin; (106) alderman: membru al sfatului / consiliului orăşenesc /
municipal; (107) to proceed: a merge / purcede mai departe; (108) grounded < to be grounded
in…: a avea cunoştinţe temeinice de…; (109) moist: umed (aici – despre umori); (110) humour:
umoare / umori; (111) physician: doctor, medic; (112) apothecary: spiţer, farmacist; (113) guile:
înşelăciune, şmecherie, vicleşug; (114) for a goodish while: de ceva timp / câtăva vreme, de o
bucată bunicică de timp / vreme; (115) superfluities: lucruri de prisos; (116) slashed: cu dungi /
vrîste (şi fante); (117) pestilences: boleşniţe, epidemii; (118) bent: aplecare, înclinaţie,
pricepere; (119) Ghent: Gand (oraş cu tradiţie textilă din Ţările de Jos / Flandra – azi în
Belgia); (120) to stir: a mişca, a face (vre)o mişcare; (121) ground: material; canava; (122)
hose: ciorapi; (123) scarlet red: culoare stacojie; (124) gartered tight: legaţi strîns cu jartiera;
(125) bold: îndrăzneaţă; (126) handsome, and red in hue: mîndră / frumoasă / chipeşă şi
rumenă / aprinsă / roşie la faţă; (127) forsooth: (înv.) într-adevăr, pe legea mea; (128) thrice:
(înv.) de trei ori; (129) St. James of Compostella: Sfîntul Iacob de la Compostela (în Spania) –
Santiago de Compostela; (oraşul Compostela se află în nord-vestul Spaniei, în provincia
Galicia, iar moaştele pentru care este vestit se spune că sînt ale Sfântului Iacob cel Mare);
(130) Cologne: oraşul Köln / Colónia; (131) gap-teeth: (dinţi cu) strungăreaţă; (132) ambling
horse: buiestraş, cal (de) buiestru; (133) wimpled up: acoperită / îmbrobodită cu un testemel /
o basma / văl brodat (< a wimple); (134) a buckler or a shield: pavăză sau scut; (135) to
conceal: a ascunde; (136) to spur: a da pinteni (calului); (137) to chat: a pălăvrăgi, a vorbi
verzi şi uscate; (138) sixteen stone: şaisprezece stone (un stone = 14 pounds / livre = 6,33 kg);
(139) stout: voinic, vîrtos, zdravăn, vînjos; (140) big in brawn and bone: cărnos şi ciolănos
(brawn: muşchi, carne); (141) could heave any door off hinge and post: putea scoate orice uşă

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din ţîţîni; (142) sow [sau]: scroafă; porc; (143) spade: cazma, hîrleţ; (144) wart: neg; (145)
bristles: peri, ţepi; (146) furnace door: gură de cuptor; (147) wrangler: bătăuş, certăreţ; (148)
filthy in the main: cele mai multe spurcate / murdare / porcoase; (149) to gauge an oat: pentru
a măsura făina (de ovăz); (150) bagpipes: cimpoi; (151) he = the summoner; (152) pardoner:
vînzător de indulgenţe, pantahuzar; (153) of the same feather: de aceeaşi teapă (cf. prov. Birds
of a feather / Flock together.); (154) sang deep ascends: ţinea isonul, cu voce groasă; (155) a
hank of flax: un fuior de in; (156) driblets: şuviţe (subţiri); (157) overspread: peste care se
răspîndeau…; (158) wallet: desagă; (159) stowed: pus bine, pus la păstrare; (160) bare: gol,
descoperit; (161) he had bulging eye-balls: ochii îi erau boboşaţi / holbaţi; (162) he’d sowed =
he had sewn: cususe; (163) holy relic: moaşte (sfinte / de sfinţi); (164) brimful of pardons:
doldora de indulgenţe, gemînd de indulgenţe; (165) his chin no beard had harboured: bărbia
lui nu fusese nicicând sălaş pentru (vreun fir / firicel de) barbă, bărbia lui nu fusese
împodobită niciodată de barbă; (166) gelding: jugán, armăsar / cal castrat; (167) trunk: cufăr;
(168) gobbet: (înv.) bucată, crîmpei; (169) a rubble: balast; o grămadă (de…); (170) up-country
parson: preot de pe la ţară; (171) prevarication: minciună, ocoliş; (172) offertory: imn religios
care însoţeşte ceremonia cuminecării; (173) light-class hostelry = a refined inn; (174) tabard:
livrea, tunică fără mâneci; (175) we had alighted: sosiserăm, ajunseserăm; (176) is bound to
say: must say, has got to say; (177) to flinch: a se înfiora; a pregeta; (178) a marshal in a hall:
maestru de ceremonii; (179) girth: talie, pântece.

The portrait of the PRIORESS in the original Middle English version

“Ther was also a nonne, a Prioresse,
That of hir smylyng was ful symple and coy,
Hir gretteste ooth was but by seinte Loy;
And she was cleped madame Eglentyne.
Ful weel she soong the service dyvyne,
Entuned in hir nose ful semely.
And Frenssh she spak ful faire and fet
After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe,
For Frenssh of Parys was to hire unknowne.
At mete wel y-taught was she with-alle:
She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle,
Ne wette hir fyngres in hir sauce depe;
Wel koude she carie a morsel and wel keppe,
That no drope ne fille upon hire brest …”

The portrait of the OXFORD CLERK in the original Middle English version
“A Clerk ther was of Oxenford also,
That unto logyk hadde longe y-go.
As leene was his hors as is a rake;
And he was not right fat I undertake,
But looked holwe, and therto sobrely.
Ful thredbare was his overeste courtesy;
For he hadde getten hym yet no benefice,
He was so wordly for to have office.
For hym was levere have at his beddes heed
Twenty bookes, clad in blak or reed
Of Aristotel and his philosophie
Than robes riche, or fithele, or gau santrie.
But al be that be was a philosopher,
Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre;
But al that he mighte of his freendes hente,
On bookes and his lernynge he it spente,
And bisily gan for the soules preye
Of hem that yof hym wherwith to scoleye;

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 Of studie took he moost cure and mooste heede.
Noght a word spak he moore than was neede,
And that was seyd in forme and reverence,
And short, and quyk, and ful of hy sentence;
Sownynge moral vertu was his speche,
And gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche.”

OTHER POETS OF THE CHAUCERIAN PERIOD

JOHN GOWER (1325-1408)

John Gower was a good friend of Chaucer (who dedicated him one of his books). All
he wrote was mainly didactic in character. Gower wrote three poems that are worth literary
notice: Speculum Meditantis, Vox Clamantis and Confessio Amantis.
The first poem, Speculum Meditantis (“The Mirror of Meditation”), or Speculum
Hominis (“The Mirror of Man”) was written in French (or at least this is the language of the
only copy that has come down to us, entitled Mirour de l’Omme / Miroir de l’Homme); in it,
Gower is actually the last in date of the Anglo-Norman poets.
The Seven Deadly Sins145 are presented as a warning to the human race. Vice and
Virtue find themselves in conflict all through the social hierarchy. The poem was written,
according to Gower’s confession, to teach the way sinners can return to the knowledge of
God. It is written in rhyming lines, syllabic and accented (the metre used is a mixture of
French and English octosyllables).
Gower wrote his second poem, Vox Clamantis (“The Voice of the One Crying [in the
desert]”)146 in Latin. The text provides an ample, vivid presentation of the Peasants’ Revolt of
1381 led by Wat Tyler, as well as the latter’s execution. The part devoted to the revolt makes
up about one fifth of the whole. The uprisal is specified as the necessary fulfilment of his
prophecies in Speculum Meditantis, pointing particularly to the moral of Richard II’s
misdeeds. Yet, we should not understand that as social indictment with no qualifications:
“Gower, now in his fifties, was haunted by this rebellion as by a nightmare. His interests were
all on the side of the landlords. He had no sympathy with the popular cause, yet considered
the ills of society to be the outcome of social vices which were ruining the state. His alarms
and his grievances are voiced in the Latin distichs of Vox Clamantis.” (Émile Legouis, Louis
Cazamian, op. cit., p. 125)
Several passages are liberally borrowed from many different sources, both mediaeval
and ancient. The second part of the poem is a bitter incrimination of social evils, rather
lengthy and stereotype.
Confessio Amantis (“The Lover’s Confession”) was written in English. The poem is
made up of more than 100 stories. Parodying a religious confession (made to Venus’ priest,
Genius, who also functions as a moral priest), Confessio Amantis the question of the Seven
Deadly Sins – this time applied to amorous issues; it illustrates each point by a story (whose
sources of inspiration range from Ovid to the Bible). The poem belongs to the courtly love
tradition, with love (here, the lovers’ infatuation) as the main motive; the conventional
personae are an ageing lover and an unresponsive young lady.
There is twofold probing of each sin – according to both the moral and the erotic
code. Although generally dully long-winded and tritely moralizing, this literary work in
octosyllabic couplets enjoyed enormous popularity at the time and happened to be (at least, as
far as today’s scholars and researchers know) the first English poem translated into a foreign
language, and also one of the first books printed by Caxton. It is true that occasionally real
emotion is presented quite faithfully, and that more often than not it displays the gift of
145 In the mediaeval religious (viz. Christian) doctrine, the chart of the Seven Deadly Sins (Sloth “lenea”,
Pride “trufia / superbia”, Anger “mânia”, Covetousness “lăcomia”, Envy “pizma”, Greed “calicia / zgîrcenia”,
Lechery “desfrîul / preacurvia”) was paralleled by the three cardinal virtues (Faith, Hope and Charity) and the
forces of Good (Truth, Justice, Temperance, Mercy).
146 V. the words (in the Latin Gospels) that John the Baptist, the preacher in the desert, used when asked

who he was: (Sum) vox clamantis in deserto “(I am) the voice clamouring in the desert”.

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observation and poetic meditation; yet, the infrequent touches of humour are rather wry and
on the whole ineffectual.
The simple, pleasing style made it become as popular as Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales,
but it is essentially marred by the countless long digressions. Here is what E. Legouis and L.
Cazamian say about Gower’s stylistic predicament: (op. cit., p. 126): “It is a great pity that
this work, into which Gower has put the best of himself, his utmost sincerity of thought,
vehemence of satire, and depths of narrow but coherent morality, should have received the
dress of a dead language, while on the one occcasion when he used the speech of his country
he worked against the brain of his temperament and talent, and wrote an entirely artificial
poem.”
Like the imitators of Chaucer, John Gower succeeded in catching at least part of the
powerful light which blazes on their master. One must nevertheless admit that his work in its
entirety has the literary value conferred not only by earnest, assiduous artistic effort, but also
by the overall development of the English letters at the end of the 15th century: “Gower,
learned, industrious, and copious, is the typical average poet of his century. His writings are
what Chaucer’s might have been without Chaucer’s genius.” (Émile Legouis, Louis
Cazamian, op. cit., p. 128)

THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY. ENGLISH POPULAR BALLADS

The fifteenth century did not contribute much to English poetic literature. It is
certainly the most barren in the history of language. Geoffrey Chaucer had many followers
and imitators and they tried to keep close to the style and manner of their great predecessor
and literary master, but none of them caught the sweet music of his lines or the inner art of his
poetry.
Yet the most important event of this century is the coming of print, an art which first
showed its possibilities in Germany of all the nations in Europe, soon after the year 1455. It
reached Italy in 1465, Switzerland in 1467, France in 1470, Austria and the Netherlands in
1473, and Spain in 1474. Printers were at work in seventy towns and eight European countries
before Caxton set up his press at Westminster.
The first products of the foreign printing presses were in Latin; the English press
produced books in English, and produced them for general readers. So the greatest literary
figure of the fifteenth century in England happened to be a printer and not an author, and it
was William Caxton (l422-1491).147 Returned to England (he lived abroad in Flanders – part
of today’s Belgium – and Burgundy), he set up his press at Westminster; among many other
books he printed Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, Thomas Malory’s Morte d’Arthur / Morte
D’Arthur, etc. Oddly enough, William Caxton, this typical thriving bourgeois, was interested
(no less than Malory, whose editor he was) in the value system of an already declining
aristoratic, knightly world. What Caxton intended to do was to edify and entertain the now
literate English people, a nation of culture lovers, who found entertainment in (mostly refined,
and, what is more, uniform) cultural things. “The printing press made more copies of a given
work available to more people than had ever before been possible: a whole culture changed
with the end of the era of the hand-produced book. The process by which the writer’s
audience became a reading, rather than a read-to, public had begun” (J.B. Trapp, Medieval
English Literature, Oxford University Press, 1973, p. 16).
Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur is the most complete record of the Arthurian
mythology, the mythology of a romantically heroic age, an idealised and rather misty world
of mythical events and personages, a world of strangeness, of hazy, diaphanous love,
witchcraft and vile treacheries set into a pattern of predestination, of perpetual search for
perfection (see the motive of the Holy Grail).

147 William Caxton (1422-91): The first English printer. He learned the art of printing in Cologne (i.e.
Kln), Germany. After printing a Recuyell of the Historyes of Troye in Belgium, in 1474, he returned to
England, where he printed some 100 books, including editions of the poets Gower, Chaucer, Lydgate, also
translating and revising many texts.

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 Caxton also translated the Metamorphoses of Ovid, but no printed copy of his own
time is known, though part of a manuscript, “translated and finished by me William Caxton”,
is in the Pepysian Library at Cambridge. But maybe W. Caxton’s greatest contribution to the
development of English literature lies in the part he played in imposing badly needed
guidelines and rules in the field of English letters. English prose was rather chaotic, lacking
fixed, dependable standards, especially as changes in language were very rapid and the
regional variety disconcerting. It was Caxton who managed to provide the first reliable
standard for prose-writing, also imposing a certain style: he wrote virtually the way he spoke.
His activity of a printer and translator largely contributed to consolidating the emerging taste
for prose-writing by story-telling (as essentially opposed to verse).
The first printing press in London itself was set up in 1400 by John Lettou. Soon
after William Caxton’s death various Antwerp148 printers began to issue books for the English
market. Caxton’s largest and most popular book, The Golden Legend, was translated anew
from the French and is not a version of the old English edition.
It is to the latter half of the fifteenth century that we owe most of that kind of poetic
literature, which goes by the name of ballad poetry. Most of this poetry was never written
down, never printed, but was carried about in the memories of Englishmen and Scotsmen for
hundreds of years. In passing from the mouth of the reciter to the ears of the listener, who in
his turn became a reciter, a ballad would be altered – altered to suit local circumstances,
national feeling, personal preferences – and here and there a poetic or picturesque phrase
would be introduced; and so it would come about that a large number of “makers” or poets
worked at one poem or historic ballad or romance.
These ballads were recited or chanted, or sung to the harp by itinerant minstrels,
strollers from hall to hamlet, from tavern to cottage, from fair to market with songs old or
new, or newly revised. Most of the ballads had a suitable tune attached to them; but one tune
often served to accompany many ballads. Each trade guild, the bodies of apprentices and the
ploughmen “upon land” had their own favourite songs.
What is a ballad: A ballad is, in the general acceptation of the word, a short popular
narrative poem, which may be either sung or recited. Etymologically, ballad derives from the
Latin verb ballare “to dance”. The word ballad (earlier form balad) was introduced into the
English language through the medium of the Middle French word balade, in its turn derived
from the Old Provençal balade “dancing”, “dancing song”, and akin to the Italian ballata. The
metrical form of a ballad is generally simple, even crude; it is in fact halfway between the
lyric and the epic.
Origin of the ballad: As seen from the above etymology, ballads were originally
dance songs – sung by the village community to the accompaniment of rhythmic movements.
Ballads expressing love, zest for life or joy at the arrival of spring, were sung at feasting
times. So the ballad started as a dance song, as a lyric production. Epic elements, relating
some incidents, were gradually added to these lyrics; at a later period, the epic elements
outnumbered the lyrical ones, and the ballad became definitely an epic poem.
In point of authorship there are several theories, but two of them are principal:
1. The communal origin. According to this theory, ballads are spontaneous and
joint compositions. This theory originated in Germany where a large number of
folk-ballads are still extant.
2. The individual origin: one more gifted individual invented the verse of the
ballad. Anyone, once the ballad was created, the community having co-operated
in its making, could alter, suppress or add new lines or incidents to the original
poem, briefly modelling the poem on their conception and tastes.
The English folk ballad is a narrative poem, originally associated with the communal
dance, a simple and not too long poem. The ballads were handed down from generation to
generation by word of mouth by travelling minstrels. There are two fundamental
characteristics of the ballads:
1. a narrative motif in point of subjects

148 Antwerp: The city’s name is Antwerpen in Flemish and Anvers in French (and also Romanian).

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 2. simplicity and sincerity in point of tone, feeling and composition.
Most English ballads date from the 15th century.
From the standpoint of their subjects, the ballads are divided into: historical ballads,
ballads of love, ballads of domestic relations, of hatred, social ballads, ballads of outlawry, of
superstition, of death, humorous ballads.
a. Historical ballads: In these ballads, historical facts of remote times and legends
are intimately blended. The most famous are undoubtedly the Border Ballads, centred around
the battles, raids and feuds caused by much enmity between the English and the Scottish
families living on either side of the Border.149 The ballad of Chevy Chase is one of the oldest
and best known Border Ballads. Chevy Chace relates a hunting raid into the Scottish Border
by the Earl of Northumberland, and the subsequent encounter with Douglas and his followers.
The events in the Battle of Otterburn, which was fought in 1388, are the subject of another
ancient ballad. These incidents seem to be mixed up in the various versions of Chevy Chase
(the name “Chevy Chase” is said to be an imitative corruption of the French word chevauchée
“a raid or expedition”).
The following stanzas are from the earliest version of the ballad (published by Bishop
Percy, at the end of the 18th century):
“This begane on a Monday at morn,
In Cheviot the hills so hi 150
The chyld may rue that ys un-born, 151
It was the mor pitte ...”
The hero of the ballad Chevy Chase is supposed to be a follower of Robin Hood, and
unduly tries the love and constancy of the heroine. He begins:
“I am the Knight; I come by night
As secret as I can;
Saying: ‘Alas! thus standeth the case:
I am a banished man’.”
To this the maid replies:
“Mine own heart dear, with you what cheer?
I pray you tell anon; 152
For, in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.”
He tells her that he has done a deed that will bring him under the ban of the law, and
must go to the green wood (or rather to Greenwood). She offers to accompany him. He points
out the hardships of such life. She will brave all in his company; he points out that he may be
taken and hanged. She can only reply: “I love but you alone”. He cannot think of carrying off
“a baron’s child.” She replies that if he will not take her, she will die “soon after ye be gone”.
Even the declaration that he has another and a fairer love does not shake this model of
constancy; so that he finally discloses himself, admitting that all these were but trials of her
love, and closes the long “disputation” as follows:
“Now understand; to Westmorland
Which is my heritage,
I will you bring; and with a ring
By way of marriage
I will you take, and lady make
As shortly as I can;
Thus have you won an earle’s son
And not a banish’t man.”

149 The Border: The (geographical, but mainly historical) line dividing Scotland and England. The name
Borders is given to the border or frontier area in Scotland, including the river Tweed, the birthplace of
Walter Scott.
150 Hi = high.
151 To rue (literary): to regret (bitterly).
152 Anon (literary): soon.

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 b. Ballads of Outlawry – or social ballads – sometimes referred to as Greenwood
Ballads. They were composed during the 14th century at the time of the peasants’ revolts (i.e.
Jack Straw and Wat Tyler’s revolts).153 They mirror the tough resistance of the people to the
Norman conquerors and the injustices of the feudal system. The most celebrated hero of this
cycle of ballads is Robin Hood, who is supposed to have lived in the 12th century during the
reign of Richard the Lion-Hearted and Henry II, to have been a man of noble birth, but
outlawed for some reason unknown, to have been followed by a number of “merry men”,
chief of whom was John Nailor (called Little John, because he was the tallest in the band),
Will Scathelocke (or Scarlett), George a-Green, Much (a miller’s son) and Friar Tuck. There
was also Robin’s wife, Maid Marian. He had at one time a hundred archers with him. They all
lived together in “the green forest”, shot the king’s deer, robbed the rich, helped the poor,
went regularly to mass with Friar Tuck, and were always courteous and kind to women and
children. Their spiritual foes were “bishoppes and archbishoppes”, and their legal enemy was
the Sheriff of Nottingham. Thus Robin became the impersonation of the popular dislike of the
cruel feudal laws. The whole cycle of these ballads was called The Lytell Geste of Robin
Hoode,154 and was printed by the successor of William Caxton in 1489, in a copy preserved in
the Public Library at Cambridge.
c. Ballads of Domestic Relations: These poems tell about ghosts, witches, fairies and
other supernatural forces and spirits. The Wife of Usher’s Well evokes superstitions of the
visitation of the dead sailors’ ghosts. A wealthy woman, the wife of Usher’s Well, learns that
her three sons (a magic number, frequently used in folk tales), who had put out to sea have
died. Once about Martinmas (i.e. St. Martin’s Day, November, 11th)155 her sons’ ghosts come
home and stay with their mother till day-break, when the cock begins to crow. They bid their
mother farewell and vanish.
d. Ballads of Love and Death: They are remarkable by the mainly primitive,
elemental passion they express. Their themes are tragic, intense, the feelings are generally
conveyed with striking simplicity and consummate art.
e. Humorous Ballads: These ballads evince the sound humour of the simple people,
their ingenuity. Get Up and Bar the Door is one of the most famous such pieces of poetry.
Humour springs from the contradiction between the words and conduct. The themes of these
ballads are simple, their emotions are direct and spontaneous (therefore more effective and
impressive, being readily perceivable). The same simplicity is to be found in the descriptions
of nature.
Main characteristics of the English popular ballads: The marks of the best ballad
poetry are simplicity and directness. When the events and the situations are pathetic, or tragic,
the simplicity deepens the pathos and intensifies the tragedy. They were suited to group-
acting, group-singing and group-dancing; oral preservation and transmission gradually
changed it into something suited for narration, with a clear tendency towards the epic, the
chronicle, the story, the romance. What gave the ballad its existence as a poetic species was a
choral, dramatic presentation. A number of older ballads had a refrain. It kept up the
continuity, and reminded the audience of the motif and central core of the ballad; and the
audience would now and then sing it along with the minstrel. Most ballads have a nearly
perfect correspondence between form and content: “A good deal of this poetry has power and
beauty – qualities which seem to come from the conciseness of the technique. There is never a
word wasted. A ballad usually tells a simple story, sometimes about war, sometimes about the
world of the supernatural. There is never any lack in the telling of the story...” (Anthony
Burgess, English Literature, p. 36).

153 Wat Tyler (died 1381): English leader of the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381. After occupying Canterbury and
London, and beginning negotiations with King Richard II, he was murdered at Smithfield.
154 Geste, gest (archaic): 1. A metrical romance or history. 2. A story or tale. 3. A deed or exploit (< French

(chanson de) geste “(story / poem / ballad about) action, exploit”).

155 Martinmas: The feast of Saint Martin (who is usually represented as tearing his cloak to share it with a

beggar); on this day fairs were held in the Middle Ages; it coincided with the slaughtering of animals for the
winter supply of salted and / or smoked meat.

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 The basic stylistic devices of the ballad are: repetitions, refrains which are used
alternatively, magic numbers (such as 3, 7, 12, 13), internal rhyme, the fact that epithets and
comparisons are scanty and pretty conventional, overall simplicity and ingenuity. When, in
the ballad of Sir Patrick Spens, the embassy returns no more, the pathos of the following
quatrains is intensified by their extreme simplicity:
“O lang, lang may the ladies sit
Wi’ their fans into their hand,
Or eir they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the land!

O lang, lang, may the ladies stand

Wi’ their goud kaims in their hair, 156
A’ waiting for their aim deir lords! 157
For they’ll see them nae mair…” 158
How the ballad and the minstrel disappeared. It was printing and the spreading of
printing that slowly displaced the ballad. The courtly minstrel had become a professional
stroller; and he was, in no long time, classified by the law as a tramp, a vagabond, and
possibly a rogue. The old songs and ballads, which had been handed down from generation to
generation by tradition, orally (i.e. by word of mouth) were, as soon as printing had become
cheap and common in England, put into type, and sold in the form of “broad-sheets” printed
on whitey-brown paper. (The broad-sheets had a satirical or political motive). They ceased to
be ballads and became pieces of learned or bookish literature. So many of them were spoiled,
they lost their vigour, spirit and gaiety in the editors’ attempt to modernise and even make
them edifying. And in such a situation, the songs and ballads became “dull, long-drawn, and
didactic.” In this way they lost their fire, and virtually the very reason of their existence.
Poets of the Romantic revival (in the late 18th and early 19th centuries) were greatly
influenced by the ballad. In the 19th century the refined drawing-room ballad had a period of
vogue, and a robust tradition survived in the music hall.

SUPPORT TEXTS
ROBIN HOOD AND THE WIDOW’S SONS

“There are twelve months in all the year,

As I hear many men say,
But the merriest month in all the year
Is the merry month of May.

Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone,

With a link a down and a day,
And there he met a silly1 old woman,
Was weeping on the way.

‘What news, what news? thou silly old woman,

What news hast thou for me?’
Said she. ‘There’s my three sons in Nottingham town
To-day condemned to die’.

‘O what have they done?’ said Robin Hood,

‘I pray thee tell to me’,
‘It’s for slaying2 of the king’s fallow deer,
Bearing their long bows with thee’.

156 Golden kaims = golden combs (Scottish dialectal).

157 Deir = dear (Scottish dialectal).
158 Nae mair = no more (Scottish dialectal).

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‘Dost thou not mind, old woman’, he said,
‘Since thou madest me sup and dine?
By the truth of my body’, quoth bold Robin Hood,
‘You could not tell it in better time’.

Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone,

With a link a down and a day,3
And there he met with a silly old palmer,4
Was walking along the highway.

‘What news, what news, thou silly old man,

What news, I do thee pray?’
Said he, ‘Three squires5 in Nottingham town
Are condemned to die this day’.

‘Come change thy apparel6 with me, old man.

Come change thy apparel with mine;
Here is forty shillings in good silver;
Go drink it in beer or wine’.

‘O, thine apparel is good’, he said,

‘And mine is ragged and torn;
Wherever you go, wherever you ride,
Laugh not an old man to scorn’.

‘Come change thy apparel with me, old churl,7

Come change thy apparel with mine;
Here is a piece of good broad gold;
Go feast thy brethren with wine’.

Then he put on the old man’s hat;

It stood full high on the crown;
‘The first bold bargain that I come at,
It shall make thee come down’.

Then he put on the old man’s cloak,8

Was patch’d black, blue and red;
He thought it no shame, all the day long,
To wear the bags of bread.

Then he put on the old man’s breeks,9

Was patch’d from leg to side;
‘By the truth of my body’, said bold Robin Hood,
‘I’d laugh if I had any list’.10

Then he put on the old man’s shoes,

Were patch’d both beneath and aboon;11
Then Robin swore a solemn oath:
‘It’s good habit12 that makes a man’.

Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone,

With a link a down and a day,
And there he met with the proud sheriff
Was walking along the town.

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‘Save you, save you,13 sheriff!’ he said;
‘Now heaven you save, and see!’
‘And what will you give to a silly old man
To-day will your hangman be?’

‘Some suits, some suits,’ the sheriff he said,

‘Some suits I’ll give to thee;
Some suits, some suits, and pence thirteen,
To-day’s a hangman’s fee’.

Then Robin he turns him round about,

And jumps from stock to stone;14
‘By the truth of my body’, the sheriff he said,
‘That’s well jumpt, thou nimble15 old man’.

‘I was ne’er a hangman in all my life,

Nor yet intend to trade;
But curst be he’, said bold Robin,
‘That first a hangman was made’.

‘I’ve a bag for meal, and a bag for malt,16

And a bag for barley and corn;
A bag for bread, and a bag for beef,
And a bag for my little small horn.’

‘I have a horn in my pocket,

I got it from Robin Hood,
And still when I set it to my mouth,
For thee it blows little good’.

‘O, wind thy horn, thou proud fellow!

Of thee I have no doubt.
I wish that thou would give such a blast,17
Till both thy eyes fall out’.

The first loud blast that he did blow

He blew tooth loud and shrill;
A hundred and fifty of Robin Hood’s men
Came riding over the hill.

The next loud blast that he did give

He blew both loud and amain,18
And quickly sixty of Robin Hood’s men
Came shining over the plain.

‘O, who are those’, the sheriff he said,

‘Come tripping19 over the lea?’
‘They’re my attendants’, brave Robin Hood did say.
‘They’ll pay a visit to thee’.

They hanged the proud sheriff on that,

Released their own three men.
They took the gallows from the slack,20
They set it in the glen.”21

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FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) silly: neajutorată; sărăcuţă; (2) to slay (P.T. slew, P.P. slain): a ucide, a omorî; (3) with a
link a down and a day: singsong repetition, used in folk poetry; (4) palmer: (ist.) pelerin; (5)
squire: boier de la ţară, boiernaş; (6) apparel: (înv.) veş(t)mînt / veş(t)minte, haine, strai(e); (7)
churl: ţăran; om de jos / de rînd; (8) cloak: mantie, manta, pelerină; (9) breeks = (dial.)
breeches: pantaloni, nădragi, bernevici; (10) list: a selvedge / selvage (Rom. “tiv; refec”), or a
piece of fabric; (11) aboon = (dial.) above; (12) It’s good habit that makes a man: “După haină
îl cunoşti pe om”, “Straiul scump îl face pe om / face boierul”; (13) save you: Să trăieşti! / Să
trăiţi! / Salutare! / Sănătate!; (14) stock = stump: ciot; butuc; (15) nimble: sprinten, iute, vioi,
agil; uşor; dibaci; (16) meal: făină, mălai; malt: malţ; orz; (17) blast: sunet puternic produs de
un instrument de suflat; (18) amain: (înv., poetic) din răsputeri, cu avînt, straşnic; (19) come
tripping: care vin ca vîntul; to trip: a merge uşor şi repede; (20) gallows: spînzurătoare; slack:
lagăr, loc de fixare; (21) glen: vale îngustă (de munte), strungă.

ROBIN HOOD AND THE CURTAL FRIAR

“In summer time, when leaves grow green,

And flowers are fresh and gay,
Robin Hood and his merry men
Were disposed to play.

Then some would leap, and some would run,

And some would use artillery:
Which of you can a good bow draw,
A good archer to be?

Which of you can kill a buck?

Or who can kill a doe?1
Or who can kill a hart of grease,
Five hundred foot him fro?2

Will Scadlock he killed a buck,

And Midge he killed a doe,
And Little John killed a hart of grease,
Five hundred foot him fro.

‘God’s blessing on thy heart’, said Robin Hood,

That hath shot such a shot for me;
I would ride my horse an hundred miles,
To find one could match with thee.

That caused Will Scadlock to laugh,

He laughed full heartily;
There lives a curtal friar3 in Fountains Abbey
Will beat both him and thee.

That curtal friar in Fountains Abbey

Well can a strong bow draw;
He will beat you and your yeomen,
Sat them all on a row.

Robin Hood took a solemn oath,

It was by Mary free,
That he would neither eat nor drink

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Till the friar he did see.

Robin Hood put on his harness good,

And on his head a cap of steel,4
Broad sword and buckler by his side,
And they became him weel.5

He took his bow into his hand,

It was made of a trusty tree6
With a sheaf of arrows at his belt,
To the Fountains Dale went he.

And coming unto Fountains Dale,

No further would he ride;
There was he aware of a curtal friar,
Walking by the water-side.

The friar had on a harness7 good,

And on his head a cap of steel,
Broad sword and buckler by his side,
And they became him weel.

Robin Hood lighted off his horse,

And tied him to a thorn:8
‘Carry me over the water, thou curtal friar,
Or else thy life’s forlorn.’9

The friar took Robin Hood on his back,

Deep water he did bestride,10
And spake neither good word nor bad,
Till he came at the other side.

Lightly leapt Robin Hood off the friar’s back;

The friar said to him again,
‘Carry me over this water, fine fellow,
Or it shall breed thy pain.’11

Robin Hood took the friar on’s back,

Deep water he did bestride,
And spake12 neither good word nor bad,
Till he came at the other side.

Lightly leapt the friar off Robin Hood’s back;

Robin Hood said to him again,
‘Carry me over this water, thou curtal friar,
Or it shall breed thy pain.’

The friar took Robin Hood on’s back again,

And slept up to the knee;
Till he came at the middle stream,
Neither good, nor bad spake he.

And coming to the middle stream,

There he threw Robin in;
’And choose thee, choose thee, fine fellow,

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Whether thou wilt sink, or swim.’

Robin Hood swam to a bush of broom,

The friar to a wicker wand; 13
Bold Robin Hood is gone to shore,
And took his bow in hand.

One of his best arrows under his belt

To the friar he let fly;
The curtal friar, with his steel buckler,
He put that arrow by.

‘Shoot on, shoot on, thou fine fellow,

Shoot on as thou hast begun;
If thou shoot here a summer’s day,
Thy mark I will not shun.’

Robin Hood shot passing well,14

Till his arrows all were gone;
They took their swords and steel bucklers,
And fought with might and main.15

From ten o’clock that summer’s day,

Till four i’ th’afternoon,16
Then Robin Hood came to his knees,
Of the friar to beg a boon.17

‘A boon, a boon, thou curtal friar,

I beg it on my knee;
Give me leave to set my horn to my mouth
And to blow blasts three.’

‘That will I do, said the curtal friar,

Of thy blasts I have no doubt;
I hope thou’lt blow so passing well
Till both thy eyes fall out.’

Robin Hood set his horn to his mouth,

He blew but blasts three;
Half a hundred yeomen, with bows bent,
Came raking over the lea.18

‘Whose men are these’, said the friar,

‘That come so hastily?’
‘These men are mine,’ said Robin Hood;
‘Friar, what is that to thee?’

‘A boon, a boon’, said the curtal friar,

‘The like I gave to thee;
Give me leave to set my fist to my mouth,
And to whewte whewtes19 three.’

‘That will I do’, said Robin Hood,

‘Or else I were to blame;
Three whewtes in a friar’s fist

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Would make me glad and fain.’20

The friar he set his fist to his mouth,

And whewted whewtes three;
Half a hundred good bandogs21
Came running the friar unto.

‘Here’s for every man of thine a dog,

And I myself for thee’:
‘Hay, by my faith,’ quoth22 Robin Hood,
‘Friar, that may not be’.

Two dogs at once to Robin Hood did go,

The one behind, the other before,
Robin Hood’s mantle of Lincoln green23
Off from his back they tore,

And whether his men shot east or west,

Or they shot north or south,
The curtal dogs, so taught they were,
They kept their arrows in their mouth.

‘Take up thy dogs, said Little John,

Friar, at my bidding be’;
‘Whose man art thou’, said the curtal friar,
‘Comes here to prate24 with me?’

‘I am Little John, Robin Hood’s man,

Friar, I will not lie;
If thou take not up thy dogs soon,
I’ll take up them and thee’.

Little John had a bow in his hand,

He shot with might and main;
Soon half a score of the friar’s dogs
Lay dead upon the plain.

‘Hold thy hand, good fellow,’ said the curtal friar,

‘Thy master and I will agree;
And we will have new orders taken,
With all the haste that may be.’

‘If thou wilt forsake fair Fountains Dale,

And Fountains Abbey free,
Every Sunday throughout the year,
A noble shall be thy fee.’

‘And every holy day throughout the year,

Changed shall thy garment be,
If thou wilt go to fair Nottingham,
And there remain with me.’

This curtal friar had kept Fountain Dale

Seven long years or more;
There was neither knight, lord, nor earl

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 Could make him yield before.”25
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) buck: căprior, ţap; doe: căprioară; ciută; (2) five hundred foot him fro: de la cinci sute de
picioare; (3) a curtal friar: călugăr cu rasa / pelerina retezată; (4) a cap of steel: un coif de oţel
/ criţă; (5) they became him weel: îi veneau bine (weel = well – dial. scoţ.); (6) trusty: reliable,
trustworthy; (7) harness: (înv.) armură; cămaşă de zale; (8) thorn: (bot.) porumbar, mărăcine;
(9) forlorn: (lit.) pierdută; la ananghie, lăsată fără nădejde; (10) he did bestride = he bestrode
(Past Tense form of to bestride: a păşi / călca / merge cu paşi mari / cu pas întins); (11) it shall
breed thy pain: o să te fac să-ţi pară rău / să te doară; (12) spake = (he) spoke; (13) wicker
wand: nuia / nuieluşă de salcie sau răchită; (14) passing well = (înv.) exceedingly well; (15)
with might and main: cu străşnicie; (16) i’ th’afternoon = in the afternoon; (17) to beg a boon:
a cere un hatîr; boon: 1. dar, favoare; 2. (înv.) rugăminte; (18) came raking over the lea: to
rake (or to be raked): a se înclina, a fi înclinat / adus înainte; a se abate de la verticală; lea:
(poetic) pajişte, câmp; luncă, islaz, păşune; (19) to whewte: a şuiera; whewtes: şuierături,
fluierături; (20) (glad and) fain: (poet., înv.) bucuros să…, gata să… / de a…; mulţumit de… /
să…; (21) bandog: dulău, zăvod; câine rău; “fierce chained dogs”; (22) (he) quoth = (he) said /
said he; (23) Lincoln green = (ist.) [Uncount.] bright green woollen cloth originally made at
Lincoln; (24) to prate = to talk foolishly, or at tedious length, about something; “a pălăvrăgi, a
trăncăni, a flecări, a sta la taifas (despre ceva)”; (25) to yield: a se preda, a se da; a se închina
(în faţa cuiva).

THE DRAMA AND DRAMATISTS BEFORE SHAKESPEARE.

THE MEDIAEVAL DRAMA

The origin of the drama lies deep down in human nature, in people’s love of “acting”.
The English drama had its origin chiefly in the services and customs of the Church. When by
far the larger number of the people of England could not read, the clergy tried to teach them
the Sacred History by dramatic representations, in which the personages of the holy Scripture
were shown in more or less appropriate dresses, went through a certain course of prescribed
action, and made short speeches, or took part in dialogues. Yet, the origin of the English
drama is to be sought in two influences:
1. the popular tradition
2. the Christian liturgy (=the mass).
1. As far back as the pre-feudal epoch, people had formed the tradition of observing
certain feasting times by definite ceremonies such as songs, dances, where they recited
dialogues, resorted to mimicry, etc. Most important were the May Games,159 in which villa-
gers dressed for the occasion, went in processions to the green woods where they sang and
performed dances. The May Games were very popular until quite recent times (see the
opening chapter of Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles. 160
2. The religious rituals and spectacular ceremonies performed by the clergy in the
church, the solemn staging of the mass were all means resorted to by the clergy in order that
they may exert their influence upon the people. These elements lent themselves to dramatic
effect, which gradually led to the rise of the drama within the church itself.
The mingling of the popular traditional elements with the religious elements can also
be traced back in the origin of the ancient Greek drama, of the Chinese, Indian or Egyptian

159See the similar Romanian feast called Armindeni – etymologically: Saint Jeremiah’s Day.
160“… The forests have departed, but some old customs of their shades remain. Many, however, linger
only in a metamorphosed or disguised form. The May-Day dance, for instance, was to be discerned (…) in
the guise of the club revel, or ‘club-walking’, as it was there called. It was an interesting event (…) Its
singularity lay less in the retention of a custom of walking in procession and dancing on each anniversary
than in the members being solely women. In men’s clubs such celebrations were, though expiring, less
uncommon (…) The club of Marlott alone lived to uphold the local Cerealia. It had walked for hundred of
years, if not as benefit-club, as votive sisterhood of some sort; and it walked still” – (from Thomas Hardy,
Tess of the Durbervilles, Penguin Classics, p. 49).

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drama. The ancient Greek drama sprang from the ceremonies performed in honour of
Dionysus, the God of Life and Death, the God of wine and fertility of the earth. Dionysus was
therefore looked upon as the father of the Greek comedy and tragedy.161 In order to attract the
audiences, the clergy introduced dramatic ceremonies, solemn staging, rich decorations and
bright ecclesiastical attire into the church services.
In an incipient stage, the ecclesiastics illustrated the biblical stories by means of the
dumb show (with commentaries in Latin) – living pictures representing various religious
myths. Then, they introduced into the church service chanted dialogues founded on scenes
from the Scripture. These dialogues were called antiphons. In the ninth and tenth centuries the
church drama assumed the form of tropes, i.e. paraphrases of biblical stories in dialogues
form suited to certain religious melodies.162 The tropes were recited or sung within the
church, and were in Latin and in prose. The tropes were the earliest form of the religious
drama proper. Later on the tropes and the dumb show joined and gave rise to the liturgical
drama. In the beginning they were performed in Latin, later on vernacular Norman-French
was substituted for Latin. Then, the liturgical drama left the church precincts and moved into
the church porch, the church-enclosure, then into the market-place, the streets and the village
open areas. It largely contributed to the emancipation of the drama from the church and the
clergy. It also acquired an eventual lay character.
The Actors: When towards the end of the thirteenth century the religious drama had
emerged from the church into the market-place, the clergyman ceased playing parts in the
plays, but they went on composing them. While the playwrights were still ecclesiastics, the
actors were laymen. Performances were pageants. This word sometime refers to the bright,
spectacular show itself. But pageant also referred to the movable scaffolds, movable wooden
structure drawn by horses on which the performance took place. Some pageants (scaffolds)
had a fixed place and the audience went from a pageant to another. Scenery was scanty, but
stage properties were rich, bright and so were the actors’ attire. (The usual properties were a
cradle, or a manger, a coffin, the king’s throne, etc.). Performances often lasted several days
in view of the number of plays to be performed in each series (cycle). Performances began
early in the morning, between four and five o’clock, and they were opened by a procession
through the town. The members of the trade guilds,163 in rich attire with banners swaying,
followed their respective movable pageant.
The four collections: There are in existence at the present time four great collections of
the sacred plays. They are known as the York, the Wakefield (or Towneley), the Coventry,
and the Chester Plays.
(I) The York Collection contains forty-eight pieces, and belongs to the middle of the
fourteenth century; these plays are the earliest of all;
(II) The Wakefield Collection contains thirty-two plays, and belongs to the middle of the
fifteenth century. This cycle is also called the “Towneley Collection”, because they
belonged to the library of the Towneley family, of Towneley Hall, Lancashire. Twenty-
four of the plays are based on the New Testament; eight – on the Old Testament.
Comical scenes are frequent; they show realistic scenes of life;
(III) The Coventry Collection contains twenty-four plays; the manuscripts belong to the
fifteenth century;
(IV) The Chester Collection contains twenty-four plays. The manuscripts belong to the end of
the fifteenth century. In these plays allegorical characters appear for the first time.

161 Etymologically, comedy is related to the Greek word meaning “merry-making”, while tragedy is
derived from Gk tragos “a he-goat, i.e. the scapegoat (of the Dionysian ceremonies)” – that is, the sacrificial
animal. The Eleusian Mysteries were ceremonies held in honour of the Greek deities Demeter,
Persephone, and Dionysus; worshippers saw visions in the disused temple, which they thought were
connected with the underworld.
162 A trope can be defined as a phrase, sentence or verse formerly interpolated in a liturgical text in order

to amplify or embellish the religious message.

163 Guild (Rom. “breaslă”): A mediaeval association of merchants or tradesmen, organised to maintain

standards and protect the interests of its members; sometimes, the guilds also represented a local governing
body.

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 In England, as elsewhere on the continent, the drama until the Renaissance assumed
four distinct forms: mysteries, miracles, morality plays and interludes.
1. The MYSTERIES, like the Miracle Plays, were plays based on Bible incidents and
Bible personages; the miracle play set forth incidents from the lives of the Saints. The earliest
mysteries were written and spoken in Latin; the earliest representations were given in the
churches themselves, and by the clergy and choristers.
The term Mystery is derived from the Latin word ministerium, meaning “a function,
office, performance”. Soon mistery was mixed up with mystery, the latter word being derived
from the Latin mysterium “service of the church”, because in early Christian times the service
was a secret, a mystery. 164
2. The MIRACLE PLAYS (or MIRACLES) were plays presenting legends about the life of
Virgin Mary. About the early part of the reign of Edward III (1327-77) miracle plays began to
be acted in English. The earliest miracle play in English was The Harrowing of Hell, 165
which belongs to the latter half of the thirteenth century. Also extant is a miracle play called
Saint Nicholas, written in Latin, in the twelfth century, by an Englishman called Hilarius; this
was performed in the church dedicated to that Saint.
The great Church festivals were Christmas, Easter, Whitsuntide,166 and Corpus
Christi;167 and on these days and after them were produced the well-known and highly
popular plays representing sacred subject. In the course of time the production of these plays
passed from the hands of the clergy into those of the Guilds of Towns. Each guild fitted up
pageants or carriages, on four or on six wheels, with houses of two storeys upon them; in the
lower room the actors dressed themselves and painted their faces, and in the upper room they
acted the play. After they had performed an act or play in one place, they wheeled the carriage
on to another street. Thus the whole town became a great open-air theatre. On high-days and
holidays, such dramas occupied the town; the whole city was given up to the drama; and three
days, sometimes as many as eight, were devoted to dramatic enjoyment (after 1417, the
choosing of the places for the representations was regulated by auction, and the plays were
performed under the windows of the highest bidders).
3. THE MORALITIES: A new stage in the growth of the drama was reached when in the
fifteenth century the Miracle Plays gave way to the Moralities and the Interludes. Serious and
comic elements develop separately in these latter forms of the drama; the Morality is a serious
play, its tone is grave; the Interlude is a comic play, its tone is light. The Moralities came into
fashion at the beginning of the fifteenth century.
A morality is a play that enforces some moral truth or lesson. The “characters” in these
plays were not real persons at all, but abstract qualities – vices and virtues; and the passion for
such plays probably arose from the fondness for allegorical poetry that was common in the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Abstractions had been introduced into the miracle plays as
early as the fourteenth century – such abstractions as Mundus (=the World), the Seven Deadly
Sins, Justice, Truth, Peace, and others. The chief “character” in such plays was the “Vice”.
This character slowly developed into the clown or fool as a relief to (or antithesis of) the too
tragic character of certain plays. Vice was armed with a wooden dagger, and the same weapon
is found today in the hand of Harlequin.
One of the earliest Morality plays is The Castle of Perseverance (about AD 1400). But
the most popular of all these plays is Everyman (1495).168 A sixteenth century well-known
Morality play is The Four Elements (1519). It takes a great interest in all the sciences known
at that time and lays stress on the use of the senses for the study of Nature; in keeping with
the (comparatively) new philosophical and scholarly trends, sensations are looked upon as the

164 Cf. the Eleusian Mysteries – see footnote above.

165 To harrow (of Jesus Christ): to descend into Hell to free the righteous held captive there.
166 Whitsuntide (also Whit Sunday): Christian festival held seven weeks after Easter, commemorating the

descent of the Holy Spirit on the Apostles (Rom “Pogorîrea Sfântului Duh”); the name is derived from the
white clothes worn by candidates for baptism at the festival.
167 Corpus Christi: Feast celebrated in the Catholic and Orthodox churches on the Thursday after Trinity

Sunday.
168 As a common noun, Everyman has come to signify “the common / ordinary man”.

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source of Man’s knowledge. The Morality plays prepared the emancipation of drama from
religion.
4. THE INTERLUDES: The Interludes were short independent dialogues that had existed
as far back as the thirteenth century. This form of drama was a short play written for
performance between the courses at state banquets or other feasts of ceremony. The first
Interludes were written by John Heywood in 1521. The best known is that with the title of
The Four Ps, a very merry interlude of a Palmer,169 a Pardoner,170 a Potecary,171 and a
Pedlar.172
They argue about the relative value of their callings and ask the Pedlar to be their judge.
This one declares himself unable to judge of such important matters but he readily accepts to
judge who can tell the biggest lie. Finally, the Palmer is awarded the prize.
5. THE MASQUES: Early in the reign of Henry VIII, there came to England from Italy a
kind of dramatic entertainment called a Masque. It was a short play, brightened by music,
striking scenery, brilliant dresses, and dancing. The characters were played by lords and
ladies. This kind of historic spectacle, or “musical drama”, was most in vogue during the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and not only Ben Jonson, but also Beaumont and
Fletcher, and John Milton wrote excellent examples of this kind of entertainment. An older
form of Masque was called a Disguising; and such short dramas were played as early as the
reign of Edward III. In a disguising, the performers wore a disguising dress; in a masque they
also covered their face. Little Scottish boys, who on November 5th don masks and motley
clothes, still call themselves “guisers”.

THE TUDORS

The Europe of the new age had no longer the strict divisions of the Middle Ages –
rigid corporations, the feudal village, the monastery. The arts of civilisation took root again
and flourished in new forms. The new era was that of private enterprise, of genius. The
forces at work in destroying the medieval system were: the emancipation of the villeins /
villains, the growth of London, the spread of cloth manufacture and other trading activities;
the rise of educated and active-minded classes; the unifying effect of the Common Law; the
royal administration and the Parliament; the newly acquired national pride and the adoption
of English by the educated classes; the invention of the cannon and the printing press; the
studies of the Renaissance; the geographical discoveries and the new trade routes; as well as
the tendency of all Western Europe to group into national states, power concentrating in the
King’s hands; in England, the power was allied with the old Parliament. Much of the old
institutions and traditions was preserved, with notable modifications.
In the Tudor epoch the nation asserted its new strength, claiming complete
independence for the nation; while omnicompetence on behalf of the state was embodied in
the person of the Prince – the object of the 16th century’s worship of the King. Real
government was taught by the Tudor kings and their privy Council to the Parliament. The
English people, tired with the anarchy brought about the War of the Roses, wanted peace
and stability, being rather agreeable to the idea of monarchy having certain limitations.
Henry VII, a well-balanced and thrifty man (at a time when money had become the
new symbol of power), profited by the numerical decrease in the number of the aristocracy,
as well as the Parliament’s losing prestige during the civil war. The Tudors took support on
three new and vigorous social classes: the gentry, the yeomen and the merchants. The
‘gentry’ was represented by the rich tradesman, the descendant of the now idle chivalrous
class, midway from the gentlefolk to the peasant; merchants were richer and richer, mainly
owing to the competition they had recently engaged with the maritime republics of Venice
169 Palmer: a pilgrim returning from the Holy Land (i.e. Palestine) with palm-branches.
170 Pardoner: a monk selling papal pardons or indulgences for the sins committed (see also Chaucer’s
Pardoner).
171 Pothecary (= a dialectal variant of apothecary < Gk apotheke “a pharmacist’s shop / storehouse”): a

chemist, a pharmacist.
172 Pedlar: someone who sells wares travelling from place to place (cf. to peddle).

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and Genoa in the Mediterranean Sea. Henry VII was well aware that the future of his people
was at sea; therefore, he encouraged ship building; the ships that were built – merchant
ships as well as men-of-war – were sometimes hired to tradesmen.
The navy of that time didn’t draw any clear distinction between the commercial
vessels and the military ones. That is why the English could lay a serious claim as to
effectively taking part in conquering and partaking of the newly discovered lands of
America, Asia and Africa. The era of ocean discovery and commerce had begun, replacing
the ancient trade routes across Asia. England’s own contribution lies in the attempts made
by the Cabots173 to find the ‘North-West Passage’ to India, during which they visited certain
regions in Labrador, Newfoundland, and Nova Scotia. Henry VII encouraged maritime
adventure, but it was Henry VIII who built an effective fleet of royal fighting ships – with
rows of cannons on each side; these were better adapted to ocean voyage and manoeuvring
in battle than the galleys of the round ships of continental type. The support given by Henry
VIII to the Navy and commerce accounts for an increasing popularity and bias on the part of
the people, especially Londoners.
During the Tudor reigns, the legal system was based on the authority of the Privy
Council, the main adviser of the monarch.174 The institution of the Parliament saw a decline;
during King Henry VIII’s reign it was assembled only on seven occasions. The reason why
the king and his court could perfectly govern the country was that they took support on the
traditionally well-organised network of local institutions (the parishes took care of, and
supported their own poor, taking every measure to keep away the vagabonds and the rogues;
the petty constables, who put into effect the decisions taken by the justices of the peace,
nominated by the King; every shire / county was supervised by a high sheriff).
Religious zeal in England was at its lowest ebb when Henry VIII destroyed the
medieval power and privilege of the Church, proclaiming himself chief of the Church of
England. Roman Catholics were identified by the people with the Jesuits, the Spaniards, and
the French, so they were largely detested. The English were actually primarily anticlerical.
Scholasticism was scornfully rejected, yet fanaticism and the violence characteristic of
German Protestantism were equally repellent to the Englishman.
English reformers tried to find an equilibrium keeping with the common sense.175
Their studies were moral and religious. John Colet delivered lectures in which he
commented on St. Paul’s epistles, observing a humanist’s view. He was to set up St. Paul’s
School, where students attended courses in subjects ranging from dialectics, grammar and
rhetoric (i.e. the medieval ‘trivium’) to Latin, Greek and English. Thomas More – high
official and great writer, author of Utopia – was, like Colet, a friend of the Dutch humanist
Desiderius Erasmus, a high intellectual and moral instance all over Europe.176
In England, the men of the Renaissance used the study of the Greek and Latin
languages to reform the Church; the influence of the ‘Oxford Reformers’ spread to London,
Cambridge and the Court. The attitude of the new monarchy towards this New Learning was
best expressed by the reign of Henry VIII (1509-1547). A prince of the Renaissance, he
was a libertine, a cultivated man and a cruel king alike; a perfect athlete, he had a taste for

173 The Cabots: John Cabot (or Giovanni Caboto), Italian navigator (1450-1498), and his sons.
Commissioned, with his three sons, by Henry VII to discover unknown islands, he was the first European
to reach the North American mainland; in 1498 he touched Greenland.
174 In that comparable to the old (i.e. Anglo-Saxon) Witan.
175 As a matter of fact, most Britons find the very word Reformation, as applying to England / Britain,

rather misleading and / or inadequate; the Church of England is also called the Anglican Church – as
Reformation in England was mainly national (and political).
176 Erasmus (or, rarely, Erasm) = Desiderius Erasmus (c. 1469-1536): Dutch scholar, and Renaissance

humanist. Born in Rotterdam; his real name was Gerhard Gerhards. He studied and taught all over
Europe, and was a tremendously prolific writer. Erasmus reestablished the precedence of the Greek New
Testament over the Latin Vulgate. Erasmus was opposed to dogmatic religion, but did not become a
supporter of Luther; he condemned the excesses of the Reformation, as well as the German leader in his
De Libero Arbitrio (1523). His Colloquia Familiaria were a series of dialogues on contemporary subjects. He
also wrote a famous satire entitled Encomium Moriae (“The Praise of Folly”).

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literature, theology and music (being a meritorious composer, too). His conflict with the
Pope and the Catholic Church was at bottom a conflict with Charles V, the Spanish
emperor. His religious reform (a split from the Roman Catholic Church, amounting to the
actual concentration in the King’s hands of the religious / spiritual and laic / temporal
powers) was indeed biographically motivated: he married Catherine of Aragon, his brother’s
widow, by whom he had no male heir – so he decided to divorce (and Wolsey, his Prime
Minister, a promoter of the political concept of European ‘balance of powers’, agreed to it,
like the Parliament) and married Anne Boleyn. The Pope, instigated by the Spanish king,
refused to confirm the union. The schism (i.e. split, or breaking away from Rome) was then
decided by Henry and voted by the Parliament. It meant setting up a national Church – the
Anglican Church. Immediately afterwards, the monastic estates were robbed (much to the
profit of the rising bourgeois class). The dissenters (the opponents) were liquidated (e.g.
Thomas More himself). Henry VIII wanted the church he had founded to be “Catholic and
national” – so, he relentlessly persecuted the Protestants, sending them to the stake. After
Catherine (Mary Tudor’s mother) and Anne Boleyn (Elisabeth’s mother), Henry had another
four wives and a son (the future king Edward VI).
The interludes that followed were either Protestant or Catholic: a Protestant reaction
during Edward VI’s reign and a catholic one in Mary Tudor’s time, when hundreds of
Protestants were martyred; most of them were inhabitants of London, mainly from the
humble folk. England was at its lowest, without arms and leaders, unity and spirit.

THE ELIZABETHAN AGE (1558-1603)

The Elizabethan age was mainly the Age of the Sea; the age of the (religious and
political) compromise of Anglicanism; an age at once intensely national and intensely
individualistic. England had already embarked upon the great voyage to the modern world;
together with the creation of modern England, this age mapped out the future of Great
Britain.
Queen Elizabeth I177 was the greatest of the Tudor monarchs, so the entire epoch
bears her name. The queen was the living embodiment of its spirit. As early as the first year
of her reign, Elizabeth re-established the supremacy of the national, laic state, with a
national Church engaged as its servant upon honourable terms. She succeeded in gaining the
whole people’s support, and thus she was powerful because she was loved – or at least
preferred. The loyalty of the English people may be explained by the fact that she always
guessed the things they liked, and no less by her thriftiness and parsimony. She would have
tried everything in order to avoid war, while opposing the extremes (namely, the Protestant
exaggerations, and also dogmatic Catholicism). She was ceaselessly busy playing her ‘part’
and managed to combine the art of making herself adored by the Court and the people with
sheer energy, paralleled by a certain harshness and coarseness. She loved to be flattered and
even worshipped as ‘the Fairy Queen’, ‘the Virgin Queen’, or Queen Gloriana, Britomart,
Cynthia, etc.
Sceptical and tolerant in an age of growing fanaticism, English in feeling, but pan-
European in education (she discoursed in Greek and Latin to the Universities of Oxford and
Cambridge, she could speak perfect Italian and French as well as play the lute), Elizabeth
was born and bred to re-establish the Anglican Church by achieving a compromise between
the Catholics and the Protestants. In 1563, the 39 articles, the Protestant creed, were adopted
– thus coinciding with the nation’s wish. She abhorred violence, the brutal methods of
checking Calvinistic Protestantism, which, preached by John Knox (1505-1572), took deep
roots in Scotland; yet, her Privy Council ordered several hundreds of ‘dissenters’ to be
executed – among whom Mary Stuart, the Catholic Queen of Scots. Nor did her favourites
escape punishment when they were (thought) guilty of treason.
Queen Elizabeth enjoyed the effective service of great statesmen (e.g. Cecil,
Walsingham) as well as the courageous military (and financial) support on the part of such

177 Elizabeth I, or Elizabeth Tudor

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seamen as: Francis Drake, at the same time a pirate and a mariner, the man who robbed the
Spanish ships coming from America of their precious load – the greatest of the ‘privateers’,
the man who established a complete understanding between the Royal Navy and the
merchant adventurers who started the slave trade selling Negroes kidnapped on the African
coasts; and Walter Raleigh (or Ralegh), who made an attempt to set up a colony on the coast
of North America – which was named Virginia after the Queen. It was in the 16th century
that appeared and developed the big maritime companies, which held a monopoly on
commerce with other countries (e.g. the companies of Levant, East India, etc.).
The greatest threat to the new national monarchy came from Philip III of Spain,
who did not look too kindly on the plundering of the Spanish treasure galleons by English
ships and who, as the head of a Catholic country, resented the rise of the English
Protestantism. When Sir Francis Drake “singed Philip’s beard” by sailing into, and
ruthlessly plundering and sacking the harbour of Cadiz, Philip decided it was time to teach
the English a lesson, and he sent his Invincible Armada sailing up into the English Channel
(1588). The renowned Spanish fleet was savagely destroyed by the new long-range guns of
Drake and Hawkins and then completely routed by the autumn gales off the coasts of
Scotland and Ireland (only 30 out of 130 ships could return to Spain). The threat of the
Armada had ended and the Englishmen could enjoy peace and naval prosperity.
Elizabeth reigned to be seventy years old – a very old age in that time; when she
died, Britain was at the fullest of her glory.

The Renaissance

Private enterprise, individual initiative and skill, as well as a good-humoured quality

of classes were on the increase in the defeudalised England of the Renaissance and the
Reformation. Intellectual and poetic freedom had reached their fullest expansion by the end
of Elizabeth’s reign. The spirit of inquiry and the vision of the ancient freedom of Greek and
Roman thought, a free imagination and energy were the marks of that age, characterised by
a breathtaking activity in all fields and strata of life.
Public tastes ran all the gamut from the public hangings, up into the cultural
atmosphere of rich decoration (fashion being a general concern), elevated discussions of
Christian theology, Greek philosophy and Italian poetry. It will be true to add that drama
and music flourished, but so did bear-baiting and cock-fighting.
On the other hand, continual domestic reading and study of the Bible was a nation-
wide preoccupation, creating a general habit of reading and reflection in whole classes of
the community. Literacy was significant. Public Schools (e.g. Rugby, Harrow), petty
schools and Grammar Schools were a universal presence in England. It was an age of wide
reading, even amounting to book-worship; translations were very important. “In the field of
prose, translation seems to come first. A prose literature can only grow by taking
nourishment, and this nourishment can only be obtained from foreign sources. Thus
translations from the Greek, Latin, French, and Italian made up much of the first Tudor
prose, and, of course, pre-eminent among all Tudor translations is one from the Hebrew as
well as the Greek – the English Bible. The influence of those versions of the Bible made
before 1611 is quite evident in Shakespeare’s plays – he must have read Tyndale or
Coverdale, or heard them read in church – though perhaps Shakespeare is the least
‘religious’ of English writers: Christianity in its formal sense rarely appears in his plays,
though he is much concerned with moral problems...” (Anthony Burgess, English
Literature, p. 93).
It was an age of music and lyrical poetry, flourishing together (see some of
Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets, e.g. The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Twelfth Night, Sonnet
8 and Sonnet 128, etc.); most people could sing and play several instruments as well as read
music scores. The genius of Byrd, the great composer, was equally concerned with the
religious and the profane sphere.
The age is above all a bourgeois, pragmatic, dynamic one, with moral principles
essentially taking support on individualism; as a matter of fact, the theme shared by quite a

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number of Elizabethan literary pieces is the conflict between demonstrative individualism and
the traditional idea of moral order.
This is the period when growing interest in the problems raised by personality
induces the publication of a rather consistent series of manuals of psychology – the most
famous being that written by Robert Burton and entitled Anatomy of Melancholy (1621); the
major concern of such handbooks and treatises lay in dealing with, and also possibly
treating, the conflicts arising between mind and soul (in direct continuation of the older,
mediaeval theory of the ‘humours’, i.e. the body’s vital fluids, the imbalance of which could
lead to disorders in both spirit and body).
The Elizabethans took over from the spiritual framework or the Middle Ages the
world-order hierarchies, which they (sincerely or not) thought were established once and
for all, and were guaranteed from divine quarters. They further refined the concept, giving it
the final shape of strictly ordered structures; so, degree and order were key words / concepts
for the Elizabethan mind (Edmund Spenser, for example, opposes the notion of order to that
of mutability, as Shakespeare and his contemporary fellow-dramatists oppose it to chaos /
disorder / unrule).
A recurrent image with the Elizabethans is the ‘Great Chain of Being’ – ultimately
derived from Plato’s dialogue entitled Timaeus, which got down to European thinking
through the mediation of Aristotle’s philosophy, later revived by the Neoplatonists.178 This
universal scheme postulated interrelationship between the various entities of universal
existence. Its defining degrees / ranks / notches were: (1) the angels, inhabitants of the upper
world, who were ordered in their turn according to a ‘ladder’ of their own; (2) the stars and
fortunes: it is the stars that determine man’s destiny / fate and evolution (cf. Romeo and
Juliet’s “star-crossed love”); (3) the four elements, essential entities, resembling building-
blocks, lying at the very foundation of the make-up of the other entities / existing things that
form the universe; the four elements are: fire, air, water, and earth; again, the idea of the
four elements was derived, via mediaeval philosophy, from the Greek philosophers of
antiquity, especially Heraclitus; (4) man, animals, and minerals: in man’s constitution, the
four humours took part, in various proportions, significantly differing from one individual to
another, and they corresponded, in a strictly univocal manner, to the four essential elements
of universal existence – as follows: melancholy (from Greek “black gall / bile”) – earth,
phlegm – water, choler (“gall, bile”) – fire, blood – air. Human mind was considered as
being organized in accordance with the five senses: in fact, another traditional
representation taken over from the gnosic-ontological schemes and symbols current in the
Middle Ages.
The Renaissance had brought to England the idea that the man is the measure of
most things; this “rebirth” of ancient Greek and Roman cultures together with the newly
invented printing press swept through England, teaching people that life was a beautiful and
exciting end-in-itself, the world being the stage on which man could display his amazing
creative faculties. The humanists’ concern for all subjects of human interest (cf.
‘humanities’, or ‘liberal arts’ in the 19th, the 20th, and the current century) covered a wide
range of preoccupations (from music, theology, philosophy, to natural philosophy or
science, as well as physical exercise). The striving idealism, essentially active and assertive,
in spite of all appeareances, was a clear mark of the times.
Everybody adored metaphors, flowery discourse (see Lyly’s Euphues) and theatrical
performance, which were attended in the newly founded companies (e.g. The Theatre, The
Globe, etc.), companies that staged the works of Shakespeare, Christopher Marlowe, Ben
Jonson and other dramatists of the day.
The Elizabethans’ attitude to literature, to a certain extent reminiscent of the Middle
Ages, yet essentially shaped by the newly inculcated classical aspirations, relies on the basic

178Neoplatonists, Neoplatonism: (Representatives of) a philosophical and religious system developed by

the followers of Plotinus in the 3rd century A.D. Neoplatonism combined ideas from Plato, Aristotle,
Pythagoras, the Stoics, and oriental mysticism, and exerted a major influence on early Christian writers. (Cf.
also Platonism: the philosophy of Plato and his followers, as well as its revivals in European philosophy).

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principle of decorum. Elizabethan poetry – and consequently the drama – joins together what
Edmund Spenser called ‘labour and learning’ and ‘enthusiasm’. Alongside emotional feeling
and sentiment, the Elizabethans valued and cultivated formal logic. “The Elizabethan poet is
continually reasoning, persuading, demonstrating analogies and logical connections; even his
imagery and his rhythm are marshalled into argument. He is ‘the nearest borderer upon the
Orator’; (in Ben Jonson’s words)” (apud I. G. Salingar, The New Pelican Guide to English
Literature, p. 90)
In order to render natural, spontaneous feeling, the Elizabethan poet used a number of
literary devices, known by the common name of Amplification; these included accumulation
of words and phrases, a plethora of concetti, maxims and sentences or dictums, vehement
meanings, hyperbole, antithesis, etc. (v. T. Wilson, Art of Rhetoric, pp. 114 f.f., 156). So, the
very spirit of the age had everything to do with aestheticism, related to the general principles
of the English Renaissance. It was supported by strong, vehement, but rather superfluous
expression, in vocabulary, grammar and general style (specifically based on: rhyme,
assonance, alliteration, antithesis, hyperbole, epithet, exaggerated use of superlative forms,
with the abstract tending to become concrete, etc.).
As a matter of fact, the language itself of the period had all the qualities required by
great literature: expressiveness, rhythm, vigorous beat; even everyday speech had special vim
and imaginative force, while Shakespeare’s contemporaries’ musical sense and
preoccupations were remarkable. “Today we cannot subscribe to Elizabethan criteria for
eloquence, but we must surely agree that the literature of Shakespeare’s age is embodied in a
language of unsurpassed vitality and richness. If we had to choose any period of twenty-five
years as the most creative in English history, we should probably take the period from 1587 to
1612. In drama, that period encompasses the works of Shakespeare and of Marlowe, and the
best work of Jonson; in non-dramatic poetry, the work of Spenser and much of that of Donne;
in prose, the splendour of the King James Bible of 1611. Moreover, it is not only the major
literary works that evince this vitality and richness: similar qualities can be found in the minor
authors – prose-writers such as Nashe, part-time and amateur poets such as Ralegh.” (D. F.
Mckenzie, in The New Pelican Guide to English Literature, p. 229).
But the Elizabethan zest for living could not last forever. During the final years of
Elizabeth’s reign and throughout the reign of James I people began to question whether the
world was really as wonderful as they had thought. Civil war was threatening again. The
new theories of astronomy of Copernicus and Galileo were convincing more and more
people that the sun, not the earth was at the centre of the Universe. Having tasted deeply of
the pleasures of the world, some men turned with disgust and revulsion against them.
So, the later Elizabethans became disenchanted with life to the same extent that the
early Elizabethans had been enchanted by it. We can account for part of this cultural, and
also psychological shift through the influence of the Baroque, implying extravagance in
ornament, asymmetry, great expressiveness, cultural mannerism, but also a clearly
pessimistic view of life and man’s destiny, e.g. the idea of “Ubi sunt?”, the labyrinthine
questioning of external events and also the ways of human mind and sensitivity, the mainly
ironical and sarcastic attitude, etc. The early Baroque stemmed from Mannerism, and was
part of the Counter Reformation, having as a spring Italy. Its main intention was to resolve
the tensions within the spirit of Mannerism (see infra).

SUPPORT TEXTS

JOHN LYLY (1554-1606)

EUPHUES
“There dwelt in Athens a young gentleman of great patrimony,1 and of so comelye2 a
personage, that it was doubted whether he were more bound to Nature for the liniaments 3 of
his person, or to Fortune for the increase of his possessions. But Nature, impatient of
comparisons, and as it were disdaining a companion or copartner in his working, added to this
comelynesse of his body such a sharpe capacity of minde, that not onely she proved Fortune
counterfaite,4 but was halfe of that opinion that she was onely currant. This young gallaunt 5 of

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more witte than wealth, and yet of more wealth than wisedome, seeing himselfe inferiour to
none in pleasant conceits,6 thought himselfe superiour to all in honest conditions, insomuch
that he thought himselfe so apt to all thinges that he gave himselfe almost to nothing but
practising of those thinges commonly which are incident to these sharpe wittes, fine phrases,
smooth quippes,7 merry tauntes,8 using jestinge without meane,9 and abusing mirth10 without
measure. As therefore the sweetest Rose hath his prickes, the finest velvet his bracke,11 the
fairest flower his branne,12 so the sharpest wit hath his wanton13 will, and the holiest head his
wicked way. And true it is that some men write and most men believe, that in all perfect
shapes a blemish14 bringeth rather a lyking every way to the eyes, than a loathing any way to
the minde. Venus had hir mole in hir cheeke which made hir more amiable; Helen hir scarre
in hir chinne,15 which Paris called Cos Amoris, the whetstone,16 of love; Aristippus his wart,
Lycurgus his wen:17 so likewise in the disposition of the minde, either vertue is overhadowed
with some vice, or vice overcast with some vertue. Alexander valyant in warre, yet given to
wine. Tullie eloquent in his gloses, yet vaineglorius,18 Solomon wise, yet too wanton. David
holy, but yet an homicide. None more wittie than Euphues, yet at the first none more wicked.
The freshest colours soonest fade, the teenets razor soonest tourneth his edge, the finest cloth
is soonest eaten with the moathes,19 and the cambrick20 sooner stayned than the coarse canvas:
which appeareth well in this Euphues, whose wit beeing like waxe, apt to receive any
impression, and bearing the head in his owne hand, either to use the raine 21 or the spurre,22
disdaining counsaile, leaving his country, loathinge his olde aquaintance, thought either by
witte obteyne some conquest, or by shame to abyde conflict, who preferring fancy before
friends, and his present humour before honour to come, laid reason in water being too salt for
his tast, and followed unbridled23 affection, most pleasant for his tooth. When parents have
more care how to leave their children wealthy than wise, and are more desirous to have them
maintaine the name, than the nature of gentleman: when they put gold into the hands of youth,
where they should put a rod under their gyrdle, when in steed of awe they make them past
grace, and leave them rich executors of goods, and poore executors of goldlynes, then it is no
mervaile,24 that the son being left rich by his father’s will, become retchless25 by his owne
will. But it hath bene an olde sayde sawe,26 and not of lesse truth than antiquitie, that wit is
the better if it be the dearer bought: as in the sequele of this history shall most manifestly
appeare. It happened this young Impe27 to arive at Naples (a place of more pleasure than
profit, and yet of more profit than pietie), the very walles and windowes shewed it rather to be
the tabernacle28 of Venus than the temple of Vesta. There was all things necessary and in
redynes, that might either allure the mind to lust or entice the heart to folly: a court more
meete for an Atheyst, than for one of Athens; for Ovid, than for Aristotle; for a gracelesse
lover, than for a godly liver; more fitter for Paris than Hector, and meeter 29 for Flora, than
Diana, Heere my youth, (whether for wearenesse he could not, or for wantonnes would not go
any farther), determined to make his abode, whereby it is evidently seene that the fleetest 30
fish swalloweth the delicatest bait;31 that the wittiest braine is invegled with the sudden view
of alluring32 vanities. Heere he wanted no companyons, which courted him continually with
sundrye kindes of devises,33 whereby they might either soake his purse to reape commoditie,34
or soothe his person35 to winne credit for he had guests and companions of all sorts.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) patrimony: inheritance, heritage; wealth; (2) comelye = comely: atrăgător, plăcut;
personage: appearance; (3) liniaments = lineaments: features of the face; (4) counterfaite =
counterfeit: imitation, not real; Rom. fals, calp, contrafăcut, artificial; (5) gallaunt = gallant:
om de lume; (6) conceit = a far-fetched figure of speech which joins two widely differing
concepts; Rom. imagine / expresie preţioasă, (hiper)cizelată artistic (şi retoric); “eufuism”;
(7) quippes = quips: remarcă usturătoare / caustică / sarcastică, spirit zeflemitor, cuvînt de
duh / spirit caustic, glumă muşcătoare; (8) tauntes = taunts: zeflemea, batjocură; sarcasm;
ocară; (9) meane = meaning; (10) mirth: joy, merriment; (11) bracke = brack: cusur, defect;
(12) branne = bran: [Uncountable] tărîţe, goz; (13) wanton: absurd; nebunatic, fluşturatic; (14)
blemish: neajuns, defect, cusur, meteahnă; (fig.) pată; (15) hir scarre in hir chinne = her scar
in her chin; scar: cicatrice; (16) whetstone: 1. piatră de ascuţit, cute; gresie; 2. (fig.) imbold,

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stimulent; (17) wart: neg; wen: cucui, umflătură, gîlmă, lupă; (18) glose = gloss: an
explanation, interpretation, or paraphrase; vaineglorius = vaineglorius: (excesiv de)
orgolios, vanitos, trufaş; (19) moathes = moths: molii; (20) cambrick = cambric: batist, pînză
de in foarte fină, chembrică; (21) raine = rein: frîu, frînă (şi fig.); (22) spurre = spur: 1.
pinten(i); 2. (fig.) imbold, îndemn; (23) unbridled: neînfrînat, nestăpînit; fără măsură; (24)
mervaile = marvel: wonder: (25) retchless – (cf. wretched): nenorocit, sărman, nefericit;
biet; (26) an olde sayde saw: an old (wise) saying / saw; (27) Impe = imp: mischievous child;
(28) tabernacle: loc de închinare, altar; capişte; (29) meeter = more meet: more appropriate,
fitter, more suitable; Rom. mai potrivit; (30) fleetest – cf. fleet: iute, sprinten; (31) bait:
momeală, nadă; (32) alluring < to allure: to entice, to seduce < Rom. a ademeni; (33) sundry
kindes of devises = sundry kinds of devices: several / various kinds of plans / schemes / ways
/ methods, (34) soake his purse to reap commoditie = suck his purse for material profit; (35)
soothe his person: flatter him.

THOMAS MORE’S UTOPIA

The idea of a social Utopia as an imaginary condition in which the possibilities of

social life may be most fully realised, and the human development of each “socius” may be
the most complete appeared as early as ancient times. It was Plato who first depicted an
imaginary perfect state in his Republic, a book which influenced other writers or philosophers
of the European Renaissance and Baroque: Thomas More, who wrote Utopia, and the Italian
Tommaso Campanella.179
In fact, during the Renaissance, the revival of the classical art and civilisation also
meant a special interest in Plato’s philosophy, very different from the reductive Aristotelian
scholasticism that had dominated the curricula of medieval universities and seminaries.
The ideal society has some common features in the Utopian writings: First, in point of
social structure, the Utopian state is decentralised but there is however a class who rules the
others. The premise on which Plato’s Republic is based is that the State is the product of an
element of mind. The ruling class is represented by the philosophers, men possessed of
special gifts and trained to exercise their gifts. Plato says that the men who will govern the
State best are those who care for it most, and those who care for it most are those who believe
that its welfare is their welfare, and its mishap is their mishap. The rulers should be selected
from the ranks of the soldiers by an elaborate system of moral tests, and set to govern the
State. The philosopher as a real ruler must know the Idea or essence of Justice, and of Beauty,
and of Temperance, and also the idea of which all these ideas are but phases, and from which
alone comes every perfect work – the Idea of Good. In Plato’s opinion wisdom must be the
virtue of the ruling class, who direct the State by their reason. This element of reason will be a
bond of union and a guide of action for its members. The Republic’s rulers are those who
have thought their way to truth, and who enforce upon subjects who have neither thought it,
nor willed it, the truth that they realised themselves.
In the republic described by Plato there is another class, the producing class (whom
he calls the “farmers”), based on the element of desire, in virtue of which the soul hungers
and thirsts, and loves and longs. This class is composed of men who have not the special gifts
of the ruler or soldier but who, equally with the ruler and the soldier, confine themselves to a
single function, that of satisfying the physical wants of the community. Self-control is the
virtue of the producing class.
Thus, the doctrine of specialisation, which Plato so much desires to see realised,
because it means efficiency and justice, appears in each stage of the State. Justice is the
principle of this society consisting of different types of men, who have combined under the
impulse of a mutual need, and, by their combination in one society, made a whole which is
perfect, because it is the product and the image of the whole of human mind. The state (viz.

179 Tommaso Campanella (1568-1639; born Giovanni Domenico Campanella): Italian monk,
philosopher and theologian; in his youth he was tried for heresy; imprisoned (1599-1626). He imagined a
utopian system, based on theologic and communistic principles, in his work Civita Solis.

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republic) depicted by the ancient philosopher involves some form of association: man cannot
dispense with his fellows; each, while able to confer something upon the rest which they
need, needs in turn something which they can confer. The result is an inevitable division of
labour or specialisation of function, which involves a combination for the reciprocal exchange
of the several products. This association of men should be at first limited to farmer and
builder, clothier and cobbler, but increased by the addition of a class to make instruments for
the first four, a class to tend the cattle they require, a third for purposes of foreign, and a forth
for those of domestic trade until it reaches the measure of an adult State. The producing
classes are those who work in this republic.
In Utopia, Sir Thomas More’s Latin masterpiece published in 1516 but not translated
into English until 1551, the author imaginatively describes a loosely decentralised kingdom
which is ruled by an elected monarch who governs with the consent of a council.
For More, one of the precursors of the Renaissance in Britain,180 the ideal State is a
democratic monarchy and the one who takes over the leadership in Utopia is elected to be the
leader during all his life but he may be replaced when showing signs of despotism.
Tommaso Campanella agrees to Plato’s idea about philosophers as the leaders of the
State, but he adapts it to his own beliefs. In his work Civitas Solis (“The City of the Sun”),
written in 1602 and published in 1623, Campanella describes a democratic republic different
from the aristocratic one of Plato. The Italian philosopher depicts a society opposite to the
Italy of his time. In Civitas Solis, the supreme leader and the other dignitaries are elected. The
criterion of their election consists of the moral and intellectual virtues as well as their ability
concerning leadership. The soldiers or guardians (called afterwards “auxiliaries”) are those
who make war in the State described by Plato. The element of spirit (almost analogous to
what we should call the sense of honour) inspires men for battle and is also the source of
ambition and competition, inspiring men to hot indignation against injustice. The soldier’s
business is to make war and nothing else but war. Soldiers must be picked for their work in
virtue of a special aptitude (an abundance of the element of spirit), and trained for their work
in a way that will develop that aptitude properly.
Spirit, in one of its aspects, is the ally of reason, a hater of injustice and a lover of
justice. In the soldier reason thus appears as a mere empirical knowledge, which is mixed
with a dominant quality of spirit. The soldier is a guardian of the State and, like a watchdog,
the human guardian must be mild and gentle to those who are of the house he guards, though
fierce to every stranger; courage must be the virtue of the soldiers.
In Utopia or in the ideal state of Campanella, there is no special class for making war,
but the Utopians as well as those who live in Civitas Solis are prepared for the possible
attacks of the enemies. In the imaginary state of the Italian philosopher, the war for the
liberation of other countries is also one of the most important activities of its inhabitants.
In Thomas More’s Utopia, there are slaves among the inhabitants. Slavery is justified
by the low technological level. The slaves in this imaginary perfect society are those who
broke the law or those foreign people who want to become citizens of this country. But, we
are told, the slaves in this State live in better conditions than free people in many countries of
the Europe of that time.
In the country described by the English writer, there are no avaricious or wasteful
tyrants like the Tudors of his acquaintance, nor any wretched and overworked labourers.
We find a satire on the splendour of Henry VIII in the description of the visit of the
Anemolian ambassadors to Utopia. These, knowing that the Utopians dressed with great
plainness, and ascribing it to their poverty, thought to make an impression upon them by the
splendour of their clothing and jewellery. But the Utopians, with whom gold was a badge of
infamy, and applied to the meanest use, treated them with derision. In fact, in this ideal
society, personal property, and money have been effectively abolished. As in Utopia, in
Civitas Solis there are no wares, money or trade exchanges.

