Better Know a Poet #1.1: Edmund Spenser
So here is the first in my series of posts about Elizabethan poets. This was a tricky one to start off with, since there was a lot of research involved: I'm not really a Spenserian; I just pretend to know about him on lj. Probably there are people reading this who know a lot more about Spenser than I do (and, I mean, I am a recovering Spenserphobe, but I do know a thing or two about Spenser anyway).
Also, I have split the essay into two parts, because there's a lot of poetry in it, and Spenser is such an important poet that I think I can justify giving him a lot of space.
Portrait of Edmund Spenser. I'm not sure who painted it.
Edmund Spenser (1552?-99), like his contemporaries Shakespeare, Jonson, Marlowe, and, actually, most of the great Elizabethan poets I can think of, came from lower-middle-class origins. While his family claimed a connection to the noble family of Despenser, whose high-profile members included notorious royal favorite and part-time pirate Hugh le Despenser the younger (1286-1326), supportive father Hugh le Despenser the elder (1262-1326), and ill-tempered warrior bishop Henry Despenser (1341-1406), the poet's immediate family was low-income enough that young Edmund attended the Merchant Taylors' grammar school in London on what was effectively a need-based scholarship. The headmaster at the time, incidentally, was Richard Mulcaster, who is probably best known for his account of Elizabeth I's coronation (he may actually have written the script for the pageantry, too; I can't remember offhand and don't know where I've put my "Age of Elizabeth" coursepack).
When he was still in his teens, Spenser published his first poetic work, an anonymous translation of Jan van der Noot's anthology A Theater for Worldlings, a compilation of sonnets on imagery from the book of Revelation, whose major theme was that the Catholic Church is a nasty, nasty eeeeeevil thing. Here follows an example; Spenser's treatment, as you'll see, anticipates some important sections of The Faerie Queene:
I saw a Woman sitting on a beast
Before mine eyes, of Orenge colour hew:
Horrour and dreadfull name of blasphemie
Filde hir with pride. And seuen heads I saw,
Ten hornes also the stately beast did beare.
She seemde with glorie of the scarlet faire,
And with fine perle and golde puft vp in heart.
The wine of hooredome in a cup she bare.
The name of Mysterie writ in hir face.
The bloud of Martyrs dere were hir delite.
Most fierce and fell this woman seemde to me.
An Angell then descending downe from Heauen,
With thondring voice cride out aloude, and sayd,
Now for a truth great Babylon is fallen.
Unlike Shakespeare and Jonson, but like Marlowe (indeed, quite like Marlowe), Spenser attended Pembroke Hall (now Pembroke College) at Cambridge after grammar school, where he paid his fees by working as a servant in a sort of proto-work-study program. I bet you didn't think you'd be learning this much about funding opportunities in Elizabethan England, did you? There he made friends with noted writer and pedant Gabriel Harvey, who was a fellow of the college, and also worked various minor diplomatic jobs which mostly seem to have involved hauling letters around to and from ambassadors. He received his BA in 1573 and his MA in 1576. Cambridge, in early modern England, tended to be associated with people towards the low-church/puritanical end of the Reformation spectrum, though in Spenser's day it's too early to call them Puritans (the Spenserian in our department prefers "forward Protestants," which sounds like a battle cry: "Forward, Protestants!"), while Oxford was more conservative/high church.* I mention this because it's important later, and by "later" I mean "right about now."
*I think this was true in Spenser's day; it certainly was in Milton's.
In 1579 several events occurred which were really significant to Spenser's career. The first of these, though it's rather inaccurate to say this made his name as a poet, was the publication of The Shepheardes Calendar, and I say inaccurate because it was published anonymously; Spenser signs the envoy Immerito ("unworthy" although the editors of the Penguin edn of Spenser's shorter poems say it could mean "blameless"). The Shepheardes Calendar is the first instance of Spenser's interest in pastoral poetry, which was a big trend in Elizabethan literature and is usually associated with people in the upper classes adopting quasi-classical names and pretending (in poetic form) to run about supposedly tending sheep but actually being picturesque and stuff. The most famous and extensive instance is the prose romance Arcadia, by the dedicatee of The Shepheardes Calendar, Sir Philip Sidney. Spenser obviously isn't upper-class, but, like Virgil (whose career arc he imitates in some ways), he's all about this sort of thing.
