The Representation of Masculine Honour in the Private Sphere in Renaissance England
Item Type text; Electronic Dissertation
Authors D'Souza, Erika
Publisher The University of Arizona.
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Download date 06/10/2021 03:00:42
Link to Item http://hdl.handle.net/10150/642056
THE REPRESENTATION OF MASCULINE HONOUR IN THE PRIVATE SPHERE IN RENAISSANCE ENGLAND
by
Erika D’Souza
______Copyright © Erika D’Souza 2020
A Dissertation Submitted to the Faculty of the
DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH
In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements
For the Degree of
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
In the Graduate College
THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA
2020
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THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA GRADUATE COLLEGE
As members of the Dissertation Committee, we certify that we have read the dissertation prepared by: Erika D'Souza titled:
and recommend that it be accepted as fulfilling the dissertation requirement for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy.
Meg Lota Brown ______Date: ______Jul 7, 2020 Meg Lota Brown
______Date: ______Jul 7, 2020 Tenney J Nathanson Frederick P Kiefer ______Date: ______Jul 7, 2020 Frederick P Kiefer Pia F Cuneo ______Date: ______Jul 9, 2020 Pia F Cuneo
Final approval and acceptance of this dissertation is contingent upon the candidate’s submission of the final copies of the dissertation to the Graduate College.
I hereby certify that I have read this dissertation prepared under my direction and recommend that it be accepted as fulfilling the dissertation requirement.
Meg Lota Brown ______Date: ______Jul 7, 2020 Meg Lota Brown Department of English
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Dedication
I dedicate my dissertation to my loving parents, Fiona and Donald D’Souza, who – to my immense fortune – offered me every encouragement possible to pursue a career that was also my passion. And to my brother David, who read every first draft and always lent a patient ear to every hysterical phone call – thank you for your endless forbearance and unflappability. Also, to my friend Umaira – your steadfast counsel has been invaluable. To my many flatmates over the last few years, whom Providence has been kind enough to send my way. My sincere apologies for the incessant barrage about the likes of Robert Sidney, Nicholas Hilliard and Barbara Gamage. Elsa, Betul, and Hannah – thank you for suffering through my presentations, synopses and outlines! My heartfelt gratitude to my committee members who were more than generous with their expertise and precious time. A special thanks to Dr. Meg Lota Brown, my committee chair for her countless hours of reflecting, reading, encouraging, and most of all, patience, throughout the entire process. Thank you to Dr. Pia Cuneo, Dr. Frederick Kiefer and Dr. Tenney Nathanson, for your painstaking advice and kindness during the times I came up short. Because of your collective skills, I am today (five years later) a more mature scholar. Lastly, to all the teachers that have guided me throughout my life. I am forever in your debt for the wisdom you have imparted in my formative years. I hope I do you proud.
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Table of Contents
1. Abstract ...... 6
2. Introduction ...... 7
3. Chapter One
The Preservation of Masculinity through Child-Rearing: Private Honour in the Letters
of Robert Sidney ...... 19
4. Chapter Two
Shame, Conscience and Emasculation: Private Honour and the Sonnets of Robert
Sidney ...... 41
5. Chapter Three
The Depiction of Private Honour in Nicholas Hilliard’s Portrait Miniature of Robert
Sidney ...... 63
6. Chapter Four
The Representation of Private Masculine Honour in Early Modern English Domestic
Tragedies ...... 98
7. Conclusion ...... 127
8. References ...... 132 5
List of Figures
Figure 1. Miniature Portrait of Robert Sidney, First Earl of Leicester ...... 65
Figure 2. Miniature Portrait of Robert Dudley, First Earl of Leicester...... 68
Figure 3. The Heneage Jewel (Exterior) ...... 76
Figure 4. The Heneage Jewel (Interior)...... 77
Figure 5. Full-length Portrait of Robert Devereux, Second Earl of Essex...... 79
Figure 6. Miniature Portrait of Robert Devereux, Second Earl of Essex ...... 81
Figure 7. Full-length Portrait of Robert Sidney, First Earl of Leicester ...... 82
Figure 8. Portrait of a Gentleman aged 29...... 86
Figure 9. Merry Company...... 88
Figure 10. Self-Portrait with Endymion Porter...... 89
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Abstract
Did masculine honour exist in the private sphere in Renaissance England? This key question is the cornerstone of the dissertation. We challenge earlier interpretations of honour and privacy in order to arrive at our understanding of private masculine honour of that period.
Our methodology for this dissertation involves identifying an early modern English nobleman who had in his collection a body of work pertinent to the subject of masculine honour in the private realm. In Robert Sidney, the first Earl of Leicester (1563-1626) we find an exemplar, who was a rich fount of material through a varied set of media, such as his letters that he wrote to his wife, his unpublished sonnets and love poems, and the miniature portrait he had commissioned of himself. We make an argument about how these writings and artwork might be considered private, and then proceed to analyse them across the first three chapters in order to determine the meaning behind private masculine honour in early modern England. Having thus established our definition of private honour, in the last chapter we investigate its manifestation through domestic tragedies authored at the time, thereby showing how widespread was this concept in Renaissance England.
Under Queen Elizabeth’s reign, we begin to see a merging of private and public, which led to the emergence of new forms of masculine honour, across different media. My study explores how the aspect of “feminine virtues” steadily pervaded the realm of male- oriented discourse, as can be seen through conduct literature intended for husbands and courtiers, and various funeral sermons. Such a study reveals that conventional notions of masculine honour need to be revised to include how noblemen acted within the private circles. In a time when masculine honour was intertwined with militaristic qualities (such as courage, strength and fortitude), my investigation shows that in the domestic sphere, a gentler version of masculinity, encouraging humility, constancy and modesty, was fostered amongst the nobility. 7
Introduction
The subject of this dissertation centres on the behaviour of early modern nobility when away from the surveillance of the Court. The conduct of the peerage in public was based on a strict code of honour that was maintained as a result of both self-discipline as well as the knowledge that they were under the watchful eyes of the monarch and her/his court. But was this code maintained just as strictly within the privacy of their homes, and their inner circle?
Were the things that they read, wrote, and studied, the hobbies they pursued, different from what they professed to enjoy in public – given that they were secure in the knowledge that they were safe from scrutiny? This dissertation investigates cultural constructs of private honour through the examination of the life of Robert Sidney, the first Earl of Leicester (1563–1626).
The focus of this analysis is Robert Sidney’s letters to his wife, his poetry, and his portrait miniature. This research examines how the nature of masculinity is affected under the conditions of privacy, and how honour was understood and manifested across the private sphere in Renaissance England. To do this, we first need to determine what the notions of private and public meant in the era.
In 1577, Raphael Holinshed included amongst his chronicles a description of the murder of Thomas Arden, which occurred twenty-seven years prior:
About this time there was at Feversham in Kent a gentleman named Arden, most cruelly murdered and slain by the procurement of his own wife. The which murder, for the horribleness thereof, although other-wise it may seem to be but a private matter, and therefore as it were impertinent to this history, I have thought good to set it forth somewhat at large, having the instructions delivered to me by them, that have used some diligence to gather the true understanding of the circumstances.1
There is a clear discomfort on Holinshed’s part to include a “private matter” amongst the collected histories of England, Scotland and Ireland. The fact that he drew our attention to the
1 Raphael Holinshed, Chronicles [1577], University of Michigan, 2011, 1024. https://books.google.com/books?id=xI4hAQAAMAAJ&dq=raphael+holinshed,+chronicles+arden&source=gbs _navlinks_s 8 private nature of the tale, as well as why it should be a part of his written history despite its nature, gives us an indication of the valency of the two spheres. Narratives set in the private sphere were traditionally not considered worthy to be mentioned in historical recordings, and the inclusion of such needed to be justified. This story tells us that there existed at that time a clear delineation between the two spheres of private and public. However, there was much contradictory information about the nature of “privacy,” and what constituted it at the time.
Added to this is the problematic conflation of modern ideas of privacy with Renaissance notions of the same. Therefore, it would be useful to create a clear definition of privacy in terms of what it meant then.
Private is defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as “restricted to or for the use or enjoyment of one particular person or group of people; not open to the public.” Interestingly, the term “enjoyment” is used in conjunction with the word “private,” making it more likely that what was kept private was something to be savoured and enjoyed. The same pleasure might not necessarily have been associated with what was “secret.” We know that this was how this term was used during the early modern period because of the accompanying literary examples in the OED, such as Shakespeare’s and Fletcher’s Henry VIII: “May it please you
Noble Madam, to withdraw Into your priuate Chamber.”
A reading of contemporaneous literature indicates that the domestic and the private were terms that shared a common connection to the household, but they had very different connotations to it. “Domestic” implied marriage, family and housekeeping, whereas
“private” indicated ownership in its relationship to the household. A number of critics have made the connection between private and ownership such as Donald R. Kelley who notes,
“the overriding issue in civil society, and especially, it would seem, in English civil society, was the acquisition of things . . . and of course their retention, use, and inheritance. . . . 9 private property, in a complex feudal context, was the central question of English society and social thought.”2
In her book Early Modern Women’s Writing, Martine van Elk leans heavily on
Michael McKeon’s definition of privacy in the Renaissance, which maintains that the separation of the private sphere from the public arose due to the decline of the English monarchy.3 Mckeon and van Elk also state that the dichotomous nature of the monarchy resulted in the private and public realms being considered as one continuum, instead of opposites. 4 Erica Longfellow is another critic who contends that the two spheres were not mutually exclusive when it came to family, household, and religion – objecting to other early modern definitions that portray private as “more simply the negative of public.”5
Our research interrogates the association of the growth of the public sphere with the decline of absolutism, particularly owing to Mckeon’s, van Elk’s and Longfellow’s insistence that private and public were not autonomous terms. These authors’ research focuses on a period of English history that is later than this dissertation, and pays little attention to the public nature of late Tudor court life.6 Instead they focus on how the public sphere gradually developed amongst the wider population, with van Elk and Longfellow paying particular attention to women writers. Van Elk is mainly concerned with the concept of the public sphere, which we of course will be delving into, but our primary interest is that of the private sphere. To an extent, these are related – the two realms were continually evolving during the
2 Donald R. Kelley, Human Measure (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1990), 167-171. 3 Michael McKeon, The Secret History of Domesticity: Public, Private, and the Division of Knowledge (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2005). See also his formulation of his argument in response to a series of essays using his book in “What Was an Early Modern Public, and How Was It Made?,” History Compass 10.9 (2012): 714–30. 4 Martine van Elk, Early Modern Women’s Writing (Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017), 1-2. 5 Erica Longfellow, “Public, Private, and the Household in Early Seventeenth-Century England,” The Journal of British Studies 45.2 (2006): 315. 6 Van Elk stresses that though her discussion does not rely on pinpointing the creation of the public sphere for the mid-seventeenth century, there is plenty of evidence to show “that the public sphere relied on much earlier, more complex forms of historical change than earlier scholarship (such as Jürgen Habermas’s The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere) acknowledges. 10
Renaissance, and it follows that private and public work in a continuum throughout English social and cultural history. Therefore, it needs to be noted that as long there was an aspect of public performance in courtly life, there had to coexist a counter performance away from courtly eyes. This dissertation argues that just as there existed a version of dress, art, behaviour in public amongst the Elizabethan noblemen, there existed an alternate persona to be lived out in “private.” This dissertation raises the issue of how the private sphere took shape during times of absolute monarchy. The notion of private had to have existed – it has been made clear in architecture, as well as conduct manuals and letters – and yet absolutism could not have been said to have “declined.”
In terms of early modern architecture, it is important to note that van Elk does mention the highly debated matter of the “closet.” Lena Orlin argues that the way this space had been defined (that is, as private chamber that specifically functioned as study or prayer room) did not take into consideration its relative publicness.7 On the other hand, studies such as Richard Rambuss’s state that the closet served as a space for private and religious discourse. Rambuss also uses evidence from reformers’ texts to reinforce the idea of the closet as an intimate space, meant only for certain audiences.8 This dissertation argues that there was no simple notion of a private space – as we can see, the very notion of the closet is heavily debated. But the ideas of privacy, the need for self-reflection and solitude, were demonstrated earlier than what is mentioned by Van Elk, Longfellow or Trull. Privacy in early modern England was not a location, so much as state of being for those that had to put on a private performance, even if just for the self. It functioned alongside the public sphere, and as we see in chapters two and three, there were many objects and artefacts that coexisted in both realms.
7 Lena Cowen Orlin, “Gertrude’s Closet,” Shakespeare Jahrbuch 134 (1998): 44–67. 8 Richard Rambuss, Closet Devotions (Chapel Hill: Duke University Press, 1998), 103. 11
Scholars such as Jeff Weintraub argue that the very definitions of the terms public and private need to be clearly delineated. He notes that two distinct clusters of images are associated with these terms, the one describing “what is hidden or withdrawn versus what is open, revealed, or accessible” and the other “what is individual, or pertains only to an individual, versus what is collective, or affects the interests of a collectivity of individuals.” 9
The nuances of these two meanings of private are particularly important to the research on early modern women’s writing because as van Elk notes, “contributions to collective thought, whether or not they were produced inside the private realm, were nonetheless treated as if they brought women themselves out in the open for public display.”10
Critics like Lena Orlin and Stephen Greenblatt adhere closer to the first of
Weintraub’s definitions, where privacy is associated with a physical space, as opposed to an intended audience. Unlike van Elk’s and Longfellow’s description of the term, this definition of privacy loses its performative aspect, and the expression functions more as a means of describing an interior, secret, geographic space. Orlin’s argument is grounded in the cultural history of the house: its notional structures, prescribed activities, prevailing aspirations, and persistent conflicts.11 As the concept of ownership in the Renaissance is gendered masculine, relating it to the private sphere results in a similar gendering of privacy. This meant that early definitions of privacy lacked the feminine perspective, as indicated in the research of van Elk and Longfellow. In addition, connecting privacy and property creates a tension between the feminine “domestic” sphere and the masculine “private” ownership, making the association more problematic than Orlin indicates.
9 Jeff Weintraub, “The Theory and Politics of the Public/Private Distinction,” in Public and Private in Thought and Practice: Perspectives on a Grand Dichotomy, ed. Jeff Weintraub and Krishan Kumar (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1997), 1–42. 10 Van Elk, 4. 11 Lena Orlin, Private Matters and Public Culture in Post-Reformation England (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press), 4. 12
Like Orlin, Stephen Greenblatt identifies the private sphere with the household, though his examples (particularly those centred around Thomas More) indicate a little more of the performative nature of privacy. Greenblatt’s focus is more on the concept of privacy and solitude, arguing that within a privately-owned property, a man needed to have a
“private” space where he could “sequester himself from worldly company.”12 Of More, he writes: “His whole identity depended upon the existence of a private retreat; his silences were filled with unexpressed judgments, inner thoughts.”13
This dissertation proposes a new definition of private sphere – one that is not as contingent on location, as Orlin’s or Greenblatt’s definition, but more relative to company
(rather than solitude, as Greenblatt suggests). Privacy could very well exist within a household, but it was not exclusive to it. Similarly, privacy did not have to refer solely to location, but instead might also suggest select company. Early modern literature, particularly domestic plays, demonstrates that there are a number of social activities that are considered private that do not necessitate solitude – conversations, correspondence, intrigues, and others.
Through an analyses of discourse such as conduct manuals, funeral sermons and domestic correspondence, it seems that privacy falls between Weintraub’s two definitions – what was hidden or withdrawn did not necessarily have to preclude the sharing of a private artefact with close acquaintances or family.
Private and public had boundaries that were constantly shifting – the manner of behaviour and masculinity was not restricted to one or the other. Nevertheless, the militaristic mode of conduct was more commonly found in public, whereas the qualities associated with what we are calling “private honour” were traditionally connoted as feminine, thus strengthening its connection to the domestic. The term “domestic” tended to relate to
12 Stephen Greenblatt, Renaissance Self-Fashioning: From More to Shakespeare (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005), 45. 13 Ibid. 13 matters of the household – marital issues, child raising and education, house upkeep and furnishing. Yet these subjects were not solely confined to the private sphere – they impacted public honour and image, for both men and women. At the same time, they were not as public as some aspects of court life – they were not prominently on display for the world to see. They were kept separate, both in terms of physical space, as well as with the audience with whom they might be shared. This dissertation argues that in the Renaissance, there were enough examples to demonstrate locations and artefacts that are “liminal,” that is, they existed in both the private and public realm. The significance of how these places and arts were viewed was dependent not on the environment surrounding them, but on the relationship between the viewer and the subject. As much as there was a public persona acted out by every member of the English court, so was there a performance in private. It was this
“performance” of private masculinity, and how it differed from the publicity of court life that is the backbone of this research. The first chapter investigates the connection between the domestic and private, while the second and third study how some artefacts straddle the line between privacy and the Elizabethan Court. In the last chapter, we use the mediums of dramatic works, notably domestic tragedies to understand how the notion of private honour intersects and overlaps with public honour and image.
It is important to note that there was a difference in the way privacy was discussed in the discourse of early modern England and how it was enacted. This dissertation demonstrates that privacy was an evolving concept and that its definition was not simply the opposite of “public.” As illustrated in Chapters Two and Three, artefacts that belonged to neither the private nor public realm were commonplace; they could be treated with intense secrecy or blatantly exhibited. The varying significance of these artforms is in tension with our modern understanding of “privacy.” In the early modern period, the term was dependent on the context of its use by specific individuals. Writers such as Richard Braithwaite and 14
Raphael Holinshed, for example, deploy “private” in a strictly binary sense, but others acknowledged that the lived experience of the private was informed by many aspects of the public. This contradiction is characteristic of prescriptive discourse in the period: readers were presented with an ideal, consistent vision that belied their more equivocal experience.
One objective of this dissertation is to untangle difficult and contradictory terminology, to examine the nuances of social practices in the domestic and public spheres, by juxtaposing prescriptive texts with others that enable valuable insight into the everyday circumstances of
Renaissance life.
While there has been significant work done on honour, masculinity and privacy in
Renaissance England, little attention has been given to masculine honour in the private sphere. Conventionally, honour is understood by early modern scholars as that which is perceived in the public view – the term brings images of posturing and representing oneself in the best way possible in public. But masculine honour encompassed a variety of aspects of manhood, and its transition between the private and public spheres deserves investigation.
Self-fashioning did not end the moment a person left the public sphere. Improving one’s image in the private sphere was also of concern. This dissertation intends to show how this concern with perception in private translated into a novel form of honour, one that could be seen in the poetry written, clothing worn, letters penned and miniature portraits commissioned.
In the first chapter, “The Preservation of Masculinity through Child-rearing,” we see how honour manifested in the letters that Robert Sidney wrote to his wife Barbara. We begin by reviewing how honour was conceptualised in Renaissance England in conduct manuals and funeral sermons. In doing so, we determine the basis of our definition of private honour, and specifically note how it differs from public honour. Private honour deviated from the militaristic mode of masculine behaviour that was commonplace amongst courtiers during the 15 reign of Henry VIII. As this dissertation covers the era of Elizabeth’s rule, there are some clear distinctions noted between ideas of masculinity between the two Tudors. Private masculine honour during Elizabeth’s rule seemed to adopt conventionally feminine qualities - such as humility, modesty and temperance. Through an examination of Sidney’s letters, we see how he struggled with this shift of perception of masculinity (a struggle that is all too clearly highlighted by his elder brother’s apparent ease with this transition). As Sidney resisted the behaviour expected from an Elizabethan courtier, he also pushed back against his lack of power in his household. This was aptly demonstrated in his correspondence regarding the upbringing of his son and heir. A close-reading of these texts reveal Robert’s fear of losing his masculine reputation through the emasculation of his son. In other words, Robert’s son functioned as a construction of Robert’s masculinity, in the same way that we see his sonnets and miniature portrait did in Chapters Two and Three. The chief aim of this chapter is to display Robert’s lack of understanding of private honour, which ultimately affected both his courtly life, as well as his domestic one.
In the next chapter, we look for evidence of how private honour is represented in the poems of Robert Sidney. In order to do this, we first outline the terms “conscience” and
“shame,” and place them within the context of masculine identity in Renaissance England.
We accomplish this by surveying a variety of religious texts, as well as William
Shakespeare's Love's Labour's Lost. Through the character of Armando, we can observe the careful navigation of the treacherous space between shame and emasculation. It is only after we have understood the relationship of conscience and shame to poetry that we move on to locating the domain of the sonnet. While these poems might be said to occupy a liminal space between private and public, in this section we make a case for Sidney's sonnets to veer closer to the private realm than most. The rest of the chapter features an analysis of some of
Sidney’s sonnets, and we note that in most of these poems, the speaker uses exaggerated 16 feminised qualities, with an aim to creating a parody of private honour. We investigate how this perversion of honour actually lends reputation and fame to the poet, as an exhibition of control over the desired-object. Not only do we see the same type of honour defined in
Chapter One, we also see it dismantled and then subsequently rejuvenated by sonneteers.
The third chapter, “The Depiction of Private Honour in Nicholas Hilliard’s Portrait
Miniature of Robert Sidney,” delves into the social context of the portrait miniature in
Renaissance England, and its relationship to private honour. This section of the dissertation begins by analysing Nicholas Hilliard’s portrait of Robert Sidney, laying out its provenance, commission and the context in which it may have been viewed. We then consider the conventional style, fashion and posture of the Renaissance English portrait by reading
Hilliard’s treatise “The Art of Liming,” and by inspecting examples of his miniatures such as the Heneage Jewel, and the portraits of Robert Dudley and Robert Devereux. To contrast the difference in representation of private and public honour, we examine both Sidney’s miniature as well as his full-length portrait (artist unknown). Our analysis of these paintings reveals the many differences between the two specific portraits, as well as exposes how atypical Sidney's miniature portrait is from the conventional English miniatures of the time.
In order to find out why his miniature is so distinctive, we observe Sidney’s time as
Ambassador of Flushing, in the Netherlands. When we compare his miniature portrait to the portraits of early modern Dutchmen (such as those depicted in the works of Ketel or van
Dyck), we see a very strong resemblance in terms of fashion and posture. By studying the works of these Dutch portrait artists, as well as contemporaneous Dutch writings, we determine the aspects of masculine honour represented in Dutch paintings, and how they might have influenced Robert Sidney. The aim of this chapter is to show how the fashion and symbolism of Dutch portraiture was incorporated into Sidney’s own miniature portrait, reflecting his perception of private honour and masculinity. 17
The last chapter changes the focus from Robert Sidney and shifts instead to the public sphere. After demonstrating the nature of private honour in the first three chapters, we now investigate how it was socially enacted and confirmed in the public media of early modern
England. The purpose of this chapter is to validate the findings regarding private honor that will established in the preceding section of the dissertation. In order to do this, we explore how private honour was represented in English drama, predominantly those that took place in the domestic sphere. We demonstrate that when playwrights set their play within a household, there is evidence that the notion of private masculine honour shaped the text. We can clearly see a transition of behaviour from public to private from certain figures in each text, as well as characters that exist in an alternate version in public. Every character has a different relationship to private and public honour, most of which differs wildly from what is represented in conduct manuals and sermons. The male protagonists, in particular, have a narrow perception of masculine honour. Using the examples of Arden of Faversham and
Othello, we establish how the hypermasculinity of the titular figures relies heavily on the militaristic form of public honour, allowing characters who exist in the liminal space between private and public to take advantage of them. A key objective of this chapter is to show how
“private honour” was a concept understood by the men and women of the Renaissance, and that it was an intrinsic component in the depiction of private life. The previous chapters try to pin down the concept of private honour by looking at it through the perspective of a nobleman himself. This chapter broadens the scope of the study, by looking at how public perception of private honour may compare to the investigation that we have already conducted.
This work demonstrates that varying versions of masculinity were represented during the period, and the lack of clear distinction between private and public is the reason the different types of honour are conflated as one. Yet there are differences, as this dissertation 18 shows. The reign of Queen Elizabeth was when we begin to see the lines drawn between private and public honour. There were still occasions were the two might conflate – as the realms of private and public themselves were gradually separating in the consciousness of early modern people. Through the life and works of Robert Sidney, as well as a consideration of domestic tragedies of the time, we demonstrate how there existed a type of honour separate from the univocal version of public masculinity commonly associated with English noblemen.
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Chapter One
The Preservation of Masculinity through Child-Rearing: Honour in the Letters of Robert Sidney
On the 20th of April, 1597, Robert Sidney wrote a letter to his wife, Barbara, expressing his excitement and joy about her upcoming visit to his abode in Flushing in the Netherlands. In the epistle, he details exactly the measures and steps she needed to take before and during her voyage. The letter even included the names of the captains and crew, and talked of whether it be preferable for her to travel on one of the Queen’s ships, or the Lord Admiral’s. However, these minutiae do not take up the majority of the letter. That space is devoted to Robert’s stern directive to Barbara regarding the presence of her three eldest children on the trip. The reasons he did not desire them to accompany their mother are manifold: such as the fact that they were of the age when they should leave their father’s house to live with prominent families who wished to foster them, that the air in Flushing was dangerous to them and that their education was stifled by their remaining in the family home. Robert would go on to bring up this subject in subsequent letters, in particular focusing on the need to separate his third eldest child from Barbara, a child who happened to be his firstborn son and heir.