180 “(…) a man of bold imagination and vision. He can be mentioned in connection with Shakespeare, for
it seems that a play on his life – of which fragments have recently come to light – was probably written by
Shakespeare.” (Anthony Burgess, English Literature, p. 93)

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 In More’s Utopia, work is the most important duty of the inhabitants, and the
working day is of six hours only. As in Thomas More’s perfect society, in Civitas Solis work
is common and compulsory, and the working day is of four hours. The length of the working
day is determined by a fair distribution of work among the members of that society.
In point of education, in Plato’s Republic, those who compose the governmental and
military classes possess special gifts and are trained to exercise these gifts. The distinction of
the three classes is figured by Plato in a myth: all the members of the State are brethren one of
another, he tells us, but in fashioning them God wrought gold into the composition of the
rulers, silver into that of the soldiers, and iron and brass into that of the farmers and
craftsmen.
But caste-like as this system appears, it is not a system of caste. It may be that a
“silver” man is born of “golden” parents; it may be that to silver parents is born a “golden”
son. Whenever that comes to happen, the rulers in this society must act accordingly. There is
an open career system, and each individual finds his appointed level.
In his book More anticipated free and universal education. On his imaginary island,
every child is thoroughly educated, and ignorance, the great cause of crime and misery,
banished. Education has a rational basis, using persuasion and not punishment. In
Campanella’s Civitas Solis, education is common, compulsory and free. All the children have
special learning conditions and learn together. The learning process for boys is the same as
that for girls. The learning activities also include working activities. Every child works in the
fields or in the workshops. In Campanella’s society, the learning day is of four hours and the
inductive method is the most important way of teaching.
As concerns woman’s status in society, More saw the construction of Utopia as
founded on the rule of the oldest male in each household and on the due submission of wives
to their husbands. Few humanists were prepared to contemplate the removal of social and
educational discrimination against women. In a society which, with the exception of the
persons of the two Tudor queens, was exclusively dominated by men, the attention of
humanist educators was focused on the creation of a cultivated male élite, a ruling class
mentally equipped to rule. In the ideal republic of the Italian writer, women’s rights are equal
to those of men but women’s work depends on their physical strength. Unlike Thomas More,
Campanella accepted Plato’s idea concerning the abolition of family, because, he explains,
the abolition of private property requires the abolition of family. Thus, sexual love is seen as a
kind of selfishness and is replaced by friendship or Platonic love. The procreation of healthy
children is an important duty of society.
On More’s perfect island as well as in Civitas Solis, there are several religions, all of
them dominated by the principle of a benevolent Supreme Being. The old are honoured and
the young are taught to be conformist and respectful; dress is uniform and meals are served in
communal canteens. In Campanella’s philosophical system, religion represents another way
of exploring and contemplating nature; the sun is God’s image. Celebrations are the most
favourable occasions for showing veneration towards the Sun and the Moon. The temples in
Civitas Solis are places where people worship nature rather than pray.
Therefore the notion of a Utopia, whether conceived of as an earthly paradise on the
order of Eden or an ideal State such as Plato’s Republic or Thomas More’s Utopia, is a
dream of balance and perfection. It presupposes a condition better than that in which man
may currently exist. The antithesis of the Utopian dream is the anti-utopian (or dystopian)
nightmare – a vision of a world more flawed and frightening than the one in which man
lives at the time.181

181This kind of literary vision was to be used, in extensive, profound moral and political allegories, by such
English (and British) writers of the following centuries as Jonathan Swift, Samuel Butler, H.G. Wells,
Aldous Huxley and George Orwell. (See also Anthony Burgess, English Literature, p. 94: “We have recently
come to distrust the vision of a perfect state that is realisable – we have had too many disappointments in
the present century – and perhaps the last of the ‘Utopiographers’ was H.G. Wells. But More’s point is
contained in his title: his perfect island does not exist and never can – it is nowhere.”)

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 SUPPORT TEXT

THOMAS MORE UTOPIA

“Your shepe that were wont to be so meke and tame, and so smal eaters, now, as I
heare saye, be become so great devowrers and so wylde, that they eate up and swallow downe
the very men themselves. They consume, destroye, and devoure, whole fieldes, howses, and
cities. For looke in what partes of the realme doth growe the fynest, and therfore dearest woll,
there noblemen and gentlemen; yea, and certeyn abbotes, holy men no doubt, not contenting
them selfes with the yearely reuenues and profytes, that were wont to grow to theyr
forefathers and predecessours of their landes, nor beynge content that liue in rest and
pleasure, nothing profiting, yea much noyinge the weale publique: leave no ground for tillage,
thei throw doune houses; thei plucke doune tounse, and leaue nothing standynge but only the
churche to be made a shopehowse. And as thoughe you loste no small quantity of grounde by
forestes, chases, alundes, and parkes, those good holy men turne all dwellinge places, and all
glebeland, into desolation and wilderness. Therfore that one couetous and unsatiable
cormaraunte and very plage of his natyue contrey may compasse aboute and inclose many
thousand akers of grounde together within one pale or hedge, the husbandmen be thrust owte
of their oune, or els either by coneyne and fraude, or by violent oppression, they be put
besydes it, or by wronges and injuries thei be so weried, that they be compelled to sell all; by
one meanes therfore or by other, either by hooke or crooke, they must needes departe awaye,
poor selye, wretched soules, men, women, husbands, wiues, fatherlesse children, widowes,
wofull mothers, with their yonge babes, and their whole houshold, smal in substance and
much in numbre, as husbandrye requireth manye handes. Awaye thei trudge, I say, out of
their knowen and accustomed houses, fyndinge no place to reste in. All their householde
stuffe, whiche is verye litle woorthe, thoughe it might well abide the sale; yet beeynge
sodainely thruste out, they be constreyned to sell it for a thing of nughht… They go about and
worke not: whom no man wyl set at worke, though thei neuer so willyngly profire themselves
therto. For one shep hearde or heardman is ynoughe to eate up that grounde with cattel, to the
occupying whereof aboute husbandrye many handes were requisite. And this is also the cause
why victualles be now in many places dearer. Yea, besides this, the price of woole is so rysen,
that poor folkes, which were wont to work it, and make cloth therof, be nowe to bye none at
all.”
(The same text in modern spelling: “Your sheep that were wont1 to be so meek and
2
tame, and so small eaters, now, as I hear say, have become so great devourers and so wild,
that they eat up and swallow down the very men themselves. They consume, destroy, and
devour whole fields, houses, and cities. For look in what parts of the realm3 does grow the
finest, and therefore dearest wool, there noblemen and gentlemen; yea, and certain abbots,
holy men no doubt, not contenting4 themselves with the yearly revenues and profits, which
were wont to grow to their forefathers and predecessors of their lands, nor being content that
live in rest and pleasure,5 nothing profiting,6 yea much noying7 the weal public:8 leave no
ground for tillage,9 they throw down houses; they pluck down towns, and leave nothing
standing but only the church to be made a sheep-house. And as though you lost no small
quantity of ground by forests, chases,10 lands, and parks, those good holy men turn all
dwelling places, and all glebeland,11 into desolation and wilderness. Therefore that one
covetous12 and unsatiable cormorant and very plague13 of his native country may compass
about14 and enclose many thousand acres of ground together within one pale or hedge, 15 the
husbandmen16 be thrust out of their own, or else either by coneine17 and fraud, or by violent
oppression, they be put besides it, or by wrongs and injuries they be so wearied, 18 that they be
compelled to sell all; by one means therefore or by other, either by hook or crook,19 they must
needs depart20 away, poor silly,21 wretched souls, men, women, husbands, wives, fatherless
children, widows, woeful22 mothers, with their young babes, and their whole household, small
in substance and much in number, as husbandry requires many hands.23 Away they trudge,24 I
say, out of their known and accustomed houses, finding no place to rest in. All their
household stuff, which is very little worth, though it might well abide the sale;25 yet being

111
suddenly thrust out, they be constrained to sell it for a thing of nought…26 They go about and
work not: whom no man will set at work, though they never so willingly proffer 27 themselves
to it. For one sheep herd or herdsman is enough to eat up that ground with cattle, to the
occupying whereof about husbandry many hands were requisite.28 And this is also the cause
why victuals are now in many places dearer. Yea, besides this, the price of wool has so risen,
that poor folks, which29 were wont to work it, and make cloth thereof,30 have now to buy none
at all.”)

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) were wont to be: (înv.) used to be, would be; (2) meek and tame: blânde şi supuse; (3)
realm = kingdom, country; (4) not contenting themselves… – to content oneself (with): a se
mulţumi cu…; a se mărgini la… / să…; (5) in rest and pleasure: în huzur şi desfătare; (6)
nothing profiting = useless; (7) noying = doing harm; (8) (7) weal public = state,
commonwealth; (9) tillage: cultivare, cultură; (10) chases: locuri de vînătoare; (11) glebeland:
arable land, field (under crop): ogor, ţarină; holdă; (12) covetous: lacom, poficious, hrăpăreţ;
apucător; (13) plague: năpastă, plagă; (14) compass about: a înconjura, a împrejmui; (here: to
grasp); (15) pale or hedge: gard / îngrădire sau împrejmuire / ţarc; (16) husbandman:
gospodar; (17) coneine (coneyne) = deceit, cavil, collusion; (18) wearied: sătul, dezgustat,
scîrbit, lehămetuit; (19) either by hook or crook: mort-copt, de voie, de nevoie; (20) to depart
= to leave, to remove; (21) silly (selye) = simple; helpless; Rom. “neajutorat; slab, biet,
sărman”; (22) woeful: îndurerat; (23) hands: ajutoare, mână de lucru; zilieri; (24) to trudge: a-
şi tîrî (de-abia / cu greu) picioarele, a merge cu greu(tate); (25) to abide the sale = to await a
more advantageous time for selling; (26) a thing of nought: un lucru de nimic / fără valoare,
mai nimic; (27) to proffer = to offer themselves; Rom. “a se oferi (să…), a umbla (să /
după…)”; (28) were requisite = were required / needed; (29) that poor folks, which =
…who…; (30) thereof = from it, out of it.

Drama in Elizabethan England.

The establishment of ‘The Theatre’

Miracle plays (see above) were both written and acted by town guilds, and they were
also performed by ‘the children’ – that is, the choristers – of a cathedral. About the middle of
the sixteenth century the increasing demand for entertainment provided by the drama led to
the formation of small companies of professional actors, that had generally obtained the
patronage of a great nobleman.
The first company of professional actors to obtain such patronage was Leicester’s
Company in 1574. In London, performances by regular companies of professional actors took
place in the courts of inns and in the Inns of Court. In 1576 the first playhouse was built on
the outskirts of London, in Shoreditch. The old English inns were built round a court, where
the carriages and waggons of travellers were put up. Round the courtyards ran two or three
rows of galleries, from which the travellers entered their bedrooms. A platform was erected at
the back of the courtyard; and the portion of the gallery or balcony above the platform was
held to represent a castle or an upper room. There was no scenery but a small blackboard was
hung up on which was written “This is the Forest of Arden”, “This is Castle Gloom”, or the
name of a town, as the action shifted from place to place.
The audience stood in the court. The better class was accommodated in the rooms
(what are now called “boxes” in a theatre were down to the seventeenth century called
“rooms” – and the idea was developed from the bedrooms of an inn).
THE FIRST THEATRE: The first theatre in the neighbourhood of London was built of
wood in 1576 (Shakespeare was at the time twelve years of age), and was called simply The
Theatre. It was erected by James Burbage, the father of Richard Burbage, who took the
leading parts in Shakespeare’s plays, and was the first impersonator of Hamlet, Lear, and
Othello. The Curtain Theatre soon arose not far from the other. In 1598 Burbage pulled down
The Theatre, carried the materials to the other side of the river Thames, and erected The
Globe on Bankside, Southward.

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 It was open to the sky in the middle; only the stage and the galleries were covered
with a thatched roof. The play began about three o’clock in the afternoon, and the beginning
was proclaimed by three flourishes of a trumpet. When a tragedy was to be performed, the
play-bills were printed in red. The female characters were taken by boys. At the end of each
act the clown or buffoon actor of the company sang or recited what was called a “jig”, but
was in reality a “topical” song, into which were introduced allusions to the celebrated or
notorious personages and the best-known events of the day. At the close of the performance,
the whole body of the actors knelt down at the treat of the stage, and offered up a prayer for
the Queen.
The audiences were very variegated, lively, intent and picturesquely mixed, from a
social as well as an intellectual standpoint: “More than the conscious will of the playwrights,
the nature of their public decided the dramatic system – if the word may be applied to the
almost unconscious work of tradition – which prevailed in England. The audiences who
crowded into the Elizabethan playhouses represented every class and every trade. Noblemen
might, on occasion, be seen attending a performance at Blackfriars, where the most
fashionable audiences gathered. But to all the playhouses there was an affluence of the great
and the lowly, the gentlemen and the people, the literate and the ignorant, the exquisites and
the boors. Standing in the pit, the people pressed against the stage, intervening between it and
the rich citizens and lords, in their seats in the galleries. Mannerless coxcombs, arrogant as a
Molière marquis, sat on the rushes of the stage, chaffing the actors and getting in their way.
The playwright’s duty was, like that of the author of a mystery, to provide food for every
palate” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, A History of English Literature, p. 384).

PRE-SHAKESPEAREAN DRAMATISTS

The Play of King John, written about 1550 by John Bale, Bishop of Ossory, during
the reign of Edward VI, combines the allegorical element with history and is interesting as a
first attempt to dramatise the latter. In time historical plays became very popular and they
were based on the old chronicles. The influence of Latin dramatic literature becomes evident
in the middle of the sixteenth century.
The first regular English tragedy was Gorboduc, or (as it was afterwards called)
Ferrex and Porrex. It was written by Thomas Sackville and Thomas Norton. It is also the first
English drama written largely in blank verse. The play evokes a historical episode from
Britain’s past. The story is inspired from Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Britonum. It is
modelled on Seneca’s tragedies. Classical influence is also very marked: the division of the
play in five acts, the presence of the chorus at the end of each act, the gloomy atmosphere, the
violent death of all the characters.
 The subject of Gorboduc is simple and linear: Gorboduc is king of Great Britain;
Videna is his Queen, and their two sons are Ferrex and Porrex. Gorboduc divides his kingdom
between the two sons; they quarrel, and in the fight which ensues Porrex kills Ferrex. Videna
vows vengeance on Porrex, and stabs him in his sleep. The British people rise in revolt, and
put to death king Gorboduc and Queen Videna. No action happens on the stage; the tale is
told in the dialogue by messengers, who come in with news, and by a Chorus of “four wise
elders of Britain”.
The comedy: The first regular comedy in England was Ralph Roister Doister by
Nicholas Udall (1505-1556), who was headmaster of Eton and afterwards of Westminster
School. The old custom in the great English Public Schools was on certain special occasions
to act a play by one of the Roman poets, with a prologue and an epilogue in Latin verse. It
occurred to Dr. Udall that it would be an excellent novelty for the boys to act a play in
English; and he accordingly wrote a comedy. There is nothing of high merit, either in the plot
or in the language – though the dialogue gives a good idea of London manners in the
sixteenth century. (A Roister – or Roysterer, afterwards a Roaring Boy, is a blustering,182
swaggering bully).

182 To bluster: to speak in a loud, angry way.

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 The second comedy of any standing in the history of English literature is Gammer
Gurton’s Needle. It was written by John Still (1543-1607). This play (which was “played on
stage, in Christ’s College, Cambridge”, in 1566) is really a broad farce and is remarkable
chiefly for containing one of the very best convivial songs in the English language; though it
is quite probable that this song is older than the play, and was borrowed by the author.
 This remarkable song, in a modernised version, is as follows:
“I cannot eat but little meat,
My stomach is not good;
But sure I think that I can drink
With him that wears a hood.
Though I go bare, take ye no care,
I am nothing a-cold,
I stuff my skin so full within
Of jolly good ale and old.”
(Gammer is a dialectal contraction of grandmother, as gaffer is of grandfather: “The
words are corruptions of granfer and grammer, which are the West of England forms of
grandfather and grandmother.”)
 The plot of the play runs as follows: Gammer Gurton is mending the breeches of
her servant, Man Hodge, and loses her needle. Diccon o’Bedlam, a half-insane beggar,
accuses a woman in the village of stealing it. A stormy quarrel arises; and the whole village
joins in the dispute. Tib, Gammer Gurton’s maid, takes part in the uproar; so does a
neighbour, Dame Chat, and her maid, Doll, Master Bailey, another neighbour, and his
servant, Spendthrift, Doctor Rut, the curate, and Gib the Cat. The language is spirited and
coarse. At length the needle is found to his discomfort by Hodge sticking in his breeches, at
the very place where the Gammer had left off sewing.

THE UNIVERSITY WITS

During the sixteenth century, the drama, settled into a regular entertainment, seemed
to be developing along two divergent lines:
1. a courtly drama – acted by young gallants and choir children in the halls of noble
houses;
2. a popular drama – acted by common players of interludes in the yards of inns and later
at The Theatre (the first London playhouse, erected in 1676).
The rival theatres were always very anxious, on the one hand, to keep their reper-
toires to themselves, and on the other, to possess new plays themselves. So a monopoly of
plays was quite necessary for their success; and novelty was required for a continuance of this
success.
The playwrights whose efforts mainly contributed to the development of the English
theatre prior to Shakespeare’s powerful dramatic creation, thus inaugurating modern drama in
Britain were professional men of letters, known by the name of ‘University Wits’.

John Lyly (1553 or 1554-1606)

John Lyly was one of the foremost prose-writers and dramatists of the Elizabethan
epoch, the eldest of the University Wits; he was also a gifted poet.
His life and activity: Judging from the little information concerning his biography
we have, Lyly seems to have spent his early years in Canterbury, where he was brought up
and educated.
Lyly probably attended the King’s School, where Christopher Marlowe was a pupil,
too. In 1575 he is reported to have obtained an MA at Magdalen College, Oxford. After this,
he tried to apply for a fellowship at the same college, but the petition was unsuccessful. In
1583 he marries Beatrice Browne, a Yorkshire heiress.

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 John Lyly’s literary career was essentially connected to the city of London. He was
the leader of the group known by the name of ‘University Wits’, nearly all Oxford and
Cambridge graduates.
In 1588, he was encouraged by the Queen herself to try and gain the office of Master
of Revels. But the plan did not materialize.
In 1589 Lyly was elected MP for Hindon, in Wiltshire. In the 1592-1596 interval he
retires to Yorkshire, at Mexborough, to live on his wife’s estate.
Lyly’s creative work: In the 1580s he becomes a fashionable writer, generating a
current in English literature, euphuism, a highly peculiar kind of prose style;183 this very
singular style was considered ‘the new English’ by his contemporaries, and it even led to
imitations. The considerable (and also youthful) success was due to his Euphues, or the
Anatomy of Wit, a novel written by 1578, and published in 1579.
Euphues is the first English prose novel. Lyly’s chief concern in this book was
rhetoric, and the style was highly artificial and rather complicated, reminding of the intricate
Latin syntax of Cicero. This novel with the thinnest conceivable plot, doubled by a moral
treatise, was greatly influenced by North’s Diall of Princes (1557), the model for which was
the Spanish author Antonio de Guevara.184 In fact, the plot is more often than not used as a
‘reservoir’ of mere incidents meant to offer instruction.
Much of the inspiration for writing Euphues should also be ascribed to the influence
of Erasmus’s Colloquies. (i.e. the great Dutch humanist’s Colloquia Familiaria). John Lyly’s
“carefully shaped and balanced sentences” have often been seen by the criticism as a “protest
against doggerel” rather than a show of flashy, conventional style and repulsive Latinate
syntax, and justly considered, “in proportion and economy (…), a great advance on the
sprawling wordiness of much Tudor prose writing” (George Sampson, op. cit., p. 135).
The novel was followed shortly aftwerwards by a sequel, which appeared in 1580, as
an instant response to Lyly’s first novel-moral treatise; the second book was entitled Euphues
and His England.
Seen together, both works may be deemed parts of a successful, unitary moral
treatise; at least nine editions were issued by 1600.
In the early 1580s, Lyly’s first plays appear and are performed by Oxford’s Boys,
who were also singers. Among his personae he introduced etherealized fairies and girls
disguised as boys. Shakespeare seized these ideas and made the best use of them (e.g. in
Twelfth Night).
In 1584 Lyly wrote Alexander and Campaspe (usually known as Campaspe, and
incidentally also referred to as Campaspe and Diogenes), then Sapho and Phao, both prose
comedies. It is during this period when he gains control on the first Blackfriars Theatre. After
this, a series of comedies followed, which were in fact combinations of pastoralism (i.e. of
Italian inspiration) and intrigue (in the tradition of Plautus’ and Terence’s comic drama).
In 1584 appeared Gallathea, which was first performed in 1592. In 1586-87 Lyly
wrote Endymion: the Man in the Moone (performed in 1591). Endymion and Sapho and Phao
are both court productions eulogizing the queen.
Other plays followed: in 1589 – Love’s Metamorphosis (printed in 1601), Midas
(1592), a satire on Philip II of Spain, Mother Bombie / Bumby, a weak modern comedy in the
Italian manner (written in 1589, and performed in 1594), all dramatic productions in prose.
The Woman in the Moone, probably written in 1594, was his only play in verse; it was first
brought to stage in 1597.
As far as the style of Lyly’s plays is concerned, it will be true to say that all his
comedies are rather artificial, but the prose comedies show a flexible and even elegant style.
183 Euphuism: the name of a type of late Renaissance mannerism in England; it had its corresponding
equivalents in Spain and Italy: the various ‘concettisms’ known as marinismo and gongorismo, respectively.
184 Antonio de Guevara (1480-1545): Spanish bishop and writer, precursor of the mannerist trend

generically known as concettismo. Author of religious, as well aS moral and political treatises; his best known
work is El libro aureo de grand Emperador Marco Aurelio con el Relox de Principes (“The Golden Book of the
Great Emperor Mark Aurelius, with the Clock of the Princes”), translated and adapted by the Moldavian
humanist scholar and chronicler Nicolae Costin (c. 1660-1712), as Ceasornicul domnilor.

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Most of his dramatic productions badly lack dramatism: they are more in the nature of
masques rather than full-fledged plays. Yet John Lyly was the first to introduce the elements
of high comedy on the English stage (“The first effective high comedy in English” – Martin
S. Day, op. cit., p. 231), and so he paved the way for Shakespeare’s romantic comedies, as
well as a number of related plays (viz. Much Ado about Nothing, As You Like It, Hamlet,
Love’s Labour’s Lost); to prove Lyly’s influence on these Shakespearean plays, it will suffice
to refer to such characters as Moth – witty, elaborated (in Much Ado about Nothing), Don
Armando, Holofernes, Osric (in As You Like It), Beatrice and Benedick (in Love’s Labour’s
Lost).
John Lyly may be essentially seen as a court dramatist, which is no mere label or
prejudiced judgment, because some of his plays actually had court performances, e.g. Sapho
and Phao, and Gallathea, but also because the refinement of his themes has very much of the
courtly spirit to be found in the Renaissance paragons and models of human behaviour and
gentility.
He was inspired by themes based on classical stories, dealing with deities. One on the
most frequent themes with Lyly is the erotic theme; it shows a rather immaterial treatment, of
Italianate influence (see to that effect Baldessare Castiglione’s Il Cortegiano,185 as well as
other Renaissance literary and moralizing productions); eroticism is sublimated in the sense
that there is neither appetite nor passion in it; what Lyly sought was above all instruction and
edification. He mainly used allegory as a means of moralizing current politics.
Moreover, Lyly brought some ‘feminine’ qualities in his drama, thus refining it,
primarily by means of grace, subtlety, and delicacy: “Lyly refined it [i.e. the English drama]
and took it out of the alehouse into the presence chamber” (George Sampson, op. cit., p. 209).
John Lyly was, in spite of common prejudice (see, for instance, D.J. Knight’s
opinion: “His work resembles something looked at through an unfocused telescope: it is
vaguely allegorical, vaguely philosophical, vaguely romantic”), a writer of great consequence
in the Elizabethan gallery, today largely considered the great representative pre-
Shakespearean dramatist, and “the first outstanding composer of courtly fiction” (George
Sampson, op. cit., p. 135). His “most famous work has given the English language a word and
perhaps a habit” (ibidem).

George Peele (1558-1596 or 1597)

George Peele was an Elizabethan playwright and poet. He was born in London. His
father was a psalter (a Christ’s Hospital clerk).
His education took him to Christ’s Hospital, then to Oxford, where he got a BA and
an MA. Not much is known about his life except for the fact that he lived in London as a
vagabond, after 1581, finishing a short career as a writer of the court; afterwards it seems he
had to earn some subsistence money by writing poems, plays for the public theatres, and
pageants. He died in sickness and poverty as a result of his ‘dissipated’ life, and remained
rather obscure as a man of letters.
Peele’s literary activity: His first play appears in about the year 1581; it was called
The Arraignment of Paris, and was a reenactment of the mythological theme of the golden
apple of discord. It is in fact a mixture of dramatic debate and pastoral. The play was
performed before Queen Elizabeth I, who was fifty years old at that time. The Arraignment of
Paris is a loosely constructed mythologizing pastoral in blank verse lauding Queen Elizabeth.
In c. 1589 Peele wrote The Battel of Alcazar, an imitation of Marlowe’s plays. It is a
fanciful drama about the adventurer Thomas Stuckley. The play was published in 1594.
In 1590 he produced The Old Wives’ Tale. This play made him famous as the founder
of the Elizabethan romantic comedy. It abounds in humour and lyricism, rhetoric and
spectacle, all mixed in the story. The main characteristics of the play are: optimism, high
spirits, freshness, and dramatic criticism. It was the first of this kind in England. This “(…)

Baldessare Castiglione (1478-1529): Italian writer and diplomat, author of Il Cortegiano, translated into
185

English as The Book of the Courtier (also known as The Courtier).

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whimsical prose fairy tale” (Martin S. Day, op. cit., p. 261) was highly influential and
significant within the overall process which led to the artistic peaks of the mature Elizabethan
drama. At all events, it is “the first English play to embody literary criticism in its jest”
(George Sampson, op. cit., p. 209). Originally, the title was The Old Wife’s Tale – which
should be understood as ‘a shaggy-dog story’ or ‘mere gossip’. The play is a parody of the
fashionable romantic court-plays. Its principal artistic merit lies in the alliterative verse, and
fine verbal effects: striking use of antonyms, as well as the unaffected, familiar, or colloquial
speech. The fairy-like, marvellous atmosphere is fully consonant with the ensemble of the
play.
The novelty of the play consists in the dexterous passage from reality to illusion (later
to be found in Pierre Corneille’s L’Illusion comique). Some scenes are reminiscent of Plautus
and Terence. The play was also considered a sort of anticipation of Comus by John Milton.
In 1593 Peele wrote The Famous Chronicle of King Edward the First. It is a
‘Chronicle Play’ looking more like a romance, with plenty of folklore material.
In c. 1594 George Peele wrote The Love of King David and Fair Bathsheba (or
Bethsabe), in which the biblical theme is larded with lavish exotic and erotic elements; it was
published as late as 1599. This is an Elizabethan drama earnestly dealing with scriptural
subjects, a modern miracle play, in fact; for the source of inspiration, see the text of II Samuel
11-20, which was set to poetry. In this play Peele demonstrated his special gift for tragedy,
which drew Thomas Nashe’s sincere admiration: “I dare commend him to all that know him,
as the chief supporter of pleasance now living, the Atlas of poetry, and primus verborum
artifex; whose first increase, the Arraignment of Paris, might plead to your opinions his
pregnant dexterity of wit and manifold variety of invention, wherein (me judice) he goeth a
step beyond all that write” (in the Preface to Robert Greene’s Menaphon).
His power of invention, variety and concern for style and artistic construction are
more often than not remarkable.
Perhaps Peele remained popular mainly for the songs (songs which were intended for
ceremonial recitation at court) that he presented with the plays; most of them have been
largely anthologized – like Polyhymnia (1590), The Honour of Garter (1593), or Anglorum
Feriae (1595). His feeling for the musical value of lyrics was also quite remarkable.
Shakespearean works such as Henry VI or Locrine make critics credit Peele with a
share in writing them, but this may be only a supposition.

Robert Greene (c. 1558-1592)

Robert Greene was a pamphleteer, novelist, and playwright, whose dramatic activity
is very unequally reflected in most books of English literature.
Greene was born in Norwich. He got a BA and an MA at Cambridge University;
afterwards, Greene obtained an MA in Oxford.
In 1585 he got married, but soon left his wife, who had been unsuccessfully trying to
make him give up his inborn Bohemian tendencies. Many details about his disorganized life
are to be found in his autobiographical pamphlets – ranging “from superior journalism to self-
excoriating penitence” (Wordsworth Companion to English Literature, p. 387). The fact is
that Greene led a life of unrestrained pleasure in London. He also travelled widely (to France,
Italy, Germany, Spain, Denmark and Poland).
Characterized by his contemporary as a ‘witty Bohemian’, he too easily flew from
Bohemian laxity and misrule to puritan idealism. He died in misery because of his drinking
habits (i.e. indulging in too much wine). Greene proved to be prolific as a writer, and this
perhaps mainly in order to pay for his worldly pleasures.
In 1587 appeared Euphues, This Censure of Philautus, obviously the culmination of
his talents as a pamphleteer. As far as his literary style is concerned, he certainly pays tribute
to Lyly for this pamphlet.
In 1588-89 he wrote two prose romances, whose model was Sidney’s Arcadia,
Pandosto (on this Shakespeare based his Winter’s Tale, 1611) and Menaphon (famous for the
wondeful lyric, “Weep not, my wanton”).

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 His 1591 pamphlet entitled The Art of Conny Catching, a remarkable account of
confidence trickery in the Elizabethan time, is astonishing for its humorous and direct style.
In 1592 appeared another prose piece, a pamphlet entitled Greene’s Groatsworth of
Wit, Bought with A Million of Repentance, which is a violent satire of the contemporary
players, but more specially an attack on Shakespeare himself, whom he calls a “Shake-scene”,
“an upstart crow, beautified with our feathers”, a “Johannes factotum”, etc. (“Yes, trust them
not: for there is an upstart Crow, beautified with our feathers, that with his Tygers hart wrapt
in a Players hyde, supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blanke verse as the best of
you: and beeing an absolute Iohannes fac totum, is in his owne conceit the onely Shake-scene
in a country”. Yet it seems highly probable that he collaborated with the young Shakespeare
in the writing of Henry VI, The Comedy of Errors, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, etc.
Greene’s dramatic creation includes the following plays: Alphonso, King of Aragon
(which appeared in 1587, and was published in 1599). The historical character is changed into
a fictional one. The language is conventional, but there are lively passages, as well as humour,
well achieved poetry. Greene makes use of an approximate imitation of Marlowe’s rhetoric.
The realistic style that can be sensed at times redeems the play. There is popular inspiration in
it, although no virility enhances the dramatic ensemble. The feminine characters are
outstanding, foreshadowing Shakespeare’s Juliet, Viola, Imogen.
In 1589 or 1590 appeared The Honourable Historie of Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay
(published in 1594). It appeared essentially as an answer to Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus. The
main character may be easily identified in the person of Roger Bacon, the great mediaeval
scholar (1214-1292). The most remarkable thing is that in this play Greene introduces the first
great romantic heroine on stage, Margaret.
Friar Bacon is required by Edward, son of King Henry III, to help him in wooing
Margaret, a country girl, by magic means. His go-between, Lacy, falls in love with Margaret,
and a love scene between the two is shown by magic to Edward with the help of a crystal
actuated by Friar Bacon. The outcome involves no revenge on the part of the prince.
Very much as in Christopher Marlowe’s Dr. Faustus, the figure of the magician, or
the alchemist, holds the stage. Yet Greene’s comedy does not have organic unity: the action
of the personages is not satisfactorily motivated, and the rustic atmosphere is rather artificial,
etc.
Also in 1590 appeared A Looking Glasse for London and England (printed in 1594).
Greene collaborated with Lodge in writing it.
In 1590 Greene produced The Historie of Orlando Furioso – printed in 1594. The
play extols love and adventure.
In 1591 appeared his James the Fourth (the full title is The Scottish Historie of James
the Fourth), displaying a mixed literary technique (belonging to fairy fantasy and chronicle-
play); it was published in 1598. It is a pseudo-history play (or ‘pseudo-chronicle’ play)
inspired by Giraldi Cinthio’s Hecatommithi.
As a playwright, Greene remains famous for the varied and graceful lyrics, scattered
through his dramatic or romance plays. The atmosphere and the plotting in his drama are
mainly and typically characterized by a pattern of romantic comedy, idyllic mood and
lyricism. Generally, the plots are complicated (he is a master of intricate plots, in fact), but
there is enough verisimilitude in them.
Among his writings, George-a-Greene, The Pinner of Wakefield, is mentioned, quite
rightly; the story is about a revolt plotted by noblemen against King Edward. George, the
pinner (< pin, or pound – Rom. “ţarc (de vite)”), contributes to defeating the feudal lords.
Interestingly enough, in the play appear the legendary figures of Robin Hood and Maid
Marian.
It is believed that Greene had some share in writing famous plays of the time, such as:
Selimus, The Troublesome Raigne of John, The First Part of the Contention betwixt the
Houses of Yorke and Lancaster, The True Tragedie of Richard Duke of York (i.e. Henry VI,
parts II and III).
Thomas Nashe called him ”a master of his craft” as far as the plots of his dramatic
works were concerned, and “the Homer of women” (in actual fact, many of his feminine

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characters are to be recognized in Shakespearean characters such as Rosalinde, Juliet, Viola,
or Imogen).

Thomas Lodge (?1557-1625)

Thomas Lodge was a poet, dramatist, pamphleteer, translator, and writer of prose
romances. His father, Sir Thomas Lodge, was, for a short time, Lord Mayor of London
(entitled in 1562 – soon afterwards he was imprisoned for debt).
Lodges’ education: He attended Merchant Taylor’s School, Trinity College, Oxford,
graduating in 1577. In 1578 Lodge was admitted to Lincoln’s Inn. In 1588 he sailed to the
Canaries, and in 1591 he participated in an expedition to South America.
In 1600 Thomas Lodge receives a medical degree at the University of Avignon. In
1602 he gets an MD at Oxford. He practises as a physician. The same year when he converts
to Catholicism, after the failure of the Gunpowder Plot (1605), he goes on the Continent as a
Recusant.186 Then he practises medicine in the Netherlands. The year 1611 marks his return to
England.
Mention should be made of the fact that, in the literary field proper, he brought
nothing new or original. Nevertheless, Lodge’s literary activity includes such works (plays,
pieces of prose, pamphlets, sermons, etc.), noted by literary histories devoted to the
Elizabethan period:
In 1580 – A Defense of Poetry, Music and Stage Plays, a pamphlet written in reply to
The School of Abuse by Stephen Gosson (1554-1624); in 1584 – An Alarm Against Usurers,
rather a modest prose writing; The Delectable History of Frobonius and Prisceria, a prose
romance; in 1590 – Rosalynde, which is also his most successful play; 1591 – Catharos, a
sermon, the conception of which is underlied by a colloquy between Diogenes, the ancient
Greek philosopher, and two Athenians; in 1596 – The Devil Conjured, a prose romance, quite
successful at the time but rather inconspicuous nowadays, which is clearly the main source of
inspiration for Shakespeare’s As You Like It; in 1591 came Robert, Second Duke of
Normandy, and in 1593 – William Longbeard.
He also produced Wit’s Misery – a sermon, and A Margarite of America (which
Lodge claimed he found in a Jesuit library in South America). A Prosopopoeia is also
attributed to Lodge.
Among his best-known plays, The Wounds of Civil War (printed 1594, with the first
performance in 1586) is noticeable; it is “a Titus Andronicus with the thrills and horrors left
out” (George Sampson, op. cit., p. 210).
He was the admitted collaborator of Robert Greene, and there are widely held
speculations about his contributions to Shakespeare’s 1 Herny VI, The Taming of the Shrew,
King John.
As a translator, Lodge produced versions of the historical works by Josephus (1600),
and Seneca’s plays (1614). In his last years, he gave up writing (actually, his literary works
are today seen rather as a matter of documentary interest in the field of literary history), and
dedicated his efforts to the study and practice of medicine; in this capacity he wrote a Treatise
on the Plague (1603).

Thomas Nashe (1567-1601)

Thomas Nashe was a satirist, pamphleteer, dramatist, and prose writer.

In 1586 Nashe graduated from St. John’s College, at Cambridge University. After a
tour of Europe, to France and Italy, Nashe establishes his residence in London (1588), joining
the circle of other University Wits. A restless pamphleteer, he was also involved in all sorts of
political scandals. As a satirist, he left a gallery of absurd names (standing for Harvey), e.g.
Wrinckle de Crinckledum.

186 Recusant, recusancy: see footnote supra.

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 His first work was a review of literature, published as a preface to Greene’s
Menaphon (1589).
In 1589, Nashe published The Anatomy of Absurdity, a witty satire on artificiality in
literature. His style is natural enough, original (although there are no refinements), inventive,
vivid, even vulgar at times.
In 1590 appeared the pamphlet entitled An Almond for a Parrot.
In 1592 Nashe wrote Pierce Penniless his Supplication to the Devil, a reply to
Richard Harvey’s attack.
In 1593 he wrote Four Letters Confuted, a pamphlet in which he defends Greene
(attacked by Gabriel Harvey), and then Christ’s Tears over Jerusalem – an attempt to make
peace.
In 1596 appeared Have with You to Saffron Walden, a reply to Harvey’s Pierce’s
Supererogation.
Nashe’s prose writings include The Terrors of the Night (1594), which presents some
quite interesting visions of spirits and superstitions, Jack Wilton or the Unfortunate Traveller
(1594), the first picaresque work in English.
Nashe’s Lenten Stuff (1599) is a mock, or burlesque panegyric. The grotesque
presentations of fantasy coexist with the colloquial style and inventive discourse.
As a dramatic author, Nashe’s work includes Summer’s Last Will and Testament
(1592); it had a private performance at Croydon.
Thomas Nashe was probably co-author with Christopher Marlowe of The Tragedy of
Dido Queen of Carthage (1594).
The dramatic piece entitled The Isle of Dogs (1597), a political play considered as
having a “very seditious and sclanderous matter”, is now lost. The author was imprisoned and
censured for it, and it was also the cause of the general closing of the London theatres in
1597.

Thomas Kyd (1558-1594)

A dramatist and translator, Kyd is best remembered as the author of The Spanish
Tragedy. Thomas Kyd was born in London, as the son of a scrivener. His education began at
Merchant Taylor’s School, where he was Edmund Spenser’s fellow-pupil. He could not get
any university degree. Probably Nashe held him up to contempt in his preface to Menaphon
because of his Latinized ‘necke verse’.
Kyd was a scrivener and, for a short period, he also functioned in the service of a
lord. He was one of Marlowe’s best friends; they even shared lodgings in London.
In 1593 he was arrested for heresy. Kyd was equivocally involved in the uncertain
events that led to Marlowe’s death. He was perhaps tortured and finally released; soon
afterwards he disappears; finally, he met a mysterious death.
Kyd’s literary activity is remarkable, especially in view of the fact that his efforts
counted as part of the cultural heritage on which Shakespeare’s monumental achievement was
erected.
In 1589 appeared The Spanish Tragedy, or Hieronimo is Mad Again – written, it
seems, between 1584 and 1589; it is generally credited to be one of Kyd’s outstandingly
original plays. It enjoyed great popularity by 1592, as is revealed in Apology for Actors
(1612) by Thomas Heywood (who, rather vaguely this time, also refers to an Ur-Hamlet,
admittedly written around the year 1589). It is considered that, on the basis of The Spanish
Tragedy (be it indirectly), Marlowe wrote his Jew of Malta, and Shakespeare found
inspiration for Hamlet and Titus Andronicus.
The play is brilliantly constructed, inventive, and on the whole credible. In fact, like
most Elizabethan stage productions, it is an adaptation of Seneca’s tragedies (especially
Troas, Thyestes and Hercules Furens), as far as the type of plot, the ideology and the
atmosphere are concerned.
This is the first real revenge tragedy in English, paving the way for the so-called
‘blood-and-thunder’ tragedies in the tradition of English drama. The plot is characterized by a

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cumulative interweaving of specific elements, such as vengeance and conspiracy, love and
jealousy, rivalry and frustration, violence and murder, all of them emotionally intermingled.
Here is the summary of the story: Spain defeated Portugal. The Spanish Marshal
Hieronimo seeks revenge for his son’s murder by Prince Balthazar or Portugal. Hieronimo is
joined by Bel-Imperia, the late young man’s fiancée. Hieronimo has a play acted in order to
make sure who the murder is. The acted tragedy turns into a real hecatomb, presented in a
horrific final scene.
The play is a little bit rhetorical, but otherwise tremendously vivid, exhibiting
colourful dialogues, lavish action, and vivid character-delineation (basically consisting in
sketchy characters). Apart from the exaltation of the ‘man-animal’, thirsting for revenge, its
unity of action is remarkable.
The play is also noticeable for the felicitous use of ‘stichomythia’, i.e. one-line cues,
irony, as well as the occasional “purple patches” in it187 (e.g. Hieronimo’s famous outburst:
“O eyes, no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears! / O life, no life, but lively form of death! /
O world, no world, but mass of public wrongs, / Confused and filled with murder and
misdeeds!”).
The author successfully employed repetitions and antonyms; the verse is rhythmical,
sometimes rhymed (i.e. rhymed iambic pentameters),
The existence of an Ur-Hamlet is hypothesized, but no historian or critic can be very
sure about who was the borrower: Shakespeare, or Kyd? Some authors think that Kyd did also
write a lost version of Hamlet, which Shakespeare was perfectly aware, and made use of. The
fact is that there are fragments in The Spanish Tragedy and Hamlet which very similar. The
play also has a considerable number of interpolations, ascribable to Ben Jonson.
Other English revenge tragedies followed in Thomas Kyd’s footsteps, e.g.
Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus, Richard III, Julius Caesar, Hamlet, Chapman’s The Revenge
of Bussy d’Amboise, Marston’s Antonio’s Revenge, Webster’s The Duchess of Malfi,
Massinger’s The Roman Actor, etc.
Shakespeare is the dramatist who would transform the horrible, typical of such
revenge plays as Kyd’s The Spanish Tragedy, into the terrible.
In 1594 appeared Kyd’s Cornelia (the full title of the play was Pompey the Great, his
Fair Corneliaes Tragedie), a play which survived as another version of the Senecan tragedy
by Robert Garnier, which was performed in France as Cornélie.
The other works attributed to Kyd are The Tragedye of Solyman and Perseda
(published in 1592): the subject is that of The Spanish Tragedy, but without its literary value;
and the First Part of Jeronimo (extant in a 1605 quarto), which may possibly be a part of The
Spanish Tragedy, though it raised debates whether Kyd is the real author or not.
Thomas Kyd is a literary forerunner in many respects. (1) In depicting characters, he
usually produced sketchy personae, either good or bad. In particular, Hieronimo, the
protagonist in The Spanish Tragedy, is a new type of tragic hero, distracted in his
revengefulness, suffering in his loneliness, lame and self-centred. He is an evident
prefiguration of Hamlet. Consequently, the main character with Kyd may be either a
counterfeited or a real person
(2) In choosing his themes, Kyd favoured the avenging patterns; the revenge theme is
to be plentifully found in some definite types of tragedies after him – tragedies of ambition,
and tragedies of intrigue. Just as in Hamlet, the theme of revenge in The Spanish Tragedy is
introduced when the ghost appears. Moreover, in building up the plot, he was the one who
settled the malicious, or Machiavellian type of plotting (cf. also Marlowe’s Jew of Malta).
(3) Kyd marks the beginning of a novel dramatic trend in introducing new stage
elements: the life-as-a-stage motif, the play-within-a-play vision, characters assuring the
staging role of the audience.

187A purple patch (or purple passage), or else a piece of purple prose is “a piece of writing that has a
grander style, an elaborate or excessively ornate passage in a literary composition”.

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 Kyd also wrote a few translations; he translated from the French and Italian – which
rather annoyed Nashe; (Cornélie is such a translation from French). From Italian he translated
a pamphlet.
Kyd was accused that his Spanish Tragedy had no proper ending: Ben Jonson thought
that it was too brusque, and thus harsh and inelegant. It probably needed some characters of
the Horatio type (to explain the tale “to the dissatisfied”), or of the Fortinbras type (to put
things back into the old, normal routine).
Concluding, we may appreciate that Thomas Kyd’s merits are not exceptional, but
they are definitely quite numerous.

PHILIP SIDNEY (1554-1586)

Philip Sidney was the grandson of the Duke of Northumberland, and nephew of the
Earl of Leicester. He was educated at Christ’s Church College of the University of Oxford.
His extensive travelling took him all over Europe (as far as Hungary); he assiduously
visited Italy, the Mecca of the new spirit of the Renaissance. A politician and a diplomat (he
dreamt of grouping the Protestant states against the Pope – of course, under the hegemony of
England), Sidney had a thorough command of old Greek and Latin, and was also conversant
with French, Italian, and Spanish.
A favourite of the Queen, he was knighted by her. Sidney was a handsome man and a
perfect gentleman by birth and by nature; he had his portrait painted by Veronese. He was a
friend of such historical personages as William of Orange and Don John of Austria. An
accomplished courtier, a statesman, a soldier and warrior, as well as a poet and patron of
poets, a scholar, Philip Sidney was also an excellent horseman, but also a devoted Protestant.
Although much of his life (and his death) is an illustration of an active, pragmatic spirit, his
nature was serious and intense, infused with a hint of melancholy. He entered the legend by
his heroic, knightly death at Zuitphen, in the Netherlands.
Endowed with insatiable love of learning, Sidney read Greek philosophy in the
original, was an expert in matters of prosody and rhetoric, was knowledgeable about social
and philosophical theories, no less than international affairs. Philip Sidney explored the paths
of human knowledge in most of the domains available at that time.
Sidney’s first notable work was The Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia (or Arcadia, for
short), begun in 1580, and published posthumously, in 1590; it was written for, and revised
by, his sister, Mary Herbert, Countesss of Pembroke.
Arcadia is a long, fantastic tale about aristocrats shipwrecked on an ideal island (in
which respect it can be compared with Thomas More’s Utopia), a world essentially inspired
by high principles and achievements, as well as knightly courtesy. “He realized the chivalrous
ideal retouched and perfected by the Renascence (…) the lettered courtier, as Castiglione
would have him be” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, A History of English Literature, p.
261).
Sidney’s Arcadia was a remarkably influential work in the English literary world of
that period, instilling into the public and the literatti alike the sense of, and the appetite for,
the ideal: “From the time it was published, in 1590, it inculcated in a whole generation a taste
for literary jewellery, both genuine and false” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p.
262).
As the materialism of the court displeased Sidney, he took refuge in imagination, in a
dream world, made up of ideal scenes and sentiments, the realm of perfect poetic atmosphere,
of undisturbed life in a green, pastoral setting, a dream of the Golden Age, etc. This kind of
escapism can be merely conceived of as fleeing the evils and biographic discomforts of the
author’s own age by indulging in dreams (“It is the sort of dream which any courtier, aware of
the squalor of London and the corruption of the court, might well conceive, and, once again,
we are reminded of Utopia.” – Anthony Burgess, English Literature, p. 98); but also as a fully
justifiable attempt at evasion into an idealized, or romanticized, world of pure, richly ornate
imagination – which met not only a personal need, but also a public taste of his epoch: “Like
Spenser, whom he was thus anticipating, Sidney created a fairy world of enchanted beauty

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and idyllic charm. In lush word pictures, (…) suggestive of Spenser, Sidney thrills the reader
by sensuous evocation through masterful language. To many Elizabethans life was hard and
monotonous. They therefore relished the romanticizing of the past, even as we romanticize
the Elizabethan age and the future shall romanticize us. Perhaps no other writers in English so
imaginatively could create dreamworlds to match The Faerie Queene of Spenser or the
Arcadia of Sidney” (Martin S. Day, History of English Literature. To 1600, p. 217).
The mingling of the pastoral and the chivalrous meant a favour made to the public
taste, and also to a new set of literary demands: “Sidney had adapted the virtues of chivalry to
the needs of a new age” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p., 262).
Among the various sources contributing to the manifold streams of the narrative, as
well as the general structure of the literary fabric, can be cited: Jacopo Sannazaro’s Arcadia
(1504)188 – for the main ideas, which are largely borrowed from the Italian author, Jorge de
Montemayor’s Diana,189 ancient Greek romance, especially Heliodorus’s Ethiopian History,
mediaeval romance, chiefly Amadis de Gaul, but also Malory’s knightly tales, a considerable
number of Italian novelle, including Boccaccio’s, etc. One must also consider the fact that
Sidney was an active member of Gabriel Harvey’s classical ‘Areopagus’.190
The story complies with the rules of the genre: King Basileus lives retired in this ideal
Arcadia;191 he brings up his daughters as shepherdesses. His family and his subjects live
happily, in a carefree, joyful atmosphere, singing and dancing all day long. If something
interferes with their rustically healthy and happy lives, it is only the chivalrous element, the
world of knighty romantic adventure. “In this work Sidney mingles the pastoral and the
chivalrous, a fusion already effected by Montemayor, the Spaniard,192 in Diana, and he brings
together all the fantasies belonging to these two genres in stories that are hopelessly
romantic” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 262).
But two strange foreign princes, Musidorus and Pyrocles unleash violent passions by
their courtship to Pamela and Philoclea, respectively, and usher in, successively, bloodthirsty
wars, in which they have to confront the ogre-like Amphialus and his black-hearted mother
Cecropia. The final victory belongs to love and virtue.
There are various sub-plots in the story, which evolve in the same chimaeric land of
passion and unbridled imagination. The work also exhibits occasional comic scenes, as well
as several attempts at character-study.
The literary value of Arcadia cannot be contested, in spite of the artistic, highly
conventional strain of the ‘novel’, because its value is intrinsic, springing out of genuine
feeling and narrative zest: “Yet these extravagances, which would have delighted Don
Quixote’s heart and are in the tradition of the chivalrous romances, have a freshness because
of Sidney’s pleasure in telling a story and his sincere love for everything that is of valour and
courtesy, because of his spontaneous passion for all beauty, whether of the body or of the
soul…” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 263).
By the capricious fancy, ornament and refined preciosity prevalent in Arcadia, the
author clearly demonstrates his commitment to be an experimentalist in style. An extravagant
writer, Sidney has Lyly’s concision and balance, though with the latter the poetic substance
was only a matter of literary artifice.
Sidney’s mannerism and preciosity are easily noticeable, yet they are extremely
valuable in that they are put to earnest, conscious artistic use, which fuses together poetic
substance and form; a learned, sensitive man, Sidney also shows himself in Arcadia as a true

188 Jacopo / Iacopo Sannazzaro: Italian (i.e. Neapolitan) writer, author of the pastoral poem Arcadia.
189 Jorge de Montemayor (c. 1520-1561): Portuguese-born Spanish writer, author of the most
representative pastoral (novel) in Spanish literature, Diana (sometimes also known as Diana enamorada); he
also wrote a cycle of poems entitled Cancioneros.
190 Gabriel Harvey, scholar and humanist, was one of Sidney’s former colleagues at Cambridge University.
191 Arcadia: A historical region in southern Greece, lying in Central Peloponnese. A mountaineous,

isolated district, Arcadia made its way into Hellenistic and Latin poetry (viz. in pastorals or eclogues), and
later on in (European) poetic fantasy, as the typical space of bucolic, idyllic life – cf. “Et ego in Arcadia”. In
Greek mythology it was the home of Pan, the protector of sheep (and goat) flocks, and shepherds.
192 In fact, Jorge de Montemayor was Portuguese by birth – see supra.

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poet, that is a ‘maker’. “The value of Arcadia is thus in its manner, in the style which clothes
it, and in which merits and striking defects mingle very strangely. Artifice is as much present
as in euphuism, but it is of a quite different kind. Sidney refines upon the refined; he is not
content with purely verbal conceits although he perpetrates a few of them (…) Generally it is
on thought or feeling that he refines, following his constant quest of the fair and the exquisite.
A learned embroidery enriches the slightest details (…) Sideny’s images are woven into the
very web of his fabric. They may be in doubtful taste, but they are creations” (Émile Legouis,
Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 264).
The inanimate and the abstract readily come to life through the author’s invocation.
In numerous cases, Sidney’s creative powers generate gems of innovative metaphor; the
metaphors that the poet employs are spontaneous, more often than not elliptical. The poet
‘plays’ with language, enriching it, as well as attuning it to the cultural Europe of the
Renaissance: “All is not (…) vain ornament. Sidney, working at language, often by bold and
new combinations of words reaches close and vigorous expression. He is the first Englishman
who was conscious of all the resources his language held for the impassioned style” (Émile
Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 265). Moreover, there are wonderful songs in Sidney’s
work, such as “My true love hath my heart”.
The work can well be said to be rather lengthy, and even trying, tiresome – but it is
equally true that it was composed for a select group of initiated, a restricted circle, not for the
public at large. (Actually, it was addressed to his sister – and Sidney himself wrote that it was
but “idle work”). “Those who find the book too long and tedious will do well to remember
that it was not written for the general public and a diffused circulation. In a sense, it is a mass
of florid correspondence that passed between Sidney and his sister” (George Sampson, The
Concise Cambridge History of English Literature, p. 135).
As a narrative (or a ‘novel’, as it were) Arcadia is hopeless, but that did not prevent it
from being the most widely read and momentous narrative work before John Bunyan’s
Pilgrim’s Progress (which is finely achieved as a story, let alone the allegorical conventions
and overall structure, or framework).
The fairy world, the idyllic charm, the enchanted atmosphere (in direct anticipation of
Edmund Spenser) and the extravagant artificiality of tone and invention are combined with
the perfect mastery of language – a sensuous, evocative idiom.
Philip Sidney’s prose displays striking pictorial effects (see the description of
Kalander’s Italian garden – with its exquisite pavilion), as well as a refined decorative skill in
psychological interpretation: “This sense of the externally picturesque is supported by an
equal power of interpreting feeling which enables Sidney to attain to some charming new
effects, both graceful and penetrating…” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 266).
As the matter of his prose is literally compact with incident and refined description,
so is its syntax – with the admirable lengthy sentences, interrupted or enlivened by
parentheses, overweighted with subtleties and refinements of phrasing. Here and there, it is
redeemed by fine eloquence. More often than not, Sidney’s metaphors are elliptical and
spontaneous – even abrupt; most of the overrefined niceties and pervasive artificiality of
Shakespeare’s style can be found here as the original rudiments.
Arcadia was an inspiration for other British authors, demonstrating the capacity that
the English verse had to get interlinked with the great European poetry, and serve as an apt
medium of the great artistic values.
As a soneteer, Philip Sidney follows Thomas Watson. It has been said that, alongside
Shakespeare, Sidney was the best writer of sonnets.193 The sonnet had been disregarded in
England since Surrey’s time.194
Sidney’s collection of sonnets is known as Astrophel and Stella; the poems were
written between 1580 and 1584, and published in a volume in the year 1598. This is the first
real ‘sonnet sequence’ in English, telling the story of a love (cf. Petrarch and Laura’s amorous

193 Thomas Watson was the author of one hundred ‘pseudosonnets’ (i.e. verse pieces having eighteen
lines), entitled Passionate Centurie of Love (1582).
194 The Earl of Surrey – see footnote supra.

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affair, turned into lyrical poetry). Sidney’s sonnets must have circulated in manuscript form at
about the same time as Watson’s ‘pseudosonnets’
This lyrical story may give the emotional account of unrequited love, but there is a
fair amount of literary exaggeration in it, as well. There is poignant regret for lost happiness,
grief and despair at the lady’s coldness; duty and passion, desire and reason clash. Sidney also
had a number of foreign models, though he diligently sought to write originally.
His “truth” is mainly the affective, personal one, but also the result of poetic labour,
meant to creatively transform the coarse material drawn from real life: “He listened now only
to his heart – ‘Look in thy heart and write’. Doubtless he found in himself the feelings of
lovers of all time, and often his real sincerity has a traditional turn and voice (…) A
sonneteer’s truth cannot be simple and naked. In Sidney’s verses there are many figures and
metaphors; there are even antitheses and ingenious verbal elaboration…” (Émile Legouis,
Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 267). Yet, in spite of their undeniable artistic elaboratedness,
there is outstanding, impressive sincerity in Sidney’s sonnets; they are actually bits of lyric
meditation, in which the life realities only represent secondary, or, better to say, underlying
elements: “Nonetheless, there are discrepancies between the biography of Sidney and events
noted in the poems (…) Sidney’s sonnets display many of the themes and images
conventional in the Petrarchan tradition. For instance, fervent pleas of sincerity were part of
the artificial conventions of the genre. In reading any sonnet sequence, whether Sidney’s,
Shakespeare’s, or George Meredith’s, the biographical element must be deemed secondary”
(Martin S. Day, History of English Literature. To 1600, p. 218).
Therefore the “truth” of these sonnets is only a matter of literary convention and
filiation of sources: “Readers sometimes fail to distinguish between the truth of a poem and
the truth of an affidavit, and are too often encouraged by critics who ought to know better.
The sonnets of Shakespeare and of Sidney are as “true” as Hamlet or Arcadia; they are not
required to have a different kind of truth. Sidney was indebted to foreign models, though he
was much more original than his contemporaries” (George Sampson, op. cit., p. 126).
The dedicatee of his sonnets was Penelope Devereux, sister of the famous Earl of
Essex. The very sonnets contain the unambiguous claim to sincerity (e.g. Sonnet 15, where
the poet delimits himself from other authors of sonnets, whose sincerity he questioned, as
being artistically expanded and overstrained). In actual fact, there is a lot of disagreement
between the nude biographical detail and the events Sidney’s sonnets recorded – including the
rather bulky array of conventional Petrarchan stuff, and even downright mannerism.
As a matter of fact, the relationship between Astrophel and Stella195 graphically – and
literally, that is etymologically – emanates from the protagonists’ names. And we must not
omit the fact that the author urges, in the manner of a motto: “Look in thy heart, and write”
(in Sonnet 1).
Stella’s attractiveness, both bodily and spiritual, is praised in the first thirty sonnets,
then admiration grows into fervent passion. Continuing the evolution of the feeling, which
seems mutual, passion is checked in turn by reason and virtue. Despondency alternates with
hope – and the final is basking in the aura glow of philosphical consolation.
In what concerns the form, the poet tries to observe the pattern consecrated by
Petrarch – at times going as far as employing in the opening octave (i.e. the first eight lines)
only two rhymes. None the less, he is often attracted by the English use of the final couplet
(cf. Shakespeare’s sonnets).
The ease, grace, sincerity of tone typical of these poems are an illustration of his
genuine character: they constitue a mirror of the author’s admirable spirit. The sonnets’ verbal
elaboration is supremely artistic, and the use of antithesis can at times lead even to obscurity.
There is a surprising flow of lyrical poetry; now and then, there occur strikingly novel
expresions – sudden, energetic, admirably fresh and artistically contrived. (In Sonnet 1 alone
the readers come across such poetic turns of phrase as: “My truand pen”, “great with child to
speak”, “my sunburn’d brain”, “the blackest face of woe”).

195Astrophel, or Astrophil < Greek aster “star, celestial body” + Greek philo- “loving; friend, lover (of…)”,
and Stella < Latin stella “star”, respectively..

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 Philip Sidney’s poems in Astrophel and Stella represent a valuable contribution to
English poetry. His epoch-making sonnets inspired other sonneteers of the 16th century as
well as later centuries.
After the 108 sonnets there follow several beautiful lyrical pieces, gathered in the
same collection (which are dedicated to Stella, as well) – some of them serenades.
These are personal, splendidly passionate poems, highly representative of Elizabethan
literature. Soon after the publication of Astrophel and Stella the public’s passion for, and
craze about, the sonnet in England makes a decisive start; although, unfortunately, most of
Sidney’s and Rale(i)gh’s poems were lost…
By his Apologie for Poetrie (published in 1595, when it is reprinted as The Defense of
Poesie), Philip Sidney is the first real English literary critic.
An Apologie for Poetrie196 was a rejoinder to a Puritan attack on imaginative writing
(namely, Stephen Gosson’s The School of Abuse – 1579), in which poetry and poets alike
were accused of fickleness, shallow feelings, ineptitude and moral corruption. In Gosson’s
opinion, poets were no more than parasitic ‘pipers and jesters’ (“Poets, Pipers, Plaiers, Jesters,
and such like Caterpillars of a Commonwelth”), while poetry could only effeminate a nation.
Gosson, ironically, dedicated his invective to Sidney himself, because the poet was
reputed for his moral purity and his diligent efforts in defending the Protestant cause.
Sidney’s reply was not immediate (unlike Thomas Lodge’s pedantic A Defense of Poetry,
Music and Stage Plays, published as early as 1580.
The detractor’s position was fundamentally engendered by his conviction that poetry
was rather inspired by pagan and Catholic than Christian ideas, and so prevented people from
fostering proper religious devotion, as the spiritual pursuits were directly impeded by worldy
pleasures and lowly interests and tastes.
On the other hand, Stephen Gosson voices opinions directly linked to the social class
to which he belonged (i.e. the mercantile bourgeoisie), and whose interests and occupations
were almost exclusively pragmatic and businesslike; according to him, and his peers,
imaginative creation was a waste of time, because it kept the people from lucrative activity.
Appealing to history and cultural tradition, to argumentative logic, using evidence of
an affective, emotional nature, and, last but not least, to nascent national feeling, Sidney
constructs a manifold, coherent chain of reasoning. The poet, he says, has always been
respected, and sometimes also adulated: with the Greeks, he was a maker (i.e. “a creator”),197
and the Romans used to call the poet “a prophet”.198
Therefore poetry is human creation – not the mere, simplistic copy of reality (cf. the
Aristotelian concept of mimesis). The element of fiction is primordial, while the poetic
technique is subordinate; fiction springs out of poetic inspiration – which Sidney calls “a
divine gift”.
Poetry, Sidney insists, is not a wanton, fickle pursuit, because it seeks to provide
profit and delight equally – and, in the last instance, the revelation of truth – essential,
universal truth. Imaginative writing cannot fail to be moral, as it teaches the readers, it
acquaints them with the benefits of virtuous life, associating history and philosophy.
On the other hand, Sidney answers those who showed contempt for poetry, clearly
stating that the poet’s art is not mere singsong verbal play, nor a time-wasting activity, since it
is conducive to virtue. Poetry is not, and cannot be mendacious, as it does not operate with the
simple dichotomy “true vs. false”, but with “what should, or should not be” (in Sidney’s own
words). Poetry, he further says, does not undermine, but enhances soldierly spirit and civic
virtue. Finally, the author maintains that poetry should not have been expelled by Plato from
his ideal ‘Republic’, but only poetry of poor quality and make-up.
In the last section, devoted to contemporary literature in Britain, Sidney admits the
indisputable precedence of drama – and he pursues his commentary with due remarks and

196 Apology / apologie meant “an explanation”.

197 From Greek poiein “to make, to create; to forge”; likewise, in the old English tradition a poet was a
shaper.
198 Cf. Latin vates – usually in the phrase poëta vates.

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distinctions within this literary genre. Tragedy, he says, is free to neglect outer laws, while
observing its own inner truth, but it must by all means stick to the ancient rules of
composition (viz. the unities of time and space). Sidney considers that comic elements can be
added to, and blended with, tragic material, but great comedy must engender a sense of joyful
harmony and true proportion.
The poet and critic also thinks that by the very side of dramatic poetry should be
ranked lyric productions, but he expresses regret at the stylistic artificiality (or the “fine
writing”, as he says) of such works in contemporary England. He also advocates amending
and regenerating the English poetic writing, in keeping with the great tradition of Graeco-
Roman antiquity. Among the great English literary creations of the past, he remarked
Chaucer’s Troilus and Crisseide, as well as the popular ballads (e.g. Chevy Chase); speaking
of the examples of literary creation inspired by true valour, Sidney notes the Arthurian
legends and romances. Unfortunately, he concedes, most of English literature (especially the
drama) was rather cheap, unaccomplished, shallow and frivolous: they were the fruits of
equally mediocre, impotent, art-wanting souls. The poet must be allowed to be the vates, the
law-giver – unlike the historian, who is chained to bare reality, or the philospher, whose task
demands too abstract and severe efforts.
Sidney’s condemnation of all literary methods and works that were not in keeping
with the ideal precepts of the ancients (although his own Arcadia was in conflict with the
theory he was advocating) was severe. He held observance of the classical unities in very high
esteem: “Sidney has the penetration to perceive the law by which the English playwrights
were unconsciously governed. They believed themselves to be historians, and followed events
step by step, forgetting the prerogatives of art, which does not obey literal truth and which has
the task of rearranging, eliminating, combining, constructing” (Émile Legouis, Louis
Cazamian, op. cit., p. 383).
As a matter of fact, the existing literary (and especially dramatic) production fully
justified his indictment: “Sidney’s condemnation would probably have been modified had he
found artistic qualities of style in the drama which existed about 1580. The plays he had in
mind were often ludicrous in form; the formula to which the poet conformed, one which
masterpieces were soon to justify, suffered from this awkwardness…” (Émile Legouis, Louis
Cazamian, op. cit., p. 384).
The style of the book is eloquent, virile, outspoken, plain, and consequently
convincing. This first critical essay in English literature was fairly influential among Philip
Sidney’s contemporaries, but also his successors – including John Bunyan, and, even if to a
lesser extent, William Shakespeare.

SUPPORT TEXTS

PHILIP SIDNEY (1554-1586)

SONNETS

XXXI

“With how sail steps, o Moon, thou climb’st the skies,

How silently, and with how wan1 a face!
What, may it be that even in heav’nly place
That busy archer his sharp arrow tries?
Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes
Can judge of love, thou feel’st a lover’s case,
I read it in thy looks; thy languisht2 grace,
To me, that feel the like, thy state descries.3
Then, ev’n of fellowship, o Moon, tell me,
Is constant love deem’d there but want of wit?4
Are beauties there as proud as here they be?
Do they above love to be loved, and yet

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 Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess?
Do they call virtue there ungratefulness?”

LXXXI

“O kiss, which doth those ruddy5 gems impart,6

Or gems or fruits of new-found Paradise,
Breathing all bliss, and sweet’ning to the heart,
Teaching dumb lips a nobler exercise;
O kiss, which souls, even souls, together ties
By links of love and only Nature’s art,
How fain would I paint thee to all men’s eyes,
Or of thy gifts at least shade out some part!
But she forbids; with blushing words she says
She builds her fame on higher-seated praise.
But my heart burns; I cannot silent be.
Then, since, dear life, you fain would have me peace,
And I, mad with delight, want wit to cease,7
Stop you my mouth with still, still kissing me.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) wan: pal, palid; (d. cineva) tras la faţă; (2) languisht = languishing (to languish: a slăbi, a
se ofili; a tînji); (3) (it) descries: it sees (to descry: a distinge, a zări, a deosebi); (4) want of
wit: lipsă de minte / judecată / chibzuinţă; (5) ruddy: roşu, aprins; rumen; (6) to impart: a da, a
împărţi, a dărui; a conferi, a acorda; gems: nestemate; (7) to cease: to end, to stop, to come to
an end; to discontinue.

AN APOLOGIE FOR POETRIE – LYRICKE

“Is it the Lyricke that most displeaseth, who with his tuned Lyre, and wel accorded
voyce; giveth praise, the reward of vertue, to vertuous acts; who gives morrall precepts, and
natural Problems; who sometimes rayseth up his voice to the height of the heavens, in singing
the landes of the immortall God? Certainly I must confesse my own barbarousnes, I never
heard the olde song of Percy and Duglas, that I found not my heart mooved more then with a
Trumpet: and yet is it sung but by some blinde Crouder,1 with no rougher voyce then rude
stile: which being so evill apparrelled in the dust and cob-webbes of that uncivill age,2 what
would it worke trymmed3 in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindar? In Hungary I have seene it
the manner at all Feasts, and other such meetings, to have songes of their Auncestours valour;
which that right Souldier-like Nation thinks the chiefest kindlers of brave courage. The
incomparable Lacedemonians did not only carry that kindle of Musicke ever with them to the
field, but even at home, as such songs were made, so were they all content to bee the singers
of them, when the lusty4 men were to tell what they dyd, the olde men what they had done,
and the young men what they wold doe. And where a man may say, that Pindar many times
prayseth highly victories of small moment,5 matters rather of sport then vertue: as it may be
aunswered, it was the fault of the Poet, and not of the Poetry; so indeede the chiefe fault was
in the tyme and custome of the Greekes, who set those toyes at so high a price, that Phillip of
Macedon reckoned a horse-race wonne at Olympus among hys three feareful felicities. But as
the unimitable Pindar often did, so is that kinde most capable and most fit to awake the
thoughts from the sleep of idlenes, to imbrace honorable enterprises.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) crouder: crowder, a man in the crowd, a commoner; (2) uncivill = uncivil: grosolan,
necioplit, lipsit de rafinament / educaţie; (3) trymmed = trimmed: gătit, împodobit; (4) lusty:
viguros, puternic, robust, în putere; (5) moment: significance, importance.

THE HEROIC, WHICH IS THE HIGHEST KIND OF POETRY

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 “There rests the Heroicall, whose very name (I thinke) should daunt all back-biters;1
for by what conceit2 can a tongue be directed to speake evill of that, which draweth with it, no
lesse Champions then Achilles, Cyrus, Aeneas, Turnus, Tydeus and Rinaldo? Who doth
not onely teach and move to a truth, but teacheth and mooveth to the most high and excellent
truth. Who maketh magnanimity and iustice shine, throughout all misty fearefulnes and foggy
desires. Who, if the saying of Plato and Tullie bee true, that who could see Vertue would be
wonderfully ravished3 with the love of her beauty: this man sets her out to make her more
lovely in her holyday apparell to the eye of any that will daine not to disdaine,4 until they
understand. But if any thing be already sayd in the defence of sweete Poetry, all concurreth to
the maintaining the Heroicall, which is not onely a kinde, but the best and most accomplished
kinde of Poetry. For as the image of each action stirreth5 and instructeth the mind, so the loftie
image of such worthies most inflameth the mind with desire to be worthy, and informes6 with
counsel how to be worthy. Only let Aeneas be worne in the tablet of your memory; how he
governeth himselfe in the ruine of his Country; in the preserving of his old Father, and
carrying away his religious ceremonies; in obeying the Gods commandement to leave Dido,
though not onely all passionate kindeness, but even the humane consideration of vertuous
gratefulnes, would have craved other of him; how in storms; howe in sports; howe in warre;
how in peace; how a fugitive, how victorious; how besiedged; how besiedging;7 howe to
strangers; how to allyes;8 how to enemies; howe to his owne; lastly, how in his inward selfe,
and how in his outward government. And I thinke, in a minde not preindiced with a
preindicating humor, hee will he found in excellencie fruitefull: yea, even as Horace sayth
melius Chrisippo et Crantore. But truely I imagine, it falleth out with these Poet-whyppers,9
as with some good women, who often are sicke, but in fayth they cannot tel where. So the
name of Poetrie is odious to them, but neither his cause nor effects, neither the sum that
containes him, nor the particularities descending from him, give any fast handle to their
carping disprayse.”10
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) should daunt the back-biters: să-i sperie / intimideze (şi să-i dea înapoi) pe clevetitori /
defăimători; (2) conceit: method, device; (3) to ravish: 1. a încânta; a răpi (fig.); 2. (înv.) a
răpi, a lua cu sila; (4) will daine not to disdaine = will deign not to disdain: nu le va fi cu
socoteală / nu le va da mâna să nesocotească; (5) stirreth = stirs < to stir: a da imbold); (6)
informes = informs < to inform: a învăţa, a da învăţătură; (7) besiedging = besieging: când
porţi un asediu; (8) allyes = allies: aliaţi, prieteni; (9) Poet-whyppers = poet-whippers < to
whip: a biciui, a flagela; (10) carping disprayse = carping dispraise: blam / critică cîrcotaş(ă),
şicanator / şicanatoare.

RECAPITULATION OF THE CLAIMS OF POETRY TO BE HONOURED

“So that sith the ever-praise-worthy Poesie, is full of vertue-breeding delightfulnes,

and voyde of no gyfte, that ought to be in the noble name of learning: sith the blames laid
against it are either false or feeble: sith the cause why it is not esteemed in Englande is the
fault of Poet-apes,1 not Poets: sith lastly, our tongue is most fit to honor Poesie, and to bee
honored by Poesie, I coniure2 you all, that have had the evill lucke to reade this incke-wasting
toy of mine, even in the name of the nyne Muses, no more to scorne the sacred mysteries of
Poesie: no more to laugh at the name of Poets, as though they were next inheritours to fooles:
no more to iest3 at the reverent title of a Rymer. But to beleeve with Aristotle, that they were
the auncient treasurers of the Graecians Divinity. To beleeve with Bembus, that were first
bringers in of all civilitie. To beleeve with Scaliger, that no Philosophers precepts can sooner
make you an honest man, then the reading of Virgill. To beleeve with Clauserus, the
translator of Cornutus, that it pleased the heeavenly deitie, by Hesiod and Homer, under the
vayle4 of fables, to give us all knowledge, Logick, Rethorick, Philosophy naturall and morall;
and Quid non? To beleeve with me, that there are many mysteries contained in Poetrie, which
of purpose were written darkely, least by prophane wits it should bee abused. To beleeve with

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Landin, that they are so beloved of the Gods, that whatsoever they write proceeds of a divine
fury. Lastly, to beleeve themselves, when they tell you they will make you immortall by their
verses.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) Poet-apes: cei ce-i maimuţăresc pe poeţi; (2) coniure = conjure: a chema (stăruitor), a
apela la, a conjura; (3) to iest = to jest at: to mock / laugh / scoff at; (4) vayle = veil: văl (aici,
fig.).

A BLESSING AND A CURSE

“Thus doing, your name shal florish in the Printers shoppes; thus doing, you shall bee
of kinne to many a poeticall Preface, thus doing, you shall be most fayre, most ritch, most
wise, most all. You shall dwell upon superlatives. Thus dooing, though you be Libertino patre
natus, you shall suddenly grow Herculea proles: Si quid mea Carmina possunt.
Thus doing, your soule shal be placed with Dantes, Beatrix, or Virgils Anchises. But
if (fie1 of such a but) you be borne so neere the dull making Cataract of Nilus, that you
cannot heare the Plannet-like Musick of Poetrie; if you have so earth-creeping2 a mind, that it
cannot lift it selfe up to looke to the sky of Poetry or rather, by a certaine rusticall disdaine,
will become such a Mome, as to be a Momus of Poetry: then, though I will not wish unto you
the Asses eares of Midas, nor to bee driven by a Poets verses (as Bubonax was) to hang
himselfe, nor to be rimed to death, as is sayd to be doone in Ireland; yet thus much curse I
must send you in the behalfe of all Poets, that while you live, you live in love, and never get
favour for lacking skill of a Sonnet; and when you die, your memory die from the earth for
want of an Epitaph.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) fie of…: (archaic) exclamation used to express disgust or outrage; (2) so earth-creeping a
mind = “such a mundane / common spirit”: (un) suflet / duh / (o) minte robit(ă) ţărînii, greoi /
greoaie, care nu se poate desprinde de / înălţa de la pămînt.

EDMUND SPENSER (1552?-1599)

Edmund Spenser was the poet who introduced the Elizabethan age proper. He was
born in London into a great aristocratic family. Spenser was educated at Merchant Taylor’s
School and Pembroke College, Cambridge.
Successively, he was a secretary to the Bishop of London, then to the Earl of
Leicester, and then a private secretary to Lord Grey of Wilton, the lord deputy of Ireland,
where he held minor government posts for the rest of his life. On two separate visits to
London, he saw six books of The Faerie Queene through publication, greatly assisted by Sir
Walter Rale(i)gh. Fleeing Cork, in Ireland, for London, because of social unrest, he died
within days from his arrival in the English capital. Spenser was buried in Westminster Abbey,
near Chaucer’s grave in the Poets’ Corner.
Edmund Spenser’s Puritanism was an insurgence against the coarse materialism and
the mercantile train of life in the then England.
With Spenser, the influence of Platonic philosophy manifested itself directly from the
source; among other things, it substantially accounts for the allegorical make-up of most of
his poetic creation.
This allegorical dimension is obvious in The Faerie Queene. Although an innovative
spirit, Spenser sets out as a votarist in the long tradition of allegory, but essentially departs
from it by dint of the special elaborateness of his work: “The poetry of Spenser, especially
The Faerie Queene, is the culmination of the allegorical verse tradition exemplified by Pearl,
Piers Plowman, and by Chaucer and the Chaucerians. But Spenser excels his predecessors in
the complexity and richness of his allegory. In this sense he brings to conclusion in fullest
flower an old but important stream of English literary tradition” (Martin S. Day, History of
English Literature. To 1600, p. 188).

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 So, in spite of a long-established literary tradition, which he faithfully follows, he
(paradoxically enough) appears to his contemporaries as the “New Poet” – a real master of
poetry in the vernacular language, which could confirm and strengthen the conviction – a
partly patriotic, and partly objective one – that the English language could function as a poetic
idiom in its own right; “Spenser proved to be the poetic master English verse needed. His
facility in language blended the best of the archaic and the new vocabulary, while his fluency
in many meters and stanzaic forms demonstrated that English was at least the equal to any
other language as a vehicle of great poetry” (Martin S. Day, op. cit., p. 188).
The Shepherd’s Calendar (1579) is a sequence of twelve eclogues (etymologically,
“tales by a goatherd”). The title is derived from The Calendar of Shepherds, a popular, widely
read almanac of the time. So, the very title informs us it was a collection of pastorals.199
The principal theme is Colin Clout’s unfulfilled affection for Rosalinde. Its subsidiary
subjects are: the praise of Queen Elizabeth, discussions about religious matters, the death of a
girl, etc.; so, it also offered possibilities for comments on religious and political issues, as well
as tributes to patrons and friends. Therefore, the forms and themes dealt with in The
Shepherd’s Calendar are enormously variegated: erotic, moral, religious, courtly, rustic, lyric,
elegiac. In this poem, Spenser “shows himself at once master of an old convention and herald
of a new spirit in poetry” (George Sampson, The Concise Cambridge History of English
Literature, p. 124).
The Shepherd’s Calendar was published under the pseudonym of Immerito, and
dedicated to Philip Sidney; in fact, in The Shepherd’s Calendar there is an allegory of the life
and death of Sir Philip Sidney (a story about a shepherd of Arcady wounded to death by an
enraged boar).
Spenser’s main literary sources, more or less remote in time, were the Greek poets
Theocritus and Bion, the Italian poet Mantuanus, the French Marot: he gave free imitations of
some of their poems.200 Other sources were: Virgil (or Vergil), who wrote more refined,
somewhat artificial poetry, Petrarch, with his Latin eclogues, which turned the pastoral into
satire. A realistic trend was introduced in pastoral writing by Baptista Mantuanus, while
Jacopo Sannazaro wrote Arcadia (1490-1495) a synthesis of the utopian, ethereal world of
pastoral idealism, and the more earthly trends of the late Renaissance.
But, provably, the French poet Clément Marot directly inspired Spenser, with his
eclogues of a fresh sincerity and a familiar, if a bit naïve, tone; Spenser even made free
translations from Marot. It is Marot who uses the name Colin for one of his characters. As a
matter of fact, pastoral and romance offered the stock figures of the shepherd and the knight,
respectively. The real extent of Spenser’s inspiration from these models does not matter very
much, if we are to consider the literary value of his work.
The main characters of the poem can be frequently identified under the mask of their
names (e.g. Colin Clout, Rosalinde, Hobbinol, Lobbinol, Algrind, Morrell, Roffen, Elisa,
Tityrus); some of these are in fact anagrams of real individuals’ names.

199 Pastoral: A literary species that appeared in ancient / classical times (i.e. an eclogue), and was mainly
revived by the Renaissance; the word is derived from the adjective pastoral < Latin pastoralis “shepherd’s,
i.e. concerning the life of shepherds”. Such poems celebrated pastoral life: usually, shepherds in an
imaginary Golden Age, living a simple, healthy and contented life in the open air. The romantic aspects
were the nearly general rule in pastoral compositions, and mythological characters usually abound (mainly
in the Italian cinquecento tradition, or rather fashion). The most famous pastoral productions in Europe are:
Jacopo / Iacopo Sannazzaro’s Arcadia (1504), Torquato Tasso’s Aminta (1573), Guarino’s Il Pastor fido
(“The faithful Shepherd”), Jorge de Montemayor’s Diana (1559), Luis de Góngora (y Argote)’s Fábula de
Polifemo y Galatea (1612), Fray Luis de León’s posthumous Poems (1631), Edmund Spenser’s The Shepherd’s
Calendar (1579), Sir Philip Sidney’s Arcadia (1580), Honoré d’Urfé’s Astrée (1607-19).
200 Theocritus (c. 280 BC): Greek poet who lived in Sicily, known for his pastorals, which present the

shepherds’ love songs, grafted on the motif of unrequited love, and often the laments for a (young)
shepherd’s death. * Bion (prob. 2nd century BC): Greek poet, author of pastorals in imitation of Theocritus.
* Clément Marot (c. 1496-1544): French poet, who cultivated the mediaeval literary species (the ballad and
the rondeau / rondel), the first sonneteer in France; witty and sensitive in his epistles, elegies and epigrams,
he struck an admirable abstract lyrical vein in his Psalms.

