But see where artful Dryden next appears,
Grown old in rhyme, but charming ev’n in years,
Great Dryden next, whose tuneful muse affords
The sweetest numbers, and the fittest words.
Whether in comic sounds or tragic airs
She forms her voice, she moves our smiles or tears.
If satire or heroic strains she writes,
Her hero pleases, and her satire bites.
From her no harsh unartful numbers fall,
She wears all dresses, and she charms in all.
How might we fear our English poetry,
That long has flourish’d, should decay with thee.
– Joseph Addison, Account of the Greatest English Poets (1694)
John Dryden (1631-1700) is a significant figure in the literary history of the seventeenth century, and was counted by Joseph Addison (1672-1719) as being the best poet throughout the whole of English history. He lived through one of the most tumultuous centuries in English history, witnessing the English Revolution and Commonwealth under Oliver Cromwell (1642-1659), the Restoration of Charles II, and the Glorious Revolution of 1688, which saw James II ousted from the English throne in favour of William of Orange and his wife, Mary.
Dryden’s own career was affected by the changing political scene in Britain. He worked in an administrative capacity for the Protectorate, and had a certain degree of admiration for Cromwell, having authored the poem Heroick Stanzas in his honour. He was, however, able to see which way the wind was blowing. Upon the Restoration he allied himself with the returning Stuarts. He became one of their most loyal supporters, and was appointed as Poet Laureate by Charles II in 1668. But after the ascension of William and Mary in 1688, his position as Poet Laureate was rescinded and he had no choice but to concentrate on dramatic works and translations.
Dryden exhibited a high degree of interest in England’s medieval past. He wrote the highly successful play King Arthur; or, The British Worthy in 1691, which was accompanied with an elegant musical score by the composer Henry Purcell. He also translated some of the works of Chaucer in his Fables: Ancient and Modern (1700). But Dryden also kept an eye on the popular culture of the day, and to this end, in partnership with the printer Jacob Tonson, he published several volumes of Miscellany Poems which appeared in 1684, 1685, 1693, and 1694, and were reprinted repeatedly until a full six-volume edition in 1716, the sixth part of which was published posthumously after Dryden’s death in 1700.
Too often we tend to view the literary history of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries through the works of a number of ‘great’ writers such as Dryden himself, Addison, Richard Steele, and Daniel Defoe. Yet these were works of high literature, and were not read by people every day. Instead, the various collections of Miscellanies which were published throughout the period tell us what was popular at the time for readers. In the words of one critic:
They were the form in which many ordinary people would have read poetry in the eighteenth century, and offer insights into readers and consumers of the past […]they represent a particularly important and popular mediation of poetry in the eighteenth century.
Miscellanies (and there were many more apart from Dryden’s collections) tended to reflect the popular culture of the moment. There must have been a temporary vogue among readers in the early eighteenth century for pieces of light pastoral poetry. Pastoral poetry and plays derive from the classical tradition and tend to represent simple country life, in the vein of Ben Jonson’s The Sad Shepherd; or, A Tale of Robin Hood (1631), in which Robin, instead of being an outlaw, is ‘Chief Woodsman of the Forest’ who gathers together ‘all the shepherds and shepherdesses of the forest’ together for a feast. The Robin Hood ballad which is published in Dryden’s collection is not marketed as a popular ballad, even though it was available in contemporary broadsides. Instead, it is presented as a piece of ‘pastoral poetry’, indicated by the volume’s preface:
There is no sort of poetry, if well wrought, but gives delight. And the pastoral perhaps may boast of this in a peculiar manner. For, as in painting, so I believe, in poetry, the country affords the most entertaining scenes, and most delightful prospects.
Hence a ballad of Robin Hood, which details life in the forest, fits perfectly inside a volume dedicated to celebrating pastoral poetry.
Indeed, if it is accepted that Miscellanies contain pieces of poetry which were popular with readers at the time, this would seem to complicate Stephen Knight and Thomas Ohlgren’s remarks about this ballad. They say that:
This ballad was moderately well-known, with three versions surviving from the seventeenth century, that in the Roxburghe collection seeming earlier than the two collected by Pepys, and therefore the basis for this text. It appeared in three eighteenth-century collections before Ritson, but is not included in the early garlands, which may suggest it is less than fully popular in its distribution.
My argument to that is that the ballad can hardly have been ‘moderately well-known’ given the fact that, out of all the Robin Hood ballads which were available to contemporaries, the editor of the Miscellanies chose this ballad to reflect popular contemporary works.