This anecdote is meant to give us a glimpse into the mindset of Robert Sidney, and to illuminate some of the uncertainties that lurk between the lines of his text. The story above may not primarily appear to be related to Robert’s perception of himself, and his honour. However, as we go through some of the discourse on the concept of masculinity in general in this time period, we will see how prevalent the notion of honour is throughout these letters to Barbara. In particular, we will see how Robert’s private honour is directly related to the social order of manhood, and draw correlations between his agency in the private sphere as well as in public.
To do this, we will first demonstrate how private honour and masculinity were understood during
20 the Renaissance, and how notions of private and public virtues get conflated in the discourse on masculinity towards the end of the sixteenth century.
Our main primary sources for this chapter are the letters Robert wrote to his wife Barbara
Gamage while he was appointed governor of the cautionary town of Flushing.1 During his tenure as the Queen’s Governor, Sidney wrote faithfully to his wife, and a large majority of his letters are still extant as part of the D’Isle collection. However, there are no surviving letters from his wife Barbara to him, which creates an unfortunate cavity in my research. Nonetheless,
Robert’s personal letters are very revealing of his private thoughts and feelings, and will be instrumental in our understanding of what constitutes private masculine honour.
However, before we can embark on this journey to understand private masculine honour through Robert Sidney’s letters, we need to broach the subject from a religious and social point of view as well. Before we analyse Robert Sidney’s letters (and poetry and miniature), we need to understand how the private self and manhood were perceived in the social consciousness during the English Renaissance. To that end, we will spend the first part of this chapter looking at the influence of religious and social attitudes about manhood with regard to the domestic sphere. We will study the representation of ideal masculinity through such mediums as funeral sermons and conduct or courtesy manuals. During my investigation, the subject of conscience and the awareness of interiority of the self emerge throughout the discourse of masculinity and honour. This is a subject that is very relevant to the discussion of private honour, and will be discussed in further detail in the next chapter.
1 Domestic Politics and Family Absence: The Correspondence (1588-1612) of Robert Sidney, First Earl of Leicester, and Barbara Gamage Sidney, Countess of Leicester, ed. by Margaret Hannay, Noel Killamon and Michael Brennan (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005). All subsequent references are to this edition.
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The first example of texts that demonstrate a version of masculinity through a religious and social lens is that of funeral sermons. In early modern England, the majority of published funeral sermons included a section in which the preacher spoke of the praiseworthy behaviour and godly death of the person at whose funeral he was speaking. These sermons can, therefore, contribute to our understanding of contemporary attitudes towards what aspect of masculinity were deemed significant enough to warrant mention.2 For instance, we have the sermon preached at the funeral of Walter Devereux, first Earl of Essex, who died in 1576.3 In his honour, the Reverend Richard Davies delivered a sermon that lavished praise by extolling a number of virtues – paying particular attention to those that were considered “masculine” by
Renaissance social standards. Davies highlighted Devereux’s martial prowess, going so far as to say that Devereux “was by nature a sonne of Mars, and by practising feates of warre and exercise aforehand, he had made himself in manner a perfect warriour.”4 Keeping in mind the hyperbole that characterised the genre of funeral sermons, this text still gives us an insight into the idealised depiction of the wide variety of masculine virtues that a good nobleman was thought to comprise.
Davies depicted Devereux as having been worthy and honourable from the time he was born, “euen from his mothers wombe,” having received these qualities as gifts from God. He was lauded for traits as diverse as self-restraint, erudition, godliness, and especially martial prowess. Davies' praise of militaristic masculine virtues is concurrent with his description of
2 For the portrayal of ideal femininity in funeral sermons see Eric J. Carlson, “Funeral Sermons as Sources: The Example of Female Piety in Pre-1640 Sermons,” Albion: A Quarterly Journal Concerned with British Studies 32, no. 4 (Winter, 2000): 567-597, and Patricia Phillipy, “The Mat(t)er of Death: the Defense of Eve and the Female Ars Moriendi,” in Debating Gender in Early Modern England, 1500-1700, eds. Cristina Malcomson and Mihoko Suzuki (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), 141- 160. 3 Richard Davies, A Fvneral Sermon Preached [...] at the buriall of the Right Honovrable VValter Earle of Essex and Ewe, Earle Marshall of Ireland... (London, 1577). 4 Ibid.
22
Devereux's self-control, restraint and temperance, qualities he considers to be “the fountayne of nobilitie...[and]...the mother of all other vertues.”5 An interesting addition to this sermon is a dedicatory epistle signed “E. W.,” attributed to Edward Waterhouse, a servant of the Devereux family. This letter was addressed to Walter’s young son Robert Devereux, and it urged the young man to follow his father in Christian virtue, state service, and martial prowess.
Waterhouse beseeches Robert to exceed the achievements of his father, just as he, Walter, had surpassed those of his own father. It may prove useful in our understanding of Robert Sidney’s letters, to view these sermons as partially instructive to future generations of males succeeding the deceased father-figure. As we will see further in our discussion, the traditions of masculinity being passed down through generations of noblemen is a pressing concern in Robert’s letters to his wife.
In another example, Thomas Churchyard's posthumous tribute to Sir Francis Knollys celebrates the deceased’s courtly and martial prowess in poetic form.6 Churchyard’s sermon contains a similar rhetoric of lavish praise to the deceased, with the same two-pronged recounting of virtues both on and off the battlefield. Churchyard extols Knollys’ chastity (of mind and body), his “True hart,” and his saintly virtues, while at the same time commending him for standing “vpright, feares neither foile nor fall,” and making “proud enimies blush.”7
Upon reading these funeral sermons, it seems as though there is a two-sided version of the ideal man. On one hand, his militaristic virtues are highlighted to reflect the cultural significance of warriors in a militaristic State, virtues such as strength, fortitude and valour. This
5 Ibid. 6 Thomas Churchyard, A Sad and Solemne funeral of the right and honourable Sir Francis Knowles, (London, 1596). The exact lines from the verse reads: “Chaest life wins lawd, clean thoghts throw clouds doth mount/ True hart gains friends, and makes proud enimies blush” 7 Ibid. The full quote is: “Who stands vpright, feares neither foile nor fall… Liues like a saint, and gains immortall praies”
23 intrinsic connection between masculinity and a man’s prowess on the battlefield is by no means unique to the Renaissance. Indeed, this association has existed in all societies that place emphasis on war, most notably catalogued in literature originating from the Roman Empire.
Michael Stewart notes that in many cultures that rose to prominence primarily through military aggression, images of the soldier’s life and the ideal manly life were often the same.8 However,
Davies’ depiction of Devereux does not paint him solely as a soldier. Qualities such as self- restraint and temperance are also used to illustrate the notion that Devereux was blessed with virtues that shone both in the military and domestic aspects of his life; he exemplified the ideal of masculinity in both the public and private sphere. Similarly, Churchyard paints his subject with a blend of virtues – chastity, trueheartedness, and humility juxtaposed alongside courage, fortitude and pride.
The difference between private and public masculine honour then appears to be more than just a matter of location; the very virtues that embody masculine honour were different across the two spheres. Private honour seemed to require virtues that were more closely associated with the feminine – virtues such as humility, modesty, temperance and self-restraint.
Whereas, public masculine honour reflected those virtues reminiscent of the soldier – confidence, courage and strength. Private honour, for the most part, was contained in the domestic sphere, a location that was historically identified with the feminine. It is then perhaps not too much of a stretch to see how these feminine virtues came to be transferred to the cultural consciousness of masculinity in the private sphere. The key difference between private and public masculine honour then was in the cultural gendering of the virtues each type of honour embodied.
8 Michael Stewart, The Soldier's Life: Roman Masculinity and the Manliness of War, (Leeds: Kismet Press, 2014), 2.
24
Culturally, at this point in Renaissance England, virtues like modesty, temperance and humility were no longer solely associated with femininity,9 but they had no place amongst the masculine military virtues that were so commonplace in the public representation of men in literature and art. While a virtue such as humility might be associated with a small aspect of masculinity, we also need to consider where this virtue is deployed. These rather “feminine” virtues were not expected on the battlefield. However, these values of private honour did slowly creep into aspects of courtly conduct, challenging the traditional martial representation of masculinity.
Jennifer Vaught’s book, Masculinity and Emotion in Early Modern English Literature, highlights this gradual shift of values from a warrior culture to a culture that encouraged virtue through feeling and intellectual enhancement. Using Book VI of Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie
Queene as her primary source, Vaught points out that the location where men tended to “express intense affect” was within the private sphere —glades, hermitages, or intimate circles of dancing ladies on Mount Acidale.10 Rather than emasculating, these sojourns away from the public space are described as recuperative and/or instructive in the texts. We see in the The Faerie Queene that feminine virtues like temperance, chastity and humility do not undermine the Knights’ masculinity with Spenser placing the emphasis on “virtue,” as opposed to “feminine.” Thus, the criteria for courtly behaviour require an androgynous appropriation of gendered virtues in order for the Knights to “[balance] the masculine and feminine dimensions.”11
9 See Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene, Book II, which is named after virtue of Temperance, with Sir Guyon being the knight that embodies it. 10 Jennifer C. Vaught, “"To sing like birds i' th' cage": Lyrical, Private Expressions of Emotion in Book VI of Spenser's Faerie Queene” in Masculinity and Emotion in Early Modern English Literature (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 2008), 136-7. 11 Ibid., 137.
25
In Book VI of The Faerie Queene, we see both an appropriation of feminine virtues, as well as an inversion of the classic belief of the superiority of reason over emotion. As Vaught points out, “the interlacing of masculinity with emotional expressiveness and privacy thereby functions as a source of strength and renewal….”12 Drawing on this, we can find evidence for when these traditionally accepted feminine virtues were incorporated into other discourses of masculinity. Another place where we can see this previously dichotomous description of manly virtues is within the conduct manuals that pervaded the discourse of the period. Also called courtesy books, they covered topics from religion and ethics to social awareness and social conduct, and targeted different audiences during the Renaissance. Some versions aimed at a small aristocratic readership, and some were aimed towards a larger gentry and middling class audience.13 Like the funeral sermons seen above, conduct manuals (particularly those printed at the end of the sixteenth century) portray ideal masculinity as a blend of both traditionally masculine and feminine virtues.
These books cover a wide range of topics, especially in regards to masculinity.14
However, what we may find most useful to our research is the growing concern over the emasculation of men. This was a fear that manifested in these manuals in a variety of ways, ranging from cuckolding to female gossip tarnishing masculine reputations. For example, in his conduct manual, The English Gentleman (1630), Richard Braithwaite draws on humoral medical theory to present his fear that young men who are lust-filled are in danger of giving into
12 Ibid., 137. 13 Gina Hausknecht, “‘So Many Shipwracke for Want of Better Knowledge’: The Imaginary Husband in Stuart Marriage Advice,” The Huntington Library Quarterly 64 (2001), 83. Hausknecht depicts a change in narrative of marriage discourse working concurrently with the shift of perception about the image and constitution of a husband in seventeenth century. She presents late sixteenth-century marriage literature dominated by didactic conduct books and sermonic literature, often aimed a relatively small, literate, elite audience. 14 For a more in depth study about the progression of masculinity across Renaissance conduct literature see Veronika Szekeres, Conduct Books in the Renaissance: From the Perfect Courtier to the English Gentleman, (Saarbrücken: Edizioni Accademiche Italiane, 2017).
26
“feminine passion” and are therefore in need of productive distraction.15 His solution to this is to advise his male readers to marry quickly so that they may be “employed” in both the private and public spheres of their lives. This evocation about conduct in both spheres of a man’s life echoes the way both domestic and martial virtues are praised in funeral sermons for noblemen.
The importance of the distinction between masculine behaviour in the two spheres is clearly demonstrated by Brathwaite’s subtitle, which includes the phrase, “How to demeane or accommodate himselfe in the manage of publike or private affaires.” In Brathwaite’s text, the role a man is expected to adopt in the different spheres of his life is made very plain: “The
Vocation of a Gentleman... is either publike or private. Publike, when imployed in affaires of
State, either at home or abroad... Private when in domestike busnesse he is detained, as in ordering his household…”16 Braithwaite's fairly straightforward explanation of public and private employment suggests the importance of the status of the householder, or head of the household. This quote also suggests that there was a preoccupation with the perception of masculinity within the private sphere.
This fear of “feminine passion” that needed to be mitigated with masculine reason was sometimes contradicted by the extolling of feminine virtues in men in the private sphere. When conduct manuals approach the subject of masculine behaviour within the private sphere (such as a husband’s behaviour to his wife, or a father’s to his children), the values that men are exhorted to develop are the same as feminine virtues described in the funeral sermons above. This inconsistency was never noted by the authors of these manuals because they did not gender the virtues they attributed to men and women, despite the social and cultural valency of these terms.
15 Richard Braithwaite, The English Gentleman (1630), 27. 16 Ibid., 136.
27
Most notably, the virtue of humility is evoked across conduct manuals for men from the latter part of the sixteenth century. In The English Gentleman, Braithwaite states that “there is no Ornament which may adde more beauty or true lustre to a Gentleman, than to be humbly minded; being as low in conceit, as he is high in place.”17 He makes the connection between humility and godliness by saying that “Humilitie is said to purchase Gods favour; for by that one vertue wee become to have a resemblance of him, whose glory it was to disesteeme all glory to fashion us like unto himselfe.”18 Alongside humility, Braithwaite insists that this virtue should be accompanied by the similar qualities of meekness and compassion. In his language,
Braithwaite seeks to elevate these qualities by forming comparisons between the gentlemen who possess them, and higher, masculine figures of authority, such as God (in the case of humility).
Compassion is a virtue that would be considered alien to the militaristic code of masculinity, but in this text, it is a quality that appears in “the renowmedst and most glorious Princes.”19
Meekness is also a quality better attributed to the ideal woman as opposed to a gentleman, yet for
Braithwaite it is “a qualitie so inherent, or more properly individuate to a Gentleman, as his affabilitie will expresse him, were there no other meanes to know him.”20
What is important to note here is the context in which Braithwaite is advocating these feminine virtues. The majority of Braithwaite’s manual is written with the objective of instructing men on how to behave during the courtship process and during marriage. While some of his discussions on humility and modesty are relevant to a gentleman’s behaviour at court, Braithwaite also notes the importance of martial values, like strength and valour, in the public representation of masculine honour. Therefore, it would be fair to say that the majority of
17 Ibid., 62. 18 Ibid., 63. 19 Ibid., 62. 20 Ibid., 61.
28
Braithwaite’s advice on gentlemen adopting feminine virtues was intended towards a man’s behaviour in the private sphere – that is, only displayed to those who are part of his inner circle.
As the century turns, we see more and more of these virtues being incorporated into courtly behaviour, with purely militaristic values not providing sufficient dimension to the notion of an ideal gentleman.21 We can especially see this change occurring in Baron William Cecil
Burghley’s writing to his son, “The counsell of a father to his sonne, in ten seuerall precepts left as a legacy at his death.” 22 In his text, Burghley advises his son to be humble in both private and public – by stating that he should show humility to both his superiors and inferiors.
When writing about the origins of courtesy, Vaught notes that in the Proem to Book VI, courtly virtues are said to stem from within a secluded space associated with a feminine body and mind.23 In the poem, the Garden of Adonis (whose description is reminiscent of a womb) is said to be a fertile ground where "the sacred noursery" of courtesy contains "heauenly seedes" that are derived "of bounty soueraine" and with "labour nurst" (VI.iii.7-8). The use of the word
“nursery” would not have been an accident, and indeed the language evoked by the Garden’s description does bring to mind particular feminine characteristics such as fertility and maternal care. Additionally, in early modern architecture the nursery within a household was frequently occupied by women and children.24 Spenser further underlines the space as both domestic and
21 A point of interest might lie in the reasons behind the gradual shift in perceptions of masculinity during this time. A significant change in the social and cultural construct was the presence of a woman on the throne. The existence of a female monarch would have meant that the entire country might be perceived as the part of the “domestic sphere,” resulting the permeation of private masculine conduct into the English court. Additionally, as queen, Elizabeth demanded her courtiers exhibit both martial and courtly prowess, further bas queen England as a domestic sphere, highlighted feminine virtues, emphasis on feminine virtues, propagating a code of conduct that was more androgynous than traditionally masculine. 22 Baron William Cecil Burghley, The counsell of a father to his sonne, in ten seuerall precepts left as a legacy at his death. The full quotes reads: “Towards thy superiours be humble yet generous, with thy equals familiar, yet respectiue, towards inferiours shew much humility and some familiarity, as to bow thy body, stretch forth thy hand, vncouer thy head, and such like popular complements.” 23 Vaught, 138. 24 See OED "nursery," La.: "a room or area of a house set aside for babies and you children, especially for those in the care of a nursemaid; a child's bedroom or playroom…. 1 .b.: "a room reserved for women."
29 feminine by noting that this "siluer boure" is "hidden ... / From view of men, and wicked worlds disdaine" (3-4). The vales and virtues that form a part of the mode of courtesy are within the private sphere because they lie "deepe within the mynd, /And not in outward shows" (v.8-9). It is when these feminine virtues of courtesy are taken outside of the domestic sphere that we begin to see “the fashioning of ideal, androgynous identities.”25
The English Gentleman was not the only conduct manual that advocated for the masculine appropriation of feminine virtues. Roger Ascham’s The Schoolmaster called for an encouragement of the values of modesty and humility while raising young gentlemen. In his text, Ascham goes so far as to say that the promotion of these feminine qualities in the youth will make for better warriors when they are grown. He gives the example of the upbringing of the young men of Athens, and points out that it is a “great shame” that the Christian men of England do not follow the same:
It was som shame to a yong man, to be seene in the open market: and if for businesse, he passed throughe it, he did it, with a meruelous modestie, and bashefull facion. To eate, or drinke in a Tauerne, was not onelie a shame, but also punishable, in a yong man.26 Ascham further adds that “Athens, by this discipline and good ordering of yougthe, did breede vp… so manie notable Capitaines in warre, for worthinesse, wisdome and learning…”27
What is fascinating about Ascham’s text is that he seems to advocate for young men to be contained in the private sphere, as opposed to being allowed to wander public spaces like “the open market.” Additionally, if it is necessary for a young man to be in the private sphere, he occupies the space with humility and modesty, particularly in the traditionally masculine- gendered world of “business.” In Ascham’s text these feminine virtues are not confined to the
25 Vaught, 138. 26 Roger Ascham, The Schoolmaster, (1570), 17. 27 Ibid., 17.
30 private sphere, but they are pertinent to a social group that is not yet ready to enter the public sphere. Thus, these are virtues that young men need to carry from a domestic setting to a social one, in order to successfully navigate it.
The manner in which Burghley, Braithwaite, and Ascham discuss private and public seems to indicate that the terms function as binaries and that the definition privacy was simply the opposite of public. However, as the letters, poems and miniature portrait of Robert Sidney suggest, this singular definition of privacy exists only in prescriptive texts and not in the lived experience of early modern England. As we read conduct manuals and funeral sermons, it is important to keep in mind that they present an idealized version of Renaissance life, and that privacy was an evolving term, very much dependent on the location, audience and context of an individual artefact.
Having developed a contextual basis for some of the strictures governing masculinity during this time, we can now analyse Robert Sidney’s letters to see how these are adhered to, and study the interplay of these strictures in theory and in practice. We need to reflect on the tensions between the private and public image of himself that Robert Sidney attempted to cultivate, and his success (or lack thereof) in doing so. We can analyse these tensions by studying discussions between Robert Sidney and his wife in their correspondence over domestic and familial matters that tended to straddle the line between public and private (as so many matters did during the Renaissance).
We can thus form an idea of the version of masculinity Robert Sidney wanted to emulate.
One example of this is during an exchange where Barbara clearly accuses him of extravagance when he borrows 1000 pounds from the Earl of Essex to outfit himself for his embassy to the
King of France (Letters 22-24), an accusation we can infer from his defensive reply to her.
31
Robert defends this as a necessary business expense - and perhaps it was, since he won the friendship of the King - but when we look at accounts of his expenses we can see why Barbara might well have questioned his spending all that borrowed money on twelve new court suits, a magnificent cloak lined with sable, and the livery for his pages and footmen. To Robert it was a reasonable expense, for his father, Henry Sidney, appreciated the need for display and, as
Governor of both Ireland and Wales, lived in a magnificent style. Henry had taught his son to emulate this display, telling him during his European travels that he would give him “such a suit of apparel, as shall beseem your father's son to wear, in any court in Germany.”28
The need to dress the part of the successful courtier was noted in a number of courtesy books (particularly in Thomas Hoby’s translation of Castiglioni’s The Courtier, which was first published in 1561). The Courtier was a text that would have had a great influence on Henry
Sidney, as the two men had a close relationship. Indeed, while translating The Courtier, Hoby wrote and sent an Italian grammar guide to Henry Sidney for his personal use.29 The English version of Castiglioni’s text has this to say about clothing:
….he ought to determine with himselfe what he willappeere to be, and in suche sorte as he desireth to bee esteamed so to apparaile himselfe, and make his garmentes helpe him to be counted suche a one, even of them that heare hym not speake, nor see him doe anye maner thyng.30 As per Hoby’s translation, in order to be seen as a gentleman of means, a man must spend the necessary capital in order to comport himself in magnificence. The aim of this strategy was certainly not to show humility or modesty, rather to put on an unapologetic display of wealth and
28 Elegant Epistles, Or, A Copious Collection of Familiar and Amusing Letters: Selected for the Improvement of Young Persons, and for General Entertainment, from Cicero, Pliny, Sydney ... [et Al.]. (H. Chamberlaine and Rice, 1790), 216. 29 Peter Burke, The Fortunes of the Courtier: The European Reception of Castiglione's Cortegiano, (University Park, PA: Penn State Press, 1996), 56. 30 Baldassare Castiglione, The Book of the Courtier, trans. by Sir Thomas Hoby (1561), Book 2, http://www.luminarium.org/renascence-editions/courtier/courtier2.html
32 class. However, as we have seen in the later courtesy books, the purely masculine military honour culture embraced by Henry Sidney's generation was gradually replaced by the masculine ideal of the obedient courtier, where such extravagance came to be seen as imprudent. We can particularly see this in the culture of modesty and humility advocated in William Cecil
Burghley’s counsel to his son and in Roger Ascham's The Schoolmaster.
As Vaught writes in her chapter about private expressions of emotion in The Faerie
Queene, “….the prominence of the literary image of the ideal chivalric warrior was fading and becoming part of the antique past in the minds of many Elizabethans.”31 She points out that during Elizabeth’s reign, a large number of men from the nobility were pursuing professions at court rather than on the battlefield. This is why, in such literature as The Faerie Queene or
Shakespeare’s As You Like It, the focus is more on rhetorical aptitude of the male leads, with emphasis placed more on their “emotional expressions” than their the “militaristic feats of chivalric prowess.”32 Vaught maintains that it is important for the ideal Elizabethan courtier to present a well-rounded image – one of courtesy as well as martial ability. This is why Spenser places within the private sphere of courtesy many different types of men with various public duties, including chivalric knights, courtiers, statesmen and poets.
Robert’s clinging to his father’s expectation of masculine honour probably played a part in his somewhat ill-favour with the Queen, which ultimately led him to a post that kept him away from the Court, his family and England. His desire to return to his rightful place, in both the
Queen’s estimation, as well as his own estate, is a common theme across his letters. In Letter
126, he states that he hoped to return to England, but his plans were subverted by the
31 Vaught, 138. 32 Ibid., 138.
33 machinations of his enemies at court.33 In another letter, he writes, “All my desires in England have had cross success and I see every day more and more the malice of mine enemies towards me.” (Letter 130).
As we can see from the excerpts of these two letters, Robert is anxious about his political and social potency being wrested away from him, which he believes does not allow him to be fully engaged with his socially conferred position of power. In his mind, this lack of control called into question his masculine agency, which motivated him to exert his masculinity in a sphere over which he might be able to wield his dominance. In the same letter in which he explains about his continued absence from court, he writes, “But I trust God will not suffer it to be long so: in the meantime I will look to mine own estate. . . .” (Letter 130).
Having proven unable to demonstrate his masculine prowess to the court’s approval,
Robert seeks control over his own estate, attempting to inhabit his socially approved space within the private sphere. One manner in which he attempts to show his masculine authority over those in his estate is to govern the education and raising of his heir. Despite being barred from Elizabeth’s court, in part due to the somewhat antiquated notions of masculinity that have been passed down to Robert from his father, Robert is determined to pass down this masculine guidance to his own son. This agenda recalls the funeral sermons seen above (such as
Waterhouse’s letter to Robert Devereux) – the legacy of the father needs to be a constant reminder to his son, imposing a highly idealised version of masculinity for the son to adopt.