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 The poems making up The Shepherd’s Calendar are unequal as far as literary
craftsmanship is concerned. The ones demonstrably good are April and November. The poem
dedicated to the month of April is a lyrical tribute to Queen Elizabeth, in the best classical
tradition. The most popular part of The Shepherd’s Calendar is November (presumably the
best poem in the selection); Colin Clout recites his elegy upon the death of Dido (cf. Virgil’s
Aeneid, although it is not clear who, in the poem, is Dido).
Although by today’s standards the thread linking up the eclogues is rather thin, they
are nonetheless united by an artistic effort which conventionally ascribes each eclogue to the
corresponding atmosphere of a month of the year. In The Shepherd’s Calendar “his
humanist’s tastes combine with his love for the soil” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op.
cit., p. 269).
The alternance of tone meant that lofty eclogues were followed by comparatively
coarser ones; the symmetry that the author manages is regular even in the minutest details:
“For the first time an English poet seemed to triumph over his European rivals, and in the
very genre which was generally attractive in the sixteenth century, in pastoral poetry.” (Émile
Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 272).
There is admirable ease and elegance of expression all over the book: “This is the
first note of conscious artistry sounded by an English poet, and the first time that so close a
parallel was made between poetry, music, and painting” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op.
cit., p. 270).
Philip Sidney liked the poem, though, as he said in his Defense of Poesie, did not
agree with the rustic language (“the olde rusticke language”), because he did not discover
much of that poetic idiom in the classical models. The language of Spenser’s poetry was a
synthesis of the majority of the dialects in his historical period. His vocabulary is very varied,
if highly artificial, truffled with obsolete, archaic, literary, colloquial, Latinate terms, etc. Ben
Jonson critically said that the language Spenser used in writing was no language at all; but it
cannot be denied it was highly elaborate and original – it was his own poetic idiom, after all.
In the harmonious combination of sounds nobody could surpass Edmund Spenser: he
was actually a poet-musician. In The Shepheardes Calendar Spenser experiments with form
and metre alike. He displays astonishing prosodic virtuosity, employing archaic, four-stress
line, ballad stanzas, classical metre a.s.o. There is a wide variety of stanzas in his poems,
many of which were completely new in English verse technique. He tried to impose, among
other technical details, a system of quantitative prosody – which unfortunately proved to be
totally inadequate to English verse and the spirit of the language.
At the time of its publication, The Shepherd’s Calendar was the most influential
monument of verse virtuosity of the age; it admittedly marked the beginning of a great literary
period.
The Faerie Queene (1589-1596) was planned in twelve books – but Spenser only
managed to write six. That it was to have twelve books, is stated in the prefatory letter
addressed to Walter Rale(i)gh. He worked at it for twenty years. None the less, the poem is
rather little known in European and world letters – precisely because of its special inspiration
and set of values: “It is true that it has not been wholly translated into any language. The
insularity of its renown cannot be explained by the fact that it is consecrated to the
enhancement of glory of England and her sovereign, for epics are strictly national by custom.
It is the external complexity and the allegorical dress of this poem which have turned readers
away from it, even English readers, who give it a formal admiration but hardly glance at it”
(Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 279).
In The Faerie Queene, Spenser’s romantic ideas were treated within classical frames,
and Renaissance humanism was connected to the best of the Reformation spirit.
The purport of the allegory is not very clear. It will be fair to say that neither thought
nor story could adequately convey the full dimension of the poem’s value. The possible
interpretation of the ‘Queene’ in the poem is manifold; she may be: (1) Queen Elizabeth; (2)
an allegory of Glory (which essentially arises from possessing virtue – or, in Spenser’s own
words: “In that Faerie Queene I meane glory in my general intention, but in my particular I

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conceive the most excellent and glorious person of our soveraine the Queene, and her
kingdome in Faerie Land”).
The Faerie Queene is viewed by some modern readers as a tangled assemblage of
word-pictures, with countless convoluted and rather obscure allegories, and scores upon
scores of characters. But the project was far too ambitious and comprehensive; by its agency,
Spenser tried to provide a synthesis of the civilization of his own age. He wanted to provide
every imaginable detail concerning 16th century England, from history and folklore, to
culture, ideology, politics and philosophy (from this point of view, the poem is comparable to
Dante’s La divina commedia). The overall plan is known to us from a letter the author
addressed Walter Rale(i)gh: “The general end therefore of all the booke is to fashion a
gentleman or noble person in vertuous and gentle discipline”.
After finishing the first twelve books, the poet intended to write another twelve,
celebrating the young Arthur’s virtues. As said before, Spenser could only finish six books
out of the twelve planned, plus the Cantos of Mutabilitie (certainly part of the seventh one).
The opening scene is represented by the twelve days following Christmas – a time of
seasonal celebration; on every day of the twelve, someone was supposed to come up with a
complaint, or wrongs to be righted by one of the knights, who was selected by the Fairy
Queen. The twelve knights in the poem stand for various virtues, as protectors.
The Faerie Queene is, by and large, a treatise on courtly and gentlemanly education
and an ‘exemplum-book’, in the already vigorous tradition of Castiglione’s Courtier,
Skelton’s Magnyfycence, Elyot’s Governour, Ascham’s Scholemaster, etc.201 The great
variety of his sources is really astonishing: “He borrows the idea or subject of his pictures
from everywhere, from books as from paintings and pageants, and the scenes on the stage of
his time. He rejects no poetic source. We find in him reminiscences of Homer, Lucretius,
Virgil, and Ovid, Guillaume de Lorris, Chaucer, Langland, Lydgate, and Malory, Stephen
Hawes and Sackville, Ariosto and Tasso – to cite only the chief of his creditors…” (Émile
Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 284).
Speaking of the twelve virtues, Spenser claims that he took guidance from Aristotle’s
teaching and doctrines (although the Greek philosopher and scholar did not precisely refer to
twelve moral qualities). Be it as it may, among the qualities an accomplished gentleman had
to possess there must necessarily be the following: temperance, or self-control, courage,
magnificence, liberality, high-mindedness, the Golden Mean concerning ambition,
truthfulness, gentleness, friedliness or courtesy, modesty or shame, justice, wittiness.
Another source of the poem was Neoplatonic philosophy (especially as represented
by the Italians Marsilio Ficino,202 Pico della Mirandola, Giordano Bruno); the Neoplatonic
doctrine stated that God ensures the unity of the visible world. He is the ultimate source of the
nous (i.e. ‘mind / thought’), the very spring of the universal soul, whence all the individul
souls originate. Through the practice of virtues (the chief of which is love), man can attain
God’s realm; according to the Neoplatonists, there exist six stages of love – starting from the
love for a woman, up to love for God.
Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso (including forty-six cantos in the 1532 edition) provides
part of the modern, late Renaissance, treatment of the chivalrous theme; it is a perfect sample
of group valour celebration, by its presentation of several knights, united around Charlemagne

201Baldessare Castiglione (1478-1529): see footnote supra. * John Skelton (c. 1460-1529): English poet, one
of Chaucer’s epigonic imitators, tutor to the future king Henry VIII; he wrote satirical poems, e.g. The
Tunnyng of Elynor Rummynge, and Colin Cloute. * Sir Thomas Elyot: (?1499-1546): English lexicographer,
translator, and writer; author of The Book Named the Governor (1531), dedicated to Henry VIII; one of its
sources was B. Castiglione’s The Courtier; in this treatise, Elyot expressed his humanist’s concern for
education – i.e. how to bring up gentlemen’s sons. * Roger Ascham ['skm] (c. 1515-1568): English
humanist, scholar and writer, famous for his treatise on archery Toxophilus, and his very influential tract on
education, entitled The Scholemaster.
202 Marsilio Ficino (1433-1499): Italian humanist (“philosophus platonicus, theologus et medicus”),

author of Convivium Platonis Commentarium (“The Commentary of Plato’s Guests”). Ficino was the founder
of the Platonic Academy of Florence (1459). Besides translating Plato’s and the Neoplatonists’ works, he
had ample theological and linguistic concerns.

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– unlike the ancient epic pattern, which laid stress on the central hero’s exploits (cf. Vergil’s
and Homer’s epics, where the figure of the protagonist was all-important). With Spenser, the
main heroes, Artegall and Britomart, are duly presented as ancestors of Queen Elizabeth.
Another source that must have contributed to Spenser’s vast cultural and literary
synthesis is represented by the romantic tales dealing with the world of magic and fairyland,
so typical of the late Middle Ages (e.g. Ogier the Dane, Lanval).
That allegory is the basic pattern of The Faerie Queene can be easily proved by
having recourse to most names in the poem, e.g. Queen of Pride, Gluttony, Occasion, the
dragon Error, etc.; or their foreign origin: Sans Foy (< French Sans Foi “Without Faith”,
consequently an impersonation of “lack of fidelity”), Fidessa (“Fidelity”, from Italian), Furor
(“anger, wrath”, from Latin), etc.
Allegory cuts across three levels: moral or spiritual allegory (playing on eternal ideas
and values), historical allegory (the poet may have encrypted events in English history and,
very probably, Western civilization as a whole), and personal allegory; in this last case, the
reader or the critic treads on the most unstable ground: it is highly probable (as Dryden
persistently maintained)203 that some personae be the encoded representation of a number of
reputed figures at the royal court – but this type of allegory is by no means congruous or
univocal; the characters in the poem borrow, under diverse circumstances, their features from
the various individuals picked up from Spenser’s immediate contemporaneity.
Books I to III of The Faerie Queene deal with the Red Cross Knight’s adventures.
The Knight embodies Holiness and, on a secondary level of allegory, the English Church; he
is accompanied by Una.
Other characters who intervene in the development of the plot are Sir Guyon, the pure
Florimell, Sir Satyrane, Amoret. The main virtues and topical ideas emphasized are: Holiness
and Truth, Queen Elizabeth’s virginity, etc.
In Book III appear the Gardens of Adonis, in a wonderful literary depiction, a peak of
artistic achievement by Spenser-the-painter.
Book IV presents the attacks of falsness and jealousy on Friendship – under the
allegoric appearance of the following personages: Duessa, Scudamore, Britomart,
Blandamour, Amyas, Marinell, Florimell, etc.
Book V of The Faerie Queene cogently allegorizes the virtue of Justice (to which is
added the ‘Golden Mean’),204 through the intermediary of the following characters: Artegall,
Arthur, Grantorto, Sanglier, Pollente, Braggadocchio, Bracidas, Amidas, Sir Terpine,
Radigund, Geriones, etc.
Book VI: The virtue celebrated in this sixth boox is Courtesy (as the mean value of
servility or mean compliance, and ill-temper or discourteousness), illustrated allegorically by
personages like Calidore, Crudor, Arthur, Timias, Mirabella, Pastorella, Tristram, Serena,
Calepine, Colin Clout, Coridon, etc.
In The Faerie Queene the poet assumes the part of a preacher: he must have felt the
moral, but also generously cultural, urge to teach the readers. Fairylike chivalry constitutes
the main substance of The Faerie Queene – though, in the last four books, romance is the
dominant note. Arthur is in the poem the impersonation of Magnificence, which is, according
to Aristotle, the supreme virtue, including all the others.
The allegorical story is both moral and political. Unfortunately, the story is mainly
choked by the moralizing allegory.
The Red Cross Knight represents, in the first book, the Christian soul seeking truth:
what really counts is that poetic world of his own creation (with his obsessive didactic-
moralizing appeal). “The poet is interested not by the significant, but by the picturesque, and
often, when the didacticism is most in evidence, he seems himself to nod. He declaims

203 John Dryden (1631-1700): English poet and dramatist of the ‘Neo-Classical’ period, author of satirical
verse (Absalom and Achitophel, Annus Mirabilis), drama (Marriage à la mode, All for Love), and critical works
(Essay on Dramatic Poetry); Dryden is famous for the use of the heroic couplet.
204 The Golden Mean designates the ideal moderate position between two extremes – Rom. “calea de

mijloc, calea împărătească”.

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platitudes in sonorous tones; he is sententious, sometimes frankly tautological” (Émile
Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 281).
The personae in The Faerie Queene are not actual characters, but embodied
abstractions. For a number of allegorical characters, Spenser creates cleverly contrived, witty
fables, using the model of those circulated by Greek mythology.
Far from being a mere expression of the author’s (political or patriotic) tribute,
Britomart is in the poem the paragon of the chaste and indomitable warrior-maid, suddenly
enamoured – a fine romantic creation, which stands the test of time.
The Faerie Queene is rather too eclectic and convolutely unmanageable to give a
true-to-life narrative image – a semblance of any kind of life, in fact. “He [i.e. Spenser] tried
to do too many things at once; and, in elaborating intellectually the allegorical plot he has
confused the imaginative substance of the poetic narrative. Homer, says Aristotle, tells lies as
he ought; that is, he makes us believe his stories. Spenser tried to tell his lies while clinging to
a disabling kind of truth; and so he does not convince his readers. Thus it is neither as an
allegorist nor as a narrator that the author of The Faerie Queene holds his place” (George
Sampson, op. cit., p. 124).
However, the final result was a magnificent picture-book, unsurpassed in Elizabethan
literature. As a matter of fact, the first title Spenser intended to give it was Pageants (and the
historical truth is that several pageants with themes similar to The Faerie Queene were
enacted during the celebrations dedicated to Elizabeth, at Kenilworth and elsewhere, in the
1570s). The Faerie Queene as a whole is an immense picture-gallery; “Spenser is a great
painter who never held a brush” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 282). The poem
also contains processions of costumed characters (e.g. the Seven Deadly Sins), as well as
pantomime scenes.
If complication, intricacy, prevents unity, his scenes “are like all the great allegorical
canvasses of the Renascence: we contemplate them not for edification, not always even for
the meaning we hope to discover in them, but for their perfection of form and brilliancy of
colouring” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 283). The rich tapestry effect, the
enchanting pictures, the magnificent world of charm and fascination are the main literary
qualities of Spenser’s poem; a work famous for all eternity for its fecund, prolific
imagination, and sensuous imagery. Moreover, Spenser is an expert at monstrous and
grotesque descriptions.
The major feeling in The Faerie Queene is aroused by the wonderful music of the
verse, and the beautiful poetic sound.
The prosody Spenser used produces the overall effect of waves after waves, though
some of the more recent readers complained about the fact that it tends to become
monotonous; it is also quite true that some (very few, in fact) in The Faerie Queene stretches
can convey sharp, swift action. Realism is derived from masterfully selected linguistic effects,
including onomatopoeia.
The metre Spenser invented for The Faerie Queene consists of nine lines, with the
last one having six feet, and the other of five feet; so, the first eight lines of each stanza were
iambic pentameters, and the final line – an Alexandrine (i.e. an iambic hexametre). This
‘Spenserian stanza’ has ever since been disparaged and berated by a considerable number of
critics, among whom Dr. Samuel Johnson; actually, the ‘Spenserian stanza’ is an adaptation
of the Italian ottava rima, with the rhymes forming the pattern: ababbcbcc. Poets of later
ages, including Milton, Thomson, Shelley, Keats, Byron, Tennyson, Rossetti, have employed
the ‘Spenserian stanza’ more or less intensely and consistently.
The artistic effect of Spenser’s metre is the result of a powerful, inspiring monotony,
an enwrapping poetic pace, which, no less than pure music, seems to suspend logical
faculties, creating the illusion of a magic world, whose time-keeping instrument it is: “We
hear music which has slowed down, music with a perpetually recurring measure which lulls
our intellect and little by little leads us away from the real world into another, a world of order
and harmony where this stanza seems to be the natural rhythm. It keeps time in fairyland. It
measures the hours in the region of nowhere, the kingdom of illusion. It has a hypnotic effect,
induces a slumber in which the things of life are remote and we are in communion only with

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the poet’s pictures. Every movement is regulated by it and obeys its laws…” (Émile Legouis,
Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 286). The dream-like quality of the poetic sound of The Faerie
Queene is thus added to the element of surprise, and the pervasive fairy-land strangeness of
the atmosphere.
The harmony of the fantastic provides a unitary framework for the entire poem:
“Everything is bathed in the same strange, fantastic moonlight in which the contrast between
whites and shadows is heightened and wonders are expected as native to the place” (Émile
Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 285).
The language of the poem is actually an artistic concoction – which nevertheless
functions as a fair approximation of the Elizabethan usage. This ‘Spenserian idiom’ is mainly
based on the wide use of archaic elements (one should not forget that Spenser was a great
admirer of Chaucer), e.g. pronouncing the -e in Past Tense forms (seemèd), or in plural
endings, or in genitive singular forms, the -en plural, the prefixed y- form for the Past Perfect
and even Past Tense (e.g. yclad “clad, clothed, dressed”), etc. Spenser also used archaic
syntactic structures, as well as archaic lexical items (particularly from the Northern dialect,
e.g. the -(e)s verbal ending was clearly preferred to -eth, as in he / she teaches, not he / she
teacheth).
The Two Cantos of Mutabilitie appeared in 1609; they are based on a mythological
allegory on mutability, i.e. changeableness, variableness, transiency. This concept is
allegorically presented as a Titaness, acting as a temptress, who challenges permanence,
warranted by God and His eternal power. The final victory belongs to the splendid, constant
order of things. The Cantos are a beautiful synthesis of Neoplatonism and genuine, profound
Christian faith.
The Amoretti and the Epithalamion appeared in the same volume in the year 1595
(actually, the very name of the book was Amoretti and Epithalamion).
The first cycle, the Amoretti, is a sonnet sequence, (viz. eighty-eight sonnets), most
probably celebrating the courtship of Elizabeth Boyle (Spenser’s wife). This is the only poetic
work by Spenser in which the conventional instrument of allegory is left idle, in an effort
aiming at personal expression and unmediated effusion. The underlying ‘story’ tells us
readers about love without sin or remorse, with its varying fortunes, while the cruel lady
reminds one of the tradition of the early Renaissance sonneteers. Much of its stock of poetic
images as well as other literary reminiscences are obviously Petrarchan. Then, Tasso’s
influence is easily perceptible. On the other hand, some details seem to belong to an actual
personal experience, as against the ones that can be labelled ‘literary artifice’.
There is a rare atmosphere of chastity, and unmatched purity in the poems. “They are
bathed by a white light. They show better than anything else the quality in Spenser which
Coleridge excellently named ‘maidenliness’, his love of the virginal in woman” (Émile
Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 277).
Each sonnet is made up of three quatrains plus a couplet; the arrangement of rhymes
is abab, bcbc, cdcd, ee).
Edmund Spenser’s Epithalamion is a virtually perfect marriage song. It symbolically
expresses the eternal spirit of natural fertility. The poet’s desire vies with ceremonial patience.
Much of the imagery of the poem is of pastoral influence. The wedding celebration is effected
by traditional rites as well as folk customs and usage.
Epithalamion is an unparalleled literary creation by an artist of deep sensibility and
rare vigour of imaginative expression: “(…) But the Epithalamion, which is their conclusion,
has no equal. In amplitude and splendour it excells all other compositions of the same kind.
Even antiquity produced no such poem, none which was unswelled by legends and yet carried
so much sail (…) Never did his genius show its sovereign power as in the Epithalamion. The
breath which fills each ample strophe and passes unabated through them all to the end, the
clear light which floods each successive picture, and the fine classical structure of the whole
poem, simple, luminous, and inevitable, make this ode Spenser’s most perfect production and
the lyrical triumph of the English Renascence” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p.
278).

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 The lyrical style of Spenser’s Epithalamion is of a matchless height of splendour,
harmony, daintiness, and enthusiasm. Its marvellous poetic effects are achieved through
deliberate extensions – i.e. accumulative effects and plethoric lyricism: “Now all is done;
bring home the bride again, / Bring home the triumph of our victory; / Bring home with you
the glory of her gain, / With joyance bring her and with jollity. / Never had man more joyful
day than this, / Whom heaven would heap with bliss. / Make feats therefore now all this live-
long day, / This day for ever to me holy is; / Pour out the wine without restraint or stay, / Pour
not by cups, but by the bellyful, / Pour out to all that wull, / And sprinkle all the posts and
walls with wine, / That they may sweat, and drunken be withal”.
The stanzas are adapted from the Italian canzone (in turn, originating in twelfth
century Provençal lyrical poetry), with the prosodic unity of the whole poem ensured by the
refrain.
Prothalamion (1596) is the lyrical presentation of the young bride being taken down
the Thames to London by boat. The young couple are compared to two young swans, with
mythological attendant figures around. The following line in the poem achieved celebrity,
remaining in the readers’ collective memory: “Sweet Thames run softly till I end my song”.
Among Spenser’s other works mention should be made of Complaints Containing
Sundrie Small Poemes of the Worlds Vanitie (1591); in the preface we are informed about the
existence of nine Spenserian works (pamphlets and translations), which now no longer exist.
The mood of this poetic selection is more sombre. The chief poems included are: “The Ruines
of Time”, “The Teares of the Muses”, “Virgils Gnat”, “Prosopopoia: or Mother Hubberds
Tale”,205 “Ruines of Rome” (a translation of Joachim du Bellay’s sonnets, Antiquitetz de
Rome), and “Visions of the Worlds Vanitie”.
In Mother Hubberd’s Tale the Ape and the Fox, the two main fable figures, serve as
mask-characters for a satire of the court’s mores. Spenser’s critical eye is unsparing and
honest: “Throughout his life Spenser was a morose judge of the society of his time, viewing it
pessimistically. Dithyrambic eulogies of the incomparable Elizabeth are a screen for
continuous denunciation of the mean intrigues of the court, the debased morals, the political
corruption, the simony and inertia of the clergy, the decadence of the spirit of chivalry, and
above all the neglect of letters and art” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 273).
The Fox impersonates Lord Burleigh, the great treasurer, and the Ape seems to be the
Duke of Anjou, a candidate for Queen Elizabeth’s hand. The Ape steals the Lion’s crown
when the latter (here, the embodiment of the Queen) is asleep, and becomes king for a day,
with the Fox prime minister. They impose a regime of shameless tyranny – which comes to an
end when the Lion wakes up.
The lines which illustrate moral decline and perversion, etc., aspects denounced and
stigmatized by the Complaints, remind one of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 66: “In stead thereof
scoffing Scurrilitie, / And scornful Follie with Contempt is crept, / Rolling in rymes of
shameless ribaudrie / Without regard, or due decorum kept.”
Edmund Spenser also wrote Fowr Hymnes (1596) – devoted, respectively, to Love
(i.e. Cupid), Beauty (i.e. Venus), Heavenly Love (i.e. Christ), and Heavenly Beauty (i.e. God
Himself). The first two poems are youthful pieces (they were produced, as the poet himself
says, “in the greener times of my youth”). The Hymns are composed in Plato’s spirit; what
Spenser wanted to do was to reconcile his senses and his conscience by treading in the steps
of Plato; therefore, these poems’ clear intention is to harmonize Platonism and Puritanism,
both doctrines dear to the author: “Spenser saw earthly beauty, and especially the beauty of
woman, which inspires love, as the reflection and token of divine beauty, virtue rendered
visible, the beam from on high lodged in a body and fashioning its fleshly habitation into a
marvellous palace…” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 273). All the Hymns are
written in ‘rhyme royal’.
The pastoral poem Colin Clout’s Come Againe is the most autobiographical of his
poetic works. The Shepherd of the Ocean (viz. Sir Walter Rale(i)gh) takes the poet on a visit

205A prosopopoeia or prosopopeia [prsp'pi:] is a figure of speech in which an imagined or absent

person or thing is represented as speaking; a personification.

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to Cynthia’s court (Cynthia, the great shepherdess, stands here for Queen Elizabeth); the
scene symblically expresses the transformation of Britain from a mainly agricultural country
into a navigators’ one.
The volume of prose dialogues A Veue of the Present State of Ireland appeared
posthumously.
Spenser’s literary and cultural contribution was manifold: firstly, he summed up the
aspirations of his fellow-citizens. Unlike Bacon and other Latinists, he dearly loved the
English language, striving to make it reach the cultural altitude of ancient (i.e. classical)
languages, as an instument fit for cultural (i.e. literary, philosophical, etc.) use.
Secondly, Spenser pursued an unabated literary programme of a mainly patriotic
nature (cf. the French literary group called the Pleiad, or la Pléiade).206 Moreover, he publicly
fostered deep admiration of the English poets of former ages (especially Chaucer – he even
derived literary inspiration from Chaucer’s works).
Spenser wanted to glorify his age, in the way Virgil did for Augustan Rome, in his
famous Aeneid. The poet’s devotion to his country – and its Queen, the legitimate
representative and treasurer of national virtues and energies – was genuine and unfailing. He
inaugurated an age of self-confidence and high hopes in English letters. A man of his time, he
had plentiful literary acumen and expertise, a broad scope of talent and observation, and the
finest common touch allied with a Renaissance man’s lofty ideals: “Spenser is at one with
both the people of England and the Court of England: he knows the traditions and
superstitions of the common folk, he can use their earthy speech (he uses it consistently in
The Shepherd’s Calendar), but he is filled also with the sophistication of the aristocratic, and
The Faerie Queene is full of noble ideals, patriotism, polite learning, and chivalry” (Anthony
Burgess, op. cit., p. 98).
Spenser is unanimously deemed by the critique the first major English poet since
Geoffrey Chaucer, and the first modern poet of major caliber in Britain. Shakespeare himself
prized Spenser above all other English poets of his time.
Edmund Spenser, considered “the Poets’ Poet” by the following generations of
writers, had a massive impact on Elizabethan literature through the broad compass of his
poetic mind and the revolutionary dimension of his verse. “It would seem that all Elizabethan
poets learned a great deal from Spenser. He was in love with words, especially their
melodious arrangement, and showed his brother-poets – even those who wrote for the stage –
how to get the maximum musical effect from the simplest words” (Anthony Burgess, op. cit.,
p. 99).

SUPPORT TEXTS

EDMUND SPENSER (1552-1599)

THE LEGEND OF THE KNIGHT OF THE RED CROSS

“A gentle knight was pricking on the plaine,

Ycladd1 in mightie armes and silver shielde,
Wherein old dints2 of deepe woundes did remaine,
The cruel markes of many a bloody fielde;
Yet armes till that time did he never wield;3
His angry steede4 did chide his foaming bitt,
As much disdayning to the curbe to yield:
Full jolly knight he seem’d, and faire did sitt,
As one for knightly giusts and fierce encounters5 fitt.

And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore,

206 The Pleiad, or French La Pléiade [ple'j:d]: a group of seven poets in 16th century France, led by
Pierre Ronsard, whose poems were inspired by classical models; the name adopted by the group was
derived from the seven stars of the Pleiades ['plaidi:z] group / cluster.

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The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,
For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore,
And dead, as living, ever him odor’d:
Upon his shield the like was also scor’d,
For soveraine hope, which in his helpe he had.
Right, faithfull, true he was in deed and word;
But on his cheere did seeme too solemne sad;
Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad.6

Upon a great adventure he was bond,7

That greatest Gloriana to him gave,
(That greatest glorious Queene of Faery Lond)
To winne him worshippe, and her grace to have,
Which of all earthly thinges he most did crave.8
And never, as he rode, his heart did earne
To prove his puissance9 in batell brave
Upon his foe, and his new force to learne
Upon his foe,10 a dragon horrible and stearne.11

A lovely ladie rode him faire beside,

Upon a lovly asse more white then snow;
Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide
Under a vele, that wimpled was full low;
And over all a blacke stole she did throw,
As one inly mournd: so was she sad,
And heavie sate upon her palfrey slow;
Seemed in heart some hidden care she had;
And by her in a line a milke-white lambe she lad.

So pure and innocent, as that same lambe,

She was in life and every vertuous lore,
And by descent from royall lynage12 came
Of ancient kinges and queenes, that had of yore
Their sceptres stretcht from east to westernshore,
And all the world in their subjection held,
Till that infernal feend13 with foule uprore
Forwasted all their land, and them expeld;
Whom to avenge, she had this knight from far compeld.

Behind her farre away a dwarfe did lag,14

That lasie seemd, in being ever last,
Or wearied with bearing of her bag
Of needments at his backe. Thus they past.
The day with cloudes was suddeine overcast,
And angry Jove an hideous storme of raine
Did poure into his leman’s lap so fast,
That everie wight to shroud it did constrain;
And this faire couple eke15 to shroud themselves were fain.16

Enforst to seeke some covert nigh at hand,

A shadie grove not farre away they spide,17
That promist ayde the tempest to withstand,
Whose loftie18 tree yclad with sommer’s pride,
Did spred so broad, that heaven’s light did hide,
Not perceable with power of any starre,

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And all within were pathes and alleies wide
With footing worne, and leading inward farre:
Faire harbour19 that them seems; so in they entred arre.

And forth they passe, with pleasure forward led,

Joying to heare the birdes sweete harmony,
Which therein shrouded from the tempest dreed
Seemd in their song to scorne the cruell sky.
Much can they praise the trees so straight and hy,
The ayling20 pine, the cedar proud and tall,
The vine-propp elme,20 the poplar never dry,
The builder oake, sole king of forrests all,
The aspine21 good for staves;22 the cypresse funerall.23

The laurell, meed24 of mightie conquerours

And poets sage, the firre that weepeth still,
The willow,24 worne of forlorne paramours,
The ezgh25 obedient to the bender’s will,
The birch25 for shaftes, the sallow25 for the mill,
The mirrhe26 sweete-bleeding in the bitter wound,
The warlike beech,26 the ash26 for nothing ill,
The fruitfull olive, and the platane26 round,
The carver holme,26 the maple,26 seldom inward sound.

Led with delight they thus beguile27 the way,

Untill the blustring storme is overblowne;
When weening to returne, whence they did stray,
They cannot finde that path, which first was showne,
But wander to and fro in waies unknowne,
Furthest from end then, when they nerest weene,
That makes them doubt their wits be not their owne.
So many pathes, so many turnings seene,
That which of them to take in diverse doubt they beene.

At last resolving forward still to fare,

Till that some ende they find, or in or out,
That path they take that beaten seemd most bare,28
And like to lead the labyrinth about;
Which when by tract they hunted had throughout,
At lenght it brought them to a hollowe cave.
Amid the thickest woods. The champion stout
Eftsoones29 dismounted from his courser brave,
And to the dwarfe a while his needless spere he gave.

‘Be well aware’, quoth thou that ladie milde,30

‘Lest suddaine mischiefe ye too rash provoke;
‘The danger hid, the place unknowne and wilde,
‘Breedes dreadfull doubts, oft fire is without smoke
‘And perill without show: Therefore your stroke,
‘Sir Knight with-hold, till further tryall made’.
‘Ah, Ladie’, sayd he, ‘shame were to revoke
‘The forward footing to an hidden shade;
‘Vertue gives herself light through darknesse for to wade’.31

‘Yea but’, quoth she, ‘the peril of this place

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‘I better rot then you, though nowe too late
‘To wish you backe retourne with foule32 disgrace;
‘Yet wisedom warnes, whilest foot is in the gate,
‘To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate.
‘This is the wandring Food, thie Errour’s den,
‘A monster vile, whom God and man does hate;
‘Therefore I read beware.’ ‘Fly, fly’, quoth then
The fearfull dwarfe, ‘this is no place for living men’.

But full of fire and greedy hardiment,33

The youthful knight could not for ought be steide,
But forth unto the darkson hole he went,
And looked in his glistring armor made
A little glooming light, much like a shade,
By which he saw the ugly monster plaine,
Halfe like a serpent, horribly displaide.
But th’other halfe did woman’s shape remain,
Most lothsom, filthie, foule and full of vile disdaine.

And as she lay upon the durtie ground,

Her huge long taile her den all overspred,
Yet was in knots and many boughtes34 upwound,
Pointed with mortall sting: of her there bred
A thousand yong anes, which she dayly fed,
Sucking upon her poisnous dugs; each one
Of sundrie shapes, yet all ill-favored:
Soone as that uncouth35 light upon them shone,
Into her mouth they crept, and suddain all were gone.

Their dam upstart out of her den affraide,

And rushed forth, hurling her hideous taile
About her cursed head, whose folds displaid,
Were stretcht now forth at length without entraile.
She lookt about, and seeing one in mayle,
Armed to point, sought backe to turne againe;
For light she hated as the deadly bale,36
Ay wont in desert darkness to remaine,
Where plain none might her see, nor she see any plaine,

Which when the valiant Elf perceiv’d he lept

As lyon fierce upon the flying prey,
And with his trenchant37 blade her boldly kept
From fuming backe, and forced her to stay:
Therewith enrag’d she loudly gan to bray,38
And turning fierce, her speckled taile advaunst,
Threatning her angrie sting him to dismay;
Who nought aghast his kightie hand enhaunst;
The stroke down from her head unto her shoulder glaunst.

Much daunted with that dint her sense was dazd,

Yet kindling rage, herselfe she gathered round,
And all at once her beastly bodie raizd
With doubled forces high above the ground:
Tho wrapping up her wrethed39 sterne arownd
Lept fierce upon his shield, and her huge traine

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 All suddenly about his body wound,
That hand or foot to stirr he strove in vaine.
God helpe the man so wrapt in Errour’s endlesse traine.

His lady, sad to see his sore constraint,

Cride out, ‘Now, Sir Knight, shew what ye bee;
‘Add faith unto your force, and be not faint:
‘Strangle her, els she sure will strangle thee’.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) ycladd = clad: (arch, poet.) clothed; (2) dints: urme (lăsate de lovituri / tăieturi), cicatrici;
(3) to wield: a mânui; (4) steede = steed: bidiviu, armăsar; (5) knightly giusts and fierce
encounters (giusts = jousts): turniruri, lupte cavalereşti; (6) (he) was ydrad = (he) was dreaded;
(7) upon a great adventure he was bond = he was bound (on…): pornise (într-o…), purcesese
(la… / într-o…); (8) he… did crave = he craved: îşi dorea (cu ardoare); (9) puissance: putere;
vlagă; (10) foe = enemy (arch., poet.); (11) stearne = stern: crunt, aprig; neînduplecat; (12) from
royall lynage = from royal lineage: din neam de regi / împărătesc; (13) feend = fiend: diavol,
spirit rău / satanic, demon; vrăjmaş, rău; (14) did lag = lagged < to lag: a merge / rămâne în
urmă; a veni din urmă; (15) eke: (arh.) aşijderea; pe deasupra; (16) were fain (< to be fain): a fi
bucuros, a fi gata (de / să…), a fi dispus (să / la…); (17) they spide = they spied: zăriră; (18)
loftie = lofty: înalt; măreţ; (19) harbour: sălaş, loc de / pentru adăpost; (fig.) liman; (20) ayling
= ailing: tînjitor; bolnav; elm: ulm; (21) aspine = aspen: plop-tremurător, plop-de-munte; plop;
(22) stave: şipcă, stinghie; doagă (de butoi); (23) the cypresse funerall = the cypress funereal:
chiparosul îndoliat / (ca) de doliu / (ca) de îngropăciune; funereal: having the mournful,
sombre character appropriate to a funeral; (24) meed: răsplată, premiu, trofeu; willow: salcie;
(25) ezgh = yew: tisă; birch: mesteacăn; the sallow for the mill: salcia, pentru tăiat la joagăr;
(26) mirrhe = myrrh: mir, răşină înmiresmată / (bine)mirositoare; beech: fag; ash: frasin;
platane = platan (Rom. platan); holme: gorun, stejar; maple: arţar, jugastru; (27) to beguile: a
înşela, a încurca; a ademeni; (28) most bare: absolutely deserted / desolate; cf. barren: pustiu,
gol, arid; (29) eftsoones = eftsoon: (înv.) curînd, îndată; (30) (that ladie) milde = mild: blajină,
blândă, (prea)bună; (31) to wade: a trece (cu greu – prin apă, noroi etc.); (32) foule = foul:
dezgustător, infam; ticălos; scîrbos; (33) greedy hardiment: aprigă / nestăvilită / nepotolită /
însetată cutezanţă; (34) boughtes = bows [buz]: fundă, nod de panglică; (35) uncouth: (înv.)
straniu, bizar, ciudat; părelnic; (36) bale: nenorocire, rău(tate), năpastă; amar, durere; (37)
trenchant blade: spadă / sabie tăioasă, ageră; (38) gan to bray = began to bray (to bray: to
yell, to make a loud, harsh cry or sound (resembling that of a donkey or mule); (38) wrethed =
wreathed < to wreathe: a înfăşura.

AMORETTI
Sonnet VII

“Fayre eyes, the myrrour of my mazed1 hart

what wondruous vertue is contaynd in you,
the which both lyfe and death forth from you dart2
into the obiect of your mighty view?

For when ye mildly looke with lonely hew,

then is my soule with life and loue inspired
but when ye lowre, or looke on me askew,3
then doo I die, as one with lightning fyred.

But since that lyfe is more then death desyred,

look euer lonely, as becomes yor best,
that your bright beams of my weak eies admyred,

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 may kindle lining fire within my brest.

Such life should be the honor of your light,

such death the sad ensample of your might.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) mazed hart = amazed heart; (2) to dart: a săgeta; (3) looke on me askew = look at me
askance; askance: (adv.), strîmb, pieziş, chiorîş).

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE (1564-1593)

Christopher Marlowe was born in Canterbury, as the son of a shoemaker. His

education was begun at King’s School in Canterbury, and continued at Cambridge (i.e.
Corpus Christi College), where he got a BA in 1584, and an MA in 1587 (after some
hesitation on the part of the authorities). However, most of the facts we are in possession of
concerning his life are extremely obscure and / or debatable.
In the mid-1580s he was attached to the Lord Admiral’s Men, as a dramatist – not an
actor. Like most of the ‘University Wits’, his reputation was rather dubious. Marlowe led a
wild life, attracted to the company of thieves, ruffians and other disreputable characters; he
had several kept mistresses, and fought the police on several occasions. Nonetheless, he
behaved as wildly as Greene and Nashe, to give only two examples picked out from his
fellow-writers in the University Wits’ group. Also, Marlowe could be seen in the select
company of such men-about-town of the English nobility, as Sir Walter Rale(i)gh; also, he
became the favourite of Francis and Thomas Walsingham. His contemporaries thought him an
atheist; at any rate, he was accused of heretical views. (In fact, it has been convincingly
proved that this accusation of heresy was simply the outcome of Thomas Kyd’s being arrested
– after Marlowe’s death – with the eventual result that the former blamed some heretical
papers on the latter, for fear of tough inquiry procedures). So, his frequent scandals, the fact
that he was rather imprudent, a free-thinking spirit and an unbeliever made his private life the
subject of notorious commentaries among his contemporaries: he was accused of blasphemy,
subversion, atheism and homosexuality.
The playwright was stabbed to death in a ‘tavern-brawl’ (he seems to have been
killed by a companion), in an inn at Deptford, along the banks of the Thames, in unclear
circumstances – which are still far from being elucidated even by today’s scholars. There
have been countless suppositions surrounding his death: that he was a secret agent for the
royal government (becoming an agent while still in university), or, on the contrary, the victim
of a conspiracy (he had allegedly been an agent for France, and was consequently murdered
in this very capacity).
The first great dramatist of the time, Christopher Marlowe is the celebrated author of
the first great tragedy in Elizabethan theatre – whose title is (by a happy coincidence we
should say) Tamburlaine the Great. The tragedy is composed of two parts, which appeared c.
1587-1588, or earlier. This is also Marlowe’s first dramatic contribution; an ornament of the
pre-Shakespeare theatre, Tamburlaine was played in 1587 or 1588 and printed anonymously,
in 1590. Immediately after he had a successful presentation of the first part of Tamburlaine
the Great on the stage of the London Theatre, the second part of the play had an even greater
success.
The play is the dramatic illustration of a case of terrible, inhuman ambition, leading
to ever more power, and ever more cruelty. The dramatic power of Tamburlaine the Great
partly springs from the irresistible force of the verse – the splendid blank verse that Marlowe
wrote for the first time to successfully bring to the stage.
The powerful acting of Edward Alleyn, one of the most popular actors in London at
the time, added to the indisputable grandeur of the style, and the evident superiority of the
play to anything similar written in English accounted for its great popularity in that period
(but also in later times).

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 As far as the historical character of Tamerlane (or Tamburlaine) was concerned,
Marlowe’s sources of inspiration are quite easy to detect: he had read a translation of the
conqueror’s career by the Spaniard Pedro Mexia (The Forest, 1571), and another one by the
Florentine Perondinus.207
Tamerlane’s fantastic story is that of a 14th century Tartar (though he was
traditionally referred to, in the Renaissance texts – influenced by ancient scholarship and
geography books – as coming from Scythia, or being born in Scythia), who rises to power
from a mere shepherd and a robber, and reaches a higher military and political station than
Julius Caesar or Alexander the Great – virtually the supreme dominion in the world.208
Marlowe’s Tamburlaine conspires with the general Theridamas to overthrow the king
of Persia. The king’s treacherous brother is used as an accessory, and then murdered, too.
Victor of Bajezet / Bajazeth, Tamburlaine has the former Turkish emperor (and
Zabina, his wife) publicly exhibited in a cage, travelling from place to place; eventually,
unable to stand it any longer, the sultan beats out his brains against the bars of his prison, and
his wife commits suicide.
In order to impress the conquered, Tamburlaine destroys Egypt, although Zenocrate,
the young lady he falls in love with, begs him to spare it; the tyrant also slaughters all the
young virgins of Damascus (who intercede for the city), and had their corpses hoisted on
pikes. He has the governor of Babylon pierced with arrows, and all the inhabitants of the city
drowned in a lake. He triumphantly enters Babylon in a carriage drawn by two kings, whom
he whips and curses; when they get tired, they are hanged, only to be replaced by another two
kings; his offensive words addressed to those former rulers underlie one of the most striking
scene effects of the entire play: “Holla, ye pampered jades of Asia! / What! Can ye draw but
twenty miles a day, / And have so proud a chariot at your heels, / And such a coachman as
great as Tamburlaine?” In (historical) reality, Tamerlane was even horrider: he strangled
100,000 captives before the walls of Delhi, in India, and erected an obelisk in Baghdad made
of 90,000 severed heads.
Tamburlaine goes as far as killing his own son, because he (wrongly) thinks he was a
coward. Burning the town in which his mistress, Zenocrate, died, he considers that this act
was done in honour of Zenocrate’s funeral. The conqueror dies on the tomb of Zenocrate.
There are numerous hugely impressive ‘scenes-tirades’ in the play, e.g. when the
fierce conqueror cuts an arm, to demonstrate his son how trivial a wound is; another such
scene is the one in which he asks for a map in order to see for himself how much territory was
left for him to conquer.
Drunk with power and satiated with gory conquests, Tamburlaine orders an assault
upon the powers of Heaven. But his all-conquering troops are now helpless, for the first time
– and the mighty victor’s life is claimed by superior forces.
The play is actually Tamburlaine’s life divided into scenes; Tamburlaine is a
procession of magnificent scenes, carefully ordered as the very steps of the protagonist’s
rising career.
In Tamburlaine, everything is larger than life, enormously and thrillingly
exaggerated. The acting and the language in the play are violent; consequently, they were
censored, then as well as later, by the critics.
The supremely dreadful, savagely interesting figure of the all-conquering warrior
must have commanded Marlowe’s unreserved admiration; the author must have conceived
Tamburlaine’s outrageous behavioural show in spiritual rather than merely material terms:
“All this was so grandiose that Marlowe was dazzled. The man capable of so prodigious a

207 Tamerlane ['tmlein] or Tamburlaine (the Tartar name is Timur-Lenk or Timur-Leng ‘lame
Timur’): Mongol ruler of Samarkand, and powerful warrior-emperor (1369-1405) who, at the head of a
tremendous military force composed of Mongols and Turks, conquered Persia, northern India, Syria, and
parts of Asia Minor; the ancestor of the Mogul dynasty in India.
208 It seems that, in reality, Tamerlane’s empire was only second largest in world history, after that founded

by Genghis Khan (c. 1167-1227), the Mongol conqueror and creator of one of the stablest political
systems of early mediaeval Eurasia; when he died, his empire extended from the Yellow Sea to the Black
Sea, only to be further expanded by his (Mongol, or Tartar) successors – i.e. from Korea to Hungary.

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destiny, of such unbridled contempt for human life, seemed to him a superior being, a
superman to whom the petty rules of morality did not apply (…) Marlowe endows him with
the boundless arrogance of an emancipated virtuoso and philosopher of the Renascence.
Tamburlaine is the great victor, the conqueror of the world. Therefore he is in the right.”
(Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 400).
In Marlowe’s play, Tamburlaine’s appetites and deeds place him outside and above
human judgement. He despises men and gods. He unfailingly emerges as a victor because he
is more powerful; he can do more, he knows perfectly well how to outscheme his weak, petty
opponents.
Fascinated, Marlowe exalts his atrocities, forging in a way the Renaissance
counterpart of the knight in the mediaeval romantic poems of chivalry. The common point of
all these late Renaissance heroes lies in their violent, unrestrained appetite for glory. Like the
rest of these Marlovian characters, Tamburlaine can feel uncanny, monstrous love, out of all
human measure; he promises his sweetheart anything – and everything. Partly humanized
through the intensity of his love, the hero is dehumanized through the very excesses of his
sentiment, which destroys instead of building, and defy the heavens instead of acting in
unison with them. One can easily think of Marlowe’s own youthful intensity of feeling,
completely and gigantically unchecked – in moral, religious, cultural (and ideological) terms.
His ideal man was un-Christian in that he was freed from morality in his continual,
paroxysmal, ecstatic striving for maximum power and enjoyment, or the very opposite of
Christian moral principles (e.g. sensual impiety, excess, crime)
Tamburlaine can well be perceived as Marlowe’s ‘ideological’ mouthpiece (an alter-
ego who exalts thirst for the absolute on the stage, the quest of the impossible, his wild,
ungodly aspirations).
Here is the textual expression of Tamburlaine’s acknowledgement of the supreme
motive for his mad ascension – ambition, as a spontaneous, irrepressible act of human nature:
“Still climbing after knowledge infinite, / And always moving as the restless spheres.”
Unlike Spenser’s heroes, as many literary figures moulded out of knighty courtesy,
fervent holiness, earnest moderation, deep-felt humility and Christian magnificence,
Marlowe’s characters are incredibly audacious egoists, daring resourceful villains (cf.
Milton’s enthralling delineation of Satan in Paradise Lost).
For the first time in English literature, Marlowe presents the fascinating ‘Renaissance
beast’ ragingly prowling for limitless, absolute power. His protagonist (like virtually all his
successors in the Marlovian drama) takes an intellectual pleasure in overthrowing the
established order. A single-minded character, Tamburlaine thirsts for unattainable beauty (cf.
Faustus); he is a visionary and a poet in his own, appalling, kind.
While illustrating the idea of ‘Wheel of Fortune’, Christopher Marlowe created the
‘Fall of Princes’ tragedy.209
Occasionally, Marlowe uses literary caricature, grotesque over-emphasis, the status of
which is accountable for by the dramatic intensification thus generated; when it is related to
the expression of feelings, this kind of intensification achieved through immoderation reaches
its summit, e.g. the scenes in which Tamburlaine the braggart speaks about his infinite love.
In the two parts, supported virtually in an exclusive manner by Tamburlaine himself,
with the protagonist’s repeated tirades wholly made up of dramatism, passionate and violent
emphasis, a certain monotony of effect can be sensed.
Tamburlaine seems to be the most remarkable debut work of any autor in world
literature. The play has substantial epic and lyric power. Here is an outline of the principal
elements of novelty young Marlowe brings about in tragedy: “He was entirely without
experience of the stage, but he compensated for this lack by the extraordinary spirit of

209The idea was very old – and the account of famous lives can go as far back as Plutarch’s Parallel Lives
and various parts of the Bible; the Monk’s Tale in Chaucer’s masterpiece, The Canterbury Tales, is a case in
point, and so are Bocaccio’s De Casibus Virorum Illustrium, Laurent de Premierfait’s Des Cas des Nobles
Hommes et Femmes (based on the former work), and John Lydgate’s The Fall of Princes (1431-1438), imitated
by in the Renaisance by Mirrour for Magistrates (1554).

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defiance and revolt which animated his dramatic work. Novel though Arden of Feversham
and The Spanish Tragedie were, they were plays which bore the imprint of the traditional
morality. From beginning to end they denounced and condemned crime; their murders cried
out for vengeance. But the new playwright dared to claim admiration for the most
bloodthirsty of men, to make of him a sort of demigod” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op.
cit., p. 399).
Marlowe showed contempt for the popular rhymesters. Unlike them, he allowed
prominence to blank verse, his ‘mighty line’ (as Ben Jonson called it). Actually, the
emergence of blank verse in Britain had been influenced by Seneca’s tragedy; the Earl of
Surrey had translated Virgil using the same poetic line, and Gorboduc used it for the first time
in the drama.
The great musicality of blank verse (or ‘the mighty line’), had an enormous impact as
a new dramatic medium – in fact the result of a cultural synthesis of admirable proportion and
literary effect: “Marlowe gave his age true tragedy. He also gave it tragedy’s true instrument,
great verse. Gorboduc had taught blank verse how to speak on the stage; Tamburlaine taught
it how to sing. Indeed, it might be said that Marlowe’s genius is operatic, and he obviously
learned something of his music from Spenser (…) His dramatic blank verse unites the formal
dignity of Gorboduc with the musical fluency of The Faerie Queene; and so it is rhythmically
free and inventive, capable alike of magic and of majesty, always the master and never the
slave of its metrical pattern” (George Sampson, op. cit., p. 213).
Marlowe lent blank verse eloquence and grandeur, a sense of genuine artistic beauty;
usually, it is powerful and effective. In fact, the blank verse technique can be seen as a major
artistic contribution brought about by the Elizabethan playwrights’ conversancy with the
works of the ancients: “The capital contribution of humanism to the drama was the
generalization of the use of blank verse, the sole great innovation which the Renascence
induced a conservative public to adopt universally” (Legouis, Cazamian, op. cit., p. 384).
Blank verse sounded like a thundering drum beat; the use of the ‘mighty line’
determined a real revolution in the prosodic patterns and customary apparatus of the age, as
well as in so far as the sensibility of the day received a new formal impetus: “Other heroes,
from the Herod of the mysteries downwards, had already uttered fearful blasphemies and
unending rodomontade, but they had had to express them in slight stanza or frail couplets.
The verse for which men had been waiting, completely formed verse, now sounded on the
stage for the first time. It was a thing too enchanting to be withstood. The wits might mock at
this ‘spacious volubilitie of a drumming decasyllabon’, at this ‘bragging blank verse’, but,
whether they would or no, they had soon, in deference to the public, themselves to beat the
drum as well as they could” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 402).
In this as well as in Marlowe’s other plays, the extravagant expression of the author’s
temperament is allowed a choice place; these passages are tremendously scenic through their
essentially oratorical and lyrical character.
The spectacular extravagances, organically consonant with the continuous
declamation and the exaltation of the young poet, formed a well-structured whole which was
undoubtedly conveyed to the audience, who was completely entranced.
To round out the ensemble effect, quite numerous majestic-sounding proper names
are used: “Is it not brave to be a king, TECHELLES, / USUMCASANE and THERIDAMAS? / Is it
not passing brave to be a king, / AND RIDE IN TRIUMPH THROUGH PERSEPOLIS?”
Marlowe’s next play, The Jew of Malta (1589, or c. 1591), was printed as late as
1633. It is a melodrama, very often violent and horrific.
The plot is that of a ‘revenge tragedy’: Barabas, the rich Jewish merchant, refuses to
pay the newly-instituted taxes, and is consequently dispossessed of his house and part of his
money (half his wealth is confiscated by Farneze, the governor of Malta, in order to pay the
tribute to the Turks). In the end, Barabas the Jew becomes an avenging monomaniac – a
tremendous, single-minded misanthrope; what he wants is take revenge on Christians and
Muslims alike, on humanity generally.
To avenge himself, Barabas perpetrates incredibly violent deeds: he poisons a whole
convent of nuns, schemes so that the two lovers of Abigail, his daughter, shall kill each other.

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She is eventually married to a Christian. He finally poisons her. Barabas’s instrument is the
Moorish slave Ithamore, the incarnation of immoderate, ultimate cruelty, like his master.
The Jew helps the Turks, who lay siege to the island, and as a reward he is made
governor of Malta. Afterwards, he schemes to massacre all the Turkish officers and soldiers
in a monastery, by making the ceiling fall on their heads while at table, but his plan is
revealed, and he himself is thrown down the floor in a cauldron of boiling liquid. He dies
cursing; his final words are as monstrous as his life: “… Had I but escaped this stratagem, / I
would have brought confusion pn you all, / Damned Christian dogs and Turkish infidels! /
But now begins the extremity of heat / To pinch me with intolerable pangs: Die, life! Fly,
soul! Tongue, curse thy fill, and die!”
No literary source for the play is known, only a number of disparate figures and
events in that epoch. On the other hand, the writing, by W. Shakespeare, is speculated of The
Merchant of Venice as a response and competing dramatic production, especially as in 1594
Queen Elizabeth’s physician, Lopez, a Spanish Jew, was accused of treason.
The Jew of Malta is basically a ‘Fall of Princes’ tragedy, but also a typically
Marlovian display of titanic will-power and energy.
The protagonist is a rapacious character, avid for financial wealth; he wants riches
because they can give him power, which can mean respect in a hostile environment.
Barabas’s wealth is celebrated in the opening speech, where the effects are accumulative; this
tirade, significantly enough, immediately follows The Prologue, which is recited by
Machiavelli. In the initial scene, presenting Barabas in his counting-house, the character is
absolutely, irrevocably drunk with the almost mystical exaltation of pecuniary possession,
suggesting the immense power he could get from it.
So, in the arc of the general scheme, typical of the ‘Fall of Princes’ tragedy – with the
ascension from material destitution to financial triumph – is also contained the element de
revenge tragedy210 – cf. Kyd’s ‘revenge tragedy’, e.g. The Spanish Tragedy. (Anyway, it
seems that Thomas Kyd’s The Spanish Tragedy was written earlier than Marlowe’s
Tamburlaine).
Barabas is more than a Machiavellian figure – he is a poetic titan. Barabas is majestic
– Titan-like – in his absolute ambition, the audacity of his craving for power, and the sheer
might of his grip on events.
It has been suggested by the critique that, like Tamburlaine, Barabas is a typical case
of inferiority complex: he is a Jew in a non-Jewish environment, very much as Tamburlaine
started his bloodthirsty adventure as a mere shepherd.
It is true that Barabas the Jew initially has dignity and nobility (if not magnanimity);
the monster he becomes, in the central and final parts, holds at the beginning of the play real
human appeal (cf. Shylock’s tirad in Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice), and the
arguable anti-Semitic hints seem to have been added by a later hand, other than Marlowe’s.
As a matter of fact, Marlowe openly opposes the then prevalent prejudices which affected
Jews – which makes one think of a special relationship, one of sympathy and solidarity,
between the author and the fictional character. “The only true rehabilitation of the Jew is that
which Marlowe attempted in his first act, where the haughty, intrepid Barabas, facing the
hypocritical governor, is really a splendid figure. That he subsequently appears as a frenzied
wretch is of little consequence. For a time the poet identified himself with the Jew, who may
even, by the very enormity of his later crimes, have retained the strange sympathy of his
creator” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 404).

210 For the recurrence of avenging patterns in Elizabethan and Jacobean drama, see Peter Conrad, the
Everyman’s History of English Literature, p. 208: “In both Jacobean tragedy and comedy, the recurrent figure is
the revenger. He is ambiguous by nature, vacillating between tragic and comic identities – sometimes
Hamlet setting to right the out-of-joint times, sometimes Jaques cleansing the foul and infected world by
railing at it and caricaturing its pretensions; wielding sometimes a sword and sometimes a razor-edged
tongue”.

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 Caricature (as T.S. Eliot observes) is not intended here to produce humorous effects,
but to create dread and horror. The play provides several passages memorable on account of
their charming sound and rhythm qualities.
A third play by Marlowe – and an indisputable masterpiece, The Tragicall History of
Dr. Faustus (c. 1588, or 1589 – probably acted in 1588) is a ‘Fall of Princes’ tragedy,
enacting the well-known story of a man, an ageing German scholar, who, dissatisfied with
barren philosophy, sold his soul to the Devil in order to get riches and power in this life.
Marlowe’s merit is that of producing a dramatic work which, for the first time in
European literature, thoroughly exploited the theme’s poetic power and seductive potential
(cf. Goethe’s masterpiece Faust).211 There seems to have been a real prototype for the main
character of the plot, a German charlatan by the name of Johannes Faust (but also a certain
Georg Sabellicus, mentioned in 1507, a quack and ‘magician’); there was also a 16 th century
story entitled Historia von Dr. Johann Fausten, the translation of which must have been
known to Marlowe in manuscript. The German story is no doubt pious and bloodless, a
Protestantly moralizing production, but Marlowe succeeded in transforming it into a ‘Fall of
Princes’ tragedy, with the dramatic ingredients of the hero’s unsatiable aspiration towards the
unreachable, his towering achievement, and his inevitable fall.
Marlowe’s Faustus calls on Mephistopheles (or Mephistophelis), who is a ‘servant to
great Lucifer’; Mephistopheles concludes an agreement to be slave to Faustus and provide
him with twenty-four years of magnificent, glorious life. Consequently, Dr. Faustus has
renewed youth and superhuman powers. He certainly makes the most of his time: besides
playing pranks on innocent people (‘exploits’ which make for the bulk of the German
mediaeval legend), he summons the spirits, and also orders Mephistopheles to bring back
from the dead the beautiful Helen of Troy (whom he marries), the best occasion for a
wonderful verbal display in the erotic lyrical vein.
At times, the protagonist has terrible searchings of the mind, he feels the pangs of
repentance, but his unending thirst for ever-new learning goads him on. The close of the play,
ridden with dread and agonizing apprehension, is a masterly highlight of blood-curdling
dramatic description. Faustus tries to appeal to Christ and God, but he has alienated his right
to pray; and the worst thing is that he realizes both the loss and the (former, comparative) gain
of his doing so. At the stroke of twelve, demons bear his soul away.
Doctor Faustus can be seen as another alter-ego of Marlowe, spurred by vaulting
ambition; in the scene near the end of the play when Dr. Faustus awaits retribution, a parallel
with the author forces itself on the reader: “Marlowe, the atheist, alone in a Christian world,
must also, at times, have felt to the full the horror of his denials and his blasphemies. He was
too near faith to be indifferent” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 403).
The central hero, Doctor Faustus, mastered all arts and sciences (cf. the never-ending
thirst for new knowledge fostered by all Renaissance geniuses, e.g. Pico della Mirandola,
Leonardo da Vinci, even the Swiss physician Paracelsus, etc.) – cf. also Tamburlaine-the-
artist. With regard to the supernatural element recurrent in the play, one must not forget that,
by tradition, magicians and alchemists were generally considered the Devil’s servants and
close confederates, or allies.
Dr. Faustus is unfailingly orthodox in its Protestant creed – even to the point of
borrowing attendant elements from mediaeval morality plays (e.g. the Good and Bad Angels
disputing the scientist’s soul, in the last scene), although Marlowe had a general bad fame for
being heretical, and even blasphemous.
The final scenes are of an absolutely singular grandeur and patheticalness in the
Renaissance drama, very hard to equal even by the inspired quill of the great Shakespeare.
The play is technically remarkable by its double-plot construction, to which are added
the comic elements (some of which may have been superadded in later, revised, editions of

211Johann Wolfgang Goethe ['g:t], Ger. ['g:t] (1749-1832): German poet, novelist and dramatist, the
founder of modern German literature, and the leader of the Romantic Sturm und Drang movement; his main
works are The Sorrows of the Young Werther, Wilhelm Meister, a Bildungsroman, Faust (1808 – his masterpiece),
and Iphigenia in Tauris.

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the play). Because these comic scenes are so hopeless, the critics wonder whether they are
later additions (as said before), or simply bad taste in the humorous mood.
Dr. Faustus marks the supreme dramatic magnificence; the play is considered the
best of Marlowe’s plays by a majority of the critics. It actually is a major achievement, in
spite of its various flaws, or the author’s occasional negligence, ascribable to his youthful
talent and comparative inexperience, both as a dramatist and a poet.
Edward II (c. 1592, or 1593), whose complete title was The Troublesome Raign and
Lamentable Death of Edward the Second, is a ‘Chronicle Play’ of a special type of dramatic
workmanship and inspiration.
Edward II is presented as a weak king, dominated by his favourites; he is manipulated
by noblemen and Isabella, his unfaithful queen, alike. Isabella is the mistress of young
Mortimer; the arch-manipulator in the play is Mortimer, and the pawn of much of this
manipulation is Gaveston, Edward’s former favourite.
Although estranged (i.e. exiled in France), Isabella joins in the intricate political game
of scheming and outscheming. When she returns from her exile – once with the loss of
Normandy by the English – Edward is deposed by the plotters, led by Mortimer, and
assassinated. Edward II’s successor, a young king by the same name (actually, the victim’s
son), has Mortimer executed and Isabella imprisoned.
The king is killed by two ruffians, in a scene in such a way contrived as to make the
weak monarch an object of intense pity from the audience.
The main source which Marlowe used was Holinshed’s chronicle. The events in the
old chronicle extend over twenty-three years, but Marlowe abridges this long account in order
to achieve dramatic effect – a sign of artistic maturity from so young a playwright. For this
and other reasons Marlowe’s play soon became the public’s favourite.
Edward II was the first historical play of the type later cultivated by Shakespeare –
the ‘Chronicle Play’. Marlowe can hardly be said to have been a patriot (at any rate, he did
not have Shakespeare’s spiritual availability for such ‘premeditated’ loftiness, idealized in its
socially, generally accepted scope).
It generated (no less, in fact, than the rest of his dramatic creation) national pride, but
not as much by dint of its patriotic content, as through the public’s conviction (or at least
illusion) that these plays could vie with the ancients; all this was coupled with the English
victory over the tremendous Spanish Armada, the distant overseas conquests by the English
expeditionary forces, their amazing discoveries, the newly built wealth and knowledge, the
sense of the infinite and of exotic adventure that the young and energetic expanding nation
was acquiring, etc.
The play is an integral part of the Marlovian ‘format’, while representing a real
climax of human character depiction, human motives and dramatic interrelationships:
“Edward II stands for sentimental weakness, the royal baseness which cowardice can make
bloodthirsty. In Mortimer, with his unbridled ambition, Marlowe returned to one of his
favourite types, and it is Mortimer who connects this play with its predecessors” (Émile
Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 405).
Edward II is fully consonant with Marlowe’s contemporary production for the theatre
(or at least it can be said to better match the rest of the dramatic creation of the time). The
play is better structured, less extravagant and inhuman than its Marlovian predecessors.
This is considered by many Marlowe’s best play (or, at any rate, the best text of all
Marlovian plays); it can be assumed that Edward II has on the whole the best dramatic
construction out of all the plays the dramatist produced. The rhythm of the action is fast, even,
smooth, even considering the want of the special brilliance and the great technical skill shown
by Malowe’s previous plays.
In this play several patterns are fecundly interwoven: the chronicle play, the revenge
tragedy, and the ‘Fall of Princes’ tragedy – all rolled into a remarkable synthesis that brings
unto stage real-life characters and situations. The challenge that faced Marlowe was to
manage a viable way about attracting the audience’s sympathy with a weak king, totally
lacking determination. The author succeeds in doing that by exposing the malice and
treachery of the manipulating crew who continually torment and undermine Edward.

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Moreover, Edward II’s assassination is a masterfully wrought pathetic climax. (As a matter of
fact, Marlowe’s Edward II is ‘weak’ as far as statesmanship is concerned, but he is hardly so
in point of sheer character; quite on the contrary, he is a wilful man).
In this play, character-study is evidently superior to anything preceding it. Character-
delineation in Edward II is fully and convincingly developed in more than one dramatis
persona (i.e. the protagonist, or title character). The ‘villains’ are differentiated in a
persuasive, realistic manner, they become ‘flesh-and-blood’ scenic figures: Gaveston is
toadyish, Mortimer is rascally but daring, while Spencer is firm and determined.
Edward II has unprecedented dramatic qualities: it displays more restrained lyrical
declamation, better conceived dialogues, shorter tirades, the blank verse is better modulated
and bent to fit the proper tone of human voice. The characters’ verbal performance may be
mighty, tremendously impressive, but it is, on most occasions (and above all other
considerations), endowed with naturalness, with the simple flow of human, spontaneous
rhythm.
This dramatic piece makes possible the similar Shakespearean creation – not only
Richard II. What Shakespeare added to the great Marlovian example was a rather personal
mastery of plot, versatile poetic skill, as well as deep, unfeigned human sympathy. (It is
possible that Marlowe should have helped Shakespeare with the writing of parts of Henry VI
or other historical – or ‘chronicle’ – plays.)
Marlowe’s work may be in several ways limited, and occasionally flawed; it lacks
versatility of style, and it is quite obviously lacks Shakespeare’s memorable scenes and
personae; but it certainly has grandeur and human appeal. This play would have needed more
lucidity, variety and the sense of evolution and gradation. Edward II does not have the
ravishing, rapturous music of the specifically Marlovian sound effects, and it fails to rise up to
the passional altitudes of Marlowe’s other plays. Moreover, it does not have the tinge of
caricature which used to lend vitality to the rest of the author’s dramatic works.
Consequently, certain critics have gone as far as considering it the best Marlovian play in
point of artistry. Here is one of the traditional opinions of this play – in George Sampson’s
words: “Edward II stands by itself among his plays. There is a temptation to overpraise it.
Because it is the first complete historical play of the stricter type without lapses into foolery,
it is singled out as Marlowe’s best dramatic effort. But it merely seems the best because it
never sinks to the worst depths of Tamburlaine and Faustus” (op. cit., p. 213).
This is the first succesful attempt at interpreting history by the fine instrument of
drama. Marlowe’s example was twofold: on the one hand, his use of powerful blank verse is
essentially suited to the requirements of the drama; on the other hand, the development of
strong dramatic characters is meant to heighten the sense of tragedy.
In a short but brilliant career, Christopher Marlowe wrote five masterpieces:
Tamburlaine the Great, The Jew of Malta, Doctor Faustus, Edward II, and Dido, Queen of
Carthage, plus a bloodthirsty melodrama, The Massacre at Paris.
Dido, Queen of Carthage, whose story is based on the Aeneid, Book the fourth, was
finished by Nashe. Dido (1594) happens to be Marlowe’s first text known; on the title page
Nashe’s name also appears, as that of the co-author, although the tone and the style of the
play are not indicative of Nashe’s hand. It is less sombre than the rest of Marlowe’s plays, but
the critique’s opinion has been as the Marlovian dramatic work displaying the faultiest taste.
Dido, Queen of Carthage is the nightmarish description of the fall of Troy to the Greeks, with
the consistent use of the technique of exaggeration: “Young infants swimming in their blood,
/ Headless carcasses piled up in heaps, / vrigins half-dead dragged by their golden hair / And
with main force flung on a ring of pikes, / Old men with swords thrust through their aged
sides, / Kneeling with mercy to a Greekish lad / Who with steel pole-axes dashed out their
brains”.
The Massacre at Paris was first acted in 1593. The character of the Duke of Guise is
the very prototypal image of boundless ambition.212 In the play, he is the embodiment, the

212 The Duke of Guise – Henri I de Guise (1550-1588): the leader of the Catholic party in the French
religion wars opposing the Catholics to the Huguenots (i.e. Protestants). He was one of the instigators of

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acting symbol of the ‘Machiavellian principle’.213 As a dramatic motive, intrigue and evil for
their own sakes now appeared virtually for the first time: the Duke of Guise, a master of
devious statesmanship and political subtlety, is, like his earlier Marlovian counterparts, a
genuine artist of evil and manipulation.
Marlowe’s heroes are men highly typical of the Renaissance – an age of limitless
curiosity, enterprise and, seemingly, power and fortunes. Indeed, the English ships were
sailing towards every conceivable shore, bringing news, riches and cultural values and
standards from new lands. “In this handful of plays appears the first true voice of the
Renaissance, of the period of new learning, new freedom, new enterprise, of the period of
worship of Man rather than God (…) Marlowe sums up the New Age. The old restrictions of
the Church and the limitations on knowledge have been destroyed; the world is opening up
and the ships are sailing to new lands; wealth is being amassed; the great national aggressors
are rising. But, above all, it is the spirit of human freedom, of limitless human power and
enterprise” (Anthony Burgess, op. cit., p. 69).
This man of the full-grown Renaissance had an enormous, unquenchable zest for life,
and the powerful determination to live their own, energetic, if rather risky, lives: “The Muses’
darling”, as Peele termed him, first trumpeted from the stage the Renaissance lust for life. Not
since Chaucer had an English voice so sounded the robustness of living, its challenges and its
glories. But Marlowe senses the tragic grandeur of life quite differently from Chaucer. The
central character in each of his dramas is a towering figure, insatiably desiring to wrestle with
every experience. Not even Shakespeare pictured such supermen, driven by such consuming
desire” (Martin S. Day, History of English Literature. To 1600, p. 263).
Christopher Marlowe’s dramatis personae gallery is in fact quite an impressive
collection of titans: Tamburlane is the epitome of the great conqueror, the very
personification and paragon of tyrannical power; Barabas stands for ever-accumulating
wealth (i.e. monetary power); while Doctor Faustus absolutely hungers for supreme
knowledge, and thereby absolute power. Moreover, Marlowe’s daemonic figures (such as
Tamburlaine, Barabas, Dr. Faustus) are made fully credible. Their final fall is dictated by
interior, not external forces.
All these dramatic heroes behave actively, within an entirely human framework – in
spite of their titanic size, intrepidly coping with their own destinies; so, they refuse to be the
mere plaything of relentless fate. If they eventually emerge as victims of some kind, it is of
their own choice, not of a superior instance’s making.
As a lyric poet, Christopher Marlowe was the remarkable author of a short poem – a
famous narrative poem, Hero and Leander, and of two translations from Latin; the first, his
literary debut, was Ovid’s Amores (translated as Elegies, a name given by the publishers), and
Lucan’s First Book Translated Line for Line.214
Out of these lyrical productions, special mention deserves Hero and Leander (1598),
Marlowe’s indisputable lyric masterpiece; it was an adaptation of the famous Greek story by
Musaeus.215 It is maybe the best example of erotic epyllion216 ever written in the English
language. In Hero and Leander, Marlowe used spiritually luxurious, sensuously resounding

the massacre of St. Bartholomew’s night (1572); he was assassinated on the orders of King Henry III of
France.
213 Machiavellian principle: “The reference is to Niccolò Machiavelli (1469-1527), and his book The Prince,

a treatise on state policies which had the aim of bringing about a united Italy through any means which
Italian leaders found workable: cruelty, treachery, tyranny were all acceptable so long as they produced, in
the end, a strong and united state” (Anthony Burgess, op. cit., p. 69).
214 Lucan (Marcus Annaeus Lucanus – AD 39-65): Latin poet, a nephew of Seneca and favourite of

Nero until the insane emperor became jealous of his verse; joining a republican conspiracy that failed, he
had to commit suicide; his unfinished epic Pharsalia deals with the civils wars of Caesar and Pompey.
215 The mythological love story of Hero, the beautiful priestess of Aphrodite at Sestos, and Leander, the

young man who nightly visited her, even if he had to swim across the Hellespont (i.e. today’s Bosphorus);
one stormy night, he was drowned, and Hero, discovering his dead body, drowned herself. * Musaeus was
an Alexandrian poet of the 5th century.
216 Epyllion (pl. epyllia): a narrative poem resembling an epic poem, but considerably shorter.

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heroic couplets. In fact, Marlowe wrote only two sestiads, the rest being completed by George
Chapman.217
Marlowe’s The Passionate Pilgrim was published in 1599, then, in an extended form,
in Englands Helicon (1600).
Another successful lyrical effort by Marlowe was his “Come live with me and be my
love”, which actually appeared in his early years.
Marlowe’s untimely death made a considerable number of critics and literary
historians overestimate his merit, dazzled as they were at reading what he wrote, and stunned
at the failed prospect of the writing Marlowe could have accomplished if he had lived more.
Yet other critics are more circumspect, while duly praising the superlative quality of his
lyrical vein and scenic technique: “Marlowe added nothing to dramatic technique except that
he determined the victory of blank verse. His merit is that in his short career he set the stage
on fire with the flame of his passion. Less versatile than the other prominent playwrights of
his day, less able than they to conceive of multitudinous feelings distinct from his own
emotions, less quick than some to catch the scenic side of things, surpassed not only by the
masters, but also by mediocre playwrights, as an architect of drama and constructor of supple
and nimble dialogue, without any sense of the comic or sense of humour or aptitude to draw a
woman, Marlowe yet possessed a supreme quality which enabled him to lift drama into the
sphere of high literature. He was a great poet, a lyrical, personal, violently egoistical poet,
who carried with him his own unique conception of man and life (…) His exclusiveness
produced intensity…” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 405-406).
The supposed association of Marlowe with works belonging to Shakespeare was an
invention mainly belonging to the 20th century (although Marlowe’s hand seems only too
apparent in Titus Andronicus and Henry VI); nevertheless, that Marlovian seemingness could
merely be the work of one of Marlowe’s imitators. Some critics think there could also be a
Marlovian contribution in pseudo-Shakespearean plays like Arden of Feversham.
Marlowe’s achievements are many-sided and substantial; he was the first dramatist
with an intense, undeniable, powerful sense of theatre (even when it comes to comparing him
with Thomas Kyd, an expert of drama in construction). Furthermore, he knew how to stir the
audiences. The intensity, dash, vehemence and wit of his dramatic work are the most valuable
part of his literary legacy.
Christopher Marlowe was a first-rate creative force of a new kind in English
literature, and the leading energy in a totally new trend in the drama. To top it all, he was a
precocious talent: “His work was finished at an age at which few poets have really begun”
(George Sampson, op. cit., p. 213).
On the whole, it will be only too fair to state that his achievements surpass his
dramatic shortcomings, especially if we consider the above-mentioned precocity of his
literary career. “Despite faults of construction, obvious carelessness and other artistic flaws
attendant on youth, Marlowe’s achievement is a very important one. He is a great poet and
dramatist who, had he not been killed untimely in a tavern in London, might well have
become greater even than Shakespeare. And not even Shakespeare could do all that Marlowe
could do: the peculiar power gained from caricature; the piled-up magnificence of language;
above all, ‘Marlowe’s mighty line’ – these are great individual achievements. There is nobody
like Christopher Marlowe” (Anthony Burgess, op. cit., p. 72).
Despite the fact that the renown of his literary work was at a very low ebb during the
17th and 18th centuries, Marlowe was rediscovered and crowned by the Romantics, in the 19 th
century, after which there has been no decline in his overall critical appreciation.

SUPPORT TEXTS

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE (1564-1595)

217George Chapman (1559-1634): English poet and dramatist; much celebrated translator of Homer,
author of the comedy Eastward Ho! (in collaboration with Jonson and Marston), and the tragedies Bussy
D’Amboise and The Revenge of Bussy D’Amboise.

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 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS

“(Enter Good Angel and Evil Angel)

GOOD ANGEL: O, Faustus, lay thy damned book aside, / And gaze not on it, lest it tempt thy
soul / And heap God’s heavy wrath upon thy head! Read, read the Scriptures: – that is
blasphemy.
EVIL ANGEL: Go forward, Faustus, in that famous art / Wherein all Nature’s treasure is
contain’d: / Be thou on earth as Jove is in the sky, / Lord and commander of these elements.
(Exeunt ANGELS)
FAUSTUS: How am I glutted1 with conceit of this! / Shall I make spirits fetch me what I
please, / Resolve me of all ambiguities,2 / Perform what desperate enterprise I will? / I’ll have
them fly to India for gold, / Ransack the ocean for orient pearl, / And search all corners of the
new-found world / For pleasant fruits and princely delicates; / I’ll have them read me strange
philosophy, / And tell the secrets of all foreign kings’, / I’ll have them wall all Germany with
brass, / And make swift Rhine circle fair Wertenberg;3 / I’ll have them fill the public schools
with silk, / Where with the students shall be bravely clad; 4 / I’ll levy5 soldiers with the coin
they bring, / And chase the Prince of Parma from our land, / And reign sole king of all the
provinces; / Yea, stranger engines for the brunt6 of war, / Than was the fiery keel7 at
Antwerp’s8 bridge, / I'll make my servile spirits to invent.
(Enter VALDES and CORNELIUS) Come, German Valdes and Cornelius, And make me blest
with your sage conference. / Valdes, sweet Valdes, and Cornelius, / Know that your words
have won me at the last / To practise magic and concealed arts ………. Philosophy is odious
and obscure; Both law and physic9 are for petty wits; Divinity is basest10 of the three, /
Unpleasant, harsh, contemptible, and vile:11 / ’Tis magic, magic, that hath ravish’d me. /
Then, gentle friends, aid me in this attempt; / And I, that have with concise syllogisms /
Gravell’d12 the pastors of the German church, / And made the flowering pride of Wertenberg /
Swarm to my problems, as the infernal spirits / On sweet Musaeus when he came to hell, /
Will be as cunning as Agrippa was, / Whose shadow made all Europe honour him.
VALDES: Faustus, these books, thy wit, and our experience, / Shall make all nations to
canonise us. / As Indian Moors13 obey their Spanish lords, / So shall the spirits of every
element / Be always serviceable14 to us three; / Like lions shall they guard us when we please;
………… / From Venice shall they drag huge argosies,15 / And from America the golden
fleece16 / That yearly stuffs old Philip’s treasury; / If learned Faustus will be resolute.
FAUSTUS: Valdes, as resolute am I in this / As thou to live’t therefore object is not.
CORNELIUS: The spirits tell me they can dry the sea, / And fetch the treasure of all foreign
wrecks, / Ay, all the wealth that our forefathers hid / Within the massy entrails 17 of the earth; /
Then tell me, Faustus, what shall we three want?
FAUSTUS: Nothing, Cornelius. O, this cheers my soul! / Come, show me some
demonstrations magical, / That I may conjure in some lusty grove, / And have these joys in
full possession ……………………
… (FAUSTUS discovered in his study)
FAUSTUS: Now, Faustus, must / Thou needs be damn’d, and canst thou not be sav’d; / What
boots it, then, to think of God or heaven? / Away with such vain fancies, and despair; /
Despair in God, and trust in Belzebub;18 / Now go not backward; no, Faustus, be resolute: /
Why waver’st thou? O, some thing soundeth in mine ears, ‘Abjure this magic, turn to God
again!’ / Ay, and Faustus will turn to God again. / To God ? he loves thee not; / The god thou
serv’st is thine own appetite, / Wherein is fix’d the love of Belzebub: / To him I’ll build an
altar and a church, / And offer lukewarm19 blood of new-born babes.
(Enter GOOD ANGEL and EVIL ANGEL)
G. ANGEL: Sweet Faustus, leave that execrable art.
FAUSTUS: Contrition,20 prayer, repentance – what of them?
G. ANGEL: O, they are means to bring thee unto heaven!
E. ANGEL: No, Faustus; think of honour and of wealth. (Exeunt ANGELS)
FAUSTUS: Of wealth! / Why, the signiory of Embden21 shall be mine. / When Mephistophilis
shall stand by me, / What god can hurt thee, Faustus? thou art safe: / Cast no more doubts. –

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Come, Mephistophilis, / And bring glad tidings22 from great Lucifer; – (Enter
MEPHISTOPHILIS) Now tell me what says Lucifer, thy lord?
MEPHISTOPHILIS: That I shall wait on Faustus whilst he lives, / So he will buy my service
with his soul.
FAUSTUS: Already Faustus hath hazarded, that for thee.
MEPHISTOPHILIS: But, Faustus, thou must bequeath it solemnly, / And write a deed of gift
with thine own blood; / For that security craves great Lucifer. / If thou deny it, I will back to
hell.
FAUSTUS: Stay, Mephistophilis, and tell me, what good / will my soul do thy lord?
MEPHISTOPHILIS: Enlarge his kingdom.
FAUSTUS: Is that the reason why he tempts us thus?
MEPHISTOPHILIS: But, tell me, Faustus, shall I have thy soul? / And I will be thy slave, and
wait on thee, / And give thee more than thou hast wit to ask.
FAUSTUS: Ay, Mephistophilis, I give it thee.
MEPHISTOPHILIS: Then, Faustus, stab thy arm courageously, / And bind thy soul, that at
some certain day / Great Lucifer may claim it as his own; / And then be thou as great as
Lucifer.
FAUSTUS (Stabbing his arm) Lo, Mephistophilis, for love of thee, / I cut mine arm, and with
my proper blood / Assure my soul to be great Lucifer’s, / Chief lord and regent of perpetual
night! / View here the blood that trickles from mine arm, / And let it be propitious23 for my
wish.”

Scene X

“FAUSTUS: Ay, pray for me, pray for me; and what noise soever ye / hear, come not unto me,
for nothing can rescue me.
SECOND SCHOLAR: Pray thou, and we will pray that God may have mercy upon thee.
FAUSTUS: Gentlemen, farewell: if I live till morning, I’ll / visit you; if not, Faustus is gone to
hell.
ALL: Faustus, farewell. (Exeunt Scholars. – The clock strikes eleven)
FAUSTUS: Ah, Faustus, / Now hast thou but one bare hour to live, / And then thou must be
damn’d perpetually! / Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of heaven, / That time may cease,
and midnight never come; / Fair Nature’s eye, rise, rise again, and make / Perpetual day; or
let this hour be but / A year, a month, a week, a natural day, / That Faustus may repent24 and
save his soul! / The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike, / The devil will come,
and Faustus must be damn’d, / O, I’ll leap up to my God! – Who pulls me down? / Mountains
and hills, come, come, and fall on me, / And hide me from the heavy wrath of God! No, no! /
Then will I headlong run into the earth; / Earth, gape! O, no, it will not harbour me! / You
stars that reign’d at my nativity,25 / Whose influence hath allotted26 death and hell, / Now
draw up Faustus, like a foggy mist,27 / Into the entrails of yon28 labouring clouds, / That,
when you vomit forth into the air, / My limbs may issue from your smoky mouths. / So that
my soul may but ascend to heaven! (The clock strikes the half-hour) Ah, half the hour is past!
’twill all be past anon.29 O God, / If thou wilt not have mercy on my soul, / Yet for Christ’s
sake, whose blood hath ransom’d30 me, / Impose some end to my incessant31 pain; / Let
Faustus live in hell a thousand years, / A hundred thousand, and at last be sav’d! / O, no end
is limited to damned souls! ……… / This soul should fly from me, and I be chang’d / Unto
some brutish beast! all beasts are happy, / For, when they die, / Their souls are soon dissolv’d
in elements; / But mine must live still to be plagu’d32 in hell. / Curs’d be the parents that
engender’d me! / No, Faustus, curse thyself, curse Lucifer / That hath depriv’d thee of the
joys of heaven. (The clock strikes twelve) O, it strikes, it strikes! Now, body, turn to air, / Or
Lucifer will bear thee quick to hell! (Thunder and lightning) O soul, be changed into little
water-drops, / And fall into the ocean, ne’er be found! Enter DEVILS
My God, my God, look not so fierce on me! / Adders and serpents, let me breathe a while! /
Ugly hell, gape not! Come not, Lucifer! / I’ll burn my books! – Ah, Mephistophilis! (Exeunt
DEVILS with FAUSTUS)

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Enter CHORUS
CHORUS: Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight, / And burned is Apollo’s
laurel-bough,33 / That sometime grew within this learned man. / Faustus is gone; regard his
hellish fall, / Whose fiendful34 fortune may exhort35 the wise, / Only to wonder at unlawful
things, / Whose deepness36 doth entice37 such forward wits / To practise more than heavenly
power permits. (Exit.)”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) glutted with conceit: satiated / full with fancy and ideas; glutted: sătul, prea plin, îndopat;
(2) resolve me of all ambiguities: rid me of…; (3) Wertenberg: Wittenberg, German town
with an important university; (4) clad = clothed, dressed; (5) levy (soldiers): a strînge, a înrola,
a ridica, a recruta (soldaţi); (6) the brunt of war: greul luptei / războiului; (7) keel: (poet.)
navă, corabie; (8) Antwerp: Anvers / Antwerpen (aluzie la un incident din timpul blocadei
acestui port flamand de către Prinţul de Parma, în anul 1585); (9) physic = medicine; (10)
Divinity: teologie; base: josnic, mîrşav, abject; (11) vile: netrebnic, josnic, decăzut, ticălos,
mîrşav, murdar (fig.); (12) gravell’d < to gravel: a nedumeri, a pune în încurcătură; (13)
Indian Moors: máurii / (h)arapii indieni = “indienii din America (de Sud)”; (14) serviceable:
îndatoritor; util, folositor; gata de lucru; (15) argosy: (poet., înv.) corabie, navă (mare,
comercială); (16) the golden fleece: Lâna de Aur (a legendarilor argonauţi); (aici, metaforic):
aur, bogăţii; (17) entrails: măruntaie, viscere; (18) Belzebub: Belzebut; (19) lukewarm: călduţ,
călîu; (20) contrition: pocăinţă, căinţă, penitenţă; (21) Embden: Emden (German sea-harbour);
(22) glad tidings – (also good tidings): (poet., relig.) vestea cea bună; (23) propitious: prielnic,
favorabil, potrivit (pentru…); (24) repent: a se (po)căi; (25) reigned at my nativity = presided
over my birth; were above me when I was born; (26) allotted = has allotted: “has given /
apportioned”; (27) a foggy mist: o ceaţă deasă, un văl înceţoşat; (28) yon: (or yonder): (înv.,
poet.): acei (nori) / (norii) aceia, (norii) de acolo; (29) anon: (arh.) îndată, numaidecât, peste
puţin (timp); (30) ransom’d = ransomed; to ransom: a răscumpăra, a plăti; (31) incessant =
endless; (32) plagu’d = plagued; to plague: a năpăstui, a tortura; (33) Apollo’s laurel-bough:
cununa de laur(i) / dafin a lui Apolo; (34) fiendful: diavolesc, demonic; (35) to exhort: a
îndemna, a îmboldi; a povăţui, a predica; a susţine; (36) deepness = depth; (37) doth entice =
entices; to entice: a seduce, a ispiti; a aţîţa (la…), a instiga (la… / să…).