Here is an example of the poetry in The Shepheardes Calendar, in which various shepherds with names like Hobbinoll and Cuddy (insert your own House reference here) and Colin Cloute -- the latter basically an avatar of Spenser himself, as we shall see -- sing songs and angst and pontificate and whatever it is that shepherds in pastoral poetry do. This is from April, and is a paean to "Elisa, queen of shepherds all," which is mentioned as having been written by Colin, but sung by Hobbinoll (a figure for Gabriel Harvey, incidentally) because Colin's too depressed to show up for this particular eclogue.
Ye dayntye Nymphs, that in this blessed Brooke
doe bathe your brest,
For sake your watry bowres, and hether looke,
at my request:
And eke you Virgins, that on Parnasse dwell,
Whence flowreth Helicon the learned well,
Helpe me to blaze
Her worthy praise,
Which in her sexe doth all excell.
Of fayre Elisa be your siluer song,
that blessed wight:
The flowre of Virgins, may shee florish long,
In princely plight.
For she is Syrinx daughter without spotte,
Which Pan the shepheards God of her begot:
So sprong her grace
Of heauenly race,
No mortal blemishe may her blotte.
See, where she sits vpon the grassie greene,
(O seemly sight)
Yclad in Scarlot like a mayden Queene,
And Ermines white.
Vpon her head a Cremosin coronet,
With Damaske roses and Dafadillies set:
Bayleaues betweene,
And Primroses greene
Embellish the sweete Violet.
Tell me, haue ye seene her angelick face,
Like Phoebe fayre?
Her heauenly haueour, her princely grace
can you well compare?
The Redde rose medled with the White yfere,
In either cheeke depeincten liuely chere.
Her modest eye,
Her Maiestie,
Where haue you seene the like, but there?
...
Shewe thy selfe Cynthia with thy siluer rayes,
and be not abasht:
When shee the beames of her beauty displayes,
O how art thou dasht?
But I will not match her with Latonaes seede,
Such follie great sorow to Niobe did breede.
Now she is a stone,
And makes dayly mone,
Warning all others to take heede.
Pan may be proud, that euer he begot
such a Bellibone,
And Syrinx reioyse, that euer was her lot
to beare such an one.
Soone as my younglings cryen for the dam,
To her will I offer a milkwhite Lamb:
Shee is my goddesse plaine,
And I her shepherds swayne,
Albee forswonck and forswatt I am.
...
Ye shepheards daughters, that dwell on the greene,
hye you there apace:
Let none come there, but that Virgins bene,
to adorne her grace.
And when you come, whereas shee is in place,
See, that your rudenesse doe not you disgrace:
Binde your fillets faste,
And gird in your waste,
For more finesse with a tawdrie lace.
Bring hether the Pincke and purple Cullambine,
With Gelliflowres:
Bring Coronations, and Sops in wine,
worne of Paramoures.
Strowe me the ground with Daffadowndillies,
And Cowslips, and Kingcups, and loued Lillies:
The pretie Pawnce,
And the Cheuisaunce,
Shall match with the fayre flowre Delice.
Now ryse vp Elisa, decked as thou art,
in royall aray:
And now ye daintie Damsells may depart
echeone her way,
I feare, I haue troubled your troupes to longe:
Let dame Eliza thanke you for her song.
And if you come hether,
When Damsines I gether,
I will part them all you among.
