the quality called by the Italians virtù; their rule of life was Fais ce que vouldras; and, as the worst kind of corruption is the corruption of the best, these degenerate representatives of the English aristocracy acquired the name of Italianate Englishmen, the definition of which is so vividly given in the famous passage of Ascham's Schoolmaster. Many of them indeed, on their return to England, lacked the bravado to sustain a fashion of viciousness which was not natural to them, and which was equally disgusting to the chivalrous Sidney and the Puritanic Stubbes. But the principles of taste which they helped to form advanced, as a matter of course, from an imitation of the manners to the cultivation of the literature of the Italian Renaissance, so that the epoch which introduced the English reader, by the aid of translations, to the thoughts of Virgil and Seneca, made known to him, in the same way, the loose tales of Cinthio and Bandello. The first to open this path, as so many others in English literature, was George Gascoigne. He was himself led to it by natural inclination. A spendthrift and gambler in his youth, yet accustomed to good society, always shifting his occupations, half soldier and half scholar, equally ready with his sword and his pen, he had seen the world in many parts and under many lights, and he was ready enough to employ his virtù in any honourable direction which could bring him profit. His success did not reach the measure of his ambition. Perhaps he lacked concentration of purpose, or his imagination was greater than his capacity for action; poets are often more distinguished for absence of mind than for readiness of wit; and Gascoigne, we know, was a poor marksman,1 a defect which must in those days have interfered with his usefulness in war. However this may have been, he certainly sympathised with the Italian passion for personal adventure, and reflected it in his autobiographical poems, Don Bartholomew of Bath and Dulce Bellum Inexpertis. We have already seen him translating Aris 1 Gascoigne's Poems (Hazlitt), vol. i. p. 377. ariostos totle's comedy, I Suppositi; and his first published volume contained an imitation—probably the first which had appeared in England-of the Italian novella, under the title of The Adventures of Don Ferdinando Ieronimi.1 Neither this story nor Don Bartholomew argues any great moral strictness in the author: both might have been with propriety included in that division of his works which he called "Weeds"; but Gascoigne was at least aware that such "Italianate" compositions were not congenial with the prevailing taste of his countrymen. Conscience, indeed, seems to have been a lively principle in his nature as his years advanced his style becomes duller, but his moral more edifying; until at last the dashing soldier of fortune, the narrator of the adventures of Don Ferdinando, develops into the author of The Glass of Government and A Drum of Doomsday for Dainty-mouthed Drunkards. He was a friend of George Whetstone, the author of Promos and Cassandra, who, after his death, undertook the defence of his memory, and put the story of his career before the public in an exceedingly prosy copy of verses, entitled, The Well-employed Life and Godly End of G. Gascoigne, Esquire. In this composition Gascoigne is made to address his biographer as follows:— Thou seest my death, and long my life didst know, Yet trust me, friends (though flesh doth hardly bow), And on what cause in order shall ensue ; My worldly life (is first) must play his part: Whose tale attend, for once the same is true; Yea, Whetstone, thou hast known my hidden heart, Whetstone was himself inclined to Puritanism, and, as I have already said, he had joined, though with moderation, in the attack on the abuses of the stage. But he 1 He pretends in this to be translating a story of "Bartello"; but the tale is obviously a record of his own adventures. was not without artistic perceptions, as appears from the soundness of his criticism on the contemporary drama : "At this day," says he, "the Italian is so lascivious in his comedies, that honest hearers are grieved at his actions: the Frenchman and Spaniard follows the Italian's humour: the German is too holy: for he presents on every common stage what preachers should pronounce in pulpits. The Englishman in this quality is most vain, indiscreet, and out of order: he first grounds his work on improbabilities: then in three hours runs he through the world marries, gets children, makes children men, men to conquer kingdoms, murder monsters, and bringeth Gods from Heaven and fetcheth Devils from Hell. And, that which is worst, their ground is not so imperfect as their working indiscreet: not weighing, so the people laugh, though they laugh them (for their follies) to scorn. Many times (to make mirth) they make a clown companion with a king: in their grave counsels they allow the advice of fools: yea, they use one order of speech for all persons: a grave indecorum, for a crow will ill counterfeit the nightingale's sweet voice: even so affected speech doth misbecome a clown. For to work a comedy kindly, grave old men should instruct: young men should show the imperfections of youth strumpets should be lascivious: boys unhappy and clowns should be disorderly: intermingling all these actions in such sort as the grave matter may instruct; and the pleasant delight for without this change the attention