FRANCIS BACON (1561-1626)

Francis Bacon, the great philosopher and essayist, was born in the family of a public
figure of the day, and educated at Trinity College, Cambridge. After practising the law, he
started a brilliant public career. He became an MP in 1584 (and as such he opposed the
Queen’s tax programme), then he enjoyed the patronage of the Earl of Essex (whose
conviction he later on secured, after the 1601 revolt).
But Bacon’s public career was even more spectacular under the reign of James I (he
was maybe the king’s closest adviser in his perpetual conflict with Parliament); he was
appointed Attorney-General, then Lord Keep of the Seal, and then Lord Chancellor; knighted,
he was created Baron Verulam, and then Viscount St. Albans (1621). But it was in 1621, too,
that his fall occurred: he was convicted on his own confession, imprisoned in the Tower (for a
week or so), fined £ 40,000, dismissed form public office (condemned to permanent exclusion
from Parliament), and disgraced, as a result of an instigated trial under the charge of
corruption. In retirement, he continued to write and do scientific research.
His writing includes a few political pieces, e.g. Temporis Pastus Masculus (1584),
advocating a policy of tolerance and toleration, etc; but his highest achievements are his
literary Essays (first published in 1597, enlarged and finally reprinted in 1625, with the
inclusion of no less than 58 individual essays), The Advancement of Learning (1605 – the
complete title of the treatise was The Two Bookes of Francis Bacon of the Proficience and
Advancement of Learning Divine and Humane), De Sapientia Veterum (1605), whose English
translation, made by Sir Arthur Gorge, The Wisdom of the Ancients, was published in 1619,
Novum Organum (1620), The History of the Reign of King Henry the Seventh (1622),

155
Apophthegms New and Old (1624), The New Atlantis (1626), plus various other treatises and
pamphlets. Bacon also left some unpublished works, e.g. Sylva Sylvarum, or, A Natural
History (eventually published in 1627).
Francis Bacon was a real spirit of the Renaissance – in a letter to his friend Burghley
he wrote: “I have taken all knowledge to be my province” (cf. Pico della Mirandola’s claim
concerning encyclopaedic knowledge). Virtually all of his work has been inspired by cold-
blooded instruction, impersonal stance, interest in the advancement of learning and scientific
knowledge. As a matter of fact, it was his very scientific curiosity that caused his untimely
death: he caught a severe cold while gathering snow to test its preservative qualities, being
consequently perceived as “the first martyr to experimental science”. His work impresses
through the great curiosity of a fine scientific mind, but also its accomplished style,
outstanding by its beauty and classical conciseness; more often than not, it is epigrammatic,
with genuinely memorable fragments.
His programme of intellectual and scientific reform, pursued virtually all through his
works (starting with The Advancement of Learning, and proceeding with Novum Organum
and the unfinished Sylva Sylvarum), consistently rejected the old, Aristotelian structures of
knowledge. His great work ought to have been entitled Instauratio Magna (i.e. “The Great
Renewing”), but he unfortunately managed to write only a fragment of it.
What Bacon essentially wanted to do is setting up a new system of philosophical
instruction, based on an empirical conception of nature and experiment, hence on the
inductive, rather than the deductive method.
He condemns the prejudices and ignorance that permanently tried to forestall real
knowledge. Bacon’s favourite targets are scholasticism and Renaissance humanism, which, he
says, studied words instead of matter, while pseudosciences like alchemy and astrology dealt
with absurd issues, fleeing reality as such, and an objective account of the physical world. His
indictment of scholastic studies exposed them as essentially sterile, leading to little else but
verbal controversy.
His work is indeed the product of a free spirit, a forerunner of modern scientific
thought. The essential question in studies, Bacon said – and acted accordingly, was the truth
value of anything within the framework of scientific research and scholarly concern: “I found
in my own nature a special adaptation for the contemplation of truth. For I had a mind at once
versatile for that most important object – I mean the recognition of similitudes – and at the
same time sufficiently steady and concentrated for the observation of subtle shades of
difference. I possessed a passion for research, a power of suspending judgment with patience,
of meditating with pleasure, of assenting with caution, of correcting false impressions with
readiness, and of arranging my thoughts with scrupulous pains. I had no hankering after
novelty, no blind admiration for antiquity. Imposture in every shape I utterly detested. For all
these reasons I considered that my nature and disposition had, as it were, a kind of kinship
and connection with truth”. (The translation of the original Latin text, apud Émile Legouis,
Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 368).
Bacon highly praised knowledge which could increase man’s dominion over the
earth. Science, he declared, is one, and all-powerful – providing it observes the laws of
Nature; moreover, the end it pursues must be above all practical: “We are concerned not with
pure skill in speculation, but with real utility and the fortunes of the human race (…) For man
is no more than the servant and interpreter of Nature; what he does and what he knows is but
that which he has observed of the order of Nature in act or in thought; beyond this he knows
nothing and can do nothing. For the chain of causes cannot be relaxed or broken by any force,
and Nature cannot be commanded except by being obeyed” (apud Émile Legouis, Louis
Cazamian, op. cit., p. 368).
The division of human knowledge that Bacon proposed was threefold: history,
poetry, philosophy (each of these domains corresponding to a different faculty of human
mind: memory, imagination, and comprehension, respectively). It is factual knowledge,
studies starting from actual experience that he advocates. The scientific mind, he insists,
should be freed from dogma, and also the interference of religion (which must be left to
theology alone); still, he was not anticlerical, and whenever he spoke of religion, it was in

156
respectful words: he professed the Anglican faith, and even wrote several prayers for his
personal use.
Bacon maintains that there are four obstacles in the process of apprehension of truth
by man: the so-called Idols (those of the Tribe, i.e. collective human errors, those of the Cave,
i.e. individual errors, the idols of the Marketplace, i.e. errors arising from social use of
language, and perpetuated by tradition, and the idols of the Theatre, i.e. errors based on false
philosophical doctrines). The name of ‘idol’ of intelligence (i.e. errors) was inspired by the
Platonic doctrine; on the other hand, it is worth noting that the curious and interesting
symbolism he uses (market-place, cave, theatre, etc.) bears the mark of his own age – the
Elizabethan and Jacobean one.
His Novum Organum (= ‘New Instrument’) was meant to be the very opposite of the
so-called organon of mediaeval and Renaissance deductive Aristotelianism.218 In his Novum
Organum, Bacon laid the foundations for modern scientific thought and study. The deductive
method, he maintains, largely ignores the very material of life, i.e. the facts, so it can only
incidentally lead to new truths. Unlike it, the inductive method can arrive at a new truth, in
the shape of a general statement extracted from masses of specific instances, accumulated by
direct observation and experimental work. True science should be based on adequate
knowlegde of causes, on collecting representative facts, instances, specimens, etc., which will
further on have to be classified. Experiment, Bacon urged, should be carried out
systematically, conclusions must not be reached rashly, establishing truth must be done
gradually, and also cautiously and wisely, “for the subtlety of nature is many times greater
than the subtlety of our logic”.
Bacon was not indeed the inventor of the inductive method, but he was its first great
advocate and champion, and did it in unequivocal terms, taking support on remarkable
eloquence and intellectual power, which have made him stand out as “The Father of Modern
Science”. (Karl Marx wrote that Bacon was the “real forerunner of English materialism and
all experimental science”).
Francis Bacon also wrote The New Atlantis, an unfinished Utopian romance (cf. the
literary tradition already established by Thomas More); the book was published incompletely
in 1627. It presents the would-be adventures of a group of Englishmen on an unknown island
in the South Sea, i.e. the Pacific Ocean (the island’s name is, we are later told, Bensalem). It
minutely describes how the group of seafarers are hospitably entertained and told of the high
state of morality and civilization prevailing on the Utopian island, notably of the wonders of
Salomon’s / Solomon’s House (or the ‘College of the Six Days’ Works), a research institution
in the description of which Bacon illustrates his own ideas of how research should be carried
on. The ideal state was based on the principles of philosophy, scientific research and
Christianity. In the research college, countless experiments are carried out in fields which
nowadays can be called meteorology, hydraulics, acoustics, optics, aeronautics, etc. So, it is a
world inhabited (and, what is more, ruled) by scholars after Bacon’s own heart.
His philosophy of science is romantically depicted in the factual details of the book,
the literary merits of which are, to say the least, far behind those of the Essays. It all may
seem rather naïve in an age when scientific research is as highly developed and as much taken
for granted as it is now; but it is interesting as providing further evidence of Bacon’s desire to
popularise his views of the importance of experimental science, that ‘commerce’ between the
mind of man and the nature of things, which is more precious than anything on earth. Francis

218 Aristotle (384-322 BC): Greek philosopher, born in Thrace. His extensive work encompasses logic,
metaphysics, physics, astronomy, biology, ethics, psychology, politics, literary theory and criticism. He
maintained that sense experience is the only source of knowledge; by reasoning man can discover the
essence of things, i.e. their distinguishing qualities. Aristotle held that all matter consisted of a single ‘prime
matter’, which was always determined by some form. The four kinds of matter he recognized were the four
‘elements’: earth, water, air and fire. Aristotle first classified organisms into species and genera. The form of
a living creature was its soul. The intellect, he believed, was immortal. Art is the perfect embodiment of
nature. After being the foundation of Islamic philosophy, Aristotelianism became a constitutive element of
Christian theology, widely favoured by mediaeval scholars.

157
Bacon’s New Atlantis may be considered rather a Utopia, but, in the field of English and
world literature, it has the merit of anticipating Jonathan Swift’s famous allegorical dystopia.
Even though there was a contradiction between his profile as a writer and scientist,
and that of a politician (Alexander Pope was to dub, and brand him as “the wisest, brightest
and meanest of mankind”),219 Francis Bacon has left posterity the paragon of a superb
intellect as well as of an inspiring practical mind. It will perhaps be instructive to note that the
Baconian spirit will later on inspire the setting up of the Royal Society for Improving Natural
Knowledge.
Apart from the Essays, Bacon wrote all his work in Latin because, he thought, like
the majority of his contemporaries, the English language would not last as a cultural idiom
and instrument of scientific discourse. Moreover, like most scholars of 17th century Europe,
Bacon considered Latin the ‘universal language’, (cf. the Port Royal circle in France) whereas
“these modern languages will at one time or other play the bankrowtes with books”.
The first in date of the great English philosophers, Francis Bacon was also the first
English essayist. It is his epoch-making Essays that have kept his name alive. Their subjects
are various: man’s relationship to the world and society, his relationship to himself, and his
relationship to God. They are literary pieces in their own right, sententious, pithy observations
on a variety of topics: death, reading, education and studies, revenge, gardening, etc. He
seems to have borrowed hardly anything from Michel de Montaigne’s Essays (1580-88), save
the title (the literal translation of which is ‘Attempts’, from French essayer “to try, to (make
an) attempt”).
The essays give the impression of ideas rapidly jotted down, of no great philosophical
depth, and yet worth recording for posterity. They make up an “impersonal gem of worldly
wisdom” (Martin S. Day, op. cit., vol. I, p. 382). Flashes of outstanding psychological insight
abound in Bacon’s Essays. They are mostly epigrammatic: a great deal of the author’s
statements are as memorable as strong lines of poetry (e.g. “Revenge is a kind of wild
justice”, “God Almighty first planted a garden”, “Men fear death as children fear to go in the
dark”, “‘What is truth?’, said jesting Pilate and would not stay for an answer”, etc.).
The style of his writings (and especially that of his Essays, a real tour de force in
English prose) exhibits Tacitus’ conciseness, potency and sober brevity. There are virtually
no immaterial sentences, each single one is full of meaning, tersely powerful. Bacon’s
recognized aphoristic skill caused many sentences and phrases in his works to be quoted,
some of them quite often, in later centuries, as they count among the most memorable phrases
(real adages, aphorisms or by-words) of the English language. Mainly owing to his Essays,
Francis Bacon is universally seen as one of the foremost prose writers of the English
language.

SUPPORT TEXTS

FRANCIS BACON (1561-1626)

OF STUDIES
“STUDIES serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability.1 Their chief use for delight
is in privateness and retiring; for ornament, is in discourse; and for ability, is in the judgment
and disposition2 of business. For expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars,
one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots and marshalling of affairs,3 come best from
those that are learned. To spend too much time in studies is sloth;4 to use them too much for
ornament, is affectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humour of a scholar.

219It will be quite adequate, although not very relevant for our present purpose, to add that many literary
historians remarked that, with Francis Bacon, there was a sharp contrast between his great intellect and his
mediocre character; he often sacrificed friendship and moral uprightness to his career. “There was no trace
in him of the English romantic or sentimental strain; instead, he had full measure of the passionless realism
that we may call, as we will, scientific, judicial or Machiavellian” (George Sampson, op. cit., p 176); “it is a
singular and significant fact that while everybody admires Bacon nobody loves him” (ibidem).

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They perfect nature, and are perfected by experience; for natural abilities are like natural
plants, that need proyning,5 by study; and studies themselves do give forth directions too
much at large, except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty6 men contemn7 studies,
simple men admire them, and wise men use them; for they teach not their own use; but that is
a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation. Read not to contradict and
confute;8 nor to believe and take for granted; nor to find talk and discourse; but to weigh and
consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed
and digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not
curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books also
may be read by deputy,9 and extracts made of them by others; but that would be only in the
less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books; else distilled books are like common
distilled waters, flashy things.10 Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man; and
writing an exact man. And therefore, if a man write little, be had need have a great memory; if
he confer11 little, he had need have a present wits and if he read little, he had need have much
cunning, to seem to know that he doth not. Histories make men wise; poets witty; the
mathematics subtile;12 natural philosophy deep, moral grave; logic and rhetoric able to
contend. Abeunt studia in mores (“Studies pass into, and influence manners”). Nay, there is
no stond or impediment13 in the wit but may be wrought out14 by fit studies; like as diseases
of the body may have appropriate exercises. Bowling is good for the stone and reins; shooting
for the lungs and breast; gentle walking for the stomach; riding for the head; and the like. So
if a man’s wit be wandering, let him study the mathematics; for in demonstrations, if wit be
called away never so little, he must begin again. If his wit be not apt to distinguish or find
differences, let him study the Schoolmen; for they are cymini sectores (splitters of hairs). If he
be not apt to beat over matters, and to call up one thing to prove and illustrate another let him
study the lawyers’ cases. So every defect of the mind may have a special receipt.”15
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) ability: inteligenţă, facultăţi mintale; capacitate / capacităţi, aptitudine / aptitudini;
înzestrare; (2) disposition: rînduire, planificare; (3) marshalling of affairs: orînduirea lucrurilor
/ afacerilor; (4) sloth: lene(vie), trîndăvie; (5) proyning = pruning; to prune: a curăţi un pom /
copac, a tăia uscăturile dintr-un pom / copac; (6) crafty: 1. viclean; 2. iscusit; îndemânatic; (7)
to contemn: (lit.) a dispreţui; a nesocoti, a nu lua în seamă; (8) to confute: a combate, a
respinge; (9) by deputy: prin mijlocire(a altcuiva); (10) flashy: de paradă, cu strălucire
trecătoare (şi / sau falsă); (11) to confer: (v. intranz.) a discuta, a dezbate, a conferi, a (se)
chibzui; (12) subtile = subtle: subtil, fin, rafinat; nuanţat; (13) no stond or impediment = no
stand or…; stand: opposition, resistance (to sth.); (14) wrought = worked (arch.); (15) receipt:
reţetă, tipíc.

THE NEW ATLANTIS

“We have burials in several earths, where we put diverse cements, as the Chineses do
their porcellain. But we have them in greater variety, and some of them more fine. We have
also great variety of composts,1 and soils, for the making of the earth fruitful. We have high
towers; the highest about half a mile in height; and some of them likewise set upon high
mountains; so that the vantage2 of the hill with the tower is in the highest of them three miles
at least. And these places we call the Upper Region; accounting the air between the high
places and the low, as a Middle Region. We use these towers, according to their several
heights, and situations, for insolation, refrigeration, conservation and for the view of divers
meteors; as winds, rain, snow, hail; and some of the fiery meteors also. And upon them, in
some places are dwellings of hermits,3 whom we visit sometimes, and instruct what to
observe.
We have great lakes, both salt, and fresh; whereof we have use for the fish and fowl.4
We use them also for burials of some natural bodies: for we find a difference in things buried
in earth or in air below the earth, and things buried in water. We have also pools, of which
some do strain5 fresh water out of salt and others by art to turn fresh water into salt. We have
also some rocks in the midst of the sea, and some bays upon the shore for some works,

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wherein is required the air and vapor6 of the sea. We have likewise violent streams and
cataracts, which serve is for many motions; and likewise engines for multiplying and
enforcing of winds, to set also on going diverse motions.
We have also a number of artificial wells and fountains in imitation of the natural
sources and baths; as tincted7 upon vitriol, sulphur, steel, brass, lead, nitre and other minerals.
And again we have little wells for infusions of many things, where the waters take the virtue
quicker and better, than in vessels or basins. And amongst them we know a water which we
call Water of Paradise, being, by that we do to it made very sovereign8 for health, and
prolongation of life.
We have also great and spacious houses where we imitate and demonstrate meteors;
as snow, hail, rain, some artificial rains of bodies and not of water, thunders, lightnings; also
generations of bodies in air; as frogs, flies, and divers others.
We have also certain chambers, which we call Chambers of Health, where we
qualify9 the air as we think good and proper of the cure of diverse diseases, and preservation
of health.
We have also fair and large baths, of several mixtures, for the cure of diseases, and
the restoring of man’s body from rarefaction: and others for the conforming of it in strength
of sinewes,10 vital parts and the very juice and substance of the body.
We have also large and various orchards and gardens; wherein11 we do not so much
respect beauty, as variety of grounds and soil, proper for divers trees and herbs: and some
very spacious, where trees and berries are set whereof we make divers kinds of drinks,
besides the vineyards. In these we practice likewise all conclusions of grafting12 and
inoculating, as well of wild-trees as fruit-trees, which produceth many effects. And we make
(by art) in the same orchards and gardens, trees and flowers to come earlier or later than their
seasons; and to come up and bear more speedily than by their natural course they do. We
make them also by art greater much than their nature; and their fruit greater and sweeter and
of differing taste, smell, colour, and figure,13 from their nature. And many of them we so
order, as they become of medicinal use.
We have also means to make divers plants rise by mixtures of earth without seeds;
and likewise to make divers new plants, differing from the vulgar; to make the tree or plant
turn into another.
We have also parks and enclosures of all sorts of beasts and birds which we use not
only for a view of rareness, but likewise for directions and trials; 14 that thereby we may take
light what we wrought upon the body of man. Wherein we find many strange effects; as
continuing life in the though divers parts, which you count vital, be finished and taken forth;
resuscitating of some that seem dead in appearance; and the like. We try also all poisons and
other medicines upon them, as well of chirurgery,15 as physic.16 By art likewise, we make
them greater or taller than their kind is; and contrariwise dwarf them, and stay their growth:
we make them more fruitful and bearing than their kind is; and contrariwise 17 barren and not
generative.18 Also we make them differ in colour, shape, activity, many ways. We find means
to make commixtures and copulations19 of different kinds; which have produced many new
kinds, and them not barren, as the general opinion is. We make a number of kinds of
serpants,20 worms, flies, fishes, of putrefaction; whereof some are advanced (in effect) to be
perfect creatures, like beasts or birds; and have sexes, and do propagate. Neither do we this by
chance, but we know beforehand,21 of what matter and commixture what kind of those
creatures will arise.
We have also particular pools, where we make trials upon fishes, as we have said
before of beasts and birds. We have also places for breed and generation of those kinds of
worms and flies which are of special use, such as are with you silkworms and bees.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) compost: gunoi, bălegar, compost; (2) vantage = vantage point: a place or position
affording a good view of sth.; (3) hermit: sihastru, pustnic, eremit; (4) fowl [faul]: pasăre,
zburătoare; orătanie; (5) to strain: a strecura, a filtra; (6) vapor = steam: aburi; (7) tincted < to
tinct: a imprima, a vopsi; (8) sovereign = healing, wholesome: vindecător, de leac; (9) to

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qualify: to change, to alter; (10) sinewes = sinews: muşchi; tendoane; vine; (11) wherein: in
which, where; (12) grafting: altoire; grefare; (13) figure: a shape; (14) trials: tests;
experiments; (15) chirurgery = surgery; (16) physic: medicine; (17) contrariwise: contrarily,
conversely; (18) barren and not generative: sterp, steril; (19) commixtures and copulations:
interbreeding; (20) serpants: serpents, snakes; (21) (to know) beforehand: in advance, in
anticipation.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616)

His early years: We know very little of the life of the greatest British poet and
dramatist; no one took pains to document Shakespeare’s career, and it is not easy to construct,
out of the few facts, dramatic and impersonal materials he has left us, a very clear or self-
consistent idea of his personal character. Much supposition surrounds relatively little factual
evidence. We know, from the evidence of his contemporaries, that he was amiable, kindly,
and sweet-tempered; but we do not know much more. Matthew Arnold says:
‘Others abide our question – thou art free! / We ask and ask. Thou smilest and art still. /
And thou, whose head did stars and sunbeams know, / Self-schooled, self-scanned, self-
honoured, self-secure, / Did’st walk on earth unguessed at. Better so!’
Born on April 22nd or 23rd, 1564, in a small house in Henley Street, Stratford-on-Avon,
Warwickshire, William Shakespeare (the grandson of a tenant farmer and the son of a locally
prominent merchant – a shopkeeper who made and sold gloves and other leather goods) was
the third of eight children (or the eldest of six children, according to other sources);
Shakespeare’s family was well off during his boyhood.
Although very little is known about how he spent his early years or on when and how
he got involved with the London theatre, one can easily infer from circumstantial sources that
he spent his early years in the lovely Midland country, among the sweet English meadows
bordered by lofty elms, which form one of the beauties of Warwickshire. On this beautiful
country he looked back during the whole of his busy life in London, always longing to return,
always hoping to live and die there. His earlier works – notably Venus and Adonis, give
ample evidence of his love for, and thorough knowledge of, his Midland county, of the Vale
of Arden, the woods of Charlecote, of their wild-flowers, their game, their country sports and
country customs, and of the old legends and superstitions that were prevalent in the country-
side. His description of the hunted hare (in Venus and Adonis) is well known:
“Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch / Turn, and return, indenting with the
way;
Each envious brier his weary legs doth scratch, / Each shadow makes him stop, each
murmur stay.”
As the son of one of the wealthier citizens, he probably had a good basic education in
the town’s grammar school – but we have few if any facts to prove this; we can suppose that
he was sent early to the Free Grammar School of Stratford-upon-Avon, where they still show
his desk and the window at which he sat. This was a ‘petty school’, where he acquired the
rudiments of an education that would be continued at the King’s New School. The daily
routine seems to have been rather hard: classes began early in the morning – normally at six,
the classes were long, the holidays infrequent; he possibly sat for his own portrait in As You
Like It – the portrait of
“The whining schoolboy with his satchel / And shining morning face…, creeping like
snail / Unwillingly to school.”
He probably did not learn very much at the Grammar school, chiefly because his
education was interrupted, and he had to leave school at the too early age of thirteen. In the
16th century little was taught in schools apart from Latin, and Ben Jonson tells us that
Shakespeare had “small Latin and less Greek” (although we know for a fact that education
was centred on Latin – in the upper forms, the pupils were forbidden to talk English). The
probability is that he had no Greek at all; but there is good evidence to show that he was a fair
Latin scholar, and could read Ovid and Virgil with ease and pleasure to himself. The pupils of

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the then schools would learn by heart numerous fragments from Plautus,220 Terence,221
Virgil,222 and Ovid.223
His leisure hours seem to have been given to outdoor sports – to hunting, to hawking,
and to angling. In these pursuits he took delight, and his knowledge of Nature and her ways is
visible on every page of his work. These experiences supplied him with many sources of
illustration and analogy, upon which he draws freely in his plays. In his youth, too, he gained
some knowledge of actors and the stage. His father had risen to be bailiff of Stratford (he
subsequently became chief alderman, or bailiff); and in his year of office the corporation of
the town admitted for the first time two conpanies of London actors to the temporary freedom
of the borough.
Between the years 1573 and 1581 – that is, from Shakespeare’s ninth to the
seventeenth year – nine companies of strolling players visited the town, and no doubt gave a
series of representations to the inhabitants.
Young William must also have been familiar with the great festivities held at
Kenilworth, which is only fifteen miles away, when the Queen visited Robert Dudley, Earl of
Leicester in 1575; the grand performances then organized by the Earl of Leicester to honour
the Queen must have been a general venue.
His father, John Shakespeare, met with some misfortunes in business, so he had to
diminish his expenses, and in 1577 the son left school and had to look about for some means
of earning a living for himself.
His marriage: At the very early age of eighteen, while a mere youth, and with no
career before him, he drifted into marriage. His wife was Anne Hathaway, the daughter of a
respectable yeoman in Shottery, a pretty village within easy reach of Stratford. She was eight
(or ten) years older than Shakespeare; and the future great dramatist, in Twelfth Night, warns
the young against this display of age on the wrong side. He was married in 1582; a daughter,
Susannah, was born in 1583 – six months after the wedding. (This does not mean, as some
scholars believe, that Shakespeare was forced into marriage: Elizabethan morals were fairly
relaxed, after all); twins, Hamnet and Judith, came in 1585; and thus Shakespeare found
himself the father of a considerable family before he was well twenty-two. This (and the fact
that Shakespeare’s parents were no longer so well off) decided him to seek better
opportunities of making a living than those Stratford could give him – and he left it to seek
his fortune in the capital. According to an apocryphal account, he was apprenticed to a
butcher because of his father’s declining financial situation. The prosperity of country towns
like Stratford was diminishing as the city of London and its international markets grew, and
so Shakespeare left home to find a way of earning a living. There is a tradition, too (although
the story is unverified) upon which some reliance can be placed, that his departure from his
native town was hastened by a breach of the game laws, then so strict. He was prosecuted for
deer-poaching (i.e. hunting without a license) by Sir Thomas Lucy, owner of Charlecote, who
showed undue severity towards him. Long afterwards he took revenge on the knight by
immortalising him in the farcical character of Mr. Justice Shallow in Henry IV, Henry V and
The Merry Wives of Windsor. The farmhouse in which Anne Hathaway lived is still in

220 Plautus ['pl:ts] (c. 254-184 BC): Roman dramatist, author of at least 56 comedies, free adaptations
from Greek originals, of which only twenty survive: his Menaechmi was the source of inspiration for
Shakespeare’s The Comedy of Errors.
221 Terence ['terns] – Latin Publius Terentius Afer (190-159 BC): Roman dramatist, author of several

comedies, based on Greek models, out of which only six survived to our time (the best-known being The
Eunuch, 161 BC).
222 Virgil / Vergil ['v:dl] – Latin Publius Vergilius Maro (70-19 BC): Roman poet who wrote the

Eclogues, a series of pastoral poems, the Georgics, inspired by the art of farming, and the Aeneid, the epic
recounting of the heroic deeds of Aeneas, the Trojan warrior who, according to the legend, settled in the
Italian Peninsula, accompanied by his followers, and was the founder of Rome; the Aeneid is Virgil’s
masterpiece.
223 Ovid ['vid] – Latin Publius Ovidius Naso (43 BC-AD 17): Roman poet whose works deal with love

(Amores, Ars amatoria), mythology (Metamorphoses), and exile (Tristia); he was banished by Emperor Augustus
to Tomi, on the Black Sea coast – i.e. today’s Constanţa.

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existence. It was bought by the nation in 1892, and is known as “Anne Hathaway’s Cottage”.
No one knows what Shakespeare did for a living before he arrived in London. An unverified
story says he worked in his early twenties as (i.e. at the turn of the 1580s) a country
schoolmaster or as a private tutor in the home of a wealthy family (that of Alexander
Houghton, a prominent Lancashire Catholic); some historians claim that he was caught up in
a secretive network of Roman Catholic believers.
London in Shakespeare’s time: William Shakespeare reached London (approx. 1588)
at a time that was teeming with great men, great events, great hopes, and splendid aspirations.
During the reign of Elizabeth I (1558-1603) and James I (1603-1625), a time of geographical
discovery, international trade, creativity and learning, but also a time of international tension
and internal revolts that came close to civil war, The foundation of the British Empire and of
the command of the seas were being laid. About that time great dramatists and poets like
Christopher Marlowe, Robert Greene, Thomas Nash, George Peele, Walter Rale(i)gh and
others lived and rioted in the capital; the exploits of Francis Drake excited the interest of the
Londoners, and formed the subject of talk in every tavern and wine-booth; the long rivalry
between Elizabeth and Mary Queen of Scots was nearing its close, and the preparations for
the Invincible Armada invasion had already begun. Thus the end of the 16th century was a
time of excitement, adventure, eager enthusiasm, ardent patriotism, such as England had
never seen before.
London was not then the unwieldy province, covered with houses that it now is; it
was less than one-tenth its present size; and the population numbered less than half a million.
It was a time when life in England was full of eagerness, high spirits, zest and enthusiasm,
vitality, strong hopes, and every kind of internal and external picturesqueness.
Sixteenth century London was a centre of government, learning, and trade, and
Shakespeare’s audience came from all these three fields; his plays had to entertain and gratify
the tastes of educated the lawyers and scholars, merchants, workers, apprentices (many of
whom were illiterate), but also of powerful nobles and royalty. Shortly after his arrival he
secured the patronage of Henry Wriothesley, 3rd Earl of Southampton. The next time we hear
of William Shakespear(e), at age 28, is from a pamphlet written by Robert Greene, a
playwright and writer of comic prose, who ridiculed Shakespeare (or Shake-scene), calling
him an uneducated actor who had the cheek to think he could write better plays than a
university graduate (like Greene himself); one indication of Shakespeare’s early popularity is
that Greene’s remarks drew complaints, and his editor publicly apologized to Shakespeare in
Greene’s next pamphlet. He had become both an actor and a playwright with London’s most
prestigious theatrical troupe, the Lord Chamberlain’s Men, headquartered in what seems to
have been the first professional theatre building erected since the fall of the Roman Empire; it
was called, simply, The Theatre (which, open to the sky, had a large platform stage bounded
on three sides by the audience. The stage was large (over thirty feet across), and was divided
into upper and lower acting levels, or tiers).
The Lord Chamberlain’s Men was later called the King’s Men, and performed in its
two theatres, the Globe Theatre and the Blackfriars.
Shakespeare seems to have lived about five and twenty years in London; but he was
always glad to journey down to Stratford and pay short visits there. By 1592 the young man
from Stratford-on-Avon was well thought of in London as an actor and a new playwright of
dignity and promise. Shakespeare’s professional life in London thrived thanks to a number of
financially advantageous arrangements which allowed him to share in the profits of his acting
company. As a direct result of this, his plays enjoyed special presentation at the courts of
Elizabeth I and James I. The incident in 1600, in which Robert Devereux, second Earl of
Essex (one of Elizabeth’s court favourites, and possibly her lover), accompanied by the Earl
of Southampton, attempted to storm the palace and overthrow her, must have left a great
impression on Shakespeare and his company, for they came very close to being executed with
Essex and his conspirators – one of whom had paid them a large sum to revive Shakespeare’s
Richard II (“the play of the deposing and killing of King Richard II”), in which a weak king is
forced to abdicate, as part of a propaganda campaign to justify Essex’s attempted coup d’état.
The performance, like the coup, apparently attracted little support. In the subsequent inquiry,

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however, Shakespeare’s company was absolved of complicity in the conspiracy; moreover,
Elizabeth knew the publicity value of mercy, and Shakespeare’s company performed for her
at the palace the night before the conspirators were hanged. Coincidence or not, within the
next two years Shakespeare wrote Hamlet, in which a play is performed in an unsuccessful
attempt to depose a king. (As a matter of fact, after several failed rebellions against the queen
– e.g. the rebellion of the northern lords, the Duke of Norfolk’s unsuccessful coup, the
Spanish Armada campaign, etc., her subjects were required to listen to sermons on civil
disobedience three times a year; the sermons followed a strict doctrine that the monarch was
God’s deputy on earth, and no subject had a right to oppose her. Rebellion against the
monarch was rebellion against God, a terribly grave sin, to be punished by chaos on earth and
eternal damnation for the rebels.)
James I (a Stuart, coming from a Scottish family), Elizabeth’s successor to the throne,
enjoyed theatrical entertainment, and under his reign Shakespeare and his colleagues rose to
unprecedented prosperity. In 1604 they were officially declared the King’s Men, which gave
them the status of servants to the royal household. As early as 1604, the historian W. Camden
quotes Shakespeare among the geniuses of that age.
Shakespeare’s son Hamnet died in 1596, about four years before the first performance
of Hamlet; whether he inspired the character of Hamlet in any way, we will probably never
know; some scholars have suggested that the approaching death of Shakespeare’s father (he
died in 1601) was another emotional shock that contributed to the writing of Hamlet.
Shakespeare dramatic production lessened after about 1608. He retired from the theatre in
1611 and went to live in Stratford, where he had bought the second biggest house in town
(called New Place), thus becoming a leading local citizen. Shakespeare died there on April
23rd, in 1616; his wife Anne died in 1623. Both Shakespeare’s daughters had married by the
time of his death. Judith’s two sons both died young and Susanna’s daughter Elizabeth had no
children, there are no descendants of Shakespeare today.
The famous rhyme, putting a curse on anyone who dares to disturb his grave, which
was inscribed on Shakespeare’s tombstone in the Stratford church, has led to to speculation
that manuscripts of unpublished works were buried with Shakespeare or that the grave may in
fact be empty because the writing attributed to him was produced by other hands. (A few
scholars have argued that contemporaries like Francis Bacon wrote plays attributed to
Shakespeare, but this notion is generally discredited – like the idea, in fact, that Shakespeare
was another name Christopher Marlowe wrote his plays under, subsequent to his ‘official
death’.) The tombstone rhyme is a final mystery, reminding us that it is only Shakespeare’s
work that has outlived the human existence, and it is only by reading it that we can know him.
Sources of his creation: Shakespeare’s readings from the Greek and Latin classics
were varied and vast, but he read translations rather than original versions. Among his
favourite authors were Ovid, Vergil, Terence, Plautus, Seneca, and Plutarch. He also read old
chronicles (e.g. that of Holingshed).
Shakespeare spoke good French, and he was acquainted with Montaigne’s Essays, as well
as Rabelais’s Gargantua (see As You Like It).
The Italian novella (or short-story) exerted a strong influence on the content of the
Elizabethan drama. Shakespeare borrowed the subject of Cymbeline, All’s Well That Ends
Well, The Merchant of Venice from Boccaccio, the subject of Romeo and Juliet, Much Ado
about Nothing and Twelfth Night from Mateo Bandello, and that of Measure for Measure and
Othello from Giraldi Cinthio.
English literature also provided other sources: Philip Sidney’s Arcadia offered
Shakespeare the subplot of King Lear, he also quoted his contemporaries Kyd, Lyly and
Peele. Another source of Shakespeare’s drama is the Bible. So, in all periods of creation (see
infra) Shakespeare’s plots were frequently drawn from chronicles, histories, earlier fiction,
written in English or not, or plays belonging to other contemporary dramatists.
Shakespeare’s earlier poems: William Shakespeare’s first poems – neither of them
dramatic in form – were Venus and Adonis and The Rape of Lucrece.

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 The first was written between the years 1585 and 1587, but it was not published till
1593. The date of writing the second work is not known, but the poem was certainly
published in 1594, when the poet was thirty years of of age. Venus and Adonis, written at the
same time as Marlowe’s Hero and Leander, tells the mythology-inspired story of Venus’s
love for a handsome youth, who was killed while hunting a boar. The subject is borrowed
from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Book X. It has two contrasting parts: the wooing and the hunt.
Finally, Adonis is metamorphosed into an anemone, or a hyacinth. Edmund Spenser and
Christopher Marlowe were Shakespeare‘s predecessors in the use of classical themes: cf. the
idea of ‘Mutability’, borrowed by Spenser from Lucretius, and the idea of Protean change,
borrowed by Marlowe from Ovid.
The realistic sense of the poem is undeniable: “Shakespeare eliminates nearly all the
mythology. A powerful instinct impels him towards reality. His goddess is a woman skilled at
love-making and ravaged by passion, and in Adonis we already have the young sport-loving
Englishman, annoyed and fretted by the enticements of a beautiful amorous courtesan…”
(Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit. 314). The elaborate ornament largely rests on on
stock-in-trade imagery: Adonis’ chastity is likened to a lily, or to snow, ivory, and alabaster,
he is compared to a snared bird, a hunted deer or roe, while Venus, the love-hungry goddess,
is compared to a wild bird, an eagle, a vulture, or a falcon. Indeed, the poem is written in the
most elaborate style; as many phrases as Shakespeare’s wealth of fancy and expression could
invent are heaped round each statement; the stanzas bristle with metaphors, conceits and
allusions, and it is plain that the whole story is a carefully worked-out poetical exercise. “The
story is but the excuse for a series of beautiful and voluptuous pictures in mellifluous, if
slightly ‘conceited’, verse” (George Sampson, op. cit., p. 227).
The same may be said of The Rape of Lucrece; actually, the title-page reads Lucrece,
though the headline is The Rape of Lucrece. Both Venus and Adonis and Lucrece, in spite of
the fashionable addiction to the ‘conceited’ verse and imagery, strongly manifest
Shakespeare’s love of nature and natural objects, and his power of accurate observation. “The
gentle lark, weary of rest, from his moist cabinet mounts up on high”, “as the snail, whose
tender horns being hit, shrinks backwards in his shelly cave with pain”; when Adonis smiles,
“in each cheek appears a pretty dimple: Love made those hollows, if himself were slain, he
might be buried in a tomb so simple”; these and a hundred other observations and conceits
and other clever and highly original poetical devices are to be found in both poems. This story
is seriously told. Yet, characterization is defective and rather flimsy. The poem is “at once a
pendant and a constrast to the preceding one” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p.
315). The speeches are longer, less appropriate than those in Venus and Adonis. The
undeniable qualities of the poem are its powerful eloquence, and in addition too much
exuberance. The fact remains that much of the literary praise Shakespeare-the poet got from
his contemporaries is due to these two early poems.
Here are the approximate dates when Shakespeare wrote his main poems: 1592 –
Venus and Adonis, 1593-94 – The Rape of Lucrece, 1593-1600 – Sonnets, 1600-1601 – The
Phoenix and the Turtle. Still, Shakespeare’s modern reputation is based mainly on the thirty-
eight (or thirty-nine) plays he wrote, or modified, or collaborated on. (Shakespeare’s 39th play
is considered to be Edward III. We only surmise the existence of another Shakespearean play,
Cardenio, now lost).
As to the dates when many Shakespearean plays were written, although it is very
difficult to determine them exactly (or to say when they were first performed), scholars have
made the following (plausible) guesses and estimations: 1588-93: The Comedy of Errors,
1588-94: Love’s Labour’s Lost, 1590-91: Second part of Henry VI, 1590-91 Third part of
Henry VI, 1591-92: First part of Henry VI, 1592-93: Richard III, 1592-94: Titus Andronicus,
1593-94: The Taming of the Shrew, 1593-95: The Two Gentlemen of Verona, 1594-96: Romeo
and Juliet, 1595: Richard II, 1594-96: A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 1596-97: King John,
1596-97: The Merchant of Venice, 1597: First part of Henry IV, 1597-98: Second part of
Henry IV, 1598-1600: Much Ado About Nothing, 1598-99: Henry V, 1599: Julius Caesar,
1599-1600: As You Like It, 1599-1600: Twelfth Night, 1600-01: Hamlet, 1597-1601: The
Merry Wives of Windsor, 1601-02: Troilus and Cressida, 1602-04: All’s Well That Ends Well,

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1603-04: Othello, 1604: Measure for Measure, 1605-06: King Lear, 1605-06: Macbeth, 1606-
07: Antony and Cleopatra, 1605-08: Timon of Athens, 1607-09: Coriolanus, 1608-09:
Pericles, 1609-10: Cymbeline, 1610-11: The Winter’s Tale, 1611-12: The Tempest, 1612-13:
Henry VIII.
Although arbitrary and subject to much dispute, the four periods into which
Shakespeare’s dramatic career was divided are as follows: the first period, involving
experimentation, clearly influenced by, or imitating Classical models, includes plays (viz.
Henry VI, Parts I, II, and III: c. 1590-1592, Richard III: c. 1593, and Titus Andronicus, as well
as The Comedy of Errors and The Two Gentlemen of Verona) which are characterized to a
certain degree by formal and rather evident construction and often stylized verse.
The second period includes his most important plays concerned with English history
(viz. Richard II: c. 1595, Henry IV, Parts I and II: c. 1597, King John, and Henry V: c. 1599),
his so-called joyous comedies (viz. A Midsummer Night’s Dream: c. 1595-1596, Love’s
Labour’s Lost, the tragicomedy The Merchant of Venice: c. 1594-1598, the witty comedy
Much Ado About Nothing: c. 1598-1599, the lyrical comedies As You Like It: c. 1599, and
Twelfth Night: c. 1601, and also The Merry Wives of Windsor: c. 1597), and two major
tragedies (viz. Romeo and Juliet: c. 1595, and Julius Caesar: c. 1599). This period can be
described as historical and lyrical. It is during this period of creation that Shakespeare’s
approach and style became highly individualized.
The third period of creation includes his greatest tragedies (viz. Hamlet: c. 1601,
Othello, Macbeth, Ling Lear, Timon of Athens, Coriolanus, Antony and Cleopatra) and his so-
called dark or bitter comedies (viz. All’s Well That Ends Well, Troilus and Cressida, and
Measure for Measure). This can be labelled ‘the Age of the Dark Vision’ (cf. Ivor Brown,
Shakespeare, p. 180); his third-period comedies were called ‘problem plays’, because they
leave unanswered questions. The tragedies of this third period undoubtedly represent the most
profound literary achievements of his dramatic work. A highly distinctive token of
Shakespeare’s mature tragedies is their unmistakeable technical virtuosity, as well as the
density of their language. Shakespeare’s poetic idiom became a rare, extremely supple
dramatic instrument capable of recording and rendering the deep shifts and nuances of human
thought and the various dimensions of the dramatic situations sounded. Shakespeare was now
a mature, versatile, skilled artist: “The complete technical mastery of these plays thus has
behind it some fifteen years’ experience in the writing of poetic drama, years in which
Shakespeare had learnt to master every difficulty and to take advantage of every opportunity
offered by his stage; to perfect also a verse ‘so rammed with life’ that it could be at the same
time dramatically effective, compressed, fluid, subtle, and exact – an almost transparent
medium for the experience it defines; or so we should say if it were not through the ‘medium’
itself that the experience was simultaneously brought to consciousness and defined.” (L.C.
Knights, ‘King Lear and the great Tragedies’, in The New Pelican Guide to English
Literature, (2) The Age of Shakespeare, edited by Boris Ford, p. 331)
The fourth period of dramatic creation (which could be described as ‘Fancy Free’)
includes Pericles, Cymbeline, The Winter’s Tale, The Tempest and Henry VIII. In this fourth
period Shakespeare’s style blossomed in the romantic tragicomedies – plays combining an
exotic, highly symbolic point of view and atmosphere with a greater complexity of vision.
1) Shakespeare’s apprenticeship to the drama (1588-1596):
Shakespeare’s first work in connection with the theatre seems to have been the
touching, re-touching, patching-up and re-writing parts of old plays, which had for some time
been in the repertoire of the players. By the year 1592 he had touched up the play of Titus
Andronicus and The First Part of Henry VI. By 1595 he had recast the second and the third
parts of the same play. He had also written some of his most popular plays, such as The
Comedy of Errors, Love’s Labour’s Lost, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and the historical
play of Richard III. These belong to what has commonly been called his ‘First Period’. It was
in fact the period of youthful ardour and exuberant passion and expression. To the same
period belong the plays of Romeo and Juliet, Richard II, and King John – plays which show
an enormous power of rhetoric, with a delight in the countless manners of varying the
expression of one idea, and in bringing all kinds of figures to add force, liveliness and

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picturesqueness to his work. This first period can be mainly seen as Shakespeare’s artistic /
poetic apprenticeship: “For this aspect of his creative searchings shows us clearly that at the
beginning of his dramatic career, Shakespeare tried various ways, sought and failed before
acquiring the qualities which have made of him an exceptional artist. Shakespeare’s art did
not appear ready-made, it was not born out of Zeus’ head or the foam of the sea, but in the
process of fight and quest”. (A. Anixt, Postface to Shakespeare, vol. 2, 1958, apud Leon D.
Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 57)
2) Shakespeare’s second period (1596-1602): This period is opened by his
production of The Merchant of Venice; it is in this play that he clearly shows the fact that he
had become a master in the dramatic art. He also wrote (about 1597) the two parts of Henry
IV, and he continued the character and the doings of Sir Joh Falstaff in The Merry Wives of
Windsor. The play Henry V was written in 1599, and in the same year the Globe Theatre was
built. Shakespeare was one of the proprietors.
The delightful comedies Much Ado About Nothing, Twelfth Night, and As You Like It
were also produced between 1598 and 1601, and he is said to have taken the part of Adam in
the last of these plays.
The Sonnets, completed between 1595 and 1605, but first published in 1609, and
numbering 154 pieces, established Shakespeare’s reputation as a gifted and popular
Renaissance poet, and have subsequently been subject to much criticism. It is easily
conceivable that his sonnets must have been circulated in manuscript prior to their
publication. The Sonnets were published by Thomas Thorpe (in 1599, he included several of
Shakespeare’s sonnets in a miscellany of poems, entitled The Passionate Pilgrim); unlike this
collection, the 1609 one was not repudiated by Shakespeare himself. Thorpe made matters
worse by adding a dedication to a mysterious Mr. W. H. Nowadays it appears obvious that
Thomas Thorpe printed from a transcript by someone other than Shakespeare himself.
Beyond this delusive and irrelevant dedication, are the sonnets, as solid pieces of
genuine poetry. They describe the devotion of a character, often identified as the poet himself,
to a young man whose beauty and virtue he praises and to a mysterious and faithless dark
lady, with whom the poet is infatuated. The ensuing triangular situation, resulting from the
attraction of the poet’s friend to the dark lady, is treated with passionate intensity and deep
psychological insight. Some critics, namely Jan Kott, have likened the sonnets to a drama,
having a plot and four characters: the first-person narrator, a young man, a woman, and Time.
Associations were made, by a number of critics, between the Dark Lady (i.e. ‘dark-eyed’) and
various female characters in Shakespeare’s plays (e.g. Rosaline in Love’s Labour’s Lost, Julia
in The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Hermia in Midsummer, or the unfaithful Cressida in
Troilus and Cressida).
The Sonnets are prized for their exploration of love in all its aspects, and poems like
Sonnet 18 (seemingly an exquisite celebration of a young man’s beauty), Sonnet 19, Sonnet
30, Sonnet 91, Sonnet 116, Sonnet 119, Sonnet 130, count among the finest and most famous
love poems of all time.
Shakespeare’s sonnets are utterly remarkable both individually and as a group of
poetic works. It is generally agreed that: Sonnets 1 to 126 are addressed (by the lyrical
character most often identified with the poet himself) to a handsome youth, who is mainly
described as a ‘sweet boy’, ‘my lovely boy’, or as having ‘a woman’s face’, and whose virtue
is spotless; this has caused some critical discomfort over the years – cf. the famed Sonnet 18,
which, as said before, is not dedicated to a woman, contrary to the common opinion of
today’s readership; seen from this angle, the sonnets, even if lacking any autobiograpical hint,
are certainly unconventional. A fundamental ambiguity of choosing a lover – either male or
female – inspires most of the sonnets (cf. Shakespeare’s early comedies, The Two Gentlemen
of Verona, The Merchant of Venice, and the romantic comedy Twelfth Night, where friendship
and love are at times opposed, while at other times times they overlap, in the tensed triangle
of erotic ambiguities formed by the main characters).
In broad lines, in these sonnets we are told the story of the poet’s betrayal by the
handsome youth, while another poet tries to win the youth’s favours. In the first sonnets of

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this opening section, the poet’s friend is entreatingly called upon to marry, and so reproduce
his beauty in a child as a legacy to posterity.
Sonnets 127-152 are addressed to a dark (or ‘black’) married woman, whom the poet
is infatuated with, but who proves wanton, perversely shallow and seducing. It is in this series
that the so-called ‘vituperative sonnets’ are included; the poet speaks ill of the dark lady’s
morals, disparages her appearance, and expresses self-disgust at his association with her.
Sonnets 153 and 154 are generally considered as conventional exercises: actually,
they are just two versions of a Greek epigram on Cupid, who has lost his brand (i.e. his
sword); some critics do not even consider them as belonging to Shakespeare.
After much detective-like investigation work, some literary critics established
different arrangements of the Sonnets than that in the 1609 edition. All those efforts and time-
consuming proceedings mainly concerned the identity of the mysterious “Mr. W.H.” (whether
he was Henry Wriothesley, 3rd Earl of Southampton, or William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke),
whether the handsome young man was the same person as “Mr. W. H.” or not, who the Black
(or Dark) Woman was, if the order of the poems is (chronologically or logically) right,
whether they tell a consistent story (and what, if anything, in this story belongs to
Shakespeare’s own youth), when the sonnets were written, etc. However, the arrangement of
the sonnets was not entirely haphazard. Some of the poems in the second group seem to refer
to events that actuated the writing of sonnets in the first group.
Critical assessments ranged from considering the sonnets a sequence of literary
exercises, very much in vogue at the time,224 to believing that they are a complete, accurate,
unembellished and undistorted account of intimate details of the poet’s very life. These two
extremes are equally unacceptable: the former depicts Shakespeare as a fickle, shallow-
minded literary creator, while the latter can show him too much of an exhibitionist. The
reality is that they ought to be read as literary texts having their own set of values and ‘literary
world’. On the other hand, some critics went as far as attributing the Shakespearean Sonnets
to other authors. The fact is that …”the story and characters of the sonnets resemble nothing
in the plays”…; and their ‘external’ story is of very little interest for serious literary criticism:
“The sonnets of Shakespeare, we repeat, should be read as a collection of poems, not as an
imperfect and impossible detective story…”. Moreover, “we must not fail to remember that
the author of the sonnets was also a dramatist” (George Sampson, op. cit., p. 228).
This sonnet sequence constitutes, from the angle of content, an internal drama of rare
complexity and great psychological depth, and from the angle of form, some of the finest
poems ever written in English. Among the main points of literary novelty the Sonnets display
count the dramatic oscillation between idealizing and rejecting love and the exploration of
inner self, both set in contradistinction to the conventions of courtly love.
What essentially distinguishes Shakespeare’a sonnets from the similar productions, of
which there was an impressive abundance at the time, is the fact that they were pregnant with
philosophical and aesthetic ideas, literary motifs and themes (see also Leon Leviţchi, op. cit.,
pp. 154-170).
For instance, the idea of transience / transiency (the ‘Time, the (great) Tyrant’
theme, or the ‘fugit irreparabile tempus’ of antiquity, or Edmund Spenser’s ‘mutability
cantos’ in Book VII of The Faerie Queene), is poetically voiced in Sonnet 2, Sonnet 5, Sonnet
15, Sonnet 16 (“this bloody tyrant, time”), Sonnet 19 (“Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion’s
paws”), Sonnet 39, Sonnet 60, Sonnet 63 (“time’s injurious hand”), Sonnet 64, Sonnet 65,
Sonnet 100, Sonnet 123, Sonnet 126; the idea of “Like will unto like” (i.e. things similar
being attracted by one another), e.g. Sonnet 8, Sonnet 74; action versus stagnation, e.g.
Sonnet 9, Sonnet 25; Beauty vs. Ugliness (or ‘Let beauty live, and let ugliness perish‘), e.g.
Sonnet 1, Sonnet 11, Sonnet 95; the (inter)play of identity (or ‘essence vs. appearance’), e.g.
Sonnet 13, Sonnet 36, Sonnet 39, Sonnet 43, Sonnet 46, Sonnet 53, Sonnet 84, Sonnet 121;
the dialectics of change and contradiction, e.g. Sonnet 35, Sonnet 92, Sonnet 94; the
dialectics of cause and effect: Sonnet 10, Sonnet 120; the relationship between ‘contents’

224“Sequences of sonnets about love, real or assumed, became an irresistible poetical fashion during the
decade from 1590 to 1600” (George Sampson, op. cit., p. 228).

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and ‘vessel’ / shape: Sonnet 5, Sonnet 69, Sonnet 98; the ‘mirror-image’ / ‘reflection’ (of
humanity): Sonnet 3, Sonnet 62, Sonnet 77, Sonnet 103; the reverse (or paradoxical)
dialectics: Sonnet 11, Sonnet 14, Sonnet 16, Sonnet 95; the ‘world as a stage’, e.g. Sonnet
13, Sonnet 15, Sonnet 23; man’s victimization by a hostile society, e.g. Sonnet 66 (which
accumulatively describes the wrong ways of the world, very much like Hamlet’s famous
tirade, and has long been a favourite locus of Marxist criticism), Sonnet 140; man / flesh as
perishable existence vs. art / poetry as eternal essence – or the ancient motto, taken over
from Horace, “Exegi monumentum (aere perennius)”, previously used, in English letters, by
Edmund Spenser: e.g. Sonnet 17, Sonnet 18, Sonnet 19, Sonnet 24, Sonnet 25 (with the
additional idea of “ubi sunt”), Sonnet 55, Sonnet 60, Sonnet 63, Sonnet 71, Sonnet 81 (“Your
monument shall be my gentle verse”), Sonnet 104, Sonnet 107 (whose final couplet is one of
the most memorable in the whole series: “And thou in this shalt find thy monument / When
tyrants’ crests and tombs of brass are spent”), Sonnet 108; the task and limits of art: Sonnet
103, Sonnet 105, Sonnet 106, Sonnet 127 (with the additional celebration of ‘dark beauty’);
the power and truth of art: Sonnet 82, Sonnet 83, Sonnet 85, Sonnet 130, Sonnet 147; music:
Sonnet 8, Sonnet 128; death, the great enemy and leveller: Sonnet 6, Sonnet 31, Sonnet 32,
Sonnet 68, Sonnet 71 (where procreation is seen as the only means of defence against death),
Sonnet 72, Sonnet 73, Sonnet 81, Sonnet 146; the value and work of imagination: Sonnet 27;
the power of love: Sonnet 29, Sonnet 30, Sonnet 32, Sonnet 33, Sonnet 38, Sonnet 39, Sonnet
42, Sonnet 51, Sonnet 72, Sonnet 76, Sonnet 88, Sonnet 91 (love opposed to social
preferment and wealth); Sonnet 92, Sonnet 93, Sonnet 96, Sonnet 105, Sonnet 107, Sonnet
108, Sonnet 115, Sonnet 116, Sonnet 117, Sonnet 118, Sonnet 119, Sonnet 124, Sonnet 136,
Sonnet 137, Sonnet 138, Sonnet 139, Sonnet 141, Sonnet 142, Sonnet 143, Sonnet 144,
Sonnet 145, Sonnet 147, Sonnet 148, Sonnet 149, Sonnet 150, Sonnet 151, Sonnet 152,
Sonnet 153, Sonnet 154. Interestingly, Sonnet 39 echoes the myth of the androgyn (cf. Plato’s
Banquet), and in Sonnet 20 it appears literally: “master-mistress”. Also, the influence of
Renaissance painting can be detected, as in Sonnet 20 (“A woman’s face…”), or Sonnet 53,
where male characters had androgynous features.
The artistic value of the Sonnets is mainly given by their highly original, carefully
contrived, language, style and prosody.
Thus, their main images (e.g. the metaphors, similes and epithets) are borrowed from
nearly all the provinces of human existence: crafts and trade, animal and vegetal life, hunting,
weaponry, heraldry, courtly life, fashion, mythology, religion, the arts, politics, sciences, e.g.
astronomy, medicine, philosophy, etc. It is worth noting that, while using them, Shakespeare
also questioned these tropes, as methods of verisimilar rendering of the ‘truth’ of reality (see
Sonnet 130: “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?…”).
Most Shakespearean sonnets teem with daring verbal associations, which can go as
far as defying the syntax or the logic of the language (Sonnet 23: “to hear with eyes”), Sonnet
31 (“all the all of me”), Sonnet 35 (“that sweet thief which sourly robs from me”), Sonnet 43,
Sonnet 51, Sonnet 58, Sonnet 62, Sonnet 65, Sonnet 88, Sonnet 109, Sonnet 112 (“You are
my all the world”, “my adder’s sense”), Sonnet 151 (“Proud of this pride, / He is contented
thy poor drudge to be”), etc.
They are also remarkable for the use of the ’concetti’ (typically Elizabethan figures
of poetic diction), as in Sonnet 48, Sonnet 70, Sonnet 75, Sonnet 80, Sonnet 86 (“Making
their tomb the womb wherein they grew”), Sonnet 89, Sonnet 97, Sonnet 110, Sonnet 114,
Sonnet 118, Sonnet 119, Sonnet 134, Sonnet 136 (“Will will fulfil…”), Sonnet 143, Sonnet
146; the use of the puns (some sonnets were even called ‘punning sonnets’), e.g. Sonnet 78
(“But thou art all my art”), Sonnet 135 (“Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will, / And
Will to boot, and Will in overplus…”).
The wide use of antithesis and the oxymoron observes an already long-established
tradition in European poetry, e.g. Sonnet 20 (using the oxymoron: “the master-mistress of my
passion”), Sonnet 42, Sonnet 54, Sonnet 115 (“certain o’er incertainty”), Sonnet 149 (“But,
love, hate on…”), etc.
The use of repetition, also in keeping with the literary taste of the day, partial to
every accumulative and emphatic literary device, is also noticeable, e.g. Sonnet 64 (using

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syntactic repetition: each quatrain begins with “When…”), Sonnet 66, Sonnet 91, Sonnet 96,
Sonnet 105, Sonnet 111 (distance syntactic repetition “Or whether doth my mind… / … / Or
whether shall I say…”), Sonnet 129 (repetition-cum-variation: “Past reason hunted… / Past
reason hated…”), Sonnet 130, Sonnet 144, Sonnet 152 (extended syntactic repetition: “In
loving thee… / … / In act… / In vowing…”), etc. Repetition is sometimes used in
conjunction with various other accumulative devices, such as enumeration, e.g. Sonnet 66,
Sonnet 129.
As far as the prosody-related devices are concerned, alliteration holds a special
place, e.g. Sonnet 30 (“When to the sessions of sweet silent thought / I summon up
remembrance of things past…”), Sonnet 57 (“like a sad slave stay…”), Sonnet 66 (“…I leave
my love alone”), Sonnet 75 (“Or as sweet-seasoned showers…”), Sonnet 125 (“For
compound sweet forgoing simple savour…”), etc.
Their form may be called ‘English’ (now, it is generally called ‘Shakespearean’,
though devised somewhat earlier, through the experiments in versification undertaken by
Wyatt – i.e. Sir Thomas Wyatt, who, alongside Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, took over the
regularity of the Italian metre, giving it a new, English, identity).
Wyatt’s model was Petrarch’s sonnets,225 which he adapted: a Petrarchan sonnet has
fourteen lines, divided eight and six, with abba, abba – cdcdcd rhyme. Wyatt’s contribution
lies in the fact that most of his sonnets ended with a couplet / distich. Surrey took over this
form (which was accidental, or maybe deliberate with Wyatt) and turned it into, as well as
establishing it as, what is now called ‘the Elizabethan sonnet’ (a fixed form at times also
called ‘Shakespearean sonnet’, made up of three quatrains with alternate rhymes, and a final
couplet: abab, cdcd, efef, gg).
3) The third period of creation (1602-1608): William Shakespeare’s third period
opens with the immortal play Hamlet. Then followed, but at intervals, the three great Roman
plays of Julius Caesar, Antony and Cleopatra, and Coriolanus. Between the years 1604 and
1606 were produced the greatest of his tragedies: Othello, Macbeth, and King Lear; and in
these we remarkably see the culmination of his genius. These plays not only show a larger
knowledge of the dramatic art, but they give ample evidence of a deeper and wider experience
of human life.
Hamlet seems to have been written and produced sometime in 1600 or 1601, roughly
the midpoint of Shakespeare’s career. The plot of Hamlet was adapted from a story that had
first appeared in the twelfth-century, called Historiae Danicae, or ‘History of the Danes’, by
Saxo Grammaticus, popularized in a sixteenth-century French tale. The French version,
certainly known to Shakespeare, was included in François de Belleforest’s series of “tragic
tales” (Histoires Tragiques), a work that also provided Shakespeare with the plots for Romeo
and Juliet and Othello. Another Elizabethan play about Prince Hamlet (known to us through
various references made at the time) appeared not long before Shakespeare’s, but it was
eclipsed by Shakespeare’s enormously popular version; it may have been written by Thomas
Kyd, author of the popular The Spanish Tragedy, and is referred to by modern scholars as the
Ur-Hamlet (‘original version of Hamlet’). Both plays belong to a dramatic sub-genre, very
popular in Shakespeare’s day, known as ‘the Revenge Tragedy’, indebted to the Roman
tragedies written by Seneca (which distinctively included such violent elements as murders,
ghostly apparitions, scenes of madness, bloody vengeance finales with the stage strewn with
corpses).
Antonio’s Revenge, a play by John Marston, which appeared at about the same time
as Shakespeare’s Hamlet, sharing many devices with the latter, is now acknowledged as not
having been included on the list of Hamlet’s literary sources.
Hamlet is the story of a man given to meditation, to metaphysical speculation, whose
will has been weakened, and even atrophied, by inaction. “He is an observer and critic both of
himself and of others. He can understand and mock, whereas he ought to set himself sternly to
his piece of work”. This thinker, who is so fond of burying himself in his own thoughts,

225 Petrarch (in Italian Petrarca), Francesco: Italian poet (1304-1374), who wrote Il Canzoniere, a
collection of love sonnets dedicated to his idealized beloved lady (never a mistress to him), Laura.

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suddenly finds himself in a situation where he is called on to act against those who are nearest
and some who are dearest to him; and he considers and procrastinates. At last the whole
edifice of crime and deceit breaks in pieces and and falls on his head, burying along with
himself innocent and guilty alike. Hamlet is probably the most varied and the most full of
movement movement of all Shakespeare’s plays. There are in it all sorts of conditions of men;
there is supernatural; there is the pathetic fate of Ophelia; there is poisoning; there is war;
there is play-acting; there is comedy; there is the saddest and the deepest tragedy. The
incredible variety of mood, rhythm, poetic diction and technique of the play has been noticed
virtually by every Shakespeare commentator, from Samuel Johnson to 20 th century criticism:
“If the dramas of Shakespeare were to be characterized, each by the particular excellence
which distinguishes it from the rest, we must allow to the tragedy of Hamlet the praise of
variety. The incidents are so numerous, that the argument of the play would make a long tale.
The scenes are interchangeably diversified with merriment and solemnity; with merriment
that includes judicious and instructive observation, and solemnity, not strained by poetical
violence above the natural sentiments of man. New characters appear from time to time in
continual succession, exhibiting various forms of life and particular modes of conversation”
(Samuel Johnson, op. cit., vol. VIII, 1765, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la
începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 98-99); “Such a play as he conceived, a tragedy of
character in which the tragic element is thrown into relief by a strain of comedy, demands
every variety of verse and every diversity of speed. In the writing, therefore, he not only
raised the poetry to a new pitch of tragic intensity, but drew on all the previous styles,
modifying them, however, and subduing them to the theme, incorporating them in the action
and in character, making them, in a word, completely dramatic, instead of employing them to
fashion ornamental appendages and dazzling candenzas.“ (F.E. Halliday, op. cit., 1954, p.
134, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 102)
According to most estimates, Hamlet has been the subject of more than 40,000
critical works; prince Hamlet may be the most complex character any playwright has ever
placed onstage. It is a fact that over the centuries critics have offered a multitude of
explanations for Hamlet’s behavior, but none of them has wholly been able to “pluck out the
heart of my mystery,” as Hamlet himself puts it. For instance, eighteenth- and nineteenth-
century theatre-goers saw him as the classic ideal of the Renaissance courtier, poet, and
philosopher. The earliest view was that Hamlet is simply a victim of circumstances, but later
critics saw him as a beautiful but ineffectual soul who lacked the strength of will to avenge
his father, rather than a deeply troubled young man who strives for philosophy and poetry. In
view of Hamlet’s occasional cruel behaviour, one can argue that either Shakespeare had badly
assimilated such crudities from his source material, or Hamlet is himself a crude and
unpleasant character, and his poetic and philosophical speeches merely sugarcoat the bitter
pill.
Actually, this is an extremely complex text, which can be analysed and interpreted
under different angles, and by means of various critical approaches or methods; from a
historical-biographical point of view, the play is seen as highly autobiographical (Hamlet, as
characterised by Ophelia or Claudius, stands for the Earl of Essex, etc.); the moral-
philosophical approach presents Hamlet as an idealist unsuited for life because of his
temperament, subject to successive devastating discoveries; labelled by some as a maniac-
depressive neurotic or psychotic, a case of maniac-depressive hysteria combined with abulia,
or of a neurotically repressed Oedipus complex,226 some other critics consider Hamlet a man
of action with limited means. (In fact, this ‘melancholy’ attitude draws some historical

226Freud’s disciple Ernest Jones asserted that Hamlet was a victim of the Oedipus complex, that is, a desire
to take his father’s place in his mother’s affections, a desire that would naturally trigger intense feelings of
guilt if the father suddenly died. A number of critics consider Hamlet’s misogyny and latent homosexuality,
both resulting from his alleged repression of the unconscious incestuous impulses. The unlikely possibility
has even been proposed by some (i.e. fairly few) commentators, that Hamlet is a woman who has been
brought up as a man in order to provide the throne with an heir, thus explaining Hamlet’s reluctance to
commit the “masculine” act of revenge.

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support from the Elizabethan belief that every human is dominated by one of the four mental
conditions called humors, each caused by the dominance in the body of one internal organ
and its secretions: Hamlet would have been seen by Shakespeare’s contemporaries as a victim
of the melancholy humour, which was especially associated with thinkers and philosophers –
but this interpretation does not explain Hamlet’s frequent jokes and his many attempts at
action). Still other critics called Hamlet a vacuum rather than a fully-rounded man: his
identity waits to be filled with modern interiority. Dr. Samuel Johnson excuses Hamlet’s
shortcomings when he writes that in the Elizabethan age speculation had not yet attempted to
analyze the mind, to trace the passions to their sources, or sound the depths of the hearts for
the motives of action.
By placing stress on the detection and analysis of recurrences / key-words such as
“world”, “nature”, etc., the formalist approach tries to define and study man’s place in the
‘great chain of being’ (Cosmos – State – Nature – Man): for instance, Denmark is a “prison”,
and the royal palace a mere cell in it. The “seem”–“be” opposition / interplay is also a
formalist clue: is the Hamlet Ghost an evil force or not? In an uncertain world, Hamlet seems
to be mad and the people around him seem to be hostile (or are they?). The dark side of the
plot was said to be the thrown in bold relief by the word “night”, as another formalist-
symbolic expression discoverable in the play. Hamlet’s words “maimed rites” has also been
seen as a key-phrase of the play: one can argue that Hamlet is a political play made up of a
series of broken, truncated ceremonies: Hamlet spoiling the crowning ceremony, Claudius,
interrupting the performance of the play, the skull of the dead Yorick implying the absence of
a jester in office at the court, Hamlet’s unfinished death speech, etc.
Mythically and archetypally, the story of Hamlet could be envisioned as an
illustration of a myth, rather than a playwright’s invention. Hamlet can be conceived as the
saviour of his own nation (v. the famous quotation: “there’s something rotten in the state of
Denmark”, where social chaos is covertly associated with disease), through his own sacrifice;
so, Hamlet can be seen as the Prince-Hero who must act as a royal scapegoat. Thus the finale
is actually the enactment of the ancient, archetypal pattern of sacrifice-atonement-catharsis.
Seen from a symbolical angle, the play deserves the claim to universality it has constantly
been credited with by the majority of the critics: “Hamlet comes first among the greatest of
Shakespeare’s dramas that can claim to be at once extremely individual and universal. Here
the struggle between man and his destiny, man and the pitfalls of evil, man and his phantoms,
his temptations, his contradictions, takes place on a high plane, where it can claim to stand
symbolically for mankind“ (Henri Fluchère, op. cit., 1953, pp. 207-208, apud Leon D.
Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 101).
Leaving aside the critical methods and trends, one can see Hamlet first and foremost
as a dramatic persona, and also as a specific person, made up of various impulses and moods;
a person of exceptional intelligence and sensitivity, brought up to occupy a high station in
life, and then suddenly confronted with a violent and terrifying situation in which he must
take drastic (and rapid) action, Hamlet will naturally veer between extremes of behavior,
hesitating, demanding proof, looking for the most appropriate way to carry out his task,
perpetrating barbaric, violent or unjust actions. Hamlet is a sensible as well as a highly
sensitive man, conscious of the good and bad points in every step he takes, which renders the
act of revenge particularly tormenting and painful: revenge is not Christian, and Hamlet is a
Christian prince, it is not rational, and Hamlet is / acts like a philosopher, it is not gentle, and
Hamlet is a gentleman. He cannot approach this duty in a mechanical, unquestioning way, and
he has qualms about it, which is the immediate cause of his violent emotions, and his
shocking final imbalance. The old tribal code is ceaselessly questioned by this modern mind.
Placing the conflict within the hero’s consciousness gives universal value to the play, and the
protagonist’s motives and actions could well become transparent if the reader / spectator
addresses himself to Hamlet’s human faculty.

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 Shakespeare develops and enriches the images used in Hamlet, by constantly varying
them till they acquire general meanings within the fabric of the play, e.g. poison in the ear, a
mirror (or glass), disease and rotting things, the sun, acting and hypocrisy, madness, etc.
Here is a brief selection of critical views and attitudes concerning Shakespeare’s
masterpiece, put forward by leading authorities in the field of literature over the centuries (i.e.
in the 18th, 19th and 20th centuries); try to account for their (at times, extreme) variety.
(1) Samuel Johnson, from the notes to his edition of Shakespeare’s Dramatic Works,
1765: “…We must allow to the tragedy of Hamlet the praise of variety. The incidents are so
numerous, that the argument [i.e. the summary] of the play would make a long tale… The
action is indeed for the most part in continual progression, but there are some scenes which
neither forward nor retard it. Of the feigned madness of Hamlet there appears no adequate
cause, for he does nothing which he might not have done with the reputation of sanity. He
plays the madman most, when he treats Ophelia with so much rudeness, which seems to be
useless and wanton cruelty.”
(2) Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, from Wilhelm Meister, Book V, 1795: “Tender and
nobly descended, this royal flower [Hamlet] grew up under the direct influences of majesty;
the idea of the right and of princely dignity, the feeling for the good and the graceful, with the
consciousness of his high birth, were unfolded in him together. He was a prince, a born
prince. Pleasing in figure, polished by nature, courteous from the heart, he was to be the
model of youth and the delight of the world… A beautiful, pure, noble and most moral nature,
without the strength of nerve which makes a hero, sinks beneath a burden which it can neither
bear nor throw off…”
(3) Samuel Taylor Coleridge, from Notes and Lectures on Shakespeare, 1808: “One
of Shakespeare’s modes of creating characters is to conceive any one intellectual or moral
faculty in morbid excess, and then to place himself, Shakespeare, thus mutilated or diseased,
under given circumstances. In Hamlet he seems to have wished to exemplify the moral
necessity of a due balance – between our attention to the objects of our sense and our
meditation on the working of our minds – an equilibrium between the real and the imaginary
worlds. In Hamlet this balance is disturbed; his thoughts and the images of his fancy are far
more vivid than his actual perceptions… Hence we see a great, an almost enormous,
intellectual activity, and a proportionate aversion to real action consequent upon it... This
character Shakespeare places in circumstances under which he is obliged to act on the spur of
the moment: Hamlet is brave and careless of death; but he vacillates from sensibility, and
procrastinates from thought, and loses the power of action in the energy of resolve... He
mistakes the seeing of his chains for the breaking of them, delays action till action is of no
use, and dies the victim of mere circumstance and accident.”
(4) August Wilhelm Schlegel, from Lectures on Art and Dramatic Literature, 1809:
“Hamlet is single in its kind: a tragedy of thought inspired by continual and never-satisfied
meditation on human destiny and the dark perplexity of the events of this world, calculated to
call forth the very same meditation in the minds of the spectators... Respecting Hamlet’s
character, I cannot pronounce altogether so favourable a judgment as Goethe’s... The
weakness of his volition is evident: He does himself only justice when he says there is no
greater dissimilarity than between himself and Hercules. He is not solely impelled by
necessity to artifice and dissimulation; he has a natural inclination to go crooked ways; he is a
hypocrite towards himself, his far-fetched scruples are often mere pretexts to cover his lack of
resolution... he is too much overwhelmed with his own sorrow to have any compassion to
spare for others... On the other hand we evidently perceive in him a malicious joy when he
has succeeded in getting rid of his enemies more through necessity, and accident, which are
alone able to impel him to quick and decisive measures, than from the merit of his courage...
Hamlet has no firm belief in himself or anything else... The destiny of humanity is here
exhibited as a gigantic Sphinx, which threatens to precipitate into the abyss of skepticism
whoever is unable to solve her dreadful enigma.”
(5) William Hazlitt, from Characters of Shakespeare’s Plays, 1812: “Hamlet is a
name: His speeches and sayings but the idle coinage of the poet’s brain. What, then are they
not real? They are as real as our own thoughts. Their reality is in the reader’s mind. It is we

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who are Hamlet... We have been so used to this tragedy, that we hardly know how to criticize
it, any more than we should know how to describe our own faces... It is the one of
Shakespeare’s plays that we think of oftenest, because it abounds most in striking reflections
on human life, and because the distresses of Hamlet are transferred by the turn of his mind, to
the general account of humanity. Whatever happens to him we apply to ourselves, because he
applies it to himself as a means of general reasoning... [He] is not a character marked by
strength of will, or even of passion, but by refinement of thought and sentiment... He is the
prince of philosophical speculators, and because he cannot have his revenge perfect,
according to the most refined idea his wish can form, he misses it altogether... His ruling
passion is to think, not to act; and any vague pretense that flatters this propensity instantly
diverts him from his previous purposes... The character of Hamlet is made up of undulating
lines; it has the yielding flexibility of ‘a wave o’ th’ sea.’”. Speaking about the empathy value
of the play: “Hamlet is a name: his speeches and sayings are but the idle coinage of the poet’s
brain. What then, are they not real? They are as real as our own thoughts. Their reality is in
the reader’s mind. It is we who are Hamlet. This play has a prophetic truth. Which is above
that of history” (William Hazlitt, op. cit., 1871, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de
la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 99)
(6) Hippolyte-Adolphe Taine, from History of English Literature, 1866: “[Hamlet] is
not master of his acts; occasion dictates them; he cannot plan a murder, but must improvise it.
A too-lively imagination exhausts energy by the accumulation of images, and by the fury of
intentness which absorbs it. You recognize in him a poet’s soul, made not to act but to dream,
which is lost in contemplating the phantoms of its own creation, which sees the imaginary
world too clearly to play a part in the real world; an artist whom evil chance has made a
prince, whom worse chance has made an avenger of crime, and who, destined by nature for
genius, is condemned by fortune to madness and unhappiness.”
(7) George Henry Lewes, from On Actors and the Art of Acting, 1875: “Much
discussion has turned on the question of Hamlet’s madness, whether it be real or assumed. It
is not possible to settle this question... Shakespeare meant Hamlet to be in a state of intense
cerebral excitement, seeming like madness. His sorrowing nature has suddenly been ploughed
to its depths by a horror so great as to make him recoil every moment from a belief in its
reality. The shock, if it has not destroyed his sanity, has certainly unsettled him.”
(8) George Bernard Shaw, from his review of Johnston Forbes-Robertson’s
production of the play, in Our Theatres in the Nineties, Vol. 3, 1897: “[Hamlet] is a man in
whom the common personal passions are so superseded by wider and rarer interests, and so
discouraged by a degree of critical self-consciousness which makes the practical efficiency of
the instinctive man on the lower plane impossible to him, that he finds the duties dictated by
conventional revenge and ambition as disagreeable a burden as commerce is to a poet. Even
his instinctive sexual impulses offend his intellect; so that when he meets the woman who
excites them he invites her to join him in a bitter and scornful criticism of their joint
absurdity... all of which is so completely beyond the poor girl that she naturally thinks him
mad. And, indeed, there is a sense in which Hamlet is insane; for he trips over the mistake
which lies on the threshold of intellectual self-consciousness: That of bringing life to
utilitarian or Hedonistic tests, thus treating it as a means instead of an end.”
(9) Benedetto Croce, from Shakespeare, 1929 (apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura
engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 100-101): “In general, Hamlet has been
considered to be Shakespeare’s tragedy of tragedies, the work into which the poet has put
most of himself, in which he has expounded his philosophy and has provided the key for so
many questions. But, speaking more rigorously, Shakespeare has not put here neither more
nor less of himself than in any other play, if we refer to his poetry, philosophy, opinions about
life and reality – these are not in a greater number than in the others, perhaps there are even
fewer, because it is more perplexing and erratic than the other plays, and even the monologue
to be or not to be…, although highly poetic, is irreducible to a syllogism or to a problem of
philosophy.”

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 (10) A. C. Bradley, from Shakespearean Tragedy, Lecture 3, 1904: “One would judge
that by temperament [Hamlet] was inclined to nervous instability, to rapid and perhaps
extreme changes of feeling or mood... This temperament the Elizabethans would have called
melancholic... Next, we cannot be mistaken in attributing to [him] an exquisite sensibility to
which we may give the name “moral.”... To the very end, his soul, however sick and tortured
it may be, answers instantaneously when good and evil are presented to it, loving the one and
hating the other... Now, in Hamlet’s moral sensibility there undoubtedly lay a danger. Any
great shock that life might inflict on it would be felt with extreme intensity. Such a shock
might even produce tragic results...”
(11) Thomas Stearnes Eliot, from “Hamlet and His Problems,” in Selected Essays,
1920: “So far from being Shakespeare’s masterpiece, the play is most certainly an artistic
failure. In several ways [it] is puzzling and disquieting as is none of the others... Probably
more people have thought Hamlet a work of art because they found it interesting, than have
found it interesting because it is a work of art. It is the “Mona Lisa” of literature... The only
way of expressing emotion in the form of art is by finding an “objective correlative”; in other
words, a set of objects, a situation, a chain of events which shall be the formula of that
particular emotion... and this is precisely what is deficient in Hamlet. Hamlet (the man) is
dominated by an emotion, which is inexpressible, because it is in excess of the facts as they
appear... Hamlet is up against the difficulty that his disgust is occasioned by his mother, but
his mother is not an adequate equivalent for it; his disgust envelops and exceeds her. It is thus
a feeling which he cannot understand; he cannot objectify it, and it therefore remains to
poison life and obstruct action. None of the possible actions can satisfy it; and nothing that
Shakespeare can do with the plot can express Hamlet for him... We must simply admit that
here Shakespeare tackled a problem that proved too much for him. Why he attempted it at all
is an insoluble puzzle; under compulsion of what experience he attempted to express the
inexpressibly horrible, we cannot ever know.”
(12) Ernest Jones, from Hamlet and Oedipus, 1949: “Whenever a person cannot bring
himself to do something that every conscious consideration tells him he should do – and
which he may have the strongest conscious desire to do – it is always because there is some
hidden reason why a part of him doesn’t want to do it; this reason he will not own to himself
and is only dimly, if at all, aware of. That is exactly the case with Hamlet... The more intense
and the more obscure is a case of deep mental conflict, the more certainly will it be found on
adequate analysis to center about a sexual problem… [Hamlet’s] long “repressed” desire to
take his father’s place in his mother’s affection is stimulated to unconscious activity by the
sight of someone usurping this place exactly as he himself had once longed to do. More, this
someone was a member of the same family, so that the actual usurpation further resembled
the imaginary one in being incestuous. Without his being in the least aware of it, the ancient
desires are ringing in his mind, are once more struggling to find conscious expression, and
need such an expenditure of energy again to “repress” them that he is reduced to the
deplorable mental state he himself so vividly depicts.”
(13) Harley Granville-Barker, in Prefaces to Shakespeare, Vol. I, 1946: “Yet his
soul’s adventure, which seemed but to lead him to defeat, was heroic too. For if men shirk
such perils, how are these high matters to be brought home to spiritual freedom? Nor will
mere intellectual venturing suffice, if lively faith, in its health and strength, is to be found and
enjoyed again. Hamlet, being called upon, flings his whole being – mind and affections both,
the best and the worst of him, weakness no less than strength – into the trial. And he widens
the issue till he sees eternal life and death, his own and his enemy’s, at stake. He will
reconcile himself, as he is and in all he is, with these now unveiled verities of this world and
the next, if that may be. In which Promethean struggle towards the light he is beaten – as who
has not been? – with havoc wrought, not in him only, but by him, even to his own despite. It
is nonetheless a heroic struggle. Here, for me, is the master-clue to Hamlet’s “mystery.” The
“sane” world around him has naturally no sense of it, nor the too sane spectator of the play.
He does not pluck out the heart of it himself. Neither are we meant to. For his trouble is
rooted in the fact that it is a mystery.”