In the correspondence to Barbara concerning the raising of their son, William Sidney, we can perceive that Robert saw himself as an extension of his father, and wanted that his son be an
33 Domestic Politics. The full quote reads as follows: “ . . . the hope I had to have gotten ere this into England. But herein I well perceive the practice of those, which like not my company at the Court; and I trust, if all things fall out well, that they shall have done me no hurt in it.” (Letter 126).
34 extension of himself. There is a conscious desire to imitate, and continue, and extend the formalities, traditions and mannerisms of masculinity that were prevalent during Henry Sidney’s time. We have already observed this phenomenon amongst the men of the nobility when examining the letter Waterhouse dedicated to Devereaux’s son and heir upon the death of his father. The letter prompts the new Earl to live such a life in which he imitates his father exactly, and then to eventually surpass him and carve his own place amongst society.
In these letters to his wife, there is a point in their exchange that particularly deals with
Robert’s frustration over his inability to demonstrate to his son the same “masculine” values and virtues his own father showed him. Looking closer at this moment in the correspondence between husband and wife, we see the friction created over disputes about raising the Sidney heir. Robert’s anxiety over the emasculation of his son, which would by extension be seen as effeminacy of himself, is evident in the letters to his wife.
In Poetry and Paternity in Renaissance England, Tom MacFaul states that the traditional
“sacredness” of a father-son hierarchal line was constantly tarnished by the presence of female
“interruptions” – such as mothers, wives and daughters. Though they were seen as necessary for the continuation of a family line, these feminine disturbances were continual causes of barely repressed anxieties in a number of ways. To give an example: “Wives and mothers were regarded as either unreliable or effeminizing… loved as they often were, women were reckoned to be fundamentally inferior, especially in their intellects.”34
Robert’s relationship with his wife via his correspondence aptly displays this alternating between affection and a lack of regard. He did not share news of his work with her, only household and family matters. His wife was not to be occupied with the work that he did in the
34 Tom MacFaul, “Presumptive Fathers,” in Poetry and Paternity in Renaissance England: Sidney, Spenser, Shakespeare, Donne and Jonson, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 20.
35 public sphere. As a sounding board, she was only there to hear and help him in the private sphere. Robert used a more affectionate and informal style in writing to his wife than in his business or political correspondence. There were none of the literary allusions, classical references, or clever word play. Nor did he display the knowledge of classical and modern languages so evident in his political Commonplace Books. He rarely discussed the details of his work in Flushing; sometimes he mentioned to her that he had sent “news,” or political reports, to his sister, or to his daughter Lady Mary Wroth, but he normally wrote to Barbara in a simple, plain style, focusing primarily on family and personal matters, including occasional court gossip.
We see in the letters to his wife that Robert was worried about his son’s close proximity to women, and the lack of male role models in William’s life. It is important to note that Robert himself was far away from his household, resulting in a lack of control over his son’s upbringing which clearly caused him much anxiety:
For the boy… I pray you disuse him from lying with his maid. For it is not good for him, and I will have him taken from it. I know that those things are nothing pleasing to you: But you must remember, I have part in them, as well as you, and therefore must have care of them. I know also, that a better, and more careful mother there is not, than you are; and indeed, I do not fear anything so much as your too much fondness. (Letter 126) In the passage above, it is apparent that Robert recognizes Barbara’s “over-fondness” of their son as the chief hindrance to the development of William’s masculinity. There appears to be a deep- rooted anxiety over the “interference” of the feminine presence of the household. This may be due to the tendency to regard the Renaissance household and the private sphere as the feminine domain. We clearly see this in Robert’s assertion that he has as much a “part in them” as
Barbara does. With these words, he is attempting to reinstate himself in his usurped position of power by reminding his wife of the biological authority granted to him as the father of their children.
36
It was believed that the masculinity of the male children of the household was “tainted” by the close proximity of feminine characteristics. MacFaul states that “To be a man in most pre-feminist societies is to identify with the paternal line; the classic misogynistic trope attacking the proverbial mutability of women surely reflects male anxiety about women’s ability to interfere with this straightforward line, on the one hand by introducing the radical uncertainty of paternity, and on the other by altering a man’s sons — both in carrying and in nurturing them — so that the son is not an identical copy of the father.”35
We can see evidence of this in Sir Walter Raleigh’s “Instructions to His Sonne and
Posterity:” “Wives were ordayned to continue the generation of men, to transferre them, and diminish them, eyther in countenance, or abilitie.”36 Women had their role to play, but also were regarded tending to emasculate during the nurturing process. Raleigh’s text speaks to women’s
“diminishing” men as a result of “contaminating” the masculine seed through the process of pregnancy. However, we can further apply this analogy of “contamination” to the relationship between a mother (and nurse) and a young boy. Indeed, in his correspondence to Barbara, Robert is adamant that his wife only take charge of their daughters, leaving the rearing of their sons to him. In another letter, he claims, “For I know better what belongs to a man than you do” (Letter
127). His primary concern in this letter was about how his son’s education was being affected by withholding tutelage from a man:
Indeed I will have him lie from his maid, for it is time, and now no more to be in the nursery among women. But then will I have the boy delivered to his [the schoolmaster] charge only, and not to have him when he is to teach him to be troubled with the women. (Letter 127).
35 MacFaul, 3. 36 Sir Walter Raleigh, Instructions to His Sonne and to Posterity, (1632).
37
Robert’s tone in this letter seems to indicate a fear that his son’s constant association with women would result in immaturity and a low intellect, which could only be improved by removing him away from these negative influences. We see echoes of this same distrust of women, particularly the closeness between the boy and his nurse, in another letter to Barbara where Robert states that he wishes to separate William from the presence of his nurse because “it is unwholesome for any child to lie with an old body” (Letter 130).
From these letters, we notice that Robert did not believe that women could pass down the necessary feminine virtues of modesty, humility and temperance to his son without emasculating him. Indeed, it was rare for a man to be instructed on courtesy by a woman, though this is seen in some literary works, such as Book One of The Faerie Queene.37 But as we can see from the foregoing passages, Robert eschewed the somewhat androgynous mode of courtesy in favour of the more militaristic form of masculinity favoured by his father. At the time of the correspondence about the education of his son, Robert’s preoccupation with his son’s masculinity is largely a reflection of his own private honour, rather than the public perception of his own masculinity. William Sidney was mostly relegated to the private sphere of the Sidney household – he was not yet of an age to go to school, and was not a primary example of Robert’s public masculinity. William’s apparent femininity was abhorrent to Robert because it was an affront to how he perceived himself, as distinct from the feminizing aspects of his household.
Robert resisted valorising feminine virtues by trying to distance his son from the domestic sphere. He insisted in following the example set by his father, and persisted in
37 In Book I of The Faerie Queene, Redcrosse is aided in his recovery by Caelia’s daughters: Fidelia instructs him in discipline and the gospel; Sperenza comforts him, so that his sins do not again lead to despair, and Charissa "Gan him instruct, in every good behest [behaviour] / Of love, and righteousnesse, and well to donne." (I.x.33). It is noteworthy to point out, however, that Redcrosse’s instruction comes from both male and female agents. He is also tended to by seven charitable men, and taken up to a high hill by Contemplation, a wise old hermit.
38 maintaining an aspect of masculinity in both the private and public sphere that eschews feminine virtues. Unlike what Roger Ascham advises in The Schoolmaster, Robert was determined to remove his son from the domestic sphere, believing it to be an improper place for William’s education. This demonstrates his lack of understanding of the cultural shift in the perception of masculinity, as well as a failure to see the significance placed on feminine virtues within the
Elizabethan court. Robert was denied the culturally assumed power and agency that his gender and rank afforded him by the Queen and her Court, and he was further supplanted from his physical position as head of the estate by his wife. These two coinciding events inverted the natural hierarchy of masculinity, and could potentially skew William Sidney’s worldview on the natural order of authority. In order to restore the traditional, martial standard of masculinity,
Robert needed to reassert his dominance over his wife and children, particularly as he was barred from doing so at Court.
What we see in this correspondence from Robert to his wife, is his anxiety about the feminine influence on his son, and more importantly, the lack of masculine influence and input from himself. This echoes the same impotence he must have felt at being away from Royal court in England, and his inability to display and prove his masculinity to the Queen. We can draw parallels between the lack of agency Robert must feel, both in the domestic and public spheres, and at the hands of two women of power – Queen Elizabeth and his own wife, Barbara Gamage.
In letters to his wife regarding his concern over his lack of presence at the English court, as well as the raising of his heir, we can draw the conclusion that he worries about the feminine influence of masculine image – both his own and his son’s – by these two women who do not traditionally represent social constructs of masculine power. Robert sees his son as a
39 construction of his masculinity, and thus desires his heir to function in a similar manner to his poems and miniature portrait (which we will see in the next two chapters).
Most of the tension that occurs within these selected letters arises from Robert’s desire to merge the traditional notions of masculinity with the contemporaneous codes of conduct
(particularly as he did not seem as adept at winning the favour of the court with the same apparent ease as his elder brother). Without his private defence of his image and honour to
Barbara (reflected in his frustration at being absent from both the English court, and his estate), we would not know of his struggle of maintaining his masculinity in the face of feminine authority, and protecting his legacy from the same.
In this chapter, we have uncovered a version of masculine honour that comprises traditionally accepted feminine virtues. As we have demonstrated, this type of honour is mainly associated with the private sphere, whilst the more customary militaristic mode of manhood was what was displayed in public. However, at the turn of the seventeenth century, we begin to see some aspects of private honour colouring masculine codes of conduct in public as well, though these are very few and very much overshadowed by martial prowess. Robert Sidney was a nobleman who tried to find his footing amidst this shifting of masculine virtues. His letters to his wife demonstrate his attempt to assume his position in the natural hierarchy of society and culture, but he was unable to do so because of his inability to balance the delicate distinction between private and public honour. As a result, he was denied the cultural and biological authority afforded to him (by virtue of being an English nobleman) by powerful women in both the private and public sphere. There is a tension between Robert’s emulation of the masculine virtues passed down by his father, and the newer, more androgynous version of masculinity
40 favoured by Elizabeth’s court. Through the next two chapters, we may be able to see these tensions manifested through the artistic endeavours of Robert Sidney and his contemporaries.
41
Chapter Two
Shame, Conscience and Emasculation: Private Honour and the Sonnets of Robert Sidney
In his Defence of Poesy, Philip Sidney argues that Plato does not call for the expulsion of poets because of “effeminate wantonness,” stating “little should poetical sonnets be hurtful when a man might have what woman he listed.”1 The mention of effeminacy speaks to the prevailing discourse over the nature of sonnets during the time the Defence was published. Philip would go on to demonstrate how sonnets serve to extoll the “immortal goodness” of God, instead of undermining the masculinity of the speaker. However, the very fact that he brings up this connection is relevant to our understanding of how sonnets represent masculinity and honour, as well as the different circumstances (especially those in private) of this representation.
In this chapter, we will use sonnets as a means to explore the depiction of masculine honour in private. In particular, we will study the unprinted sonnets of Robert Sidney, and the different manifestations of masculinity within them. To start with, we need to understand the converse of the concept of honour – that is, shame. Shame is intrinsically connected to the conscience.2 Thus, we should begin by taking a closer look at how the relationship of morality to masculinity was understood in early modern English discourse, and what that reveals to us about shame in the private sphere.
The OED defines conscience as “the internal acknowledgement or recognition of the moral quality of one's motives and actions; the sense of right and wrong as regards things for
1 Philip Sidney, The Defence of Poesy [1595], Luminarium, University of Oregon, 1995. http://www.luminarium.org/renascence-editions/defence.html. 2 "shame, n." OED. The painful emotion arising from the consciousness of something dishonouring, ridiculous, or indecorous in one's own conduct or circumstances (or in those of others whose honour or disgrace one regards as one's own), or of being in a situation which offends one's sense of modesty or decency. 42 which one is responsible.”3 It also includes the following quote by John Marbeck, writing in
1581: “The conscience verilie is the knowledge, iudgement, & reason of a man, whereby euerie man in himselfe, and in his owne minde, being made priuie to euerie thing, yt he either hath committed or not committed, doe either condemne or acquite himself.”4
“Every man in himself, and in his own mind,” suggests self-reflection, and self-care – the ability to take stock of oneself through introspection, and to review one’s actions in order to deliberate one’s moral status. That this introspection is a private matter, primarily existing only within each person, is clear in the expression, “in himself and his own mind.” If a man were likely to share matters of conscience with other persons, they would have to be those who are very close to him. Conscience, according to the OED and to Marbeck, seems to be a force whose sole purpose is the determination of right and wrong.5 According to Camille Wells
Slights, most women and men living in England in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries considered the word “conscience” to be both “a private inner voice and the obligatory force of moral law.”6
3 "conscience, n.". OED Online. December 2018. Oxford University Press. http://www.oed.com/view/Entry/39460?rskey=u6DrcZ&result=1. 4 John Marbeck, A Booke of Notes and Common Places [1581], EEBO, 16 May 2020, 248, http://gateway.proquest.com.ezproxy3.library.arizona.edu/openurl?ctx_ver=Z39.88- 2003&res_id=xri:eebo&rft_id=xri:eebo:citation:99847279. 5 For more about conscience see: Mauricio Martinez, "Terrors of Conscience: Thomas Nashe and the Interiorization of Presence," Renaissance and Reformation / Renaissance Et Réforme 36, 2 (2013), 45-74; Randall Zachman, The Assurance of Faith: Conscience in the Theology of Martin Luther and John Calvin (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993). 6 Camille Wells Slights, "Notaries, Sponges, and Looking-glasses: Conscience in Early Modern England," English Literary Renaissance 28, 2 (1998): 232. See also: William Perkins, The Workes of that Famous and Worthy Minister of Christ in the Universite of Cambridge, Mr. William Perkins. Newly Corrected According to His Owne Copies. with Distinct Characters, and Contents of Euery Booke, and Two Tables of the Whole: One of the Matter and Questions, the Other of Choice Places of Scripture [1635], EEBO, 16 May 2020, http://ezproxy.library.arizona.edu/login?url=https://search.proquest.com/docview/2248571599?accountid=8360, 2. Perkins emphasized this duality by pointing out that the etymology of “conscience” combines “con,” with, and “science,” knowledge. Thus “conscience” “signifieth a knowledge, joyned with a knowledge. . . . First, because when a man knowes or thinkes any thing, by means of Conscience, hee knowes what he knowes and thinkes. Secondly, because by it, man knowes that thing of himselfe, which God also knows of him.” The conscience, Perkins says, is “a thing placed of Godin the middest betweene him and man, as an arbitratour to give sentence . . . it is (as it were) a little God sitting in the middle of mens hearts.” 43
The policing force of conscience appears to be in its ability to evoke shame in a person upon reflecting on her/his wrongdoing. Martin Luther noted that it was only self-knowledge that allowed for Christian penitence, observing that only when a man has “knowledge of himself, then he becomes truly repentant.”7 Another text where we can observe the regulatory nature of shame is the play Richard III by William Shakespeare. The second murderer of the text labels his doubt over his actions as an attack of conscience, stating that “. . . A man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with h s neighbor’s wife, but it detects him. ’Tis a blushing shame-fac’d spirit that mutinies in a man’s bosom.” (1.4.134-
39). In Thomas Rogers’s A Methode unto Mortification (1586), translated from a Spanish work by the Catholic Diego de Estella, physical and bodily desires are reason enough for a man to feel shame. To quote Rogers, “Blush therefore, and be thou ashamed that so thou abusest thie desires, by cleaving unto the filthie doung of the world.”8 It may prove useful to juxtapose such established Christian doctrine with the flowery verse associated with Renaissance love poems.
Sonnets may allude to a spiritual and emotional release, but they are emphatically corporeal and physical in their descriptions of the beloved object.
The language used in the description of shame in religious and literary works tends to place it firmly in the private sphere. Texts that were a part of this “shameful” discourse were full of metaphors that underscored how the delving into this emotion is equivalent to the exposure of secret thoughts. For example, in his book, Rogers commands the reader to “Enter thou into the secrete closet of thine own conscience.”9 Another example of the secretive and invasive nature
7 Luther's Works, edited by Jaroslav Pelikan and Walter A. Hansen, (St Louis, MO: Concordia, 1963), 26:131. 8 Thomas Rogers’s A Methode unto Mortification [1586], EEBO, 16 May 2020, 139. http://gateway.proquest.com.ezproxy3.library.arizona.edu/openurl?ctx_ver=Z39.88- 2003&res_id=xri:eebo&rft_id=xri:eebo:citation:99849740. 9 Ibid., 431. 44 of understanding masculine shame can be found in The True Tryall and Examination of a Mans
Owne Selfe by Andreas Hyperius, which was translated by Thomas Newton in 1587. In this text,
Newton’s translation exposes shame in language that displays the intrusiveness of the act in vividly physical terms: “For herein are there breifly, plainly, familiarly and methodically laid open, ripped up, displayed, anatomized and unfolded (in effect) all the secret corners & starting hoales of the inward man.”10
The connection between shame, privacy and emasculating desire can perhaps best be understood by studying the case of Armado, a character from William Shakespeare’s Love’s
Labour Lost. When Armado confesses his love for Jaquenetta to Mote, he calls himself “base” and reviles himself for having these effeminised desires that cannot be quelled by the phallic
“sword.”11 Jane Kingsley-Smith argues that this scene should be read as “significantly private,”12 as according to the stage directions, the only characters present in the scene are
Armado and Mote. Thus, when Armado utters these sentiments, Kingsley-Smith notes that “his confession before a social inferior suggests that he stands in judgment over himself.”13 Thus, the audience for this lambasting is actually himself, in a bid to either give into or overcome the directives of his conscience. As readers of the play, we understand that Armado will have his
10 Andreas Hyperius, “To the the right noble and excellent Lady, the Lady Lettice, Countesse of Leycester,” in The True Tryall and Examination of a Mans Owne Selfe, trans. by Thomas Newton [1587], EEBO: TCP, 16 May 2020, http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A01629.0001.001. 11 The full quote reads: “I will hereupon confess I am in love; and as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with a base wench. If drawing my sword against the humour of affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I would take desire prisoner and ransom him to any French courtier for a newdevised curtsy. I think scorn to sigh.” (1.2.53–8) A similar sentiment of overriding conscience with military force is expressed by the titular character in Richard the Third, “Conscience is but a word that cowards use,/ Devised at first to keep the strong in awe:/ Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.” (5.3.329-334). 12 Jane Kingsley-Smith, "Aristotelian shame and Christian mortification in Love’s Labour’s Lost" in Shakespeare and Renaissance Ethics, eds. Patrick Gray, and John D. Cox (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 86. 13 Ibid. 45 public reckoning before his compatriots and the King, but as of Act 1 Scene 2, he has internalized the public perception of his shame in the private sphere. 14
In Armado’s case, he is unable to overcome his emasculating desire because of the very lack of physical control his feelings engineer within his body. An example of this loss of power is his response to meeting Jaquenetta: “I do betray myself with blushing” (1.2.118). This line is very effective because the association between blushing, blood and femininity are so intertwined, but the word “betray” reminds us that Armado’s body has failed in its purpose as both a man and a soldier. It has “betrayed” the very notion of public, militaristic honour that played such an important role, both in Renaissance England, as well as in the world of the play. However, this duplicity on the part of Armado’s passion is deftly navigated by Armado’s intent reinvention of himself. As he no longer fits the mould of militaristic masculinity, he leans into the effeminising emotions: “Assist me, some extemporal god of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet. Devise wit, write pen, for I am for whole volumes, in folio.” (1.2.162–4).
One might argue here that Armado chose to revel in the virtues of private honour, rather than public, exemplified by his desire to write sonnets in which he can express his experience with the private hell of desire. Kingsley-Smith notes, “Armado…. inscrib[es] himself within an alternative tradition in which he can hope to be consistent….”15 By “alternative,” Kingsley-
Smith is referring to the tradition of using writing to make sense of these emotions, as well as to make himself understood by the public “eyes of shame.” However, this chapter proposes that
“alternative” could be understood as a new brand of masculinity – one that is not completely dependent on militaristic values, and where feminine virtues are valorised not condemned. If we
14 A similar sentiment about the internalization of public humiliation can be found in Thomas Middleton’ A Chaste Maid in Cheapside, when Sir Walter Whorehound says in an aside, “When man turns base, out goes his soul's pure flame,/ The fat of ease o'erthrows the eyes of shame.” (2.2.41). 15 Kingsley-Smith, 87. 46 read Armado’s sentiments as a desire to be seen embodying an exaggeration of the masculine virtues of private honour, his subsequent actions may yet be construed as “manly.” For instance, rather than focusing on the public scorn he is to face from the King and his fellow soldiers because he could not adhere to the strict militaristic code of public honour, Armado argues to the audience that he is but one of many men that have failed to live up to such a harsh code. Indeed, amongst the examples of these “emasculated” men, he cites Hercules and Samson, two men of
Greek and Biblical myth that were known for their strength and martial prowess.16 According to
Armado, they too were susceptible to these effeminising emotions, yet the perception of these men did not suffer too greatly – they are still remembered as ideals of masculinity. Perhaps, if he were to reinvent himself in a new sphere, embodying a different code of honour, Armado too, would not have to fear the consequences of shame.
Having covered the close relationship between shame and conscience, we now move to how this shame is depicted in the art of the sonnet. In doing so, we find that the shame evoked by the poet is not one that his speaker wishes to overcome, in the manner described by the spiritual discourse relating to conscience. Instead, as we will see, the voice of conscience and reason is blatantly ignored, as the speaker chooses to revel in his shameful “emasculation.”
Indeed, we will demonstrate how poets highlight the sonnet hero’s shame in order to distinguish themselves from the speaker. This in turn, creates a perverse form of private honour, as well as masculinity in general, which contradictorily leads to valorising the speaker’s masculinity in his relationship with the beloved.
16 This dialogue takes place in 1.2, with Armado asking Moth to name “great men have been in love,” who also happen to be “men of good repute and carriage.” Armado also says of Samson, “I do excel thee in my rapier as much as thou didst me in carrying gates,” equating himself with the military hero in the face of his shame. 47
It is not a surprise to find that the trope of emasculating love, and the shame that went along with it, were frequent subjects of art forms that deal with the private sphere, such as sonnets and love poems. While some poets were part of large circles that involved critiquing each other’s poetry, for a large part of the Renaissance, continuing into the Restoration, many poets operated chiefly in the system of what Harold Love calls “scribal publication.”17 This process is described as “the distribution of a piece of writing through manual copying and personal networks rather than through printing for public consumption.”18 Essentially, a poet would pass copies of his work to intimate friends and family, who might have decided to pass those same copies of work to other friends, and so on. Love also shows how in certain cases, recipients of these poems made their own copies, for their own personal edification. Thus, poems ‘published’ through this method hinge between the private and public sphere. In their essay on manuscript culture, Steven May and Arthur Marotti argue that the majority of courtly poetry that is assumed to be first published in print was actually “widely available in manuscript copies…. and frequently appeared in print with or without authorial intervention.”19 May and
Marotti label Robert Sidney as “one side of the extreme” within this community of manuscript publication. Robert is counted as one of seven courtier poets (including Sir Nicholas Bacon, Sir
Arthur Gorges, Fulke Greville, Sir John Harington, Mary Herbert, the Countess of Pembroke, and Robert’s older brother, Sir Philip Sidney) who arranged fair editions of their work, and
17 For more information on these “coterie” poets, see Ted-Larry Pebworth, "John Donne, Coterie Poetry, and the Text as Performance," Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900, 29, 1, 1989, 61-75, and J. W. Saunders, "The Stigma of Print: A Note on the Social Bases of Tudor Poetry," EIC 1 (1951): 139-64. Pebworth notes that in the 1590s, young men wrote verse, and circulated it among themselves and among powerful courtiers “. . . . forming in effect an informal coterie, its membership constantly changing as new members joined and some of the older members dropped out, and the objects of its attention shifting as powerful courtiers gained or lost influence with the throne.” 18 Harold Love, Scribal Publication in Seventeenth Century England (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), 41. 19 Steven W. May and Arthur F. Marotti, "Manuscript Culture: Circulation and Transmission" in A Companion to Renaissance Poetry (Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons, 2018), 86. 48 distributed them amongst their friends and family.20 However, Robert Sidney distanced himself from the rest by sharing his poetry “only with members of his immediate family.”21 Scholars such as Josephine Roberts have noted Robert’s influence in the poetry written by his daughter,
Lady Mary Wroth.22 Yet, there is no evidence that his poems have been printed or published.
The only surviving text that contains his poetry is an autograph notebook, giving credence to
May and Marotti’s theory that his work may have only been shown to family members and friends.