would be small and the liking less." 1 Whetstone's criticisms seem to be directed against historical tragedies of the class of Cambyses; and he deserves credit both for his critical discernment in perceiving that tragi-comedy must at least satisfy the essential conditions of moral unity on which Horace dwells in his Ars Poetica, and for the originality of his attempt to found a tragi-comic fable on situations like those of the Italian novella. His Promos and Cassandra was based on one of the novels of Giraldi Cinthio, and was written in 1578. He did not, however, understand the art of dramatic condensation: his play was divided into two parts, and being obviously unfitted for perform 1 Letter to William Fleetwood, Esq., Recorder of London, 29th July 1578. ance on the stage, was afterwards reduced by him to a narrative form, in which shape it proved the inspiring source of Shakespeare's Measure for Measure. Whetstone stood alone in the moderation of his attitude towards the stage and Puritanism; and the poet who next calls for our attention furnishes a tragic example of the results of transplanting the standard of Italian morals into the society of England. Robert Greene was known to his contemporaries as a Euphuistic writer on the subject of love; as a playwright; and as a dissolute liver. I have already spoken of him in his capacity of poetical Euphuist of his plays I shall speak presently. But the events of his life, illustrating as they do in the most vivid manner the motives of the men who changed the character of the English drama, are deserving of careful attention. In the fluctuations of his temper Greene bears a strong resemblance to Gascoigne; but as he went far beyond his predecessor in lawless defiance of the public conscience, so did he surpass him in the violence and profuseness with which he proclaimed to the world his fits of repentance. Many of his prose tracts, especially towards the close of his life, are of the nature of confessions, and few poets have shown less reserve in exposing the depths of their nature to the scorn or compassion of their fellows. Robert Greene was born at Norwich some time between 1550 and 1560, probably about nine years after Kett's insurrection had convulsed the whole region of East Anglia. His parents, as he himself tells us, were respected by their fellow-citizens, and it may be surmised that the early training he received was strongly tinged with the Calvinistic doctrine which prevailed in Norwich. He was educated at St. John's College, Cambridge, where he graduated as B.A. in 1578, taking the degree of M.A. from Clare Hall in 1583. Between these two dates he was persuaded by some of his wilder University companions to travel in Italy and Spain, "in which places," he tells us in one of his tracts, "I saw and practised such villainy as is abominable to declare. Thus by their counsel I sought to furnish myself with coin, VOL. II 2 C which I procured by cunning sleights from my father and my friends; and my mother pampered me so long, and secretly helped me to the oil of angels, that I grew thereby prone to all mischiefs; so that, being then conversant with notable braggarts, boon companions, and ordinary spendthrifts, that practised sundry superficial studies, I became as a stem grafted into the same stock, whereby I did absolutely participate of their nature and qualities." 1 On his return to England he endeavoured to naturalise his acquired habits, and it is best to let him tell his story in his own words : I ruffled out in my silks, in the habit of malcontent, and seemed so discontent, that no place would please me to abide in, nor no vocation cause me to stay myself in: but after I had by degrees proceeded Master of Arts, I left the University and away to London; where (after I had continued some short time, and driven myself out of credit with sundry of my friends) I became an author of plays, and a penner of love pamphlets, so that I soon grew famous in that quality, that who for that trade grown so ordinary about London as Robin Greene? Young yet in years, though old in wickedness, I began to resolve that there was nothing bad that was profitable: whereupon I grew so rooted in all mischief that I had as great delight in wickedness as sundry hath in goodness, and as much felicity I took in villainy as others had in honesty. . . . Yet let me confess a truth that even once, and yet but once, I felt a fear and horror in my conscience, and then the terror of God's judgments did manifestly teach me that my life was bad, that by sin I deserved damnation, and that such was the greatness of my sin that I deserved no redemption. And this inward motion I received in Saint Andrew's Church in the City of Norwich, at a lecture or sermon there preached by a godly and learned man, whose doctrine, and the manner of whose teaching I liked wonderfully well; yea, in my conscience, such was his singleness of heart and zeal in his doctrine that he might have converted the worst monster in the world. Well, at that time, whosoever was worst, I knew myself as bad as he; for being new come from Italy (where I learned all the villainies under the heavens), I was drowned in pride, whoredom was my daily exercise, and gluttony with drunkenness was my only delight. 1 At this sermon the terror of God's judgments did manifestly "The Repentance of Robert Greene," Dyce, Greene and Peele's Dramatic and Poetical Works, p. 3. |