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 Julius Caesar might better have been called “The Fall of Caesar”. Brutus and Cassius
are the chief characters, and Antony is the chief orator. Antony and Cleopatra is a
“divinisation of pleasure, followed by the remorseless Nemenis of eternal law.” Cleopatra is
endlessly attractive. ‘Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale / Her infinite variety.’
Coriolanus gives the story of “the ruin of a noble life through the sin of pride”. His
pride is “two-fold, a passionate self-esteem which is essentially egoistic; and secondly a
passionate prejudice of class” (Dowden).
The tragedy of Othello is the tragedy of a “free and lordly creature taken in the toils
and writhing to death”. He loves Desdemona vithout limit. He trusts Iago in the same degree.
Iago administers the poison of suspicion, which ferments in his mind, and produces distrust,
hatred, and finally murder and suicide. The convention of the ‘slanderer believed”, which is
used in Othello, goes as far back in time as the biblical story of Joseph and Potiphar’s wife.
Regarding the character of Othello, a tradition has emerged in 20th century criticism, basically
opposing the image of the “noble Moor” and that of the “brutal egotist” (the self-centered,
lustful, possessive lover who sees in matrimony a mere source of self-satisfaction and social
preferment). This private and psychological drama, in which the characters gradually reveal
themselves, is structured within a continuous, well-knit game of assertion and negation played
by Iago, the villain; the latter’s assertion-through-negation special rhetoric is really
remarkable through its persuasiveness. Iago, the double-dealer, overtly admits that “I am not
what I am” (cf. the almost permanent Shakespearean – and baroque – interplay opposing
appearance and reality / essence); furthermore, he is a man tormented by both suppressed and
frustrated sexual desires, pent-up jealousy, and a schizophrenic mind, racked with a
puritanical sense of guilt. On the other hand, Othello is a ‘cultured barbarian’, covertly
discriminated against by Venetian society, a victim of ‘otherness’ (the position of the
‘stranger’ / the ‘alien’). Othello can aspire to the status of a heroic defender of an (i.e. his
own) idealized reality, as the mirror-image of Iago, the cunning theorist of human
profoundness (not necessarily wholesome or just).
From an artistic point of view, the play stands apart through its conciseness and
definiteness of conception, as well as the clearness of the interrelationship of its constitutive
elements: “In Othello all is silhouetted, defined, concrete… The persons here are truly
separate… Othello, Desdemona, Iago, are clearly and vividly defined. All here – but Iago –
are solid, concrete. Othello is statuesque, Desdemonda most concretely human and individual,
Iago… is quite unique. Within analysis of these persons and their interaction lies the meaning
of Othello.” (G. Wilson Knight, The Othello Music, in Shakespeare Criticism, vol. II, pp.
351-355, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p.
113)
Macbeth, generally considered Shakespeare’s most ‘Senecan’ tragedy, is the story of
an excessively ambitious man, who allows himself to be too easily persuaded by an even
more ambitious wife. The movement of the play is rapid, and the action of the plot is
condensed; there is an alternation of courage and fear in the general rhythmic pattern. The
gloomy, dark atmosphere, imbued with foreboding, substantiating, and accounting for, the
supernatural in Macbeth, is materialized by the Witches / the Weird Sisters, no than than the
numerous spirits, apparitions, fiends, “couriers of the air”, as many external, ghastly symbols
of the protagonist’s inward ambition. Hamlet is the very opposite of Macbeth. The former
thinks too much and acts too seldom; the latter acts too rapidly, rushes into action and seldom
reflects, when reflection can mean nothing but remorse. Hamlet is a student and a thinker;
Macbeth is a soldier and a general. Since Shakespeare did not want to stick to the historical
truth – so, the play is actually the tragedy of the rise and fall of an individual (with Macbeth
in the role of the rider of the swinging Wheel of Fortune), rather than a chronicle play; in
actual fact, the cyclic structure of the play is rather obvious: at the end, Macduff is the ‘king-
maker’ and the now legitimate monarch’s support, just as Macbeth was to Duncan at the
beginning. Macbeth gradually becomes a compulsory killer. Some other structural patterns
are notable: if Lady Macbeth is the “Mr. Hyde” (i.e. demonic, dark) side of her husband’s ego
(one of Shakespeare’s few negative female characters – see also the feminine title character in
B.P. Haşdeu’s Răzvan şi Vidra), Banquo, Macbeth’s best friend, stands for his conscience or

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alter-ego, the “Dr. Jekyll” side of the protagonist’s conscience. A forward-looking play,
Macbeth displays the tragedy of a hero who tries hard (yet vainly) to control the future (cf.
Oedipus’ case, in the Greek tragedy). Macbeth is also a highly topical play (vs. the traditional
‘morality play’ view entertained by most critics) if considered against the background of the
historical events of the period: the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, and also Shakespeare’s
introduction into the royal service when king James I ascended to the throne.
At the same time – and essentially – Macbeth is a real masterpiece of dramatic
concentration in point of structure / patterning, and emotional substance: “…An ambitious
man with his thoughts, both before and after the crime, not upon the reasons which would
impel or justify him, but upon those which would deter him. Still more noticeably than in
Othello, the dramatist has deliberately passed over the motives or justifications – Macbeth’s
grievances against Duncan, the king’s feeble government and his general’s stronger and juster
one in the sequel – furnished him in the source. The contrast, again, the emotional effect, was
what he was seeking” (E.E. Stoll, op. cit., pp. 77-78, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura
engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 124). The same quality, of seeking the
essence of things through concentration, can be perceived in the author’s handling of poetic
language: “In Macbeth, with an abnormality and evil in experience, Shakespeare presents the
most poetical of his characters, who is sensitive to experience, who knows no element of self-
deception, whose nerves have been hardened from their early terror by a desperate course of
ambition (…) In approaching this presentation of Macbeth, Shakespeare uses a great
concentration of language: what had previously been an extended simile is now a metaphor,
and what had been a phrase finds its condensation into a single word. An example which has
frequently been quoted can be found in the lines spoken by Macbeth: ‘my way of life / Is
fall’n into the sear, the yellow leaf.’ (V.3.22)” (Ifor Evans, op. cit., pp. 160-161, apud Leon D.
Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, pp. 124-125)
King Lear shows us the contrast between stormy passion in Lear himself; there is
criminal selfishness in his two daughters; there is sweet and loyal fidelity in Cordelia, Kent,
and the Fool. The play can be considered along the same ethic and gnosis-related lines as The
Book of Job in the Bible, where the idea of justice is analysed; it could also be viewed as the
drama of the man who longs to understand the Universe (cf. the Greek tragedy); the
protagonist wants to understand the seeming injustice of the gods, man’s lack of humanity to
his peers; moreover, Lear embarks on a journey leading to self-knowledge, even redemption.
The sinner gradually becomes a thinker, the sufferer becomes a moral philosopher, a sage.
The construction of the play observes the main character’s centrality, which mainly accounts
for the play’s mature achievement: “King Lear is, indeed, for most of the play, ‘the centre of
consciousness’; what he sees we are forced to see. But the question, ultimately, is not what
Lear sees but what Shakespeare sees, and what we, as audience, are prompted to see with
him. At the end, however poignantly we may feel – Lear’s suffering is one of the permanent
possibilities, and we know it – we are still concerned with nothing less than the inclusive
vision of the whole; and it is that which justifies us in asserting that the mind, the imagination,
so revealed, is directed towards affirmation in spite of everything. Other readings of the play
are possible, and have been made. But those who think that it is ‘pessimistic’, that it is no
more than a deeply moving contemplation of man’s helplessness, should consider a
remarkable and obvious fact; that the tragedies written after King Lear everywhere proclaim
an intellectual and imaginative energy that, in the firmness of its grasp, the assurance of its
sense of life, shows no sign of perplexity, fear, or strain. For what takes place in King Lear
we find no other word than renewal.” (L.C. Knights, King Lear, in Some Shakespearean
Themes, 1960, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol.
II, pp. 121-122)
The fact that it has a full double plot (i.e. the Gloucester sub-plot, echoing the main
plot), the use of the “disguised speech” convention, and also the sheer display of madness and
stage violence (King Lear is actually Shakespeare’s only mature tragedy that resembles Titus

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Andronicus as far as violence is concerned)227 single it out among the great Shakespearean
tragedies. Goneril and Regan are, alongside Lady Macbeth, the only fully negative female
characters to be met with in Shakespeare’s dramatic work. It will be worth noting that, unlike
Hamlet and Macbeth, the forward-looking dimension is absent, and the bad characters, the
villains, do not have defined goals (they do not try to avenge themselves, they are not urged
by jealousy, etc.). On the other hand, (verbal) communication in this play is impaired: “not
hearing properly” is one of the key issues in King Lear, as the silent spells are also
meaningfully resonant. Also characteristically, symbolism and mythic elements are plentifully
made use of; likewise, the elements of natural description are abundant, and so are those
appertaining to (pagan) folk tradition: allusions to various customs, legends, ballads,
superstitions and rituals, all making up a fully articulate, symbolic archaic atmosphere
(engrafted, of course, on the mediaeval, knightly setting of the plot itself). What the majority
of the critics legitimately appreciated was the play’s close-knit conception and achievement:
“The tragedy of Lear is deservedly celebrated among the dramas of Shakespeare. There is
perhaps no play which keeps the attention so strongly fixed; which so much agitates our
passions, and interests our curiosity. The artful involutions of distinct interests, the striking
opposition of contrary characters, the sudden changes of fortune, and the quick succession of
events, fills the mind with a perpetual tumult of indignation, pity, and hope. There is no scene
which does not contribute to the aggravation of the distress or conduct of the action, and
scarce a line which does not conduce to the progress of the scene.” (Samuel Johnson, Edition
of Shakespeare, vol. VI, p. 158, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi
pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 120); the critique has also constantly emphasised the primacy of
emotion in the play, entwined with the profundity of the archetypal perspective: “In no other
of the plays, I think, unless it be Macbeth, are we so conscious of the force of an emotion
overriding, often, a character’s self-expression, and of a vision of things to which the action
itsef is but a foreground.” (H. Granville-Barker, King Lear, in Prefaces to Shakespeare, 1927,
apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 121)
A minor tragedy of the same period (not entirely Shakespeare’s, it seems), Timon of
Athens was at times related by Shakespearean criticism to King Lear: “Where shall we class
Timon of Athens? Immediately below Lear. It is a Lear of the satirical drama, a Lear of the
domestic or ordinary life – a local eddy of passion on the high road of society, while all
around are the weekday goings-on of wind and weather.“ (S.T. Coleridge, 1809, apud Leon
D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 118). Seen as a ‘moral
fable’, Timon of Athens is equally fierce in its indictment of human society: “…Timon is
Shakespeare’s Gulliver, a fierce and sweeping indictment of the ideals and social ethics of the
age, an indictment largely consonant with popular opinion of the times. In Lear, Shakespeare
depicts the social chaos consequent upon the abdication of royal authority; in Timon of
Athens, upon the economic ruin of the nobility.” (J.W. Draper, 1934, quoted by Royal
Shakespeare Theatre, 1965, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă
la 1648, vol. II, p. 118)
4) The fourth period (1608-1613): The chief plays in this last period are Cymbeline,
The Winter’s Tale, The Tempest and Henry VIII; it is in the last productive year of his life that
he wrote, along with Fletcher, the play of Henry VIII. For three years he preserved complete
silence, and died in the year 1616, on April 23 – his birthday and St. George’s Day – at the
age of fifty-two.
The Winter’s Tale is an example of fierce jealousy, which becomes more and more
unjust as the play goes on. The jealousy of Leontes is not like the jealousy of Othello; it is the
jealousy of a small and even spiteful soul.

227“The play [i.e. Titus Andronicus] is one of the least plausible of those composts of blood and rape and
revenge which the crude invention and gusto for spiced violence of the Elizabethans have handed down
for this astonished if not revolted contemplation of posterity (…) The whole impression of the play is one
of crude vigour and unreality.” (M.R. Ridley, Shakespeare’s Plays, 1937, p. 15, apud Leon D. Leviţchi,
Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 56)

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 The Tempest is the last great play written by Shakespeare – but not his last play:
“Criticism of The Tempest has long been influenced by the notion of Shakespeare’s ‘Last
Play’. Critics have tended to look for, and find to their satisfaction, a final statement, the
summing-up of a lifetime’s experience. The assumptions on which these conclusions are
based are, perhaps, less than proven. Henry VIII is likely to be his work, either wholly or in
collaboration with John Fletcher, and there are reasons to believe that he may have had a hand
in The Two Noble Kinsmen. Given these possibilities, it seems rash to argue that the Epilogue
to The Tempest represents a consciously final gesture of farewell on Shakespeare’s part to his
audience and his art.“ (L.C. Knights, ‘King Lear and the great Tragedies’, in The New Pelican
Guide to English Literature, (2) The Age of Shakespeare, edited by Boris Ford, p. 347). By
and large, Prospero, the Duke of Milan, can be conceived as representing Shakespeare
himself in his retirement. Prospero, like Shakespeare, is a great enchanter; but when justice
has been done and forgineness extended to the wrong-doers, he breaks his magic wand,
buries, where they cannot be recovered, his books of the dark art, dismisses his spirits of the
air, and returns to his dukedom to do the work of the common day. In the same way,
Shakespeare, in the year 1611, seems to have laid aside his pen, as he had previously doffed
the buskin of the actor. Indeed, The Tempest seems to have been intended as a sort of artistic
crowning – a ‘Finis coronat opus’ play: “Of all the plays of Shakespeare, The Tempest is the
most striking instance of his creative power. He has there given the reins to his boundless
imagination, and has carried the romantic, the wonderful, and the wild, to the most pleasing
extravagance…” (Thomas Warton, The Tempest, in The Adventurer, No. 93, apud Leon D.
Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 137)
The Tempest is a play of forgiveness and final reconciliation, a masterpiece of the
good-humoured human perspective. (“Exquisite as the theme is, it is comparatively slight, and
The Tempest has neither the sublimity nor the splendour of the great tragedies, but, as
Prospero summons all the ministers of his magic for the final trial of his art to make his last
play a worthy consummation of his life’s work, and for sheer beauty, above all for the beauty
of its poetry, it is unsurpassed. Not for the perfection of single lines is the poetry remarkable,
for the later the play, the less important is the line as a melodic unit (…) but for the phrase
perfected by its relationship to the speech or the episode as a whole (…) All is reconciliation
and restoration: Prospero to his dukedom, Ferdinand to his father, the sleeping sailors to their
ship, Caliban to his island, and Ariel to the elements. Prospero has already given Miranda to
Ferdinand, and with her that for which he lives, yet one feels that the pang of parting from
Ariel was even greater. ‘Why, that’s my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee’, he says as Ariel helps
to attire him and sings his last song in anticipation of freedom, and in no other play are the
last words so moving as those of Prospero’s echoing Ariel – fare thou well…” (F.E. Halliday,
op. cit., pp. 183; 187, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la
1648, vol. II, p. 138). The moral of this play is that “the true freedom of man consists in
service.” Even Ariel and Caliban – the one “of the air / airy”, the other “of the earth earthy” –
are made to feel that. They find their truest and deepest freedom in “bonds of affection, bonds
of duty”. Significantly, The Tempest is almost entirely based on imagination, a cosmos-
creating type of artistic imagination which knows of no boundaries, ontic limitations or
stylistic conditions: “The Tempest is a specimen of the purely romantic drama, in which the
interest is not historical, or dependent upon fidelity of portraiture, or the natural connexion of
events, but is a birth of the imagination, and rests only on the coaptation and union of the
elements granted to, or assumed by, the poet. It is a species of drama which owes no
allegiance to time or space, and in which, therefore, errors of chronology and geography – no
mortal sins in any species – are venial faults, and count for nothing. It addresses itself entirely
to the imaginative faculty.” (S.T. Coleridge, The Tempest – in Lectures, apud Leon D.
Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 137)
Shakespeare’s character: William Shakespeare seems to have been universally
liked, and even beloved. He was an extremely companionable and attractive man. His friends
were unanimous in praising his character and disposition; and his fellow-citizens of Stratford
had for him unclouded respect and esteem. He was a well-built, handsome man; a large head
with fine hazel eyes, hair and beard auburn, features of remarkable serenity, and an

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expression at once of power and of refinement, characterise most of the traditional portraits.
He was fond of conversation, frequented the Mitre and other taverns, and had long talks with
his fellow-writers and actors. His ‘wit-combats’ with Ben Jonson were long renowned, even
after he had retired to New Place. Fuller compares Ben Jonson to a great heavy Spanish
galleon, slow of movement, difficult to turn, heavy laden with learning; while Shakespeare
was like an English ship, a rapid sailer, nimble in manoeuvre, and quick to take advantage of
every breeze.
His genius: The qualities of Shakespeare’s genius are so striking that they appeal to
persons of the most opposite character; his plays are very popular in every country, and there
is no side of human life which he has not depicted. John Milton speaks of “his native wood-
notes wild”, but this is misleading. Shakespeare’s wit, humour, and imagination were only
equalled by his skill and the sanity of his judgement. It was he who first gave to “the rudeness
of early drama” refinement, art, order, symmetry, and elevation. He is not only the greatest
dramatist, he is also the greatest poet that ever lived – that is, he surpasses all other poets in
the immense wealth of his imagination, in the compass of his creative powers, and also in his
richness of expression. He knew his fellow-men; and he has left us in his plays a gallery of
characters such as no other dramatist has given the human kind.
In comedy, there are the well-defined and infinitely humorous characters of
Malvolio, Dogberry and Verges, Nick Bottom, Launcelot, Touchstone and many more. In
tragedy, there is the perplexed Othello, the doubting Hamlet, the rash Macbeth and his wife,
the discrowned and despairing Lear, the revengeful Shylock. He has portrayed for us the men
and manners of all countries and of all ages – Athenians, Romans, Egyptians, Danes, Britons,
Italians, Englishmen. There are two things which mark all his plays – the intensity of life and
the boundless freedom of his handling. Nothing is too high for him, nothing too low; nothing
too noble or too common. He pays no attention to the rules of his art; he does not rebel
against these rules; he just ignores them. He cares nothing for the ‘unities of space and time’:
years are made to pass upon his stage, and even decades. Only in one of his plays, The
Tempest, does he observe the unity of time; three hours pass, and three hours is the length of
the representation of the play. His anachronisms are notorious; he puts Bohemia on the
seacoast, and wrecks a ship on its rocks. But, over and against all that, he introduces us to the
richest, most exuberant, most intense life; he touches a puppet, the puppet becomes a man,
receives a human heart, and glows with the most fiery passions.
Life, movement, struggle, variety – all these are found in every one of his plays,
dominating them from the first line to the very last.
“When he describes anything, you more than see it, you feel it too. Those who accuse
him to have wanted learning, give him the greater commendation; he was naturally learned;
he needed not the spectacle of books to read nature; he looked inwards and found her there”.
(Dryden)
Shakespeare’s comedies and romance plays are in fact an artistic synthesis joining
together literary tradition and remarkable personal innovation. Shakespeare’s main sources
were: Plautus and Terence, the fragments of humorous dialogue inserted between the serious
parts of mysteries or miracles, the interludes, the folk dramas of the 15th century, etc. His
immediate predecessors were Lyly, Greene and Peele.228
Roughly speaking, Shakespeare’s comedy, “a tale of trouble turned to joy”, is also a
genuine representation of human reality itself, rather than a mere merry story. In
Shakespeare’s romantic comedies, the scenes of discovery and reconciliation matter (they are
not studies of manners). In Shakespeare’s fourth period, the main pattern is provided by the
shift from the world of experience into the ideal world of innocence and romance.

228 In the phrases romantic comedies, romance comedies / plays the term ‘romance’ (Romanian
romantic) should refer one to romance – approximately Romanian “romanţ”, “povestire, roman (de
aventură sau dragoste)”, a term opposed by later literary theorists of the novel (e.g. Henry Fielding, in the
18th century) to the word novel – Romanian “roman (mai degrabă realist)”. One of the dramatic authors
who anticipated most of the stock-in-trade used by Shakespeare’s romantic comedies was Robert Greene
(1558-1592).

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 In As You Like It, a felicitous picture of the Man-Nature communion, in the luminous
atmosphere of the English countryside (the ‘old merry England’ of the already established
tradition), the author subtly emphasises the idea of (external) nature functioning as a possible
remedy for social and moral destruction and disorder / chaos, a refuge no less than a source of
moral restoration / improvement. A background for the action and a problem-solving element,
the forest (of Arden) is in the play an illustration of the pastoral / Arcadian side of nature,
completed by the image of a school that teaches “the sweet uses of adversity”. A complex
dramatic construction, As You Like It actually seems paradoxical when it comes to the reality-
dramatic-work-of-art relationship: “Shakespeare builds up his ideal world and lets his
idealists scorn the real one. But into their midst he introduces people who mock their ideals
and others who mock them. One must not say that Shakespeare never judges, but one
judgment is always being modified by another. Opposite views may contradict one another,
but of course they do not cancel out. Instead, they add up to an all-embracing view, far larger
and more satisfying than any one of them in itself… In As You Like It, ideals, though always
on the point of dissolving, are forever recreating themselves. They do not delude the eye of
reason, yet faith in them is not extinguished in spite of all that reason can do. ‘I would not be
cured, youth’, says Rosalind of her love.” (Harold Jenkins, 1955, apud Leon D. Leviţchi,
Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 94). In the play, love and humour
are perfectly intermarried, both as arguments of the plot and as devices of dramatic
construction: “He does not found his comedy on the sort of saturnalian simplification which
equates love with sensual gratification… As in metaphysical poetry, the humour functions in
the play as a whole to implement a wider awareness, maintaining proportion where less
disciplined and coherent art falsifies by presenting a part as though it were the whole” (C. L.
Barber, 1959, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II,
p. 94-95).
A ‘high-fantastical’ comedy (cf. Ivor Brown, op. cit.), one of the summits of
Shakespeare’s work in this genre (alongside Twelfth Night, and As You Like It, all of them the
product of a happy imagination, indulging in romantic dreams, where the music of the
phrasing is on a par with the power of wit), “Much Ado [about Nothing] signalized the final
conquest of the realm of comedy. There will never again be even a trace of the prentice hand.
It is not only, not even chiefly, that Shakespeare is now master, and securely easy master, of
all his tools; a man may be that, and still no more than a skilled craftsman, competent to
execute any part of a design, but not competent to design the whole. It is that Shakespeare can
now firmly grasp and control the whole of a complicated design, with a perfect sense of
balance and proportion, and can then execute it” (M.R. Ridley, op. cit., pp. 102-103, apud
Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 88). In this play,
the main dramatic and stage convention are masterfully substantiated, in both plot and
character-depiction: “The principal characters in Much Ado About Nothing, Benedick and
Beatrice, are both essences in their kind; his character as a woman-hater is admirably
supported, and his conversion to matrimony is no less happily effected by the pretended story
of Beatrice’s love for him” (William Hazlitt, Much Ado About Nothing, in op. cit., apud Leon
D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 87).
With William Shakespeare, Nature and Man can also be viewed through the lenses
of the fairy-land atmosphere, as in A Midsummer Night’s Dream and also – but only partially
– in The Tempest. In the former play, Nature is perceived, in terms of human existence,
through the mirrors of the essence-appearance interplay (Puck’s enchanted flower makes
Lysander leave Hermia, Titania loves Bottom the Weaver, etc.) – and the mountains, the
clouds, etc. seem but trivial things. In The Tempest, this relationship places Man on the
transcedent plane: by magic, Nature can be manipulated (by Prospero). In both these plays,
nature is conceived parallel to human (and godly) nature, as being situated on several planes –
it is a multi-layered existence: with the human, superhuman, and subhuman levels / planes,
respectively.

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 Human mind is the factor that gives a new appearance to Nature. Thus, the elixir can be
seen as an experiment meant to facilitate the perception of Nature in a different way.
Essentially, the human characters of the play are people of the full-fledged Renaissance,
craving for new knowledge, for the cosmic dimension; in addition to that, one may argue that
the very element of this experimental, initiatory transformation is a natural entity: a flower.
With Shakespeare, the very scenic production implies a special relationship with Nature:
present rather within the man’s mind, it does not need further emphasis as an objective reality.
Hence, those non-illusionistic techniques used in the Elizabethan age, in which awareness of
place, or natural setting was conveyed through dialogue, action and metaphor rather than
through naturalistic scenery – see the craftsmen’s performance of the mythological play – in
which the garden, the moon, the wall, etc. are replaced by gestures, placards, etc.
In The Tempest, external nature has a retributive or punitive function: the sea storm
raised by Prospero with the help of Ariel and the magic art ends in the metaphorical storm
raging in the souls of men. This storm makes them recover their better egos.
The same change in interhuman relationships can be noticed in A Midsummer Night’s
Dream. Here, it is mediated by the natural scenery: the conflicts between children and
parents, between the sternness of law in Athens and normal emotions, or between rulers and
ruled, are solved in “a forest near Athens” (in a rather heroically escapist, Robin Hood-like
fashion, one might say) – plus the obvious element of lyrical poetry. As a matter of fact, in A
Midsummer Night’s Dream, the interweaving of several plots, resulting in a fancifully
nonchalant atmosphere, with two pairs of noble lovers, a group of comic townspeople
characters, members of the fairy realm (viz. Puck, King Oberon, Queen Titania) testifies to a
profounder concern with the nature of the real. On the other hand, ‘real reality’ is implicitly
opposed to ‘artistic irreality’: “Long before The Tempest, and much more than The Tempest,
this play seduces and intends to seduce through its own irreality; it displays a drama of poetry
rather than poetry of the drama, with a fairly offhand boldness. In other plays, Shakespeare
will soon prefer to touch the simmering depths of great human passions; for now, he takes
pleasure in games of invention – which is more often than not superficial. This play is
fostered, one can say by quoting the distinction dear to Coleridge and Wordsworth, by fancy
rather than imagination” (A. Koszul, Introduction à Un songe d’une nuit d’été, Paris, 1938,
pp. X-XI, apud L. Leviţchi, op. cit., p. 78 – in our translation from French). There are three
‘tiers’ of humanity in the play: the coarse, gross one, respresented by the ‘mechanicals’ and
their antics, then the middle humanity of the three pairs of lovers, and finally the world of the
elves and sprites: the fleeting spirits, intercessory to love and fantasy. Annihilation of reason
within this great lyrical improvisation, based on mystic and folk lore, as well as mythological
loci – is magisterially illustrated and effected through the ineffable medium of fantasy,
intended and functioning here as the very literal counterpart of that ‘midsummer-madness’
specific to Saint John’s night’s archaic, essentially pagan celebration (cf. Rom. Sânziene, Fr.
la Saint Jean, etc.), which brings together and refines all that seethes and simmers in the
human brain. One of the key-elements of the poetic-fantastic atmosphere is the impish elf:
“Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, is the leader of the fairy band. He is the Ariel of the Midsummer
Night’s Dream; and yet as unlike as can be to the Ariel in The Tempest. No other poet could
have made two different characters out of the same fanciful materials and situations. Ariel is a
minister of retribution, who is touched with a sense of pity at the woes he inflicts. Puck is a
mad-cap sprite, full of wantonness and mischief, who laughs at those whom he misleads…
Ariel cleaves the air, and executes his mission with the zeal of a winged messenger; Puck is
borne along on his fairy errand like the light and glittering gossamer before the breeze. He is,
indeed, a most Epicurean little gentleman, dealing in quaint devices and faring in dainty
delights”. (William Hazlitt, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, in op. cit., apud Leon D. Leviţchi,
Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 77).
The style itself, full of contrasts as it may be, is at its most imaginatively poetic
degree of achievement; it is in fact the romantic style of dramatic poetry. There is an
admirable metaphoric synthesis: the similes, epithets, metaphors and metonymies are culled

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from every province of human and natural existence, and their commixing is done with the
outmost firmness.
In The Tempest, the best of human nature has redeemed, by means of punishment
through forgiveness, into a new (human and natural) order, in which magic (Prospero’s white
magic), music and mythology hold an essential part. So, here the traditional conflict between
Nature and Culture is amiably settled by a new synthesis.
In Romeo and Juliet (a tragedy in a ‘romantic’ context and background) Shakespeare
follows the long lyrical tradition of presenting love (and Nature’s marvels themselves) in
close interdependence with the natural setting. Nature can be viewed as a witness, a
guarantor, even a guardian of man’s erotic feelings. Examples such as the balcony scene, with
Romeo comparing his sweetheart to the moon, or the nightingale, etc. abound in the play.
Then, the tragic death and funeral of the two young people of Verona is met by the whole of
Nature wirth mourning dress: the Prince tells us that “The sun for sorrow, will not show his
head.” However, if several critics maintained that, in Romeo and Juliet, “Romeo is Hamlet in
love” (William Hazlitt), there were many others who said that the tragic element is rather
external to the overall structure of the play: “In Romeo and Juliet there is (…) a striking
contrast and opposition between the families’ hatred and their children’s love; but, as the
dramatist has not yet settled deep into the tragic vein, it is almost entirely external. Hatred
contends with love even to its overthrow, but not in the hearts of the lovers. There by love
hatred is supplanted, at once and for ever. In Shakespeare generally sexual love is not
dramatized or analyzed, but is presented whole and unanimous, in healthy equilibrium.” (E.E.
Stoll, Art and Artifice in Shakespeare, London, 1933, p. 144, Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura
engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 70). It is a fact that, in Romeo and Juliet, love
itself offers the grounding of the artistic whole: “It affords a strong instance of the fineness of
his insight into the nature of the passions, that Romeo is introduced already love-bewildered.
The necessity of loving creates an object for itself in man and woman” (S.T. Coleridge,
Lectures, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p.
70). Moreover, the play has special dramatic and poetic qualities: the special power and
artistic beauty of this ‘tragicomedy’ lie in the energetic and interrupted movement which
suffuse it, making up a specific rhythm and a vitality unmediately transmitted by the world of
the stage.
In The Tempest, Miranda builds up her identity by evolving from complete innocence
(and ignorance) to self-fulfilment by means of love and self-knowledge. Her human self-
achievement runs parallel to solving the conflict which brought about the crisis – the initial
injustice which is righted by reconciliation, as she gets married to the son of the rival family
(an upside-down Romeo and Juliet case). Although to an appreciable extent the creation of
her father’s care, wisdom, and magic powers, she is also her own creation: she grows mature
by seeing and doing new things, but also by the power of love, a humanizing force.
Shakespeare’s lovers represent a society of people fighting for their spiritual freedom and
affirmation. In Romeo and Juliet, social conventions, the rules of the clan (here the long-
lasting feud and fight between the Capulets and the Montagues) can only destroy two
individual destinies. The two lovers’ death can be perceived as the retribution of the crime
opposing love, as a natural, genuine impulse. In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare
presents a similar case: the conflicts between children and parents who get in the way of true
love, of normal emotions; so, the characters will have to pay for that. Similarly, Miranda, the
heroine in The Tempest, will come to know love, and later marriage, and all this in spite of the
lover’s parents guilt of opposing that feeling, sacred because it is ‘natural’. In A Midsummer
Night’s Dream, Shakespeare presents love as courtship (both in the group of Athenians and in
the group of the gods – who embody the Elizabethan aristocracy and royalty; to say the truth,
it is a more sophisticated, even whimsical kind of love). But at any rate love is (all-)powerful,
it can overcome any barrier from the outer world / society. Like the poet, the lover is a creator
of beautiful things, of new human values; his vision, even if distorted, is creative (see for

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example Theseus’ famous tirade in A Midsummer Night’s Dream: “The lunatic, the lover and
the poet / Are all of imagination compact….”).
The world “as it is” in Shakespeare’s comedies includes such evil aspects as: wars,
the corruption of the ruling classes, usurpation, the hypocrisy of the magistrates, the rulers’
lack of interest in urgent state problems, racial discrimination (Measure for Measure), lack of
real love, mutual respect and trust in the relation between man and woman (in The Taming of
the Shrew), drunkenness, etc.
One of the most remarkable issues dealt with by Shakespeare in his comedies and
romance plays is that of change or loss of identity (in The Comedy of Errors, The Taming of
the Shrew). If in the former play, an uproarious farce in imitation of classical Roman comedy,
the qui pro quo game makes up a fairly traditional (if not somewhat hackneyed) mechanism,
in the latter play, Shakespeare essentially develops the old concept expressed by the saying
according to which “Appearances are deceptive”: some people can be considered “negative”
by their fellows although their (genuine) inward reality is “positive”, and, conversely, there
are people who enjoy wide appreciation by the others, although fundamentally and typically
“wicked” (e.g. the two sisters in The Taming of the Shrew, Kate and Bianca). The Comedy of
Errors could be seen by Shakespearean criticism as a splendid dramatic effort, the artistic
attempt, heavily based on stage conventions, undertaken by a genius: “It is completely
artificial, hard, glittering, and exact; but, of its kind, brilliant; it is completely mechanical,
‘but it moves’, with the smoothness of well oiled machinery… Shakespeare is still an
apprentice, and learning it in the workshop of his craft. Nothing about this play is more
remarkable than the finished skill in ‘mere’ stagecraft” (M.R. Ridley, op. cit., p. 53, apud
Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 58).
Farce is not strongly emphasized in The Taming of the Shrew; it is a fine comedy of
manners, in which the mirror-play technique is made the best use of: Petruchio’s ironical
“pedagogy” is based on Kate’s reflection in the mirror of her own vice; it is also a successful
comedy of character. The play has an undeniable dramatic ‘roundness’: “The Taming of the
Shrew is almost the only one of Shakespeare‘s comedies that has a regular plot, and
downright moral. It is full of bustle, animation, and rapidity of action. It shows admirably
how self-will is only to be got the better of by stronger will, and how one degree of ridiculous
perversity is only to be driven out by another still greater. Petruchio is a madman in his
senses; a very honest fellow, who hardly speaks a word of truth, and succeeds in all his tricks
and impostures. He acts his assumed character to the life, with the most fantastical
extravagance, with complete presence of mind, with untired animal spirits, and without a
particle of ill humour from beginning to end” (W. Hazlitt, The Taming of the Shrew, in op.
cit., apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 60). In
The Taming of the Shrew, a complex type of dramatic humanity is hinted at, and the first
definite signs of Shakespeare’s artistic maturity are abvious: “Shakespeare seems to be
feeling his way towards a type of comedy which is to be indeed a comedy of situation, but
also a comedy of human beings, not of mere marionettes in the situation. All that part of the
work is experimental work; there is not a situation in it that Shakespeare did not handle more
effectively later, not a type of character that he did not delineate more firmly or more
delicately”. (M.R. Ridley, op. cit., p. 59, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la
începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 60)
The subject of the play The Two Gentlemen of Verona is love and the way it can
endanger loyalty (due to a friend) as well as the duties expressed in moral and social terms, at
times getting close to the notion of contract – in the sense of a “vow (in fact, the word vow
itself keeps repeating all throught the play, as the term love appears for hundreds of times in
the text; love occurs in the first fifty lines alone as many as fifteen times!) Jointly with sex
love, friendship is a structural leit-motif, bearing the fundamental mark (and peremptory
moral commandment) of loyality and steadfastness). Love is also the hallmark of the
‘romantic’ element in the play: “In The Two Gentlemen of Verona the scene is laid in Italy,
the country which to Shakespeare’s fellows was the hallowed land of romance. But it is an

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Italy of romance, not of physiographic authenticity. It has inland waterways unknown to
geographers; the journey from Verona to Mantua is a sea-voyage; it is indeed a scenario in
which all the material trappings of romance may be assembled… Mountain and forest are
indispensable, mountains which are brigand-haunted, and forests in the gloom of which are
abbeys from whose postern gates friars creep into the encircling woods, so wrapt in
penitential mood that lurking lions, prowling hungrily for food, are utterly forgotten. In such a
locality, the tale of true love may run its uneven course. (…) In this way, romantic love makes
its romantic universe; and this in fact is the setting and the story of The Two Gentlemen of
Verona.” (H.B. Charlton, Romanticism in Shakespearean Criticism, edited by Anne Bradby,
vol. II, Oxford University Press, 1937, p. 258, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de
la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 65)
Friendship and love make up the the gist, the actual (or the main) ‘message’ of this
early comedy – as the two sides of the same coin, giving human conscience part of its value –
enhancing in fact the inner value of man’s ego; on the other hand, they are two rival forces,
strongly competing with each other – the disproportionate primacy of one being likely to
stifle and wreck the other: priority in one can lead to the other one being ruined: we can detect
here the idea of the cosmic whole, and also one of the constant moral norms and tenets – or
rather, obsessions of the Elizabethan age; in fact, the reader / spectator is faced with one of
the (almost obsessively) constant elements of the Elizabethan morals.
These norms run parallel to the cult / worship (coming from the Neo-Platonics) of
beauty, interpreted as an expression of geometric proportion and greatly akin to the search for
the so-called universal harmony (see also the ancient, Pythagorean, idea of the “music of the
spheres”). Proportion, equilibrium / balance, as classicising ideals, are mainly expressed in
the play through the special attention paid to manners, to the ideas of respectability,
education, etc.
Love – seen as attraction between man and woman – was not merely conceived as the
object of some natural and social determinations, resulting in finding a companion and thus
establishing a strict contract, but rather as a syndrome or a disease, directed against all human
senses, annihilating man’s will-power and personality. Hence, love is perceived as a
domination / invasion of irrationality within the human soul, yet having outer sources. But
love also means suffering (cf. the title of Shakespeare’s subsequent play Love’s Labour’s Lost
– in Romanian “Chinurile zadarnice ale dragostei”). This kind of suffering can add some
more human substance to the mould the principal characters are cast into. In fact, The Two
Gentlemen of Verona is a play of life experience under way; the first element in the process
was the all-important, at the time, “courtly education”, a matter of high significance for any
young person of wealth. (The Two Gentlemen of Verona (Rom. Cei doi tineri din Verona), the
first, possibly the second ‘romantic’ comedy written by William Shakespeare, represents a
felicitous illustration of the Bard’s early dramatic activity. It can be seen as an anticipation of
other Shakespearean plays – the most notable being Romeo and Juliet.) In spite of some of the
most negativistic critical opinions – for instance, those expressed by Samuel Johnson or
William Hazzlit, who mainly referred to its alleged lack of artistic ‘finish’, the incomplete,
rather loose structure, the artificial character of the final scene, a ‘patched up’ final that
ignores issues of psychology, etc. (which is why it could be considered one of ‘the least
Shakespearean’ comedies, as it actually is one of the least favoured in point of scenic
performing), the incontestable merit of The Two Gentlemen of Verona lies in its special poetic
achievement.
The gammut of love’s manifestations, the nuances and the determinations of the
erotic feeling as presented in The Two Gentlemen of Verona are consequently abundant, and
also at times finely, almost imperceptibly, infinitesimally graded: love-as-disease, love-as-
syndrome, or love-as-suffering: feverish, metamorphosing its subjects / “victims” (Act 1. 1,
66-69); love engendered by an excess of imagination; joyful, expressive, imaginative love,
lightly spiritual love, with its evanescent whims, love indulging in aereal, fanciful ideas and
images (Act 1, scene 2, 123-129); unpredictable, fickle love (Act 1, scene 3, 78-87); love
perceptible through outer, ‘clinical’ evidence – most of which is, only conceivably, especially
comical / ridiculous (Act 2, scene 1, 16-28); chameleon-love, proteic affectation of the

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amorous feeling, with the lavish fervid vows and oaths (Act 2, scene 2, 8-12), easily infringed
when a new object of adoration comes in sight (Act 2, scene 4, 188-191); the hypocrisy of the
traitor, with the highly contrived, artificial reasoning and arguments of the dissembler /
turncoat (actually, mere, although fine verbal and logical speculations, following all the rules
of courtly rhetoric, refined through long, assiduous practice and imbued with the age’s
mannerism(s) – v. also the concept of euphuism):229 e.g. Act 2, scene 4, 199-202; obsessively
passionate love, admirably likened to a brook or rivulet – which then turns into an
unstoppable flood (Act 2, scene 7, 24-38); the courtly code of the amorous ‘siege’ – whose
eloquence is magisterially taught by Valentine (cf. also the then fashionable, even
indispensable, manual of courtly manners and refined rhetoric written by Baldessare
Castiglione, The Book of the Courtier); requited love, ending happily (v. the final scene of the
play), a remarkable, though slightly improbable, theatrical demonstration of the idea that, in
love too, each will get their just deserts, and that forgiveness is a superior faculty: “Who by
repentance is not satisfied / Is nor of heaven, nor earth” (cf. also Corinthians).
Functionally, friendship is opposed to love, as the masculine principle to the feminine
one: friendship is reserved, virtually, only to men, as it cannot interfere with the sphere of
love unless it observes the code of honour (=chivalrous honour), hence essentially masculine
self-respectability and loyalty. Worship of beauty was cultivated by the Elizabethans – in the
aftermath of the Neo-Platonist concepts: beauty was seen as the fit expression of geometric
proportion, and was also related, to a very significant extent, to the search for universal
harmony (v. the ancient, Pythagorean, concept of ‘celestial music’, or ‘music of the spheres’).
Proportion, balance, conceived as classic ideals, were first and foremost expressed through
the special value attached to good manners: see, in the play itself, the idea of respectability
and observance of mannerly conduct.
The Elizabethan age largely continues the mediaeval ideals consecrated by the former
chivalrous code and Platonic love, and The Two Gentlemen of Verona can be read as a perfect
illustration of a certain literary manner, and also of a well defined moral code; the rules of
strict etiquette channel and direct action, as the former are the outgrowth of a certain creed;
every single item of that chart of moral conduct is inspired, in both sentiment and
background, by the essentially ‘romantic’ attitude of men towards women – a doctrine which
actually determines the sheer value conferred upon simple, carnal love.
In the Elizabethan and Jacobean ages love between the sexes was not primarily
conceived as the object of strict natural and social determinations materialized in securing a
husband or companion and establishing a firm contract, but rather as a syndrome or illness /
derangement, threatening the whole of man’s senses and annihilating both will-power and
personality; love is consenquently seen as an invasion (or domination) of irrational forces
coming from outer quarters (see in the text “Oh, gentle Proteus, Love’s a mighty lord…”, or:
“Love is your master, for he masters you” – where the plastic image of the ‘conqueror’, or of
the ‘domineer’, is facilitated by the fact that, in the idiom of Shakespeare’s age, the noun love
was personified as masculine). Love can also be tantamount to suffering – cf. the title of
Shakespeare’s next play, Love’s Labour’s Lost, and suffering will only add human substance
to the pattern followed by the main characters. In actual fact, The Two Gentlemen of Verona
is a play of experience – the protagonists’ progress to maturity. Indeed, the age seemed to set
special store on ‘courtly education’, irrespective of sex; thus, youths of rank and wealth were
supposed to undergo the ‘school of the world’ (see also Love’s Labour’s Lost), mainly by
travelling (with, for the young men, the additional knightly jousts, the tilts and tournaments).
In this context, erotic experience (obviously, in its Renaissance courtly expression) had its
well-established role. Also characteristically Elizabethan seems to be the protagonists’
229Euphuism was a mannerist literary trend, sharing with its Italian, Spanish and French counterparts –
marinismo (from the name of the Italian poet Giambattista / Giovanbattista Marino), gongorismo (from the
name of the Spanish poet Luis de Góngora y Argote, 1561-1627), and the French les précieuses, respectively
– the same highly metaphoric and mythology-inspired affectation, with the cult of the extravagant and
convoluted ‘conceits’ (see also concetti, concettismo). This type of mannerism appeared in England in the latter
half of the 16th century, as a direct result of the wide imitation of the hyper-ornate style of John Lyly’s
work, whose protagonist was Euphues (see also Lyly).

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temperamental-attitudinal mobility and instability: by and large, the Elizabethans can be
deemed as ‘more Latin’ than modern man (Geoffrey Hutchings, in Shakespeare in
Perspective, p. 192).
Contrast, parallelism, the “reverse mirror” (in the sense of contrasting perspectives /
“counter-perspective”) – here are some of the devices of dramatic ego emphasizing in this
play: when faced with its exaggerated, caricatural reflection, the persona has every chance to
be defined “more adequately / truly”, or to discover his / her “profounder self” (i.e. a ‘truer’
revelation of their genuine selves).
The primary technique this romantic comedy makes use of is contrasting an
experience (here, that of being in love), against a background that ranges from hostility and
indifference. The ‘victim’ of love is dominated by his / her condition (a malady), which is all
the more evident as it is contrasted to the others’ attitude (indifference, detachment). This
attitude gap is best mirrored by what Alexander Legatt calls “the interplay of personalities”
(în Shakespeare’s Comedy of Love – as the actors more often than not appear in scenes of two
or three characters, while the cast is the scarcest of all Shakespearean plays.
The characters’ inner struggle fundamentally individuates them, and confers them
dramatic tenseness. Among the protagonists, Proteus embodies cynical conventionality, while
Valentine undertakes the (arguably heroic) responsibility of challenging reality itself.
Apart from the ‘mirror reflection’ mechanism, the relationship between concrete
reality and human-psychologic reality is employed by the author: maybe the most conclusive
example in the play is represented by Silvia’s painted portrait, falsely, i.e. exaggerately
perceived by Proteus’ (i.e. the lover’s) eye. Still, the most obvious mechanism of contrasting
perspective is the use of the clowns, the providers of satiric perspective on the pairs of lovers;
they are essentially the ‘reversed mirror’ employed in order to create ‘levels of humanity’ of
individual depiction, and ultimately meant to re-create an entire world – that of Shakespeare’s
time. Roughly speaking, Speed and Launce’s world is the uncouthly material counterpart of
their masters’ ethereal, courtly, daintily erotic preoccupations and ideals. Some examples: the
scene of Proteus’ farewell is counterposed to Launce’s account of his own parting; if Proteus
is concerned about his letter to Julia, Speed is genuinely worried and revolted because he
hasn’t got his tip for bringing it (Act 1, scene 1); Launce’s ‘courtship’ has a clear-cut,
explicitly material / pecuniary orientation clare (Act 3, scene 1). The changes love has
brought about in Valentine’s looks are to Speed a matter strictly belonging to the physical
domain – moreover, they are bizarre, preposterous, even subhuman (Act 2, scene 1, 16-28);
equally ‘abnormal’ is the lover’s perception of reality: it is inflated and sickly (Act 2, scene 1,
56-58) – cf. the description Theseus gives in A Midsummer Night’s Dream: “The lunatic, the
lover and the poet / Are of imagination all compact…”
Another Elizabethan – and baroque – theme is present in the play: the interplay of
appearance and essence (e.g. “…since the substance of your perfect self / Is else devoted, I
am but a shadow; / And to your shadow will I make true love” (4.2), “What joy is joy, if
Silvia be not by? / Unless it be to think that she is by / And feed upon the shadow of
perfection…” (3.1). The most obvious device used for securing the counterpart of a main
character is the clowns’soliloquies, which provide the reader / spectator with a satiric
perspective of the lovers; to a certain extent, they are the “reverse mirror” used by the author.
For the majority of the characters in the play, the names themselves are telling / graphical, as
they characterize their nature and actions: Valentine, Proteus, Eglamour, Sebastian, Thurio,
Launce, Speed, etc.; in this of all Shakespearean plays, the characters’ names are highly
graphical, tell-tale clues to their temperament and typical ways: Valentine refers to the
eponymous saint, as the character stands as a real paragon of the faithful, sincere lover (v.
Launce’s pun in 3.1); Proteus allusively refers to the ancient mythological figure – the old
prophet who tended Neptune’s seal herds living on the rocky beaches of the island of
Carpathos in the Mediterranean, and who was able to change his outer appearance: so,
Shakespeare’s character is the very embodiment of the penchant to change, of (emotional and
moral) vacillation (see in the text: “tell him from me, / One Julia, that his changing thoughts
forget, / Would better fit his chamber than this shadow”). Another allusive, telltale name is
Sebastian – the page boy Julia impersonates: like his eponym, Saint Sebastian, the character

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is a martyr, continually tortured by the ‘arrows’ of suffering and jealousy engendered by his /
her now master, Proteus, whom he / she must faithfully serve because a vow compells him /
her to it.
Julia displays the broadest range of feeling – at once engaged and detached,
combined with self-criticism and (self-)irony. By contrast, Julia can be considered the best-
contrived character of the play. Although not intended to embody traditional virtues (rather
the province of the highly code-regulated universe of the knightly Middle Ages than the
bourgeois, urban Renaissance typified by Shakespeare’s work), Julia is, in a way a
‘manifesto’ of feminism – avant la lettre, of course: she has plenty of initiative, courage,
bright ideas; she also has the natural foibles of incipient love: the adolescent-like
awkwardness and embarrassment, the little hypocritical schemings, the shy hesitancy,
peppered with a succulent playful faculty (which, in Act 1, Scene 2, can be easily associated
with fickleness and whinsicality). All in all, Julia is the most natural persona os the play – she
goes beyond the mere scenic convention and achieves the passage to that universal, atemporal
region, of humanity. Although Shakespeare’s angle was that of (traditional) masculine
judgement of feminine psychology (v. Lucetta’s reply in Actul 1, Scene 2: “I have no other
than a woman’s reason: I think him so because I think him so”), Julia manages to be a
complex, memorable character – especially when compared to her rival’s (Silvia’s) structural
function in the text of the play: a rather simple, static one. Her role is predominantly passive,
lacking spirit and deep-felt emotion – she is an object of love, a symbol of woman-adoration,
lavishly endowed with sex appeal. Although Silvia is, by contrast, a mere pictorial, static,
rather distant image of what we may call decorative love, a sort of Renaissance sex-symbol
(see, for instance, 4. 4), the song Who is Silvia made her name immortal, a genuine cultural
cliché.
Julia has unanimously been regarded by critics as the play’s leading character
(Madeleine Doran even says that she has “too much character” – apud Russell Davies, op.
cit., p. 33). A prototype of the apprentice in the amorous interplay, she plentifully possesses
the ability to ironize herself, which can render her immune to the others’ irony. It will be
interesting to note that, once part of the ancillary class (through the man-disguise she
assumes), Julia acquires something of the verbal aplomb and crudity of those two consecrated
wits / punsters, Speed and Launce (e.g. 4. 2, 102, etc.). Julia is undoubtdely the most
‘credible’ character, replacing the two male protagonists’ part, as a fully deserving standard-
bearer of love (Alexander Leggatt, op. cit., p. 37).
The two clowns’ soliloquies are integral part of the play’s dramatic fabric. Their in-
text authority essentially relies on their function as ‘(dramatic) choir’; in fact, they are half
on-stage characters, and the other half stage-clowns (in the typical Elizabethan manner),
hinges of the stage-dramatic-conflict-audience interrelationship; especially in Launce’s case,
addressing the audience is performed directly, and also intensely. Very much as in other
Shakespearean plays (v. the fool in King Lear or the nurse in Romeo and Juliet), the servants
and the clowns provide, through action and / or comments, the antithetic framework needed
by the central subject – love. Launce and Speed, and also their world and likes, brought on
stage by anthologizable scenes and verbal virtuosity, represents the category of “cynics and
peasant unbelievers” (Russell Davies, op. cit., p. 189); they can count as the allies, partners,
accomplices and go-betweens of the average spectators (the so-called groundlings), for whom
they act are debunkers – as the ‘love-and-duty’ plot is, unfortunately, the truth only for the
haves. It is for the commoners that they perform short, mundane, racily enjoyable intermezzos
(e.g. the list including the pros and cons of Launce’s intended bride’s profile). This cynical,
‘anti-romantic’ attitude, directly though unintentionally sapping the chivalrous-courtly ideal
of feminity and love, makes the best the mundane, trivial, at times obscene perception (and
recounting) of immediate reality. When Launce defines himself by his continual association
with Crab the mongrel dog, it is more than ironical mirroring of reality – it is actually comic
degradation of perspective. This ironic, more often than not sarcastic perspective of the
aristocratic world is thus the perfect illustration of the two-sided structure of the play.
Referring to the Launce-Crab pair, an absurdly comical relationship, it may be worth noting
that the many sacrifices the clown makes for his non-human companion, even if slapstick to a

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significant extent, can have something of a far from innocuous allusion to an equal inability
for self-sacrifice from the upper classes. (As a matter of fact, in more than one scene, the
servants are much more humane than their masters: “Launce. I am but a fool, look you; and
yet I have the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave…”).
At other times, objective reality / reality-as-such provides mundane interferences with
the protagonists’ erotic experiences, in a sort of contrapuntal technique. Love and lovers are
continually importuned by outer, alien plans, concerns, characters and pursuits that will not
allow them respite or comprehension. Hence the mechanisms of displacement and of fuzzy
identity. The typical case of displacement is the reversal of the two protagonists’ initial
stances: Proteus is the former ‘romantic’, as Valentine is the ‘cynic’, but they eventually turn
tables dramatically.
The dichotomy holding between illusion and reality is comically and juicily qualified
by the servants’ commonsensical judgements regarding their masters’ behaviour or set of
values, despite the former’s comic pose (Lucetta “I do not seek to quench your love’s hot fire,
/ But qualify the fire’s extreme rage, / Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason” (Act 2,
scene 7).
The ideas of love-victimization, and that of the artificiality of the amorous discourse
were conventionalized in Shakespeare’s age (they appear, in a lyrical manner, in his sonnets
as well – e.g., in Sonnet XVIII: “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?…”, or, in Sonnet
CXXX: “My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun…”). The heroes are ‘victims’ primarily as
a result of the stage circumstances, skilfully and alertly handled by the ‘pupeteer’;
consequently, their vulnerability comes from the outside – let us only consider the fact that
one of the most evident plot-devising schemes in the play is letter-carrying, with addressees
who are seldom found.
The lovers’ discourses clearly have a learned derivation, in line with the Renaissance
tradition of the debate (or the dialogue – the Italian conversazione), greatly enlivened by the
witty repartees, asides, puns, etc., as well as other devices of verbal humour (irony, innuendo,
bathos, etc.). There is an easily recognizable alternance as far as the verbal manifestations of
the characters are concerned when love is the topic: witty and detached when it is the subject-
matter of debate, serious and earnestly involved in monologues; anyway, most debates and
arguments share this same subject-matter: love.
The idea of (verbal) competition, with the object of worship as the trophy, the joust
(v. “the fine volley of words” in Act 2, scene 4) account for the abundance of punning-
matches (or wit matches), which fit the masters no less than the servants; actually, one of the
flaws the critique has reproached the play with is that the protagonists’ feelings are mostly
circulated verbally, so there is not much room left for profundity. Proteus is the master of
verbality in the play – he can justify almost anything, even treason, with him words can very
well pass for arguments (e.g. Act 2, scene 6, 7-13, or Act 2, scene 6, 19-24); paradoxes are
often used by the romantic comedy. Verbal convention, as a sui generis mechanism of the
‘art of courtship / wooing’ (cf. the marivaudage in the 18th century French comedy of
manners) is admirably expressed, in a theoretically detached form, in Valentine’s advice to
the Duke (Act 3, scene 1, 96-101).
The remark was made by most critics that in The Two Gentlemen of Verona, the very
artistic imperfections of the text amount to real artistry (mainly in view of the fact that it was
one of Shakespeare’s earliest plays – William Hazzlit considered it a mere ‘sketch’); anyway,
these well-meant imperfections bear the root of the fine Shakespearean achievements of his
later creation. It is a fact that repetition, accumulation and exaggeration make up most of the
play’s rhetoric patterns, engendering what we may call ‘verbal inflation’ (in both discourse
rhetoric and figures of speech). The metaphoric-poetic style of the play is prevalently
redundant and even pleonastic; see such lyrical gems, in the baroque manner, as: “ JULIA:
Come, shadow, come and take this shadow up, For ’tis thy rival", some of which have
acquired the status of ‘lyrical dictums’, quotable in any Shakespeare dictionary or glossary:
“As in the sweetest bud / The eating canker dwells, so eating love / Inhabits in the finest wits
of all”; “thou hast entertain’d / A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs”; “Better have none /
Than plural faith which is too much by one”; “Were man but constant, he were perfect”;

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“Inconstancy falls off ere it begins”, etc.; still others have managed to stay memorable as
proverbs: Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits, Love is blind, Experience is by industry
achieved etc.
Redundant, accumulative expression can best be seen in the use of epithets: “I prove
false traitor to myself”, “dumb silence”, “resolved will”, “the secret, nameless friend of
yours”, “blunt Thurio’s dull proceeding”, “O miserable, unhappy that I am!”, “Thou subtle,
perjured, false, disloyal man!”, “pure chastity”, “rude, uncivil touch”, “…she is lumpish,
heavy, melancholy…”, etc. The same tendency towards accumulation and verbal ‘plethora’ is
shown in the ample use of compound adjectives (reminding one of the Elizabethan soneteers):
sweet-suggesting Love, soul-confirming oaths, true-devoted pilgrim, nimble-footed, etc.
On the other hand, a fair amount of the metaphors and concetti displayed by The Two
Gentlemen of Verona rest the (Renaissance – but no les ancient) view concerning the
description of the universe / Nature as a systemic whole – which no doubt included Man
himself – and the cosmic opposition of elements: “These follies are within you, and shine
through you”, “To die is to be banish’d from myself; / And Silvia is myself: banish’d from
her / Is self from self”, “Poor wounded name, my bosom as a bed / Shall lodge thee till thy
wound be troughly healed”, “Even as one heat another heat expels…”, etc. This concept adds
to, and rounds off, the baroque idea of the essence-appearance opposition, stylistically present
in the play through antithesis; antonyms abound, and many of them are accumulative,
plethoric: “To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans; / (…) one fading moment’s
mirth / With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights: / If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain; /
If lost, why then a grievous labour won; / However, but a folly bought with wit, / Or else a wit
by folly vanquishèd” (Act 1, scene 1).
More than a mere poetic or linguistic document, or a ‘sketch’ (John Dover Wilson,
The Essential Shakespeare, 1932, apud W. Shakespeare, Opere complete, 1983), the comedy
The Two Gentlemen of Verona is a telling example of the poetic stature of the Elizabethan
(and Jacobean) dramatists – Shakespeare, as well as his predecessors, R. Greene and C.
Marlowe, founders of a drama rather poetic, rhetoric and literary than scenic (Donald A.
Stauffer, Shakespeare's World of Images, Indiana University Press, 1966, p. 35); it is the fruit
of a nascent genius on his way to final achievement: “The accomplished elegance of the
lyrical verse in The Two Gentlemen of Verona, as well as the skilful, theatrically effective
prose of Lance’s monologues, demonstrates that Shakespeare had already developed his
writing skills when he composed this play. Nevertheless (…) it may be his first work for the
stage; for its dramatic structure is comparatively unambitious, and while some of its scenes
are expertly constructed, those involving more than, at the most, four characters betray an
uncertainty of technique suggestive of inexperience” (about The Two Gentlemen of Verona, in
the Introduction to the Complete Works of William Shakespeare, Clarendon Press–Oxford, p.
1).
Love’s Labour’s Lost, in a way a counterpart to The Two Gentlemen of Verona,
satirizes the loves of the main male characters as well as the fashionable devotion to study, by
which these noblemen tried to avoid romantic and worldly entanglement; the artificially
ornate dialogue directly satirizes the concept of euphemism, the polite conventions and the
courtly style specific to, and engendered by, the works of the novelist and dramatist John
Lyly, and also perhaps the would-be scientific discussions of Sir Walter Rale(i)gh and his
retinue. All in all, Love’s Labour’s Lost is a delightful early achievement, essentially based on
the potentialities of the verbal: “Even if Love’s Labour’s Lost was not the first of the plays, it
must have been among the earliest, and it is concerned almost wholly with words. Unlike the
later comedies and romances this brilliant and original piece has no story plot… [Its] real
charm and beauty [lies] in an atmosphere of sophisticated society displayed through an
elegant variety of verbal entertainments… Something Shakespeare derived from his
contemporaries, and more precisely from John Lyly, and he had come to the stage when
words were one of the major excitements and adventures of alert and creative minds. So he
fell upon a plot, or rather an elegant device, which was cunningly and dramatically
maintained, so that language might have the necessary situations for diverse and entertaining

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employment. It is with words, not with plot and characters that the play lives.” (Ifor Evans,
op. cit., p. 1-2, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol.
II, pp. 66-67). In spite of its many inconsistencies, the play is a dramatic work written in the
spirit of the age: “Love’s Labour’s Lost is one of Shakespeare’s most perplexing texts. It is
highly inconsistent, both in quality and style of writing. Passages of jingling verbal dexterity,
thin in dramatic content and loosely related to the characters’ situation, alternate with others
as good as the best in Shakespeare’s mature comedies. The changes are extreme and abrupt:
as extreme, say, as a play made up from assorted bits of Congreve, Chekhov, Eliot, and
Gilbert and Sullivan… In richness and life it leaves any comedy written before it far behind.
But it also gets bogged down again and again in a maze of quibbles, rhyme for rhyme’s sake,
obscure contemporary references and injokes about people long since dead and forgotten.
This variety of styles demands a wide variety of style in the playing, sometimes artificial,
sometimes naturalistic… No other play of Shakespeare’s is so rooted in its period. It was
most likely first written for performance in the garden of some great Elizabethan country-
house. The pageants within it, the Muscovites, the Nine Worthies, and the Owl and the
Cockoo, derive from the tradition of Royal Entertainments and Progresses…” (John Barton,
The Owl and the Cuckoo, in Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Love’s Labour’s Lost, 1965, apud
Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, pp. 67-68).
Placed virtually at the opposite end of the scale, a real gem of verbal and
metaphorical achievement, Twelfth Night or What You Will has almost unanimously been
considered Shakespeare’s absolute masterpiece in the field of comedy, through the author’s
infallible power of human character creation, sure theatrical method and pervading poetic
diction: “This is the happiest ond one of the loveliest of all the Shakespearean plays. It is the
best English comedy… It shows us three souls suffering from the kind of sickly vanity that
feeds on day-dreams. Orsino is an unreal mood of emotion. Love is an active passion. Orsino
is in the clutch of its dangerous passive enemy called sentimentality… Olivia is in an unreal
mood of mourning for her brother. Grief is a destroying passion.” (John Masefield, William
Shakespeare, 1911, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648,
vol. II, p 97)
The Merchant of Venice is an inciting tragicomedy, playing out the Renaissance
motifs of masculine friendship and romantic love (cf. The Two Gentlemen of Verona).
Shylock’s misfortunes are by and large presented so as to arouse understanding and
sympathy, while exloring the then current bigotry fostered by the general attitude towards ‘the
other’ (see Act III, scene I: “Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions,
senses, affections; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same
diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a
Christian is? If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison
us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we
will resemble you in that”).
In The Tempest we can detect the pattern (in fact a literary pretext, but also a mould /
pattern for the subsequent course of action) of the exploratory journey: this pattern and
literary motif was influenced by the then frequent, and also challenging, geographic
discoveries (see the unknown island, characterized by the exotic – and the sense of essential
mistery, but also the idea of a spiritual Utopia located far off in the still undiscovoered world).
The Elizabethans were energetic people, attracted by new, exotic, strange, far-off lands
overseas – and so are the main characters of the play: Prospero, and also his brother’s
followers. Basically, they are explorers and seamen; yet, they are not mere territory explorers,
but also seekers of the unknown into the deepest of human spirituality. Prospero and Miranda
are complex people, thoroughly belonging to the Elizabethan Renaissance, and also having
some essential knowledge of this (and partialy, the transcendent) world. As the late
Renaissance drew to the baroque phase, so are these travellers-explorers: the man of Baroque
tries hard to discover his own self in front of the unknown: he is a man of deeper interests and
much more refined knowledge (see Prospero’s art of magic, etc.). These complex people have

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to experiment new things (much more than seeing / perceiving them); they are compelled by
an inner desire to know further, by seeing, comparing, by travelling far and wide. Music and
mythology hold a major part in the play. In addition, Prospero could be said to be the stage-
manager, the actor and the author of the script the other characters are performing.
A more traditional approach to The Tempest suggests that it offers an exposition of
the themes of fall and Redemption by means of analogous narrative. Prospero can be thus
seen as a self-disciplined, reconciliatory, white magician. On the other hand, we can conceive
The Tempest as one of the first literary echoes of the English colonial ventures. Caliban, the
monster turned by Prospero into a slave, astonishes Stephano and Trinculo with his bizarre
appearance (just like the first American Indians when first seen by the European travellers).
The appearance of “the other” denies the conherence of the European order; that is why the
Indians, the symbols of disorder and incoherence, must be subdued and made to serve the
European world. The white man was born to rule, “the other” to supply food, raw materials,
and labour force. Reinterpreted in the light of this post-colonial discourse, Prospero is both
usurped and usurper (he enslaves “the other”).
William Shakespeare’s chronicles and Roman plays:
Shakespeare can be credited as the dramatist who invented the history cycle (although
chronicle history plays were a popular genre of the time). Henry VI and Richard III make up a
cycle depicting the evils of disorder, weak leadership and divided rule (i.e. national disunity
fostered by selfish ends). These history plays remind of the political chaos of the 15th century
(v. the so-called Wars of the Roses, the civil strife of the 15th century), being primarily
designed as moral examples. History is interpreted morally: it is seen as a guide to the
present. The structure of these plays is basically that of the secular morality play, in which
factions and troubles show a contention between order and chaos for the state of man.
Significantly, the Shakespearean cycle closes with the death of Richard III and the ascent to
the throne of Henry VII, the founder of the Tudor dynasty, to which Elizabeth I herself
belonged.
Indeed, it was a time of great patriotic feeling. After the Spanish Armada was
defeated, Elizabeth’s subjects rejoiced, celebrating their country’s greatness with an
unprecedented patriotic fervour; one product of this outburst of nationalist pride was the
history play, which celebrated England’s past and, like the sermons, instructed audiences in
good civil behaviour. Shakespeare wrote ten plays to celebrate England’s history (Henry IV,
Part 1 and Part II, Henry V, Henry VI, Part I, Part 1I and Part III, Richard II, Richard III,
Henry VIII, Edward III). If the first part of Henry VI has an unmistakeable nationalistic tone
(criticised, in the 20th century, by G.B. Shaw), the second and the third parts are concerned
with the civil war waged between the supporters of the houses of York and Lancaster. These
historical plays are related partly to mediaeval drama, and partly to the works of earlier
Elizabethan dramatists, especially Christopher Marlowe. The influence (direct or not) of the
classical Roman dramatist Seneca manifested itself in the spirit and organization of the four
plays included in Shakespeare’s first period of creation: bloody scenes, violent action,
bombastic language, etc.
Richard II is a study of a weak, sensitive, self-dramatizing, but sympathetic monarch,
who loses his kingdom to his forceful successor, Henry IV. “Shakespeare’s Richard II has
been defined as a sentimentalist. The word fitly described the more striking features of his
character. For he is essentially a man in whom the influence of emotion predominates at the
expense of reason and cool judgment, and who is lightly moved by the varying, fugitive gusts
of feeling. He has a full measure of that imaginative gift which is naturally allied to great
sensibility (...) Again, he has the eloquence which goes with imagination and sentiment (...)
Richard is “an exquisite poet”, if an execrable king. The latter, alas! he proves himself. He
has in an extreme degree the defect of his qualities. He lacks entirely those stable, solid
endowments which make for real dignity of life and success. Having many gifts, he is without

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the one essential thing which we call “character”. (A.W. Verity, King Richard II (first edition
1899), Cambridge, 1912, pp. XIX; XXII, apud L. Leviţchi, op. cit., p. 73).
Richard III opens with the arrival of Richard, Duke of Gloucester, in London. His
oldest brother, King Edward IV, is slowly dying as a result of overindulgence in “the good
life.” The ambitious, restless Richard sees an opportunity to snatch the crown and become
king of England. The first step is to get rid of his other brother, the Duke of Clarence. Richard
instigates a rift between the king and Clarence which results in Clarence’s being imprisoned
in the Tower of London. Later he is executed by murderers sent by Richard. His next move is
to propose marriage to the great Neville family heiress, Lady Anne, widow of the son of the
late Henry VI. In a remarkable demonstration of his persuasive powers, he woos and
convinces Anne to marry him.
Edward IV’s wife, Queen Elizabeth, is concerned that Richard has been named
Protector of the Realm, making him guardian of her young son Edward, heir to the throne.
King Edward summons his wife and nobles to meet to settle their differences, but on their
way they are interrupted by old Queen Margaret, widow of Henry VI, who was exiled but
who has never left the country. She recalls past horrors and predicts future disasters for the
country.
During the reconciliation attempt, Clarence’s death is announced. Soon afterwards,
King Edward dies and Richard begins to conspire with the Duke of Buckingham to succeed
his brother. They set off to bring young Edward, the Prince of Wales, to London to await his
coronation.
In their absence, Queen Elizabeth learns that Richard has imprisoned her brother and
a son by a previous marriage. Fearing for her life, she flees to the protection of church
sanctuary with her youngest son, the Duke of York. When the Prince of Wales’ party arrives
in London, Buckingham arranges to have the little Duke of York taken from sanctuary. The
two brothers are then sent for their safety to the Tower of London. Lord Hastings, an old ally
and friend to the family of the late King Edward IV, is questioned about the possibility of
Richard’s succession to the throne. He forcefully rejects the idea; consequently, at a
subsequent Council meeting, Richard accuses Hastings of treason and condemns him to
death. Buckingham then addresses the public, praising Richard and instigating the rumor that
the late King Edward’s children are illegitimate. Although the crowd is unmoved, city
officials are convinced that only Richard can prevent civil disorder. A delegation arrives at his
residence and, through Buckingham, pleads with him to accept the crown. He “reluctantly”
does so after pretending to have no interest in becoming king.
Once Richard is on the throne, he tries to have Buckingham eliminate the legal heirs
(the young boys in the Tower), but Buckingham hesitates; so Richard arranges for their
murder himself. His next move will be to get rid of his wife and consolidate his power by
marrying his niece. Buckingham is in disfavor and flees. Shortly afterwards, Richard’s
problems begin to increase; there are stirrings from France, where the Lancastrian heir,
Henry, Earl of Richmond, is in exile. Buckingham has raised an army and is marching against
the king. Richard must take up arms against these enemies. But first he attempts to win Queen
Elizabeth to his side in his plan to marry her daughter; she eventually appears to give her
consent to the planned marriage. Meanwhile the forces against Richard are mounting. But
Buckingham has been defeated and is eventually captured and executed.
Richmond lands in England and establishes a position at Bosworth Field. During the
night, Richard receives the news of desertions among his allies, but his troops still outnumber
the enemy three to one. Richmond is informed that Queen Elizabeth has approved of his
marriage to her daughter, which upsets Richard’s plans. At night, the ghosts of Richard’s
victims appear in both commanders’ dreams, encouraging Richmond and enraging Richard.
Both leaders address their troops, exhorting them to fight bravely. Richmond stresses the
security of the country, while Richard condemns his enemies as a band of vagabonds and
exiles. During the battle, Richard fights bravely, but is slain by Richmond. The victor,
Richmond, declares an amnesty and vows to unite the two families through his marriage; he
will establish the peace which has been denied to England for so many years.

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 Shakespeare’s depiction of Richard III, the title-character of the play, the monstrous
monarch, is heavily indebted to the kind of Tudor propaganda apparent at the age: Henry,
Duke of Richmond, the grandfather of his own monarch, Queen Elizabeth I, must emerge as
the glorious victor and peacemaker; to minimize the problem, Richmond is not introduced
until the latter stages of the play. After a brief introduction, he is shown only in direct contrast
to Richard. Interestingly enough, Shakespeare did not endeavour to flatter Queen Elizabeth
(portrayed at the time as Gloriana, Astraea, Britomart, the Virgin Queen, Cynthia, etc.).
Anyway, the figure of Richard of Gloucester (the future king Richard III) stands for the
monstrous, Machiavellian villain – in Henry VI (3), where he kills the king; the chain of his
future horrible murders is anticipated by the soliloquy in Act V.
Shakespeare based his portrait of Richard III on information found in the histories
written by Edward Hall, Raphael Holinshed (Chronicles), and Sir Thomas More. Drawing on
historical data, Shakespeare created a dramatic character from one of the most unusual figures
in the 15th-century Wars of the Roses. Richard III was England’s last king to die in battle. His
most notorious phase was the period just prior to his gaining power, followed by that of his
rapid downfall in the Battle of Bosworth Field. Holinshed’s histories gave a biased
description of Richard, stressing his supposed physical deformity and depicting him as
arrogant, hypocritical, cruel, and ambitious. Many historians have criticized this portrait of
Richard as being not only unfair, but also untrue. Many historians have insisted that Richard
was actually a warm, courageous, and outstanding king.
Shakespeare’s Richard becomes a fully developed character who is both the victim of
circumstances and the commander of his own destiny. Richard, on stage for most of the play,
is never less than interesting and usually quite compelling. The portrayal of Richard III is a
fine instance of a character in evolution. (As S.T. Coleridge maintained, Shakespeare was
more interested in character-development than in his plots).
The author takes us inside the character, giving us a chance to see the motivation
behind the acts. Richard tells us in his own words what he will do and why; but we can also
judge him through his actions and reactions. The spectators are also exposed to Richard’s wit,
his psychological understanding of others, and the evil record of Richard’s “victims.”
Richard’s language, full of proverbs, sentences and wise saws, closely resembling that of
Marlowe’s Barabas, is used as a disguise.
Richard himself tells us that he represents Vice, a stock personification of evil in
earlier forms of drama. In the medieval “mystery” or “miracle” plays, Vice was the traditional
representative of the devil. His function was to entrap people into sin by charm, wit, and
double-dealing. On the other hand, the protagonist is exposed to the pressure of continual
foreboding. For Richard, Margaret is a towering figure of divine punishment, or Nemesis (the
ancient Greek concept of retribution); she haunts him constantly.
Clearly Richard enjoys his own cleverness. When Richard is killed by Richmond at
the play’s end, a certain sense of loss, even regret, is often felt. This raises the question of
why Richard III is not considered a tragedy. After all, Shakespeare entitled the play, The
Tragedy of Richard III. But he never undergoes any real change, and his downfall is not ‘a
fall from greatness’, but a well-deserved punishment for his personal crimes. Taken all in all,
Shakespeare succeeded in creating a portrait that no amount of accurate and objective
historical research has ever been able to displace.
Furthermore, Richard is a complex personage: violent, commanding and haughty, he
is equally bold and lucid. Tyrannical and hypocritical, he is perfectly aware of both his
cunning and his princely strength. A treacherous murderer, his rank and birth rise as high as
his talents. A mixture of intellectual vigour and moral depravity, springing out of the author’s
tensed and powerful imagination, Richard’s character is lurid in the main, no doubt, but also
essentially and unconditionally admirable. He is the very picture of villainy placed on the
stage of history itself. Villainous as it is, his character displays all the attributes of perfection
– a perfect monster, Richard is also a perfect princely self-seeker and hierarchy-climber. From
this particular angle, the play utterly lacks the idea of growth or evolution. “Richard is an
artist in villainy. What form and colour are to the painter, what rhythm and imagery are to the

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poet, that crime is to Richard: it is the medium in which his soul frames its conceptions of the
beautiful”. (Richard G. Moulton, Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist (1885), apud Leon D.
Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 53)
This fragment from Act V, scene III (“KING RICHARD: A thousand hearts are great
within my bosom. / Advance our standards, set upon our foes; Our ancient word of courage,
fair Saint George, / Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!”) is only one of the pieces of
evidence – and textual marks – purporting to the idea of heroic titanism. The monster is
equally a villain and a hero, because his dimensions are really titanic. In him can be
abundantly detected the characteristic traits of the literary titanic pose, present here as in other
Shakespearean creations. It is a literary stance closely akin to the hubris230 in the Greek
drama: measureless pride and unbridled passion spur the protagonist on to achieve colossally
inhuman things – because incalculably ambitious.
Richard III has been considered by many authoritative and sensible critics as the most
stageworthy piece in world literature; here, the author is not so much a great creator of life ‘as
such’, as an unparalleled creator of dramatic, theatrical essence. There is a widely recognised
“symphonic structure which I can only describe in terms of music: a rhetorical symphony of
five movements, with first and second subjects and some Wagnerian Leit-motifs.” (A.P.
Rossiter, Fifteen Lectures on Shakespeare, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la
începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 54). The great richness of language is apparent especially
in the protagonist’s soliloquies.
Henry IV: While King Henry IV is holding a political conference with his advisory
council, as England’s borders are threatened, Prince Hal, who should be helping his father
King Henry govern the country, is somewhere in London roistering with an old friend, the
disreputable Sir John Falstaff. The Percies, powerful northern lords, plot to rebel against
Henry, with whom they rebelled two years before against King Richard II. In Act II, two
carriers discuss the condition of England and Gadshill (a member of Poins’ gang) finds out
when several rich merchants will be passing Gad’s Hill on their way to London. Falstaff and
the band of thieves meet with Hal and Poins at Gad’s Hill. Meanwhile, Hotspur receives a
letter from a lord who refuses to join the rebellion conspiracy. In a London tavern Hal and
Poins are waiting for Falstaff to arrive. Falstaff and the thieves burst into the tavern, and tell
an exaggerated story about their encounter with an army of thieves at Gad’s Hill. Hal exposes
Falstaff as a liar. When news of the Percy rebellion reaches the tavern, Hal prepares for his
father’s inevitable scolding by rehearsing with Falstaff the meeting with Henry. At the height
of their play-acted argument, a sheriff arrives to arrest Falstaff for theft. Falstaff hides, and
Hal lies to protect him.
In Act III, the rebels meet to divide the leadership of England into three parts.
Glendower and Hotspur quarrel, but peace settles among the rebels while they say good-bye
to their wives. They ride to Shrewsbury, where the battle against Henry will shortly take
place. In the palace Henry accuses Hal of wasting his youth and disappointing his family.
Henry compares Hal unfavorably with King Richard II and with Hotspur. Hal promises to
turn over a new leaf, and vows to gain honor equal to Hotspur’s by fighting a glorious battle.
Father and son are reconciled, and Henry gives his son command of one-third of the royal
army. Hal gives Falstaff command over a troop of foot soldiers, and returns to court to help
with battle preparations. Falstaff plots ways of turning the war to his personal profit.
In Act IV, Hotspur and the other rebels are camped at Shrewsbury, waiting for the
rest of their allies; messengers arrive with news that Northumberland and Glendower will not
be joining them in battle. Hotspur and Douglas resolve to carry out their plans anyway.
Hearing that Prince Hal is leading an army towards Shrewsbury, Hotspur swears to kill him in
single combat. Falstaff marches his foot soldiers towards the battlefield. Their raggedy
appearance shocks Hal, but Falstaff lectures him on the realities of war. Hotspur expounds his
grievances against Henry, and sends Blunt back to the royal camp without an answer.

230Hubris ['hju:bris], rarely also hybris: excessive pride or self-confidence, counting as the ‘tragic (or fatal)
flaw’ in many ancient tragedies (by Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides).

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 In Act V, Worcester and Henry try to reach a peaceful settlement, and Hal intervenes
to offer himself in single combat to Hotspur, in place of a full-scale battle. Henry forbids this,
and sends Worcester back to the rebel camp with an ultimatum. Worcester lies to Hotspur
about Henry’s peace offer, and the battle challenge is given. During the battle Henry fights
Douglas, and Hal fights Hotspur. Hal rescues Henry from Douglas, and kills Hotspur.
Falstaff, meanwhile, leads his soldiers into the thickest fighting, yet he debunks honour, and
pretends to fall down dead when challenged by Douglas. Standing between the bodies of
Hotspur, his greatest rival, and Falstaff, his best friend, Hal praises Hotspur and teases
Falstaff, then walks away. Falstaff jumps up and defends his cowardly behaviour. Hal,
amazed to find Falstaff alive, allows him to take credit for killing Hotspur, a lie on which
Falstaff stakes his future reputation. The king’s army wins the battle. Henry orders the
executions of the rebel prisoners, but Hal insists on freeing Douglas. Henry divides the royal
army, proudly giving his son command of one-half. The two halves split to the north and
west, marching away to fight the remaining rebel leaders.
Henry IV recognizes his own guilt – and, as a result, he fears his own son, Prince Hal,
later Henry V. It is true that Henry’s motives are not clear, so the reader / spectator can see
him either as “vile politician”, who calculated every move up the ladder of success,
manipulating his friends and his country into making him king, or as the beneficiary of
irresistible political power and clearsightedness: a good politician who knew how to take
advantage of every opportunity and understood how to use power most effectively. Even if
Henry is a usurper, he wants to unite his kingdom and uphold its laws. He may not be a legal
king, but he is (or at least considers himself to be) a better ruler than Richard; what he wants
is keep England out of political chaos; there have even been critics who interpreted Henry IV
as a ‘morality play’.
In an alternation of masterful comic and serious scenes, the fat, bombastic knight
Falstaff and the rebel Hotspur display contrasting excesses, which prove the best benchmark
for the prince’s own conduct. Hal is the Prince of Wales and the future inheritor of the royal
crown; yet, Hal carouses in the taverns of Eastcheap with a band of drunkards and petty
thieves, instead of living at court and helping his father to govern the state. The young man
moved into the tavern world immediately after Henry’s coronation. Yet, Hal says that he is
only pretending to be dissolute, and intends to stage a stunning reformation of character that
will make him look even better to the eyes of the unexpecting court. And indeed, when war
breaks out Hal does leave the tavern world, and returns to the court to fight with his father
against the Percies. Equally at home in court and tavern, Hal fights like a perfect knight at
Shrewsbury. As a nobleman of about twenty, Hal has been trained in the arts of chivalry,
good manners, and military skills; but he is still learning the art of being a prince. Whether
Hal goes to the tavern to escape his new serious responsibilities, or to adjust to his new role,
and learn something about the lives of the people he will one day have to govern remains a
matter of dispute.
His plan for a spectacular “reformation” demonstrates that Hal has inherited Henry’s
knack for politics. Unlike Henry, Hal will inherit an untainted crown; the combination of
political skill and rightful claim will hopefully make Hal the perfect king. On the other hand,
as a private person he is cold and detached from his companions, he uses people for personal
advantage, at times enjoys cruel practical jokes, his behavior toward people is capricious.
Honor is to Hal something he must win for his kingly image, not something he feels is
necessary for leading a virtuous life. His favourite imagery is borrowed from the accounting
profession; he counts men’s attributes like coins in a change purse.
Conversely, Hal is certainly different from other men, he has spontaneity and warmth.
He learns about vice from Falstaff, but ultimately he rejects the criminal life as completely as
he rejects Hotspur’s wild romanticism. Hal seems more in control of himself than anyone else
in this play. Everything he promises will be carried out: fight loyally, win honour from
Hotspur in battle; Hal proves he is no counterfeit, but a true prince and a worthy heir to the
crown.