Having established the realm in which Robert’s poetry might have been read, it now remains for us to close read his poetry to see what it reveals to us about private honour and masculinity. Sonnets arguably occupy the nebulous space between private and public. The sonnet hero is tormented in a private hell, aware of the emasculating shame if these private emotions of unrequited love, suffering and humility were to be made public.23 However, the majority of sonnets were published, either in print or in manuscript form, within the private sphere. Once the poet passed his work to another person, no matter the closeness of their relationship, the poem took a life of its own – and its subsequent “publication” was outside the poet’s purview.
This dual private and public nature of the sonnet is reflected in the male speaker’s tension in reconciling the emotional (private) nature that the form demands and the rational (public)
20 Steven W. May, The Elizabethan Courtier Poets: The Poems and Their Contexts, (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1991). It is important to point out that this is not an exhaustive list; there may be other aristocratic poets whose works are either lost or have not yet come to light. 21 May and Marotti, 86. 22 Josephine A. Roberts, The Poems of Lady Mary Wroth, (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1983), 47-48. 23 This chapter refers to the sonnet speaker as the “hero” because insofar as the poet and speaker are concerned, the actions of speaker within the realm of the poem constitute as “heroic.” The subjection to a tyrannical beloved is valorized instead of condemned, and the action of the speaker dismembering the beloved serves to reinstate the power back to rightful “hero” of the piece. 49 nature of reason that his masculine code of honour demands. We see an example of this in
“Sonnet 14” of Astrophil and Stella, where the heightening of this tension is represented by
Astrophil’s conversation with a friend.24 The poem evokes a scenario where Astrophil rejects the admonishments of his friend, who advocates a rationalistic, moralistic denial of love. The sonnet ends with Astrophil giving into the “sin” of emasculating passion, asserting that if virtuous love is sin, "let me sinfull be."25 Renaissance love poetry, and sonnets in particular, seem to follow a similar pattern of the male subject yearning for the unattainable female object.
A preliminary reading might have the readers assume that the female beloved has the power in the poem, as the male subject is emasculated by his desire for her, and thereby confers all authority to her. Not only is there an emasculation on the part of the male subject, but one might even argue that there is perversion of power at play – as notions of masculinity are subverted and the object appears to have more control than the subject.
In her book, Masculinity, Gender and Identity in the English Renaissance Lyric,
Catherine Bates notes that this type of subversion is very common in early modern poetry, and that the male subjects of love sonnets “defy the period’s model of a phallic, masterly masculinity.”26 Instead, they adopt characteristics that are closer to the model of private honour described in the previous chapter. Instead of displaying the militaristic form of masculinity associated with the public sphere, the relative privacy of sonnets allows these male subjects to adopt “positions of impotence, failure, and gendered discontent seeming wilfully to pervert what
24 Phillip Sidney, Astrophil and Stella [1591], Sonnet 14. Luminarium. University of Oregon, 1995. http://www.luminarium.org/renascence-editions/stella.html. All subsequent references are to this edition. 25 Leland Ryken, "The Drama of Choice in Sidney's 'Astrophel and Stella,'" The Journal of English and Germanic Philology, 68, 4 (1969), 651. 26 Catherine Bates, Masculinity, Gender and Identity in the English Renaissance Lyric, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 5. Bates also notes that male subjects “enslave themselves to their mistresses. . . . these figures pointedly deviate from an axiomatically empowered, active, forceful masculinity.” 50 might otherwise have been seen as the patriarchal norm.”27 The male figures of the poems choose to display their humility and subservience to their beloved, and “submit to emotional states of loss they neither hope nor wish to overcome.”28 These qualities (humility, subservience, and high emotion) are reminiscent of the types of traits constituting private masculine honour, but redefined to an exaggerated degree.29
We see this exemplified in Book VI of The Faerie Queene, when Calepine leaves behind
“his warlike armes” when he embraces Serena in the private sphere [that is, within a “couert shade”] (VI.iii.20). Spenser also eschews the typical descriptions of a chivalric knight in a wild, dangerous landscape by not having Calepine adopt traditional military garb when hunting down a bear. Instead, Calepine is triumphant in chasing the animal due to his freedom from his "heauy armes" (iv.19.1). These two instances where Calepine sheds his martial persona is indicative of his entry into a new sphere, one that requires a different code of honour than traditionally depicted. This new persona is highlighted by Spenser making a comparison between Calepine as a hunter, and a female hawk that is "her selfe freed / From bels and iesses" (19.7-8). It is a point of interest that the poet feels the need to liken Calepine to a female predator, a contrast that continues throughout this narrative, as Spenser goes to great lengths to demonstrate both his masculine and feminine qualities.30 Yet the deliberate simile shows how the allusion to some aspects of the feminine in the privacy of the wilderness was not treated as negative. Vaught notes that this shift in the English aristocracy from warriors to courtiers resulted in the
27 Ibid. 28 Ibid. 29 It is important to note that these aspects (humility, subservience, and high emotion) are qualities of private masculinity encouraged in male suitors, as opposed to husbands. The circumstance of the sonnet subject and object rarely involve a pairing between husband and wife, and such qualities would not be encouraged in husbands. 30 In the same episode with the bear, Calepine embodies an aggressive form of masculine honour by throwing a rock down the bear's throat, and then subverts it by wiping away tears from the child's "soft eyes" (23.4) and mollifying his "crying for food" (25.8). 51
“exchanging of armour for silk and the redefining of prior concepts of masculinity in more androgynous, less militaristic terms.”31
There is indeed a slight androgynous bent to the subject of the sonnets, but their feminine qualities are not given the same valence that Vaught indicates in The Faerie Queene. As this chapter will demonstrate, the sonneteer never has to lose face in public with the publication of his poetry, but within the realm of the poem, the shame of the speaker in the private sphere is inherently apparent to the reader. Within the private sphere of the sonnet, the speaker loses his agency by admitting his overwhelming feelings for the beloved, thereby conferring all the power to her. There is an emasculating desire exhibited in the poem, but there is also a revelling in this desire on the part of the speaker. The qualities displayed by the sonnet hero are components of a perverse form of the private honour discussed in Chapter One. The same effeminising emotions that constitute private masculine honour are depicted by the sonnet hero but to an exaggerated degree. The virtues of modesty, compassion and humility – encouraged by conduct manuals and other forms of early modern discourse – are reinforced in sonnets to an emasculating degree.
Ordinarily one might read this as a kind of shame, to be punished by the policing force of the conscience, which would direct the masculine hero to turn his back on passion and to look to reason. However, because this is an exaggerated form of private honour, the sonnet hero feels no compunction to alter his ways. As long as he is present in the private sphere, the shame he might customarily experience by the display of these feminine qualities is instead a mark of his devotion to the beloved. Therefore, in the private world of the sonnet, one might argue that the speaker is proud of his shameful emotions, and that they have their root in the genderless nature
31 Jennifer C. Vaught, “"To sing like birds i' th' cage": Lyrical, Private Expressions of Emotion in Book VI of Spenser's Faerie Queene” in Masculinity and Emotion in Early Modern English Literature (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 2008), 141. 52 of private honour encouraged in public discourse. Later, we will also see how the poet uses these aspects of the speaker’s “shame” to demonstrate his own skill, thereby inverting the emotion.
A part of this display of emasculation on the part of the subject of the poem actually valorises the poet. The theory behind this notion is that the poet wishes to express a higher desire, but because of the fallibility of language, he can only articulate himself in an ineffectual medium. For example, in Dante’s La Vita Nuova, it might appear that Beatrice is the desired object, but a close-reading of the text presents her in a new light. Dante’s sonnets to Beatrice serve as a sign of the pureness of love and devotion, which he indicates are demonstrative of his closeness to the Neoplatonic ideal.32 Dante is careful not to suggest that Beatrice has any control over his reason, going so far as to say that her image is so noble that it never allows Love to rule him. Joy Potter notes that this creates a unique dynamic between the author and the male god, a relationship that Beatrice is excluded from altogether.33 Furthermore, Dante continues to dehumanize and objectify Beatrice by reimagining her in the same vein as a holy relic.34 Potter states that the sonnets that follow these lines of prose praising Beatrice as a miracle help Dante fashion his ideal desired-object, while also demonstrating “his scholarly domination of male esoteric fields of knowledge.”35 More importantly, he achieves his ultimate Neoplatonic desire
32 Dante Alighieri, Vita Nova, trans. Andrew Frisardi, (Evanston: Northwestern UP, 2012). https://digitaldante.columbia.edu/text/library/la-vita-nuova-frisardi/ In Chapter One, Beatrice admits to lack of agency, saying "Ecce deus fortior me, qui veniens dominabitur mihi" ("Here is a god stronger than I, who is coming to rule over me"; 1.4), and later on, the poet is visited by the god of love who says, "Ego dominus tuus" ("I am your lord"). 33 Joy Hambuechen Potter, "Beatrice, Dead or Alive: Love in the Vita Nuova," Texas Studies in Literature and Language, 32, 1, (1990), 61. 34 In Chapter 17, Dante presents Beatrice as a miracle that people run to see in the streets: “Many said, before she had passed, ‘She is no mere mortal woman; rather, she is one of the beautiful angels in heaven.’ And others said, ‘She is a marvel; may the Lord be blessed who knows how to work such miracles!’” 35 Potter, 76. According to Potter, Dante cites the Arabic and Syrian calendars as well as Ptolemy, Church doctrine, and numerology. 53 by stating that his beloved is a wonder “ whose root is none other than the miraculous Trinity.”
In doing so, Dante displays his extraordinary scholastic ability to alter the object of his love from woman to God.36 The beloved is not the desired goal of the poet; rather, she is the means by which the poet achieves his desire for fame and recognition. However, the poet must achieve this by having his sonnet hero display these exaggerated qualities of private honour.
These tropes are more than exemplified in Robert Sidney’s “Sonnet 18:”
Most fair: the field is yours—now stay your hands; No power is left to strive, less to rebel. I pleasure take that at your blows I fell, And laurel wear in triumph of my bands. Ah how your eyes, the joys of peace, seem brands To waste what conquest hath assured so well; How your lawgiving lips in proud red swell, While my captived soul at mercy stands. O best, O only fair: suffer these eyes To live, which wait your will humble and true; These knees, which from your feet do never rise, These hands, which still held up swear faith to you,
O save: do not destroy what is your own. Just prince to spoil himself was never known.
In the poem, the beloved object is described in brutally direct, militaristic language, with all the power and agency clearly ceded to her by the male “I.”37 The speaker begins the poem by acknowledging the victory of the beloved and surrendering: “Most fair: the field is yours—now stay your hands;/ No power is left to strive, less to rebel.” These lines evoke images of a drawn-
36 For more information about the beloved as an object to the Neoplatonic ideal, see Natalia P. Koptseva, "The Way to God as the Way to Love in Dante Alighieri’s La Vita Nuova," Journal of Siberian Federal University, Humanities & Social Sciences 12 (2015). Koptseva argues that love is a path the poet needs to walk in order to reach God, quoting from Convivio: “The ennobled Soul proceeds in due order along a single path, employing each of its powers in its time and season, or even as they are all ordained to the final production of the perfect fruit.” 37 The Poems of Robert Sidney, edited by P. J. Croft (Oxford; Oxford University Press, 1984). All subsequent references are to this edition. 54 out battle, with a clear victor and loser. They leave the reader questioning the nature of this battle fought.
This reading of the sonnet is given credence by the immediate subservience and humility shown by the speaker after surrendering to the beloved in the first line of the poem. The subject takes “pleasure” in being vanquished, and “humbly” kneels at the beloved’s feet, waiting her will: “These knees, which from your feet do never rise,/ These hands, which still held up swear faith to you.” The speaker further shows his reverence for the beloved by comparing her to a prince, and himself to her possession, begging her not to be rid of him: “O save: do not destroy what is your own./ Just prince to spoil himself was never known.” The apparent joy associated with being conquered and mastered by the feminine object echoes Catherine Bate’s observations of the intricate relationship of pleasure and pain in Philip Sidney’s Astrophil and Stella.
Implicitly, there is a sense of the perversion of the masculine by ceding all the authority to the female object. However, as Bates points out, the very act of reflecting on these perversions through the sonnet form acts as a recuperation for the poet.
The sonnet then serves to work as a controlling force of conscience to the reader (and perhaps the poet), with the male subject of the poem being the “cautionary tale” of the dangers of giving in to emasculating emotion. This is only one reading of how the power structure in sonnets operates, and it ignores the inherent power that the subject has over the object. Nancy
Vickers details the violence inflicted upon the beloved within this power structure, and that will play into our reading of these sonnets later in the chapter.
The poet can work through these emotions in the private sphere, where the restrained expression of submissiveness, humility and modesty was part of the code of private honour. The shame induced by the exaggeration of these qualities is felt by the speaker, and is seen as a sign 55 of devotion, even as it is emasculating. Bates mentions Astrophil as a “negative example,” or an
“exemplary tale.” She notes that Astrophil is “the paradigmatic lover-fool who ‘Lookes to the skies, and in a ditch doth fall’ (sonnet 19), and whose sufferings are all too deserved, allowing the reader to extract from his manifold failings the satisfaction of a lesson learned.”38 To allow for this interpretation, we have to demarcate the space between the poet and that of his subject.
While Astrophil and the male subject of Robert’s sonnets are portrayed as inept and submissive, the poets’ “ability to discipline his character’s passions not only within an ethical framework but also within the strict confines of the sonnet form displays his poetic ‘mastery.’”39 For example,
Astrophil asserts that a kiss from his beloved bestows on him the ability to write eloquent poetry:
How falles it then, that with so smooth an ease My thoughts I speake, and what I speake doth flow In verse, and that my verse best wits doth please? Guesse we the cause: 'What, is it thus?' Fie no: 'Or so?' Much lesse; 'How then?' Sure thus it is: My lips are sweet, inspired with Stella's kiss. (Sonnet 74)
However, the “smooth” flow that Astrophil refers to in the beginning of the sestet does not continue for the last three lines, which contain too many end-stops, and therefore reads very sporadically. The sonnet hero seems unaware of this contradiction, but some critics, such as
David Farley-Hills, point out that this is Philip Sidney using “his mastery of poetic form to highlight Astrophil's deviation from discipline and good order.”40 This is an effective means of dissociating the subject from the poet, and allowing a shame-free exploration of emotion and self-reflection without recrimination. This exercise may also be taken as a sign of the poet’s
38 Catherine Bates, “Masochism in Astrophil and Stella,” in Masculinity, Gender and Identity in the English Renaissance Lyric, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 35. 39 Thomas P. Roche, Jr., Petrarch and the English Sonnet Sequences, (New York: AMS Press, 1989), 233. David Farley-Hills, “The 'Argomento” of Bruno's Degli Eroici Furori and Sidney's Astrophil and Stella,” Modern Language Review 87 (1992): 9. 40 Farley-Hills, 9. 56 ability to conquer and be rid of these weaker emotions, by revealing their mockery of the subject’s perceived weakness.
An important aspect of this recuperative process, and the revival of masculinity on the part of the poet, is the treatment of the beloved object. Sonnets where the masculine subject is emasculated by the beloved should logically bring forth feelings of shame, but instead, that shame is inverted by the skill of the poet. The power of the beloved is constantly undercut and overridden by the poet, who always maintains the superior position through this reduction of the desired object. Even in Robert’s “Sonnet 18,” where the beloved is shown to have complete militaristic sway over him, she is reduced to the sum of her body parts – lips and eyes – and is only addressed by the word “fair.” The objectification of the feminine implies that she has been captured, by words if not by the action of the poem, which spares the poet from some of the shame of emasculation.
In "Diana Described: Scattered Woman and Scattered Rhyme," Nancy Vickers notes that for “the speaker's "self " (his text, his "corpus")…. to be unified, it would seem to require the repetition of her [the object’s] dismembered image.” 41 This theory of the dismemberment of the female body works well with the Neoplatonic agenda of using the beloved as an object in order to reach a higher ideal. The beloved is a tool that needs to be utilised by the poet so that he can break through the limits of human language to be able to describe the divine and the ideal.
While we can see this being partly played out in Robert’s poem, it is also interesting to note that the subject appears to be dismembering himself for his beloved as well. In the third stanza, he breaks himself down to “these eyes,” “these knees” and “these hands.” This dismemberment once again problematizes the issue of the subject’s masculinity, as the sonnet
41 Nancy J. Vickers, "Diana Described: Scattered Woman and Scattered Rhyme," Critical Inquiry, 8, 2, (1981), 272. 57 shifts power between the subject and object.42 The depiction of the effeminising values of private masculine honour to this corrupted state where they emasculate and objectify the male subject may be another means by which the poet has to move past the restrictions of describing base passions in order to write “good” poetry. Violence is inflicted upon both object and subject, though in the subject’s case, the pain is masochistic.
We see a clear example of this type of violence in Robert’s Sonnet 15:
You that have power to kill, have will to save: O you, fair leader of the host of love, From yielding hands disarmed prayers approve Which joys nor wealth, but life of captive crave.
No weak or foe or force me vanquished gave That faint defence should scorn, not pity move: Virtue, fortune, skill, to my aid I prove; All by you broken, me forsaken have.
Your face, the field where beauty’s orders shine, What can resist? Your eyes, love’s cannons strong, The brave directions of your lips divine!
Wounded I try to ’scape: in guard along Legions of worth and graces I descry. What means then to withstand, what way to fly?
Once again, there is a clear dismemberment of the body of the beloved – her face, eyes and lips.
They are signifiers of non-human nouns, not characteristics of the woman: her face is the field belonging to beauty, the eyes are love’s cannons, and the lips represent the divine. There is a lot of similarity between this poem and Philip Sidney’s “Sonnet 29.” Both poems adopt a martial simile when discussing the desired-object, as well as allude to the divine nature of the
42 The dismemberment may also be a way of showing fealty to a figure of authority – such as the Queen. Some of the language of the sonnet – such as the law-giving lips, and the reference to a prince – allows for the assumption that the relationship described is that of liege and servant, rather than lover and beloved. As Elizabeth encouraged her courtiers to be suitors, perhaps this sonnet blurred the distinction between the two types of masculinity in a manner she might have appreciated. 58 components of the beloved. In the sestet of “Sonnet 29,” Philip’s hero also performs the same violent action of dissecting his beloved (Stella):
And thus her heart escapes, but thus her eyes Serve him with shot, her lips his heralds arre: Her breasts his tents, legs his triumphall carre: Her flesh his food, her skin his armour brave. (lines 9-12)
This sonnet demonstrates the process Vickers has described in Petrarch's blazons of Laura.
According to Nona Fienberg, this is the poet’s response to the danger that women represent “by dismembering his beloved in order to create his poetic corpus.”43 This objectification allows the poet to aggressively campaign to reach the Neoplatonic ideal by demonstrating his skill and dominion over the poetic form, by showing his authority over the feminine figure. The beloved forms the components of the sonnet over which the poet aims to prove his mastery. This
“othering” of the desired-object is the same process that we see in Dante’s treatment of Beatrice, that is, using the woman as a means to achieve the poetic power that translates into social elevation.
Scholars such as J.W. Saunders have discussed the use of sonnet writing as a means to
“draw the attention of the great ones surrounding the monarch to his cleverness and therefore his usefulness to the government.”44 Essentially, Saunders argues that the ability to write poetry was a means for those in authority to screen eligible gentlemen for services within the government and Court. According to Ted-Larry Pebworth, it was understood that the skills required to write sonnets could be easily translated to diplomatic and political work.45 This resulted in a homosocial network of men with social and political aspirations, who circulated their written
43 Nona Fienberg, "The Emergence of Stella in Astrophil and Stella," Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900, 25, 1, (1985), 8-9. 44 Saunders, 158. 45 Pebworth, 62. 59 work amongst themselves, and influential members of court. Though we have no definitive proof that Robert Sidney was involved in such a screening process, in his “Sonnet 15,” we see the similar reach for honour and status through female dismemberment. The honour that the poet wished to attain is not private – it is a violent, militaristic showing force over the feminine object. However, the poet achieved this by having his subject assume a completely exaggerated and perverse version of private masculine honour. We see this in the excessive humility and constancy of the speaker. These are not inherently bad qualities, and are claimed as virtues in conduct manuals, but within the sonnet they corrupt the social order, and are seen as vices.
In the poem, the speaker describes the beloved as an opposing “fair leader” who takes the poetic subject captive, and has complete control over him. This goes against the social norm, and therefore requires an immediate objectification of the beloved, so that the poet is safe from the threat of emasculation. The speaker is not so safe. Not matter how many qualities he possesses (“Virtue, fortune, skill,”), they are all “broken” by the beloved, reducing the speaker to beg for her pity, not scorn. However, this is not a source of shame for the speaker; indeed, he
“craves” his subsequent captivity. The perverseness of this form of private honour is justified to the speaker by his passion, not his reason.
Besides the type of emasculation associated with the unrequited love of the sonnet speaker, there is another manner of shame-induced weakness found in Robert’s sonnets – that of failure. Failure is a common trope in love sonnets too, particularly when the speaker is unable to win the heart of his beloved. Yet there are some poems that do not meet the requirements of a love poem, yet still address the emasculating fear of failing, such as Robert’s “Sonnet 17”:
The endless alchemist, with blinded will, That feeds his thoughts with hopes, his hopes on shows, And more his work proves vain more eager grows While dreams of gold his head with shadows fill, 60
Feels not more sure the scourge of flatt’ring skill, When in false trust of wealth true need he knows, Than I, on whom a storm of losses blows And tides of errors run: yet sail on still While my corrupted sense doth think it sees The long sought land of rest, and while to bliss I think there is a way, though yet I miss.
Thus shunning to have lost, I still do leese, And hope and want: and strive and fail: and prove Nor end with joys, nor end from cares in love.
This is a more egocentric poem than either Sonnets 15 or 18, because it does not mention a corporeal desired-object at all. Instead, we are presented with a yearning for “the long sought land of rest,” and other ephemeral allusions that do not make clear what it is the speaker craves.
The notion of shame and failure is stronger in this poem than in the previous two. As mentioned earlier, within the world of the sonnet, the speaker oftentimes revels in the emasculating emotions generated by the beloved. The hero wants to be portrayed as submissive, and to quote
Sonnet 15, he “craves the life of a captive.”
However, the lack of a beloved to be subservient to in Sonnet 17 problematizes the speaker’s relationship to emotion. The fear of failure and shame resonates strongly within the two strands of the poem – one that motivates him to persevere despite his failures (“And more his work proves vain more eager grows”), and one that instils a distrust in his faulty senses
(“blinded will,” “false trust,” “corrupted sense”). Throughout the poem, one can feel the tension between whether to trust in the hope that leads to the “storm of losses” or give into the despair that leaves the speaker without “joys” and with troubles in “love.”
One perspective of this sonnet is the likelihood that Robert is imitating the mocking action of Philip Sidney towards Astrophil. There is a tragicomical nuance to “the alchemist,” who insists on persistent action that is inevitability deemed unsuccessful. Additionally, some of 61 the language Robert uses displays the contradictory nature of the sonnet. For example, the lines
“And more his work proves vain more eager grows/ While dreams of gold his head with shadows fill.” Like Astrophil, the alchemist is convinced of his higher ability, an ability which Robert puts down by calling it “vain.” There is another similarity between the two, as neither Astrophil nor the alchemist realise the futility of their efforts, and feel encouraged to carry on, despite evidence to the contrary. Lastly, the contradictory notion of bright gold causing “shadows” to fill the alchemist’s head, also seems to be mocking his work. The only material that the alchemist can create is shoddy, not bright, and a corrupted version of something pure.
Keeping this reading in mind, we can draw comparisons between this sonnet and the previous two, and see how private masculine honour impacts all three. Unlike the earlier sonnets, which had an exaggerated form of private masculine virtues, there are no qualities or virtues associated with private honour in Sonnet 17. The only emotions demonstrated in this sonnet are fear and shame. We know from Robert’s letters to Barbara that these were emotions he was familiar with, particularly about returning to England and taking his rightful place at
Court. We are not arguing that this sonnet is autobiographical, only that the medium is one that
Robert took advantage of to contemplate these emasculating doubts and fears. The ambiguous locus of the sonnet allowed the poet to work through these negative emotions by displacing them on a speaker that he was then able to mock. This in turn, would allow him to retain his honour in the private sphere.
The exaggerated and posturing nature of the earlier love-sonnets, in their turn, demonstrates different degrees of emotion, and provide a unique way to bolster the poet’s masculinity. These poems provided a formula that allowed the poet to humble himself before a desired-object, in order to achieve the artistic endeavour of idolising a Neoplatonic ideal of love. 62
As discussed prior, this ideal was pursued not to result in the wooing of the dismembered woman, but to further the homosocial appreciation of the skill and talent of the poet. This type of sonnet used love and war to try to explain the ineffable with “fallen” language, which cannot do justice to a description of the divine. Therefore, poets needed to use the beloved as a means to reach that Neoplatonic pinnacle in order to prove themselves. To do this, they relied on perverting the qualities of private honour, in order to better posture their more violent, martial image in public.