Of course, not all of the poem is quite this sunny. After all, in 1579, a lot of people in England were rather nervous about Queen Elizabeth's prospective marriage to Francois whatever his name was, the Duke of Anjou. Francois was not really a great catch personally speaking -- he was short, ugly, kind of a dork, and considerably younger than Elizabeth -- but what really got up people's noses was that he was Catholic, and to people like the forward Protestants I mentioned a few paragraphs ago, this was basically getting into bed with the Whore of Babylon (and we should be able to recognize her from the Theater for Worldlings sonnet I posted earlier!) Consequently, the later sections of the Calendar are rather more pessimistic. The panegyric of April gives way to elegy in November, as Spenser's alter-ego Colin Cloute laments the death of the shepherdess Dido, another name that evokes Elizabeth* as the Dido of mythology was of course a notable reigning queen, and also a namesake (she's often called Elissa).
*Incidentally, one of the things that will keep you afloat in any reading of Spenser is that basically any female character represents Elizabeth some way, until later on in his career when he writes about his wife. Who was also named Elizabeth, because most women in this period were.
Vp then Melpomene thou mournefulst Muse of nyne,
Such cause of mourning neuer hadst afore:
Vp grieslie ghostes and vp my rufull ryme,
Matter of myrth now shalt thou haue no more.
For dead she is, that myrth thee made of yore.
Dido my deare alas is dead,
Dead and lyeth wrapt in lead:
O heauie herse,
Let streaming teares be poured out in store:
O carefull verse.
Shepheards, that by your flocks on Kentish downes abyde,
Waile ye this wofull waste of natures warke:
Waile we the wight, whose presence was our pryde:
Waile we the wight, whose absence is our carke.
The sonne of all the world is dimme and darke:
The earth now lacks her wonted light,
And all we dwell in deadly night,
O heauie herse,
Breake we our pypes, that shrild as lowde as Larke,
O carefull verse.
Why do we longer liue, (ah why liue we so long)
Whose better dayes death hath shut vp in woe?
The fayrest floure our gyrlond all emong,
Is faded quite and into dust ygoe.
Sing now ye shepheards daughters, sing no moe
The songs that Colin made in her prayse,
But into weeping turne your wanton layes,
O heauie herse,
Now is time to dye. Nay time was long ygoe,
O carefull verse.
Whence is it, that the flouret of the field doth fade,
And lyeth buryed long in Winters bale:
Yet soone as spring his mantle hath displayd,
It floureth fresh, as it should neuer fayle?
But thing on earth that is of most auaile,
As vertues braunch and beauties budde,
Reliuen not for any good.
O heauie herse,
The braunch once dead, the budde eke needes must quaile,
O carefull verse.
Dido's death, of course, is a metaphor for the bad times that, as far as Spenser was concerned, were inevitable should Elizabeth's marriage to Anjou proceed. As this excerpt indicates, he was definitely part of the "Hey Elizabeth, Don't Marry That Creepy Little French Duke" faction. Indeed, he had connections with its most prominent member; in 1579 he had gotten employment with Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester. It was through his association with Leicester, probably, that he made friends with poetic people like Sidney and Sir Edward Dyer, and along with Gabriel Harvey and some others that I know basically nothing about, they hung out and philosophized about poetry, and whatnot. But Spenser's employment with Leicester had a certain level of political significance as well. Leicester was a favorite of Elizabeth's, but his relationship with the Queen ran hot and cold. He was staunchly opposed to the marriage for reasons both political and, perhaps, personal (rumor had it that he'd pushed his wife down a flight of stairs to open up the possibility of marriage to Elizabeth; this is probably not true and if it were it proved really counterproductive, though he'd been hinting that he'd make a really good prince consort as late as 1575), and as such was a leading voice in opposition to the marriage.