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 Sir John Falstaff, a knight and a stealer of purses, is a knot of endless contradictions,
who utterly evades categorization, permanently changing roles and moral postures. Old and
young, cowardly and fearless, sinful and occasionally virtuous, Falstaff is a liar, a drunkard,
and a thief – but he is a brilliant conversationalist and a punster, well educated in the Bible
and classical and contemporary Elizabethan literature.
A continual debunker and a cynic, he scoffs at all the serious pursuits in the play –
law and order, honour, reasonableness, justice. Falstaff’s name seems to be a contraction of
the words “false staff,” or the combination of “(to) fall” and “staff”. He is the “miles
gloriosus”, the colossal clown, the mediaeval grotesque set character, the Vice itself, or the
Devil, the Lord of Misrule, etc. His view of life is realistic and hard; for him, friends are
disloyal and money is hard to come by, war means that men are killed, sinning is easier than
pursuing the Christian virtues. These cynical opinions are tempered by a good-natured
enthusiasm, especially when confronted with adversity: a hearty laugh is healthier than
anxiety, such as that which plagues humorless King Henry (as a result, Falstaff was the
Shakespearean hero who received the highest praise throughout the 17th and the 18th
centuries). Actually, Falstaff is King Henry’s comical counterpart; he conjures up all the
range of anarchy images: gluttony, riotousness and falseness are all part and parcel of his
character. A substitute father for Hal, Falstaff preaches a kind of ‘revolutionary’ politics to
the young prince. But Hal refuses to be corrupted by Falstaff’s temptations; he banishes
Falstaff and his reign of misrule. Hal’s reformation and Falstaff’s subsequent rejection
represent a painful moment for both readers and spectators, but Samuel Johnson justly
remarks that the “fat knight” has never expressed generosity, and his power of exciting joy
and amusement can attract no form of respect. Henry IV.
What most critics of Shakespeare’s works have noticed is Falstaff’s complexity, the
character’s sheer many-sidedness (perhaps inspired by the sense of the Renaissance, the age
of human universality and power): “But Falstaff, unimitated, unimitable Falstaff, how shall I
describe thee? Thou compound of sense and vice; of sense which may be admired but not
esteemed, of vice which may be despised but hardly detested… The moral to be drawn from
this is, that no man is more dangerous than he that with a will to corrupt, hath the power to
please.” (Samuel Johnson, in Edition of Shakespeare, vol. IV, 1765, apud Leon D. Leviţchi,
Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 85). Though far from being a
moral paragon, Falstaff is an intriguing persona, a ‘round’ dramatic character: “[Falstaff] is
perhaps the most substantial character that ever was invented. Sir John carries a most portly
presence in the mind’s eye, and in him, not to speak it profanely, “we behold the fullness of
the spirit of wit and humour bodily”. The secret of Falstaff’s wit is for the most part a
masterly presence of mind, an absolute self-possession, which nothing can disturb. His
repartees are involuntary suggestions of his self-love, instinctive evasion of everything that
threatens to interrupt the career of his triumphant jollity and self-complacency. His very size
floats him out of all his difficulties in a sea of rich conceits; and he turns round on the pivot of
his convenience, with every occasion and at a moment’s warning. His natural repugnance to
every unpleasant thought or circumstance of itself makes fight off objections and provokes
the most extravagant and licentious answers in his own justification…“ (William Hazlitt, op.
cit., Henry IV, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol.
II, p. 86)
Northumberland’s son Hotspur is often seen as the romantic hero of this play, a
knight in shining armour whose reckless and passionate nature makes him more attractive
than the calculating, hypocritical politicians who surround him. Hotspur is completely
dedicated to winning honour, which he values more than his own life; he is addicted to the
idea of honour, and anything else is to him a waste of time. His thirst for battle is self-
destructive. He refuses to listen to good advice. It is only Falstaff and Hal who see through
Hotspur’s glamorous façade: Hotspur’s dead body is simply a warehouse of honour, from
which Falstaff can steal a good military reputation and Hal can steal the honour he requires
for kingship. In Henry IV Shakespeare is trying to define what makes a good king; an
attractive, brave, undaunted, straighforward man, Hotspur is not a good leader, too. There is a

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rare combination in the play of the tragic and the comic, suggestive of a broad range of
humanity.
Henry V is a play written to praise national solidarity and patriotic fervour, good
fellowship, the bold knight and the popular king, all reminding us of the wars on the
Continent – people’s wars, indeed. It presents Hal as a providential leader and a national hero.
Henry V is also a deeply disquieting study of the problems of rule and government: the play
could be considered a piece of monarchic propaganda, yet it reveals the secret anxieties /
obsessions with insurrection, revolt, etc. of a ruler; at once a soldier, a governor, a “plain
king”, Henry can adapt himself to a great variety of situations. His taste for theatricality is
only equalled by Hamlet’s and his verisimilitude as a literary character is really to be envied;
in fact, this Shakespearean hero has a great deal of human substance, empathetic power and
dramatic verisimilitude: “Henry V (…) has the gross vices, the coarse nerves, of one who is to
rule among violent people (…) He is as remorseless and undistinguished as some natural
force (…) Shakespeare has given him a resounding rhetoric that moves men, as a leading
article does today. His purposes are so intelligible to everybody that everybody talks of him
as if he succeeded. Shakespeare watched Herny V not indeed as he watched the greater souls
in the visionary procession, but cheerfully…” (W.B. Yeats, Ideas of Good and Evil, 1903,
apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 89); the
play itself presents a sadder, less enthusiastic view of reality: “With Henry V, the long and
splendid series of Shakespeare’s English historical plays is over. A national patriotic epic?
Yes, but also a sober and realistic discussion of the realities of honour and kingship; and, in
the low life scenes, a disenchanted view of what life was likely to be for the common man. It
is noteworthy that the comic rapscallions of Falstaff’s crew do not share the immunity to
physical harm that most writers give their comic characters; in Herny V we learn that Nym
and Bardolph have been hanged, and that Mrs. Quickly and Doll Tearsheet are dead, the latter
from venereal disease.” (John Wain, op. cit., p. 71, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză
de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 89).
Coriolanus, Julius Caesar and Antony and Cleopatra are all plays inspired by
Plutarch’s Lives; they concern themselves with the military and political career, with the
public and the private life of ancient heroes. Coriolanus is a problem-play dealing with the
relationship between the leader (the embodiment of a strong personality) and the ordinary
people / the masses. Several interpretations of the play are possible, which are elicited from
the audience; the spectators are called upon to take sides for or against the hero; the reading
may vary greatly: a satire on dictators, or a satire on the plebeians / the populace, but in either
case (and in spite of the various flaws of the plot, e.g. the factual exaggerations) the figure of
the protagonist dominates. Yet, the sociological and psychological interpretations seem to
have been favoured by most critics: “The fact that our sense of Coriolanus is created largely
by poetic means should not hinder us from seeing in the play a subtle ‘psychological’ probing
of the springs of conduct, or a rich ‘sociological’ interest”. (L.C. Knights, ‘King Lear and the
great Tragedies’, in The New Pelican Guide to English Literature, (2) The Age of
Shakespeare, edited by Boris Ford, p. 350). Moreover, besides being a rare piece of dramatic
poetry, Coriolanus is a very topical play: “Coriolanus, in this respect [i.e. the concern for
reality / the actuality] is the consummation of Shakespeare’s political wisdom.” (L.C.
Knights, ibidem, p. 349). More than one critic fruitfully considered this Roman play in
sociological terms, in addition to the psychological and mythical perspective on the dramatic
achievement: “Coriolanus is only seemingly a monodrama, or a tragedy on an ancient theme.
No doubt the play could be considered in terms of polis or urbs – a city state – protagonist,
fate. The hero breaks moral law, the city is threatened with destruction. The hero must choose
between his life and the city. He chooses death. The city has been saved, and he erects a
temple to Fortune. Rome is the city, Coriolanus the hero. But fate, as visualized by
Shakespeare, although it pursues, corners and breaks the hero in the mode of Greek furies, has
a modern aspect. Fate is represented here by class struggle. Rome is a city state. But it is a
Rome of plebeians and patricians.” (Jan Kott, Shakespeare Our Contemporary, New York,

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1964, pp. 134-135, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648,
vol. II, pp. 129-130).
Julius Caesar is a serious tragedy of political rivalries, less intense in style than the
tragic dramas that followed (in the third period of creation). In Julius Caesar, very much as in
Hamlet, Othello, Romeo and Juliet, King Lear and Macbeth, the protagonist does not stick
perfectly to the role assigned, but constantly tries to violate the cast, only to have the causes
of disorder exposed eventually. Julius Caesar could be described as a play primarily
concerned with the opposition of the strong spirit and the weak body. Life is the main theme
of the play. The Roman world in Shakespeare’s play is highly conscious of the power of
rhetoric, with words being used as weapons that can make a difference in the world. Will is
made to triumph over reason through the power of discourse; and great – and lengthy –
speeches abound in the play. Shakespeare shows that a leader of men, whether Caesar or
Brutus, may misunderstand people, situations, or arguments, and yet can dominate others, by
the sheer force of will. Julius Caesar can be seen as a political and public drama that
represents an exemplary clash of ideological models. The play begins and culminates with a
persuasion of the crowds by rhetoric. The real hero of the play is Brutus, the idealist dreamer,
an imperfect man of great nobleness. A real tragic type, “Brutus is, though undoubtedly a
patriot, not distinctly presented as such; and is led by Cassius, whose role in this early stage of
the tragedy verges upon that of a villain, into conduct from which he is averse… The drama is
not centred within him. He is a tragic figure, a noble soul in trouble. He unwillingly performs
what he considers a duty… but the trouble is not laid bare: even as in the dramatist’s greater
work, the action is not the legitimate issue of the character”. (E.E. Stoll, op. cit., pp. 144-145,
apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 91),
Mark Antony is one of Shakespeare’s most versatile characters; not a tragic hero
according to the Aristotelian tenets, an intelligent, reliable and tactful man, he is a proficient
psychologist and a very good orator. The rhetorical effects achieved in his famous speech of
Act 3, scene 2, are singularly and powerfully adequate. Antony uses the ‘apophatic approach’:
he speaks about what he is saying he will not mention, and the result is a spectacular turning
of tables (cf. the following quotation from King Lear” “The wheel is come full circle”). Like
Iago in Othello, Antony resorts to a technique of indirect persuasion, in Shakespeare’s
greatest scene of public and ideological seduction. He makes ample use of litotes, repetition
(“honest”, “honourable”, “ambitious”), etc. Shakespeare’s style and imagery as used in Julius
Caesar, are heavily indebted to the then current idea that the poet / dramatic author, God-like,
was the dispenser of words, and consequently of the reality evoked. In the play, the potential
relationships between words and reality are more than once hinted at (e.g. “brutish beasts”,
applied to the human kind); on the other hand, the words used in the play display undeniable
inter-referentiality (e.g. brutish is echoed by Brutus – cf. also brute, brutishness, brutal, etc.).
Here as elsewhere in Shakespeare’s dramatic work, the hidden springs and tragedy-
engendering intricacies of political power and struggle for supremacy are disclosed, in tones
and nuances that were all too clear for Shakespeare’s contemporaries: “Brutus, the
embodiment of Roman virtus, discovers that the nobility of his motives brings not freedom,
but civil strife and sordid struggle for power, and, as far as he himself is concerned, sickness
at heart and the loss of what is dearest to him… This play of Rome and Romans, really of
London and Englishmen, throws light on Shakespeare’s world of contemporary England and
Europe.“ (E.F.K. Ludowik, op. cit., pp. 173-174, apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză
de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 92)
Antony and Cleopatra was called a ‘festive tragedy’; it presents an open situation,
which has many elements of comedy, and Shakespeare explores the resources of the
Elizabethan stage in the rapid movement managed around the opposition between Rome and
Egypt. Antony is no longer a subtle politician and an intrepid military leader as in Julius
Caesar – he combines spiritual youth and physical decay. Cleopatra is considered by many
critics to be the most complex female character in Shakespeare’s plays; she displays an
essential feminity; she is not afraid of death: for her, death and love are the same thing. The
two universally acclaimed merits of the play are its poetical achievement and the genius of

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artistic life-creation: “Cleopatra’s lament over the dying Antony, her evocation of his
greatness and bounty, have perhaps weighed too heavily in the impression that many people
have taken from the play as a whole. That these things are great poetry goes without saying.
But the almost unbearable pathos of the last scenes is for what has not in fact been realized.”
(L.C. Knights, ‘King Lear and the great Tragedies’, in The New Pelican Guide to English
Literature, (2) The Age of Shakespeare, edited by Boris Ford, p. 348); “…On the other hand,
what Shakespeare infused into the love story as he found it in Plutarch was an immense
energy, a sense of life so heightened that it can claim to represent an absolute value” (L.C.
Knights, ibidem, p. 346).
The artistic treatment of the subject is on a par with the author’s care for the
psychological detail and urge to ethic reflection, especially as the play fully and typically
belongs to Shakespeare’s ‘dark age’: “An extraordinarily vivid presentation in Elizabethan
terms of events and characters of the ancient world, with truth to life as its one restraining
condition, Antony and Cleopatra is almost as far removed from the tragedies as it is from the
decorous treatment of the same theme by the Senecan school of poets. The ethical value of
that theme is considerable, and has its due weight. Events enforce it, and draw from
Enobarbus witty sarcasms, from Antony many a bitter reflection on his own folly. But this is
all: the riotous life of pleasure betrays its charm beside its cost, and the ultimate effects of all
the moralist would condemn are moral and not immoral (…) It is absurd to shake our heads
over Antony’s love because, in the sharp reversal of the situation of himself and Cleopatra
with respect to one another, he pays for the mortifications and distresses he had once inflicted
on her, in frenzied doubts of a fidelity suspiciously unstable in our eyes as well as his. It must
be tested by the unselfish devotion at the supreme hour which renders it incapable of
differentiation from a virtuous passion and which (at first sight, at any rate) is in such striking
contrast with Cleopatra’s care for her own safety when love and pity should have exiled every
other thought” (R.H. Chase, Introduction to Antony and Cleopatra, 1954, pp. XXX-XXXI,
apud Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, p. 127-128).
Edward III has recently been included into ‘Shakespeare’s canon’.231 Previously, it
was widely held that only the first two acts resembled Shakespearean plays (primarily through
their dramatic structure, character construction, vocabulary, iterative images and rhythm);
there are countless similarities and identical points in Edward III and the rest of
Shakespeare’s work.
Largely based on Holinshed’s chronicle, it minutely describes the English campaigns
in France during the One Hundred Years War. The main theme of the play is ‘a prince’s
education’ – with special emphasis being placed on honesty, courage, fealty, wise authority,
etc. The play thus anticipates Prince Hal’s evolution from indolence to political and military
eminence. The young king can also be seen as a forerunner of Angelo, the seducer in Measure
for Measure (through his unwelcome attentions to the Countess of Salisbury, which nearly
drive her to suicide).
*
* *
More recent attempts at interpreting Shakespeare’s drama have occasionally been
distorted into feminist, sociologizing, gender, chauvinist / racist, etc. patterns, which are
unfortunately too exclusive, reductionist and predictable to count as serious approaches. His
texts are often discussed in terms of discourse, or of subversion, etc. Deconstruction has also
been a recent ‘must’ in the criticism of Shakespeare’s plays. Other ‘buzz-words’ and ‘key-
words’ (and, of course, concepts) used by critics are included in the “decanonizing”-
“desecrating”-“debunking” batch, all of which can be suspected as reductionist views. As far
as a number of such more recent critical approaches are concerned, there is always the danger
of excess: “Obsessive class- and gender-consciousness make for a kind of inverse snobbery.
One would never guess from reading these commentaries that sacrificial love, self-surrender,
231A canon is “1. a collection or list of sacred books accepted as genuine. 2. The works of a particular
author or artist that are recognized as genuine; a list of literary works considered to be permanently
established as being of the highest quality” (after The New Oxford Dictionary of English).

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renunciation, forgiveness, chastity, unselfishness, chivalric courage, or Christian humility and
submission could have any honourable place in Shakespeare’s complex of values. Power and
oppression become exclusively and reductively the theme. Implicit also in this school of
academic discourse is the arrogant assumption that the interpretative act, if it can be
sufficiently startling and revisionist, somehow displaces and ought to displace the work
interpreted, even if (or perhaps because) it comes from the pen of Western civilization’s
supreme literary genius” (Charles R. Forker, apud G. Volceanov, op. cit., p. 79-80).
Yet, what really counts in the work of this supreme genius of Western (not only
English) civilization is the aesthetic supremacy of his ideas, concepts and literary treatment –
as many marks of man’s permanent intellectual and artistic progress.
In addition to the fundamental ideas and world-defining concepts he manipulated in
his creation, going as far as turning their expression into genuine adages (concepts like: Time
as a Tyrant, ‘doing’ versus ‘stagnation’, Beauty – laudable vs. Ugliness – destroyable,
Identity, essence vs. appearance, dialectics of existence, ‘Similia similibus curantur’, ‘the
world as a stage’, the evils characteristic of an age, the ‘mirror-reflection’ of humanity, the
power of Art, the value of Man, Man and Society, ‘being’ versus ‘acting’, truth, degree, cause
and effect, reward and punishment, fellowship of men, etc.),232 Shakespeare used a
tremendously wide range of figures of speech. Yet, repetition – of various kinds, the use of
antonyms and of (mostly lyrical) parentheses are generally considered his chief stylistic
devices.
Among the most frequent types of repetition occurring in Shakespeare’s plays, one
can quote: epizeuxis (defined as “simple repetition”), syntactic parallelism, repetition based
on synonymous or homonymous terms, accumulative repetition, pleonastic repetition,
repetition of the grammatical pattern, echo-words or echo-phrases and reverberated words;
the great poet also used echoic language, etymological rejuvenation of words,233 making for a
very rich language where countless terms are (or seem to be) personal coinages, puns, specific
and highly graphical images, making use of the right word at the right place.
In spite of his many detractors – among whom celebrated figures of world literature
like Voltaire, Leo / Lev Tolstoy, George Bernard Shaw – William Shakespeare will always
remain a literary phenomenon of the very first rank: “It was the union of the most
consummate judgement with the highest creative power that made Shakespeare the miracle he
was” (Craik).

SUPPORT TEXTS

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616)

SONNETS

XVIII

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease1 hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,2

232 See also Leon D. Leviţchi, Literatura engleză de la începuturi pînă la 1648, vol. II, pp. 141-170.
233 Etymological rejuvenation, or semantic rejuvenation / rejuvenation of meaning, (see also
Margaret Sclauch, Semantic Rejuvenation, in The Gift of Tongues, 1942, Viking Press Inc., New York, with
examples like: to express “to press out”, admiration – cf. Latin admirari, “to wonder at”, attent “stretched”,
speculation – cf. Latin speculare, “to gaze, to look upon / at”, occulted guilt “guilt covered over, or hidden”,
maculation – cf. Latin macula “spot (of dirt)”, sequent protestation – in the concrete sense of “my calling on
witness, which now follows”, tenable – cf. Latin tenere “to hold”, crescent – cf. Latin crescere “to grow”)

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And every fair from fair sometime declines,3
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed:4
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag5 thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

XIX

“Devouring Time, blunt6 thou the lion’s paws,7

And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;8
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws,
And burn the long-liv’d phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet’st,9
And do whatever thou wilt,10 swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous11 crime;
O! carve not with thy hours my love’s fair brow,12
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique13 pen;
Him in thy course untainted14 do allow
For beauty’s pattern to succeeding men,
Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.”

XXX

“When to the sessions of sweet silent thought,

I summon up15 remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail16 my dear time’s waste:
Then can I drown an eye (unused to flow)
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long since cancelled17 woe,
And moan18 th’expense of many a vanished sight.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,19
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,20
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee (dear friend)
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.”

LV

“Not marble, nor the gilded21 monuments

Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme,22
But you shall shine more bright in these contents23
Than unswept stone, besmeared24 with sluttish25 time.
When wasteful26 war shall statues overturn,
And broils27 root out28 the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword, nor war’s quick fire shall burn:
The living record of your memory.
‘Gainst death, and all-oblivious29 enmity
Shall you pace forth,30 your praise shall still find room,

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 Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.31
So till the judgment that your self arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers’ eyes.”

LXVI

“Tir’d with all these, for restful death I cry,

As to behold32 desert33 a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm’d in jollity,34
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,35
And gilded honour shamefully misplac’d,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,36
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,37
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly – doctor-like – controlling skill,38
And simple truth miscall’d simplicity,
And captive good attending39 captain ill;
Tir’d with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save40 that, to die, I leave my love alone.”

XCI

“Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,

Some in their wealth, some in their body’s force,
Some in their garments41 though new-fangled42 ill:
Some in their hawks and hounds,43 some in their horse.
And every humour hath his adjunct44 pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest,
But these particulars are not my measure,
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments’ costs,
Of more delight than hawks and horses be:
And having thee, of all men’s pride I boast.
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take,
All this away, and me most wretched make.”

CXVI

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,45
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass46 come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom,
If this be error, and upon me prov’d,
I never writ,47 nor no man ever lov’d.”

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 CXIX

“What potions48 have I drunk of Siren tears

Distilled from limbecks49 foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw my self to win!
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,50
Whilst it hath thought it self so blessed never!
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted
In the distraction51 of this madding fever!
O benefit of ill, now I find true
That better is, by evil still made better.
And ruined love when it is built anew
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.
So I return rebuked52 to my content,
And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent.”

CXXX

“My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red than her lips’ red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;53
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d,54 red and white,
But no each roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.55
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddes go, –
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground;56
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied57 with false compare.”

CXXXII

“Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,

Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain,
Have put on black and loving mourners be,
Looking with pretty ruth58 upon my pain.
And truly not the morning sun of heaven
Better becomes59 the grey cheeks of the east,
Nor that full star that ushers in the even,60
Doth half that glory to the sober west,
As those two mourning eyes become thy face;
O! let it then as well beseem thy heart
To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace,
And suit thy pity like in every part.
Then will I swear beauty herself is black,
And all they foul that thy complexion lack.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) lease: contract (de închiriere); (2) dimmed: înceţoşat; (3) to decline: a da înapoi, a se
împuţina, a scădea; (4) untrimmed: neîmpodobit; (5) brag: a se lăuda; (6) to blunt: a toci; (7)

204
paws: labe (de animal); (8) brood: odrasle; (9) thou fleet’st = you flee; (10) thou wilt = you will
/ want; (11) heinous: înfiorător; mîrşav; (12) fair brow: chip luminos / preafrumos; (13) antique
pen: condeiul (stră)vechi; (14) untainted: neatins; nemînjit; (15) summon up: a chema la sine;
(16) to wail: a se tîngui; (17) cancelled: r; (18) to moan: a geme; (19) to forego: a preceda; (20)
the sad account of fore-bemoaned moan: povestea tristă a tînguirii dinainte jeluite; (21) gilded:
(d)aurit; (22) rhyme: poezie, vers(uri); (23) these contents: aceste versuri; (24) besmeared with:
mînjit / murdărit / pîngărit de; (25) sluttish: abject, murdar; (26) wasteful: distrugător; (27)
broil: pîrjol; (28) to root out: a distruge, a dărîma; (29) all-oblivious: care dă uitării totul / de
tot; (30) to pace forth: a propăşi, a merge înainte; (31) the ending doom: ziua de pe urmă; (32)
to behold: a privi; (33) desert: merit; (34) nothing trimm’d in jollity: nimicnicia cu strai de fală;
(35) forsworn: prigonit; (36) rudely strumpeted: făcută să decadă cu sălbăticie / silnicie; (37) by
limping sway disabled: cu vlaga stoarsă de o putere şchioapă / netrebnică; (38) controlling
skill: mai mare peste iscusinţă / meşteşug; (39) to attend: a fi servitorul (cuiva); (40) save that:
doar / numai că; (41) garments: strai(e); (42) new-fangled: nou plămădit; (43) hound: câine (de
vînătoare), ogar; (44) adjunct: alăturat, corespunzător; (45) bark: corabie; (46) within his
bending sickle’s compass come: ajunge sub coasa lui; (47) I never writ = I have never written;
(48) potions: băuturi, licori, elixiruri; (49) limbeck: distilling vessel; Rom. alambic; (50) to
commit: a săvîrşi; (51) distraction: nebunie, rătăcire; (52) rebuked: dojenit; (53) dun: pămîntiu,
murdar; (54) roses damask’d: trandafiri şatiraţi; (55) reeks: a mirosi greu / urît, a duhni; (56)
treads on the ground: calcă greu / greoi / apăsat; (57) to belie: a falsifica; (58) ruth: milă; (59)
to become: a i se potrivi; (60) the even = the evening.

RICHARD II (The Tragedy of King Richard the Second)

Act II, Scene I
“GAUNT: Methinks1 I am a prophet new inspir’d, / And thus, expiring,2 do foretell of him: /
His rash,3 fierce blaze4 of riot cannot last, / For violent fires soon burn out themselves; / Small
showers last long, but sudden storms are short; / He tires betimes5 that spurs6 too fast betimes;
/ With eager7 feeding food doth choke8 the feeder; / Light9 vanity, insatiate cormorant, /
Consuming means,10 soon preys upon itself. / This royal throne of kings, this scept’red isle, /
This earth of majesty, this seat11 of Mars,12 / This other Eden, demi-paradise,13 / This fortress
built by Nature for herself / Against infection14 and the hand of war, / This happy breed15 of
men, this little world, / This precious stone set in the silver sea, / Which serves it in the
office17 of a wall, / Or as a moat18 defensive to a house, / Against the envy of less happier
lands;19 / This blessèd20 plot,21 this earth, this realm,22 this England, / This nurse, this teeming
womb23 of royal kings, / Fear’d by their breed, and famous by their birth, / Renowned for
their deeds as far from home, / For Christian service and true chivalry, 24 / As is the
sepulchre,25 in stubborn26 Jewry, / Of the world’s ransom, blessèd Mary’s Son; / This land of
such dear souls, this dear dear land, / Dear for her reputation through the world, / Is now
leas’d out27—I die pronouncing it28— / Like to a tenement29 or pelting30 farm. / England,
bound in with the triumphant sea, / Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege / Of
wat’ry Neptune, is now bound in31 with shame, / With inky blots and rotten parchment32
bonds;33 / That England, that was wont34 to conquer others, / Hath made a shameful conquest
of itself.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) methinks (înv.), (Past Tense: methought): cred (că), socot (că); mi se pare (că); (2) to
expire: to die; (3) rash: 1. năvalnic, impetuous; 2. nesăbuit, necugetat; 3. imprudent, negîndit;
(4) blaze: flaring, flame; always used figuratively; (5) betimes: (poetic, lit.) before the usual or
expected time; early; (6) to spur: 1. a da pinteni (calului); 2. a îndemna, a îmboldi, a stimula;
3. a zori, a grăbi; (7) eager: 1. (+ after, for, about) însetat (de), dornic (de); 2. (d. dorinţe etc.)
viu, înfocat; (8) to choke: a sufoca; a înăbuşi; (9) light: 1. uşor; 2. suplu, graţios; 3. vioi, iute,
sprinten; 4. blând, delicat, uşor; 5. neînsemnat; 6. neserios, uşuratic, frivol; (10) means; that
which is at a person’s disposal; resources, power, wealth, allowance; (11) seat: 1. scaun; 2.
reşedinţă; (12) Mars [m:z]: (mitol.) Marte, Ares, zeul greco-roman al războiului; (13) demi-
paradise: half a Paradise; (14) infection: 1. infecţie; 2. molipsire, contaminare: 3. corupere;

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(15) breed: neam; rasă; soi, specie; (16) to breed: 1. a creşte; a educa; 2. a da naştere la, a
naşte: (fig.) a crea; (17) in the office of: în chip de; (18) moat: groapă, şanţ (de fortificaţii); (19)
less happier: less happy, not so / as happy (as…); (20) blessed ['blesid]: 1. binecuvîntat; 2.
fericit; (with sth.) blagoslovit (cu ceva); (21) plot: bucată de pămînt; (22) realm: 1. regat; (also
fig.) împărăţie; 2. (fig.) domeniu; (23) nurse: doică; teeming womb: pântece mereu rodnic; (24)
chivalry: knighthood, deeds and qualities of a knight; (25) sepulchre = (here) The Holy
Sepulchre: Jesus’ sacred tomb, supposed to lie in Jerusalem; (26) stubborn: ruthless,
insensible; (27) leased out: let, farmed out; (28) to pronounce: to speak out, to give utterance
to; (29) tenement: 1. locuinţă; 2. moşie arendată: 3. casă / locuinţă închiriată; (30) pelting:
paltry (cf. petty); (31) bound in < to bind in: to enclose, to surround; (32) parchment:
pergament; (33) bond: boundary; limit; (34) wont [wunt]: obişnuit; to be wont (also + to do
sth.): a fi obişnuit (să…); a fi obişnuit (cu), a obişnui (să); a avea de obicei (să).

RICHARD II
Act III, Scene II
“KING RICHARD: Discomfortable1 cousin! know’st thou not / That when the searching eye of
heaven is hid / Behind the globe, that lights the lower world, / Then thieves and robbers
range2 abroad3 unseen / In murders and in outrage4 boldly5 here; / But when from under this
terrestrial ball / He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines / And darts his light through every
guilty hole, / Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, / The cloak of night being pluck’d
from off their backs, / Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? / So when this thief,
this traitor, Bolingbroke, / Who all this while hath revell’d6 in the night, / Whilst we were
wand’ring with the Antipodes, / Shall see us rising in our throne, the east, / His treasons will
sit blushing in his face, / Not able to endure the sight of day, / But self-affrighted, tremble at
his sin. / Not all the water in the rough rude sea / Can wash the balm7 off from an anointed8
king; / The breath of worldly men cannot depose9 / The deputy elected by the Lord. / For
every man that Bolingbroke hath press’d10 / To lift shrewd11 steel against our golden crown, /
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay / A glorious angel. Then, if angels fight, / Weak
men must fall; for heaven still guards the right.”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY

(1) discomfortable: wanting hope; discouraging; (2) to range: to roam, to rope at large; (3)
abroad: opposed to any habitation; (4) outrage: rude violence, contempt shown to law and
decency; (5) boldly: courageously; [in other editions, the word in the text is bloody]; (6) to revel: a
se distra; a chefui; (7) balm: balsam; (here, also) mir; (8) to anoint: 1. a unge (rege etc.); 2. a
mirui; (9) deputy: substitute, viceregent; (10) pressed: to force into military service; (11)
shrewd: bad, evil, mischievous.

RICHARD III (The Tragedy of King Richard the Third)

Act I, Scene I
“GLOUCESTER: Now is the winter of our discontent / Made glorious summer by this sun of
York; / And all the clouds that lour’d1 upon our house / In the deep bosom of the ocean
buried. / Now are our brows2 bound with victorious wreaths, / Our bruised3 arms hung up for
monuments, / Our stern4 alarums5 chang’d to merry meetings,6 / Our dreadful marches to
delightful measures.7 / Grim-visag’d war hath smooth’d his wrinkled front, / And now –
instead of mounting8 barbèd9 steeds / To fright the souls of fearful adversaries— / He capers10
nimbly in a lady’s chamber / To the lascivious pleasing11 of a lute. / But I – that am not
shap’d for sportive12 tricks,13 / Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass— / I that am
rudely14 stamp’d,15 and want love’s majesty / To strut before a wanton ambling16 nymph— / I
that am curtail’d17 of this fair proportion, / Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, /

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Deform’d, unfinish’d, sent before my time / Into this breathing world scarce half made up— /
And that so lamely18 and unfashionable / That dogs bark at me as I halt by them— / Why, I in
this weak piping19 time of peace / Have no delight to pass away the time, / Unless to spy my
shadow in the sun / And descant20 on mine own21 deformity. / And therefore, since I cannot
prove a lover / To entertain these fair well-spoken days, / I am determinèd to prove a villain /
And hate the idle pleasures of these days. / Plots have I laid, inductions22 dangerous, / By
drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, / To set my brother Clarence and the King / In deadly
hate the one against the other; / And if King Edward be as true and just / As I am subtle,23
false and treacherous,24 / This day should Clarence closely be mew’d up25 / About a prophecy
which says that ‘G’ / Of Edward’s heirs the murderer shall be. / Dive, thoughts, down to my
soul: here Clarence comes.”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) lour’d = lowered; (2) brow [brau]: (poet.) frunte; (3) to bruise: to dint, to scar; (4) stern:
aspru; dur; rigid; încruntat; (5) alarum: a call to arms, to an attack; (6) meeting: a coming
together, interview, assembly: (7) measure: a grave and solemn dance; (8) to mount: a încăleca
(pe un cal); (9) barbed: armed and harnessed (used only of horses); (10) to caper: to leap, to
jump: (11) the pleasing: pleasure, arbitrary will, command (Rom. “la cheremul…”); (12)
sportive: amorous, wanton; (13) trick: 2. a knack, art, a dexterous contrivance; 2. a sleight of
hand, the legerdemain of a juggler; (14) rudely: harshly, roughly; (15) to stamp: to mark with
an impression; (16) ambling: moving affectedly, as in a dance; (17) to curtail: to cut short, to
put a stop to; (18) lamely: şchiop; defectuous; imperfect; (19) to pipe: to play on a pipe; (here,
perhaps: “speaking in a woman’s or a child’s voice”); (20) to descant: to comment; (21) mine
own = my own; (22) induction: beginning, introduction; (23) subtle: 1. subtil; 2. abil; 3. (in the
text) viclean; (24) treacherous: trădător; perfid; (25) to mew up: to shut up, to confine.

KING HENRY THE FOURTH, First Part

(The History of Henry the Fourth) Act IV, Scene II
“(A public road near Coventry)
FALSTAFF: If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a soused1 gurnet.2 I have misused the
king’s press3 damnably. I have got, in exchange of one hundred and fifty soldiers, three
hundred and odd pounds. I press me none but good householders, yeomen’s sons, enquire me
out contracted4 bachelors, such as had been asked twice on the banns;5 such a commodity of
warm slaves, as had as lief hear the devil as a drum; such as fear the report 6 of a caliver worse
then a struck fowl or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed me none but such toasts-and-butter, with
hearts in their bellies no bigger than pins’ heads, and they have bought out their services; and
now my whole charge consists of ensigns, [in other editions, the word in the text is ancients
“ensign-bearers”] corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies – slaves as ragged as Lazarus
in the painted cloth, where the glutton’s7 dogs licked his sores8 – and such as indeed were
never soldiers, but discarded unjust serving-men, younger sons to younger brothers, revolted
tapsters9 and ostlers10 trade-fallen, the cankers11 of a calm world and a long peace; ten times
more dishonourable-ragged than an old feazed ensign [in other editions, the word in the text is
faced ancient]: and such have I, to fill up the rooms of them that have bought out their services,
that you would think that I had a hundred and fifty tattered12 prodigals,13 lately come from
swine-keeping, from eating draff14 and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way and told me I
had unloaded all the gibbets15 and pressed the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scarecrows.
I’ll not march through Coventry with them, that’s flat.16 Nay, and the villains march wide
betwixt17 the legs, as if they had gyves18 on; for, indeed I had the most of them out of prison.
There’s but a shirt and a half in all my company; and the half shirt is two napkins 19 tacked20
together and thrown over the shoulders like a herald’s coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to
say the truth, stolen from my host at Saint Alban’s, or the red~nose inn-keeper of Daventry.
But that’s all one; they’ll find linen21 enough on every hedge.”

Act V, Scene I
“(The King’s camp near Shrewsbury)

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PRINCE HENRY: Why, thou owest God a death. (Exit)
FALSTAFF: ’Tis not due yet: I would be loath to pay him before his day. What need I be so
forward22 with him that calls not on me? Well, ’tis no matter; honour pricks me on.23 Yea, but
how if honour prick me off when I come on? How then? Can honour set-to24 a leg? No. Or an
arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery25 then? No.
What is honour? A word. What is that word ‘honour’? Air. A trim26 recknoning! Who hath it?
he that died o’ Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. ’Tis insensible then?
Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction 27 will not suffer it.
Therefore I’ll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon. And so ends my catechism.”28

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) soused: pickled; (2) gurnet: the fish Trigla; used as a term of reproach; (3) press: a
commission used to force men into military service; (4) to contract: to betroth; (5) the banns
(also bans): notice of a matrimonial contract proclaimed in the church; (6) report: foc de
armă; (7) glutton: lacom, gurmand, nesătul; (8) sore: rană; (9) tapster: waiter, one who draws
beer and serves the customers of an alehouse < to tap (beer); (10) ostler: the person who has
the care of horses at an inn; (11) canker: a worm that preys upon blossoms; (12) tattered:
zdrenţuit; (13) prodigals (used substantively): lavish, profuse (Rom. “risipitor”); (14) draff:
dregs or refuse; (15) gibbet ['dibit]: spînzurătoare; (16) that’s flat = that’s certain; (17) betwixt
= between; (18) gyves: chains, fetters; (19) napkin: handkerchief; (20) tacked: stitched
together; (21) linen: cloth made of hemp or flax; (22) forward (adj.): ready, willing; 2. eager,
zealous; (23) to prick on: to goad, spur, incite; to prick off (here, in a pun: “stab me, kill me”):
to pierce or wound as with a prickle, to sting; (24) to set-to a leg: to restore a leg cut off; (25)
surgery: the art and practice of a surgeon; cure by manual operation; (26) trim: nice, fine
(mostly used with irony); (27) detraction: speaking ill, defamation; (28) catechism: an
elementary book in the form of questions and answers.

KING HENRY THE FOURTH, Second Part

(The History of Henry the Fourth, Second Part) Act I, Scene II
“(London. A street) (Sir JOHN FALSTAFF, with his Page bearing his sword and buckler)1
FALSTAFF: Men of all sorts take a pride to gird2 at me: the brain of this foolish-compounded
clay, man, is not able to invent anything that tends3 to laughter, more than I invent or is
invented on me: I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here
walk before thee like a sow that hath o’erwhelmed all her litter but one. If the Prince put thee
into my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then, I have no judgment. Thou
whoreson4 mandrake,5 thou art fitter to be worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was
never manned with an agate6 till now; but I will set you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile
apparel,7 and send you back again to your master, for a jewel – the juvenal,8 the Prince your
master, whose chin is not yet fledged.9 I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my
hand than he shall get one off his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say, 10 his face is a face-
royal. God may finish it when he will, ‘tis not a hair amiss11 yet. He may keep it still as a
face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he will be crowing12 as if
he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he is
almost out of mine. I can assure him. What said Master Dombledon about the satin for my
short cloak and my slops?13
PAGE: He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph; he would not take
his bond and yours; he liked not the security.
FALSTAFF: Let him be damned like the glutton! May his tongue be hotter. A whoreson
Achitophel,14 a rascally yea-forsooth15 knave, to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand
upon16 security! The whoreson smooth-pates17 do now wear nothing but high shoes, and
bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is through with them in honest taking-up, then
they must stand upon security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane18 in my mouth as offer to

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stop it with security. I looked, a’should have sent me tw-and-twenty yards of satin, as I am a
true knight, and he sends me ‘security’!”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) buckler: scut, pavăză; (2) to gird: to ridicule, to tease; (3) to tend to: to have a tendency, to
move in a certain direction; (4) whoreson ['h:sn] adj.: (termen injurios, folosit adesea afectiv-
expresiv): ticălosule etc.; (literally: fiu de tîrfă; bastard); în text şi: termen grosolan de
familiaritate, aproape de mîngîiere - approx.: ticălosul, nemernicul (de el)! secătură (ce e)! (5)
mandrake: the plant Atropa mandragora (Rom. “mătrăgună”), the root of which was thought
to resemble the human figure, and to cause madness and even death, when torn from the
ground; (6) agate: a stone of the flint kind, often worn in rings, with little figures cut in it;
serving as a symbol of smallness; (7) apparel: veş(t)minte, haine; (8) juvenal (used by Falstaff
in jesting): a youth; (9) fledged: already covered with feathers; (10) to stick (to say): to
hesitate, to scruple (always followed by an infinitive); (11) amiss: greşit, nelalocul său; (12) to
crow: a cânta / face cucurigu; (13) slops: large loose trousers; (14) Achitophel: a character in a
biblical legend; he conspired with Absalom, king David’s son, against the latter, and in the
end hanged himself; (15) yea-forsooth: used to designate one saying to anything yea and
forsooth, which later was not seen as a phrase of genteel company; (16) to stand upon: to
insist on; (17) smooth-pate: one having a sleek head (and bland manners); literally, a sleek-
haired man; (18) ratsbane: otravă de şoareci, şoricioaică.

KING HENRY THE FOURTH, PART 2

(The History of Herny the Fourth, Second Part) Act IV, Scene III
“KING: Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought. / I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. /
Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair / That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours
/ Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth! / Thou seek’st the greatness that will overwhelm
thee. / Stay but a littl, for my cloud of dignity / Is held from falling with so weak a wind /
That it will quickly drop. My day is dim. (…) / O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows! /
When that my care could not withhold thy riots,1 / What wilt thou do when riot is thy care? /
O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, / Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!
PRINCE: O, pardon me, my liege! But for my tears, / The moist impediments unto my speech,
/ I had forestall’d2 this dear and deep rebuke / Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard /
The course of it so far. / There is your crown; (He returns the crown and kneels) / And He
that wears the crown immortally / Long guard it yours! (…)
KING: O my son, / God put it in thy mind to take it hence, / That thou mightst win the more
thy father’s love, / Pleading so wisely in excuse3 of it! / Come hither, Harry; sit thou by my
bed, / And hear, I think, the very latest counsel / That ever I shall breathe. (Prince Harry rises
from kneeling and sits by the bed) God knows, my son, / By what by-paths and indirect
crook’d4 ways / I met this crown; and I myself know well / How troublesome it sat upon my
head. / To thee it shall descend with better quiet, / Better opinion,5 better confirmation;6 / For
all the soil of the achievement goes / With me into the earth. It seem’d in me / But as an
honour snatch’d with boist’rous hand; / And I had many living to upbraid 7 / My gain of it by
their assistances; / Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed, / Wounding supposèd8
peace. All these bold fears / Thou seest with peril I have answered; / For all my reign hath
been but as a scene / Acting that argument.9 And now my death / Changes the mood; for what
in me was purchas’d / Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort; / So thou the garland wear’st
successively. / Yet, though thou stand’st more sure than I could do, / Thou art not firm
enough, since griefs are green;10 / And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends, /
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta’en out; / By whose fell working I was first advanc’d,
/ And by whose power I well might lodge a fear / To be again displac’d; which to avoid / I cut
them off; and had a purpose now / To lead out many to the Holy Land, / Lest rest and lying
still might make them look / Too near unto my state. / Therefore, my Harry, / Be it thy course
to busy giddy11 minds / With foreign quarrels, that action, hence borne out, / May waste the
memory of the former days. / More would I, but my lungs are wasted so / That strength of

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speech is utterly denied me. / How I came by the crown, O God, forgive, / And grant it may
with thee in true peace live!
PRINCE: My gracious liege, / You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me; / Then plain and right
must my possession be, / Which I with more than with a common pain / ‘Gainst all the world
will rightfully maintain. Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WARWICK, LORDS, and
others.
KING: Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster.
PRINCE JOHN: Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal father!”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) riot: 1. tumultuous disturbance of the peace: 2. revel, wild and loose feasting,
dissoluteness; (2) to forestall: a împiedica, a zădărnici (planurile cuiva), luându-i-o înainte; (3)
to plead in excuse: to argue, to speak by way of persuasion; (4) crook’d: curved; (5) opinion:
reputation, credit, public opinion; (6) confirmation: firmer establishment, strengthening; (7) to
upraid: a dojeni; (8) supposed: imagined, fancied, (erroneously) thought of; (9) argument: that
of which a dramatic play treats; (10) green: fresh, new; young; (11) giddy: rash, hot-brained,
excitable.

Act V, Scene IV
“(Re-enter the PRINCE and JOHN OF LANCASTER)
PRINCE HARRY: Come, brother John; full bravely hast thou fleshed1 / Thy maiden sword.2
LANCASTER: But, soft! whom have we here? / Did you not tell me this fat man was dead?
(…)
PRINCE (to Falstaff): Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee dead.
FALSTAFF: Didst thou? Lord, Lord! how this world is given to lying! I grant you I was down
and out of breath, and so was he; but we rose both at an instant, and fought a long hour by
Shrewsbury clock. If I may be believed, so; if not, let them that should reward valour bear the
sin upon their own heads. I’ll take’t on my death I gave him this wound in the thigh: if the
man were alive and would deny it, ’zounds,3 I would make him eat a piece of my sword.
LANCASTER: This is the strangest tale that e’er I heard.
PRINCE: This is the strangest fellow, brother John. / Come, bring your luggage4 nobly on
your back: / For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, / I’ll gild 5 it with the happiest terms I
have.”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) to flesh: to feed with flesh for the first time, to initiate; (2) maiden sword: virgin (fig.), not
yet stained with blood; (3) ’zounds (or ’swounds): an oath contracted from God’s wounds; (4)
luggage: anything cumbersome to be carried; (5) to gild: to make bright and shining like gold.

PROLOGUE TO THE CHRONICLE PLAY

‘THE LIFE OF KING HENRY THE FIFTH’
“O! for a Muse of fire, that would ascend / The brightest heaven of invention; 1 / A kingdom
for a stage, princes to act / And monarchs to behold the swelling scene. / Then should the
warlike Harry, like himself, / Assume2 the port3 of Mars, and at his heels, / Leash’d in like
hounds, should famine, sword, and fire / Crouch4 for employment. But pardon, gentles all, /
The flat unraisèd5 spirits that hath dared, / On this unworthy scaffold,6 to bring forth / So
great an object. Can this cockpit7 hold / The vasty8 fields of France? Or may we cram /
Within this wooden O the very casques / That did affright 9 the air at Agincourt? / O, pardon:
since a crookèd figure10 may / Attest11 in little place a million, / And let us, ciphers to this
great account [in other variants, the word in the text is accompt], / On your imaginary forces work.
/ Suppose within the girdle of these walls / Are now confin’d12 two mighty monarchies, /
Whose high uprearèd and abutting13 fronts / The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder;14 /
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts: / Into a thousand parts divide one man, / And
make imaginary puissance;15 / Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them / Printing

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their proud hoof i’th’ receiving earth; / For ’tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, /
Carry them here and there, jumping o’er times, / Turning th’accomplishment of many years /
Into an hourglass16 – for the which supply, / Admit me Chorus to this history; / Who
Prologue-like your humble patience pray / Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) invention: imagination; (2) to assume: to take, to put on; (3) the port: carriage, bearing,
deportment; used only for a stately, portly appearance; (4) to crouch (+ for sth.): to fawn in
order to obtain sth.; (5) unraised: not lifted to a higher place, not elevated, remaining below;
(6) scaffold: 1. eşafod; 2. estradă; 3. schelă; (7) cockpit: an area where cocks fight, and hence
the pit in a theatre; (8) vasty: vast, boundless; (9) to affright: to frighten; (10) crooked: curved;
a crookèd figure: a nought, a cipher – so, a figure increasing the value of a digit tenfold; (11)
to attest: to certify, testify; (here: “it may serve as a certificate fro a million”); (12) to confine:
a închide, a îngrădi; a limita; (13) to abut: to be contiguous, to meet; abutting: contiguous,
having common borders; (14) asunder: despărţit, separat; to tear asunder: a sfîşia (în bucăţi);
(15) puissance: armed force; (16) hour-glass: clepsidră; (here: “the space of an hour”).

HENRY V
(The Life of King Henry the Fifth), Act I, Scene II
“CANTERBURY: (…) Therefore doth heaven divide / The state of man in divers functions, /
Setting endeavour1 in continual motion; / To which is fixèd, as an aim or butt, / Obedience;
for so work the honey bees, / Creatures that by a rule in nature teach / The act 2 of order3 to a
peopled kingdom. / They have a king, and officers of sorts,4 / Where some like magistrates
correct at home; / Others like merchants venture trade abroad; / Others like soldiers, armèd in
their stings, / Make boot upon the summer’s velvet buds, / Which pillage5 they with merry
march bring home / To the tent-royal of their emperor; / Who, busied in his majesty, surveys /
The singing masons building roofs of gold, / The civil citizens lading up the honey, / The poor
mechanic6 porters crowding in / Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate, / The sad-ey’d
justice, with his surly7 hum,8 / Delivering o’er to executors pale / The lazy yawning9 drone. I
this infer; / That many things, having full reference / To one consent, may work contrariously.
/ As many arrows loosèd several ways / Fly to one mark, as many ways meet in one town, /
As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea, / As many lines close in the dial’s centre, / So
many a thousand actions, once afoot, / End in one purpose, and be all well borne / Without
defect. Therefore to France, my liege. / Divide your happy England into four, / Whereof 10
take you one quarter into France, / And you withal11 shall make all Gallia shake. If we with
thrice such powers left at home / Cannot defend our own doors from the dog, / Let us be
worried, and our nations lose / The name of hardiness and policy”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) endeavour: 1. strădanie; 2. năzuinţă; (2) act: deed, action; (3) order: regular disposition,
proper state, settled mode of being or proceeding; (4) officers of sorts: of different kinds; (5) to
pillage: a jefui; pillage: jaf; (6) mechanic: pertaining to the class of workmen, occupied in low
drudgery, vulgar; (7) surly: gloomily morose, sullen, crabbed; (8) hum: (humorous –
quibbling) the noise of bees or other insects; (9) to yawn: a căsca, a se deschide (ca un hău);
yawn: 1. căscat; 2. crăpătură (largă), falie; (10) whereof (înv.) = of that; of which: al căruia / al
căreia; (11) withal / withall (înv.) = with it / that: cu asta.

THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

Act II, Scene III
“LAUNCE (to the audience): I have received my proportion, like the prodigious son,1 and am
going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial’s2 court. I think Crab,3 my dog, be the sourest-natured4
dog that lives: my mother weeping,5 my father wailing,6 my sister crying, our maid7 howling,8
our cat wringing9 her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity,10 yet did not this cruel-
hearted cur11 shed12 one tear: he is a stone, a very pebble stone,13 and has no more pity in him
than a dog: a Jew14 would have wept15 to have seen our parting;16 why, my grandam,17 having

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no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay,18 I’ll show you the manner19 of it.
This shoe is my father: no, this left shoe is my father: no, no, this left shoe is my mother: nay,
that cannot be so neither: yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the worser sole.20 This shoe, with the
hole in it, is my mother, and this my father; a vengeance on’t!21 there ’tis: now, sit, this staff22
is my sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily23 and as small as a wand:24 this hat is Nan,
our maid: I am the dog: no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog–Oh! the dog is me, and I am
myself; ay,25 so, so. Now come I to my father; Father, your blessing: now should not the shoe
speak a word for weeping: now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now come I to my
mother: O, that she could speak now like a wood woman! 26 Well, I kiss her; why, there ’tis;
here’s my mother’s breath27 up and down. Now come I to my sister; mark28 the moan29 she
makes. Now the dog all this while30 sheds not a tear nor speaks a word; but see how I lay the
dust31 with my tears.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) prodigious: minunat, nemaipomenit (Launce uses the word instead of prodigal: “risipitor”
– so, this a “malapropism”); (2) imperial: domnesc, maiestuos (Launce misuses it instead of
emperor: “împărat”); (3) crab: măr pădureţ (in contemporary English: crab apple); acritură;
(4) sour-natured: acru din fire; (4) sour ['sau]: acru; (4) nature: fire, fel de a fi; (5) to weep: a
plînge, a se tîngui; (6) to wail: a se jeli, a plânge, a se văita; (7) maid: fată în casă, servitoare;
(8) to howl [haul]: a urla; (9) to wring [ri]: a răsuci (violent), a-şi frânge (mâinile); (10)
perplexity: mirare, uimire; (here) harababură; (11) cur: [k:] javră, jigodie; (12) to shed (tears):
a vărsa (lacrimi); (13) pebble (stone): piatră (mai ales de prundiş), pietricică; (14) Jew: evreu
(zaraf / cămătar); (15) wept: Past Tense form of to weep: a plânge, a vărsa lacrimi; (16)
parting: despărţire; (17) grandam: bunică, mamă-mare; (18) nay: ba, (ba) mai mult; ia; (19)
manner: desfăşurarea, cursul (acţiunii / întîmplării); (20) the worser = the worse (of the two) /
arch.; (21) sole: talpă, pingea; (22) a vengeance on it!: (approx.) s-o ia naiba! (23) staff: băţ,
toiag; (24) lily: crin; (25) wand [wnd]: nuieluşă, mlădiţă; beţigaş; baghetă; (26) ay = (arch.)
yes; (27) a wood woman - cf. a wood man “a huntsman”; (28) breath [bre]: respiraţie, suflare;
(29) to mark: a asculta, a fi atent (la un sunet); (30) moan: geamăt, vaiet, vaier; (31) all this
while: în tot acest timp; (32) to lay [lei] – (P.T., P.P. laid [leid]): a apăsa, a nu lăsa să se ridice.

THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

Act II, Scene VII
“JULIA: A true-devoted1 pilgrim is not weary2 / To measure kingdoms with his feeble3 steps; /
Much less shall she that hath Love’s wings to fly, / And when the flight is made to one so
dear, / Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus.
LUCETTA: Better forbear4 till Proteus make return.5
JULIA: O, know’st thou not his looks are my soul’s food? / Pity the dearth6 that I have pinèd
in,7 / By longing for8 that food so long a time. / Didst thou but know the inly9 touch10 of love,
/ Thou wouldst as soon go kindle11 fire with snow / As seek12 to quench13 the fire of love with
words.
LUCETTA: I do not seek to quench your love’s hot fire, / But qualify14 the fire’s extreme
rage,15 / Lest it should burn above the bounds16 of reason.
JULIA: The more thou damm’st it up,17 the more it burns. / The current18 that with gentle
murmur glides,19 / Thou know’st, being stopp’d, impatiently doth rage;20 / But when his fair21
course is not hinderd,22 / He makes sweet music with the enamell’ed23 stones, / Giving a
gentle kiss to every sedge24 / He overtaketh25 in his pilgrimage,26 / And so by many winding27
nooks28 he strays29 / With willing30 sport31 to the wild ocean. / Then let me go and hinder not
my course32 / I’ll be as patient as a gentle stream / And make a pastime of each weary33 step, /
Till the last step have brought me to my love; / And there I’ll rest, as after much turmoil34 / A
blessèd35 soul doth in Elysium.36”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) true-devoted: plin de devotament şi dragoste sinceră; (2) weary: plictisit, dezgustat; (3)
feeble: slab, istovit; (4) to forbear [f:'b, f'b] (P.T. forbore, P.P. forborne): a fi răbdător;
(5) to make return: a se întoarce; (6) dearth [d:]: lipsă (mare), sărăcie (also fig.); (in the text

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also) foame(te); (7) to pine: a suferi de foame; (8) to long (for): a pofti, a rîvni (la), a avea
poftă (de-o mâncare); (9) inly: lăuntric; (10) touch: senzaţie, simţămînt; (11) to kindle ['kindl]:
a aprinde, a da foc (la); (12) to seek: a căuta, a se strădui (să); (13) to quench: a stinge, a potoli
(esp. fig.); (14) to qualify: a potoli, a tempera; (15) rage: violenţă, furie, impetuozitate (a
elementelor naturii); (16) bound: margine, hotar, graniţă; limită, hotar; (17) to dam up: a opri,
a zăgăzui; (18) current: rîu, pîrău; (19) to glide: (d. rîuri, fluvii) a curge; (20) to rage: a se
dezlănţui, a fi turbat / furios (aici - d. elementele naturale); (21) fair: curat, imaculat,
neprihănit, nepătat; (22) to hinder ['hind]: a împiedica, a opri, a face să întârzie; (23)
enamell’d = enamelled: lucios şi multicolor, (ca) smălţuit / smălţat; (24) sedge: trestie, stuf;
(25) to overtake: a întîlni (în drum), a da de / peste; (26) pilgrimage: preumblare, umblet,
rătăcire, drum; pelerinaj; (27) winding. < to wind [waind] (P.T., P.P. wound): a şerpui, a face
meandre; (28) nook [nuk]: ungher, colţ, braţ mic (al unui rîu); (29) to stray: a rătăci, a merge /
o lua razna; (30) willing: mulţumit, încântat; (31) sport: plăcere, amuzament, distracţie; (32)
course: trecere, curgere; (33) weary: obosit, ostenit; (34) turmoil: tumult, fierbere, agitaţie
(sufletească); (35) blessed ['blesid]: sfinţit; binecuvîntat; (36) Elysium (mitol.): Raiul, Câmpiile
Elizee; Insulele Fericite.

THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

Act III, Scene I
“LAUNCE: I am but a fool, look you; and yet I have the wit to think my master is a kind of a
knave:1 but that’s all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in
love; yet I am in love; but a team of horse2 shall not pluck3 that from me; nor who ’tis I love;
and yet ’tis a woman; but what woman, I will not tell myself; and yet ’tis a milkmaid;4 yet ’tis
not a maid,5 for she hath had gossips;6 yet ’tis a maid, for she is her master’s maid, and serves
for wages.7 She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel;8 which is much in a bare9 Christian.
(Pulling out a paper) Here is the cate-log10 of her condition.11 ‘Imprimis:12 She can fetch13
and carry.’ Why, a horse can do no more: nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore
is she better than a jade.14 ’Item:15 She can milk’;16 look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with
clean hands. (Enter SPEED)
SPEED: How now, Signior Launce! what news with your mastership?17
LAUNCE: With my master’s ship? why, it is at sea.
SPEED: Well, your old vice18 still; mistake the word. What news, then, in your paper?
LAUNCE: The blackest news that ever thou heardest.
SPEED: Why, man, how black?
LAUNCE: Why, as black as ink.
SPEED: Let me read them.
LAUNCE: Fie on thee,19 jolt-head!20 thou canst not read.
SPEED: Thou liest; I can.
LAUNCE: I will try thee. Tell me this: who begot21 thee?
SPEED: Marry,22 the son of my grandfather.
LAUNCE: O illiterate23 loiterer!24 it was the son of thy grandmother: this proves that thou
canst not read.
SPEED: Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper.
LAUNCE: (giving Speed the paper) There: and Saint Nicholas25 be thy speed!26
SPEED: (Reads) ‘Imprimis: She can milk.’
LAUNCE: Ay, that she can.
SPEED: ‘Item: She brews27 good ale.’
LAUNCE: And thereof28 comes the proverb: ’Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale.’
SPEED: ‘Item: She can sew.’29
LAUNCE: That’s as much as to say, Can she so?
SPEED: ‘Item: She can knit.’30
LAUNCE: What need a man care for a stock31 with a wench,32 when she can knit him a stock?
SPEED: ‘Item: She can wash and scour.’
LAUNCE: A special virtue: for then she need not be washed and scoured.
SPEED: ‘Item: She can spin.’33

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LAUNCE: Then may I set the world on wheels,34 when she can spin for her living.35
SPEED: ‘Item: She hath many nameless36 virtues.’
LAUNCE: That’s as much as to say, bastard37 virtues; that, indeed, know not their fathers and
therefore38 have no names.
SPEED: ‘Here follow her vices.’
LAUNCE: Close at the heels of her virtues.39
SPEED: ‘Item: She is not to be kissed fasting40 in respect of41 her breath.’42
LAUNCE: Well, that fault43 may be mended44 with a breakfast. Read on.
SPEED: ‘Item: She hath a sweet mouth.’
LAUNCE: That makes amends45 for her sour46 breath.
SPEED: ‘Item:47 She doth talk in her sleep.’
LAUNCE: It’s no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk.
SPEED: ‘Item: She is slow in words.’
LAUNCE: O villain,48 that set this down among her vices! To be slow in words is a woman’s
only virtue: I pray thee, out with’t, and place it for her chief virtue.49
SPEED: ‘Item: She is proud.’
LAUNCE: Out with that too; it was Eve’s legacy,50 and cannot be ta’en51 from her.
SPEED: ‘Item: She hath no teeth.’
LAUNCE: I care not for that neither, because I love crusts.52
SPEED: ‘Item: She is curst.’53
LAUNCE: Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.
SPEED: ‘Item: She will often praise her liquor.’ 54
LAUNCE: If her liquor be good, she shall: if she will not, I will; for good things should be
praised.
SPEED: ‘Item: She is too liberal.’55
LAUNCE: Of her tongue she cannot, for that’s writ56 down she is slow of; of her purse she
shall not, for that I’ll keep shut: now, of another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well,
proceed.57
SPEED: ‘Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults than hairs,58 and more wealth59
than faults.’
LAUNCE: Stop there; I’ll have her: she was mine, and not mine, twice or thrice 60 in that last
article.61 Rehearse62 that once more.
SPEED: ‘Item: She hath more hair than wit,’–
LAUNCE: More hair than wit? It may be; I’ll prove it. The cover of the salt hides the salt, and
therefore it is more than the salt; the hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the
greater hides the less. What’s next?
SPEED: ‘And more faults than hairs,’–
LAUNCE: That’s monstrous: O, that that were out!
SPEED: ‘And more wealth than faults.’
LAUNCE: Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I’ll have her; and if it be a
match,63 as nothing is impossible, –
SPEED: What then?
LAUNCE: Why, then will I tell thee64 – that thy master stays for thee65 at the North-gate.”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) knave [neiv]: ticălos; (2) a team of horse: caii / perechea de cai de la acelaşi atelaj; (3) to
pluck: a smulge, a scoate, a (ex)trage; (4) milkmaid: mulgătoare; fată / femeie care are grijă de
vaci; (5) maid (in the text, used for punning): 1. fecioară; 2. servitoare; (6) gossips: naşi (la
botez); (in the text, used for punning); gossip: zvon, bîrfă / bîrfeală, clevetire; (7) wages:
salariu, simbrie; (8) (water-)spaniel: (câine) spaniel, (câine) prepelicar cu părul lung, folosit la
vînătoarea de raţe etc.; (9) bare: simplu; (10) cate-log (in Launce’s corrupt pronunciation) =
catalogue ['ktlg]: catalog, registru; (11) condition: calitate; (12) imprimis [im'praimis]: (mai)
întâi, mai întâi de toate; (13) to fetch: a se duce să aducă; (14) jade: mîrţoagă; (15) item ['aitem,
'aitim]: tot aşa, de asemenea, mai apoi, la fel, idem; (în documente, liste etc.) punctul (1, 2, 3
etc.); (16) to milk: a mulge; (17) your mastership (= formulă de adresare folosită de oamenii

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simpli): approx. dumneavoastră, domnia-voastră; (18) vice: defect, păcat, cusur;
imperfecţiune; (19) fie on (thee): (p)fui! ruşine! (20) jolthead: nătărău, neghiob, prostovan;
(21) begot = P.T. of to beget: a naşte, a face, a zămisli; (22) marry: ei! asta-i bună! (23)
illiterate [()i'litrit]: analfabet, neînvăţat; prost; (24) loiterer ['litr]: trîndav, hoinar, pierde-
vară; (25) Saint Nicholas: Sfântul Nicolae (patronul cărturarilor); (26) speed: putere
protectoare, pază; (27) to brew [bru:]: a face bere; (28) thereof = from that (înv.); (29) to sew
[su] (P.T. sewed, P.P. sewn) vt.: a coase; (30) to knit: a împleti (ciorapi etc.), a tricota; (31)
stock (used for punning): 1. (singular of stocks: buştean unde erau pedepsiţi răufăcătorii,
obezi); 2. ciorap; (32) wench: fată (de la ţară), fetişcană; (33) to spin (P.T., P.P. spun): a
toarce; (34) wheel: roată, vîrtelniţă; (35) living: traiul, pâinea (cea de toate zilele); (36)
nameless: (de) nespus, inexprimabil; (37) bastard: nelegitim; din flori; (38) therefore: aşadar,
prin urmare; (39) close at the heels of…: chiar pe urmele…, îndată după…; (40) fasting < to
fast: a posti; (41) in respect of: avînd în vedere, socotind după, luând în consideraţie; (42)
breath [bre]: respiraţie, (ră)suflare; (43) fault: greşeală, păcat, cusur, defect; (44) to mend: a
îndrepta, a drege; (45) to make amends: a compensa, a despăgubi; (46) sour: înţepător, acru,
acid; (47) item: mai apoi, la fel, tot aşa, idem; (48) villain: ticălos, nemernic; (49) chief:
principal, de căpetenie; cel dintâi; (50) legacy ['legsi]: moştenire; (51) ta’en = taken (înv.);
(52) crusts: coji / coajă de pâine; (53) curst: blestemat, îndrăcit, năbădăios; (54) liquor: băutură
(spirtoasă / alcoolică / beţivă), alcool; (55) liberal: mărinimos, darnic, generos; (aici şi) slobod
la / de gură; (56) writ = written (înv.); (57) to proceed: a continua, a merge mai departe; (58)
hair: fir de păr; (59) wealth: avere; stare; (60) thrice: de trei ori; (61) article: articol, clauză /
punct / paragraf (dintr-un contract, testament); (62) to rehearse: a spune, a pomeni, a recita;
cover: capac, acoperitoare; (63) match: căsătorie (plănuită); (64) thee = you (înv.); (65) to stay
(for smb.): a aştepta (pe cineva).

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM

Act V, Scene I
“THESEUS: (…) Lovers and madmen have such seething1 brains, / Such shaping fantasies,
that apprehend2 / More than cool reason ever comprehends.3 / The lunatic,4 the lover and the
poet / Are of imagination all compact.5 / One sees more devils than vast hell can hold: / That
is the madman. The lover, all as frantic,6 / Sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt.7 / The
poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy8 rolling, / Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,
/ And as imagination bodies forth9 / The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen / Turns
them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing / A local habitation10 and a name. / Such tricks11
hath strong imagination / That if it would but apprehend some joy / It comprehends some
bringer of that joy; / Or in the night, imagining some fear, / How easy is a bush supposed a
bear!”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) seething < to seethe: 1. a fierbe, a clocoti; 2. a se agita; (2) to apprehend: to seize by the
mind, to conceive, to form a conception; (3) to comprehend: to imagine; (4) lunatic: nebun,
lunatic, alienat mintal; (5) compact: 1. compact, dens; 2. (fig) concis, condensat; 3. (in the
text): burduşit, (prea)plin; (6) frantic: mad; (7) brow: the whole countenance; a brow of Egypt
“a dark face”: Egypt was believed to be a country inhabited by dark-skinned people, very
probably by the ancestors, or close relatives, of Gypsies / Gipsies; (8) frenzy: any violent
agitation of the mind approaching to distraction (i.e. “madness”); (9) to body forth: to shape,
to invest with a body; (10) habitation: 1. locuire; 2. habitaţie; (11) trick: a knack, art, or
dexterous contrivance.

AS YOU LIKE IT
Act II, Scene VII
“JAQUES: All the world’s a stage, / And all the men and women merely players. / They have
their exits1 and their entrances, / And one man in his time plays many parts, / His acts being
seven ages. At first the infant,2 / Mewling3 and puking4 in the nurse’s arms. / Then the

215
whining5 schoolboy with his satchel6 / And shining morning face, creeping like snail /
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, / Sighing like furnace, with a woeful 7 ballad /
made to his mistress’ eyebrow.8 Then, a soldier, / Full of strange oaths,9 and bearded like the
pard,10 / Jealous11 in honour, sudden,12 and quick in quarrel, / Seeking the bubble13 reputation
/ Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice, / In fair round belly with good capon
lined,14 / With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,15 / Full of wise saws16 and modern
instances; / And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts17 / Into the lean and slippered18
pantaloon,19 / With spectacles on nose and pouch20 on side, / His youthful hose, 21 well saved,
a world too wide / For his shrunk22 shank,23 and his big, manly24 voice, / Turning again
toward childish treble,25 pipes26 / And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, / That ends this
strange, eventful history, / Is second childishness and mere oblivion,27 / Sans28 teeth, sans
eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) exit: 1. ieşire; 2. (fig.) moarte; (2) infant: 1. copil mic, prunc; 2. (jur.) minor; (3) to mewl: a
scînci; a se văita; (4) to puke: to spew, to vomit; (5) to whine: a se văita; a scînci; (6) satchel:
ghiozdan; (7) woeful: trist, jalnic; (8) eyebrow: sprînceană; (9) oath: 1. jurămînt; 2. înjurătură;
(10) pard = leopard; (11) jealous: suspicious in any way; (12) sudden: violent; impetuous;
passionate; (13) bubble: small bladder of water; (14) lined: căptuşit; (15) formal: regular,
orderly, accurate, according to rule and custom; (16) saw: proverb; maximă; wise saw:
aforism; (17) to shift: a-şi schimba locul, a se deplasa; (18) slippered: wearing slippers; (19)
pantaloon: a foolish old man; (20) pouch: 1. pungă; 2. săculeţ; 3. buzunar; (21) hose [huz]: 1.
ciorapi (ca marfă). 2. (înv.) pantaloni strîmţi / colanţi; (22) shrunk (Past Part. of to shrink: a
se micşora; a se scurta; a intra la apă; (23) shank: leg; (24) manly: bărbătesc; de bărbat;
bărbătos, viril; (25) treble: the highest of the four principal parts in music; (26) (to) pipe: (to)
whistle, (to have) a shrill sound; (27) oblivion: forgetfulness, in an active sense; cessation of
remembering; (28) sans = (arch.) without.

TWELFTH-NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL,

Act I, Scene V
“(A room in OLIVIA’s house)
OLIVIA, MALVOLIO, CLOWN (Feste)
OLIVIA: What think you of this fool, Malvolio? Doth he not mend?1
MALVOLIO: Yes, and shall do till the pangs2 of death shake him; infirmity,3 that decays4 the
wise, doth ever make the better fool.
CLOWN: God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby
will be sworn that I am no fox, but he will not pass his word for twopence that you are no
fool.
OLIVIA: How say you to that, Malvolio?
MALVOLIO: I marvel your ladyship5 takes delight in such a barren rascal.6 I saw him put
down the other day with an ordinary fool that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now,
he’s out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minister7 occasion to him, he is gagged.8 I
protest, I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools’
zanes.9
OLIVIA: O! you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To be
generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for birdbolts 10 that you
deem cannon-bullets. There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail;
nor no railing in a known discreet man,11 though he do nothing but reprove.
CLOWN: Now, Mercury12 endue13 thee with leasing,14 for thou speakest well of fools!”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) to mend: to repair from breach or decay; (2) pang: 1. junghi (de durere); 2. suferinţă, chin;
(3) infirmity: weakness caused by age; foible, weakness of character; (4) decay: 1. decădere,
declin, ruină; 2. ruinare; slăbire; 3. descompunere, putrezire / putreziciune; to decay: a face să
se descompună; (5) your ladyship (formulă de adresare pentru femei de rang înalt): domnia-

216
voastră, doamnă; coniţă; (6) barren: dull; barren rascal: stupid, brainless rogue; (7) to
minister: (arch.) to afford, to supply, to give, to provide; to suggest; (8) gagged: silenced (< to
gag: a pune căluş în gură, a astupa gura – ca să nu vorbească); (9) zane (also zany): a
subordinate buffoon whose office was to make awkward attempts at mimicking the tricks of
the professional clown; a fool’s stooge; (10) bird-bolt: a short arrow with a broad flat end,
used to kill birds without piercing; (11) discreet: wise, judicious; (12) Mercury: Roman god,
patron of rogues and cheats, the winged messenger of the gods (cf. Greek Hermes); (13) to
endue: 1 a îmbrăca; 2. (+ with, in) a înzestra (cu ceva); (14) leasing: a euphemism for lying,
falsehoods.

ROMEO AND JULIET (The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and
Juliet) Act II, Scene I
“(Verona. Capulet’s Orchard)
ROMEO: He jests1 at scars, that never felt a wound. (JULIET appears above at a window)
But, soft! what light through yonder2 window breaks? / It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! /
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, / Who is already sick and pale with grief / That
thou, her maid, art far more fair than she; / Be not her maid, since she is envious; / Her vestal 3
livery4 is but sick and green, / And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. / It is my lady; O, it is
my love! / O that she knew she were! / She speaks, yet she says nothing; what of that? / Her
eye discourses; I will answer it. / I am too bold. ’Tis not to me she speaks. / Two of the fairest
stars in all the heaven, / Having some business, do entreat5 her eyes / To twinkle in their
spheres till they return. / What if her eyes were there, they in her head? / The brightness of her
cheek would shame those stars / As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven / Would through
the airy region stream so bright / That birds would sing and think it were not night. / See how
she leans her cheek upon her hand; / O! that I were a glove upon that hand, / That I might
touch that cheek.
JULIET: Ay me!
ROMEO: She speaks: / O! speak again, bright angel; for thou art / As glorious to this night,
being o’er my head, / As is a wingèd messenger of heaven / Unto the white upturnèd
wondering eyes / Of mortals, that fall back to gaze6 on him / When he bestrides the lazy-
passing clouds, / And sails upon the bosom7 of the air.
JULIET: O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? / Deny thy father, and refuse thy
name; / Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, / And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
ROMEO (Aside) Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
JULIET: ’Tis but thy name that is my enemy; / Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. /
What’s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, / Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part / Belonging
to a man. O, be some other name! / What’s in a name? That which we call a rose / By any
other name would smell as sweet; / So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d, / Retain that
dear perfection which he owes / Without that title. Romeo, doff 8 thy name, / And for that
name – which is no part of thee – / Take all myself.
ROMEO: (to Juliet) I take thee at thy word. / Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptiz’d; /
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
JULIET: What man art thou, that thus bescreen’d9 in night, / So stumblest on my counsel?
ROMEO: By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am. / My name, dear saint, is hateful10
to myself, / Because it is an enemy to thee; / Had I it written, I would tear the word.
JULIET: My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words / Of that tongue’s uttering, yet I know
the sound: / Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?
ROMEO: Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.
JULIET: How cam’st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? / The orchard walls are high and
hard to climb, / And the place death, considering who thou art, / If any of my kinsmen 11 find
thee here.
ROMEO: With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls, / For stony limits cannot hold
love out, / And what love can do, that dares love attempt; / Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop
to me.

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JULIET: If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
ROMEO: Alack,12 there lies more peril in thine eye / Than twenty of their swords. Look thou
but sweet, / And I am proof against their enmity.
JULIET: I would not for the world they saw thee here.
ROMEO: I have night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes, / And but thou love me, let them
find me here. / My life were better ended by their hate, / Than death proroguèd, 13 wanting of
thy love.
JULIET: By whose direction found’st thou out this place?
ROMEO: By Love, that first did prompt14 me to enquire; / He lent me counsel, and I lent him
eyes. / I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far / As that vast shore wash’d with the farthest sea, / I
would adventure for such merchandise.
JULIET: Thou know’st the mask of night is on my face, / Else would a maiden blush bepaint
my cheek / For that which thou hast heard me speak tonight. / Fain15 would I dwell on form,
fain, fain deny / What I have spoke; but farewell compliment! / Dost thou love me? I know
thou wilt say ‘Ay’, / And I will take thy word; yet, if thou swear’st, / Thou mayst prove false.
At lovers’ perjuries,16 / They say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo! / If thou dost love, pronounce
it faithfully; / Or if thou think’st I am too quickly won, / I’ll frown and be perverse and say
thee nay, / So thou wilt woo;17 but else, not for the world. / In truth, fair Montague, I am too
fond, / And therefore thou mayst think my ’haviour18 light. / But trust me, gentleman, I’ll
prove more true / Than those that have more cunning to be strange. / I should have been more
strange, I must confess, / But that thou overheard’st, ere I was ’ware,19 / My true-love passion.
Therefore pardon me, / And not impute this yielding to light love, / Which the dark night hath
so discoverèd.
ROMEO: Lady, by yonder blessèd moon I swear [in other editions: I vow] / That tips with silver
all these fruit-tree tops –
JULIET: O, swear not by the moon, th’inconstant moon, / That monthly changes in her circled
orb, / Lest that thy love proves likewise variable.20
ROMEO: What shall I swear by?
JULIET: Do not swear at all; / Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, / Which is the god
of my idolatry,21 / And I’ll believe thee.
ROMEO: If my heart’s dear love –
JULIET: Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee, / I have no joy of this contract22 to-night. /
It is too rash, too unadvis’d, too sudden; / Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be / Ere
one can say it lightens. Sweet, good-night! / This bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath, /
May prove a beauteous23 flower when next we meet. / Good-night, good-night! As sweet
repose24 and rest / Come to thy heart as that within my breast!
ROMEO: O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
JULIET: What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?
ROMEO: Th’exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.
JULIET: I gave thee mine before thou didst request it; / And yet I would it were to give again.
ROMEO: Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?
JULIET: But to be frank, and give it thee again. / And yet I wish but for the thing I have: / My
bounty is as boundless as the sea, / My love as deep. The more I give to thee, / The more I
have, for both are infinite. (Nurse calls within) I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu! /
Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true. / Stay but a little, I will come again. (Exit.)
ROMEO: O blessèd, blessèd night! I am afeard,25 / Being in night, all this is but a dream, /
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. (Re-enter JULIET aloft)
JULIET: Three words, dear Romeo, and good-night indeed. / If that thy bent26 of love be
honourable, / Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, / By one that I’ll procure to
come to thee, / Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite;27 / And all my fortunes28 at
thy foot I’ll lay, / And follow thee my lord throughout the world.
NURSE (Within): Madam!
JULIET: I come, anon. (to ROMEO) But if thou mean’st not well, / I do beseech thee –
NURSE (Within): Madam!

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JULIET: By and by; I come: / – To cease thy suit [in other editions: strife], and leave me to my
grief; / To-morrow will I send.
ROMEO: So thrive my soul –
JULIET: A thousand times good-night!
ROMEO: A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. / Love goes toward love, as
schoolboys from their books, / But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) to jest: a glumi, a face glume; (2) yonder: acel …, … de acolo; … acela (ceea / aceia /
acelea); (3) vestal (adj.): pure; cf. Vesta’s priestesses; (4) livery: outward appearance, aspect;
(cf. livery: “dress, garb”); (5) to entreat: a ruga stăruitor, a implora; (6) to gaze: a contempla, a
privi ţintă; (7) bosom ['buzm]: 1. sîn, piept; 2. suflet, inimă; sîn (fig.); (8) to doff: a scoate, a
da jos; (9) to bescreen: to shelter, to conceal; (10) hateful: nesuferit, odios; antipatic; (11)
kinsman: rudă, rubedenie, neam (cu cineva), consângean; (12) alack! (interj., arch.): vai! o!
(cf. alas!); (13) to prorogue: to delay; (14) to prompt: to make willing and ready, to move, to
incite; (15) fain: I. (adj.) obligat / nevoit să…; 2. gata / dispus să…; II. (adv.) cu dragă inimă;
bucuros; (16) perjury: sperjur, jurămînt fals; mărturie falsă / strîmbă; călcare de jurămînt; (17)
to woo: a face curte, a curta (o fată / femeie; (18) ’haviour = behaviour; (19) ’ware = aware;
(20) variable: changeable, inconstant; (21) idolatry: worship of an idol, excessive veneration;
(22) contract: marriage contract, espousals; (23) beauteous: beautiful; (24) repose: I. (noun) 1.
odihnă, repaus; 2. somn; 3. linişte, pace: II. (tr. verb) 1. a aşeza, a pune; 2. a avea încredere în,
a se bizui pe (ceva); III. (intr. verb) 1. a se odihni, 2. (+ on, upon) a se sprijini pe (ceva); (25)
afeard = afraid; (26) bent: tendency, a leaning or bias of the mind, inclination, disposition;
(27) rite: solemn observance, ceremony (here, applied to the duties in the intercourse of love);
(28) fortunes: the good or ill that befalls man.

JULIUS CAESAR
(The Tragedy of Julius Caesar) Act III, Scene II
“ANTONY: Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; / I come to bury Caesar, not to
praise him. / The evil that men do lives after them; / The good is oft interrèd1 with their bones;
/ So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus / Hath told you Caesar was ambitious. / If it were
so, it was a grievous2 fault; / And grievously hath Caesar answer’d it. / Here, under leave of
Brutus and the rest – / For Brutus is an honourable man, / So are they all, all honourable men
– / Come I to speak in Caesar’s funeral. / He was my friend, faithful and just to me; / But
Brutus says he was ambitious, / And Brutus is an honourable man. / He hath brought many
captives home to Rome, / Whose ransoms did the general3 coffers fill; / Did this in Caesar
seem ambitious? / When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept; / Ambition should be
made of sterner stuff.4 / Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, / And Brutus is an honourable
man. / You all did see that on the Lupercal5 / I thrice6 presented him a kingly crown, / Which
he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? / Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, / And sure he is
an honourable man. / I speak not to disprove7 what Brutus spoke, / But here I am to speak
what I know. / You all did love him once, not without cause. / What cause withholds you,
then, to mourn for him? / O judgment, thou art fled to brutish8 beasts, / And men have lost
their reason! (He weeps) Bear with me; / My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, / And I
must pause till it come back to me. (………) / But yesterday the word of Cesar might / Have
stood against the world. Now lies he there, / And none so poor to do him reverence. 9 / O
masters, if I were dispos’d10 to stir / Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, / I should do
Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, / Who, you all know, are honourable men. / I will not do
them wrong; I rather choose / To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, / Than I will
wrong such honourable men. / But here’s a parchment with the seal of Caesar; / I found it in
the closet11 – ’tis his will. / Let but the commons12 hear this testament – / Which, pardon me, I
do not mean to read – / And they would go and kiss dead Caesar’s wound / And dip their
napkins13 in his sacred blood; / Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, / And, dying, mention it
within their wills, / Bequeathing14 it as a rich legacy,15 / Unto their issue.16 (………) / Good
friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up, / To such a sudden flood of mutiny. / That they

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have done this deed are honourable. / What private griefs they have, alas, I know not / That
made them do it; they are wise and honourable, / And will, no doubt, with reasons answer
you. / I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts; / I am no orator, as Brutus is, / But, as
you know me all, a plain blunt17 man, / That love my friend; and that they know full well /
That gave me public leave to speak of him. / For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, /
Action, nor utterance,18 nor the power of speech, / To stir men’s blood; I only speak right on. /
I tell you that which you yourselves do know; / Show you sweet Caesar’s wound, poor poor
dumb mouths, / And bid19 them speak for me. But were I Brutus, / And Brutus Antony, there
were an Antony / Would ruffle20 your spirits, and put a tongue / In every wound of Caesar,
that should move / The stones of Rome to rise21 and mutiny.”
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) to inter: a îngropa; a înmormînta; (2) grievous: deserving censure and punishment,
criminal; (3) general: common, public; relating to the people or the politic community; (4)
stuff: 1. materie (brută), material; 2. stofă, ţesătură; (5) Lupercal (also in the plural –
Lupercalia): an ancient Roman festival of purification and fertility, held on 15 February every
year – Romanian: Lupercalii; (6) thrice: de trei ori; (7) to disprove: a dovedi netemeinicia
(unui lucru), a dovedi falsitatea (unui lucru); a dovedi că (o persoană) n-are dreptate; (8)
brutish: bestial; (9) reverence: high respect, veneration; (10) dispos’d: inclined; (11) closet: a
repositary in the side of a room; (12) the commons: the common people (opposed to the
nobility); (13) napkin: handkerchief; (14) to bequeath: a lăsa prin testament; (15) legacy: legat,
dar făcut prin testament; moştenire, succesiune; (16) issue: 1. progeny, descendants, heirs; 2.
action, deed; (17) blunt: plain, unceremonious; (18) utterance: the act of speaking or
expressing (sth.); (19) to bid: to invite; (20) to ruffle (sth.) up: to stir up; (21) rise: uprising.

