Richard Luckett on Dr Rowse and the sonnets

Self blinding error seazeth all those mindes Who with false Appellations call that love Which alters all when it alteration findes, Or with the mover hath a power to move; Not much unlike the heretic's pretence That cites trew scripture, but prevents the sense.

The daily and weekly papers. are so full of fragments of Elizabethan verse nowadays that it is appropriate to start with a few apposite lines — apposite not merely because they seem to reflect some salient aspects of the controversy created by Dr Rowse's divulgations about the Shakespeare sonnets, but also because they have a curious resemblance (which I shall return to in due course), to the opening of one of those sonnets. For the present, I have in front of me two of the documents in the case, Dr Rowse's edition of the sonnets, modestly entitled Shakespeare's Sonnets: The Problems Solved (now available Oi Paperback)", and a recent effusion of his in this journal, in which he reflects on 'The Consolations of being Right.' To deal with the last first: the burden of this is that Rowse's qualifications for pronouncing on the problem of the sonnets have been generally ignored, and that, in more cases than not, he has been judged (which Means misjudged) by " journalist-clowns " and "journalist-professors." This is perhaps surprising, coming as it does from a historian whose emphasis has always been on making history accessible and alive; it implies both that he has failed to communicate and that he has failed to convince, and this in itself indicates a deficiency in his work. More seriously, however, it is bad argument: a man, may be notoriously wealthy, but his cheques are unlikely to be honoured if the account on Which he has drawn them has no money in it. In short, Rowse's repute as a historian is nothing to the point; what matters is his argument, its strengths and weaknesses. Here again Dr Rowse, whose chief virtue is his caPacity for vivid exposition, has obviously 'ailed; assertions are no substitute for de tailed argument, and in any case they imply arro

gance and contempt for the common rea

der, who is the person whom all historians, ultimately, must convince. An example is provided by his treatment of the Forman documents.

As most people will by now have become aware, Rowse's argument is based on one new source, and this source is used to underPin a hypothesis which he had elaborated before he lighted on the documents. The new source (which is in itself an important discovery or, more accurately, re-discovery, since it was known to nineteenth century scholars) consists of the papers of the astrologer, Simon Forman. In 1597 Forman was consulted by Emilia Lanier, wife of a musician, William Lanier, and in the course of this consultation the astrologer made notes on what , 'Shakespeare's Sonnets: The Problems Solved A. L. Rowse (Macmillan £3.95; paperhack £1.95) she told him of herself. Much of this assorts very well with what we can deduce from the sonnets; Emilia and the Dark Lady clearly shared many characteristics — most notably a capacity for sexual infidelity. Furthermore, according to Rowse, they were similar in another, vital respect, for Emilia was "very brown in youth." But other scholars, rushing to the Bodleian in Dr Rowse's footsteps, do not agree; as they read it, she was " very brave in youth," a rather different assertion altogether, and one that tells us little more than what we might surmise from the remainder of Forman's accunt of her. Who is right and who wrong about this is largely immaterial; what matters is Rowse's high-handedness in basing information on documents which he does not bother to print in transcription, and which he cites only in modern spelling. At the least we might have expected a photograph of the key passage, but we are given nothing. Our doubts are unlikely to be quieted by the fact that, a few pages later, Rowse refers to a work by Jeffrey Xulver, which he calls A Bibliographical Dictionary of English Music. As it happens, the title of this work (published in 1927) is A Biographical Dictionary of Old English Music. If Rowse finds it difficult to transcribe a modern title-page, is he to be trusted with Simon Forman's scrawls?

This last point may be thought a little un

fair — we all of us make such slips daily. The point here is that, according to Rowse, his theory is of the highest importance: if so, why does he not treat it accordingly? No doubt Rowse would reply by asserting the fundamental nature 01 his understanding of Shakespeare, for the relevance of the Forman documents to Shakespeare's sonnets depends, as I have already mentioned, on a number of other assumptions which have to do with the autobiographical nature of the sonnets, their dating, and Shakespeare's relationship with his patron. These assumptions, in their turn, depend on Rowse's claim to have what amounts to a unique understanding both of Elizabethan social conditions, and of Elizabethan use of language. It is this last point which is the most interesting.

Rowse calls his text of the sonnets " closer to the original and more conservative than any other;" he also says of his edition that "it is intended to be practical and common sense, with the whole emphasis on making the sonnets intelligible to the modern reader. There is no point in sticking to archaic spelling or Elizabethan punctuation." For this reason he gives, with the text of each poem, a prose version and a commentary. It will be seen that the logic of this is not altogether straightforward; the text which is, closest to the original will obviously be the one that reproduces the 1609 edition of the sonnets most accurately; the 1609 edition may be pirated, but it is the only text that we have and any deviations from it, other than corrections of obvious misprints, are conjectural. Such a text, edited by Martin Seymour Smith, is easily and cheaply available in The Poetry Bookshelf series; Rowse's claim is therefore manifestly untrue. There is a point in sticking to Elizabethan spelling and punctuation; the point is, quite simply, that it is an integral part of the language Shalespeare wrote, and to alter it is to change that language. There is even less excuse for changing it than there usually is since a prose paraphrase is provided; if this is to make the poem intelligible in a literal sense, then why endeavour to do the job twice by tampering with the text?