We find here another Sidney-Spenser parallel: both of them got in trouble for writing against this prospective marriage. Though neither of them suffered quite as harshly for their opposition to it as the ironically-named John Stubbs, whose authorship of the pamphlet The Discoverie of a Gaping Gulf Where into England is Likely to be Swallowed by another French Marriage cost him his right hand, Sidney's letter to the queen on behalf of his faction (he got drafted to do it because he was young, hadn't gotten in trouble for other stuff, and, let's face it, was a damn good writer) did no good for his status at court, really. Spenser's treatment of the issue was less direct and more snarky; he composed a rather mad beast fable called Mother Hubberds Tale in which a fox and ape scheme to seek their fortunes abroad. The ape is obviously Anjou; I forget who the fox was supposed to be. *checks footnotes* Oh, that's right, Cecil, Lord Burghley, who was a great big mover and shaker at court and favored a marriage between Elizabeth and Anjou. They also say that the choice of an ape has something to do with the French ambassador Simier, which I seem to recall as well. It has been way too long since I've studied this stuff. Anyway, wackiness, as one might expect, ensues. In this excerpt, the fox and ape steal the skin of a sleeping lion (for some reason, this lion has easily detachable skin) and engage in pretensions to royalty:
The subtile Foxe so well his message sayd,
That the proud beasts him readily obayd:
Whereby the Ape in wondrous stomack woxe,
Strongly encorag'd by the crafty Foxe;
That King indeed himself he shortly thought,
And all the Beasts him feared as they ought:
And followed vnto his palaice hye,
Where taking Conge, each one by and by
Departed to his home in dreadfull awe,
Full of the feared sight, which late they sawe.
The Ape thus seized of the Regall throne,
Eftsones by counsell of the Foxe alone,
Gan to prouide for all things in assurance,
That so his rule might lenger haue endurance.
First to his Gate he pointed a strong gard,
That none might enter but with issue hard:
Then for the safegard of his personage,
He did appoint a warlike equipage
Of forreine beasts, not in the forest bred,
But part by land, and part by water fed;
For tyrannie is with strange ayde supported.
Then vnto him all monstrous beasts resorted
Bred of two kindes, as Griffons, Minotaures,
Crocodiles, Dragons, Beauers, and Centaures:
With those himselfe he strengthned mightelie,
That feare he neede no force of enemie.
Then gan he rule and tyrranize at will,
Like as the Foxe did guide his graceless skill,
And all wylde beasts made vassals of his pleasures,
And with their spoyles enlarg'd his priuate treasures.
No care of iustice, nor no rule of reason,
No temperance, nor no regard of season
Did thenceforth euer enter in his minde,
But crueltie, the signe of currish kinde,
And sdeignfull pride, and wilfull arrogaunce;
Such follows those whom fortune doth aduaunce.
You can see, of course, the anxiety about letting foreign powers get a foot in the door! Spenser also has some harsh words for Cecil (the fox) for encouraging the queen to marry Anjou:
Nought suffered he the Ape to giue or graunt,
But through his hand must passe the Fiaunt.
All offices, all leases by him lept,
And of them all whatso he likte, he kept.
Iustice he solde iniustice for to buy,
And for to purchase for his progeny.
Ill might it prosper, that ill gotten was,
But so he got it, little did he pas.
He fed his cubs with fat of all the soyle,
And with the sweete of others sweating toyle...
No statute so established might bee,
Nor ordinaunce so needful, but that hee
Would violate, though not with violence,
Yet vnder colour of the confidence
The which the Ape reposd' in him alone,
And reckned him the kingdom's corner stone.
All ends well, though, as the lion wakes up and is pissed off, and reasserts his royalty.
Whether the authorship of this poem got Spenser in trouble directly is not explicitly clear, though it's true that the text wasn't published until 1591, when the political climate that inspired it was long past; even then, it was hugely controversial. What we do know is that shortly after this, in 1580, he was sent to Ireland, in the service of Arthur Lord Grey, who had just been named Lord Deputy in Ireland; whether this was considered a good career opportunity or a very bad one is a matter for some debate (the biography at the Spenser Homepage thinks he got the posting through Leicester's influence), but Spenser does spend a fair deal of time later in his career trying to get out of Ireland, because, well, consider what was going on there in the late sixteenth century. Wouldn't you?
However, that is going to be matter for a second post, because there is a lot to say about it, and I think lj probably has a character limit for posts. Spenser is, after all, important enough that I can justify giving him two posts! And so this essay is TO BE CONTINUED.