The virtues and qualities associated with private honour that we noted in the previous chapter are very much evident in the artistic medium of the sonnet. However, as we have proven, the quasi-private nature of the sonnet allowed for a perversion of private honour. Sonnet heroes exhibit characteristics of private honour that have been exaggerated to such an extent that the nature of their masculinity comes into question. This is aptly demonstrated by the quote from the Defence of Poesy at the start of this chapter, regarding the anxious connection between sonnets and effeminacy. To fully understand how these qualities might be perceived as
“perverted,” we had to interrogate the subjects of shame and conscience. As we begin our investigation into the representation of private honour in visual media, it will be useful to note what form it will manifest in, and how this compares to its depiction in literature.
63
Chapter Three
The Depiction of Private Honour in Nicholas Hilliard’s Portrait Miniature of Robert Sidney
In a letter to the Earl of Shrewsbury in 1602, William Browne recounted an incident regarding Lady Derby’s miniature.1 The Queen, upon seeing a “dainty tablet” that Lady
Derby was wearing around her neck, demanded to see inside it. To this request, the Lady immediately begged off but was ultimately unable to stop the Queen from taking it away from her. There was no cause for Lady Derby’s refusal; it had only contained a portrait of her uncle, and showing it to the Queen would have done her reputation no harm.2 So why did she refuse to show it to the Queen?
The story of Lady Derby’s miniature illuminates an important feature of the miniature portrait – that is, in relation to the space it occupies. In the English Renaissance, the miniature existed in the liminal space between private and public. Just like the sonnet, there is a performative aspect to the miniature. And yet, these arts are not in the same public sphere as some of their counterparts – the epic poem and full-length portraits, for example.
This dichotomy of space is perfectly manifested in Lady Derby’s desire both to wear a portrait miniature around her neck in public, and contradictorily, to keep a portion of it private. The very act of wearing a miniature is a statement – the object itself, as well as the secret it possesses, is meant to be noticed. The idea of wearing a secret in public is the performative aspect, and by displaying it the wearer advertises a specific idea to the public: for example, the notion that they might be enjoying a secret courtship or lover. The secret,
1"Letter from William Browne to the Earl of Shrewsbury, 18 September 1602" in John Nichols's The Progresses and Public Processions of Queen Elizabeth: Volume IV, edited by Elizabeth Goldring, Jayne Elisabeth Archer, Elizabeth Clarke (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 198. 2 According to legend, Queen Elizabeth fastened this miniature portrait to her shoe, thereby indicating her favour towards the male courtier that was hidden inside Lady Derby’s jewel. Sometime after this incident, the same nobleman penned a poem which he offered to the Queen, who then showed her gratitude by moving his portrait from her shoe buckle to her elbow, and thus closer to her heart. See: Ann Sumner, “The Changing Role of the Portrait Miniature,” in Secret Passion to Noble Fashion: The World of the Portrait Miniature, edited by Ann Sumner and Richard Walker (Bath: Holburne Museum of Art, 1999), 11. 64 however, is never revealed, and is entirely dependent on whatever role the viewer chooses to believe the subject of the miniature occupies. In the case of Lady Derby, giving up the identity of her miniature would mean giving up her secret, and she would no longer be able to play the role she inhabited before her “jewel” was noticed by the Queen. Thus, she stages another scene, dragging out the performative element of the secret, creating the illusion that there is more to the portrait than it appears. Lady Derby plays her part in refusing to give up her secret, even though the “secret” is in fact no secret at all.
In this chapter, we will explore the nature of privacy in connection with miniature portraits, to see what they reveal about private masculine honour.3 In particular, we will be analysing Nicholas Hilliard’s miniature of Robert Sidney, focusing on the varying manifestations of masculinity that it may represent, and what they reveal about Robert’s ideas of honour. In order to do this, we will show how miniatures are an important artefact of intimacy, and how they occupy a liminal sphere between private and public. We will also see how masculinity is depicted in the miniatures of Robert Devereaux and Robert Dudley, and how it is represented differently in full-length portraits of Robert Devereaux and Robert
Sidney. Lastly, we will examine how Robert’s miniature portrait follows the style and fashion associated with Dutch portraiture, as opposed to English. This chapter argues that
Robert’s miniature portrait deliberately deviates from the conventional, highly decorated fashion of the English miniature in order to illustrate his association with the Netherlands, and thereby his rank as Governor. In his miniature, masculine honour manifests through the appropriation of the Dutch narrative of intellectual and moral superiority associated with simple, sombre clothing, pose and background. We have seen how private honour was
3 As discussed in the first two chapters, private masculine honour emphasizes the qualities of self-control, humility and modesty, as opposed to the public honour, which valorised courage and military conquest instead. 65 represented in Robert’s letters and sonnets, and this chapter will show how the ideas they revealed are manifested in the visual arts as well.
I. The Miniature Portrait of Robert Sidney
Robert Sidney’s miniature (Figure 1) was painted by
Nicholas Hilliard, circa 1590, around the time Sidney was
appointed the Governor of the cautionary town of Flushing
(in the southwestern Netherlands). The painting presents
some difficulty in its analysis because of its exaggerated
simplicity. This portrait is a watercolour on vellum which
Figure 1. Nicholas Hilliard. Robert was mounted on a playing card (the three of clubs) rather Sidney, First Earl of Leicester, ca. 1590. London, V&A Museum. than an ornamental case.4 There is not much scholarship on the artwork, probably due to its simplicity. It is mentioned as part of a larger collection of art in Roy Strong’s article, “The Leicester House Miniatures: Robert Sidney, 1st Earl of
Leicester and his Circle.” However, Strong does not go into much detail in analysing the portrait, mainly identifying it as Robert Sidney (based on its similarity to Robert’s full-length
1588 portrait) and giving an estimation of the date of its creation.5
Robert is portrayed facing left, in a three quarters profile. This angle creates a pleasing aspect of the person, making the portrait more approachable than if it were in strict profile. His gaze is directed straight towards the viewer, and his mouth appears to be partially open, as though he is about to speak or breathe. It makes the portrait seem more life-like and intimate, as if the subject is addressing the viewer directly.
4 Roy Strong, "The Leicester House Miniatures: Robert Sidney, 1st Earl of Leicester and His Circle," The Burlington Magazine 127, 991 (1985), 701. 5 Strong notes that the manner in which Robert’s hair is painted reflects a style that Hilliard adopted later in his career, in the late 1580s. See: Strong, “Leicester House Miniatures,” 701. 66
We do not have much information regarding the location of Robert Sidney’s miniature, or its audience. Its design and lack of frame suggest that it was not worn, but likely stored and viewed in a private space. A common place to keep these special artefacts was the Elizabethan cabinet or closet, which was a term used in Renaissance England for a private room in houses and palaces, a room serving as a study or retreat. They were usually furnished with books and works of art, and sited adjacent to the bedchamber. Such rooms might be used as a study or office, or just a sitting room. Heating the main rooms in large palaces or mansions in the winter was difficult, and small rooms were more comfortable. 6
Besides the closet, bedchambers were also another space where visitors would be able to engage in private conversation with their hosts. Bedchambers in the Renaissance had a smaller association with privacy than they do in modern times. These chambers may also have been used to host special guests, and to display treasured artefacts (such as furniture; the bed during this time was an important showpiece). However, no matter how “public” this space might seem to us, it was still relatively more private than other rooms of the house, such as the sitting or drawing room. We will address the topic of privacy and architecture in more detail in the next section.
Though we cannot say with certainty where Robert Sidney kept his miniature, or who he showed it to, we can look to other examples of early modern miniature owners. In 1595,
Sir Henry Unton, Elizabeth's ambassador to France, showed a miniature of the Queen to
Henry IV in the latter's bedroom. Unton notes that the French King had brought him to his private quarters in order to describe the charms of his mistress, Madame de Monceaux. It was in this " privat Place…between his Bed and the Wall," that Unton presented his own
6 "Studiolo from the Ducal Palace in Gubbio." The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Accessed March 22, 2017. http://www.metmuseum.org/metmedia/interactives/adults-teachers/studiolo-from-the-ducal-palace-in-gubbio. 67 limned "Mistress," the Queen. In his recounting this (probably exaggerated) tale to Elizabeth,
Unton notes that he only revealed his miniature of her under duress from the King:
that if, without Offence I might speake it, that I had the Picture of a farr more excellent Mistress, and yet did her Picture come farr short of her Perfection of Beauty. As you love me (sayd he) shew it me, if you have it about you. I made some Difficulties; yett, uppon his Importunity, offred it unto his Viewe verie seacretly, houlding it still in my Hande.7 There are two important factors that we need to focus on from this anecdote. The first is the location in which the miniature was displayed – that is the bedroom. As explained earlier, in
Renaissance the bedroom was not an uncommon place to receive visitors, but those visitors were definitely considered apart from the public. Matters discussed in the bedroom were intimate and to use Unton’s word “privat.” The second important detail of this story is the secrecy associated with the miniature portrait. Unton brags about his picture of the Queen, but then contradictorily exhibits a reluctance to actually having to show it to the French King.
Even when he does, he does so “secretly.” The dual nature of the miniature portrait – being something that is both displayed yet kept a secret – will be discussed in more detail later in the chapter.
Queen Elizabeth herself displayed her collection of miniatures to Sir James Melville, ambassador from Mary Queen of Scots, in her bedchamber at Whitehall in 1564.8 Melville’s account of the incident notes both the location of these portraits, as well as the care that
Elizabeth took with them: “She took me to her bed-chamber and opened a little cabinet, wherein were divers little pictures wrapt within paper, and their names written with her own hand upon the papers.”9 Like Unton’s experience, the secluded location in which these
7 "Sir H. Unton to her Majesty, from Coucy, February 3, 1595-6." William Murdin, A collection of state papers relating to affairs in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, from the year 1571 to 1596. Transcribed from original papers and other Authentic Memorials never before published, left by William Cecill Lord Burghley, and Reposited in the Library at Hatfield House [1759], Eighteenth Century Collections Online, March 22, 2020, http://find.gale.com.ezproxy1.library.arizona.edu/ecco/infomark.do?&source=gale&docLevel=FASCIMILE&pr odId=ECCO&userGroupName=uarizona_main&tabID=T001&docId=CW3302042485&type=multipage&conte ntSet=ECCOArticles&version=1.0, 718. 8 J. Melville, and A. Steuart, The memoirs of Sir James Melville of Halhill, 1535-1617, (London: Routledge, 1929), 92 and 94. 9 Ibid., 94. 68 miniatures are viewed does not seem to take the viewer by surprise. It seems likely then that
Robert Sidney’s miniature was likewise kept in a private room in Penshurst Place (the Sidney family seat), perhaps even his bedchamber.
When cataloguing the Leicester House miniatures, Strong claimed that this particular miniature painting was commissioned by Robert Sidney himself, and that it was part of the original collection of miniatures of the Sidney family. It is difficult to ascertain how true this statement is. Robert makes no reference to either commissioning a miniature of himself, or gifting one, in either his letters or his commonplace book. The collection of Sidney family miniatures were presented as a whole by George Simon, the second Earl of Harcourt (1736-
1809) to the South Kensington Museum. From his examination of Harcourt’s inscription, as well as the 1737 inventory of Leicester House (which was built by Robert Sidney’s son),
Strong opines that “the collection of miniatures belonging to the Sidney family . . . . was kept at Leicester House until 1743.”10
Another miniature that was part
of the Sidney collection, was the 1571
portrait of Robert Sidney’s uncle, Robert
Dudley, who was the Earl of Leicester of
the first creation (Figure 2). This portrait
is very different from Robert Sidney’s –
it has bright colours, gold trim, a
decorated background and intricately
detailed clothing and jewellery. Strong
dates this portrait based on the fact that Figure 2. Nicholas Hilliard. Robert Dudley, First Earl of Leicester, 1571-74. London, V&A Museum. Dudley appears younger in this image than in
10 Strong, "Leicester House Miniatures,” 694. 69 his 1576 miniature. In the painting, Dudley is wearing a black doublet with gold detailing, and he sports a gold chain that Strong claims would have held the badge of the Lesser George of the Garter.11 He wears a black cap, also with gold detailing, and trimmed with red and green plumes. Strong claims the decorated background is meant to represent a silver damask curtain.12 The expression on Dudley’s face is more stern than Robert Sidney’s. His unsmiling visage, coupled with his expensive clothing denotes a patron who wants to be noted for his self-control, reason and wealth. As this miniature was placed amongst the
Sidney family collection (based on the 1737 inventory), Dudley may have wanted to leave a memento of himself with his family. Dudley was Robert Sidney's mother’s brother, and it is possible that the miniature was a gift to her from her brother.
It is likely that Robert commissioned his miniature as an addition to the collection of family miniatures. It was not unheard of for English noblemen to commission miniature portraits of themselves, particularly to commemorate an important occasion or to gift as a token of affection. As we have seen earlier, Robert Dudley commissioned a portrait of himself which he may have gifted to his sister. Robert Devereux, the second Earl of Essex, used his self-commissioned portraits as a means of gaining social value in the Elizabethan court, by bestowing them as gifts and favours.13 This gift-giving nature of the miniature portrait could have also meant that Robert Sidney’s portrait might have been commissioned by someone else residing in the house - such as his wife. It may even have been a gift from
Robert to his wife, or another member of his family. Whether the miniature was self- commissioned or a present from his wife, it does seem that the ultimate intent of the commission seems to be to add the portrait to the family collection. In the case of Unton, as well as Queen Elizabeth, the miniatures were only revealed to special guests, and only within
11 Ibid., 698. 12 Ibid. 13 Paul E. J. Hammer, The Polarisation of Elizabethan Politics: The Political Career of Robert Devereux, 2nd Earl of Essex, 1585-1597 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 206. 70 the personal space of the bedchamber. The Sidney collection of miniatures would also have been taken out only to certain guests that were permitted into Robert’s private space – such as his relatives or those within his close circle of friends.
If Robert was the patron of his miniature, he would have wanted to create a representation of himself that would fit in with the older miniatures of other members of his family. The miniatures of this collection, such as Robert Dudley’s (Figure 2), have more intricate detail in the clothing, jewellery and background than Robert’s. Whether it was
Robert or his wife (or indeed any other member of his family) who commissioned the portrait, why would they want such a comparatively plain portrait to be placed in the same family collection? If we assume that Robert is the patron, then rather than imitating what his relatives had done before, he may have wished to highlight his own personal achievement, particularly as governor of a Dutch cautionary town. To this end, his miniature imitates the style and fashion of Dutch portraiture, rather than traditional English miniature portraits. Our interpretation of Robert’s portrait in this chapter presents the painting in a different light, and provides us with a better understanding of Robert’s concept of private honour.
II. Privacy and Intimacy in Renaissance England
Before we can explain the relationship between the miniature and the private sphere, we need to address the matter of privacy and intimacy during the English Renaissance. As stated in the Introduction to this dissertation, it was during this period that the notion of privacy began to permeate into the social conscious of Western Europe. Quite different from attitudes in the Middle Ages, in the Renaissance there seemed to be a drive to seek solitude.
In the past, it had been thought improper for a man of quality to be alone, except for prayer, and this attitude persisted for a long time. Loneliness was considered a form of poverty; hence, the reason hermits and ascetics deliberately sought after this condition.14 During the
14 Diana Webb, Privacy and Solitude in the Middle Ages (London: Hambledon Continuum, 2007), 15. 71
Renaissance, these attitudes began changing, and by the end of the seventeenth century, these traditional beliefs had fallen out of fashion, and were replaced by a taste for solitude.
In fact, people became so enamoured of this aspect of being alone that they ironically and even antithetically, wished to share their solitude with a dear friend, a teacher, relative, servant, or neighbour—a second self. Notions of privacy developed into including others who shared likeminded ideas. These relationships were created by discourses in the public space that impacted the friendships in private. The relationships in the two spaces fed off each other, as contacts made in the course of “public” life encouraged “private” friendships that were indispensable for creating trust.15
One of the ways historians have inferred these changes in cultural attitudes towards privacy is by studying the variations in the architecture of residences over this time frame.
Whilst displaying a steady consistency in design from the years 1100 to 1400, housing began to undergo a complex series of changes.16 The size of rooms was reduced. Small rooms first appeared as annexes to main rooms, as offices or alcoves, but soon most activity was concentrated in them and they took on a life of their own. Private stairways, halls, corridors, and vestibules were provided to allow rooms to be entered without the need to pass through other rooms.
As such, rooms belonging to the private sphere were clearly distinct from those belonging to the public. These spaces led to the creation of new codes of conduct dependent on the location of the individual. In the space of communal existence, rules of civility, or traditional courtly behaviour, still applied. These rules were distinctive and ardently
15 Philippe Ariès, “Introduction” in A History of Private Life, edited by Roger Chartier, translated by Arthur Goldhammer, (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 1989), 10. 16 Ibid., 6-7 72 enforced, and they covered the culture of the court, as well as the domain of social ritual, whose norms apply to every individual regardless of status.17
By contrast, the behaviour of the individual in the private setting was not enforced by society and instead fell under the novel code of intimacy. Intimacy, Roger Chartier argues, required a space outside society that provided solitude, secrecy, and silence. The garden, the bedroom (with its alcoves and recesses), the study, and the library fulfilled this need, hiding what could not and should not be seen (care of the body, natural functions, the act of love) whilst of course offering a place for practices more than ever associated with isolation, such as prayer and reading.18
In the Renaissance, we see a grappling between these notions of intimacy and civility, and a desire to bring the realm of the intimate as close as possible to that of the civil, without betraying any aspect of the private. Almost all the rules of civility, Chartier notes, reflected a need for greater distance between persons, necessitated by the growing frequency of human contact and increased density of human relations.19 Prohibitions on physical contact became stricter as new social forms, particularly those of the court, made the individual progressively isolated and publicly visible. One example of this is the introduction of table manners during the Renaissance, which no longer tolerated the medieval habit of sharing food from the same trencher.20 In response to these rules of civility, new customs were created in the private sphere that carried over to the public. Intimacy required human contact that was denied to individuals due to civility. In lieu of human proximity, intimacy in public was achieved by
17 Roger Chartier, “Introduction” in A History of Private Life, edited by Roger Chartier, translated Arthur Goldhammer, (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 1989), 163. 18 Orest Ranum, “The Refuges of Itimacy,” in A History of Private Life, edited by Roger Chartier, translated Arthur Goldhammer, (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 1989), 210-11. 19 Chartier, 163. 20 Francesca Prince, "How Table Manners as We Know Them Were a Renaissance Invention," National Geographic History, March/April 2017, http://www.nationalgeographic.com/archaeology-and- history/magazine/2017/03-04/table-manners-renaissance-catherine-de-medici/ (accessed 2 May 2017). 73 carrying an object that had once been touched by the beloved, such as a sonnet or portrait miniature.
Of course, in situations where the miniature was kept in a cabinet or already located in a private space, there would be no need to create intimacy by carrying it on one’s person.
The act of sharing the artefact with someone else in that space would be enough to create intimacy – we have seen this with both Unton and Melville. As this chapter is primarily concerned with how masculinity is represented in the miniature of Robert Sidney, the focus remains on the analysis of the static miniature. It is unlikely that Robert’s miniature was worn, because it was part of a family collection and did not have a frame (as noted in the
1737 inventory). Our reading of the representation of masculinity in Robert’s portrait will be impacted by its setting amongst the miniatures of his family, which would be completely different if it were a solitary piece of jewellery worn on the body. In order for us to understand how Robert’s miniature differed from those of his family, we need a better understanding of the context of the miniature portrait itself, which we will cover in the following section.
III. The Liminal Nature of Portrait Miniatures
A portrait miniature is a small-scale portrait painting, executed in gouache, watercolour, or enamel.21 The first miniatures in England were mostly painted in watercolour on vellum, backed by a playing card.22 Limning, or miniature painting, was a relatively new mode of expression during the English Renaissance, around the time Nicholas
Hilliard (1547–1619) rose to prominence as a limner. Hilliard wrote in his treatise The Art of
Limning [1600] that this medium could capture the essence of the subject because it is better able to depict the sitter’s countenance on a smaller scale, and afforded fewer visual
21 Katherine Coombs, The Portrait Miniature in England, (London: V & A Publications, 1998), 12-13. 22 Daphne Fosket, British Portrait Miniatures: A History (London: Methuen and Co., 1963), p.52. 74 distractions for the viewer as compared to a full-length portrait.23 A miniature therefore depicted background, decoration and ornament differently because of its size, and its portability.
The first aspect of the miniature that is critical to our understanding of the art is its mobility. The ability to carry the miniature freely added to the aura of intimacy that is commonly associated with the artform.24 As we have noted, because physical touch between people in the public sphere was restricted, the use of representative tokens was commonplace.
Indeed, Hilliard argues that the miniature was more than an imitation (which other artforms were, in his opinion). In his treatise, he states that the miniature is “the thinge it selfe, even the work of God and not of man,” a portable version of the subject of the painting.25 The minuteness of the portrait and the ability to hold the painting close to one’s person is what contributes to this “closeness” of representation. It encourages this aura of secrecy and intimacy because it delivers the subject to the viewer, rather than just a representation.
Miniature portraits are most associated with ornate lockets or jewels, “worn as part of the rich Elizabethan costume,” ostensibly used as containers for the portrait and its secret information. However, in reality, the “secret” was usually well known around the Royal court, and the demonstrative aspect of the miniature was more significant to its function than the “secret” it actually contained.26 As we noted about the art of the sonnet in Chapter Two, the miniature was highly performative – a visible object that when worn, alluded to secret romance, or unrequited love, while serving as an accessory for a different purpose. It was not
23 Nicholas Hilliard, A Treatise Concerning the Arte of Limning [1600], edited by R. K. R. Thornton and T. G. S. Cain (Northumberland: Mid Northumberland Arts Group, 1981), 75. 24 Summer, 11. Summer points out that in the first half of the sixteenth century, miniatures were “small turned ivory boxes” that could be transported “in a pouch or worn about a woman’s waist.” Close proximity of the miniature to the body of the wearer heightened the sense of intimacy. 25 Hilliard, 62. 26 Ibid., 11. 75 the tangible miniature alone that functioned as an accessory, but the intangible secret that it supposedly kept hidden.
One way we can understand the liminal space of the miniature is in terms of what the
French philosopher Michel Foucault calls a “heterotopia.” According to Foucault, “the heterotopic site is not freely accessible like a public place. Either the entry is compulsory, as in the case of entering a barracks or a prison, or else the individual has to submit to rites and purifications. To get in, one must have a certain permission and perform certain
“gestures.”27 In the case of the miniature, the heterotopic site is not just the locket or cabinet, but also the layers of meaning that exist within the portrait itself. The ill-kept secret that lay within the locket or the painting was known to a wider public audience, but the “gestures” and knowledge of how to read the “evasive expression” only belonged to those in a private, inner circle. Analysing the way miniatures function in between the private and public spheres allows us to see how enclosing special items within this liminal space both “isolates them and makes them penetrable.”28 The liminal space the miniature occupies would explain how it serves both to protect and regulate entry to the secret it encloses.
Why should we consider the portrait miniature to belong to a “liminal” space? In the case of a miniature worn on the body of a person, the painting itself was enclosed within a locket. The word miniature or “jewel” in this era referred both to the painting, as well as to its outer covering. The miniature was on display at the same time it was hidden from view.
It was neither private nor public, but occupied a liminal space in between. To access the
“private” dimensions of the miniature, the viewer had to get past the heterotopic rituals expected when gazing at its “public” face. We can notice a similar contradiction in the
27 Michel Foucault, “Of Other Spaces: Utopias and Heterotopias”, translated by Jay Miskowiec, in Architecture/Mouvement/ Continuité (October, 1984), 7. This text, entitled “Des Espace Autres,” was the basis of a lecture given by Michel Foucault in March 1967. Although not reviewed for publication by the author and thus not part of the official corpus of his work, the manuscript was released into the public domain for an exhibition in Berlin shortly before Michel Foucault’s death. 28 Ibid., 7. 76 examples where miniatures were kept in cabinet cases. The curiosity cabinet was a commonplace feature in Renaissance England, but the items it contained would not have been displayed to everyone. The cabinet itself was presented for public view, but the artefacts within were “protected” in the private sphere.
To have a better understanding of how a miniature functioned in this liminal space, let us study a specific miniature. Though the context of each portrait would be different
(depending on patrons, audiences and portrayal of the subject), we can use the example of the Heneage Jewel (Figure 3) to get an approximate idea of how these artefacts functioned within the private and public
Figure 3. Nicholas Hilliard. The Heneage Jewel, spheres. The Heneage Jewel was commissioned by Exterior, ca. 1595. London, V&A Museum.
