The coronation

I

I. The Coronation

II. The Rival Queens

III. Armada Days

IV. The Death of Essex

V. The Passing of the Queen

The

Coronation

By

N. S. Shaler

BOSTON AND NEW YORK Houghton, Mifflin and Company QTH Etftomrtfce cm, Cambritop 1903 t THE LI' » , V C. :

COPYRIGHT I903 BY N. S. SHALER ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

PUBLISHED NOVEMBER I9O3

Preface

HIS dramatic romance was begun in order to test the truth of a common statement as to the effect on the mind of long continued application to tasks such as occupy men of science. The foremost of naturalists, Charles Darwin, has stated that in his youth he found much pleasure in poetry and de¬ lighted in the plays of Shakespeare, but that many years of scientific labor had not only destroyed his enjoyment of literature but had made dramatic works, even those of the highest order, positively distasteful to him. It is not at all surprising that Mr. Darwin’s experience, and the lack of literary form which so often characterizes the writings of able investigators, have led to a general belief that there is something in the quality of scientific work which inevitably leads to a loss of imaginative power. This is a serious charge, — nothing less than an allegation that natural science tends to diminish the capacity of those engaged in it to enter on those sympathetic relations with their feh vi Preface

lows which the higher literature induces. To the field of scientific endeavor many of the abler men of our generation are now devoted, and in the generations to come such studies are to claim in ever increasing measure the attention of leaders of thought. If these inquirers are by their occupa¬ tion not only to be separated from literature but to lose the capacity to appreciate it, we are indeed in a bad way, for all imaginable profit from the in¬ crease of our knowledge concerning the physical realm would not compensate for such a loss of human power.

For some years I have been from time to time drawn into debate with my friends whose pursuit is literature, as to the effect of science on the im¬ agination. I have found that they, as well as many of my fellow students of nature, are convinced of the essential incompatibility of science and the humanities. I have held for what seemed to me good reasons to the belief that the work of the naturalist in interrogating his world of facts differs in no essential way from that of the poet in elabo¬ rating his fancies. Both alike use the constructive imagination, — the only possible instrument of such discoverers in any field of happenings, — in the soul of man as in the stars. They differ in the

Preface vii

end they seek, but not in the way they follow. In my opinion the naturalist uses the same capacity for picturing the unseen that serves the poet; it is true that he has to subject his fancies to a stricter process of comparison, but this is, as regards the essential process, a matter of no consequence.

If it be true that the poetic and the scientific imagination are essentially the same, it follows that the naturalist should, in the course of his work, develop a capacity for other tasks of fancy than those which habitually occupy him. It is quite possible that, as in the case of Darwin, a youthful interest in the great literary products of the imagi¬ nation might be so overlaid by other interests that they would cease to be attractive; but the essential capacity for such picturing should not be destroyed but rather augmented by scientific work. It might be difficult for a man of the naturalist’s peculiar training to turn his well - developed constructive imagination into the poetic field ; but if he could accomplish the shift he should find that his powers \ served him on that ground as well as on his own.

Considering the matter from this point of view, it appeared to me desirable to make a personal experiment which might have some measure of critical value. As in the case of Darwin, and of viii Preface

several other men of science with whom I have discussed this question, I had been in my youth much interested in poetry, and as a lad was ad¬ dicted to writing verses. When at about eigh¬ teen years of age I turned to the study of nature, this motive began to wane; within ten years it had vanished, as it seemed, utterly. Even the plays of Shakespeare, of which I had once been fond, be¬ came to me tedious, and the stage so fatiguing that for forty years I have not willingly visited a theatre. In order to make the experiment as effec¬ tive as might be, I sought advice which might determine what kind of literary work would afford the best criteria as to the validity of my hypothe¬ sis. In the judgment of those well informed in the matter, the drama of the Elizabethan type seemed likely to be the best for my purpose. It was evident that an experiment in this field would be difficult enough, for I had never made any essay in the dramatic form; it seemed indeed quite impossible to bring myself into the frame of mind in which such work is done, yet because it was critical it attracted me.