The next section, which will cover Spenser's career in Ireland and the composition of The Faerie Queene, will be along as soon as I can get it written.
Also, I have split the essay into two parts, because there's a lot of poetry in it, and Spenser is such an important poet that I think I can justify giving him a lot of space.
Portrait of Edmund Spenser. I'm not sure who painted it.
Edmund Spenser (1552?-99), like his contemporaries Shakespeare, Jonson, Marlowe, and, actually, most of the great Elizabethan poets I can think of, came from lower-middle-class origins. While his family claimed a connection to the noble family of Despenser, whose high-profile members included notorious royal favorite and part-time pirate Hugh le Despenser the younger (1286-1326), supportive father Hugh le Despenser the elder (1262-1326), and ill-tempered warrior bishop Henry Despenser (1341-1406), the poet's immediate family was low-income enough that young Edmund attended the Merchant Taylors' grammar school in London on what was effectively a need-based scholarship. The headmaster at the time, incidentally, was Richard Mulcaster, who is probably best known for his account of Elizabeth I's coronation (he may actually have written the script for the pageantry, too; I can't remember offhand and don't know where I've put my "Age of Elizabeth" coursepack).
When he was still in his teens, Spenser published his first poetic work, an anonymous translation of Jan van der Noot's anthology A Theater for Worldlings, a compilation of sonnets on imagery from the book of Revelation, whose major theme was that the Catholic Church is a nasty, nasty eeeeeevil thing. Here follows an example; Spenser's treatment, as you'll see, anticipates some important sections of The Faerie Queene:
I saw a Woman sitting on a beast
Before mine eyes, of Orenge colour hew:
Horrour and dreadfull name of blasphemie
Filde hir with pride. And seuen heads I saw,
Ten hornes also the stately beast did beare.
She seemde with glorie of the scarlet faire,
And with fine perle and golde puft vp in heart.
The wine of hooredome in a cup she bare.
The name of Mysterie writ in hir face.
The bloud of Martyrs dere were hir delite.
Most fierce and fell this woman seemde to me.
An Angell then descending downe from Heauen,
With thondring voice cride out aloude, and sayd,
Now for a truth great Babylon is fallen.
Unlike Shakespeare and Jonson, but like Marlowe (indeed, quite like Marlowe), Spenser attended Pembroke Hall (now Pembroke College) at Cambridge after grammar school, where he paid his fees by working as a servant in a sort of proto-work-study program. I bet you didn't think you'd be learning this much about funding opportunities in Elizabethan England, did you? There he made friends with noted writer and pedant Gabriel Harvey, who was a fellow of the college, and also worked various minor diplomatic jobs which mostly seem to have involved hauling letters around to and from ambassadors. He received his BA in 1573 and his MA in 1576. Cambridge, in early modern England, tended to be associated with people towards the low-church/puritanical end of the Reformation spectrum, though in Spenser's day it's too early to call them Puritans (the Spenserian in our department prefers "forward Protestants," which sounds like a battle cry: "Forward, Protestants!"), while Oxford was more conservative/high church.* I mention this because it's important later, and by "later" I mean "right about now."
*I think this was true in Spenser's day; it certainly was in Milton's.
In 1579 several events occurred which were really significant to Spenser's career. The first of these, though it's rather inaccurate to say this made his name as a poet, was the publication of The Shepheardes Calendar, and I say inaccurate because it was published anonymously; Spenser signs the envoy Immerito ("unworthy" although the editors of the Penguin edn of Spenser's shorter poems say it could mean "blameless"). The Shepheardes Calendar is the first instance of Spenser's interest in pastoral poetry, which was a big trend in Elizabethan literature and is usually associated with people in the upper classes adopting quasi-classical names and pretending (in poetic form) to run about supposedly tending sheep but actually being picturesque and stuff. The most famous and extensive instance is the prose romance Arcadia, by the dedicatee of The Shepheardes Calendar, Sir Philip Sidney. Spenser obviously isn't upper-class, but, like Virgil (whose career arc he imitates in some ways), he's all about this sort of thing.