Sir Thomas Heneage, a Privy Counsellor and Vice-Chamberlain of the Royal Household
(1532-1595), as a gift for Queen Elizabeth. The painting was commissioned with the embellished locket and might have been worn by the Queen, or kept in her cabinet case. The exterior of the case would have been seen by any person in her presence, but the interior would only have been privy to a special audience (as in the incident recounted by Sir James
Melville). The portrait on the locket itself features Queen Elizabeth in strict profile and is thus reminiscent of the portrayal of emperors and ancient rulers. It is also imitates the public visage most commonly seen by her subjects – the face seen on the surface of a coin. The relief is made from gold and enamel, offering a hard, stony quality to this depiction of the
Queen. The collar or ruff she wears completely covers her neck, and the only skin we see is that of her face. Her hair is tightly coiled back, and is constrained by her clearly visible 77 crown. Her countenance is stern and unsmiling, and because of the profile position, the eyes look away from the viewer, towards the figure’s right. The impressa written around the portrait reads, “'ELIZABETHA D.G. ANG. FRA. ET. HIB. REGINA” (Elizabeth, by the grace of God Queen of England, France and Ireland).29 This statement underlines one of the roles that the locket serves: to remind the viewer that they are gazing at an image of their ruler.
Inside the locket, the viewer is presented with
a very different portrait, painted by Hilliard, of the
Queen (Figure 4). In this version, Elizabeth I is
sprinkled with jewels and flowers, her ruff framing
her heart-shaped face like the petals of the rose on the
inside of the lid. Though her ruff is high, we are able
to see more of her skin in this painted portrait than in Figure 4. Nicholas Hilliard. The Heneage Jewel, Interior, ca. 1595. London, V&A Museum. the exterior relief. The difference in the two media also means that the depiction of Elizabeth in the inner portrait is softer, and allows the artist to give the face more expression. Elizabeth’s hair too, is not as tightly curled in this depiction, with the crown conspicuous by its absence. The combination of fashion and hairstyle gives this representation of the Queen a more relaxed appearance. It perhaps served as a reminder to the viewer that the Queen possessed many sides, and could be both woman and ruler. Unlike the stony-faced and official strict profile depiction of Elizabeth on the locket, the subject’s painted face within the case is in three-quarter profile, looking directly at the viewer, giving her an unstudied, more natural countenance. The portrait inside the locket does not hide Elizabeth’s royalty, but it lacks the rigidity of the relief profile. The ornament,
29 William Camden provides a 17th-century definition of impresa: “An impresa (as the Italians call it) is a device in [a] picture with his motto, or word, borne by noble and learned personages, to notify some particular conceit of their own, as emblems…do propound some general instruction to all….” William Camden, Remaines of Greater Worke Concerning Britaine [1605], (London: J. R. Smith, 1870), 366-367. 78 background and position of the subject in each portrait tells a different story that is directly linked to the sphere in which the miniature is viewed. In his description of the Heneage
Jewel, Roy Strong perfectly summarises this paradox of the public face hiding the private:
The outside of the case begins by an initial celebration of Elizabeth as the queen with a formal, imperial profile image on the obverse together with her titles… The locket opens to a contemplation of the private world of the heroine of the sonnets, a paean on her as the Lady, as 'Astraea, Queen of Beauty' whose pictured image is mirrored by the rose enamelled on the interior of the lid.30
The outer relief of the Queen, as a stately and impenetrable monarch, protected and hid the painted portrait of the softer version of Elizabeth. The face that was visible to the public hid the “secret” version of the Queen that was privy to only a few. In a similar way, we might imagine how a cabinet within a set of private rooms could have “hidden” the miniatures of
Robert Sidney and his family, unlike his full-length portrait, which was placed in the Long
Gallery at Penshurst Place, to be viewed by visitors to the hall.31
The mobility, circumstance and decoration used in a miniature reflect a different aspect of the subject than the details found in a full-length portrait, or indeed, any public painting of the same subject, as demonstrated by an analysis of the two portraits of Elizabeth
I in the Heneage Jewel. In the same way, differences in clothing, posture and the use of symbolic objects in Robert Sidney’s full-length and miniature portrait construct different notions of masculine honour in the private sphere. At the same, we will also notice differences in Robert’s miniature as compared to other miniature portraits of the period.
30 Roy Strong, "From Manuscript to Miniature," in The English Miniature, edited by John Murdoch et al., (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981), 73. 31 Michael G. Brennan, The Sidneys of Penshurst and the Monarchy, 1500-1700 (London: Ashgate Publishing, Ltd., 2006), 1. Robert built the Long Gallery (which was completed in 1607), which celebrated the lives and public prominence of the Sidneys through their rich collection of family portraits. 79
IV. English Portrait Miniatures and Robert Sidney
A quick overview of Hilliard’s miniatures reveals common characteristics that this art form shares with full-length portraits. Both types of painting use intricate and elaborate symbols
to present a particular image of the subject to the viewer.
These ornamental features include bright colours,
hairstyles, posture, animals, plants, impressa, clothing – all
could be construed with symbolic meanings in the
Renaissance. A full-length portrait of a nobleman, for
example, is usually representative of the public aspect of
masculine honour discussed in the previous two
chapters – that is, military masculinity. We can observe
this type of martial depiction in the full-length portraits
of Robert Devereux, the second Earl of Essex (1565- Figure 5. Marcus Gheeraerts the Younger, Robert Devereux, Second Earl of Essex, ca. 1601), and Robert Sidney (Figures 5 and 7). In Robert 1597. London, National Portrait Gallery. Devereux’s portrait, which was painted after his military victory during the Capture of Cádiz, he is depicted wearing the robes of the Order of the
Garter, to which he had been elected in April 1588. The combination of the robes and the sword (whose hilt he is also grasping, calling our attention to it) serves to illustrate his role in
Queen Elizabeth’s court, as well as his martial prowess.
However, when we study the miniature portraits of these noblemen (Figures 1 and 6), we see that the subjects are not depicted as soldiers. Essex, we know from section one, commissioned miniatures which he used as gifts or tokens of special relationships.32 This followed the traditional miniature convention which has the subjects portrayed as lovers,
32 Hammer, 206. 80 poets or suitors.33 The clothing and posture of the subject in the portrait miniature suggest a different sort of composition – one that does not solely evoke rigid perfection and the preservation of social status. Rather, the subjects of miniatures tend to bring to mind the
“loose” and seemingly casual fashion of dishabille and sprezzatura. The “seemingly” aspect is important here, because while this manner of dress and posture may appear less ostentatious than what we see in full-length portraits, it is still a painstaking form of ornament nonetheless. Sprezzatura was a concept introduced by Baldassare Castiglione (1478-1529) in his Book of the Courtier, and he believed it was a fundamental characteristic of the ideal courtier. As mentioned in Chapter One, Castiglione’s seminal work was widely read in early modern England, particularly after Thomas Hoby’s translation. If a man was able to embody sprezzatura, or “careful carelessness,” it would confer upon him a grace that would allow him to "to cover art withall, and seeme whatsoever he doth and sayeth to do it wythout pain, and
(as it were) not myndyng it."34
If we were to look at another of Hilliard’s portraits, especially one of an English nobleman, we will notice that the artist was careful to lend his sitters an air of carelessness in his paintings. In the Heneage Jewel, the painted portrait of Elizabeth was notably less formal than the relief, with looser hair, softer features and a lower neckline. Hilliard’s portrait of
33 Catharine MacLeod and Rab MacGibbon, Elizabethan Treasures: Miniatures by Hilliard and Oliver, (London: National Portrait Gallery, 2019). There are a number of examples of miniatures being used during courtship, or for gifts to close family. One of the most notable of these was Hilliard’s painted miniatures of Princess Elizabeth Stuart (1596-1662, later Electress Palatine and Queen of Bohemia), which were distributed to potential foreign suitors, as well as given as gifts to her family (who saw her infrequently during her childhood). Another example of the miniature being used as a gift during courtship was when Hilliard travelled to France in 1576 to produce a miniature of Queen Elizabeth’s then suitor, François, duc d’Anjou, the younger brother of Henri III of France. 34 Baldassare Castiglione, The Book of the Courtier, translated by Sir Thomas Hoby (1561), Book 2, http://www.luminarium.org/renascence-editions/courtier/courtier2.html 81
Robert Devereaux (Figure 6) shows a young man with his hair loose about his shoulders, and a gold earring glinting in his ear, wearing a lace collar over a bright gold tunic. Though the bold colouring of ultramarine blue and gold gives the work a rich, courtly appeal, it lacks the martial masculinity, a key component of the identity of such a high-ranking Figure 6. Nicholas Hilliard. Robert Devereux, nobleman. Devereaux’s half-smile, the curly strand of Second Earl of Essex, ca. 1588. Edinburgh, Scottish National Portrait Gallery. hair fallen below his chin, and his direct gaze lend the painting an intimate quality – reinforced by the fact that it would have been held close by the viewer. The subject’s appearance is different from the stern countenance of noblemen, surrounded by their coat of arms, swords and other military objects. Informal intimacy and formal representation are carefully balanced with one another. Hilliard threads a fine line between painting his subjects with an unstudied air, while also demonstrating their status and wealth.
While Hilliard’s miniature portraits of Devereaux, George Clifford, Christopher
Hatton, and Walter Raleigh (amongst many others) all have the same feeling of sprezzatura that their formal full-length portraits do not, they all feature elaborate clothes, vibrant colours, and careful use of gold paint (oftentimes these paintings even included an impressa along the border). This fine balancing act is another reason why we described the space that miniature occupies as liminal – it exhibits both public and private aspects of ornament within the same painting.
Robert Sidney’s miniature portrait, on the other hand, does not have the vibrant colours, impressa, or detail in textile that Devereaux’s does. Nor does it convey the casual fashion of sprezzatura. However, Robert had to have been aware of these features, not only 82
because his family had commissioned many portraits from Hilliard,35 but because his own
full-length portrait contains many of them. We will compare the miniature and full-length
portraits of Robert Sidney in order to demonstrate the difference in the representation of
masculinity in private and public.
Robert’s full-length portrait (Figure 7) shows off
his wealth and status through the depiction of his clothing,
military regalia, motto and impressa. Robert sports a
bright gold and white “mandilion,” which was a loose hip-
length pullover coat that opened down the sides.
Noblemen tended to wear this coat “collie-westonward,”
which is the fashionable style adopted in Robert’s
portrait.36 The expensive silk of his outfit, as well as the
Figure 7. Unknown artist. Robert Sidney, First Earl of Leicester, ca. 1588. London, National intricate lace of his collar and cuffs, are accentuated by the Portrait Gallery. ornate shield and helmet on either side of his person.
According to the National Portrait Gallery, both of these military artefacts are Milanese.37
According to Marina Belozerskaya, Milanese amour was highly favoured by European
nobility, tailored to fit the fashion of each country and a common sight in Renaissance
portraiture.38 Both shield and helmet are clearly made of gold, and are detailed with filigree
(the helmet includes two long feathers as well). The writing at the top left of the portrait
35 See examples of these the miniatures (such as those of Robert Dudley and Mary Sidney) in Strong, "Leicester House Miniatures,” 694-703. 36 See William Harrison, Elizabethan England: From A Description of England [1889], edited by Lothrop Withington (Whitefish, MT: Kessinger Publishing, 2010), 108. According to Harrison, wearing a coat in the “colly-westonward” style meant that the garment is rotated ninety degrees so that the front and back were draped over the arms and the sleeves hung down in front and behind. See also Keir Elam, “English Bodies in Italian Habits,” Shakespeare, Italy, and Intertextuality, edited by Michele Marrapodi (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 2004), 26-44. 37 Charles Nicholl, Shakespeare and his Contemporaries (London: National Portrait Gallery, 2015), 72. 38 Marina Belozerskaya, Luxury Arts of the Renaissance (Los Angeles, CA: Getty Publications, 2005), 170. 83
(which together with the pictorial symbol of burning boughs constitutes the impressa) is often translated as “I shall find a way or I shall make one.”39
The full-length portrait of Robert Sidney is rich with symbolism; however, not all of it is strictly relevant to this chapter. What is important is the version of masculinity being communicated through this public form of art,40 and how it differs from the masculinity represented in the more private art of the miniature. There is no denying the blatant militaristic nature of Robert’s full-length portrait – it is apparent in the helmet, sword and the shield, the martial motto that was popularly attributed to Hannibal and Seneca, and the staff
Robert holds in his right hand (which may have been a baton of command indicating a specific military rank). Robert’s miniature portrait does not have any impressa inscribed on it, which was rare in Hilliard’s work.41 The symbols we see in Robert’s full-length portrait are well-established visual strategies used in portraits to communicate social, political, and military power. However, the elegant and luxurious clothing indicates a man with greater status than a soldier; this portrait also demonstrates Robert’s wealth and status as a nobleman.
The aspect of the soldier courtier was popularised by his older brother Philip, and is completely absent in Robert’s miniature (Figure 1).
There is very little physiological difference between the two portraits (which Strong also points out, hence his ability to identify the sitter in the painting). Even in the full-length portrait, Robert wears neither hat nor helmet, nor does he tie his hair in a queue, and the hair depicted in this portrait is similar to the hair in the miniature.
In the case of Robert’s portraits, the transition from the public to the private image sees less focus on the sartorial construction of the person than on his physiognomy. In
39 The original Latin reads: “Inveniam viam aut faciam.” 40 As mentioned earlier in the chapter, these portraits would have been place in the “public” areas of aristocratic houses (such as the Long Gallery in Penshurst Place), where they would have been viewed by any visitors or guests to the house. 41 Mary Edmond, Hilliard and Oliver: The Lives and Works of Two Great Miniaturists (London: Robert Hale, 1983), 86-7. 84
Robert’s miniature portrait, his clothes are simple – a black doublet with a plain white collar.
There is no lace or other elaboration, similar to the austere seventeenth-century portraits by the Dutch artists Cornelis Ketel (1548–1616), Cornelis de Vos (1584–1651), and Anthony van Dyck (1599–1641). This chapter proposes that, during his time as Governor of the cautionary town of Flushing, Robert Sidney was so influenced by the fashion, posture and expression of Dutch portraiture that they are included in his own miniature portrait.42 Robert had first visited the Netherlands in 1578 during his Grand Tour, and in 1585 he served with his elder brother, Sir Philip Sidney under their uncle Robert Dudley in the Dutch war against
Spain. His time in the Netherlands was halted with the death of his brother at the Battle of
Zutphen (at which Robert was also present). He would return after being appointed the
Governor of Flushing in 1588, approximately two years prior to the painting of his miniature.
His tenure as Governor lasted for nearly fourteen years (with intermittent visits to England) when he finally returned to England for good in 1603.43 It almost certainly was during one of these visits back home that Robert commissioned his miniature from Hilliard. During his time in the Netherlands, Robert may have been influenced by the mode of fashion and art he saw on display there. As we have previously stated, a comparison of his miniature to figures
2, 4, and 6 demonstrates that the style of this portrait does not conform to that of Hilliard’s other paintings. A study of some of the influencing factors during the time the portrait was commissioned might give us more insight into the reasons behind the variations to prevalent norms in Robert’s miniature.
42 According to Millicent Hay, Robert Sidney was appointed the Governor of the cautionary town of Flushing (in the southwestern Netherlands) in 1589. An estimation by Sir Roy Strong puts Hilliard’s miniature of Robert around the time of his appointment to the governorship. A valuation report made by Christie's confirms the possibility that the miniature dates from the period when the sitter was Governor of Flushing. See: Millicent V. Hay, The Life of Robert Sidney: Earl of Leicester (1563-1626), (Washington, D.C.: Folger Shakespeare Library, 1984), 72. See also: V&A, “Portrait of Robert Sidney, Viscount Lisle, 1st Earl of Leicester of the second creation (1563-1626)” < http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O173589/portrait-of-robert-sidney-viscount- miniature-hilliard-nicholas/ > accessed on 11 October 2019. 43 Hay, 72. 85
V. Dutch Portraiture and Robert Sidney
In the previous section, we argued that English portrait miniatures seemed to visualize the concept of sprezzatura. However, we have noted that Robert Sidney's miniature portrait does not really fit in with the type of ornamentation and fashion displayed in the other Hilliard portraits we have studied. Our purpose in this section is to explore the strategies employed in
Dutch portraiture, and to note a closer connection between the art of the Netherlands and
Robert’s miniature. As we will see, Dutch portraiture followed different rules of fashion, style and ornament than that of England. Rather than the bright colours and ostentatious jewellery, the Dutch style was more austere – making it much more like Robert’s miniature.
There is some evidence that Hilliard would have been familiar with the aesthetics of
Dutch art, beyond what information was supplied to him by Robert Sidney. In his treatise,
Hilliard reveals his awareness of Northern European art, primarily through his association with Hans Holbein the Younger (who was the King's Painter to Henry VIII).44 Through the example of Holbein, Hilliard notes that finer points of painting, engraving, and carving came to England “from the strangers, and generally they are the best and most in number.”45 His appreciation for the artistic inventions of other countries led Hilliard to study the works and writing of Italian, German and Dutch artists. From The Arte of Limning, it is clear that
Hilliard is aware of Dutch art – he mentions the artists Hendrick Goltzius and Lucas van
Leyden, comparing their work to that of Albrecht Durer, the German engraver.46 This knowledge of artists from the Low Countries may have helped Hilliard depict Robert Sidney in the Dutch style, and he may have been aided by Robert’s own familiarity with Dutch fashion from his time as Governor of Flushing.
44 Hilliard considered Holbein to be “the most excellent painter and limner. . . . the greatest master truly in both those arts after the life that ever was.” See: Hilliard, 69. 45 Ibid. 46 Ibid., 71. 86
We see similarities between Robert’s miniature and Dutch portraiture when we look at a painting such as Portrait of a Gentleman aged 29 (Figure 8), attributed to the circle of Cornelis Ketel. This painting is a good example of the austere clothing and expression characteristic of Dutch portraiture in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century. In this portrait, painted approximately at the same time as
Robert Sidney’s miniature, the unnamed man is simply Figure 8. Circle of Cornelis Ketel. Portrait of a Gentleman aged 29, 1591. London, BADA. dressed in a manner similar to Robert’s portrait. The artist includes more detail than Hilliard does, particularly when painting the ruff, the subject’s hair, scar and facial expression. However, the similarities between the two portraits are apparent in the angle of the body, the sideways glance of the eyes and the black clothes. The limited space of the miniature painting does not allow Hilliard the same amount of definition as a full-length portrayal would, but despite this, it is clear that Robert’s portrait lacks the elaboration of Hilliard’s other work.
Anthony van Dyck, another Dutch artist, painted a number of portraits featuring men in black and white clothing. Though van Dyck’s prominence as a painter in England started after Robert Sidney’s portrait was painted, some of the ideas of masculinity expressed in his painting would have stemmed from the same social ideologies of early seventeenth-century
Northern Europe that might have influenced Robert’s miniature. The simple, undecorated clothing worn by the subjects of Ketel’s and van Dyck’s portraits was advocated as the ideal expression of manliness by writers and preachers alike.47 Gerard ter Borch the Elder claimed
47 Benjamin B. Roberts, “Appearance and Clothing in the 1620s and 1630s,” in Sex and Drugs before Rock ’n’ Roll (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2012), 68. 87 that the young men of the elite were “unmanly” because of their conduct and their absurd way of overdressing. Constantijn Huygens (1596–1687) was another Dutch writer with strong opinions about the relationship between masculinity and dress. He is best known for his "Moral Prints," which is a collection of poems that contain references to Dutchmen and
Englishmen, and primarily satirize the clothes and manner of both. In one such poem written in 1623, Huygens writes about a peasant couple newly arrived in the city who exclaim when they espy a gentleman in a passing carriage, "Why, he looks just like a woman!”48 The poem indicates that the gentleman was considered effeminate because of his powdered hair and ornamented dress.
Preachers such as Willem Teellinck (1579–1629) also lamented the lack of masculinity in the contemporaneous Dutch fashions, noting that "No one can miss how effeminate our men have become with all this [fashion] nonsense.... Their manly Dutchmen's hearts are turning weak and womanly."49 Teellinck’s use of the word “effeminate” is noteworthy because it had many meanings in the Renaissance, and not all of them are congruous with present-day meaning. One such use of the term is to indicate undisciplined and lascivious behaviour, as well as a self-indulgent lifestyle. We can see examples of this usage in the works of William Prynne (1600–1669) and the Dutch poet P. C. Hooft (1581–
1647).50 Prynne labelled the hedonistic age in which he lived "effeminate and wanton,” and
Hooft described over-materialistic soldiers as “effeminate and wanton men.”51 This type of
48 J.A. Worp, De Gedichten van Constantijn Huygens, naar Zijn Handschrift, (Groningen: J.B. Walters, 1893), 31-4. 49 Willem Teellinck, Den Spiegel der Zedigheyt [1620]. Google Books. 18 August 2016. https://books.google.com/books?id=OvGTVQgHQZYC&printsec=frontcover&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&ca d=0#v=onepage&q&f=false, 119. On other examples of the "discourse of effeminacy," see Gary Spear, "Shakespeare's 'Manly' Parts: Masculinity and Effeminacy in Troilus and Cressida," Shakespeare Quarterly, 409-22. 50 William Prynne, The Unloveliness of Love-lockes [1628], (Amsterdam: Theatrum Orbis Terrarum, Ltd., 1976), 1. 51 Alison McNeil Kettering, “Gentlemen in Satin,” Art Journal (1997), 45. For the connection between luxury, softness, women, and effeminacy, see also Christopher J. Berry, The Idea of Luxury: A Conceptual and Historical Investigation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994). 88
“effeminate” fashion is best exemplified in Willem
Buytewech’s (1591–1624) painting Merry Company
(Figure 9). The painting depicts young men dressed in
the clothing decried by the writers above; they are
attired in bright-coloured yellow and green outfits, and
silk stockings tied with ribbons.52 The men in this
portrait have relaxed postures and expressions, as
opposed to the stern and rigid countenance of Ketel’s Figure 9. Willem Buytewech. Merry Company, 1620. Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts. sitter. The colours, clothing, drink and “merry” poses are all indications of the materialistic world of the sitters.
In Chapter One, we discussed how the discourse regarding the paradigm for ideal masculinity emphasized such qualities as self-control, courage, civility, refusal of excess, and professional identity. According to Alison McNeil Kettering, Dutch artists co-operated closely with their male sitters to create an image that projected an “assertive-yet-controlled visual effect.”53 These portraits shied away from effeminate fashions of colourful clothes and luxuriant appearance by depicting their subjects in black, restrained clothing and with upright postures. The formal and precise positioning of the body indicated a degree of self-control and dignity, with some art historians noting that the arms held akimbo conveyed “manly virility.”54 These portraits were the calculated opposites of paintings such as Merry
Company. They countered casual extravagance with carefully rigid sobriety in order to demonstrate the superiority of their own masculinity over youthful effeminacy.
52 Benjamin B. Roberts, 62. 53 Kettering, 42. 54 Joaneath Spicer, "The Renaissance Elbow," in A Cultural History of Gesture from Antiquity to the Present Day, edited by lan Bremmer and Herman Roodenburg (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991), 90-91. 89
In his Self-Portrait with Endymion Porter
(Figure 10), van Dyck portrays himself in a plain
black doublet similar to Robert’s. The simplicity
of van Dyck’s outfit is made even more apparent
by its sharp contrast to the garment worn by
Endymion Porter, the other person portrayed.
Figure 10. Anthony van Dyck. Self-Portrait with Van Dyck’s modest clothing in this portrait Endymion Porter, ca. 1635. Madrid, Museo del Prado. gave rise to some speculation amongst art historians, because it differs from the way he is dressed in other contemporaneous depictions.