This was, moreover, an age in which gradually the works of native English authors were becoming respected; it is in the eighteenth century, for instance, that the works of Chaucer and Shakespeare first became thought of as ‘classics’. Sophisticated readers began to treasure the works, not only of Chaucer and Shakespeare, but of the ballad writers. We owe the survival of many seventeenth-century popular ballads, for instance, to the labours of Samuel Pepys, who collected and preserved a number of broadsides in his personal library. Alongside Pepys were other eminent men who collected and preserved ballads, such as John Selden, and John Bagford whose collections of ballads became the Roxburghe Collection of ballads. Thus it was not the plebeian classes who only enjoyed English ballads but those of higher stations in life as well.
Finally, the inclusion of A Ballad of Bold Robin Hood, Shewing his Birth, Breeding, and Valour in Dryden’s Miscellanies confirms Liz Oakley-Brown’s argument that after c.1600 the Robin Hood tradition began to move away from being an oral tradition to being a predominantly textual one. In Dryden’s volume, this Robin Hood ballad was not something that would have been sung. Rather it was something that somebody would have read. It is therefore the appearances of Robin Hood ballads in pieces of literature such as this that allow us to chart the development of the Robin Hood tradition, seeing how it gradually became gentrified and respectable for an audience of readers.
As a fan of Dryden myself, it would please me greatly if it ever turned out that Dryden himself wrote the ballad, but that seems very unlikely.
A great and heroic medieval English king, brutal Saxon warriors, magicians and magic, enchanted woods, fairies…this doesn’t really sound like an eighteenth-century play, does it?
Indeed, the ‘long eighteenth century’ (c.1688-c.1837) is not a period that people usually associate with medievalism; indeed, neo-classical motifs seemed to dominate the age. If anything, history writers such as Edward Gibbon in The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (published in six volumes between 1776-1789).
Yet one can detect in this period glimmerings of interest in the medieval period; when government buildings such as Somerset House were being built in the neo-classical design, the people designing the new buildings for Oxford University resisted the neo-classical in favour of the Gothic; in fact, Alice Chandler says that, in one sense, the medieval period had never really died:
In a sense, the middle ages had never died […] Chaucer’s plowman would have found England’s [18th-century] rural life very familiar. The tools and produce of agriculture had scarcely changed for centuries; the old country customs and festivals were only slowly dying out; and the whir of the spinning wheel had just begun to grow silent.
Which brings me to the play which is the subject of this post; King Arthur; or, The British Worthy, written by John Dryden (1631-1700) originally in 1685, but then set to music by Henry Purcell (1659-1695) in 1691. The play premiered at the Queen’s Theatre in May 1691. Dryden was a poet, literary critic, translator, and playwright, and exercised a profound influence upon Restoration literary life. Little is known of Purcell’s life and career, but he is credited with having invented a uniquely English form of Baroque music. Together these men produced what is, in my opinion, one of the best medievalist operas of the long eighteenth century.
Today, King Arthur is pretty much a fantasy figure, occupying the same sort of quasi-historical ground that the television show Game of Thrones does; not “historical” as such, but not so far removed from fact either. Dryden’s play seeks to ground King Arthur in (almost) verifiable history, although Merlin does make a brief appearance.
The dramatis personae of the play are:
Oswald, King of Kent, a Saxon and a heathen.
Conon, Duke of Cornwall, Tributary to King Arthur.
Merlin, an infamous Inchanter.
Osmond, a Saxon Magician.
Aurelius, a friend to Arthur.
Albanact, Captain of Arthur’s Guards.
Guillamar, friend to Oswald.
Emmeline, daughter of Conon.
Matilda, her attendant.
Philidel, an Airy Spirit.
Grimbald, an Earthly Spirit.
Officers and Soldiers, Singers and Dancers, etc.
As you can see, there is a distinct lack of the Arthurian characters which we, as modern audiences, have come to expect as part of the Arthurian tradition. There is no Guinevere, no Lancelot, no Sir Gawain. In fact, the cast is almost unrecognisable. But this is ok, as these characters were only firmly established as part of the legend in the nineteenth century (indeed, even Marian, another “medieval” figure, did not firmly become Robin Hood’s love interest until the nineteenth century, before that his sweetheart was a woman called Clorinda).
The opera opens on St. George’s Day, just as the Christian King Arthur is to go into battle against the heathen, Saxon King Oswald:
Con. Then this is the deciding Day, to fix Great Britain’s Scepter in great Arthur’s Hand.
Aur. Or put it in the bold Invaders gripe. Arthur and Oswald, and their different Fates, Are weighing now within the Scales of Heaven.
Arthur enters bearing a letter from Merlin, which tells Arthur that there are good omens with him on this day of battle.