OTHELLO
(The Tragedy of Othello, the Moor of Venice) Act III, Scene III
“IAGO: For Michael Cassio, / I dare be sworn I think that he is honest.
OTHELLO: I think so too.
IAGO: Men should, be what they seem, / Or those that be not, would they might seem none!
OTHELLO: Certain, men should be what they seem.
IAGO: Why then, I think Cassio’s an honest man.
OTHELLO: Nay, yet there’s more in this. / I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, / As
thou dost ruminate,1 and give thy worst of thoughts / The worst of words.
IAGO: Good my lord, pardon me; / Though I am bound to every act of duty, / I am not bound
to that all slaves are free to. / Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false, / As
where’s that palace whereinto foul things / Sometimes intrude not? (……)
OTHELLO: Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, / If thou but think’st him wrong’d,
and mak’st his ear / A stranger to thy thoughts.
IAGO: I do beseech you, / Though I perchance2 am vicious3 in my guess – / As, I confess, it is
my nature’s plague4 / To spy into abuses,5 and oft my jealousy / Shapes faults that are not –
that your wisdom yet, / From one that so imperfectly conceits, / Would take no notice, nor
build yourself a trouble / Out of his scattering6 and unsure observance.7 / It were not for your
quiet nor your good, / Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, / To let you know my
thoughts. (……)
OTHELLO: By heaven, I’ll know thy thoughts.
IAGO: You cannot, if my heart were in your hand; / Nor shall not, whilst ’tis in my custody.
OTHELLO: Ha!
IAGO: O, beware,8 my lord, of jealousy. / It is the green-ey’d monster which doth mock / The
meat it feeds on. That cuckold9 lives in bliss / Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger.
/ But O, what damnèd minutes tells he o’er / Who dotes,10 yet doubts; suspects, yet soundly11
loves! (……)
OTHELLO: Why, why is this? / Think’st thou I’d make a life of jealousy, / To follow still the
changes of the moon / With fresh suspicions? (……) ’Tis not to make me jealous / To say
my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, / Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well; /

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Where virtue is, these are more virtuous: / Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw / The
smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt, / For she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago; / I’ll see
before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; / And, on the proof, there is no more but this: / Away at
once with love or jealousy!
IAGO: I am glad of this, for now I shall have reason / To show the love and duty that I bear
you / With franker spirit. Therefore, as I am bound, / Receive if from me; I speak not yet of
proof. / Look to your wife, observe her well with Cassio. / Wear your eye thus, not jealous
nor secure.12 / I would not have your free and noble nature / Out of self-bounty13 be abus’d;14
look to’t; / I know our country disposition15 well; / In Venice they do let heaven see the
pranks / They dare not show their husbands; their best conscience / Is not to leave’t undone, 16
but keep’t unknown.
OTHELLO: Dost thou say so?
IAGO: She did deceive her father, marrying you; / And when she seem’d to shake and fear
your looks, / She lov’d them most.
OTHELLO: And so she did.
IAGO: Why, go to, then; / She that so young could give out such a seeming, / To seal her
father’s eyes up close as oak, / He thought ’twas witchcraft! But I am much to blame; / I
humbly do beseech you of your pardon / For too much loving you.
OTHELLO: I am bound17 to thee for ever.
IAGO: I see, this hath a little dash’d18 your spirits.
OTHELLO: Not a jot, not a jot.19
IAGO: I’faith,20 I fear it has. / I hope you will consider what is spoke / Comes from my love.
But I do see you’re mov’d; / I am to pray you not to strain my speech / To grosser 21 issues nor
to larger reach22 / Than to suspicion.
OTHELLO: I will not.
IAGO: Should you do so, my lord, / My speech should fall into such vile success 23 / As my
thoughts aimed not at. Cassio’s my worthy friend. / My lord, I see you’re mov’d.
OTHELLO: No, not much mov’d. / I do not think but Desdemona’s honest.
IAGO: Long live she so, and long live you to think so!
OTHELLO: And yet, how nature, erring24 from itself –
IAGO: Ay, there’s the point: as, to be bold with you, / Not to affect many proposèd matches /
Of her own clime,25 complexion, and degree,26 / Whereto,27 we see, in all things nature tends;
/ Foh,28 one may smell in such a will most rank, / Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural! /
But pardon me; I do not in position / Distinctly speak of her, though I may fear / Her will,
recoiling to her better judgment, / May fall to match you with her country forms / And
happily repent.29
OTHELLO: Farewell, farewell. / If more thou dost perceive, let me know more; / Set on thy
wife to observe. Leave me, Iago.
IAGO: My lord, I take my leave. (Going) ……
OTHELLO: This fellow’s of exceeding honesty, / And knows all qualities with a learned spirit
/ Of human dealings. If I do prove her haggard,30 / Though that her jesses31 were my dear
heart-strings, / I’d whistle her off and let her down the wind, / To prey at fortune.”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) to ruminate: to muse, meditate, ponder; (2) perchance: perhaps; (3) vicious: 1. rău, urîcios;
2. vicios, depravat; 3. (d. cai) nărăvaş; 4. (d. vorbire) defectuos, stricat; (4) plague: vexation,
torment, calamity; (5) abuses: faults; (6) to scatter: to go dispersedly, to straggle – and hence
to go at random and without a certain aim; (7) observance: observation, the act of perceiving a
thing and gaining notions by it; (8) to beware (of sth./sb.): a se păzi (de…), a se feri (de…); (9)
cuckold ['kkld]: I. (noun) soţ înşelat; II. (tr. v.) a încornora, a pune coarne, a înşela (un soţ);
(10) to dote: a da în mintea copiilor; to dote on: a iubi la nebunie; (11) soundly: (adv., fig.)
sănătos, zdravăn, cu temei; (12) secure (adj.): careless, unsuspecting, confident; (13) self-
bounty: inherent kindness and benevolence; (14) to be abused: to use ill, to maltreat; (15)
disposition: nature, quality in general, manner of thinking and acting; (16) undone: not done,
not performed; (17) to be bound: a fi obligat / ţinut (să…); a nu putea să nu…; (18) dash’d: to

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be put out of countenance, to be depressed; (19) not a jot: nici un pic / o iotă; nicidecum, nici
cât negru sub unghie; (20) ’i faith = in faith: pe cuvîntul meu, pe cinstea mea; (21) gross: dull,
stupid; (22) reach: the sphere to which an agency or a power is limited; (23) success: issue,
result, fortune; (24) to err: 1. a greşi; 2. a păcătui; (25) clime: region, country; (26) degree:
rank; (27) whereto = to / towards which; (28) foh!: exclamation of contempt or abhorrence;
(29) to repent: (tr. v.) a regreta; II. (intr. v.) (to ~ of): a-i părea rău (de ceva), a se căi (de…);
(30) haggard: wild, untractable, unprincipled (cf. a haggard hawk “a wild, untrained hawk”);
(31) jesses: straps of leather or silk, with which hawks were tied by the legs.

Act V, Scene II
“(A Bedchamber in the Castle. DESDEMONA in bed asleep. A light burning)
Enter OTHELLO
OTHELLO: It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul. / Let me not name it to you, you chaste 1
stars! / It is the cause. Yet I’ll not shed2 her blood, / Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than
snow, / And smooth as monumental3 alabaster. / Yet she must die, else she’ll betray more
men. …… (Kisses her) O balmy4 breath, that dost almost persuade / Justice to break her
sword! One more, one more. (……) I must weep, / But they are cruel tears; this sorrow’s
heavenly, / It strikes where it doth love. She wakes (……)
…………………………………………………………………………… OTHELLO: Soft you; a
word or two before you go. / I have done the state some service, and they know’t; / No more
of that. I pray you, in your letters, / When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, 5 / Speak of
me as I am; nothing extenuate,6 / Nor set down aught in malice:7 then, must you speak / Of
one that lov’d not wisely but too well; / of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought, /
Perplex’d8 in the extreme; of one whose hand, / Like the base Indian,9 threw a pearl away /
Richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdu’d10 eyes / Albeit11 unusèd to the melting12 mood,
/ Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees / Their med’cinable 13 gum. Set you down this; / And
say besides that in Aleppo once, / Where a malignant and a turban’d Turk / Beat a Venetian
and traduc’d the state, / I took by th’ throat the circumcisèd dog, / And smote him thus. (He
stabs himself.)”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) chaste: pure, undefiled, continent; (2) to shed: 1. a vărsa (lacrimi, sânge, lumină); 2. a
lepăda (frunze); 3. a revărsa; (3) monumental: pertaining to a human figure placed over a
grave; (4) balmy: 1. înmiresmat, îmbălsămat, aromat; 2. liniştitor, calmant; tămăduitor; (5) to
relate: a povesti, a istorisi, a relata; (6) to extenuate: a atenua (o greşeală etc.); (7) malice:
malignity, disposition to injure others; (8) to perplex: to confound, to bewilder; (9) Indian: a
native of India or of America; (10) to subdue: (in a moral sense) to prevail over, to subjugate,
to render submissive; (11) albeit [:l'bi:it]: (înv.) cu toate că, deşi; (12) to melt: to be softened to
any gentle and tender passion; (13) medicinable ['medsinbl]: medicinal, having the power of
healing.

KING LEAR
(The Tragedy of King Lear) Act III, Scene II
“(A heath. A storm, with thunder and lightning. Enter LEAR and FOOL)
LEAR: Blow, wind, and crack1 your cheeks! Rage, blow, / You cataracts2 and hurricanoes,3
spout / Till you have drench’d the steeples,4 drown’d the cocks!5 / You sulphurous and
thought-executing6 fires, / Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, / Singe my white
head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, / Strike [in other editions: smite] flat the thick rotundity
o’the world! / Crack nature’s moulds, all germens7 spill at once / That make ingrateful man!
FOOL: O nuncle,8 court holy-water9 in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o’ door. /
Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters’ blessing. Here’s a night pities neither wise man nor
fool.

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LEAR: Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain! / Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my
daughters; / I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness; / I never gave you kingdom, call’d
you children, / You owe me no subscription; why then, let fall / Your horrible pleasure. Here
I stand your slave, / A poor, infirm, weak, and despis’d old man, / But yet I call you servile
ministers, / That have with two pernicious10 daughters join’d / Your high-engender’d battles
’gainst a head / So old and white as this. O, ’tis foul!
FOOL: He that has a house to put his bead in has a good headpiece. / ……… For there was
never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.
LEAR: No, I will be the pattern of all patience; / I will say nothing. (Enter the Earl of Kent
disguised)
KENT: Who’s there?
FOOL: Marry,11 here’s grace and a cod-piece – that’s a wise man and a fool.
KENT: Alas!12 sir, are you here? things that love night / Love not such nights as these. The
wrathful skies / Gallow the very wanderers of the dark, / And makes them keep their caves.
Since I was man / Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, / Such groans of roaring13
wind and rain, I never / Remember to have heard; man’s nature cannot carry / The affliction
nor the force.”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) cataracts: mighty fall of water, a waterspout; (2) to crack: to break, to rend in any manner,
in a physical as well as moral sense; (3) hurricanoes: water-spouts; (4) steeple: clopotniţă,
turlă de biserică; (5) cock: the weathercock; (6) thought-executing: doing execution in the
same moment it is thought of; rapid like thought; (7) germens: germs, seeds; (8) nuncle: uncle;
(9) holy-water: vain compliments, flattery (cf. French eau bénite de la cour); (10) pernicious:
malicious, mischievous, wicked; (11) marry (interj.) (used as an exclamation, or an expletive
particle): dar / păi (cum)! da’ păi (cum); păi,…; măre Doamne!; ei (dar…), ei, păi (dar…); ei,
zău! ei! asta-i bună! (12) alas ['ls, 'l:s]: vai!, o, (vai)! (13) roaring < to roar [r:]: a mugi, a
tuna, a urla (d. elementele naturale).

MACBETH
(The Tragedy of Macbeth) Act I, Scene VII
“(A room in the CastIe. Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over the stage, a Sewer, and.
divers servants with dishes and. service. Then enter MACBETH)
MACBETH: If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well / It were done quickly. If
th’assassination / Could trammel up the consequence, and catch / With his surcease success:
that but this blow / Might be the be-all and the end-all, here, / But here, upon this bank and
shoal of time, / We’d jump the life to come. But in these cases / We still have judgement here,
that we but teach / Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return / To plague th’inventor.
This even-handed justice / Commends th’ingredience of our poison’d chalice / To our own
lips. (……) I have no spur1 / To prick2 the sides3 of my intent, but only / Vaulting ambition,
which o’erleaps itself / And falls on th’other. (Enter LADY MACBETH) (……)
We will proceed no further in this business: / He hath honour’d me of late, and I have bought
/ Golden opinions from all sorts of people, / Which would be worn now in their newest gloss,
/ Not cast aside so soon.
LADY MACBETH: Was the hope drunk, / Wherein you dress’d yourself? hath it slept since, /
And wakes it now to look so green and pale / At what it did so freely? From this time / Such I
account4 thy love. Art thou afeard5 / To be the same in thine own act and valour / As thou art
in desire? Wouldst thou have that / Which thou esteem’st the ornament of life, / And live a
coward in thine own esteem, / Letting ‘I dare not’ wait upon ‘I would,’ / Like the poor cat
i’th’adage?6
MACBETH: Prithee, peace. / I dare do all that may become a man; / Who dares do more is
none.
LADY MACBETH: What beast was’t then, / That made you break this enterprise to me? /
When you durst7 do it, then you were a man; / And, to be more than what you were, you
would / Be so much more the man. (……)

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MACBETH: If we should fail –
LADY MACBETH: We fail! / But screw your courage to the sticking-place, / And we’ll not
fail. When Duncan is asleep – / Whereto8 the rather shall his day’s hard journey / Soundly
invite him – his two chamberlains / Will I with wine and wassail so convince / That memory,
the warder of the brain, / Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason / A limbeck 9 only. When
in swinish10 sleep / Their drenchèd11 natures lie, as in a death, / What cannot you and I
perform upon / Th’unguarded Duncan? What not put upon / His spongy officers, who shall
bear the guilt / Of our great quell?”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) spur: pinten(i); (2) to prick: a îmboldi, a da pinteni; (3) sides: coaste, flancuri; pântece(le
calului); (4) to account: a socoti, a preţălui, a evalua; (5) afeard = afraid; (6) adage: zicală;
proverb; (7) durst = (arch.) Past Tense form of to dare; (8) whereto = to(wards) which; (9)
limbeck: an alchemist’s vessel used for distilling liquids; (Rom. “alambic”); (10) swinish: de
porc, porcesc; ca de porc(i); (11) drenched: muiat; ud; înecat / acoperit de apă.

TIMON OF ATHENS
Act IV, Scene III
“(Wood and Cave near the Sea-shore)
TIMON: Earth, yield me roots! (Digging) Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate /
With thy most operant poison! (He finds gold) What is here? / Gold! yellow, glittering,
precious gold! No, gods, / I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens! / Thus much of this
will make black white, foul fair, / Wrong right, base1 noble, old young, coward valiant.2 / Ha,
you gods! Why this? what this, you gods? Why, this / Will lug your priests and servants from
your sides, / Pluck stout men’s pillows from below their heads; / This yellow slave / Will knit
and break religions: bless th’accurs’d; / Make the hoar3 leprosy4 ador’d, place thieves, / And
give them title, knee, and approbation / With senators on the bench; this is it / That makes the
wapper’d widow wed again; / She, whom the spital-house [in other editions: spittle house] and
ulcerous sores / Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices / To th’ April day again.
Come, damnèd earth, / Thou common whore5 of mankind, that putt’st odds / Among the rout
of nations; I will make thee / Do thy right nature. (……) (Enter Thieves)
FIRST THIEF: Where should he have this gold? It is some poor fragment, some slender ort 6 of
his remainder. The mere want7 of gold, and the falling-from of his friends, drove him into this
melancholy.
SECOND THIEF: It is noised he hath a mass of treasure.
THIRD THIEF: Let us make the assay upon him: if he care not for’t, he will supply us easily;
if he covetously reserve it, how shall’s get it?
SECOND THIEF: True, for he bears it not about him, ’tis hid.
FIRST THIEF: Is not this he?
THIEVES: Where?
SECOND THIEF: ’Tis his description.
THIRD THIEF: He; I know him.
ALL: (Coming forward) Save thee, Timon.
TIMON: Now, thieves.
ALL: Soldiers, not thieves.
TIMON: Both, too, and women’s sons.
THIEVES: We are not thieves, but men that much do want.
TIMON: Your greatest want is, you want much of meat. / Why should you want? Behold, the
earth hath roots; / Within this mile break forth a hundred springs; / The oaks bear mast, the
briers scarlet hips; / The bounteous8 housewife nature on each bush / Lays her full mess
before you. Want? Why want?
FIRST THIEF: We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, / As beasts, and birds, and fishes.
TIMON: Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes; / You must eat men. Yet thanks I
must you con / That you are thieves profess’d, that you work not / In holier shapes; for there
is boundless theft / In limited professions. (Giving gold) Rascal thieves, / Here’s gold. Go,

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suck the subtle blood o’th’ grape, / Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, 9 / And so
’scape hanging.10 Trust not the physician;11 / His antidotes are poison, and he slays12 / More
than you rob: take wealth and lives together; / Do villany, do, since you protest to do’t, / Like
workmen. I’ll example you with thievery: / The sun’s a thief, and with his great attraction /
Robs the vast sea; the moon’s an arrant thief, / And her pale fire she snatches from the sun; /
The sea’s a thief, whose liquid surge resolves / The moon into salt tears; the earth’s a thief, /
That feeds and breeds by a composture stol’n / From general excrement. Each thing’s a thief;
/ The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power / Have uncheck’d theft. Love not
yourselves. Away! / Rob one another. There’s more gold: cut throats; / All that you meet are
thieves. To Athens go, / Break open shops; nothing can you steal / But thieves do lose it: steal
no less for this / I give you; and gold confound you howsoe’er! / Amen.”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) base: josnic, abject, mîrşav; decăzut; (2) valiant: viteaz, curajos, îndrăzneţ; (3) hoar: grow
mouldy; (4) leprosy: lepră; (5) whore: tîrfă, femeie decăzută; (6) ort: leaving, remnant, refuse;
(7) to want: a duce lipsă; a fi nevoiaş; (8) bounteous: darnic, generos; (9) froth: spumă; (10)
’scape = escape; (11) physician: medic, doctor, vindecător, vraci; (12) to slay: (înv.) a ucide.

HAMLET PRINCE OF DENMARK

Act I, Scene II
“(A room of state in the castle)
HAMLET: O! that this too too solid flesh would melt, / Thaw and resolve1 itself into a dew; /
Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d / His canon ’gainst 2 self-slaughter! O God! O God! /
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable / Seem to me all the uses of this world. / Fie on’t, ah,
fie, fie! ’Tis an unweeded garden, / That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature /
Possess it merely. That it should come to this – / But two months dead – nay, not so much, not
two – / So excellent a king, that was to this / Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my mother /
That he might not beteem3 the winds of heaven / Visit her face too roughly! Heaven and earth,
/ Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him, / As if increase of appetite had grown / By
what it fed on; and yet, within a month – / Let me not think on’t: Frailty, thy name is woman
– / A little month; or ere those shoes were old / With which she follow’d my poor father’s
body, / Like Niobe, all tears; why she, even she, – O God, a beast, that wants discourse of
reason, / Would have mourn’d longer! – married with mine uncle, / My father’s brother, but
no more like my father / Than I to Hercules; within a month, / Ere yet the salt of most
unrighteous tears / Had left the flushing of her gallèd eyes, / She married, O, most wicked
speed, to post / With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! / It is not, nor it cannot come to
good; / But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue!”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) to resolve: to dissolve; (2) ’gainst = against; (3) to beteem: (arch.) to allow.

HAMLET
Act II, Scene II
“HAMLET: Follow him, friends. We’ll hear a play to-morrow.
Exeunt Polonius and Players [except the First].
Dost thou hear me, old friend? Can you play ‘The Murther of Gonzago’?
FIRST PLAYER: Ay, my lord.
HAMLET: We’ll ha’t to-morrow night. You could, for a need, study a speech of some dozen
or sixteen lines which I would set down and insert in’t, could you not?
1 Play. Ay, my lord.
HAMLET: Very well. Follow that lord – and look you mock him not.
[Exit First Player.]
My good friends, I’ll leave you till night. You are welcome to Elsinore.
ROSENCRANTZ: Good my lord!

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HAMLET: Ay, so, God b’ wi’ ye! [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern]
Now I am alone. / O what a rogue and peasant slave am I! / Is it not monstrous that this player
here, / But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, / Could force his soul so to his own conceit /
That, from her working, all his visage wann’d, / Tears in his eyes, distraction in’s aspect, / A
broken voice, and his whole function suiting / With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing!
/ For Hecuba! / What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, / That he should weep for her? What
would he do, / Had he the motive and the cue for passion / That I have? He would drown the
stage with tears / And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; / Make mad the guilty and
appal the free, / Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed / The very faculties of eyes and
ears. Yet I, / A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak / Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my
cause, / And can say nothing! No, not for a king, / Upon whose property and most dear life /
A damn’d defeat was made. / Am I a coward? Who calls me villain? Breaks my pate across? /
Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face? / Tweaks me by th’nose? gives me the lie i’
th’throat / As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this? / Ha? ’Swounds, I should take it! for it
cannot be / But I am pigeon-liver’d and lack gall / To make oppression bitter, or ere this / I
should ’a’ fatted all the region kites / With this slave’s offal. Bloody bawdy villain! /
Remorseless,1 treacherous, lecherous,2 kindless villain! / O, vengeance! – / Why, what an ass
am I! Ay, sure, this is most brave, / That I, the son of a dear father murderèd, / Prompted to
my revenge by heaven and hell, / Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words / And fall
a-cursing like a very drab, / A scullion! Fie upon’t, foh! – About, my brain! / Hum, I have
heard that guilty creatures, sitting at a play, / Have by the very cunning of the scene / Been
struck so to the soul that presently / They have proclaim’d their malefactions; / For murther,
though it have no tongue, will speak / With most miraculous organ. I’ll have these players /
Play something like the murther of my father / Before mine uncle. I’ll observe his looks; / I’ll
tent him to the quick. If a but blench, / I know my course. The spirit that I have seen / May be
a devil, and the devil hath power / T’assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps, / Out of my
weakness and my melancholy – / As he is very potent with such spirits – / Abuses me to damn
me. I’ll have grounds / More relative than this. The play’s the thing / Wherein I’ll catch the
conscience of the King.”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) remorseless: lipsit de remuşcări, fără mustrări de conştiinţă; (2) lecherous: desfrînat,
depravat; lubric.

HAMLET
Act III, Scene I
“(A room in the castle)
HAMLET: To be, or not to be; that is the question: / Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer /
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, / Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, / And,
by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep – / No more, and by a sleep to say we end / The
heartache and the thousand natural shocks / That flesh is heir to – ’tis a consummation1 /
Devoutly2 to be wished. To die, to sleep. / To sleep, perchance3 to dream. Ay, there’s the rub,4
/ For in that sleep of death what dreams may come / When we have shuffled off this mortal
coil / Must give us pause. There’s the respect / That makes calamity of so long life, / For who
would bear the whips and scorns of time, / Th’oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s
contumely,5 / The pangs of despised [in other editions: disprized] love, the law’s delay, / The
insolence of office, and the spurns / That patient merit of th’unworthy takes, / When he
himself might his quietus6 make / With a bare bodkin?7 Who would these fardels8 bear, / To
grunt9 and sweat under a weary life, / But that the dread of something after death, / The
undiscovered country from whose bourn10 / No traveller returns, puzzles the will, / And
makes us rather bear those ills we have / Than fly to others that we know not of? / Thus
conscience does make cowards of us all, / And thus the native hue of resolution / Is sicklied 11
o’er with the pale cast of thought, / And enterprises of great pith 12 and moment / With this
regard their currents turn awry, / And lose the name of action. Soft you now! / The fair
Ophelia! – Nymph, in thy orisons13 / Be all my sins remembered.”

226
FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) consummation: end, completion; achievement; (2) devoutly: cucernic; (3) perchance =
perhaps, maybe; (4) rub: difficulty; obstacle, hindrance, roughness, unevenness; (in bowls, an
obstacle hindering or turning aside the bowl); (5) contumely: disgrace; (6) quietus: discharge
from a debt, or – as in the text – from all troubles and misery (cf. Latin quietus est); (7)
bodkin: dagger; (8) fardels: (înv.) burdens; Rom. “povară; greutate, sarcină”; (9) to grunt: a
geme, a icni; (10) bourn: (arch.) boundary, limit, confine; (11) sicklied o’er: tainted and
overspread / covered in a sickly manner / with a sickly hue; weakened; (12) pith = pitch; (13)
orison: (înv.) rugăciune.

HAMLET
Act III, Scene II
“Elsinore. Hall in the Castle. Enter Hamlet and three of the Players.
HAMLET: Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounc’d it to you – trippingly on the tongue.
But if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief1 the town crier had spoke my
lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very
torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a
temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious
periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the cars of the groundlings,
who (for the most part) are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise. I
would have such a fellow whipp’d for o’erdoing Termagant.2 It out-Herods Herod. Pray you
avoid it.
Player: I warrant your honour.
HAMLET: Be not too tame neither; but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to
the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o’erstep not the
modesty of nature: for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both
at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as ’twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her
own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and
pressure. Now this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot
but make the judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance o’erweigh
a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I have seen play, and heard others praise,
and that highly (not to speak it profanely), that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor
the gait3 of Christian, pagan, nor no man, have so strutted4 and bellowed5 that I have thought
some of nature’s journeymen6 had made men, and not made them well, they imitated
humanity so abominably.
Player: I hope we have reform’d that indifferently with us, sir.
HAMLET: O, reform it altogether! And let those that play your clowns 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 necessary question of the play
be then to be considered. That’s villanous and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that
uses it. Go make you ready.”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) lief: willingly, readily; (2) Termagant: violent character, supposedly god of the
Mohammedans, in old miracle plays; (3) gait: mers, umblet; (4) to strut: a merge fandosit,
ţanţoş; (5) to bellow: a mugi, a zbiera; (6) journeyman: a trained worker who is employed by
someone else; Rom. “calfă, meşter (plătit cu ziua)”.

HAMLET
Act V, Scene I
“HAMLET: Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at grave-making?
HORATIO: Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.
HAMLET: ’Tis e’en so; the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.

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FIRST CLOWN (sings): But age, with his stealing steps, / Hath claw’d me in his clutch, / And
hath shipped me intil the land, / As if I had never been such. (Throws up a skull)
HAMLET: That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once. How the knave jowls 1 it to th’
ground, as if it were Cain’s jaw-bone, that did the first murder! This might be the pate2 of a
politician,3 which this ass now o’er-offices, one that would circumvent God, might it not?
HORATIO: It might, my lord.
HAMLET: Or of a courtier, which could say, ‘Good morrow, sweet lord! How dost thou, good
lord?’ This might be my Lord Such-a-one, that praised my Lord Such-a-one’s horse, when he
meant to beg it, might it not?
HORATIO: Ay, my Lord.
HAMLET: Why, e’en so, and now my Lady Worm’s, chapless,4 and knocked about the
mazard5 with a sexton’s6 spade.7 Here’s fine revolution, an we had the trick to see’t. Did these
bones cost no more the breeding but to play as loggats8 with ’em? mine ache to think on’t.
FIRST CLOWN: (Sings) A pick-axe,9 and a spade, a spade, / For and a shrouding sheet; / O! a
pit of clay for to be made / For such a guest to meet. (Throws up another skull)
HAMLET: There’s another. Why might not that be the skull of a lawyer? Where be his
quiddities [in other editions: quiddits] now, his quillets,10 his cases, his tenures, and his tricks?
why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconce11 with a dirty shovel,12
and will not tell him of his action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be in ’s time a great
buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, 13 his
recoveries;14 is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine
pate full of fine dirt? Will his vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones
too, than the length and breadth of a pair of indentures? 15 The very conveyances of his lands
will hardly lie in this box; and must th’inheritor himself have no more, ha?
HORATIO: Not a jot more, my lord.
HAMLET: Is not parchment16 made of sheepskins?
HORATIO: Ay, my lord, and of calf-skins too.
HAMLET: They are sheep and calves that seek out assurance in that. I will speak to this
fellow. (To the First Clown) Whose grave’s this, sirrah?17
FIRST CLOWN: Mine, sir. (Sings) O! a pit of clay for to be made / For such a guest is meet. 18
(…)
HAMLET: What man dost thou dig it for?
FIRST CLOWN: For no man, sir.
HAMLET: What woman, then?
FIRST CLOWN: For none, neither.
HAMLET: Who is to be buried in’t?
FIRST CLOWN: One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she’s dead.
HAMLET: How absolute the knave is! We must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo
us. By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note of it; the age is grown so picked19
that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls20 his kibe.21 (To the
First Clown) How long hast thou been a grave-maker?
FIRST CLOWN: Of all the days i’th’ year, I came to’t that day that our last King Hamlet
o’ercame Fortinbras.
HAMLET: How long is that since?
FIRST CLOWN: Cannot you tell that? Every fool can tell that; it was the very day that young
Hamlet was born – he that was mad and sent into England.
HAMLET: Ay, marry;22 why was he sent into England?
FIRST CLOWN: Why, because he was mad: he shall recover his wits there; or, if he do not,
’tis no great matter there.
HAMLET: Why?
FIRST CLOWN: ’Twill not be seen in him there; there the men are as mad as he. (…)
HAMLET: How long will a man lie i’th’ earth ere he rot?
FIRST CLOWN: I’faith, if he be not rotten before he die – as we have many pocky23 corpses
nowadays, that will scarce hold the laying in – he will last you some eight year or nine year; a
tanner will last you nine year.

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HAMLET: Why he more than another?
FIRST CLOWN: Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade that he will keep out water a
great while, and your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. Here’s a skull
now; this skull hath lain i’ the earth three-and-twenty years.
HAMLET: Whose was it?
FIRST CLOWN: A whoreson mad fellow’s it was; whose do you think it was?
HAMLET: Nay, I know not.
FIRST CLOWN: A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! – a’ poured a flagon of Rhenish on my
head once! This same skull, sir, was Yorick’s skull, the King’s jester.
HAMLET: This?
FIRST CLOWN: E’en that.
HAMLET: Let me see. (Takes the skull). Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of
infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and
now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge 24 rises at it. Here hung those lips that I
have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now, your gambols, your songs, your
flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your
own grinning? Quite chapfallen?25 [in other editions: chop-fallen] Now get you to my lady’s
chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come. Make her
laugh at that. Prithee,26 Horatio, tell me one thing.
HORATIO: What’s that, my lord?
HAMLET: Dost thou think Alexander looked o’ this fashion i’th’ earth?
HORATIO: E’en so.
HAMLET: And smelt so? Pah! (Throws the skull down)
HORATIO: E’en so, my lord.
HAMLET: To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the
noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bung-hole?27
HORATIO: ’Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.
HAMLET: No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither28 with modesty enough, and likelihood
to lead it, as thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the
dust is earth; of earth we make loam, and why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might
they not stop a beer-barrel? / Imperial Caesar, dead and turn’d to clay, / Might stop a hole to
keep the wind away. / O, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, / Should patch a well
t’expel the winter’s flaw. / But soft! but soft! aside! (Hamlet and Horatio stand aside. Enter
King Claudius, Queen Gertrude, Laertes, and a coffin, with a Priest and lords attendant)
Here comes the King, / The Queen, the courtiers – who is that they follow, / And with such
maimed rites?…”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) to jowl: to dash; (2) pate: skull; (3) politician: (arch.) a schemer, a plotter; (4) chapless:
with the lower jaw gone; (5) mazard / mazzard: head, skull; (6) sexton: a person who looks
after a church and churchyard, typically acting as bell-ringer and gravedigger; (7) spade:
cazma, hîrleţ; (8) loggats: arşice; (9) pick(-)axe: tîrnăcop; (10) quiddities … quillets: legal
subtleties and sophistries; (11) sconce: the skull / head; (12) shovel: lopată; (13) fines,
vouchers, recognizances: legal terms connected with the transfer of land / estates (used in the
text for punning effects); voucher: witness, attestation; (14) recovery: redobîndire (a unui
drept); (15) pair of indentures: contracts in duplicate, divided into two parts which must fit
together as a proof of genuineness; (16) parchment: pergament; (17) sirrah: ['sir] (formulă de
adresare folosită pentru persoane de rang inferior): omule! băiete! jupîne! dom’le! (18) meet:
(arch.) suitable, appropriate; (19) the age is grown so picked: all classes have grown so
fastidious…; (20) to gall: to chafe, harass, scoff; (21) kibe: chilblain on the heel; (22) marry
(interj.) (used as an exclamation, or an expletive particle): dar / păi (cum)! da’ păi (cum);
păi,…; măre Doamne!; ei (dar…), ei, păi (dar…); ei, zău! ei! asta-i bună! (23) pocky: marked
with pocks (“pustule – cauzate de variolă sau de sifilis”); (24) gorge: throat; (25) chapfallen:
with the jaw janging; so, a dejected (or a ‘long’) face; (26) prithee: please; (27) bung-hole: the

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hole in a cask which is closed with a (bung) stopper, i.e. a large cork; (28) thither: (arch.)
there, to that place.

SHAKESPEARE’S CONTEMPORARIES. JACOBEAN DRAMA.

BEN JONSON (1573-1637)

Ben Jonson, the friend and admirer of Shakespeare, was about nine years younger
than the great writer. He belonged to an old Border family;234 his father, ruined by religious
persecution in the reign of Queeen Mary, had become a preacher, and died a month before the
birth of the future poet. His mother married again, her second husband being a master-builder;
and the boy was sent to the parish school of St. Martin’s-in-the Fields.
William Camden, the great historian, antiquary and writer of British antiquities, who
was then a master in Westminster School, was struck by the bright intelligence of the lad, and
took upon himself the charge of his education.
He placed the boy in Westminster, and looked after him till he was sixteen. In a short
poem Ben Jonson, speaks of him, as:
“Camden, most reverend head, to whom I owe
All that I am in arts, and all I know.”
After leaving school he worked for a short time in his step-father’s business; but he
soon grew weary of the monotony of it, and went off to the Low Countries to fight as a
volunteer against the Spanish troops. He was at that time only nineteen. On his return home
he went for a short time to Cambridge; he next joined a company of players, and became an
actor, and, more especially, a playwright.
Jonson joined freely in the wild and boisterous life of the actors and gallants of the
period; he fought a duel in 1589 with a Gabriel Spencer, an actor, and killed him; for this he
was arrested, tried for murder, and found guilty, but was released after a term of
imprisonment. (He was burnt in the hand, and obliged to give up all his goods and chattels,
which were probably of no great value). Later on in life he frequented the Mermaid, a tavern
near Chealside. Here Shakespeare, Beaumont, Fletcher and the other writers connected with
the theatre met for talk and ‘wit-combats’.
By the second decade of the 17th century, he had become a sort of ‘dictator’ in
literature (as Dr. Johnson would be in the 18th century), and was surrounded by a group of
young followers and admirers, whom he called his ‘sons’, and weho were said ‘to be sealed of
the tribe of Ben.’
In 1616 Ben Jonson published, as a folio, the first volume of his works, which
contained plays, epigrams and miscellaneous poems; the last afterwards appeared separately
as The Forest. In the year 1619 the University of Oxford conferred on him the degree of
M.A.; he was made Poet Laureate and received 100 marks a year; and in the same year he
travelled all the way to Scotland on foot. After the death of James I, in 1625, Jonson was
obliged by poverty to take once more to playwriting. In 1631 he quarrelled with his friend and
colleague, Inigo Jones, the great architect, who used to work with him in the bringing out of
his masques;235 and this for a time lost him the patronage of the court. Not long after he
regained the King’s favour and received a yearly pension of a hundred pounds. Now he was at
the head of another circle of young poets, called the Apollo Club.
In his youth, he was described as a tall, gaunt, and large-boned man, with a ‘rocky
face’ (it was pock-marked), bright eager eyes; in his old age, he was a “vast tun of man”,of
enormous bulk, weighing about twenty stone. He died in August of the year 1637, and was
buried in the north aisle of Westminster Abbey.
Till he died, Ben Jonson was looked upon as the head of English literature – a
position similar to that afterwards occupied by Dryden.
234 The elder branches of the family spelt their name Johnston, as is the custom still in Scotland. Ben Jonson
dropped the h and the t.
235 Inigo Jones was a famous architect, often called ‘The English Palladio’. He studied in Italy, chiefly in

Venice; he built the Banqueting Hall in Whitehall, the gate of St. Mary’s in Oxford, and other well-known
edifices.

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 His works: Ben Jonson’s works consist of plays, masques, lyrics and a little prose.
His most fertile decade was the ten years between 1605 and 1615. His plays consist of both
comedies and tragedies; and he wrote only two of the latter: Sejanus his Fall (produced in
1603, the year of the accession of James I) and Catiline his Conspiracy. Jonson’s chief
comedies are: Volpone, or Fox, Epicoene, or the Silent Woman; and The Alchemist. These, his
three greatest dramatic pieces, had been preceded by Every Man in His Humour (about 1596),
in the acting of which his friend Shakespeare took a leading part, and by Every Man out of
His Humour (1599). Incidentally, Ben Jonson was among the comparatively few authors who
wanted to have their plays published; his in-folio edition was printed in 1616.
Jonson was a man of great learning, though no pedant; and his classical plays are
essentially based on the facts supplied by the best Roman writers, and supported (in the notes)
by quotations from them. “He was the most learned and the most convinced of the humanists
of his generation. Until Milton he was, with his unmatched knowledge of Greek and even
greater knowledge of Latin, first among them. He was little influenced by French or Italian
literature, being ill acquainted with those languages, and he had not Spenser’s sympathy with
the Middle Ages. His culture was fundamentally Latin. The Latin muse appealed to his robust
genius, with the desire for energy and tendency to moralize.” (Émile Legouis, Louis
Cazamian, op. cit., p. 332)
His last play, which he either left unfinished or of which a portion was lost, is the
most truly poetical of all his dramas; it is called The Sad Shepherd, or a Tale of Robin Hood.
The play is prefaced by an Argument and a Prologue; the latter commencing with the pathetic
couplet:
“He that hath feasted you these forty years,
And fitted fables for your finer ears…”
The jealousy among the poets and dramatists which gave rise to much satirical
writing at this time is shown in several of his works – in Cynthia’s Revels, and The Poetaster,
in which he attacks Decker and Marston.
In Eastward Ho an attack on the Scots led to his imprisonment, with Marston and
Chapman, joint authors with him in the play. In 1614 appeared Bartholomew Fair, which
satirises the Puritans, and gives a strikingly realistic picture of the customs of the age, as
shown at this ancient and popular resort.
Volpone (1605) is the story of a rich, wicked and misathropic magnifico of Venice,
who preys upon the purses of his acquaintances by various devices. He pretends to be very ill;
his ‘friends’ send him rich presents in the hope of large legacies when he dies. Every
character in the play is either a fool or a scoundrel; but Volpone defeats his own ends. The
names of the chief characters are: Voltore (“Vulture”), Corbaccio (“Raven”), and Corvino
(“Crow”). It is the most spirited of his plays.
The Alchemist is a satire upon those chemists who believed, or said they believed,
that they could change the baser metals into gold, by means of the ‘Philosopher’s Stone’. The
chief character, Sir Epicure Mammon, is considered by most critics as the strongest Jonson
has put upon the stage.
Nevertheless, Ben Jonson cannot be congratulated on his skill in naming his
characters. Many of his names were mere labels or tickets – such as Fastidious Brisk,
Tribulation Wholesome, Sir Diaphanous Silkworm, Abel Drugger, Sir Amorous La Foole,
and many others, equally fantastic. If “Shakespeare painted the whole of the human nature”,
Jonson only depicted particular phases of human beings, ‘humours’, or peculiarities.
His masques: The first half of the 17th century was the palmy day of the masque in
England; and Ben Jonson was the greatest and most fertile composer of this sort of
entertainment. His masques, both in bulk and in excellence, far surpass the work of any other
writers. His friend Inigo Jones helped him with the scenery and the mechanism of the
masques, of which special dancing masters superintended the ballet, and the best Italian
composers supplied the music. The libretti were written by Jonson; and they are full of wit,
learning, and true poetry. The titles of them are: The Golden Age Restored, The Vision of
Delight, The Masque of Owls, For the Honour of Wales, The Masque of Queens. In this last,
James I’s wife, Anne of Denmark, took part, in 1609.

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 A masque is a short play in verse, accompanied by music and dancing, and generally
adorned by rich dresses and elaborate scenery. Masques were very popular in in the English
court, form the time of Ben Jonson to the Commonwealth, in 1639. (Milton’s Comus is a
masque, as well).
Jonson’s lyrical poems: Ben Jonson, as a lyricist, is hardly surpassed in the whole
range of English literature. His best lyrical poems, included in the collections called
Epigrams, The Forest and Underwoods, are “Drink to Me, Only, with Thyne Eyes”, “Still to
Be Neat, Still to Be Drest”, ‘Queen and Huntress”, “Chaste and Fair”, “O Do not Wanton
with Those Eyes!”, “Slow, Slow, Fresh Fount, Keep Time with My Salt Tears!” As a poet,
Ben Jonson wrote epigrams, epistles, odes, e.g. ‘To Celia, ‘Ode to Myself’, ‘To the Memory
of My Beloved, the Author’, etc. Some of his lyrics are scattered through his plays and
masques, as they are also to be found in the above-mentioned collections, notably
Underwoods and The Forest.
The following short specimens of Jonson’s lyrical verse will show the union of
strength with delicacy, the exquisiteness of the rhythm and the variety, of which he was
master: “Spend not then his gifts in vain: / Suns that set may rise again: / But if once we lose
this light, / ‘Tis with us perpetual night (…) ‘Tis no sin, Love’s fruit to steal, / But the sweet
theft to reveal: / To be taken, to be seen, / These have crimes accounted been”, or: “Drink to
me only with thine eyes, / And I will pledge with mine; / Or leave a kiss but in the cup / And
I’ll not look for wine. / The thirst that from the soul doth rise / Doth ask a drink divine; / But
might I of Jove’s nectar sup, / I would not change for thine”).
As a matter of fact, Ben Jonson was the first poet laureate of English letters.
Ben Jonson is still largely – and fundamentally – perceived by most critics as a man
of wide cultural scope: “Like the poets of the French Pleiad, Jonson was more successful in
his imitations of the Greek Anthology, writing beautiful elegies and, in particular, touching
and noble epitaphs (…) Love figures in his collections, but merely, it would seem, as a
literary theme (…) The learned Ben Jonson translated more than he invented (Émile Legouis,
Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 332).
His prose works: Jonson’s prose works consist of only two books – his English
Grammar and a set of short essays which he called Timber; or Discoveries Made upon Men
and Matter. The Discoveries were written during several years after 1630, and were not
published till 1641. The style of the book is clear and compact, and in some respects it
reminds the reader of Francis Bacon.
Testimonia: It was the custom in the 16th and 17th centuries for one poet to write what
was called a ‘testimonium’ of another; and numbers of them were usually prefixed to an
edition of the poet’s works. Many poets, like Fletcher, Beaumont, Ford, Herrick, Shirley,
Randolph, wrote verse in praise of Ben Jonson. Fletcher says:
“Thy labours shall outlive thee; and, like gold
Stampt for continuance, shall be current where
There, is a sun, a people, or a year.”
Waller speaks of him as the “mirror of poets! mirror of our age!” John Milton writes
of his “learned sock”, and Cleveland calls him “the Muses’ light in no dark time, the wonder
of a learned age.”
Ben Jonson’s Dramatic Theory: Jonson, in his two comedies (Every Man in His
Humour and Every Man Out of His Humour, evolved a – relatively – new theory about the
humanistic comedy: a theory in keeping with the classical conception of the Ancients. The
prologues to these comedies may be looked upon as dramatic manifestoes. In the Prologue to
Every Man in His Humour he expresses his own ideas and tastes, derived to a large extent
from Sidney’s Apologie for Poetry, as well as from the classical traditions revived by the
humanists. This prologue is a severe criticism of the contemporary drama and the
conventional devices resorted to by the playwrights of the day. He opposes the crude, naïve
romanticism of the popular drama, inadequately suggested by the scanty scenery of the late
16th century playhouse, the fights over land and sea, over months and years. As to himself, he
warns the audience that he will not observe such conventions, he will not “serve the ill
customs of the age.” He claims realism in the drama. The Introduction to Every Man Out of

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His Humour expands his theory in relation to (1) the satirical comedy of manners and (2) the
theory of humours.
Annoyed by Jonson’s arrogance as a censor of his fellow-playwrights (for instance, in
The Poetaster, or Arraignment - 1602, he attacks Marston and Dekker), the latter started ‘the
war of the theatres’.
The satirical comedy: Alongside Thomas Dekker, Thomas Heywood, Thomas
Middleton and Philip Massinger, he was one of the most prolific authors of ‘city comedies’
(i.e. plays having London as their setting).
The period Ben Jonson lived in was an age of corruption, rapacity, violence, lack of
moral scruples for the sake of accumulation of riches and social privileges. This reality
determined him to protest against this situation, and he made his choice of the satirical
comedy of manners. In his opinion, the satirical comedy should lash at the vices of a society
rotten within, with a view to uprooting everything crooked and redressing truth and justice.
To him the comedy was not meant for amusement only; it had to “strip the ragged follies of
the time”, to cleanse the contemporary society of its sins, to correct the manners, to moralize
(see the Prologue to Volpone).
Ben Jonson lays stress on the plot, and chiefly insists on the delineation of characters,
the plot being generally subordinate to the portrayal of men’s dispositions and peculiarities of
temperament. Besides, he chooses allusive symbolic incidents that afford the revelation of the
peculiar ‘humour’ of the main character. His theory of humours is largely indebted to
antiquity (see Theophrastus in his Characters). The theory of humours became a tradition
with mediaeval biology, which also believed in ‘humours’, or peculiar mental dispositions.
The French moralist and portrait painter Jean de La Bruyère also started from the
conception of humours in his picture gallery of contemporary social types; he also wrote a
series of Characters (1688 – French Les Caractères); according to his theory, ‘humours’ are
eccentricies and affectations peculiar to each person. He thought that each social type, each
individual had his prevailing humour, his peculiar oddity or mental disposition, which all his
other features depended. His conception of the ‘humours’ lends a certain fixity to the
characters; men are determined once for all by the mode and manner in which certain fluids
are mixed in their body. Under these biological circumstances, man’s character cannot
develop, an individual must act in accordance with his / her peculiar idiosyncrasies. It is these
humours or oddities in social types or individuals which Ben Jonson undertook to scorn and
wither in his comedies.
To better emphasize each character’s specific humour, Ben Jonson assigns to each
such a name as would easily recall the ruling vice or ‘humour’ (s)he stands for in the the play.
Thus, in Volpone the very name of the leading character reminds one of the fox and its
cunning; Mosca recalls a parasite, Voltore, Corbaccio and Corvino hint at birds of prey,
carrion eaters, etc. – all these names are meant to suggest the abiding passion or ‘humour’
ruling these men – the desire of grabbbing gold, money, riches of all sorts. Yet, the
shortcoming of the dramatist’s theory is the oversimplification of man’s complex
individuality, thus reduced to a mere schematic type – a sketchy figure, a flat entity. Each
character is the very embodiment of one peculiar all-abiding passion. One character is the
prototype of the jealous husband, the other is the embodiment of the timid father, a third is the
good-for-nothing son, another stands for the boasting soldier, etc. Each character acts in the
same way, his dealings and doings have the same end. Ben Jonson’s characters are in a way
the allegorical characters if the Morality plays (see Everyman), as they are conventionally
divided into wicked characters and good ones; they are either impostors and rogues, or fools
and dupes.
Volpone (1605): It is one of Ben Jonson’s plays that preserved its popularity with the
modern audience. It is valued more especially for its forcible satire of the vices of the
bourgeoisie at a time when its economic power was blooming.
Though the scene of the comedy is laid in Venice, some of the characters are wholly
English. Volpone, a rich Venetian magnate, is an elderly and heirless man. His ‘humour’ is to
grab other people’s wealth, by the meanest tricks. But the men in whose midst he lives are no
better; they are as false and rapacious as he is. But unlike cunning Volpone, these are fools

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whom he easily dupes thanks to the cunning and the resourceful devices of his parasite,
Mosca.
Volpone feigns to be dying; the news is noised about. Through his instrument Mosca,
Volpone dupes rich men such as the lawyer Voltore, the usurer Corbaccio, the merchant
Corvino, promising each in turn to have his name registered in his will and make each his sole
heir on condition that each bring him rich gifts. The trick works very well because of the
credulity fostered by their cupidity. None of these greedy Sasens knows about his opponents,
and each heaps treasures upon Volpone in the hope of being amply rewarded after the latter’s
death. One of them, Corvino, even induces his wife to sacrifice her honour in order to win
preferment and Volpone’s inheritance. Corbaccio is ready to sacrifice his son for the same
reason. They are all a selfish lot of niggards possessed of one all-abiding, all-encompassing
‘humour’, which is the passion of growing ever richer.
So Volpone frustrates all the hopes of these ravens awaiting his death and he
bequesths his immense fortune to Mosca; then, with the audacity of men without scruples, he
feigns his own death. But, as the saying goes, “diamond cuts diamond”. Once certain of
having his name put down in Volpone’s will, Mosca proceeds to blackmail his master and
demands the latter’s fortune only for himself; so, in this play exploiting the theme of dupers
and dupes, Mosca finally emerges as the superduper. Voltore, the lawyer, grows so indignant
at having been duped and deprived of his expected reward that he exposes the whole fraud in
the Senate. The culprits are tried; Volpone, Mosca and Corvino are duly sentenced to various
punishments. The moral of the plot is directly voiced by the ‘avocatori’:
“If this be held the highway to get riches
May I be poor. Let all that see these vices thus rewarded
Take heart, and love to study’em. Mischiefs feed
Like beasts till they be fat, and then they bleed.” (V, 8)
Ben Jonson’s Roman tragedies:
Ben Jonson made two attempts at historical tragedy: Sejanus’s Fall and Catiline –
both of which were inspired by the desire to emulate Shakespeare, the great success of whose
Julius Caesar, in 160l, had proved that the public could be interested in a subject taken from
ancient history. His only guide was Plutarch, but while Shakespeare chose a subject familiar
to every one who had any culture at all, Ben Jonson’s erudite reading and disdain of the
popular turned his choice into the far less known career of Sejanus, whose triumph and fall he
depicts. He was attracted to that episode of Roman decadence, which shows vice and
meaness, rather than to the grandeur of such a struggle as that between Caesar and Brutus; it
might be said that Ben Jonson gives more space than Shakespeare to homely scenes in the
spirit of harsh, satirical comedy. The characters are very close to history – too close perhaps,
for they remain remote from famous. They are not brought nearer by imagination or dramatic
sympathy. Catiline is inferior to Sejanus. The characters are drawn less vigorously and
clearly.
Epicoene or the Silent Woman is denouncing an egoist bachelor, whose peculiar
‘humour’ is his hatred of noise. This life-hater, suggestively named Morose, is induced to
marry a young girl reputed to be always silent. He agrees to the marriage in order to disinherit
his own nephew, whom he dislikes and who has actually made the choice of the girl. But the
moment Morose is married, the girl turns out an extremely talkative woman fond of noise. He
tries to obtain the divorce, but he is spared the trouble by his nephew who, in return for a
large sum of money, reveals that the bride is a boy in disguise. Scorn and satire are less
forcible in this play, as gaiety is more pervading. No psychological analysis of the characters
is apparent, and this is more particularly the case with Morose, whose hatred of noise chiefly
appears as an organic disease which the author hardly attempts to make credible.
In The Alchemist Ben Jonson returns to satirical comedy. Once more he is
denouncing rogues. Face, a servant (the superduper in the play), brings a swindler named
Subtle to his master’s house, while the latter is absent in London. Subtle, the quack (so, the
duper in the play), poses as an alchemist, and the hope of the philosopher’s stone causes men
of every kind to resort to him – a lawyer’s clerk, a tobacconist, and a great gentleman, Sir
Epicure Mammon, who is constantly preoccupied with dreams of magnificence and voluptous

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desires. Among these seekers after gold are two Puritan brethren of Amsterdam, who give the
playwright his first real chance to ridicule the sect, avowedly hostile to the stage; the theme of
this play is the exploitation of the foolish and the vicious men by unscrupulous rogues, who
dazzle them with riches.
The whole of the above-mentioned sect is summed up in the sinuous, politic and
adroit pastor Tribulation Wholesome, and in the stupid, violent, uncompromising deacon
Anasis, whom, not without difficulty, the pastor forces to accept the doctrine that the end
justifies the means. Anasis is horrified at the idea of having recourse to pagans like Subtle,
but Tribulation reproaches him for ill-timed zeal, and pictures to him their sect enriched and
made powerful by gold, no longer obliged to intrigue pettily and fish for small bequests.
Finally, after prayer and fasting, the brethren of Amsterdam decide that they will avail
themselves of the alchemist’s services. In the end, dupers and duped are, needless to say, duly
punished. The play is a satire of both alchemy and the Puritans; moreover, it provides a
realistic picture of Jonson’s London
Bartholomew Fair: The chief character is Rabbi Zeal-of-the-Land Busy, a man of low
origin who has acguired a great renown for sanctity and who, like Molière’s Tartuffe in
Orgon’s family, has wormed himself into the confidence of the well-to-do Widow Purecraft
until nothing is done in her household without his advice. Thus, when Mrs. Little Wit, the
daughter of the house, is seized with a longing to eat pig at the fair, Busy’s consent is first
asked and given on condition the pig “be eaten with a reformed mouth”. Everyone then sets
out for the fair, where Busy guzzles more than any one else, and in his cups upsets a hawker’s
basket of gingherbread, which he sells a “basket of poverty”. He is put in the stocks and
concludes by interrupting a puppet show, which he regards as a symbol of the public stage,
that ‘abomination of abominations’. The fair gives the writer an excuse for introducing a
whole rabble of sharpers, vagabonds, and ruffians and a whole troop of boobies, oddities, and
madcaps, who haunt the stalls.
This play returns, with more insistence, to the attack of Puritanism. All his comedies
are rich in details taken from life and glimpses of actual manners, but no other so much as
Bartholomew Fair, for which he certainly made copious notes on the spot. It was the last of
his great comedies, an inventive, vivid play – and also Jonson’s most English play as far as its
atmosphere is concerned; using these hints, some critics have gone as far as suggesting a
parallel between Ben Jonson and Charles Dickens. After its appearance he ceased for nine
years to work for the stage, and resumed playwriting as an older man producing five further
plays, in the period called his dotage. They are: The Devil and the Ass, The Staple of News,
The New Inn, The Magic Lady, and The Tale of a Tub (1633), plus the collaborative play
Eastward Ho.
Probably no other writer has known London as well as Jonson, and no other has so
viciously painted its fascinationg human circus, while still skeptical of its tinsel finery and
remaining unshakeable in his moral principles.
Jonson attempts to laugh away the Puritans. Only Molière may be regarded as his
equal in presenting the types of hypocrites. His work was influential in shaping 17 th and 18th
century English literature into classic patterns of thought and expression. Ben Jonson set the
tone of practical and aristocratic wisdom, coupled with firm, same morality.

SUPPORT TEXTS

BEN JONSON (1573-1637)

VOLPONE, OR, THE FOX
Act the First, Scene I
“(A Room in VOLPONE’s House. Enter VOLPONE and MOSCA)
VOLPONE: Good morning to the day; and next, my gold! / Open the shrine,1 that I may see
my saint. (MOSCA withdraws the curtain, and discovers piles of gold, plate, jewels, etc.) Hail
the world’s soul, and mine! more glad than is / The teeming earth to see the longed-for sun2 /
Peep through3 the horns of the celestial Ram / Am I, to view thy splendour darkening his; /
That lying here, amongst my other hoards,4 / Show’st like a flame by night, or like the day /

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Struck out of chaos, when all darkness fled5 / Unto the centre. O thou son of Sol, / But
brighter than thy father, let me kiss, / With adoration, thee, and every relic / Of sacred treasure
in this blessed room. / Well did wise poets, by thy glorious name, / Title that age which they
would have the best; / Thou being the best of things, and far transcending / All style of joy, in
children, parents, friends, / Or any other waking dream on earth: (…) Dear saint, / Riches, the
dumb god, that giv’st all men tongues, / That canst do nought,6 and yet mak’st men do all
things; / The price of souls; even hell, with thee to boot,7 / Is made worth heaven. Thou art
virtue, fame, / Honour, and all things else. Who can get thee, / He shall be noble, valiant,
honest, wise –
MOSCA: And what he will, sir. Riches are in fortune / A greater good than wisdom is in
nature.
VOLPONE: True, my beloved Mosca. Yet I glory / More in the cunning purchase 8 of my
wealth, / Than in the glad possession, since I gain / No common way; I use no trade, no
venture;9 / I wound no earth with ploughshares,10 fat no beasts / To feed the shambles,11 have
no mills for iron, / Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder;12 / I blow no subtle glass,
expose no ships / To threat’nings of the furrow-faced sea; / I turn no monies13 in the public
bank, / No usurer14 private ……………
MOSCA: And, besides, sir, / You are not like the thresher that doth stand / With a huge flail,15
watching a heap of corn, / And, hungry, dares not taste the smallest grain, / But feeds on
mallows,16 and such bitter herbs; / You know the use of riches, and dare give now / From that
bright heap, to me, your poor observer, / Or to your dwarf, or your hermaphrodite, / Your
eunuch, or what other household trifle17 / Your pleasure allows maintenance – / (…) / What
should I do, / But cocker up my genius, and live free / To all delights my fortune calls me to?
/ I have no wife, no parent, child, ally, / To give my substance to; but whom I make / Must be
my heir; and this make men observe me: / This draws new clients daily to my house, /
Women and men of every sex and age, / That bring me presents, send me plate, coin, jewels /
With hope that when I die (which they expect / Each greedy minute) it shall then return /
Tenfold upon them; whilst some, covetous18 / Above the rest, seek to engross19 me whole, /
And counter-work the one unto the other, / Contend20 in gifts, as they would seem in love: /
All which I suffer, playing with their hopes, / And am content to coin them into profit, / And
look upon their kindness, and take more, / And look on that; still bearing them in hand, /
Letting the cherry knock against their lips, / And draw it by their mouths and back again.”

Act the Third, Scene VI

“CORVINO: Honour! tut, a breath: / There’s no such thing in nature; a mere term / Invented to
awe fools. What is my gold / The worse for touching, clothes for being looked on? / Why,
this’s no more. An old decrepit wretch, / That has no sense, no sinew;21 takes his meat22 /
With others’ fingers: only knows to gape23 / When you do scald24 his gums; a voice, a
shadow; / And what can this man hurt you?”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) shrine: raclă (pentru păstrat moaşte sfinte), chivot; altar; (2) longed-for: multdorit,
multaşteptat; (3) peep through (the horns…): a trage cu ochiul, a iscodi (printre…); (4)
hoards: comoară, tezaur; avuţii, averi; (5) fled – P.T. and P.P. form of to flee: a fugi, a se
refugia, a se duce; (6) canst do nought: can do nothing; (7) with thee to boot: as well, in
addition; (8) the cunning purchase: dobîndire prin viclenie; (9) venture: afacere (comportând
multe riscuri); (10) ploughshares: fier de plug, brăzdar; (11) shambles: abator, măcelărie; (12)
to grind them into powder: să le macine, să le prefacă în pulbere; (13) monies: plural form of
money, used in financial contexts (“sume de bani”); (14) usurer private: cămătar; (15) flail:
îmblăciu; (16) mallows: nalbă; (aici – “plante”) (17) trifle: fleac, bagatelă, nimic(a toată); (18)
covetous: lacom, pofticios, rîvnitor; (19) to engross: a acapara, a monopoliza; (20) to
contend: to compete, to vie; (21) sinew: muşchi; carne; (22) meat: (old use) food; meal; (23)
to gape: a căsca gura, a ţine gura căscată; (24) to scald: a opări; a răni.

THE STUARTS

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 The Age of Elizabeth had been an exciting and dangerous – and also a merry – one;
united by the feeling of patriotic pride, the Britons had lived actively displaying gusto and
merriment. In the 17th century, this feeling of unity and merriment came to an end. For the
first time since the War of the Roses, Englishmen took up arms against Englishmen in one
of the bloodiest civil wars in history. Faced with catastrophe, the kings and courtiers
withdrew into their private world of refined elegance. The rest of the country came down
from the exuberant heights attained during the Elizabethan times to lead cautious and sober
lives.
The great issues that split England asunder in the 17th century could conceivably
have been foreseen by the Elizabethans: the peace between the Anglican Protestants and the
Puritans had been an uneasy one, depending largely on the Queen’s lenient and magnetic
personality and on the diverting activities of her reign. When Elizabeth died, the whole
question was whether England was to become an Anglican or a Puritan nation. The peace
between an authoritarian monarch and a parliament whose seats were being increasingly
filled by the new and prosperous middle class depended on the tact exercised by both sides.
If either monarch or Parliament openly stated that it was the only authority in the land, then
war was inevitable.
In the Stuart era the English developed for themselves, without foreign participation
or example, a system of Parliamentary government, local administration and freedom of
speech and person contrary to the prevailing tendencies on the Continent, which was
moving towards regal absolutism, centralised bureaucracy and the subjection of the
individual to the state.
The House of Commons, under the leadership of the squires and in alliance with the
merchants and the Common Lawyers, made itself the governing organ of modern nation.
The wars against Louis XIV and the victory of England over despotic France may be
regarded as a demonstration of the greater efficiency of a free community over a dictatorial
state – it was the main cause of the intellectual movement abroad against despotism in
Church and State, which marked the 18th century. It is during this same period that English
history became British that the modern relations of England to Scotland and Ireland,
outlined during Elizabeth’s reign, were definitely seated. During the same Stuart period,
England planted self-governing communities in North-America – increasingly valued as
markets for English manufactures, at a time when parliamentary regime was bringing
commerce more and more to the front in domestic and foreign policy.
The Tudor kings had essentially been national kings, comparable to national gods.
In order to conform to their wishes, their subjects and even the clergy had been ready to
change their religions. The general consent, which can be accounted for by the royal genius
and the tactfulness of the Tudor kings, made possible the great vigour of an unarmed
monarchy – therefore based on a political and no less psychological, sentimental force.
James I: After Elizabeth’s death, the relief felt by the English people when James I
came to be king of England (bringing with him the union with Scotland) amounted to real
triumph: they had sensed a peaceful continuity of things. The new king, a good-natured,
conceited, garrulous man, a man of fairly wide knowledge but a poor judge of men, was so
ignorant of England and her laws as to order a thief to be hanged without a trial. There was
no union of the Parliaments, Churches of laws of the two kingdoms (viz. the English and the
Scottish one). While in Scotland, James had had no experience of anything analogous to the
English House of Commons. An intellectual rather then a wise man, James had written two
books on political doctrine: Basilikon Doron (‘The Present of the King’) and The True Law
of Free Monarchies – in which he demonstrated that king are destined by God to govern,
and their subjects to obey; the king was consequently above the law; his only mission while
conforming to the laws of the kingdom was to stand as an example for the people – except
when special circumstances required him to do otherwise.
Once in England, James, a proud man, convinced of his own superiority as well as
his gift as a theologian and ruler, eloquence and erudition, set up for a moralist. On matters
of religion, the new king managed to put up with the Anglican Church. The religious

237
agreement Elizabeth had imposed through the 39 Articles, the official Prayer Book, the
ecclesiastical commission, everything proved to be almost as rigid as Catholicism – and was
consequently criticised by Roman Catholics and Puritans alike.
The accession to the throne of Mary Stuart’s son revived the hopes of the Catholics
– who had been severely persecuted during Elizabeth’s reign. But the new king imposed
unbearable conditions on them. Mismanaging the Roman Catholic question, James
reinforced the fines for ‘recusancy’236 – which so exasperated the Catholics that a group of
gentlemen formed the Gunpowder Plot (November, 1605, their leader being Guy Fawkes),
aiming at the destruction of the king and the two houses of Parliament together, by blowing
up the House of Lords; the conspiracy was a failure. The result of the plot was that Roman
Catholics became more suspect than ever; in accordance with this anti-Roman passion, they
were declined from most civic and professional rights.
On the other hand, there was the Puritan doctrine. The Puritans wanted the Church
to be ‘purged’, or ‘purified’ of any trace of her former link to Rome. They demanded total
suppression of the idle rites of Catholicism, going as far as to want the Bishops suppressed.
They had a taste for simple life and modesty, condemning joy, the lyrical poetry of the
Mediterranean type – to which they preferred the Psalms, theatre and sportslike leisures.
Puritans were horrified by sin and took themselves for ‘the chosen people’ (of Israel –
thence, the forenames they gave their children). James opposed the Puritan party in
Parliament and met fierce resistance from their part; after which he ordered 300 Puritan
priests to be exiled on account of their refusing to comply with the Anglican rite. The
outcome of this forcible position adopted by the king was multifold: increased division
among the religious groups (The High Church, the Presbyterians, the independent or
‘Congregationalist’ groups), and also serious political consequences: self-exile, as well as a
great number of the persecuted Puritans, mainly craftsmen, who emigrated to the
Netherlands, in 1608, eventually leaving for America (1620), where the 102 ‘Pilgrim
Fathers’ on board the Mayflower founded, on the North-Eastern coast, a colony ever since
known as New England.
There was a sharp and strange contrast between James and his court, on the one
hand, and his Parliament, on the other. The Court was made up almost exclusively of
favourites arbitrarily selected by the king, and it swarmed with scandals, revelling and
spending lots of money. Among these favourites was a young man named George Villiers –
a handsome man later to become Duke of Buckingham, Minister during the reigns of James
and his son Charles. In total opposition to the Court, Parliament was formed of honest,
unyielding gentlemen who were the product of the English Renaissance, earnest and self-
conscious, whose Protestant religion was combined with their cultural habit of mind and
manner.
The ideas concerning the divine and hereditary rights of the King (‘Rex est Lex’) 237
advocated by king James were opposed by the House of Commons, the tradition of England,
which required that the laws, i.e. the general principles according to which the nation should
be governed be passed by the Crown only within and in keeping with his Parliament,
becoming compulsory for the King himself. The idea they upheld was that the supreme
power of the state should permit the real forces of the nation to express themselves freely.
The conflict opposing James I to Parliament had as ultimate causes the latter’s
refusing the Great Compact compromise bill, through which the king was ready to give up
his old privileges in exchange for the Parliamentarians voting a lifetime allowance of
200,000 pounds. The king dissolved Parliament (1611); it was never to be assembled again
till 1621.
James disliked war, ‘men-of-war’ and weapons; furthermore, having no money, he
had to be a pacifist. These count among the reasons why he utterly neglected the Navy. In
1604 he concluded peace with Spain (through which, although obtaining for English

236 A recusant is a person who refuses to submit to the religious authority of the Church of England; 16 th
and 17th century recusants refused to attend services of the Church of England.
237 The Latin motto Rex est Lex stands for “The King is the Law (itself)”.

238
merchants open trade with Spain and her possessions in Europe, he actually abandoned
England’s fundamental commercial interests, mainly overseas). The ‘buccaneers’238
continued war against Spain and Portugal on their own, in the American Indies, as the
pirates from the ‘Barbary’ coast of North Africa raided in the Channel. Walter Raleigh,
fighting on poorly equipped ships, was defeated by the Spaniards and then beheaded by his
king only to please the Spanish ambassador. Meanwhile, the Dutch had become England’s
chief rivals as sea carriers for mankind.
James I died in 1625, but his death made little difference, for Buckingham’s
influence was no less strong over king Charles. After the fiasco of the ‘Spanish match’ (the
intended marriage of Prince Charles and the Spanish Infanta, in 1621), Buckingham set off
on playing the part of Protestant hero abroad; he attempted several warlike expeditions
against France and Spain (1625-1628), equally unsuccessful. Without a properly trained and
maintained army, England could not be actually involved in the Thirty Years’ War (1618-
48) opposing the Habsburgs,239 supported by Spain, to the Protestant nations in the
Netherlands, the Palatinate, Bohemia, etc.

OTHER DRAMATISTS AND PLAYS OF THE ELIZABETHAN AND JACOBEAN PERIODS

Thomas Dekker (1570-1641) was a playwright and pamphleteer. He can be

plausibly credited to have been a Londoner by birth and upbringing – cf. his vivid accounts of
London life; also, Dekker seems to have been a self-taught man of letters. Socially, he had all
the attributes of an exponent of the lower classes.
Only twenty of his plays have survived to us (plus a few masques). Thomas Dekker
was the representative of a certain type of bourgeois drama, mainly romantic and optimistic in
nature. He produced popular-romantic plays, concerned with London life. The three plays that
won him literary repute were The Shoemaker’s Holiday (1599), Old Fortunatus (1600), and
The Honest Whore (1604). The first play is inspired by the life and ways of the properous
City guilds – and especially Thomas Deloney’s story of a craftsman who rose to be London’s
Lord Mayor. The life he described is essentially patriarchal, amicable, infused by abundant
optimism.
In The Shoemaker’s Holiday are depicted boisterous and variegated portraits of
London citizens. His Satiromastix (1601) is a mere act in the ‘war of the theatres’, while other
plays authored by Dekker are mainly disappointing (e.g. The Whore of Babylon, The Wonder
of a Kingdom, etc.).
Here is what George Sampson (op. cit., p. 255) says about Dekker: “Thomas Dekker
was a man of many parts, and endearing in all of them. He wrote for Henslowe many plays
which have not survived, and he poured himself out in a stream of miscellaneous writing. To
the mental energy and literary facility of Defoe, he added the genial kindliness of Goldsmith”.
Dekker collaborated with Webster, Middleton, Massinger, and Ford.
Francis Beaumont (1584-1616) and John Fletcher (1579-1625) wrote together as
many as fifty-seven more or less clearly identifiable plays – this being the most typical case
de collaborative writing, at a time when such joint literary production was not exceptional.
Francis Beaumont was born into the rural gentry. He studied law but never practised
it. It now seems conspicuous that Beaumont was forced to write drama because of financial
pressure. His first play was a prose comedy entitled The Woman Hater (1605). Beaumont was
a friend of Ben Jonson: it was under Jonson’s influence that he wrote The Knight of the
Burning Pestle (1607) – a witty satire of the common standards in the contemporary English
drama.
Beaumont’s collaboration with Fletcher marks a higher stage in his literary career;
they jointly produced Philaster (1609), The Maid’s Tragedy (c. 1610), and A King and No
King (1611). The most notable plays belonging to the so-called ‘Beaumont and Fletcher

Buccaneers: pirates, corsairs, privateers.

238

Habsburgs: The name of the Austrian (and also German and Spanish) dynasty is also spelt
239

Hapsburgs.

239
Canon’ is generally considered to be The Maid’s Tragedy. Beaumont and Fletcher wrote
plays for the aristocratic theatres, so what they were after was essentially hedonistic
amusement, not instruction, moral elevation, ethic or civic lessons, etc. Ideologically, these
works rest on the ideas of honour and loyalty. Sensitive to the public’s shifting taste, the two
dramatists wrote less profound plays, characterized by ambiguous intrigue and light linguistic
fluidity. Without placing itself at the absolute top of literary quality, Beaumont and Fletcher’s
collaborative work is really powerful; as already mentioned, there are at least fifty ‘Beaumont
and Fletcher plays’, e.g. Cupid’s Revenge, The Coxcomb, The Scornful Lady, The Captain.
Their joint dramatic production can be said to have had a massive influence on the elitist
drama of the Jacobean and Caroline England.
For his part, John Fletcher was an elegant and prolific dramatic author. He was the
sole author of The Faithful Shepherdess (c. 1609), Valentinian (1610?-1614), Monsieur
Thomas (1610?-1615), The Mad Lover (c. 1616), The Chances (c. 1617), The Humorous
Lieutenant (c. 1619), The Island Princess (c. 1620), The Wild Goose Chase (c. 1621), Rule a
Wife and Have a Wife (1624), and A Wife for a Month (1624) – in all of which the individual
scenes are better accomplished than the ensemble. He also collaborated with Shakespeare (in
the writing of Henry VIII, The Two Noble Kinsmen – 1613), and Massinger. Fletcher was an
expert in the comedy of manners and the owner of a versatile and complex talent. He
perfectly knew how to adjust his style and literary concerns to the new Caroline (i.e. Stuart)
tastes, and the sophistication of tragicomedy.
The two dramatists stand apart from the rest of the contemporary playwrights. There
are unitary artistic and ethical-ideological traits in their joint dramatic work: the eclectic
aspect of dramatic composition, the evident, excessive romanticism, as well as the violent
naturalism of many of their plays. Most of their plots are not verisimilar, there is a marked
expression of passion and even sadistic tinges; more often than not, the various nuances are
grossly exaggerated. However, their work had a lasting influence well into the 17th century.
George Chapman (c. 1559-1634) was not dramatically inclined in any evident
manner, yet had a marked lyrical proclivity. There are many historians and literary critics who
believe that Chapman’s hand can be felt in some plays of Shakespeare. Chapman’s only two
plays which are extant – The Blinde Begger of Alexandria and An Humeorous Dayes Myrth –
are both comedies. However, his (rather disproportionate) fame was firmly established as a
writer of tragedies: Bussy D’Ambois (1607) and The Revenge of Bussy D’Ambois (1613); the
latter is clearly indebted to Hamlet.
John Marston (1576?-1634) was a quite successful author of verse satires, collected
in two volumes; his fame for being an acrid and pugnacious satirist, and a master of invective,
was immensely increased by his literary dispute with Ben Jonson (e.g. Histriomastix, his own
contribution to ‘the war of the theatres’). Marston also attacked Shakespeare. Among his
plays, one of the most notable in point of craftsmanship is the ‘revenge tragedy’ entitled
Antonio’s Revenge (1602); also remarkable are the comedy What You Will (1607), and The
Dutch Courtezan (1605); in The Malcontent (1604) there are tragical complexities treated
both dramatically and profoundly. His masterpiece is though the collaborative Eastward Hoe
(1605), a great picture of city life.
Anonymous Elizabethan Plays: It seems that all the significant anonymous dramatic
productions of the period – i.e. Arden of Feversham, and Woodstock – are in a way or other
connected with Shakespeare.
Woodstock (1591-1595?) departs, for the sake of dramatic emphasis, from
Holinshed’s chronicle in describing Richard II’s early reign. The reckless king finally has
Thomas Woodstock, the former Protector, killed, with the result that Woodstock’s supporters
rise in arms and depose him.
Arden of Feversham (1592) is one of the few Elizabethan ‘domestic tragedies’ that
have been preserved to our day.240 It is no doubt the most valuable anonymous play of the

240“A domestic tragedy (…) is a play with a sad end, which seriously depicts crime and punishment in
the lives of ordinary men, dwelling on the disruption of normal family realtionships. It is set in Loodon or
the provinces, and it teaches a simple moral lesson. This lesson is brought home to the audience by the

240
period. The play was obviously part and parcel of the then literary creation which conveyed
sensational news (comparable on the whole to today’s tabloids), while moralizing and
diverting an ever more avid theatre public.
The story is linear and concise, producing the maximum effect. The heinous
murdering of Arden by his wife Alice, who is in league with a servant, is duly punished in
the end. The situations and characters in the play are perfectly managed by dint of
simplicity. The artistic means and the language are felicitously put to artistic use, and the
kind of realism achieved is not purely photographic. The two passions that override the
characters are in fact one, i.e. love: carnal love and love of gold, and the morality exhibitied
is rather scant and flimsy. Murder and revenge constitute the absolute pattern and rule in
these simple, yet by no means simplistic, human existences.

JOHN DONNE (1572-1631)

Donne could have been an Elizabethan poet if he had been known and appreciated in
that age; unfortunately, his poetic works were published only after his death.
A precocious author, he wrote most of his poems before he turned 27 years of age.
His biographical legend is inseparable from his work. John Donne came of a Roman Catholic
family. After getting married, he became the head of a numerous family. Converted to
Anglicanism (c. 1593), Donne was ordained in the Anglican Chruch (mainly as a result of the
efforts carried out, and the urging, by a number of his close friends) in 1615. In 1621 he
became Dean of St. Paul’s; his pious demeanour was in sharp contrast to the excesses of his
womanizing youth.
His literary debut was made by the writing of two poems, “The Storm” and “The
Calm”, composed after taking part in a couple of naval expeditions to South America (on
which he accompanied Essex and Ralegh, respectively).
His poems were only published two years after his death; apart from isolated voices
in the criticism of the 18th and 19th centuries (including Robert Browning), hardly anyone was
aware of his literary merit. Donne was (re)discovered rather late, in the 20th century, and then
his creation was duly enthroned as a new poetic realm; he was admired by T.S. Eliot, who
emphasized the significance of his work for 20th century poetry, especially through the
revivification of the poetic tradition, by dint of the fine emotional quality, which parallels the
intellectual force.
With Donne, heart and mind are equally active (e.g. in “Sweetest love, I do not goe”,
“The Sunne Rising” and other short poems, where his genius is expressed at its best. The kind
of poetry he cultivated was primarily defined by subtle means of poetic expression and
complex cosmic vision.
Donne and his fellow-poets were called ‘metaphysicial’ because they based their
poems on philosophical argument and employed extravagant images (e.g. in “The Flea”,
where the bite of the insect is likely to facilitate the lovers’ union, because it has literally
mixed their blood, and thus it can be perceived as their wedding bed).
In addition to the chivalrous spiritul (revived by Spenser and his equals), Donne
genuinely despised pastoral and any mythologizing tradition, Neoplatonism (i.e. the so-called
Cambridge Neoplatonism, which attempted to reconcile Christianity with humanism and
science), allegorical conventions, and addiction to the then fashionable ‘concetti’ (or
‘conceits’), so popular in England and all over Europe in the shape of numerous mannerisms,
e.g. the Italian marinismo, the Spanish gongorismo, the French précieuses (ridicules), etc.
A singular, curious and exciting poet, Donne struck the pose of an independent poet.
What counted for him was meaning, which was all-important, not the free and smooth flow of

authenticity, real or assumed, of the plot material.” (Keith Sturgess, in the Introduction to Three Elizabethan
Domestic Tragedies, 1969, apud Leon Leviţchi, op. cit., p. 410).

241
the verse and poetic rhythm. Besides, he nourished the cult of the eccentric, which at places
amounts to the enigmatic.241
The subtlety and eccentricity of his sonnets essentially lie in the component elements
of the content, which are pre-eminently intellectual: “Passion, feeling, sensuality: all are
subjected to wit” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 335).
John Donne is one of the foremost representatives of ‘metaphysical poetry’
(sometimes associated with ‘cavalier poetry’ because the two occurred much in the same
period, at other times reduced to ‘religious’ or ‘sacred’ poetry). It is his concern for the
spiritual that placed him in the category of the so-called metaphysical poets. These poets have
understandably been celebrated by 20th century for their conceits (“exploiting far-reaching
allusions to physiology, astronomy, alchemy, chemistry, geography, biology, and so on. In
general the imagery of the metaphysicals is a conscious revolution against the Petrarchan and
Spenserian imagery. The impulse is parallel to that of modern poets who scorn the old-
fashioned poetic references to sword and carriage and insert machine gun and automobile into
their poems. The metaphysical imagery is usually associated with the “New Science” and new
intellectuality, but in the revolt against traditional, stylized images the metaphysicals also note
“unpoetic” snoring, beds, weaning children, moles on the body, etc.” Martin S. Day, op. cit.,
p. 401), startling imagery that makes use of incongruous associations, amatory and religious
melancholy, an atmosphere pertaining to a confused world (vs. the Elizabethan ordered
world-image), “unified sensibility” (in T.S Eliot’s words), vivid speech patterns and rather
abrupt, violent prosody (vs. the smooth, mellifluous Elizabethan patterns and schemes – so,
they were even blamed for “defective ear” by contemporary critics, including Ben Jonson).
This type of ‘mannerism’ has a special poetical logic, which often yokes together
diametrically opposed ideas, attitudes, aesthetic and mental categories. “More often the
fantastic is combined in him with passion, a strange compound, and he writes short,
disconcerting, unique poems, some with a dramatic turn, which presage Browning two
centuries in advance. He suggests scenes: bit by bit, by means of scattered indications of
surroundings, movements and gestures, a scene is half discerned. The Dream is such a poem”
(Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 335).
Especially in his sonnets, Donne shocks from the very outset, after which he cleverly
develops meditation, in the shape of poetic images.
In his singularly interesting poem “The Flea”, the subterranean idea is that, when
religious and state hierarchy were crumbling, the overthrow of values could become
beneficial.
John Donne re-fashions the woman-man relationship in English literature; before
him, woman had long been rather conventionally idolized. Donne was the poet who
suppressed the Petrarchan tradition in 17th century English letters; in his love poems, unlike
the followers of the Petrarchan tradition, he does not worship Woman. Ecstasie is maybe his
most beautiful poem. Among his other remarkable love poems one can mention: “The Good
Morrow”, “A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning” (with the compass conceit, unanimously
considered the most famous in Donne’s writing), “Loves Diet”, “The Legacie”, “Lovers
Infiniteness”. “In Donne wit is everywhere. It is in his very genius, and fashions his feeling
and his thought. He is overweighted with allusions to philosophical doctrines, even scholastic
philosophy in which he was exoert, and to contemporary science, even of the most abstruse
description” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 336).
He also wrote Satires (best-known: “Satire III” and “Satire IV”) and Elegies (the
most famous being “Elegy XVI” and “Elegy XIX”). Donne was the first modern English
satirist (who virtually continued the tradition that Thomas More had set up). The Elegies are
written in iambic pentameter couplets. “Elegy XVII” celebrates variety in love.
In Holy Sonnets, the poet’s voice is in conversation with God, whom he asks to
strengthen his will against his own nature (in a highly original religious parallel to a love-

241The term metaphysical was coined by the Scottish poet Michael Drummond (of Hawthornden), and
taken over by such poets and literary theorists of the (Neo-)classical period as John Dryden and Samuel
Johnson, in the sense of usage of “the most heterogeneous ideas [which] are yoked by violence together”.