As a foundation for my task I had read Bacon and other writers of the Tudor period ; but this reading had been done for a very different purpose,

Preface ix

and was in great part forgotten. In addition I had read certain gossipy accounts of those times, includ¬ ing the letters of Elizabeth and of Essex and a por¬ tion of the records concerning the administrations of the Cecils. In no sense could this process be termed an inquiry; it served only to impress on my mind the spirit of that age. When I came to the actual work of writing, the task was so repug¬ nant that it was very difficult to make a beginning. Without experience in using the metrical forms of the Elizabethan plays, I thought to use some kind of measured prose and began in that form, taking pains to visualize every scene in precisely the way my occupation had taught me to shape an imagined set of conditions in the physical realm. So far as I can recall the experience, the seemingly impossible task suddenly became easy. After a few hundred words had been set down, in an almost automatic manner, the writing began to take shape as heroic verse, which at once proved to be an easier and more sustaining mode of expression than prose, — far easier to frame and more helpful to the mind than the prose I am now writing.

Although this romance was written at chance times such as could be spared from engrossing business, — much of it indeed at odd moments, — x Preface

it soon became evident that the composition was, in a way, continued from day to day in the region below the plane of consciousness, appearing only when attention was directed to it. The characters, so far as I can determine, were shaped on mem¬ ories of men and women I have known, and the incidents from various experiences in my life, or from memories derived from chance reading. Only a small part of this imaginative presentation has entered into this writing ; the tide of it was singularly excessive, suggesting indeed, that in the lower realm of the mind, which it is the fashion to term the subliminal, work of this kind had been going on for years, though my conscious self had taken no account of it. This view is supported by the fact that sundry of the trains of imagined inci¬ dent, such as the story of the progress of the Ar¬ mada up the channel, were written at one sitting, and with a vague sense that the matter had been previously thought out so that it needed only to be set down.

It is hardly necessary to tell the reader who knows the history of the Elizabethan period that this poem is not historical. The greater num¬ ber of the incidents have no foundation in fact, and when they have a semblance of reality are

Preface xi

often much out of chronological order. I was aware of the more serious of these anachronisms at the time the writing was done, but chronological correctness seemed oddly unimportant to the im¬ agination. If these offenses appear to need pallia¬ tion, it may perhaps be found in the conditions of the undertaking. While writing I had no thought whatever of publication ; no idea of an audience beyond my own household. The motive was at first altogether scientific; and while the work soon went beyond the necessary limits of that experiment, it did not at the time occur to me to subject it to public criticism. I do this now with much reluctance, in part because several friends in whose judgment I have confidence believe the work to have some literary value; but in far larger mea¬ sure because I see that it may supply evidence as to the effect of scientific pursuits in training the constructive imagination, and as to the possibility of turning training in natural science to account in other fields of thought.

Although I have paid little attention in this poem to the facts of history, I have endeavored to keep reasonably near to the truth as regards the principal characters depicted, or at least to so much of their natures as came into the field of xii Preface

view. The picture of Elizabeth is not that of the so-called histories ; but I believe that it is in cer¬ tain regards more lifelike than the caricatures of the great queen which were shaped in the days of her miserable successor. In those of the Cecils, I have tried to do some measure of justice to men of signal ability whose labors did much to mould our English folk. I say that I have endeavored to paint with some semblance of truth ; yet it should be confessed that it was not with distinct purpose.

My literary friends who have read this poem all assume that it embodies a deliberate attempt to write in the manner of the old dramatists. It is perhaps well, therefore, to say that there was no such purpose in my mind; for within a hundred lines of the beginning, — as soon indeed as I felt the swing of the verse, — all consciousness of the mode of expression disappeared ; then and after¬ wards the medium seemed as absolutely my own as my mode of conversation. I do not know what are the characteristics of Elizabethan dramatic litera¬ ture; for beyond the familiar plays of Shakespeare I have read nothing of English drama, nor for that matter of any like work, except the little that in youth one reads while studying the classics or learn¬ ing French and German. If there be any tincture

Preface xiii

of the Elizabethan speech in these lines, it is to be charged to the fact that I once knew some por¬ tions of Shakespeare’s plays by heart, and have been imbued with the English version of the Bible, misnamed King James’s, but really of Elizabeth’s time. To the account should also go my youth spent among people in Kentucky and Virginia who retain much of the spirit and the language of the Tudor period. If there had been in my mind any imitative design, it would certainly have checked me at every turn ; for I have always found that any effort to shape my thought or action in that way brings me to a halt.