The scene then switches to the Saxon camp, where Oswald and his soldiers are sacrificing to the Saxon gods before they go into battle, where the “the Stage is fill’d with Priests and Singers:”
Woden, first to thee,
A Milk white Steed in Battle won,
We have Sacrific’d
Chor. We have Sacrific’d
Vers. Let our next Oblation be,
To Thor, thy thundring Son,
Of such another.
Chor. We have Sacrific’d.
Vers. A third; (of Friezeland breed was he,)
To Woden’s Wife, and to Thor’s Mother,
And now we have atton’d all three
We have sacrific’d.
Chor. We have Sacrific’d.
I’m not sure how “accurate” a scene of a Saxon sacrifice this would have appeared; were all the Saxons wearing wigs? Personally, I’d like to think so, as I love the “elegance” of eighteenth-century fashions.
After the prayers of the Britons and the Saxons’ sacrifices, a battle is given behind the scenes, and the Britons sing this rousing song:
“Come if you dare,” our trumpets sound.
“Come if you dare,” the foes rebound.
We come, we come, we come, we come,”
Says the double, double, double beat of
the thund’ring drum.
“Come if you dare,” our trumpets sound, etc.
Now they charge on amain.
Now they rally again.
The Gods from above the mad labour behold,
And pity mankind that will perish for gold.
Now they charge on amain, etc.
The fainting Saxons quit their ground,
Their trumpets languish in their sound,
They fly, they fly, they fly, they fly,
“Victoria, Victoria,” the bold Britons cry.
The Saxons, however, attempt to use magic to defeat Arthur and he is led into an enchanted forest where “nymphs and sylvans” emerge from the trees and attempt to trap him there. This leads to what is perhaps one of the most beautiful songs in the play: How Happy the Lover!
How happy the lover,
How easy his chain!
How sweet to discover
He sighs not in vain.
How happy the lover?
For love ev’ry creature
Is form’d by his nature.
No joys are above
The pleasures of love.
No joys are above
The pleasures of love.
In vain our graces
In vain are your ayes.
If love you despise,
When age furrows faces
‘Tis too late to be wise.
Then use the sweet blessing
While now in possessing.
No joys are above
The pleasures of love.
No joys are above
The pleasures of love.
At the end, however, Arthur destroys the Saxons’ magic, and approaches the Oswald’s castle, and is drawn into hand-to-hand combat with Oswald. Arthur manages to disarm Oswald. Victorious, instead of killing Oswald, Arthur says to him:
Arth. Confess thy self o’ercome, and ask thy Life.
Oswa. ‘Tis not worth asking, when ’tis in thy Power.
Arth. Then take is as my Gift.
The Saxons are commanded to go back because, “Britain’s [sic] brook no foreign power.” The play ends with a Masque in which Britannia rises out of the ocean with fisherman at her feet.
As far as I’ve been able to uncover, there are no extant reviews of this play so I don’t know how it was received at the time that it was first performed. But the play is interesting because there seems to be the first flickerings of a national consciousness in it.
There are numerous references to Britain which, as a state, did not yet exist (England and Scotland would not be incorporated into one United Kingdom until 1707), and it is a consciousness that, in the play at least, is forged by war, and which will last for generations, as Merlin exclaims:
Our Valiant Britains, Who shall by Sea and Land Repel our Foes. Now look above, and in Heav’ns High Abyss, Behold what Fame attends those future Hero’s.
Clearly, the heroism of King Arthur and his knights will resonate through the centuries; and, indeed, in 1691, when the opera was performed, saw England involved in the Grand Alliance against the French and the Jacobites in the Nine Years’ War (1688-1697), and indeed, the reigning king, William III, was forced in July 1691 to take care of a Catholic Jacobite uprising in Ireland, and decisively defeated the Irish supporters of the deposed King of England, James II, at the Battle of the Boyne.
Furthermore, the image of Britannia rising above the waves surrounded by boats is significant; by 1691 Britain was well on its way to becoming the “polite and commercial” nation of the eighteenth century. Over the course of the eighteenth century, Britain’s trade would boom, along with the expansion of the (often informal) British Empire under the auspices of private commercial ventures such as the East India Company (established 1600), and the Hudson Bay Company (established 1670).
Scholars have on the whole been full of praise for King Arthur:
Then human and supernatural interests are closely interwoven, the spoken dialogue and the musical numbers are in general well-balanced. The main interest of the play is inevitably centered on the music, but the dialogue is clear and not too prolix, and although the principal characters do not sing at all, the music is cleverly led up to so as to be an integral part of the drama.
Edward J. Dent, Foundations of English Opera: A Study of Musical Drama in England During the Seventeenth Century (New York: Da Capo, 1965), p.208.