Emilie E. S. Gordenker argues against the reading that van Dyck wished to portray himself as of inferior rank to Porter. She notes that the clothes the artist wears in this portrait identify him as “an intellectual and a man occupied in the arts.”55 She bases her claim on Van Dyck’s depiction of men who were known to pursue artistic and intellectual interests wearing similar clothing. 56 It is significant to Gordenker’s argument that the plain black dress was symbolic of intellectual superiority, rather than modesty or humility.57 She notes that the flow and manner of van Dyck’s garment were more suited to a philosopher than an artist, and that few contemporary viewers would understand the clothing as a reference to humility.58
Considering Robert’s own unusually sombre attire in his miniature, should we believe that he desired to see himself depicted in a similar intellectual light? Or are Robert’s black and white apparel, stiff pose, and lack of elaborate background (which Joanna Woodall notes
55 Emilie E. S. Gordenker, "The Rhetoric of Dress in Seventeenth-Century Dutch and Flemish Portraiture," The Journal of the Walters Art Gallery, 57 (1999), 98. 56 See, for example, his portraits: Gaspar de Crayer, (Liechtenstein Collection, Vaduz); The Organist Heinrich Liberti, (Alte Pinakothek, Munich); Karel van Mallery, (Oslo, Nasjonalgalleriet); The Sculptor Georg Petel, (Munich, Alte Pinakothek); Lucas Vorsterman the Elder (Lisbon, Museu Nacional de Art Antiga). 57 It is important to note that this image of van Dyck was not remotely private or liminal, as was the case for Robert’s miniature. Therefore, there would have been little likelihood for him to want to embody the non- militaristic virtues of private masculinity. 58 Joaneath Spicer, "Anthony van Dyck's Iconography. An Overview of Its Preparation," Studies in the History of Art, 46, (1994), 336. 90 is characteristic of Dutch citizen portraiture) indicative of humility and modesty – and thereby his masculinity? Woodall claims that in seventeenth-century Netherlands, black and white clothing was not considered a humble or puritanical wardrobe.59 Bianca du Mortier points out that black was an expensive dye to produce because of the labour-intensive process. The cloth had to first be dyed blue (usually with indigo imported from India) and then coloured black. Additionally, this colour-coding was frequently used by Dutch nobility and bourgeoise alike, and was also a feature of self-representation at the Spanish court since the previous century.60
At the same time, it is important to consider the social and moral reasons behind the donning of black clothes. Dutch historian Irene Groeneweg argues that black was also representative of the transition from youth to manhood in Dutch society, and that “once young men reached the age of majority and started to fulfil an official position in society, they were inclined and expected to wear black or dark-coloured outfits.” 61 The change from brightly decorated clothes to a more sombre style was indicative of a man’s desire to “settle down” and become a functioning member of the community. In the late sixteenth century
(which was the time when Robert was stationed in the Netherlands), northern Dutch nobility adopted the sober style and black attire of the court in Madrid.62 Groeneweg also states that some Dutch preachers encouraged their parishioners to wear black, disapproving of ostentatious colours as being prideful, immodest and effeminate.63
Clearly, there were many reasons early modern Dutchmen wore black in their portraits. They could have been demonstrating modesty, wealth, status, morality, intellectual
59 Joanna Woodall, “Sovereign bodies: the reality of status in seventeenth-century Dutch portraiture,” in Portraiture: Facing the Subject, edited by Joanna Woodall (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1997), 91. 60 Ibid., 91. 61 Irene Groeneweg, “Regenten in het zwart: Vroom of deftig?” Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Jaarboek (NKJ) / Netherlands Yearbook for History of Art, 46, (1995), 231. 62 Woodall, 91. 63 Teellinck, 37. Teellick preached that the godly ought to wear constrained and simple clothing to demonstrate their modesty. 91 superiority or their readiness for adulthood. We need to bear in mind that these portraits represent the “public” face of the subject far more than Robert’s miniature does, and thus the
Dutch version of masculinity may have differed in the private sphere.
As we have noticed in Chapter One, conduct manuals and funeral sermons in
Renaissance England encouraged men to adopt virtues that were classically connoted as feminine. These qualities included mildness, modesty, humility, and self-control or temperance. We can find instances from the time period demonstrating that these values were urged in women as well. For example, William Gouge recommends marital conversation that “consisteth in a wife-like sobriety, mildness, courtesy, and modesty.”64
Philip Stubbes notes that a woman should act “with all humility and submission” 65 towards her husband, and Banabe Rich lists the “ornaments of a good woman” as the “temperance in her mind, silence in her tongue, and bashfulness in her countenance.”66 We have seen how these values of humility, temperance, and modesty are reflected in Dutch portraiture, where they were used by artists to combat “effeminacy.”67
Robert may have studied these public expressions of masculinity that did not reflect the English militaristic standard. It is very possible that during his time in Flushing he would have seen examples of portraiture that might have inspired his own miniature.
If Robert was the patron of his miniature portrait, what was the image he wanted to have portrayed? We know he ultimately placed it with his family’s collection of miniatures, so guests would have seen his portrait in comparison to much flashier portraits of his
64 William Gouge, Of domestical duties [1622] in Renaissance Woman: A Sourcebook, edited by Kate Aughterson, (London and New York: Routledge, 1995), 90. 65 Philip Stubbes, A crystal glass for Christian women [1591] in Renaissance Woman: A Sourcebook, edited by Kate Aughterson, (London and New York: Routledge, 1995), 233. 66 Banabe Rich, My lady’s looking glass [1616] in Renaissance Woman: A Sourcebook, edited by Kate Aughterson, (London and New York: Routledge, 1995), 96. For a comprehensive study of the desired feminine virtues detailed in Renaissance English conduct manuals see also: Suzanne W. Hull, Chaste, Silent & Obedient: English Books for Women, 1475-1640 (San Marino, CA: Huntington Library, 1982). 67 Of course, what this paradox shows us (which is demonstrated in the other chapters in this dissertation as well) is that the concepts of masculine and feminine are constantly fluctuating during the Renaissance, with the focus of this study showing how noble masculinity was depicted in the early modern English private sphere. 92 relatives. What does this tell us of how he wanted to be seen as compared to the rest of his family? We know that Robert did not wear sombre clothing when he participated in the
English court, nor did he while sitting for his full-length portrait. Letters from Thomas
Nevitt, who was Robert’s steward after Roland Whyte, complained bitterly about his master’s habit of selling land to meet the cost of fashion, and of attending masques in extravagant style.68 Though piety and humility were not the conventional portrayal of a subject in this particular medium, it may have been the case that Robert wanted to counteract his flashy public persona with a miniature portrait painted in muted tones to reflect his superior morality. Nevertheless, there may have been other factors about the Dutch style that influenced Robert. He lived amongst the Dutch for many years before his governorship, and it is not hard to imagine that he may have wished to mark his time there in some way.69
There must have been something about this plain style that appealed to his ideas about representation, enough for him to choose to have it incorporated in his miniature portrait.
If we consider what clothing meant to Dutch artists, and how it was used to express masculinity, we may gain some insight into its depiction in Robert’s portrait. The likely viewer of Robert’s miniature would be among the close friends and family who were allowed within the intimate space of the bedroom and study. He might have adopted the Calvinist practices of clothing native to the Dutch town he was governing, but it seems to be a strange fashion to incorporate into a relatively private artform historically reserved for loved ones and suitors.70 It also would not have suited the role of the “courtly lover” that Queen
Elizabeth desired of her courtiers. There is a possibility that Robert might have wanted to display his modest and simple clothing in comparison with the much more embellished
68 Nevitt’s Memorial, fol. 10r, Sidneiana, edited by Gavin Alexander and Barbara Ravelhofer, 27 September 2019, http://www.english.cam.ac.uk./ceres/sidneiana/nevitt.htm. See also: Barbara Ravelhofer, The Early Stuart Masque: Dance, Costume, and Music, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 129-130. 69 Hay, 60-72. 70 MacLeod and MacGibbon, Elizabethan Treasures. 93 portraits of the other members of the Sidney family, and to compensate for his ornate public clothing. However, if we follow Groeneweg’s claims about the history of black clothing in the Netherlands, we have a different reading of Robert’s attire. His clothing may even have been the conscious choice of a man who had left youthful colours and desires behind him, and has fully embraced domestic life and adulthood.71
Robert could have wanted to embody either or both of these aspects of masculinity.
However, the most likely reasoning behind Robert’s simple clothing was the same as Van
Dyck’s in his self-portraits. It is most probable that like Van Dyck, Robert wished for his miniature to portray him as a man “occupied in artistic and intellectual pursuits,” or a man of letters. His simple attire might not have connoted modesty, but rather intellectual superiority.
This explanation ties into the lavish lifestyle he lived, and the colourful clothes we know he also did wear – best exemplified in his letters to his wife and steward, as well as his full- length portrait. Most importantly, it creates a unique niche for his miniature within the family collection – as an unpublished writer in a family of superior poets, Robert would have wanted to create an image that would cement his place in the Sidney circle. The association with the Netherlands would have also reminded the viewer of his important role as Governor, which also set his portrait apart from the rest of his family’s.
This chapter argues that Robert’s desire to appear “intellectually superior” to his peers at court is a form of masculine posturing. To be able to demonstrate a proficiency in the arts, specifically in sonnet writing, would have been an efficient manner to curry favour at the court of Queen Elizabeth. The Queen desired her male courtiers to vie for her affection, similar to the tradition of courtly love described in medieval English romances.72 Courtiers
71 At the time his miniature portrait was painted, Robert was twenty-seven years ole, and had been married for six years. 72 For more information on the cult of “courtly love” during Queen Elizabeth’s reign see: Philippa Berry, "Three-Personed Queen: The Courtly Cult of Elizabeth I and its Subjects," in Of Chastity and Power: Elizabethan Literature and the Unmarried Queen, (London and New York: Routledge, 1989), 59 -88. 94 competed amongst themselves by proving their prowess at both intellectual pursuits, such as writing poetry, as well as martial exercises. The homosocial nature of “courtly love” that was encouraged by the Queen also meant that this avenue of posturing was denied to women of
Elizabeth’s court. This code of behaviour underlines the idea that intellect and artistic abilities were requirements in order to be a “suitor” for the Queen, which makes the nature of this performance a particularly masculine trait in Renaissance England. As a result of this homosocial competitiveness, a courtier’s performance as a poet or intellectual would now be perceived as a defining masculine trait in the eyes of the Queen and her Court. We might then see in Robert’s miniature an expression of his artistic ability, and thereby a validation of his masculinity.
It is most probable that like Van Dyck, Robert wished for his miniature to portray him as a man “occupied in artistic and intellectual pursuits,” or a man of letters where his simple attire reflected intellectual superiority, rather than modesty. His simple attire might not have connoted modesty, but rather intellectual superiority. Even though Van Dyck’s portrait was painted forty years after Robert’s, we can draw a similar conclusion from Robert’s painting as Gordenker did from Van Dyck’s. Gordenker based her reading of Van Dyck’s intellectual superiority on his posture and clothing, as well as his association with poets and philosophers.
As we have previously shown, the subjects in the two portraits share similar clothing and postures, and Robert was a man of letters who was determined to prove his worth in a family of famous poets. The analogy between the two portraits may be speculative, but there is enough similar context between them to follow Gordenker’s analysis of Van Dyck when it comes to reading Robert’s miniature.
This costume of “a man occupied by artistic pursuits” (in Robert’s case, the art of poetry) suits the model of masculinity in the private sphere because having simple clothing did not mean that the miniature was “unornamented.” As far as Renaissance English 95 noblemen were concerned, the miniature did not demonstrate “goodly outward shew” in the same manner as full-length portraits. Unlike miniatures, these portraits almost always expressed a militaristic form of masculinity, and were categorically a public art form. They were also viewed in a different space and context, and by a different, less-intimate audience.
Yet of course, the miniature did represent a different aspect of the person depicted – not a militaristic form of honour, but private honour. As we have seen in the various examples of
Hilliard’s work, ornament clearly played an important role in the function of the miniature.
Even in Robert’s case, where the style of the subject is so different from other miniature portraits of the time, the importance of his appearance, and all that it represents, cannot be denied.
VI. Conclusion
When discussing the ornamental nature of English poetry, George Puttenham notes in his Arte of English Poesie (1589):
This ornament then is of two sortes, one to satisfie & delight th' eare onely by a goodly outward shew set vpon the matter with wordes, and speaches smothly and tunably running: another by certaine intendments or sence of such wordes & speaches inwardly working a stirre to the mynde: that first qualitie the Greeks called Enargia, of this word argos, because it geueth a glorious lustre and light. This latter they called Energia of ergon, because it wrought with a strong and vertuous operation; and figure breedeth them both, some seruing to giue glosse onely to a language, some to geue it efficacie by sence, and so by that meanes some of them serue th' eare onely, some serue the conceit onely and not th' eare: there be of them also that serue both turnes as common seruitours appointed for th' one and th' other purpose ....73
Puttenham’s argument about ornament in poetry can be applied to miniatures as well. As the arts of the sonnet and miniature are often compared, we might consider how the miniature functions as the type of “ornament” that fits Puttenham’s third definition – to serve both the
73 George Puttenham, The Arte of English Poesie (Menston: Scolar Press, 1968), 119. 96 conceit and the eye. Puttenham’s three forms of ornament may improve our understanding of the miniature, and how the perception of it shifted depending on the viewer.
The liminal nature of the miniature and sonnet, to be at once both public and private, simple and elaborate, seems to associate both art forms with Puttenham's third definition.
This last type of poetic ornament, one that combines outward show and inward behaviour, exemplifies the vital Renaissance concern for the resolution of inward and outward, mind and body, reason and feeling. According to Hazard, early moderners reasoned that post-lapsarian men found “the correspondence between inward and outward… difficult for men to achieve in their own persons… and to imitate in art.”74 It becomes necessary to add “conceits” to art that demonstrate the inner beauty of virtue through outward signifiers of that beauty. If ornament also functioned as a way to demonstrate moral superiority in the Renaissance,
Robert Sidney’s “conceit” of the simple black tunic could be considered a form of ornamentation as it could have served to demonstrate his inward beauty and virtue.
There might have been those who looked at Robert’s miniature and saw simply with their eyes, not understanding the conceit of the painting. It is interesting that Robert chose to
“ornament” himself in the guise of modesty, piety, good husbandry and/or intellectual superiority in private, whereas in public, his attire reflects his wealth and military might. But perhaps, to the viewer who was part of Robert’s inner circle of friends, the intended expression of masculinity in the portrait was apparent – be it modesty, a rite of passage or simply intellectual superiority. A single miniature then, could potentially demonstrate all three forms of ornament, depending on the viewer. It is through ornament that the conceit behind the portrait is revealed, and the viewer may be permitted to enter the heterotopic space of the miniature to see whatever the subject intended for them to see.
74 Hazard, 21. 97
This chapter has demonstrated how miniature portraits display aspects of masculinity that are completely different to the militaristic facets of honour present in full-length portraits. The way this representation of honour is manifested depended on the person depicted within the miniature, and the intent behind the commission. We wanted to show the manner in which private honour is represented in the art of the miniature, and how it differs from public depictions of the same subject. Having studied Robert’s letters and sonnets in the previous chapters, we are able to look at his miniature portrait with the knowledge of his fear of failure, and his living under his brother’s shadow. Knowing this, as well as his penchant for fashionable clothes, it should follow that Robert would choose a style for his miniature that represents his time as Governor, his wealth, his modesty and piety, and above all, his intellectual superiority.
98
Chapter Four
The Representation of Private Masculine Honour in Early Modern English Domestic Tragedies
This chapter addresses the representation of private honour in domestic tragedies in early modern England. The first section will investigate how domestic tragedies function as an ideal depiction of private honour, as these plays feature both the domestic and private spheres, oftentimes even delving into how honour is presented in the public sphere. Using counterpublic theory, we will see how characters in these plays are better able to navigate the spaces between the two spheres. The second part of the chapter will look at how Arden of
Faversham displays the nebulous transition of honour between the two spheres and the subtle changes in masculinity and masculine posturing that occur during this shift. In the same section, we will explore how notions of private honour (which have been demonstrated across the first three chapters of this dissertation) are corrupted by the manipulations of the antagonistic characters in the play. Specifically, in the case of Arden of Faversham, Alice
Arden uses her rhetoric to push apart the spheres of private and public honour in order to control Arden. Lastly, we will establish how in Shakespeare’s Othello, Iago uses his superior rhetoric to sway Othello’s sense of honour, to ensure violence in the private sphere. We will also see how Othello shifts his behaviour from a balance between private and public, into a specifically militaristic honour.
While the preceding three chapters have examined manifestations of private honour across multiple media in the private sphere, this chapter considers how it was represented in public artforms. We will analyse how the cultural resonances of private honour were literally dramatized in the domestic tragedies of the time. Because Robert Sidney did not create works that primarily targeted the public sphere, the focus of this chapter shifts from Sidney to his contemporaries who wrote for the London theatre. Sidney has served till now as an excellent 99 focal point because his opinions about honour and masculinity were visible through several mediums of private expression -- such as his letters, poems (particularly sonnets), and miniature portrait. As discussed previously, these works of art straddle the line between private and public, often leaning more to the private sphere than to the public. But it is important also to study how early modern constructions of masculine honour were represented in works of art that belong completely to the public sphere. We now look to other writers, then, specifically playwrights of domestic tragedies, in order to interrogate how private honour was represented on the public stage.
The name “domestic tragedy” suggests a smallness of scale as compared to the classic form of tragedy which featured important figures of state. Domestic tragedies are so-called because they follow the lives of everyday people, rather than the traditional format that featured the gradual demise of an important/stately figure. Martin Ingram notes that it was rare to see domestic life portrayed directly in plays, though references to house and family were very common. 1 The themes displayed in domestic tragedies are similar to those seen in other sources discussed in this dissertation. These sources include books of advice on marriage, family and household government, as well as sermons and letters documenting family history. A conventional explanation of a domestic tragedy might be found in texts such as H. H. Adams’ English Domestic Or, Homiletic Tragedy, which defines them as plays with protagonists "below the ranks of nobility, [that] inculcate lessons of morality and religious faith in the citizens who [come] to the theatres by offering them examples drawn
1 Martin Ingram, "Domestic Life," A New Companion to Renaissance Drama, edited by Arthur F. Kinney and Thomas Warren Hopper, (Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons Ltd., 2017), 125. Ingram suggests that domestic life would be obvious source material for playwrights as “household and family were both the basis of social order and personal security and the site of tension, conflict, and contest that were, in heightened form, the essence of drama.” 100 from the lives and customs of their own kind of people, and end in death for the protagonist."2
However, newer criticism, such as the work of Lena Orlin, easily establishes how the trajectory and subject matter of domestic tragedy closely resemble that of classic tragedy. As mentioned in the previous chapter, the lines between private and public were not as clearly defined as the modern reader may like to believe. The comparison between the head of state and the head of a household was one that was commonplace. It existed widely in the discourse, being circulated in marriage manuals, conduct books, sermons and pamphlets.
With this idea firmly fixed in the minds of early modern audiences, it is not difficult to see how a tragedy taking place within a common household might mimic the fall of monarchs by showcasing a man’s usurpation from his place as head of the household. In the case of Arden of Faversham, Arden was the head of his small kingdom, and his wife’s rejection of his authority is tantamount to treason. Indeed, Orlin points out that in the real-life series of events, Arden’s wife and two servants were not convicted of homicide, but instead were found guilty of petty treason.3
The nature of the law, and how the public reacted, in these cases of adultery were varied, with Arden’s murder gaining notoriety because of his public position. In general, there existed an understanding that homicide in the event of adultery was justifiable as the husband’s right to avenge his honour. Wives were considered as their husband’s property, and men were permitted to treat the men who cuckolded them in the same manner they would a thief. In 1707, Lord Chief Justice Holt maintained this line of thought by declaring that
‘adultery is the highest invasion of property . . . if a thief comes to rob another, it is lawful to
2 M. L. Wine's definition, in his introduction to the Revels edition of The Tragedy of Master Arden of Faversham (Manchester, 1973), lvii- lviii. It is derived from H. H. Adams, English Domestic Or, Homiletic Tragedy, 1573-1642 (New York, 1943), 100. 3 Lena Orlin, Private Matters and Public Culture in Post-Reformation England (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1994), 392-3. 101 kill him.”4 David Turner notes that during the seventeenth century, lawmakers created categories that reduced the charge of homicide to manslaughter – one of these included seeing a man in the act of adultery with one’s wife.5 However, such action needed to be undertaken in swift retaliation, lest the husband’s reaction be construed as premediated and cold-blooded. Murder in these cases was only acceptable when the court was presented with irrefutable evidence of an affront to masculine honour.6 As we will see later in the chapter, opinion was divided on this mode of behaviour, especially as it went against the principles of
Christian morality.7 Moralists and conduct manual writers became increasingly vocal about eschewing violence, and implored cuckolds to seek to redress their masculine honour through other means. For example, the playwright Thomas Heywood, writing under the nom de plume T. H. Gent, stated in his posthumous work The Generall History of Women that it was only “inhumane rashness” that led cuckolded men “to be their own justifiers,” by which they
“mingled the pollution of their beds, with the blood of the delinquents.”8 The moralist Jean
Gailhard appeals to masculine reason by stating that “all rational men” know that “it is not fit if man should be judge or executioner in his own case.”9
4 Jeremy Horder, Provocation and Responsibility (Oxford, 1992), 39, quoting from R v. Mawgridge (1707). 5 David M. Turner, Fashioning Adultery: Gender, Sex and Civility in England, 1660–1740, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 126 6 For example, when John Marketman was found guilty of murder after he killed his wife in 1680 after hearing that she had been “over lavish of her Favours to a Neighbour of hers.” His wife was sheltering in a neighbour’s house, when Marketman, “with a seemed Reconciliation,” invited her to come home. He made as if to embrace her and “stab’d her with a Knife under her Right Breast,” whereof she died. The cold-blooded nature of crime stripped any justification away from Marketman, and he was sentenced to death. See: The Full and True Relation of All the Proceedings at the Assizes Holden at Chelmsford, for the Countie of Essex [1680], EEBO, 17 May 2020. http://gateway.proquest.com/openurl?ctx_ver=Z39.88- 2003&res_id=xri:eebo&rft_id=xri:eebo:citation:99889661; “The Speech of John Marketman on the Ladder Before His Execution.” A Full and True Account of the Penitence of John Marketman [1680], EEBO, 17 May 2020. http://gateway.proquest.com/openurl?ctx_ver=Z39.88- 2003&res_id=xri:eebo&rft_id=xri:eebo:citation:26962434. 7 Anna Bryson, From Courtesy to Civility: Changing Codes of Conduct in Early Modern England (Oxford, 1998), 232– 41. 8 T. H. Gent, The Generall History of Women [1657], EEBO, 17 May 2020, 248. http://gateway.proquest.com/openurl?ctx_ver=Z39.88- 2003&res_id=xri:eebo&rft_id=xri:eebo:citation:12253582 9 J. Gailhard, The Compleat Gentleman [London, 1678], EEBO, 17 May 2020, 127. http://gateway.proquest.com/openurl?ctx_ver=Z39.88- 2003&res_id=xri:eebo&rft_id=xri:eebo:citation:13798080. 102
Nevertheless, murder as a result of an affront to masculine honour was a common enough theme in both classic and domestic tragedies. Though the two types of drama share many features, one gets the sense that Adams considers domestic tragedies as inferior to the classic because they were set in the household. That is to say because the setting of the play was limited, playwrights were forced to write about heroes of low social standing that did not reflect the standards of the classic tragic format. However, if we consider the household to be a microcosm of the country, then this theory no longer holds water. The aspect of domestic tragedy that endures is not the rank of the hero, but the nature of domesticity itself.
The reason behind the attention to the analogies between classic and domestic tragedy is to demonstrate how much the space of private and public overlapped during Renaissance
England. The movement between private and public spheres was not unidirectional. As
Orlin notes, this conflation of space also allowed the state to “concern itself with order in all households and to enjoin good domestic governance as a public duty.”10 Within the small scale of the household, we can see analogues to the governance of the country, as well as individualistic modes of behaviour. By close reading these types of plays, we may have a better grasp of how private masculine honour might have been conceptualised and understood in this time. While both classic and domestic tragedies adopt similar strategies, the scale of domestic dramas made it familiar and relatable in the eyes of the spectators. They give us a slightly unfiltered view of how honour and masculinity might have played out in the lives of early modern Englishmen.
Before we begin our analysis of the representation of private honour in specific plays, we need a better understanding of the transition between the spheres of private and public.
Harold Love defines publication as "a movement from a private realm of creativity to a
10 Orlin, 393. 103 public realm of consumption."11 Mary Trull disagrees with this implicit division of private and public, maintaining that “the boundary was flexible and dynamic, open to new definition with each author's work.” 12 She states that even within the different modes of
“publication,”13 there is still an element of "performing privacy" to authorship, particularly when it comes to works by women authors. The use of the term “performing” is important here; it reveals that the movement between the spheres is a constructed one (as are the spheres themselves). As this transient movement is precisely the focus of the plays discussed in this chapter, let us spend some time studying the relationship between these spheres.