From this we can profitably move on to a particular sonnet, in this instance No. 128, This sonnet has long been something of a crux so far as comprehension is concerned, since it uses technical. terms in a confusing

way. Since these terms are musical, as indeed is much of the imagery in the poem, it also has a further relevance to Rowse's thesis. The sonnet described the poet's beloved playing on the virginals. and how the poet envies "those jacks that nimble leap/ To kiss the tender inward of thy hand." This Rowse paraphrases as "I envy those keys that leap up so nimbly to kiss your hand's tender palm." Fair enough, except that" jacks " are not the same as "keys," A jack, far from being a key, is the slip of wood which, in a harpsichord or spinnet, the key moves. In this slip of wood is the tongue containing the plectrum that plucks the string, and the naming of the slip is analogous to the "jack " that strikes bells in early clock mechanisms. The usage for keyboard instruments was well established in Shakespeare's time, as references in Florio and Massinger show. Most commentators assume that Shakespeare misused the word; Dr Rowse passes over it in silence, though it was surely incumbent on him to mention the oddity. But if Shakespeare really intended " keys " for " jacks " the poem is still confusing. Do keys really "nimble leap" to kiss the palm? It seems an inept description, as does "dancing chips." If we want to find a part of the instrument that fits, then the jacks in their proper sense are far more likely candidates. Take the jack-rail (which normally hides them from view) out and the slips of wood are indeed "chips." and as one plays they dance, Strike the keys carelessly and they tend to jump out, so if you are adjusting them you will normally cover them with your hand to prevent this. Then they do seem to jump for the palm. In the same sonnet to "sway the wiry concord that mine ear confounds" might plausibly refer' to tuning the instrument, and checking the operation of the jacks would be something that a player was likely to do at the same time. This interpretation is not free from snags; "fingers walking with gentle gait" is an apt description of a sensitive touch on the keys and to an extent cancels out the unlikely "dancing chips." But the point that I am anxious to make is clear enough; the sonnet is at least puzzling, and Rowse's confident interpretation isn't in the least convincing. His unique understanding of Elizabethan English is difficult to credit.

That this should be so is not, however, the last nail in the coffin. To read his edition of the sonnets is to experience acute aggravation, at this arrogant insensitivity to nuances of language and at the extravagance of his claims. At the same time both his basic assertion, that the sonnets are autobiographical, and his sense of the story they convey, are often strikingly substantiated. In other words, his reading of the sonnets in emotive terms seems cogent and convincing. Indeed it is hard to see why he does not make more of sonnet 128 in these terms; the contemporary usage of "jack" to mean "man", a usage that he doesn't note, gives the conclusion of the sonnet a particular force which causes it to lead logically into the next: we progress from "Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,/ Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss" to "The expense of spirit in a waste of shame" and, granted the double meaning, an emotional link between the poems has been forged. " Dancing chips " similarly suggests a pun, whether it refers to minstrels or young lords. So Rowse's basic postulates about Shakespeare and his relationships can be used to give force to an otherwise muddled and clumsily 'metaphysical 'poem. To go back to the quotation with which I began, here we have the opposite of the "heretic's pretence." Rowse seems to cite scripture that is, as likely as not, untrue, but to preserve some kind of sense all the same. The quotation is, in fact, yet another thing that Rowse should have taken into account but hasn't: an alternative version of sonnet 116, retrieved from a song setting by Henry Lewes. Since Lawes was respected by poets for not tampering with their work it seems likely that he didn't contrive this version (from an MS. in the Drexel collection in New

York) but had it from someone else. Probably an intermediate hand adapted it, but this cannot be proved, and any self-respecting edition of the sonnets should at least cite it. An editor concerned to stress Shakespeare's con

nections with the musical world could, with a little research, go rather further. For all we know Rowse has never heard of it.

The point about all this is the shoddiness of Rowse's presentation of what in other hands would have been a sustainable argument. The controversy is fun, and Dr Rowse might sell the film rights yet (though whether of the controversy or the sonnets is a moot point), but his methods had better be recognised as intuitive rather than scholarly. He may, to spite everybody, be right, but not on the kind of evidence that has been presented so far. His whole dating of the sonnets depends on the most tenuous evidence, and though have no doubts about his knowledge of the politics of the period I would not for a mo ment trust his ability to distinguish between generalised poetic metaphor and a specific contemporary allusion. In one vital respect, however, what he says cannot be ignored. Some of his readings do actually make better sense of the relevant sonnets than those of fered hitherto. The precise personalities in volved don't matter, but the broad narrative framework does. If this is so, then the old ar

gument that the identity of the Dark Lady is irrelevant fails to hold good. The sonnets are often obscure and those who think they can

elucidate them (as Rowse ironically exemplifies) are often wrong. Knowledge of the circumstances in which they were written is one way of getting at precise reference, refer'ences that would have been clear to Shakes' peare's contemporaries. Thus meaning will be clarified and out ability to appreciate the poems enhanced.

It is a pity, then, that the subject should be threatened with disrepute. From a scholarly point of view that is what has happened, and the whole business suggests a textual emendation and new frame of reference for Dow' land's famous song: " His golden locks time hath to silver turned ... His bonnet now shall make a hive for bees." After all, bonnet was at one time a synonym for helmet, and who

knows but that, without such changes, the poem might not be intelligible to the modern

reader? But the next line does not hold good, for no "lovers' sonnets" have turned to

"holy psalmes " this year. Whatever else he may have done Rowse has reminded us of what Shakespeare's sonnets were and are; and " lovers' sonnets," despite " journalistclowns," " Journalist-professors" and Dr Rowse himself — they will, thank goodness, .remain.