This type of glorification of England’s medieval past, evident in Dryden’s King Arthur, is often thought to be an exception in a period which was drawn to the neo-classical fashions of the Continent. Dryden also seems to have been fascinated by the medieval period, having translated some of Chaucer’s works into neo-classical, ‘heroic’ couplets. Yet Purcell and Dryden were not alone; perhaps one of the most famous examples of 18th-century medievalism is Thomas Arne’s patriotic song Rule Britannia (1740). Everyone has heard this song, and it is still sung annually at the BBC’s Last Night of the Proms. The song was originally part of the finale to a larger opera entitled Alfred. The masque, as it is properly called, was about the medieval Saxon King Alfred the Great. The masque was composed under a commission from Frederick, Prince of Wales (1707-1751). Anxious over his quarrels with his father, and as a German prince who had grown up in Hanover, the prince through this piece of music sought to connect with his British subjects, by linking himself to Britain’s legendary King.
Moreover, when G. F. Handel composed a piece of music for the coronation of George II entitled Zadok the Priest in 1727, he used the following lyrics:
Zadok the Priest, and Nathan the Prophet anointed Solomon King. And all the people rejoiced, and said: God save the King! Long live the King! May the King live for ever, Amen, Allelujah.
In the eighteenth century there were also many Robin Hood plays, such as Robin Hood: A New Musical Entertainment (1751) by Moses Mendez, The Sad Shepherd; or a Tale of Robin Hood (1783) by Francis Waldron, and Leonard MacNally’s Robin Hood, or Sherwood Forest (1784).
Indeed, King Arthur would be revived several times upon the stage during the eighteenth century:
While the […] records attest to the popularity of the semi-opera, King Arthur, and particularly to Purcell’s music, the most prominent of the early eighteenth-century revivals was yet to come. In the season of 1735/36, King Arthur was fully-staged more than forty times in London, with a few more performances during the next season, and four more in 1740/41. These performances were relatively unaltered from Dryden and Purcell’s original, with Dryden’s text reprinted in 1736 with only slight alterations in two editions titled, King Arthur, or, Merlin, the British Inchanter, and Merlin, or The British Inchanter, and King Arthur, the British Worthy. A musical score dated ca.1738 likewise presents little revision to Purcell’s original music (Jamie Childs, 2006).
Jamie Childs further highlights just how popular King Arthur was until the nineteenth century:
King Arthur was presented in Dublin in 1750 with records for a total of 76 performances, but little else is known about this revival. When performed in Dublin again in 1763, two editions of a much-adapted playbook were published with sub-titles, “A Dramatick Opera”, and “A Masque”; Another, similarly revised, was printed for a Dublin production of the semi-opera in 1769, again with the subtitle, “A Masque”. The 1763 and 1769 editions both contain an appended history titled “Account of the Life of Arthur” adapted from medieval sources of the legend. King Arthur was revived again in London in 1770, this time in a newly-altered form by the well-known actor-director David Garrick, with both text and music published in this new form in 1770 and 1781. Performances in London based upon these altered texts and scores ran from 1770 to 1773, and resumed in 1781/82. Yet another reworking of both text and music was produced by actor-director John Phillip Kemble for revivals in the seasons between 1784 to 1787 and between 1789 to 1791, with playbooks for these performances published with the new title, Arthur and Emmeline, in 1784, 1785, and 1789. Still more revivals of the 1770 and 1781 adaptations of King Arthur took place in London in 1803 and 1810, and then were altered again in 1819 and 1827.
Neither was it simply upon the stage that the medieval past was celebrated, but also by scholars and antiquaries. Bishop Thomas Percy (1729-1811) collected ancient medieval manuscripts and published them in his Reliques of Ancient English Poetry (1765), and following Percy’s lead was Thomas Evans, who published Old Ballads, Historical and Narrative (1784). Among these two men also Joseph Ritson (1752-1803), mentioned many times on this site, followed Percy and Evans’ leads by publishing:
Ancient English Metrical Romances (1802)
Robin Hood: A Collection of all the Ancient Poems, Songs, and Ballads, Now Extant, Relative to that Celebrated English Outlaw (1795)
Poems on interesting events in the reign of Edward III. Written in the year MCCCLII (1795)
The prevailing consensus amongst historians and literary critics seems to be that it was Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832) who ‘had first turned men’s minds in the direction of the middle ages’ by writing Ivanhoe (1819) and thereby initiating the medieval revival. Yet medievalism was present in the long eighteenth century. Granted, it was often clouded under a haze of neoclassicism (Dryden’s Chaucer, for instance, was “translated” from Middle English into neoclassical, heroic “couplets”), but the interest was still there; as this post shows, perhaps we should start to think in a more nuanced way, and indeed, the topic of eighteenth-century medievalism seems ripe for research.