242
contest); “part of the remarkable effectiveness of these sonnets lies in the use of contemporary
imagery for profane love to make concrete and shockingly personal the impact of divine love.
The pervasive demand is for God to become dynamic in Donne’s life to the exclusion of all
else. Sin and death are preternaturally vivid and soul-shaking to the poet” (Martin S. Day, op.
cit., p. 404). In his Divine Poems the poet is in search of eternity; he wants to alleviate the
religious tensions and queries that oppress his inner self (cf. his earlier poem “The Progress of
the Soul”).
Donne’s prose works: John Donne’s religious prose, contained in his Devotions upon
Emergent Occasions and in his sermons, is mainly reflective, devout and witty. It abounds in
unforgettable, epitomic lines and rich, accumulative imagery. Sometimes, the rhetoric he uses
is lavish, but he can also be economical. His last sermon, known as Death’s Duell, could be
considered by many of his contemporaries as his own funeral sermon (a sort of ‘swan’s
song’).
Even the stern Ben Jonson paid tribute to Donne’s literary genius, by admitting that
he was the first poet in the world “in some things”. In an era ridden by the obsession of
artistic originality, John Donne inscribed his name along with those of the best writers
inspired by the power of spirit: “Like his contemporaries, Góngora in Spain and Marini in
Italy, Donne carried a characteristic of the Renascence to the extreme. His poetry, otherwise
very distinct from theirs, has in common with it an exaggerated subtlety, but while their
refinement was especially one of style and manner, he refined thought” (Émile Legouis, Louis
Cazamian, op. cit., p. 337).

GEORGE HERBERT (1593-1633)

George Herbert is Donne’s peer (and also follower and heir) in the ‘metaphysical
school’, and the best of the group usually known by the name of ‘Sacred Poets’. “They [i.e.
the religious or ‘sacred’ poets] were not in any sense a school – their very individuality
testifies to a general intensity of personal religious emotion not confined in that age, as some
suppose, to the Puritans” (George Sampson, The Concise Cambridge History of English
Literature, p. 290). Educated at Westminster and Cambridge, Herbert became the public
orator of the university in 1619, and came to be seen by his contemporaries virtually as one of
the saints of the Anglican Church. “He is the saint of the metaphysical school” (Émile
Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 548).
He left us a collection of religious poems entitled The Temple (actually, its full name
is The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations), posthumously published in 1633, the
story of a spiritual conflict, remarkable for its sincerity of feeling, its authentic tone, depth,
and its poetic power. His extreme piety as a man and a priest made him devote all his energy
to the praise and humble worship of God: “Herbert’s theory is that a man should dedicate all
his gifts to God’s service, that a poet should make the altar blossom with his poetry. He was
no Puritan, but valued the beauty and neatness of the church in which he officiated, and loved
cheerfulness and the mirth which avoids coarseness: ‘All things are big with jest; nothing
that’s plain / But may be witty, if thou hast the vein.’” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op.
cit., p. 548).
Compared to John Donne’s, Herbert’s tone is more serene (it is that of a confirmed
Anglican), and his expression simpler, inspired by more familiar frames of mind, although
more often than not rather bold and novel, and some of his images are disturbingly surprising,
e.g. “[the colour of the rose] bids the rash gazer wipe his eyes”.
A conscientious artist, George Herbert carefully polished and refined the matter and
the poetic expression of his lyrical writing.
Herbert’s most usual themes are Passion, Christian Incarnation, Redemption; the
appeal of most of his poems lies in the personal voicing of the deep aspirations and frustations
of the poet’s spiritual life. Capable of wit and passion, Herbert is also capable for drama. His
fosters genuine mysticism, gentle and homely, relying on unmediated, direct experience of the
supernatural; the deity appears as a real, physically tangible being, not as a mere abstraction:
with Herbert, Christ looks as a mild lover.

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 His imagery is more commonplace, including nature, music, everyday dealings,
furnishings, etc. Herbert was a master of poetic diction and prosody: he uses an unimaginably
wide range of stanzaic forms, including some of his own making; he went as far as arranging
the lines of the poems so as to form a picture suggestive of the respective subjects, e.g. a pair
of wings (for the poem called “Easter Wings”), or a church altar (for “The Altar”). Although
accused of “false wit” by some of his continuers, George Herbert “is never thin or facile, and
his intensity, atained by daring omission and abrupt suggestion, is wonderful” (George
Sampson, op. cit., p. 290).
Some of Herbert’s most famous pieces have titles which contain in a nut-shell the
key-symbol that the poem is metaphorically built on: “The Collar”, “The Pulley”, “The
Elixir”, “The Church-Floore”, “The Quip”, etc. Probably his most popular poem, “Vertue”, is
devised around the antithesis between the ephemeral physic existence and the eternal world of
the spirit, while “Love” is thought by many critics one of the most profound religious poems
in the English language. “Nothing is more stimulating than to read these short poems, which
are so much alive, so strange, and so weighted with mening, their faults of taste redeemed by
their flashes of poetry” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 550).

ANDREW MARVELL (1621-1678)

Andrew Marvell can be considered to be the last of the metaphysical poets, and also a
great Puritan writer. He is the author of Horatian Ode upon Cromwell’s Return from Ireland
(inspired by deep, genuine patriotic feeling, including the praise of victor and vanquished
alike), Bermudas (where his ardent Puritanism imagines a natural, unspoilt haven allotted to
the exiles from the tyranny of their secular masters in Britain), On a Drop of Dew (with the
minute description of a dew drop, later turned into a symbolic representation of the
relationship between human soul and the universe). The poem called The Garden is a gem of
poetic sensuousness and optimistic meditation.
All through his poetic work, Marvell manages to blend metaphysical aspiration and
classical grace.
Although a Puritan poet, he was a mirth-loving spirit (the very opposite of the
conventional, gloomy Puritan, averse to wordly amusement and joy). His religious faith was
sincere, as was his civic commitment.
The longest of his poems, Upon Appleton House, testifies to a knowledge of, and
communion with, Nature. His love of nature and concern for it holds a significant part in his
poem The Mower against Gardens, while The Nymph Complaining for the Death of her Fawn
graphically expresses the poet’s feeling for anything alive in the surrounding world. The
Gallery is a graceful love poem, with passion and strength combined in harmonious poetical
imagery. To His Coy Mistress, Mourning, Daphnis and Chloe are other memorable love
poems produced by his quill. Andrew Marvell uses the old, Horatian theme of transience, and
also the Anacreontic one, ‘Gather the rosebuds while you may’, in his poem Carpe Diem, in
which Time, ‘the great enemy’, appears as vanquishable through the sheer power of human
passion.
The then fashionable poetic exaggeration, combined with eloquence and witty
intensity could produce such artistic gems as: “Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side / Shouldst
rubies find: I by the tide / Of Humber would complain. I would / Love you ten years before
the Flood, / And you should, if you please, refuse / Till the Conversion of the Jews. / My
vegetable love should grow / Vaster than empires and more slow”.
Andrew Marvell also wrote satire (in both verse and prose) – mainly towards the end
of his literary career, after the Restoration.
An original poet primarily on account of the intensity of his artistic feeling, Marvell
had apparent shortcomings in point of artistic expression, mainly prosody: “In the formation
of his stanzas, Marvell shows himself one of the least varied and inventive of his time. To
rank among the greatest, he should have had a more exacting standard of art, and perhaps a
more whole-hearted devotion to poetry, as well as those supreme qualities of mastery of the
word and the line which are the glory of the other Puritan poet, John Milton” (Émile Legouis,

244
Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 559). Yet his well-deserved place in English letters is secured
once and for all: “Marvell, with his many facets – wit, seriousness, intellectuality,
sensuousness, force, and compassion – is, next to Milton, the most important poet of the
period. And, Milton not excepted, he is certainly the most attractive” (Andrew Burgess, op.
cit., p. 107).
Herbert and Marvell’s contemporary, Richard Crashaw (1612-1649), an admirer of
Herbert’s poetry in his Anglican youth, then a Roman Catholic through conversion, wrote
ecstatic verse – mainly under the influence of the Spanish and Italian mystical poets (we
should remember that it was at the height of the Catholic Counter-Reformation). “His spirit is
not Manneristic, like the other metaphysicals, but really Baroque (…) Crashaw does not
manifest the fierce inward turmoil of Donne and Donne’s successors but is overpowered by
the grandiose magnifying and unifying of the sensual and the spiritual” (Martin S. Day,
History of English Literature. To 1660, p. 408). He was the author of the secular lyric entitled
Wishes: to his (supposed) Mistress, but also of several rather unequal productions. His ‘sacred
poetry’ includes such verse collections as Steps to the Temple. Sacred Poems with other
Delights of the Muses (1646) and Carmen Deo Nostro (“Song to Our God”), Te Decet
Hymnus, Sacred Poems collected, corrected, augmented (published posthumously, in 1652),
in which there are many fragments of dignified simplicity, though there is much extravagance
and paradox in his intense, ecstatic religious poetry, e.g. “the Weeper”, “The Flaming Heart”,
“In the Holy Nativity of Our Lord God, a Hymn Sung as by the Shepherds”, etc. His poetic
achievement is indisputable: “Crashaw is, in many ways, one of the most un-English poets,
and his richness and extravagance are too much for some tastes; but the skill of his work
cannot be denied, even when his metaphysical fancies appal the reader” (Anthony Burgess,
English Literature, p. 110). Although later poets (Byron, for instance) looked down on
Crashaw’s would-be incomprehensible style and wild conceits, his work won him an
honourable place on the literary scene, as a model for creators like Milton, Pope, Shelley and
Coleridge.

SUPPORT TEXTS

JOHN DONNE
THE SUN RISING

“Busy old fool, unruly1 sun,

Why dost thou thus
Through windows and through curtains call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run?
Saucy,2 pedantic wretch, go chide
Late schoolboys and sour prentices;
Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride;
Call country ants to harvest offices.
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Thy beams, so reverend, and strong

Why shouldst thou think?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long:
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and tomorrow late, tell me
Whether both th’Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou left’st them or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw’st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, all here in one bed lay.

245
 She is all states, and all princes I;
Nothing else is.
Princes do but play us; compared to this,
All honour’s mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the world’s contracted thus;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties he
To warm the world, that’s done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy centre is, these walls thy sphere.”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) unruly: neastîmpărat; (2) saucy: acru, nesuferit; obraznic.

ANDREW MARVELL
TO HIS COY MISTRESS

“Had we but world enough, and time,

This coyness, Lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast;
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart,
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,

246
 And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt1 power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife2
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) slow-chapt: slow-devouring; (2) strife: luptă, sfadă.

CHARLES I STUART. THE CIVIL WARS.

THE COMMONWEALTH

Charles I is usually depicted as mainly a chaste and pious man, inspired not only
by noble feelings and honesty, but also by obstinacy. Greatly influenced by Buckingham, he
entered into marriage to Princess Henriette Marie, daughter of king Henry IV of France,
who was to raise problems concerning the rights of Roman Catholics in England. The
continuation of the disastrous foreign policy led by Buckingham which won him the enmity
of both France and Spain, required money – and Parliament had to be assembled to vote for
the needed taxes. These circumstances lowered the prestige of monarchy and brought the
Crown into fierce conflict with the House of Commons: wars and the ensuing taxation,
martial law over civilians, etc. were defined as illegal by the famous Petition of Right
conceded by Charles to his Parliament (1628); it was written by Sir Edward Coke, and
aimed at drawing a precise limit between the power of the king and legal power. The
Parliaments of Charles I were more independent than the preceding ones; the squires who
composed the Lower House were becoming an opposition rather than an organ of
government.
After Buckingham’s assassination by a Puritan fanatic (1628), Charles I strove to
govern without the Parliaments that he hated. He was confirmed in this design by a violent
quarrel with the House of Commons of 1629 (members held the Speaker down in the chair,
while they passed the resolutions against ‘Popery and Arminianism’242 and illegal ‘Tonnage
and Poundage’ taxes).
A new theory, that of ministerial responsibility, begins to come into shape. Among
the cultivated squires forming Parliament, worshippers of the Common Law, there were
lawyers like Edward Coke or John Eliot, who stood on the conservative and national ground
of England’s own history.
Charles dispensed with Parliaments and dismissed all judges who dared to interpret
the laws impartially, in an attempt to remove every constitutional check upon his actions.
The only enemy of absolute royal power was the English Common Law. But religious
matters were equally important in the conflict: the cause of the free arbiter came to be
confused for that of despotic governing – the Prince being the only source of law, while the
idea of predestination was seen as the defence of the privileges of Parliament; most of the
common people and Parliamentarians belonged to Calvinistic Protestantism.
Charles’ period of autocratic rule is associated with the names of Archbishop Laud
(the representative of the High Church, which persecuted any non-conformist worship
outside the Church) and of Thomas Wentworth, afterwards Earl of Strafford – a stern,
authoritative man, who wanted to impose on the English perfect uniformity of religion and
ceremonial (faith and ritual). The administrative tyranny he exercised over the Church

242Arminianism: a Protestant doctrine resting on the religious question of predestination; the term is
derived from (Jacobus) Arminius, Latinized name of Jakob Harmensen – 1560-1609, who opposed
Calvin’s doctrine of predestination. His views were taken over by Simon Episcopius (1583-1643), and
form the basis of Wesleyan Methodism.

247
affected and appalled the Puritans, who began to expatriate themselves. Besides, every book
and sermon was subject to censorship; assemblies were prohibited. Furthermore, Charles
had the pretension to forcibly impose on the Scottish people, confirmed in the veneration of
their ‘Kirk’,243 the Prayer Book and the Anglican ritual.
The financial issue presented itself as John Hampden’s refusal to pay Ship Money –
the tax being argued before the Exchequer Court – in order to enable the king to have the
fighting Navy reconstructed.
Scotland and England: In Scotland the laity took an active part in Church
organisation and control, while the English were Erastian:244 they wished the state to
control the Church – as opposed to the Scottish Presbyterian party’s idea that the Church
should control the state.
Scottish noblemen, townspeople and peasants, under the threat of Anglican
intolerance, signed a ‘Covenant Solennel’ through which they swore to remain faithful to
their ‘Kirk’. It is the Scottish Revolt (1638-40) that began the British Revolution. The
Scots, a rough population, accustomed to take up arms to defend themselves, successfully
defied Charles. The troops of the two camps came to make separate peace. The king’s only
hope was Strafford (nicknamed ‘Thorough’ on account of his vigour and intolerance of all
opposition). But it was too late: for lack of properly trained army, he failed.
Strafford advised Charles to summon Parliament, in the hope that it would provide
the money to subdue Scotland; this ‘Short Parliament’ (April-May 1640) revealed the
unanimity of English discontent. It was the beginning of Charles’ downfall.
The Long Parliament: Charles was obliged to comply with demands made by
people and Lords alike to call a new Parliament. This second Parliament (called in
November, 1640) was a revolutionary one. The ‘Long Parliament’ is the turning-point in the
political history of the English-speaking nations. It prevented the English monarchy from
turning into an absolutism of the type then becoming general in Europe, but it also made a
great experiment in direct rule of the country by the House of Commons. The part played by
the Lower House was on the increase, the Long Parliament having an enthusiastic ally in
Londoners. Some of its members were men of great energy, ability, character and courage,
e.g. Pym, Hampden. They were determined to bring about the fall of Strafford and to
abolish the Star Chamber, the High Commission and the whole Prerogative system,245
declaring again the illegality of Ship Money and ‘Tonnage and Poundage’ without
Parliamentary sanctions – all of which they succeeded in doing. The king was forced to pass
the Bill which forbade the dissolution of Parliament without its own consent. In response, he
made an illegal attempt to arrest Pym, Hampden and other members of Parliament, on the
4th of January, 1642, but his ‘Cavaliers’246 met a firm opposition from the ‘Roundheads’ (i.e.
the Puritans).247
The first civil war: Charles had to flee to the North, leaving London and
Westminster to be the focus of his enemies’ power. Time had come for every one to choose
their side; the majority manifested a strong desire to remain neutral. The royal party mainly
lay in the North and West; the king’s headquarters was Oxford. The sea was held by the
king’s enemies.
Each of the two armies boasted of being a Christian army. The resources of England
were used by Parliament in this war. Although starting at a disadvantage, the Cavaliers
improved their positions mainly through the effectiveness of cavalry warfare and the

243 Kirk: the Scottish word for church (compare with German Kirche).
244 Erastian: The adjective is derived from Thomas Erastus (1524-1583), a Swiss-German theologian
who founded the doctrine of the supremacy of the state over the Church in ecclesiastical matters, known
as Erastianism.
245 The institutions upon which much of the royal power was based.
246 Cavaliers: originally, in the sense of “horsemen of noble birth” (cf. French chevalier “mounted knight”);

the term was used to describe a (male) supporter of King Charles I (and of Charles II after the
Restoration); the Cavaliers were distinguishable from the ‘Roundheads’ by their courtly dress and long hair.
247 Roundheads: the members of the Parliamentary party during the Civil War (1640-1660); the term was

used in reference to the short hair then worn only (or as a rule) by men of the lower classes.

248
military talent of the king’s nephew Rupert. But then there rose from the Puritan ranks a
military genius by the name of Oliver Cromwell – the leader of the English sectaries, whom
he drilled into the famous ‘Ironsides’ (cf. their breast and side plates), combining discipline
with religious enthusiasm and fervour. Marston Moor (1644) was the battle that destroyed
the Cavalier party in the North, as the English Presbyterians were now allied to their
brethren in Scotland.
In the following winter, Parliament made a New Model Army, regularly paid and
organised for long-time service (wearing the thenceforward traditional red coat of British
soldiers). At Naseby (1645) the New Model Army, under Cromwell and Fairfax, broke the
last of the king’s armies; the towns, castles and manor houses that still supported him were
besieged and conquered during the following year.
But after the victory of 1646, the Parliament and the Army began to fall out. The
House of Commons refused to promise religious toleration to the armed Sectaries who had
won the war. Discontenment was increasing in the army; a new Party was forming: the
Levellers (led by J. Lilburne, a Puritan pamphleteer), who propagated a republican doctrine:
monarchy and the House of Lords were but useless excrescences, useless offshoots; the only
natural power emanated from the common people, which had to choose only one House of
Parliament.
Charles and his adherents started a second civil war (1648) with the aid of the
Presbyterian Scots. Faced with that danger, Parliament and the Army became allies. Oliver
Cromwell crushed this attempt at Preston. His men entered the house of Parliament,
‘purging’ the ‘Rump’ at the House of Commons. Finally, they brought the king, who even
as a prisoner tried to negotiate new alliances, to trial. Charles was found guilty and
beheaded (30 January, 1649).
Cromwell in power. The Commonwealth: The ‘Roundhead’ side had a number of
public-spirited men as leaders besides Cromwell, e.g. Ireton, Blake, Monk, Milton (the great
poet served as pamphleteer and secretary); they were no fanatics, but worthy public servants
of the ‘Commonwealth’, i.e. the Republic.248
The state of public opinion rendered impossible the appeal to a free election, which
their democratic theories demanded but their sense of responsibility forbade. These leaders
made up a republican constitution (The Agreement of the People), despised by the
Parliament. Their authority was denied by Cavaliers, Presbyterians and Levellers. Scotland
and Ireland were in arms for the younger Charles; most of the colonies repudiated the
authority of the ‘usurpers’.
Cromwell intended to take firm measures against the Levellers when the occasion
for armed action presented itself: he undertook the subjugation of Ireland (1649-1650),
where he left Protestant colonists and landlords; after which he reduced Scotland, too, to the
obedience of the Commonwealth, defeating the younger Charles. The union of the two
Crowns – from now on to be known under a single name, Great Britain249 – was complete.
After trying hard to assemble Parliaments that would co-operate with him in the
work of governing the new Commonwealth, Oliver Cromwell (now Lord General) dissolved
the Parliamentary ‘rump’ (1653), becoming Lord Protector, the supreme authority of the
country. He was assisted by a Council and a Parliament. The army could not be disbanded
unless some way could be found leading back to government by consent. Oliver believed in
the necessity for Parliamentary rule. After he became Protector, being unable to agree with
his Parliaments, he used government by Major-Generals, which outraged the country end
his own democratic instincts. During the last two years of his rule, he was even asked to
revive kingship in his own person.

248 Commonwealth is the loan-translation corresponding to the Latin term Res publica (> Modern English
republic), meaning “Public things / wealth / property / matters”.
249 In actual fact, the name Great Britain, applying to the new political entity, was coined by the French (in

the 18th century) in order to avoid confusion between Fr. Bretagne “Brittany” (i.e. the Breton Peninsula in
France, situated between the Bay of Biscay and the English Channel) and Fr. Bretagne “Britain”.

249
 Most of the measures voted by his Parliaments were ephemeral, but quite a number
of them (e.g. free education, public mail service, liberty for the press, vote for women, etc.)
were to reappear and triumph in later times.
The welfare of the country was uppermost in Cromwell’s mind – naval and
merchant shipping flourished, colonisation was encouraged and the Dutch and the Spanish
were defeated at sea. Blake, commandeer of the fleets of the Commonwealth, not only
defeated Prince Rupert, the Barbary pirates, Dutch, Spanish and French fleets (the Dutch
had monopolised the carrying trade of England and her American colonies); Englishmen
also managed to capture Jamaica and trade with the Spanish colonies by force. As a factor in
European politics, Cromwellian England was feared and respected, but achieved nothing
great, the ‘Balance of Power’ being already adjusted externally.250
During the eleven years of Oliver Cromwell’s rule Englishmen were subjected to
intense prying and spying of Puritan officials. Theatres and alehouses were shut and betting
games suppressed, swearing was fined; Christmas festivities were considered irreligious;
walking on the Sabbath day, Maypole celebrations, sports and ornamental attire were
forbidden. Many Cavaliers set sail for the New World out of the same sense of oppression
that had prompted the Puritans to emigrate some twenty years earlier. Englishmen grew
tired of Puritan perfection (or ‘the rule of the Saints’).
Cromwell’s militarism and ‘imperialism’, too costly for the English, became
unpopular. When he died and his son Richard had been in office only five months, the
Stuart king Charles II, son of the executed Charles I, was invited back to the throne from his
exile in France. Owing to the practical man who was Monk, the desired disbandment of the
army, the restoration of monarchy, Parliament and the rule of law took place without
bloodshed, in the name of the old dynasty.
The mistakes of puritanism had been numerous: Cromwell had not managed to give
to Anglicanism that share in the life of the Church, which he had offered to grant in the
Heads of the Proposals. The great fault of the Puritanism as governors was that they tended
to exclude all that was (and also all who were) not Puritan from power and influence in the
state. By making profession of religious zeal a slogan, they bred hypocrites. They
tyrannically suppressed the theatre, in a clumsy attempt to make people good by force.
Puritanism was to leave an indelible mark on English and British social life. Hostile to all
pleasure, the Puritans thought themselves chosen to cope with Evil, Sin and the demons,
waiting for the divinity to help and inspire them (as Cromwell himself did).
It was an age that bred courageous, grave, (self-)exacting people, stern and also kind
(sometimes, fanatically so) and clement – see sects like the Quakers. Moreover, despite its
advocated scorn for everything exceedingly beautiful, Puritanism produced two great
writers: John Milton (1608-1674) author of Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained and Samson
Agonistes, and John Bunyan (1628-1688), author of The Pilgrim’s Progress.
From now on, English interests, be they particular or national, were to wear a moral
mask. After the Restoration, the Puritan spirit was severely persecuted. Yet, it continued to
live in English history through the figure of the ‘Dissenter’ – the non-conformist, the man
who keeps his faith in the choice he has made at any risk and under any circumstances.

JOHN MILTON (1608-1674)

Milton was an illustration of the above-mentioned figure, and a man of remarkable

character. There was a close link between his life and his work. “He lived his books and wrote
himself into them” (George Sampson, The Concise Cambridge History of English Literature,
p. 299)
Born in London, the son of a Roman Catholic converted to the Church of England, a
man of broad culture and a remarkable musician and composer, John Milton was educated at
St. Paul’s School and Christ’s College, Cambridge. He had an adamantine character, “unique

250Balance of Power: The permanent, at times obsessive concern of modern (English and) British leaders
for the balance of political and military forces in Europe.

250
and unsubmissive to arbitrary authority, expecting more form humanity than common
humanity could ever give, yet ardent, emotional, impressionable” (George Sampson, op. cit.,
p. 299). After the college years, he undertook deep and wide individual study at Horton,
Buckinghamshire. By hard study, he equipped himself with more learning than any other poet
before him.
His personality as a young man was pure and austere; at college he was known as
‘The Lady of Christ’s’. His youthful ‘academic exercises’ demonstrate remarkable elegance
and ingenuity of style, but also heavy-handed humour and belligerent spirit, nourished by the
consciousness of his intellectual superiority, taking support on humanism and Baconianism.
In 1638 he started on a tour of Italy, which lasted sixteen months, when he met
Galileo Galilei. His next twenty years were devoted to the strengthening of the public
opinion’s convictions about state and civil matters.
He had a failed marriage (c. 1643), but he was left with no major resentment (if we
refrain from considering as such his tracts on divorce, The Doctrine and Discipline of
Divorce, etc., written in 1643, 1644, a.s.o.); the poet had three daughters by his first wife.
When writing Of Education (1644), Milton was interested in the humanistic training
for the future public leaders; the result should be an accomplished, well-rounded, well-read
gentleman. The author advocates the study of Greek and Latin, valued for their intrinsic
educational essence, but also military discipline and contact with men of wide experience.
In 1645 he writes against the four pieces dealing with divorce, sketches a History of
Britain and gathers notes and various other materials for what is to become De Doctrina
Christiana. Milton’s History of Britain is remarkable for its accuracy, conciseness and clarity.
While distancing himself from the fanciful and mythological materials that historical writing
sometimes deals with, he cannot help being clearly prejudiced on many individual issues. The
fact is worthy of note that in some of the pamphlets related to the “Church discipline in
England”, fleeting, yet acute and zestful glimpses of an autobiographic nature appear.
As for his works written in English, mainly antiprelatical and political tracts, Milton
voiced his anti-royalist and anti-Episcopalian creeds,251 combatting, as he put it: “The
restraint of some lawful liberty which ought to be given to men, and is denied them” (apud
George Sampson, op. cit., p. 300).
He was on the Parliament’s side in the conflict with the king. He supported Oliver
Cromwell out of conviction, and became a minister of the government; in 1649 Milton was
appointed Latin secretary for the Council of State. The enormous eye-strain he had to cope
with eventually led to blindness setting in, for which he actually had all the congenital data;
by 1651 or 1652 he was already blind, so he had to continue working with secretarial
assistants. His second wife died in childbirth, like the first.
After the execution of King Charles I, Milton was fully engaged in a war of
pamphlets. When Milton undertook the writing of Eikonoclastes, he intended to counter the
effect upon the public opinion of Eikon Basilike, supposedly Charles I’s work, which
presented the king’s pious meditations while in prison and before his beheading. 252 (Actually,
it was mere prose propaganda, and seems to have been written by a bishop). The royalists
acclaimed the executed king as a saint – which was at any rate a rather far-fetched contention.
His rejoinder to Claude Saumaise’s (Latinized name of Claudius Salmasius) pamphlet
Defensio Regia Pro Carolo I (“Royal Defense of Charles I”) was written in 1649. In 1651
Milton replied to the new attacks coming from abroad by writing Pro Populo Anglicano
Defensio (the complete title is in fact Pro Populo Anglicano Defensio Ioannis Miltoni Angli
“Defence of the English People by John Milton, Englishman”), with two sequels in 1654 si
1655.
Although all the noble causes he took up the arms for turned out to be losing battles,
Milton obstinately refused to give in, up to the Restoration. On the very eve of the Restoration
take-over – and the political persecution that was about to take place – he wrote The Ready
and Easy Way to Establish a Free Commonwealth (1660). Upon the reinstatement of the royal

251 See Arminianism – supra.

252 Eikon Basilike means “the Kingly / Royal Image”, while Eikonoclastes means “The Image-Breaker”.

251
power, revenge failed to affect him, simply because he was too unimportant a public person
for that. Yet, he now had to live in rather straitened circumstances.
Milton’s old age was comparatively serene; he enjoyed his writing activity, as well as
numerous visits paid by literary and cultural personalities, trying to put up with the Royalist
and Catholic branches of his own family. A third wife was to survive him for some fifty
years.
His inflexible righteousness, the majestic style, but no less his recognized self-critical
spirit lend nobleness to his public, doctrinal and literary writing, while rendering him the least
popular of the great English poets. Milton’s “might, majesty, dominion and power” are only
comparable with those of Dante Alighieri.
Areopagitica, A Speech for the Liberty of Unlicens’d Printing (1644), a stormy
assault on censorship, advocating freedom of the press, is still considered one of the noblest
tracts in English. The name of the pamphlet was derived from the Areopagitic speech by the
Greek orator Isocrates, calling for a revival of the Athenian high court, the Areopagus.253
Censorship, Milton says, is not the appropriate way to bring about morality, law and order,
because it strikes at the good while trying to extirpate the evil. Men simply cannot be
compelled to become virtuous. The righteous man is a free person, who is able to teach
himself inner discipline, thus attaining genuine virtue. The final result of censorship can only
be stagnation. Areopagitica is the best sample of classical oration written in English. It has
majestic eloquence, and exquisite sonority of phrase. The reasoning is calm, the words
smooth and persuasive, the style simple; a number of sentences extracted from it have become
real adages in English, e.g. “Opinion in good men is but knowledge in the making.”, “He who
destroys a good book kills reason itself.”, “A good book is the precious life-blood of a master
spirit”.
Milton was not a fanatic or an extremist, though. On the contrary, he was a patriot
and an honest critical publicist; The Tenure of Kings and Magistrates, a wholly successful
pamphlet, could be another example in point. “Milton was in spirit a Renascence scholar”,
although occasionally his prose works display a rather violent language. At other times a
suspicion of subjectiveness may be perceived: for instance, in his pamphlets on divorce we
can see Milton the egocentric.
A bilingual author, Milton also used Latin, an almost second native language to him –
as with lots of other 17th century writers, in fact; he used Latin mainly in the works he
produced between sixteen and twenty-one years. He also employed that language for some
prose and verse ‘academic exercises’ (e.g. his elegies and odes, as well as the so-called
Prolusions.254
In the twenty ‘lost years’, devoted to his ‘journalism’ – i.e. prose controversy, Milton
also wrote a number of sonnets; among all his early poems, the most noteworthy are these
sonnets, some of which are in Italian (a language he mastered to near-perfection).
The love sonnets do not evince the mood and imagination of the emaciated, bloodless
Puritan. Moreover, these poems do not display the ‘Englished’ prosody of Shakespeare and
his contemporaries, but go back to the Italian source. They are highly compact and substantial
poetry.
Ever since his earlier works, Milton proved a rare musical gift. (John Milton the elder
had been a very good composer, and his works are sometimes played even today). The music
of the poet’s language is suggestive of the organ, an instrument Milton himself played – not
only in the poems written in English, but also in those composed in Italian and Latin. His
early poetic works already exhibit a rare combination of rhythm and image, an admixture of
the concrete and the abstract: e.g. “The old Dragon under ground / In straiter limits bound, /
Not half so far casts his usurpèd sway, / And wrath to see his Kingdom fail, / Swinges the
scaly horror of his folded tail”.

253 The Areopagus [ri'pgs] was a hill in ancient Athens on which lay the highest governmental
council, and later the high judicial court. The court itself came to be named after the hill. The derivation of
the term is Greek Areios pagos “hill of Ares”.
254 Prolusion (archaic, or literary term): “a preliminary action or event, a prelude”.

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 Milton, as Wordsworth255 said, turned the sonnet into a trumpet: for one thing, he
ceases to use the sonnet as an instrument solely meant to depict love in a conventional
manner. One of these youthful sonnets denounces the massacre of the Waldensians by the
papal troops in Piedmont;256 the Waldensians were appreciated and loved by the Protestants –
as they still are, by today’s Neo-Protestant sects – because they were perceived as preservers
of primitive Christianity. This sonnet remarkably succeeds in rendering the poet’s feelings, in
a perfectly balanced outburst of eloquent, both human and poetic, indignation: “The fourteen
lines follow a single uninterrupted train of thought; a phrase is continued from one line to
another, even from one quatrain to another. The effect is surprising: sentences seem to be cut
short, not by art but by indignation. But the most striking feature of the sonnet is the
rhymes…” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 579); here are some illustrative lines
excerpted from the sonnet: “Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones / Lie
scattered on the Alpine mountains cold, / Ev’n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, / When
all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones; (…) Their moans / The vales redoubled to the
hills, and they / To heav’n. Their martyred blood and ashes sow / O’er all the Italian fields,
where still doth sway / The Triple Tyrant; that from these may grow / An hundredfold, who,
having learnt thy way, / Early may fly the Babylonian woe”. But Milton’s presumably most
famous sonnet is the one that stoically records the loss of his sight.
Later on, Milton made a few convincing attempts in verse in preparation for the great
achievements that were to come: a miniature masque entitled Arcades. Then, he wrote several
poems out of which the best are On Time, Upon the Circumcision, At a Solemn Musick.
His autobiographic essays in verse, L’Allegro and Il Penseroso mark new peaks in his
rehearsing for his ‘opera magna’. L’Allegro means “the happy / cheerful man”, and Il
Penseroso “the melancholy / thoughtful man”; in fact, the standard Italian form for the latter
title should have been Il Pensieroso. In the first poem are presented the joys of countryside
life in springtime, while the second is set in autumn, when the lyrical character studies and
delights in church-going. We learn much of the poet’s temperament from these tableaux of
harvesters at work, ale-drinking, listening to old stories – vs. the pleasure of solitude and
contemplation. There is plenty of melancholy in Milton’s mirth, in Dr. Johnson’s words.
(“But let my due feet never fail / To walk the studious cloisters pale, / And love the high
embowèd roof, / With antique pillars massy proof, / And storied windows richly dight, /
Casting a dim religious light. / There let the pealing organ blow / To the full-voic’d choir
below, / In service high, and anthems clear, / As may with sweetness, through mine ear, /
Dissolve me into ecstasies, / And bring all Heav’n before mine eyes…”).
His poem Comus deals with the moral issue of chastity, and virtue triumphing over
vice. It appeared with the subtitle A Maske presented at Ludlow Castle, in 1634. The story
seems to draw upon Peele’s Old Wives’ Tale; a virtuous lady is imprisoned by an enchanter,
searched for by her two brothers, and finally delivered, with the supplementary assistance of a
good spirit; Comus, the magician, is eventually defeated. Comus is a rather undramatic piece,
but it has some undeniable artistic merits, which are added to the fact that something of
Milton the man can be perceived: solitary, pure, cold. On the whole, this is a good poem,
using the blank verse in the dialogues, with exquisitely contrived verse, plus a number of
superb songs. It was actually Milton’s first published volume. The music for Comus and
Arcades (part of a masque, as well) was written by Henry Lawes.

255 William Wordsworth (1770-1850): English Romantic poet, author of Lyrical Ballads (written in
collaboration with S.T. Coleridge – 1798). Wordsworth lived in the Lake District. His best-known works
are: ‘Tintern Abbey’ (included in Lyrical Ballads), ‘Intimations of Immortality’, The Prelude. He was appointed
Poet laureate in 1843.
256 The Waldensians, or the Waldenses, or the Vaudois, were a Protestant religious sect, founded in

1170 by Peter Waldo, a merchant of Lyons; they kept close relations with the Albigenses. Besides living in
voluntary poverty and refusing to fight in wars, the Waldensians rejected a number of Christian doctrines,
such as transubstantiation (i.e. the conversion of the substance of the Eucharistic elements into the body
and blood of Jesus Christ, at consecration), purgatory, and sainthood. Considered heretics, they were
subjected to persecution until the 17th century; they still survive in Piedmont, Italy.

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 Lycidas (1638) is an elegy dedicated to a rather distant friend, Edward King (Milton’s
fellow-student at Cambridge, dead by drowning). This elegy uses the rather artificial
convention of pastoral setting. Among the most interesting fragments in the poem, the reader
will be struck by a clear denunciation of the clergy of the time, delivered by St. Peter; so,
amidst the dire lamentations over the young man’s death, there is a powerful warning of
religious and political strife – with the country undermined by a corrupt Church, and the
Catholic threat at the borders. The elegy displays an elaborate arrangement of free and regular
verse.
Paradise Lost: Milton abandoned an Arthurian cycle subject – he originally intended
to write something similar to the Aeneid, the Odyssey and the Iliad, so he embarked upon a
literary project drawing upon the Fall of Satan, and the consequent Fall of Man. The result
was his masterpiece, Paradise Lost, printed in 1667. It was the great epic he contemplated,
which had to wait for twenty years. The subject of this monumental epic poem is based on the
fall of the angels, the story of Adam and Eve, their failure to keep God’s commands. Its scene
is the whole universe.
Although its success was neither immediate nor explosive, it was nevertheless
constant, and became manifest on the very appearance of the book: John Dryden soon
recognised the poem’s remarkable value, and at the end of the 17th century a poetic style
involving Milton’s name had already appeared. Addison’s essays praising the poem, in the
18th century, stand for the final coronation of the poet as a consecrated master of English
literature. Paradise Lost saw over one hundred editions in the 18th century alone.
The poem is an encyclopaedic compendium of Renaissance knowledge fused into
fine poetry. Its main sources are the Scriptures – including a number of Talmudic writings
and Patristic writers, some Greek and Latin epics, the classic Greek drama, several mediaeval
and Renaissance versions of The Fall of Man, Italian epic poems (especially Tasso’s and
Ariosto’s257), Spenser, Marlowe, Shakespeare. All these streams are closely and dexterously
interwoven in an absolute literary gem.
It will be fair to admit that most of the questions relating to the sources of the poem,
the identity and the action of the hero, or its theology, etc. are false or misleading issues. The
main message is all-important: “(…) the essential doctrine of the poem is eternal. The
temptations of man, his conflicts with evil, his aspirations, his failures, and his repentances –
these abide whatever the current fashion in theology or philosophy may be. The life of every
man (Milton implies) is the story of Paradise lost and sought: reasonable existence is only
possible as long as man aspires beyond himself and believes in the validity of the great ideals
we call justice, goodness and mercy.” (George Sampson, op. cit., p. 308).
If his cosmology in Paradise Lost is, significantly enough, Ptolemaic, in his (early)
doctrinal writing Milton fostered heretical views (e.g. Arianism, ‘mortality’, etc.), which are
no longer to be detected in this epic. What he avowedly set out to render what not some
objective reality, but an expression of the mystic contemplation of the Divine Will, much in
the manner of the prophets in the Old Testament.
Milton never believed in the doctrine of Predestination (so, he did not entertain
Calvinistic beliefs); he only believed in free will (cf. the doctrine of Arminianism.258
In his doctrinal – but no less moral – view, to yield to passion (the very opposite of
reason, which is the basis of human conscience) is tantamount to yielding to Sin.
Significantly, Paradise Lost was deemed “the most Hebraic of great English poems” (Émile
Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 580).
In the final analysis, Love is the central theme of Paradise Lost; it is the unifying
conception of the poem. This is a kind of love sharply opposed to sentimental, or romantic,

257 Lodovico Ariosto (1474-1533): Italian poet, author of Latin poems and comedies, as well as the epic
poem Orlando Furioso (1516), considered the most consummate expression of the Italian Renaissance. *
Torquato Tasso (1544-1595): Italian poet, author of the romantic epic poem Gerusalemme Liberata
(“Jerusalem Delivered” – 1574), inspired by the First Crusade, followed by the Gerusalemme Conquistata
(“Jerusalem Conquered” – written from 1576 on).
258 Arminianism: see supra.

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love; the poem enacts divine love, misdirected love, Christic love – cf. the biblical quotation
(from the Gospel acording to John 3:16): “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only
begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life”.
As far as human love is concerned, Milton (rather autobiographically) revised the amorous
ideal and chivalrous conception of woman cherished by the Middle Ages and the cultured
Renaisssance, the main tenets of which were that woman is a Virgin-Mary-like star, an
epitome of beauty and virtue, attracting Platonic love. In contradistinction to this view, Milton
lives and creates in a male-made spiritual world: “For him, the danger to a man’s soul lay in
woman, a danger which was great in proportion to his susceptibility to love (…) To Milton,
woman was man’s inferior, an imperfect creature, dangerous if she were not mastered. His
view was supported by his memories as by the story of Eve. His Eve is charming and
capricious, coquettish and wayward, incapable of sound reasoning and an easy prey to
sophistry. Man’s duty is not to humble himself before her, but to feel and proclaim himself
master. If passion blinds him too much, he is blamed by the angel Raphael or by Christ
Himself.” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 582-583).
A minuter analysis of the poem’s thematic structure will reveal several sub-themes,
which are intertwined circularly: the universality of divine Providence, the powerful reality of
evil, Redemption, the fundamental unity of mankind, etc.
Although it may sound a bit like overstating things, the hero of the poem, at bottom,
is – by artistic transposition – Milton himself. His very manner of interpreting the Bible is
personal, in that it is very honest: “He let nothing intervene between the Bible and himself; he
allowed himself complete liberty in interpreting it, but he gave it entire faith. He accepts the
whole of biblical history as authentic and sacred. But he retells it as one who bears all the
burden of contemporary knowledge, whose personality is intense and self-centred, and who
has little dramatic sense” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 580).
Satan, the fearless rebel, is depicted in all his powerful magnificence: he has the
admirable stature of a Titan (Blake259 said that “Milton was of the devil’s party without
knowing it”). Again, a biographically biased approach will suggest the idea of self-reference,
be it unwittingly: “In spite of himself, he was in deep sympathy with Satan, the great rebel of
Heaven and the enemy of God. The pride and indomitable courage of the revolted angel
rekindled the emotion of the intensest hours of his life, and, do what he would, he saw God as
the king of England, surrounded by submissive and docile angels, as by courtiers, who spent
their lives feasting, singing, and fighting in glorious wars.” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian,
op. cit., p. 581). Thus, the treatment of the biblical legend through the more or less distorting
lens of contemporary ideas and considerations led to a fine synthesis of subjectivity and
voluntary objectivity: ”Thus facts which belong to the history of Milton’s time and his own
mental habits constantly find their way into the ancient legend, which he transforms while he
accepts it and falsifies while he professedly respects it” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op.
cit., p. 581). On the other hand, one cannot possibly hold the idea that the author was
genuinely and irrepressibly fascinated with evil – here, in the shape of the arch-foe of
humanity; quite on the contrary, what he wanted to depict was the great Villain’s inhuman
failure through colossal folly.
The sense of the abyss of space, the vast Universe, as depicted in Paradise Lost, are
conveyed factually, and in an absolutely excellent graphical manner. The infinite cannot be
perceived by human senses, and it has to be reconciled with the finite. Milton’s depiction of
the dim hugeness of Hell is a masterpiece of graphicality and vast suggestiveness; it is
monumentally impressive, and has titanic ineffability: “The two Hells have often been
compared – Dante’s various and fragmentary, divided into innumerable compartments;
Milton’s immense and indeterminate, and producing an incomparable total effect with its
‘darkness visible’, and with the gigantic forms of the angels changed into demons who sprawl
on the burning marl” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 582).

259 William Blake (1757-1827): English poet, painter and visionary; author of Songs of Innocence and Songs of
Experience, and also of prophetic books like The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, America, and Milton. He
illustrated the Bible, a number of works by Dante and Shakespeare, but also his own poems.

255
 By contrast, the description of the Garden of Eden, standing for the real world, seems
rather artificial, stiff and affectedly nice. Nevertheless, its dream-like yet demurely clear-cut
depiction stands for a genuine triumph of Baroque art; this is perhaps the summit of Baroque
poetry in English: “The picture of Eden has been derided as too much like an English park.
Each man’s ideal garden is indeed made of the most beautiful spot he has seen. It is
nonetheless true that Milton has diffused the richest poetry over his, yet never let his
descriptions fade to vagueness (…) This painter drew accurately, but his total effects are none
the less great and splendid. His Paradise remains one of the most beautiful dreams of the men
who have been in love with nature” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 582-583).
Even if not remarkable through its variety, Milton’s verse is so through its particular
naturalness and highly specific humanity: “The Miltonic vastness of suggestion as contrasted
with Dantean exactness of precision has been a theme for comment since Macaulay’s260
famous essay. It is part of his peculiar majesty. Great variety he has not: neither has he
Shakespearean intimacy and insight. Although he is never unnatural, nature is never the first
thing that suggests itself in him; and, though he is never ungraceful, yet grace is too delicate a
thing to be attributed to his work…” (George Sampson, op. cit., p. 309).
It would be very easy to demonstrate that Milton’s great achievement actually lies in
the poem’s artistic craft. His reputed grand style never slackens through the twelve books,
while obstinately adhering to the finest poeticality conceivable. In the 20th century, T.S.
Eliot261 said it was “poetry at the farthest possible remove from prose.” Milton’s famous
‘organ tone’ solemnly accompanies occasional, yet notable, stretches of calm and disciplined
gravity, as well as the (highly praised, and universally recognized) sheer simplicity of the
periods. A musical man (as the above-mentioned ‘organ tone’ should necessarily remind one
of the fact that the author actually played the organ), he had a highly sensitive and finely
trained ear, which assisted him in synthesising and refining the overall tone of the epic; as a
matter of fact, Milton did not write his poem, but dictated it – mainly to his daughters.
Scores of admirable bits of thought and musical poetry in the poem stick in the
readers’ minds, and are often quoted as such, or else by way of pithy adages and sentences in
their own right, e.g. “The mind is its own place, and in itself / Can make a heaven of hell, a
hell of heaven”, “Better to reign in hell then serve in heaven.”, “For who would lose / Though
full of pain, this intellectual being / These thoughts that wander through eternity?”, “Long is
the way / And hard, that out of hell leads up to light.”, “So farewell hope, and with hope
farewell fear”.
Among the main features of John Milton’s language, the most striking is no doubt his
strongly Latinized vocabulary, sometimes censored by the critics of later ages; but more often
than not, the poet’s language and style are considered to be the mere product of a learned
mind: “(…) a mode of utterance in which rhythms and constructions, and even vocabulary
veered to Latin rather than Anglo-Saxon English. Milton’s sentences are long, like Latin
sentences; he inverts the order of words, like a Latin author; he has to talk about ‘elephants
endorsed with towers’ instead of ‘elephants with towers on their backs’…” (Anthony
Burgess, English Literature, p. 118). Besides, there is etymological (or semantic) rejuvenation
of words – i.e. the use of familiar English words in their original, mainly Latin, meaning, e.g.
success in the sense of “outcome”).262
The use of quite a large number of exotic proper nouns adds to the musicality of the
poem; the poet seems always willing to create impressive, striking, rare sound effects, some
of them even based on onomatopoeias. As a matter of fact, in most of his literary work,
Milton exploited the (often strange) beauty of proper names, e.g. “Thick as autumnal leaves
that strow the brooks / In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades / High over-arched

260 Macaulay (Thomas Babington, Baron Macaulay – 1800-1859): English historian, essayist, poet and (Whig,
i.e. Liberal) politician. Macaulay wrote a History of England (1849-61).
261 T.S. Eliot (Thomas Stearns Eliot – 1888-1965): American poet, playwright and critic, who lived in Britain

from 1915, author of The Waste Land, The Hollow Men, Murder in the Cathedral, and The Sacred Wood; Nobel
Prize for Literature in 1948.
262 Etymological rejuvenation, or semantic rejuvenation: see supra.

256
embower / All who since… / Jousted in Aspramont or Montalban, / Damasco, or Marocco, or
Trebisond, / Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore / When Charlemain with all his peerage
fell / By Fontarabbia…”; “Peor, and Baalim, / Forsake their Temples dim, / With that twice-
batter’d god of Palestine, / And mooned Ashtaroth, / Heav’ns Queen and Mother both, / Now
sits not girt with Tapers holy shine, / The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn, / In vain the
Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn”; “Sabaean odours”, “Were it not better done,
as others use, / To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, / Or with the tangles of Neaera’s hair?”,
etc.
If in the early Milton the style mainly testifies to the mannerist tendencies
characteristic of the High Renaissance, whereas in Paradise Lost the classical Baroque spirit
is omnipresent. Very much in this spirit, the terror of death and doubt of the former period –
i.e. the mainly gloomy, ornately convoluted incipient Baroque – is replaced by ecstatic,
abundant confidence and belief. The massive splendour of the Paradise Lost is typically
Baroque; but this is a type of Baroque art naturally subdued and tempered by the author’s
classical turn of mind. Milton’s style is fundamentally and decisively indebted to his
Renaissance-influenced background: “It is still a humanist’s art. His superb rejection of
rhyme is in the spirit of the poets of the Renascence who were most in communion with the
ancients. The Graeco-Roman form of the epic, replete with Hebraic matter, is derived from
ancient models. Its aspect, its divisions, and the style are those of the Aeneid or the Iliad”
(Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 583). It is this classic, especially Latin, influence
which primarily contributed to lending the final work of art its unmistakeable compactness
and marble-like monumentality, unlike any other epic poem in previous English literature:
“The work is more full of meaning, denser, more uninterruptedly artistic, and more constantly
lifted above the level of prose than any other in English poetry. When Paradise Lost is
compared with The Faerie Queene, the gain and loss which it represents can be computed”
(ibid., p. 584). Milton’s earnest and inspired effort to structure, synthesise and refine the epic
matter induced the genuinely classic clarity, nobleness of conception, and equilibrium: “He
had gained constructive force, unity of design, concentration of effort, moral seriousness, and
the restraint which enables effect to be produced by quality rather than quantity” (ibid., p.
584).
The excellent quality of the verse can also be acquainted by the fact that Milton made
ample use of rhetoric figures and tropes: elaborate epithets, linguistic conversion (adjectives
used for nouns, etc.), long Homeric similes, inversion, omission and elliptical structures,
parenthetic structures, long periodic sentences. The repetitions (be they literal or
synonymous) produce the overall effect of a contrapuntal musical composition, viz. a fugue;
to these are added the abundant (mainly classical) allusions and connotation, etc. The
universal values of the poem retain their appeal and freshness through all literary ages.
Milton’s poem Paradise Regained (1671) was inspired by a different material, as it
also employs a significantly different blank verse. Drawing upon Luke’s Gospel, Chapter 4,
Paradise Regained has a greyer atmosphere; in fact, the main sources of Paradise Regained
were, besides the Gospel according to Luke, the Book of Job in the Bible, Spenser’s Faerie
Queene (Book II) and Giles Fletcher’s Christ’s Victory and Triumph.
In this second epic of Biblical inspiration, Paradise / Heaven is ‘regained’ through the
Christic sacrifice and purity: “Paradise was lost by Eve when she yielded to Satan’s
temptation, regained by Christ when He got the better of the same tempter, and thereby ended
the reign of Satan upon earth.” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 584). So, in
Paradise Regained Christ’s resistance to Satan’s temptation balances Eve’s surrender to the
same temptation, in the previous poem. The Temptation of Christ is construed as an epitome
of the conflict opposing mortal flesh (i.e. Man) and the Devil, the eternal source of Sin. Thus
the main theme of the poem can be sketchily defined as the triumph of reason over appetite
and emotion (cf. also Milton’s youthful stance of austerity and moral equilibrium).
Jesus Christ’s temptation by Satan, in His self-imposed fasting reclusion in the
wilderness, may be viewed as a ritual reenactment of Adam’s fall. The most important point
to make about Milton’s literary feat is that in Paradise Regained Christ faces the stratagems
and mainly verbal artifices of Satan, ‘the great enemy’, not as God, but as Man. On the other

257
hand, Milton’s Christ is a perfect hero, and consequently a hero characterized by dramatic
inactivity. He keeps refusing Satan’s wily approaches, but thus illustrates the virtue of
temperance, which is positive in its resemblance to courage. Satan himself is a mere shadow
of the energetic rebel in Paradise Lost; he is now less actively strong, less enterprising as an
insurgent, but a far more cunning and hypocritical demon, a real monster of subtle scheming.
The truth is that Paradise Regained is a literary achievement weaker in intensity than
Paradise Lost (at any rate, this is perfectly true as far as the first two books of Paradise Lost
are concerned). On the whole, it may be assessed that the composition of Paradise Regained
rather resembles a morality play.
Christ is, in the poem, the embodiment of superior humanity, which again suggests
the reader autobiographical overtones; Milton’s life is, once again, one of the multiple sources
of literary inspiration: “We are struck by the resemblance between Milton’s Christ and the
poet himself. This Christ has rejected the idea of an heroic war as Milton did that of an
Arthurian epic. Like Milton, He has searched His soul in order to know His mission on earth.
His temptations are Milton’s own, save that Christ is proof against the love of women, which
Milton was not. To the offer of kingly dominion, or of untold gold, Christ answers like an
ascetic and a republican.” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 585).
The style of this second Miltonian epic changed from Baroque to neoclassical, with
evident simplicity and clearness instead of ornateness, life size instead of bulkiness and
masive grandeur, calm reasoning instead of overwhelming, lofty emotional power; no more
imagistic greatness is therefore present in this epic. On the other hand, what it incidentally
wants is restraint and moderation. This is a poem lacking the sheer vigour of the previous
epic, but nonetheless heavy with revelations of Milton’s soul, and his great shift from
unconditional worship of Greek antiquity and Renaissance poetic values.
Although usually considered more severe and less splendid than its predecessor,
Paradise Regained can at times be as splendid and inspiring as Paradise Lost; it can display
the same use of exotic names and the same ineffable poetic atmosphere, e.g. “Of faery
damsels met in forest wide / By knights of Logres or of Lyone, / Lancelot, or Pelleas, or
Pellenore”.
Milton’s last work was Samson Agonistes,263 an epic of certain poetical and personal
appeal. The parallel between the poet himself and the protagonist is only too apparent; again,
the hero’s suffering draws upon that of the author himself: “The drama is all Samson – the
sadness of his lot, his remorse for his errors, his grief that his cause and his nation have been
laid low, his impotence in a world in which he has become the slave of those whom he
conquered and whom he despises.” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 586). Both
Samson and the debilitated Milton are blind, vanquished, weakened by declining age, but
undaunted and fully determined to resist any test; Samson’s sorrows, a prisoner of the
Philistines at Gaza, are certainly Milton’s own: “A little onward lend thy guiding hand / To
these dark steps, a little further on. / O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon / Irrecoverably
dark, total eclipse. / Without all hope of day (…) And I shall shortly be with them that rest”).
Socially and ideologically, but not morally, Milton is a defeated man: “Like the blind
Samson, Milton had thrown himself into national effort only to witness his own devastating
loss and the triumph of a culture he detested” (Martin S. Day, op. cit., p. 444).
As far as content is concerned, the most likely literary sources are Samson (1660), a
poetical drama written by a Dutchman, Vondel, based on the episodes narrated in the Bible
(Judges 13-16), the History of Samson by Francis Quarles (1632), and as far as form is
concerned, it is no doubt the newly established tradition of the ‘closet drama’, i.e. dramatic
works that are not intended for the stage (in keeping with Milton’s own record).
On the other hand, the fact that Samson Agonistes is a tragedy on the Greek model is
undeniable. It derives inspiration directly from the clasical Greek drama: Milton scrupulously

263 Samson Agonistes: The Old Greek word agnists means “contestant, one who is engaged in a
contest, or an athletic event; an athlete”; by extension, it means “someone who fights arduously; a
combatant”. In 17th century English, agonist still meant “contestant”; nowadays, agonist is a mere synonym
for protagonist. (See also antagonist, protagonist).

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observes the three dramatic unities (of time, place, and action); the poem has five sections, or
acts, strictly following the Greek patterns; its undeviating classic tone and proudly elevated
language are indisputable. All the classical Greek paraphernalia are employed: the classic use
of chorus (most choruses in the poem are rhymed) and messengers, preference for reported
action (as against direct action), long monologues, Aristotelian catharsis.264
The other points of indebtedness to Greek antiquity are Samson’s titanic woe and
torture (cf. Prometheus Bound by Aeschylus, but especially Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonnus,
where the blind king is visited by both friends and enemies), then the Greek concept de hybris
/ hubris (“overconfidence, excessive pride”)265, or the tragic flaw, applying to Samson. Yet,
unlike the ancient Blind Fate, or Ananke, the divine Providence which commands human
destiny in the poem is part of a clearly Christian mode. Also, Greek influences are
Sophoclean irony, the use of stichomythia (i.e. dialogue made up of single line replies), the
use of iambic pentameters in the speeches, and of lyric measures for the chorus, etc.
Samson is an entirely human figure – and a synthesis a Milton’s own spiritual
odyssey (e.g. the figure of Dalila / Delilah is the dramatic reflection of Milton’s first wife).
Samson recollects his greatness in sad, repetitive speeches. On the one hand, the hero is
tempted to blame God for his blindness and slavery, and on the other hand, he is keen on
deciding his own fate. At the end Samson is triumphant; what he has done is God’s will.
Although there have been reproaches pointing to the poem’s comparative lack of
action and immobility (“…the essential part of tragedy – progress and action – is wanting.
Milton, lacking the dramatic sense, succeeded, after all, in producing only one more powerful
lyrical poem.” – Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 586), one cannot deny it
authentic literary beauty. One of Milton’s poetic achievements in Samson Agonistes consists
in the powerful, memorable lyrical strophes that are interpolated in the dialogue. The poem is
a culmination, and the great major work, of the late Renaissance in England, as well as the
last great work by a Christian humanist. It is an earnest attempt at synthesizing classic,
Hebraic, and Christian traditions. To conclude, we may state that in Samson Agonistes Milton
is once more himself: “This drama, with its strong, naked language, worthy of the poet of
Paradise Lost, although it discovers him in another aspect, was a noble conclusion to
Milton’s poetic career. It confirms what was evident from the first, that his work proceeded
from a pride which reached sublimity and from an heroic egoism.” (Émile Legouis, Louis
Cazamian, op. cit., p. 587).
The prosody of Milton’s poems is adapted to epic writing throughout. If in Paradise
Lost no rhyme whatever was used, it is exceptional in the last of Milton’s poems – i.e. only
occasionally used in the choruses, so all the more striking and effective.
In Samson Agonistes as in the earlier Miltonic epics, a highly personal literary idiom
is displayed – an idiom which even his imitators in the 18th century found hard to copy or
reproduce.
Milton’s power of suggestion and genuine, inbred majesty are his forte, although he
lacks variety and insight to a significant degree, and naturalness and grace to a minor degree.
John Milton’s dignity of inspiration and his tone of natural elevation escaped
detractors and unfair critique: “His subjects may attract or repel; his temper may be repellent
and can hardly be very attractive, though it may have its admirers; but in sublimity of thought
and majesty of expression, both sustained at almost superhuman pitch, he has no superior in
English” (George Sampson, op. cit., p. 309).
Although his idealistic poems, replete with grandeur, appeared in a cynical period,
characterized by moral dissolution, and rather impervious to religious exaltation and poetic
sublimity (when Milton’s virtually general perception was that of a bizarre, incomprehensible

264 Catharsis: a basic concept in Greek tragedy, referring to the process of releasing, and thereby providing
relief from, strong or repressed emotions, such as fear, dread and pity; seeing such feelings acted on stage,
the audience benefited from catharsis, a ‘purgative’ for the unwholesome passions abiding in the human
soul. (The word is etymologically derived from Greek kathairein “to cleanse” < katharos “pure”; the sense
employed for the aesthetic concept in drama was first used by Aristotle in his Poetics).
265 For hubris / hybris – see also supra.

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poet, or that of the survivor of a great age of the past), it is now almost unanimously agreed
that Milton is the English poet second after Shakespeare.
An indefatigable experimentalist with ideas and tenets, be they classical or baroque,
and also with verse, images and language, John Milton can be considered the harbinger of
new literary modes; but he essentially remains a man of letters inspired by the best of
tradition, who managed to write a glorious literay and cultural page in the history of Britain:
“(…) In the new cynical, bright but corrupt England of Charles II, Samson Agonistes stands as
a monument to an age whose literary glories, moral aspirations, genuinely heroic spirit can
never be even remotely approached in the centuries to come. Milton is the last man of the old;
now we must take a deep breath and dive into the new”. (Anthony Burgess, English
Literature, p. 119).

SUPPORT TEXTS

JOHN MILTON (1608-1674)

PARADISE LOST Book I
“Of MAN’s first disobedience, and the fruit / Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste /
Brought death into the World, and all our woe, / With loss of Eden, till one greater Man /
Restore us,1 and regain the blissful seat, / Sing, heavenly muse, that, on the secret top / Of
Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire / That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed2 / In the
beginning how the heavens and earth / Rose out of Chaos: or, if Sion hill / Delight thee more,
and Siloa’s brook3 that flowed / Fast by4 the oracle of God, I thence / Invoke thy aid to my
adventrous song, / That with no middle flight intends to soar 5 / Above the Aonian mount,
while it pursues / Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. / And chiefly Thou, O Spirit, that
dost prefer / Before all temples the upright heart and pure, / Instruct 6 me, for Thou know’st;
Thou from the first / Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread, / Dove-like sat’st
brooding7 on the vast Abyss, / And mad’st it pregnant:8 what in me is dark / Illumine, what is
low raise and support: / That, to the height of this great argument,9 / I may assert eternal
Providence, / And justify the ways of God to men. / Say first – for heaven hides nothing from
thy view / Nor the deep tract10 of hell – say first, what cause / Moved our grand parents, in
that happy state, / Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off / From their Creator, and
transgress11` his will / For one restraint, lords of the world besides? / Who first seduced them
to that foul revolt? / The infernal Serpent; he it was whose guile, / Stirred up with envy and
revenge, deceived / The mother of mankind, what time his pride / Had cast him out from
heaven, with all his host / Of rebel angels, by whose aid, aspiring / To set himself in glory
above his peers, / He trusted to have equalled the Most High, / If he opposed; and, with
ambitious aim12 / Against the throne and monarchy of God, / Raised impious13 war in heaven
and battle proud, / With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power / Hurled headlong14 flaming
from the ethereal sky, / With hideous ruin and combustion,15 down / To bottomless perdition;
there to dwell / In adamantine16 chains and penal17 fire, / Who durst18 defy the Omnipotent to
arms. / Nine times the space that measures day and night / To mortal men, he, with his horrid
crew, / Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf,19 / Confounded,20 though immortal. But his
doom / Reserved him to more wrath, for now the thought / Both of lost happiness and lasting
pain / Torments him; round he throws his baleful21 eyes, / That witnessed huge affliction and
dismay, / Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate. / At once, as far as angels’ ken, 22 he
views / The dismal23 situation waste and wild. / A dungeon24 horrible, on all sides round, / As
one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames / No light; but rather darkness visible /
Served only to discover sights of woe, / Regions of sorrow, doleful25 shades, where peace /
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes / That comes to all, but torture without end / Still
urges, and a fiery deluge,26 fed / With ever-burning sulphur27 unconsumed. / Such place
Eternal Justice had prepared / For those rebellious; here their prison ordained28 / In utter
darkness, and their portion set, / As far-removed from God and light of heaven / As from the
centre thrice to the utmost pole. / Oh, how unlike the place from whence they fell! There the
companions of his fail, o’erwhelmed / With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire, / He
soon discerns; and, weltering29 by his side, / One next himself in power, and next in crime, /

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Long after known in Palestine, and named / BELZEBUB. To whom the arch-enemy, / And
thence in Heaven called SATAN, with bold words / Breaking the horrid silence, thus began; /
‘If thou beest he30 – but Oh! how fallen! how changed / From him! – who, in the happy
realms of light, / Clothed with transcendent brightness, didst outshine / Myriads, though
bright – if he, whom mutual league,31 / United thoughts and counsels, equal hope / And
hazard in the glorious enterprise, / Joined with me once, now misery hath joined / In equal
ruin; into what pit32 thou seest / From what height fallen: so much the stronger proved / He
with his thunder; and till then who knew / The force of those dire33 arms? Yet not for those, /
Nor what the potent Victor34 in his rage / Can else inflict,35 do I repent, or change, / Though
changed in outward lustre,36 that fixed mind, / And high disdain from sense of injured merit, /
That with the Mightiest raised me to contend, / And to the fierce contention37 brought along /
Innumerable force of spirits armed, / That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring, / His
utmost power with adverse power opposed / In dubious battle38 on the plains of heaven, / And
shook his throne. What though the field be lost? / All is not lost; the unconquerable will, /
And study of revenge, immortal hate, / And courage never to submit or yield: / And what is
else not to be overcome; / That glory never shall his wrath or might / Extort 39 from me. To
bow40 and sue for grace41 / With suppliant knee, and deify his power / Who, from the terror of
this arm, so late / Doubted his empire; that were low indeed; / That were an ignominy42 and
shame beneath / This downfall; since, by fate, the strength of Gods, / And this empyreal 43
substance, cannot fail; / Since, through experience of this great event, / In arms not worse, in
foresight44 much advanced, / We may with more successful hope resolve / To wage by force
or guile45 eternal war, / Irreconcilable to our grand foe, / Who now triumphs, and in the excess
of joy / Sole reigning,46 hold the tyranny of heaven.”

FOCUS ON VOCABULARY
(1) restore: a aduce înapoi; a mîntui; (2) the chosen seed: seminţia aleasă, neamul ales; (3)
brook: pîrău, rîu; (4) fast by: alături de… / cu…, chiar lîngă; (5) to soar: a se înălţa în zbor; (6)
to instruct: (înv.) a învăţa; (7) brooding: clocind; (8) pregnant: greu, plin de rod; (9) argument:
confruntare, luptă; (10) tract: regiune, tărîm; (11) to transgress: a (în)călca; (12) aim: scop,
ţintă, ţel; (13) impious: nelegiuit, murdar; nesupus; (14) hurled headlong: zvîrlit în hău (cu
toată puterea), aruncat furtunos (în hău); (15) combustion: pîrjol, ardere; (16) adamantine: tare
ca diamantul, de neînfrînt, care nu poate fi zdrobit; (17) penal: pedepsitor; (18) durst: (old
form) Past Tense of to dare; (19) the fiery gulf: hăul crîncen, arzînd; (20) confounded:
defeated; (21) baleful: îndureraţi, posomorîţi, plini de amar; (22) as far as angels’ ken: cât pot
vedea îngerii; (23) dismal: jalnic, lugubru; înspăimîntător, amarnic, grozav; (24) dungeon:
temniţă; (25) doleful: lugubru, jalnic, trist; (26) deluge: potop; (27) sulphur: pucioasă; (28) to
ordain: a rîndui, a porunci, a decreta; a meni; (29) to welter: a se tăvăli; a se îngrămădi; (30) if
thou beest he: if you are him; (31) mutual league: coaliţie, alianţă; (32) pit: hău, adînc; gheenă;
(33) dire: cumplit, crunt, teribil; (34) the potent Victor: puternicul Biruitor; (35) to inflict: a
lovi, a izbi (cu armele), a pricinui un rău / o rană etc.; (36) outward lustre: (stră)lucire
exterioară, luciu pe dinafară; (37) contention: clash, battle, fight; (38) opposed in dubious
battle: încleştaţi într-o luptă cu soarta nedecisă; faţă în faţă / încleştaţi fără ca vreunul să iasă
învingător; (39) extort from me: a-mi smulge (cu sila / forţa); (40) to bow [bau]: a-şi pleca /
înclina capul / fruntea; a se închina (cuiva); (41) to sue for grace: a cere îndurare; (42)
ignominy: josnicie, murdărie, mîrşăvie, mişelie, infamie; (43) empyreal: ceresc, sublim; (44)
foresight: putere de a prevedea / anticipa; (45) guile: viclenie, vicleşug, şiretenie; (46) sole
reigning: domnind / stăpînind singur, singur / unul stăpînitor.

THE CAVALIER LYRISTS266

Under the reign of Charles I there was an outburst of gallant poetry, from which
Petrarchan idealism disappears, being replaced with the more genuine emotions of such

266 Lyrist ['lirist]: “a lyrical poet”.

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literary models of antiquity as Anacreon,267 Catullus268 and Horace. The greatest Caroline
poet is Robert Herrick (1591-1674), author of Hesperides (1648). Unlike the Cavalier lyrists
(Carew and Suckling), he wrote simpler, even rustic verse. Herrick was, like Anacreon, a
singer of simple joys, of beautiful women and flowers, a praiser of wine, a votary of nature –
the best expression of human life’s transience (“Fair daffodils, we weep to see / You haste
away so soon; / As yet the early-rising sun / Has not attain’d his noon. / Stay, stay / Until the
hasting day / Has run / But to the evensong; / And, having pray’d together, we / Will go with
you along”).
Robert Herrick’s work has the height of a cultural synthesis making the best of
literary tradition: “He never lost the spirit of the Elizabethan miscellanies and he never forgot
the folk-song of the cornfield and the chimney corner. Herrick (…) remained faithful to
Jonson, and, through him, to the great lyrists of classical antiquity” (George Sampson, op. cit.,
p. 288). Although he also tried his hand at sacred verse (Noble Numbers, 1648), he did not
surrender to the then prevalent metaphysic spirit. Herrick did not receive the deserved literary
credit and fame during his lifetime; it was only at the end of the 18th century that he could
take his place in the Pantheon of English letters.
Thomas Carew269 (1598?-1638), also a disciple of Ben Jonson, is ranked second to
Herrick as a lyric poet. He wrote fine two-stanza poems that are reminiscent of the Petrarchan
sonnet, in which the main interest is courtly life and atmosphere, with woman as the chief
subject. Actually, in his Poems, most of which is love poetry (published in 1640), he is
generally recognized as the precursor of the Cavalier poets: “Carew’s spiritual home is the
city and the court, not the country and the parsonage” (George Sampson, op. cit., p. 289). He
took from John Donne the taste for the exciting conceits, and from Ben Jonson the classic
artistic polish.
His best poems seem to be “The Rapture”, and “Ask me no more where Jove
bestows” (a shorter poem), in which exquisite poetic skill is blended with frank sensuousness.
Expressing elegant voluptuousness and the zest for polite seduction, Carew’s poetry is deeper
than the frivolous courtiers’ productions of his own age. The Jonsonian school of verse-
making is apparent in such fragments as: “Ask me no more whither doth haste / The
nightingale when May is past; / For in your sweet dividing throat / She winters and keeps
warm her note”.
John Suckling (1609-1642) is the typical Cavalier lyrist – and the very embodiment
of the learned Cavalier: handsome, rich, dashing, surprising. He wrote with ease, mainly
improvising. His verse is witty and effortless, but mainly graceful; deep thought was not his
forte. Suckling also wrote plays (viz. three court masques, in the 1630s). He authored A
Session of the Poets; the collection including his poems, Fragmenta Aurea (“Golden
Fragments”), was published after his death, in 1646. The little he borrowed form Donne lies
in basic cynicism as far as amorous matters are concerned. Ben Jonson’s restraint and
enthusiastically finicky workmanship were foreign to Suckling’s nature, while his best artistic
effects are derived from the colloquial approach to poetry.
Richard Lovelace (1618-1658), a symbol of the Cavalier gallantry of the period, had
an adventurous life and died in poverty. Posterity lent him some of Philip Sidney’s knightly
aura. He is the author of Lucasta: Posthume Poems of Richard Lovlace, Esq. (1659),
containing a few perfect pieces, for which he is remembered by the histories of English
literature. In the 18th century, Lovelace’s name saw literary renown as that of the seducer in
Samuel Richardson’s epistolary novel Clarissa Harlowe.

267 Anacreon ['nkrin] or ['nkrin]: (c. 570-478 BC) Greek lyric poet, best known for his celebration
of love and wine; the carpe diem motif (“seize the day” – an exclamation in Latin, quoted from one of
Horace’s Odes) is part of his celebration of life, seen as a transitory source of joys. The adjective
corresponding to Anacreon is anacreontic / Anacreontic [nkri'ntik].
268 Catullus [k'tls] (Gaius Valerius Catullus – c. 84-54 BC): Roman lyric poet, who wrote erotic poems

describing his unhappy love affair with Clodia, calling her Lesbia; also author of longer poems, as well as
short verses to his friends.
269 The name Carew is pronounced either ['kri] or [k'ru:].

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 JOHN BUNYAN (1628-1688)

John Bunyan voiced religious fervour, in an age of genuine piety, while taking
advantage of a real literary gift capable of contriving fine artistic expression, which was, at
best, almost comparable to that of Milton.
In spite of the little education he got, Bunyan’s literary achievement was outstanding:
he had a profound knowledge of the Bible (i.e. the Authorised Version, the regular reader of
which he was), which was in fact his primary source of imagery and style. A tinker, and a
rank-and-file soldier in the parliamentary army (1644-1646), and yet author of forty-three
books, published during his lifetime alone, Bunyan can be seen as the very impersonation of a
self-made man of letters. “No other writer has been formed under such humble circumstances
as Bunyan. He knew nothing of university culture; one can say that his mind was moulded by
a single book, the Bible” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, A History of English Literature, p.
692).
Bunyan became a Baptist preacher in 1647. Emprisoned for his spiritual creed (1660-
1672), he studied hard and wrote massively. It was during a subsequent emprisonment (in
1675) that he wrote The Pilgrim’s Progress. Actually, in the first six years of confinement
alone he wrote nine books!
In 1672 (i.e. upon release from prison), Bunyan was elected (sectarian, i.e. Baptist)
pastor of the congregation in Bedford.
After 1647, while in gaol / jail, he begins studying the Bible attentively, hence his
undeniable expertise in Bible matters and his conversance with the earnest simplicity of the
Authorised Version. “Bunyan writes with the Bible, no doubt transposing it, and reducing it to
a more familiar tone, but losing nothing of the range of its nobleness” (Émile Legouis, Louis
Cazamian, op. cit., p. 695). As a sectarian preacher, he had several conflicts with the
Quackers, the result of which was that he produced several doctrinal books.
His Pilgrim’s Progress was, and still is, highly popular in every corner of the
English-speaking world.
The story of The Pilgrim’s Progress (the complete title of which is The Pilgrim’s
Progress from This World to That Which Is to Come, 1678) is simple; the book presents a
journey full of dangers and pitfalls, the hero’s difficult pilgrimage to the next world, with the
traditional use of allegory and personification. In order to write his Pilgrim’s Progress, the
author did not have to be familiar with many (or, as some critics suggested) all sources of
allegory based on the motif of pilgrimage; it sufficed him to be struck by the simple idea of
man’s life as a toilsome pilgrimage. “The central theme of The Pilgrim’s Progress has
nothing original in it; it is a symbol as old as imaginative piety…” (…) “He himself presents
his book as the fruit of inspiration; thus it appeared to him, and it is probably wisest to view it
thus” (…) “The work of Bunyan is, so to say, a lay Bible, stripped of all that is not, to a
Puritan conscience, the direct teaching of salvation…” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op.
cit., p. 693).
One can say that his own story was inspired and moulded by his secret voices, those
of a fervent Puritan but no less of a humble man, although it will be easy to prove that there
are several closer sources for the book, as well: “Bunyan follows the very lines of earlier
allegories, among which the best known is The Pilgrimage of Man, by Deguileville.” (Émile
Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 693).
It is the story of a Christian’s trip (as a matter of fact, the name of the protagonist is
Christian) to the Eternal City, from his home-town, which, he was let to know, would be
destroyed by fire (like Sodom and Gomorrah in The Old Testament) – so the protagonist-
narrator grows terrified by the coming Judgement. From a strictly theological standpoint, it is
a Calvinist book, inspired by the doctrine of predestination: the hero is one of the chosen few.
As his family refuse to accompany him, he leaves the City of Destruction alone.

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 The pilgrim reaches his goal (what he wants to find is Zion, the City of God) after an
adventurous journey, which takes him through places like the Slough of Despond,270 the
Valley of Humiliation, the Valley of the Shadow of Death, Vanity Fair (where his companion,
Faithful, is executed), the village of Morality; rescued by the Evangelist, he passes through
the Wicket-Gate; after the Hill Difficulty he is joined by a second companion, Hopeful, and
they arrive together at Doubting Castle, then at the Delectable Mountains and Enchanted
Ground. Finally, his salvation is secured.
Just as the hero’s name himself is Christian, the names of the characters he meets on
his way are allegorical as well: Giant Despair, Mr. Worldly-Wisdom, Greatheart, the fiend
Apollyon (cf. the Book of Revelation in the Bible), etc. Many of these names have ever since
become household words and images in the culture of the English-speaking world.
The second part of The Pilgrim’s Progress (the sequel to it, published in 1684, neatly
inferior to the first part) recounts the story of his wife and children’s journey to the celestial
destination he has already attained.
Though essentially allegoric, the book can also lend itself to a purely narative reading
– owing to the skill of the story-telling, the robust true-to-life description, the humour and
intensity of delineation. The book represents a literary achievement comparable to that of the
earlier poetical products inspired by, or indebted to, the age of knightly adventure and
romance: ”Pilgrim’s Progress seems the culmination of medieval allegory in the uncultured
mind as The Faerie Queene was its culmination among the polished and well educated.
Wholly Protestant, the work nonetheless stems from many centuries of simple preaching and
allegorizing in country churches and at cottage hearths by devout parents” (Martin S. Day, op.
cit., p. 455). The style of the book displays the strong rhythm of the 1611 Bible, an intense
religious feeling, homely realism, and also plenty of emotional sincerity. The fact that The
Pilgrim’s Progress has been translated into more than a hundred languages could well
function as an indication of the almost general perception of the book as a genuine fairy-tale
account. However, the narration has lucidity, order, ease, and what is more, it is articulate
from within.
The Christian character unites Everyman and the Bedfordshire peasant. The language,
as well as a great deal of factual details, are reminiscent of the English countryside of
Bunyan’s own day. Roughly speaking, it can be assessed that Bunyan was the representative
of the people in an age when literature was the prerogative of the aristocracy.
In The Pilgrim’s Progress, the story may be rather puerile, but it is deep and
realistically told: “A naïve ingenuity invests with a tangible appearance, either concrete or
personified, the snares of the flesh and those of the mind, the help received from above, the
perils, the backslidings, the mortal anxieties which beset the soul in its quest after salvation”
(Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian, op. cit., p. 694).
The universally valid human dimension of The Pilgrim’s Progress is a fact already
established and confirmed by literary criticism: “There is no need to say anything about the
book by way of criticism; for its characters, its scenes and its phases have become a common
possession. Creeds may change and faiths may be wrecked; but the life of man is still a
pilgrimage, and in its painful course he must encounter the friends and the foes, the dangers
and the despairs that Bunyan’s inspired simplicity has drawn so faithfully that even children
know them at once for truth” (George Sampson, The Concise Cambridge History of English
Literature, p. 313). Bunyan’s achievement as general human is unanimously recognized by
the critique, and represents a literary value springing both from an inner abundance hard to
match, and from a larger, social, type of consciousness: ”Supremely eloquent by virtue of his
objectivity, Bunyan has been the faithful mouthpiece of the religious conscience of a people.
The sublimity of his work is that which lies in the highest torments of a human life
excruciated by the torturing uncertainty of its moral future” (Émile Legouis, Louis Cazamian,
op. cit., p. 694).
270 The Slough of Despond stands for a “time of great discouragement – seen as a dangerous place of
waterlogged ground, i.e. a place of deep mud, a marsh; hence, a state of great sorrow, anxiety, etc.” ( slough
[slau] means “mlaştină”, and despond, or despondency means “disperare, deznădejde, ananghie”).

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 The Pilgrim’s Progress, called “the best syllabus of evangelical Protestantism”, and
sometimes compared, maybe extravagantly, to Dante’s La Divina Commedia, exerted a strong
influence on the generations to come, including many a literary creator; suffice it to say that
W.M. Thackeray broadly alluded at The Pilgrim’s Progress when using “Vanity Fair”271 as
the name of the didactically presented social world of his famous novel Vanity Fair (1847-8).
Among all the literary works ever circulated and enjoyed in England, only the Bible and
Shakespeare have been more widely read than The Pilgrim’s Progress.
John Bunyan’s autobiography, entitled Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners
(1666), may be said to come very close to St. Augustine’s Confessions. The story of the
author’s conversion to godliness, to genuine Christian faith, provides a fine example of
narrative ease and artistic skill. His staunch, devout determination, and former sins (as
described in the autobiography) may seem naïve to today’s readers, but they deserve respect
in view of the author’s unflinching resolution to suffer for his convictions, and also of the
author’s noble humility. In Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners there is keen
psychological interest, striking realism, the gift of vision and moving sincerity, mainly
derived from implicit generalizations.
The most ‘modern’ of Bunyan’s works is The Life and Destiny of Mr. Badman
(1680), where a stern indictment is levelled at Restoration society, in a literary piece that
spares neither anecdote nor lively narrative episodes. Actually, the tone of the book and some
of its narrative particulars can induce the idea of a (remote, or indirect) influence from the
picaresque vein, then very much in fashion in Spain, France and Italy. Mr. Badman is a clear
sign of the times: Defoe and the 18th century novel are certainly not a very long way off.
The last of Bunyan’s four great literary pieces was The Holy War Made by Shaddai
upon Diabolus (1682), another allegory, whose artistic value, it has been said, comes next to
The Pilgrim’s Progress.

*
* *

Thus the great achievements of English literature’s modern period are the fruit of an
original admixture of elements pertaining to the Renaissance, Baroque and Classicism, in
which the contribution of the British literary creators is not only easily perceptible, but also
major and absolutely decisive: “The country which hitherto had always received the impulse
to literature from abroad had become proudly conscious of her strength and originality. She
had given birth not only to a multitude of men of varied talents, but also to a line of geniuses
truly her own, in whom she henceforth admired herself and who were gradually admitted
throughout Europe to a place in the very first rank of artists.” (Émile Legouis, Louis
Cazamian, A History of English Literature, p. 587).
We can justly consider that the full fruition of the Renaissance was reached with the
Baroque and incipient Classicism of the 17th century, in a country matured by cultural
absorption, its natives’ profound and solid intellectual creation, so by imports as well as self-
elevation, in a vast swing from the idyllic and patriarchal to the coming industrial values – to
which had been profusely added the lessons of recent history: “With Milton and the later
Commonwealth writers, we come to the end of the Renaissance. England, during the 17th
century, moved from a country whose roots were deep in the past, in medieval learning and in
Renaissance optimism and love of the ancients, to a country that had been shaken by religious
doubt and civil warfare, and which at the Restoration was ready to usher in the modern
secular and industrial world. Throughout this century there runs the unifying thread of the
quest for order – order in man, in the state, in the universe. Order of one sort or another had
been the concern of such various men as King James and Cromwell, Bacon and Hobbes,
Bunyan and Milton. The literature of this period therefore is troubled, but troubled in a new
way” (Martin S. Day, History of English Literature. To 1660, p. 456).

271 Vanity Fair stands for “the world – seen as a market-place, or a fair, of empty foolishness”.

265
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