Here is an example of the poetry in The Shepheardes Calendar, in which various shepherds with names like Hobbinoll and Cuddy (insert your own House reference here) and Colin Cloute -- the latter basically an avatar of Spenser himself, as we shall see -- sing songs and angst and pontificate and whatever it is that shepherds in pastoral poetry do. This is from April, and is a paean to "Elisa, queen of shepherds all," which is mentioned as having been written by Colin, but sung by Hobbinoll (a figure for Gabriel Harvey, incidentally) because Colin's too depressed to show up for this particular eclogue.
Ye dayntye Nymphs, that in this blessed Brooke
doe bathe your brest,
For sake your watry bowres, and hether looke,
at my request:
And eke you Virgins, that on Parnasse dwell,
Whence flowreth Helicon the learned well,
Helpe me to blaze
Her worthy praise,
Which in her sexe doth all excell.
Of fayre Elisa be your siluer song,
that blessed wight:
The flowre of Virgins, may shee florish long,
In princely plight.
For she is Syrinx daughter without spotte,
Which Pan the shepheards God of her begot:
So sprong her grace
Of heauenly race,
No mortal blemishe may her blotte.
See, where she sits vpon the grassie greene,
(O seemly sight)
Yclad in Scarlot like a mayden Queene,
And Ermines white.
Vpon her head a Cremosin coronet,
With Damaske roses and Dafadillies set:
Bayleaues betweene,
And Primroses greene
Embellish the sweete Violet.
Tell me, haue ye seene her angelick face,
Like Phoebe fayre?
Her heauenly haueour, her princely grace
can you well compare?
The Redde rose medled with the White yfere,
In either cheeke depeincten liuely chere.
Her modest eye,
Her Maiestie,
Where haue you seene the like, but there?
...
Shewe thy selfe Cynthia with thy siluer rayes,
and be not abasht:
When shee the beames of her beauty displayes,
O how art thou dasht?
But I will not match her with Latonaes seede,
Such follie great sorow to Niobe did breede.
Now she is a stone,
And makes dayly mone,
Warning all others to take heede.
Pan may be proud, that euer he begot
such a Bellibone,
And Syrinx reioyse, that euer was her lot
to beare such an one.
Soone as my younglings cryen for the dam,
To her will I offer a milkwhite Lamb:
Shee is my goddesse plaine,
And I her shepherds swayne,
Albee forswonck and forswatt I am.
...
Ye shepheards daughters, that dwell on the greene,
hye you there apace:
Let none come there, but that Virgins bene,
to adorne her grace.
And when you come, whereas shee is in place,
See, that your rudenesse doe not you disgrace:
Binde your fillets faste,
And gird in your waste,
For more finesse with a tawdrie lace.
Bring hether the Pincke and purple Cullambine,
With Gelliflowres:
Bring Coronations, and Sops in wine,
worne of Paramoures.
Strowe me the ground with Daffadowndillies,
And Cowslips, and Kingcups, and loued Lillies:
The pretie Pawnce,
And the Cheuisaunce,
Shall match with the fayre flowre Delice.
Now ryse vp Elisa, decked as thou art,
in royall aray:
And now ye daintie Damsells may depart
echeone her way,
I feare, I haue troubled your troupes to longe:
Let dame Eliza thanke you for her song.
And if you come hether,
When Damsines I gether,
I will part them all you among.
Of course, not all of the poem is quite this sunny. After all, in 1579, a lot of people in England were rather nervous about Queen Elizabeth's prospective marriage to Francois whatever his name was, the Duke of Anjou. Francois was not really a great catch personally speaking -- he was short, ugly, kind of a dork, and considerably younger than Elizabeth -- but what really got up people's noses was that he was Catholic, and to people like the forward Protestants I mentioned a few paragraphs ago, this was basically getting into bed with the Whore of Babylon (and we should be able to recognize her from the Theater for Worldlings sonnet I posted earlier!) Consequently, the later sections of the Calendar are rather more pessimistic. The panegyric of April gives way to elegy in November, as Spenser's alter-ego Colin Cloute laments the death of the shepherdess Dido, another name that evokes Elizabeth* as the Dido of mythology was of course a notable reigning queen, and also a namesake (she's often called Elissa).