If there is any imitation in the following pages, it has been unperceived by me: I do not know whom I have imitated. While there has been no conscious effort to shape this romance on any model, I note in proof-reading that there are seve¬ ral instances where phrases occur which the reader will recognize as borrowed. I have allowed them to stand, for the reason that as they were not recognized as quotations when they were written, to expunge them would diminish the value of the matter as evidence. Moreover, it seems to me that phrases such as I have unconsciously copied are not mere words but real units of speech. In xiv Preface

one instance, in the processional scene in the last act of The Coronation, I have introduced some rhymed lines taken from a contemporary account of that pageant. As quotation marks are out of place in a play, I have left this extract unindicated ; it will however, be readily identified.

I have been much interested in the comments of several men of letters who have read this poem in manuscript and have recommended vari¬ ous changes. I have profited by the counsel of these friends in two regards: to Professor George H. Palmer I am indebted for advice which has led me to reduce the matter by at least one third; and to Mr. C. N. Greenough for comments which have helped me to mend many bad lines. Except for these changes the text stays essentially as it was written. My efforts to better certain parts in a deliberate way proved futile ; so that my choice lay between considering the experiment finished in private to my personal satisfaction, or publishing its method and its result. Against my inclination, but in accordance with the judgment of friendly experts, I give my experiment publicity.

That I could not have done any such imaginative work in my youth my early essays distinctly prove. It therefore appears to me clear that the capacity

Preface xv

has been developed by labors which though relat¬ ing to the external world are essentially akin to those of the dramatist. Both alike train the con¬ structive imagination in the art of building the memories of things observed into new images.

I hope that my venture in this publication may induce other students to make like explorations of their unknown powers. If their experience is as fortunate as mine, they will, after overcoming the initial repugnance to the unaccustomed task, find in it a singular pleasure. When the imagined per¬ sonalities are shaped into substantial beings, they become companions so engaging that it is with regret akin to sorrow that they are sent back into shadow, — into the limbo of things that might have been but never were.

PROLOGUE this ancient hearth we build our

Of faggots gleaned where ’neath the eager strokes fire

Of England’s heroes fell the mighty oaks That rose in ships to freight a nation’s ire.

This is not heart wood ; that went to the seas,

To sturdy battle in Armada days.

Or to uncharted shores : yet this will blaze The while we drink beloved memories, —

To memories of men who shaped our might.

Of women true who bore them, for they bore Within their hearts the jewels of all time,—

The memories of deeds that star-like climb Far up the darkened vault of day that’s o’er.

To send us cheer from out the weary night.

Fill up the beakers of their noble verse With ruddy semblance of the rare old wine They quaffed from those fair cups. ’T is but a sign,

Prologue

A sorry sign, but emptiness were worse.

Lift up your song, let Echo to us send Something for fancy’s weaving to refrain Of their far voices; so they come again In mocking echo ’t will us glory lend, —

The glory of full men who swing them free As planets in their spaces, without heed Of what this dull orb sends of toil or fear,

The glory that may light these fields now sere In sunken sun and winter’s frosty need And show our souls the way to liberty.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Earl of Arundel.

Earl of Sussex.

Lord Courtenay.

Lord Howard.

Lord Paget.

Lord Williams of Tame.

Edmund Bonner, Bishop of London,

Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester .

Sir William Cecil, Secretary of State,

Sir Henry Bedingfield.

Sir John Bridges.

Sir William Petrie.

Sir Thomas Wyatt.

Roger Ascham, Tutor of the Princess Elizabeth. Physician.

Robin, a Teoman,

Hinde, an Armourer,

South, a Baker.

Underhill, the c Hot Gospeller.' Grandfather.

Clod, a fester.

Leader of Mob.

Executioner.

Dramatis Personae

Philip, King of Spain,

Noailles, French Ambassador,

Spanish Noble.

Spanish Ambassador.

Mary, Queen of England,

Princess Elizabeth, her sister , afterwards Queen, Katherine Ashley, nurse to Elizabeth,

Grandame.

Agnes, her daughter.

Child, daughter of Bridges.

Courtiers , Gentlemen , Puritans, Officers , Judges , Guards , Heralds , Ushers , Shopmen , Soldiers , Sailors , Yeomen , Stew¬ ards, Servants ,