*Incidentally, one of the things that will keep you afloat in any reading of Spenser is that basically any female character represents Elizabeth some way, until later on in his career when he writes about his wife. Who was also named Elizabeth, because most women in this period were.
Vp then Melpomene thou mournefulst Muse of nyne,
Such cause of mourning neuer hadst afore:
Vp grieslie ghostes and vp my rufull ryme,
Matter of myrth now shalt thou haue no more.
For dead she is, that myrth thee made of yore.
Dido my deare alas is dead,
Dead and lyeth wrapt in lead:
O heauie herse,
Let streaming teares be poured out in store:
O carefull verse.
Shepheards, that by your flocks on Kentish downes abyde,
Waile ye this wofull waste of natures warke:
Waile we the wight, whose presence was our pryde:
Waile we the wight, whose absence is our carke.
The sonne of all the world is dimme and darke:
The earth now lacks her wonted light,
And all we dwell in deadly night,
O heauie herse,
Breake we our pypes, that shrild as lowde as Larke,
O carefull verse.
Why do we longer liue, (ah why liue we so long)
Whose better dayes death hath shut vp in woe?
The fayrest floure our gyrlond all emong,
Is faded quite and into dust ygoe.
Sing now ye shepheards daughters, sing no moe
The songs that Colin made in her prayse,
But into weeping turne your wanton layes,
O heauie herse,
Now is time to dye. Nay time was long ygoe,
O carefull verse.
Whence is it, that the flouret of the field doth fade,
And lyeth buryed long in Winters bale:
Yet soone as spring his mantle hath displayd,
It floureth fresh, as it should neuer fayle?
But thing on earth that is of most auaile,
As vertues braunch and beauties budde,
Reliuen not for any good.
O heauie herse,
The braunch once dead, the budde eke needes must quaile,
O carefull verse.
Dido's death, of course, is a metaphor for the bad times that, as far as Spenser was concerned, were inevitable should Elizabeth's marriage to Anjou proceed. As this excerpt indicates, he was definitely part of the "Hey Elizabeth, Don't Marry That Creepy Little French Duke" faction. Indeed, he had connections with its most prominent member; in 1579 he had gotten employment with Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester. It was through his association with Leicester, probably, that he made friends with poetic people like Sidney and Sir Edward Dyer, and along with Gabriel Harvey and some others that I know basically nothing about, they hung out and philosophized about poetry, and whatnot. But Spenser's employment with Leicester had a certain level of political significance as well. Leicester was a favorite of Elizabeth's, but his relationship with the Queen ran hot and cold. He was staunchly opposed to the marriage for reasons both political and, perhaps, personal (rumor had it that he'd pushed his wife down a flight of stairs to open up the possibility of marriage to Elizabeth; this is probably not true and if it were it proved really counterproductive, though he'd been hinting that he'd make a really good prince consort as late as 1575), and as such was a leading voice in opposition to the marriage.
We find here another Sidney-Spenser parallel: both of them got in trouble for writing against this prospective marriage. Though neither of them suffered quite as harshly for their opposition to it as the ironically-named John Stubbs, whose authorship of the pamphlet The Discoverie of a Gaping Gulf Where into England is Likely to be Swallowed by another French Marriage cost him his right hand, Sidney's letter to the queen on behalf of his faction (he got drafted to do it because he was young, hadn't gotten in trouble for other stuff, and, let's face it, was a damn good writer) did no good for his status at court, really. Spenser's treatment of the issue was less direct and more snarky; he composed a rather mad beast fable called Mother Hubberds Tale in which a fox and ape scheme to seek their fortunes abroad. The ape is obviously Anjou; I forget who the fox was supposed to be. *checks footnotes* Oh, that's right, Cecil, Lord Burghley, who was a great big mover and shaker at court and favored a marriage between Elizabeth and Anjou. They also say that the choice of an ape has something to do with the French ambassador Simier, which I seem to recall as well. It has been way too long since I've studied this stuff. Anyway, wackiness, as one might expect, ensues. In this excerpt, the fox and ape steal the skin of a sleeping lion (for some reason, this lion has easily detachable skin) and engage in pretensions to royalty:
The subtile Foxe so well his message sayd,
That the proud beasts him readily obayd:
Whereby the Ape in wondrous stomack woxe,
Strongly encorag'd by the crafty Foxe;
That King indeed himself he shortly thought,
And all the Beasts him feared as they ought:
And followed vnto his palaice hye,
Where taking Conge, each one by and by
Departed to his home in dreadfull awe,
Full of the feared sight, which late they sawe.
The Ape thus seized of the Regall throne,
Eftsones by counsell of the Foxe alone,
Gan to prouide for all things in assurance,
That so his rule might lenger haue endurance.
First to his Gate he pointed a strong gard,
That none might enter but with issue hard:
Then for the safegard of his personage,
He did appoint a warlike equipage
Of forreine beasts, not in the forest bred,
But part by land, and part by water fed;
For tyrannie is with strange ayde supported.
Then vnto him all monstrous beasts resorted
Bred of two kindes, as Griffons, Minotaures,
Crocodiles, Dragons, Beauers, and Centaures:
With those himselfe he strengthned mightelie,
That feare he neede no force of enemie.
Then gan he rule and tyrranize at will,
Like as the Foxe did guide his graceless skill,
And all wylde beasts made vassals of his pleasures,
And with their spoyles enlarg'd his priuate treasures.
No care of iustice, nor no rule of reason,
No temperance, nor no regard of season
Did thenceforth euer enter in his minde,
But crueltie, the signe of currish kinde,
And sdeignfull pride, and wilfull arrogaunce;
Such follows those whom fortune doth aduaunce.
You can see, of course, the anxiety about letting foreign powers get a foot in the door! Spenser also has some harsh words for Cecil (the fox) for encouraging the queen to marry Anjou:
Nought suffered he the Ape to giue or graunt,
But through his hand must passe the Fiaunt.
All offices, all leases by him lept,
And of them all whatso he likte, he kept.
Iustice he solde iniustice for to buy,
And for to purchase for his progeny.
Ill might it prosper, that ill gotten was,
But so he got it, little did he pas.
He fed his cubs with fat of all the soyle,
And with the sweete of others sweating toyle...
No statute so established might bee,
Nor ordinaunce so needful, but that hee
Would violate, though not with violence,
Yet vnder colour of the confidence
The which the Ape reposd' in him alone,
And reckned him the kingdom's corner stone.
All ends well, though, as the lion wakes up and is pissed off, and reasserts his royalty.
Whether the authorship of this poem got Spenser in trouble directly is not explicitly clear, though it's true that the text wasn't published until 1591, when the political climate that inspired it was long past; even then, it was hugely controversial. What we do know is that shortly after this, in 1580, he was sent to Ireland, in the service of Arthur Lord Grey, who had just been named Lord Deputy in Ireland; whether this was considered a good career opportunity or a very bad one is a matter for some debate (the biography at the Spenser Homepage thinks he got the posting through Leicester's influence), but Spenser does spend a fair deal of time later in his career trying to get out of Ireland, because, well, consider what was going on there in the late sixteenth century. Wouldn't you?
However, that is going to be matter for a second post, because there is a lot to say about it, and I think lj probably has a character limit for posts. Spenser is, after all, important enough that I can justify giving him two posts! And so this essay is TO BE CONTINUED.
The next section, which will cover Spenser's career in Ireland and the composition of The Faerie Queene, will be along as soon as I can get it written.