Jurgen Habermas's The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere locates an emerging public sphere in late seventeenth-century England within the private realm.14 The author claims that a new identity was created in the "intimate sphere" of the newly private family, which in turn, created a bourgeois public sphere. Specifically, the idea of the public was created by the individual experiencing self-reflection and improvement within a private circle, allowing for better self-expression in public.15 The chief objection to this theory is that it excludes the experiences of those that were denied the same manner of self-reflection and improvement that was available to male heads of households. Feminist scholars have argued that there were multiple varieties of public spheres, which were determined by persons who were included and excluded from different arenas of life. This theory of varying publics based on individual experience is referred to as “counterpublic theory.” According to
Trull, counterpublic theory supplants the idea of an impersonal “public,” where individuals are disparate from their private identities. Instead, “public” can include “characteristic styles
11 Harold Love, The Culture and Commerce of Texts: Scribal Publication in Seventeenth Century England (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1998), 36. 12 Mary Trull, Performing Privacy and Gender in Early Modern Literature (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 1. 13 The manner in which Trull uses the term “publication” includes scribal, print and dramatic performance. 14 Jurgen Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1989), 43. 15 Trull, 10-11. 104 of behaviour and social interaction - features of social life often labelled ‘private.’”16 This theory is especially important when it comes to understanding the different representations of the early modern household in domestic tragedies and marriage manuals. Heather Dubrow notes the contradictions in different depictions of the Renaissance home by stating that "early modern households, ostensibly associated with tranquil stasis, were profoundly unstable materially and ideologically."17 Trull remarks that “Tudor and Stuart drama and fiction put the lie to the kindly, wise patriarchs and cheerfully subordinate women and servants portrayed by early modern household advice books.”18 Both these texts characterize a fantastical version of the early modern household but in different ways. Courtesy manuals and conduct books visualize an ideal image of society, whereas domestic dramas represent the communal apprehension associated with social ideals. Counterpublic theory allows us an opportunity to see how these varying accounts of public and private life may have been moulded by experiences of gender, rank and sexuality.
The idea of different individuals having varying experiences will explain how different characters in domestic plays understand the behaviour within and without the private sphere. Characters that were traditionally confined to the private sphere (such as wives and servants) had a better understanding of transitory navigation between the spheres and were better able to manipulate individuals that appeared very powerful in public. The behaviour between these spheres is especially important when we consider how they function as a location of public or private honour. As we have seen in Chapter One, not every man was capable of understanding the importance of exhibiting private honour – with some opting to act with the militaristic posturing more closely associated with public honour. Private
16 Trull, 11-12. 17 Heather Dubrow, Shakespeare and Domestic Loss: Forms of Deprivation, Mourning, and Recuperation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 11-12. 18 Trull, 13. 105 honour, on the other hand, called for temperate, restrained, and humble behaviour. It was the type of honour more associated with the poet, rather than the soldier.
To reiterate, the two different types of honour were not confined to a specific sphere, as indeed, the spheres of public and private did not have clear margins themselves. As stated previously, privacy and public were tenuous notions in early modern England. As these notions slowly took hold in the social consciousness, the discourse focused on regulating individual behaviour within these spheres. Of course, given the fluid nature of these realms, such prescriptive texts tend towards vagueness and contradictions. However, there is enough evidence to show that texts such as those on household management, courtesy manuals and sermons call for a different type of behaviour for men in situations that we have deemed
“private” (such as in the household, within a homosocial group, or even in solitary study).
William Whately’s A Bride-Bush, or, A Direction for Married Persons tells men that violent behaviour is what causes them to lose authority and manliness in their households: “That most men doe falsely cast the blame (of loosing their authoritie) vpon their wiues, when in very truth it is wholly and onely due vnto themselues: for it is not extorted from them by the wiues violence, but lost, and cast away by their owne folly and indiscretion.”19 Manuals such as Whatelys, or Richard Braithwaite’s The English Gentleman, call for humility, temperance and modesty from men, which is very different from how honour is usually represented in works such as domestic tragedies. However, though these texts tend to focus on a more militaristic version of masculinity (usually when depicting a “revenger” hero), we can still find evidence of private honour in these dramas.
We shall begin our investigation of private honour in domestic tragedies with Arden of Faversham, which was entered into the Register of the Stationers Company on 3 April
19 William Whately, A Bride-Bush, or, A Direction for Married Persons [1623], EEBO, 17 May 2020. http://gateway.proquest.com/openurl?ctx_ver=Z39.88- 2003&res_id=xri:eebo&rft_id=xri:eebo:citation:99854929. 106
1592.20 The play depicts the murder of Thomas Arden by his wife Alice and her lover,
Mosby, and their eventual punishment for their crime. This play is useful for our consideration because it deals with a domestic matter such as a marital affair, and how it bleeds into the public aspects of a man’s life. It also raises questions about the fluctuating concepts of masculinity and honour, and how they are represented across private and public spheres.
There are two characters in this play that manipulate and tug on Arden’s sense of honour – his wife Alice, and his friend and confidante Franklin. We will begin by studying what Franklin’s role reveals about the representation of masculinity. In the play, Franklin serves as the voice of the public opinion – articulating his concerns about Arden’s social standing as a result of his wife’s infidelity. We know that Franklin represents the community because it is he who presents Arden with deeds signed by the Lord Protector and Edward VI to “All the lands of the Abbey of Faversham” (i. 5). It is because of Franklin that Arden’s public status is made clear to the audience, and it is through him that we see how Arden understands the importance of his image and status.
The play shows Arden vacillating between extreme emotions, with Franklin standing in for public opinion, both within and without the play’s universe. Every time Arden chooses to believe Alice’s unlikely excuses over the evidence of his own eyes, Franklin mirrors the audience’s growing shock. We can also see how Franklin’s reaction reflects that of the public order of the play. Arden himself confirms that his tolerance of the affair is the talk of
“all the knights and gentlemen of Kent” (1. 343). Besides serving as an extension of public
20 Arden of Faversham [1592], Project Gutenberg, 2013. https://www.gutenberg.org/files/43440/43440-h/43440- h.htm. All subsequent references are to this edition.
107 opinion, Franklin’s role in this play also signifies the civic interventions in response to
Arden’s actions.21
Critics such as Randall Martin suggest that the polarity of Arden’s behaviour is indicative of the playwright’s belief that Arden was personally responsible for failing to end the affair.22 However, it is important to note the location and audience of Arden’s emotional responses. In the majority of the scenes depicting Arden’s anger, he performs them in front of his social equal, Franklin. Rather than it being a way for the dramatist to make Arden emasculated or vulnerable, this act may have served to rehabilitate his masculine reputation.23
Arden’s relationship with Franklin assists in re-establishing the patriarchal norm that is disrupted whenever Alice and Mosby come on stage. What we see in this scene of Arden is a conflation of the tropes of private and public honour. Arden’s response to Alice’s behaviour ranges from the typical reaction expected of a jealous, tragic hero to the self-restrained reaction expressed in marriage conduct manuals. On one hand, Arden vocalizes his rage at the affair, and his desire to seek revenge against Mosby, which is very emblematic of the militaristic public honour. On the other hand, Arden also gives into moments of modesty and self-pity, seeking a restrained solution to his marital dilemma. The notion of empowering masculinity by examining potential vulnerabilities is echoed in Mark Breitenberg’s Anxious
Masculinity. Breitenberg argues that male anxiety is the unavoidable result of a dominant culture committed to perpetuating itself by relying on wives it has constructed as the Other.24
Ironically, “men compensate for an anticipated danger that derives from the very patriarchal system in which they are engendered as subjects in the first place.”25 The very system that
21 Randall Martin, “‘Arden Winketh at His Wife's Lewdness, & Why!’: A Patrilineal Crisis in Arden of Faversham.” Early Theatre. (2001) 4. 10.12745/et.4.1.607. 14. 22 Ibid., 15. 23 Martin, 21. 24 Mark Breitenberg, Anxious Masculinity in Early Modern England, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 6. 25 Ibid., 6. Breitenberg explains his argument through Freud’s discussion of the child's "fort/da" game. Early modern men find “safety” in repetition or staging of anxiety, which could potentially take many forms – including a very public retreat from the family household. 108 gives men their authority, status and preferment is also the cause of their anxiety because it creates a potential for men to lose these positions of power. It is precisely because society is gendered that the biggest threat to men's authority comes in the form of women. Cristina
León Alfar notes that the “formation of masculine anxiety perpetually replicates itself as a mode of social and political regeneration and (re)stability, and the anticipation of danger actually produces that which is feared.”26 Much of the masculine reaction to cuckoldry is anticipatory, according to both Breitenberg and Alfar, and we could interpret Arden's departure from his home as an active move “in advance of the disempowerment he anticipates.”27
We might find solutions of an alternate way to recuperating masculine honour by reading domestic manuals and sermons. In domestic tragedies, the only solution for rejuvenating slighted masculine honour caused by infidelity is by seeking retribution through the wife's death. Household manuals and sermons would hardly prescribe murder as the ideal solution to the problem of adultery. So what was the solution suggested to retain the non- militaristic form of honour connected to the private sphere? As domestic manuals and sermons are prescriptive texts, most of the advice they offer is preventive, rather than curative. To clarify: domestic manuals tend to advise women to be good, moral wives and to cleave only to their husbands. There tends to be little information on what men should do when they find out that they have been cuckolded.
Nevertheless, we can find some insight into what a man of honour might be expected to do in this situation. For instance, the attribute of laying blame at the feet of the unfaithful wife that is the norm in drama is not the case in domestic manuals and sermons. In these texts, husbands were considered responsible for their wives’ transgressions. As the head of
26 Cristina León Alfar, "Elizabeth Cary’s Female Trinity: Breaking Custom with Mosaic Law in The Tragedy of Mariam," in Early Modern Women: An Interdisciplinary Journal (2008), 64-5. 27 Breitenberg, 183; Cristina León Alfar, Fantasies of Female “Evil”: The Dynamics of Power in Shakespearean Tragedy (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2003), 32–6. 109 the household, which was universally stated across the discourse, the husband was responsible for any misbehaviour committed under his roof.28 Elizabeth Foyster notes that
“Yet whether a man or his wife committed adultery, the effects on household order could be catastrophic and widespread, affecting all other facets of male honour, with the finger of blame always pointing back to the man as household head.”29 She claims that many contemporary moralists argue that “men should always go to the law to seek redress for dishonour, rather then take matters into their own hands.”30 In his domestic treatise, William
Whately comments on the “weak-willed” men who cannot control their wives, and proceeds to address the problem of unruly wives who usurp husbandly authority in the following fashion:
But here perhaps, some weake spirited man may interrupt me, and say: the thing you speake is reasonable, and happy wert it, if a man could doe it: but experience shews, it is sooner said than done, vnlesse you can give vs some good direction how to doe it: but for himselfe, he hath met with such a virago, that will be gouernour, or will ouerturne all; and against such a disordered, froward and sturdy-spirited dame, who can preserue his authoritie? To such obiector I answer: That most men doe falsely cast the blame (of loosing their authoritie) vpon their wiues, when in very truth it is wholly and onely due vnto themselues: for it is not extorted from them by the wiues violence, but lost, and cast away by their owne folly and indiscretion. It is not indeede in any mans power, to restraine a violent spirited woman from assailing his authoritie, but from winning it. Whether she shall breake forth into carriages of contempt, he cannot chuse: but whether he will prostitute himself vnto contempt yea or no, that he may, and must chuse. Many a citie is fiercely assaulted, and not taken. Many a woman striues to breake the yoke, but is not able. So long as the husbands behauiour is such, that the wiues soule (after that she hath recouered her selfe out of the drunkennesse of passion), is inforced to blame her owne rudeness and rebelliousness, and in her conscience to acknowledge him worthy the better place: so long hath hee duly preserued his authoritie against all her rude and disloyall resistance. Know yee therefore all yee husbands, that the way to maintaine authoritie in this societie, is not to vse violence, but skill. Not by maine force and by strong hand must an husband hold his owne, against his wiues vnditifulnesse: but by a more milde, and wise proceeding.31 (Italics mine).
28 Elizabeth A. Foyster, Manhood in Early Modern England: Honour, Sex and Marriage (London and New York: Longman, 1999), 66. 29 Ibid. 66. 30 Foyster, (1999), 165. 31 Whately. 110
While it appears that Whately’s text is solely focused on the actions a husband should take before his wife transgresses, there are sections in the passage that deal with the correct behaviour after the wrongdoing. One particular line claims that after the wife recovers from her “drunkennesse of passion,” the husband needs to behave in a manner that forces her to realise that she is in the wrong (“[she] is inforced to blame her owne rudeness and rebelliousness”). As is typical for these types of prescriptive texts, there is no specific call to action, nor is there any mention of any exact kind of wrongdoing. What we do see, however, is the stricture that the husband needs to control his behaviour rather than seek retribution from external sources. The tool that will resurrect husbandly authority is skill, not violence.
There is an aspect of performance and behaviour, a demonstration of goodly virtues that is advocated in this text. These qualities that need to be performed, in order to instruct, are precisely those associated with private honour, that is, temperance, self-restraint and humility. Hypothetically, husbands performing these virtues in the face of bad behaviour would be able to demonstrate the correct mode of wifely conduct. Whately’s text only addresses the wife as the audience for the husband’s performance of “good behaviour,” but there is also the larger context of community watching and judging of the actions as well. As we will see in the legal cases below, the community arbitrates on masculine behaviour – stepping in if they feel that the husband’s behaviour towards his wife is too violent.
We see a continuation of this theme in a sermon entitled, A Homily of the State of
Matrimony, which explains that a man needs to control his wife through kindness, not tyranny: “For he ought to be the leader and author of love in cherishing and increasing concord, which then shall take place if he will use moderation and not tyranny and if he yield something to the woman. For the woman is a weak creature, not endued with like strength of 111 mind.”32 The homily tells men not to be violent towards their wives, but to use love to
“increase concord” and affection. Interestingly, it also suggests that the husband should
“yield something” to his wife, suggesting that spousal obedience needed to be cultivated, not expected. As the woman is “weak,” the homily also states that they are “more prone to all weak affectations and dispositions of mind” and “with a word soon stirred to wrath.” This emphasis on the emotional and “passionate” afflictions of womenkind may have reminded male readers that their wives could fall victim to their sinful desires. Men were instructed not to be “too stiff, so that he ought to wink at some things and must gently expound all things to forebear.”33 Other texts, such as William Heale’s An Apologie for Women, also pointed out that sustaining authority was a matter of skill, of demonstrating through imitable behaviour and reason.34 The use of behaviour and reason is very important to our discussion because of man’s ability to overcome weak, feminine sensibilities through reason formed the backbone of contemporary concept of masculine honour.35
It is not only in conduct manuals and sermons that we see the equation between masculinity, self-restraint, and non-violence. There are examples from court cases that show that observers of domestic violence did not justify the husbands' actions either. Foyster notes
32 A Homily of the State of Matrimony [1571], The Anglican Library, 1994, 26. http://www.anglicanlibrary.org/homilies/bk2hom18.htm. As Lloyd Davis [Sexuality and Gender in the English Renaissance: An Annotated Edition of Contemporary Documents, (New York, NY: Routledge, 1998), 5] points out, it is not known for certain who penned the sermons which were published in the contemporary editions of the Book of Homilies, “though doubtless they were written by leading figures of the Reformation.” Similar notions were reiterated in William Gouge’s tract, where he contends that “the loue and mildness required of a husband should make him so to tender her as to remit something of his power [...]. A husband may sinne in pressing that too much vpon his wife, which she vpon his pressing may without sinne yeeld vnto.” William Gouge, Of Domestical Duties [1622], EEBO: TCP, 17 May 2020, 375. http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A68107.0001.001. See also: Robert Cleaver, A Godly Form of Household Government [1598], EEBO, 17 May 2020, 162. http://gateway.proquest.com/openurl?ctx_ver=Z39.88- 2003&res_id=xri:eebo&rft_id=xri:eebo:citation:99851892162. 33 A Homily of the State of Matrimony, 26. 34 William Heale, An Apologie for Women [1609], EEBO, 17 May 2020, 66. http://gateway.proquest.com/openurl?ctx_ver=Z39.88- 2003&res_id=xri:eebo&rft_id=xri:eebo:citation:99839689. 35 Elizabeth Foyster, "Male Honour, Social Control and Wife Beating in Late Stuart England," Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 6 (1996), 223: “But the check on male power which was intended to prevent patriarchal rule becoming tyrannical was the use of the reason seen as the essence of manhood.” 112 that the loss of self-control associated with wife beating was equated with a lack of manliness.36 In the testimonies provided during legal action, witnesses clearly declare that behaving with violence jeopardises the husbands manliness. Edward Trussell of St Martin- in-the-Fields was a legal witness for Elizabeth Hooper, and he claimed that she was
“commonly pitied by her Neighbours and persons of quality for her sufferings and the unmanly Actions wherewith...the said John [her husband] hath treated her.”37 In the case of
Humphrey Mildmay of Queen Camel, Somerset, when he was accused of wife-beating, he denied performing such an action, declaring it “a very unmanly unworthy thing for any gentleman so to do.” Another witness championed Humphrey's argument by stating that he had never seen Humphrey behave in any “unmanly” way towards his wife.38 Even in those situations where abusive behaviour may have been as a result of adultery, the reactions of servants and neighbours demonstrate that violence was something to be abhorred. For example, when John Bradley of St Giles, Middlesex started to strip his wife of her clothing in a tavern because he claimed she had been a whore, customers gathered around them and cried
“shame upon him.” This scene escalated to such an extent that John was compelled to “run away as fast as he could run, and many after him, crying stop him he hath killed his wife.”39
From the above texts, we can see that not only was the cause of wifely transgressions placed with the husband, but the men were also firmly instructed that violence was not the solution. Instead, the husband had to control his wife through moderation and reason, making allowances for her weaker mind rather than forcing her to his will. This passage does not specifically mention adultery, but it does talk about the evil transgressions of women.
Though no exact sin is stated, the solution that these texts provide is the same – skilful
36 Ibid., 221 37 Lambeth Palace Library, Court of Arches, Case 4747 (1673), Eee5, fos. 250v-Ir. Case number taken from Index of the Cases in the Records of the Court of Arches in Lambeth Palace Library, 1660-1913, edited by J. Houston, (Index Library, 85, 1972). 38 Lambeth Palace Library, Court of Arches, Case 6244 (1672), Ee4, fo. 767r. 39 Lambeth Palace Library, Court of Arches, Case II27 (1663), Eeei, fo. 63v. 113 manipulation of authority. The husband needs to act with restraint, not with violence.
Domestic dramas appear to pick up on the contradictory messages transmitted by conduct manuals and legal cases. The difference between the honourable behaviour expected from men in the private and public spheres forms the tension of the plot – the protagonist goes through many emotions and possibilities as he tries to parse out what his next steps should be to avenge his honour. As domestic tragedies represent the anxieties of the society, they always result in the protagonist choosing to follow through with violence, no matter how much he may deliberate with nonaggressive alternatives.
Initially, Arden of Faversham follows a revenge plot or one that speaks to conventional standards of masculinity. Franklin, who represents the public face of Arden’s honour, demands that Arden seek Alice’s death, “She will amend, and so your griefs will cease;/ Or else she’ll die, and so your sorrows end” (3.1.22-3). Corresponding to the manner of a traditional tragedy, we also see Arden speak in hyperbolic terms of the physical harm he would like to do unto his wife’s lover in an earlier scene:
Arden: ... that injurious ribald that attempts To violate my dear wife’s chastity ... Shall on the bed which he thinks to defile See his dissevered joints and sinews torn Whilst on the planchers pants his weary body, Smeared in the channels of his lustful blood. (1. 37–8, 40–43)
This speech follows the pattern of a violent, revenge fantasy where the hero reclaims his lost masculine honour by seeking physical punishment of those who wronged him. However, while Arden of Faversham allows its protagonist to dream about his revenge, fantasy is all it is. In the play, we continually see Arden choose to ignore these violent thoughts in favour of a more restrained response. In essence, we see a rejection of the public show of militaristic honour, and an embrace of private honour. For example, Arden decides not to attack Mosby in this scene, but instead chooses to “take horse,/ And lie with [Franklin] at London all this term” (1. 50-1). It is difficult to say if the play is mocking Arden’s decision to leave or 114 validating it – Arden himself admits that it “abhors from reason” (1. 54) even as he preparing to leave. Even if his decision to follow the “moderate” course is viewed as unacceptable by the play’s audience, we can still appreciate the shift from public honour to private as Arden abandons the domestic sphere out of a sense of emotional survival, and turns instead to the homosocial, all-male world.
The self-restraint we see in the first scene of the play is then subsequently manipulated and corrupted by Alice until Arden’s actions earn him scorn rather than admiration from his social equals. The influence of Alice over her husband and her role as the author of the play is made clear in the 1592 title‐page, which describes “the great malice and dissimulation of a wicked woman,” and a “disloyal and wanton wife.”40 Alice’s dissimulation is manifested in her rhetorical adroitness, and the use of what she calls her
“sweet-set tongue” (i.49). The playwright makes it apparent that Alice’s rhetorical ability is connected to her sexual liberty – an association that was commonly believed in the
Renaissance, as both these actions were seen as a challenge to the patriarchal authority.41
Alice’s persuasive ability is not just demonstrated in the manner in which she controls
Arden and Mosby with her words and body – it is also symbolised in the climax of her
“quarrel scene” with Mosby. At the end of this scene, the audience witnesses her transformation from "honest Arden's wife" (1. 73) to Mosby's lover. Alice’s “conversion” is vividly represented through her physical rejection of Scripture by tearing out pages from her prayer-book. She promises Mosby that she will replace these pages with his letters and that she “shall thy sweet phrases and thy letters dwell;/ And thereon will I chiefly meditate, /And hold no other sect but such devotion” (1.120-2). By swearing herself thus to Mosby, Alice makes clear to the audience the scope of her morality (or lack thereof). As MacDonald
40 Orlin, 394. 41 Bilal Tawfiq Hamamra, “The Containment of Female Linguistic, Spatial, and Sexual Transgression in Arden of Faversham: A Contemporary Palestinian Reading,” Comparative Literature: East & West, 2:2, (2018), 90. 115
Jackson notes, this gesture emphasizes Alice’s corruption of language, as “oaths and bonds are broken and words become weapons.” 42
As Alice perverts language, so too does she warp Arden’s sense of masculine honour.
An example of Arden’s misguided sense of honour is when he overrides Franklin’s suggestion that Mosby vacate the Arden household. When Franklin advises that Mosby
“forbear” Arden’s house to quell the gossip, Arden responds, “nay, rather frequent it more:/
The world shall see that I distrust her not” (1. 349-350). Franklin’s instruction is an appeal to
Arden’s reason and stems from a healthy fear of public judgement. This scene is not a masculine-affirming performance of moderation that would recuperate Arden’s authority over his wife, and restore his honour in the eyes of his male public peers – it is a performance of emasculation. Arden does not react in the way that either conduct manuals or legal cases state men should act. He wilfully ignores his wife's behaviour instead of attempting to correct it or punish her (specifically through legal means), which would have undermined his authority as a man of public standing.
Alice convinces Arden to her side by manipulating his emotion and reminding Arden of his trust in her. She manages to override his sense of public honour, by changing his focus to domestic matters. As Arden’s priorities skew, the audience witnesses how he slowly abandons all sense of honour completely. Conduct manuals draw a careful line between private honour and emasculation. The works cited earlier in this chapter specifically insist that men need to take decisive and “skilful” action against their wives, and not cede authority to them through lenient behaviour. Arden’s act of humility and modesty does not “inforce
[Alice] to blame her owne rudeness and rebelliousness” as Whately suggests such behaviour
42 MacDonald P. Jackson, "Shakespeare and the Quarrel Scene in 'Arden of Faversham,'" Shakespeare Quarterly, 57, 3 (2006), 252. 116 should do. Instead, Arden embraces these feminine qualities so completely, that his actions present him as a gullible fool, rather than a man acting on private honour.
The clearest indication of Alice’s controlling Arden’s belief in her is when she questions why Arden refuses to eat the broth she has prepared. In this highly dramatic scene,
Alice throws the broth to the ground and claims that Arden does not trust her anymore because he believes she might have poisoned his food. She even asks for a spoon to drink the broth herself and declares that Arden’s distrust causes her “torment” and “tears” (1. 387-390).
So skilfully does she manoeuvre Arden that he immediately asserts that he trusts her completely and feels no jealousy or anger towards Mosby. The cleverness of Alice’s strategy is referenced after Arden leaves the house, when she says to Mosby, “But did you mark me then how I brake off?” To which Mosby replies, “Ay, Alice, and it was cunningly performed” (1.420).
In Act Four, Scene 4, Arden comes upon Alice and her lover in an intimate embrace, which leads him to attack and wound Mosby. Franklin approves this action, and his rejoinder echoes the traditional response expected by society, “Nay, then it is time to draw” (4.4.83).
However, soon after this altercation Alice convinces Arden that she embraced Mosby in jest, and emotionally coerces Arden into asking for her forgiveness: “Forget but this and never see the like. / Impose me penance, and I will perform it” (4.4. 118–19). Alice admonishes Arden for seeking to avenge his honour through violence, claiming that when he acts aggressively, she feels more like a slave than a wife. She changes the setting of the dialogue from the public sphere back to the private sphere by listing a series of ways Arden may find fault with her person:
Alice: Henceforth I’ll be thy slave, no more thy wife, For with that name I never shall content thee. If I be merry, thou straightways thinks me light; If sad, thou sayest the sullens trouble me; If well attired, thou thinks I will be gadding; If homely, I seem sluttish in thine eye: 117
Thus am I still, and shall be while I die. (4.4.105-111)
When talking about her appearance and countenance, Alice keeps the context within the private sphere, only referring to what Arden would find fault with, not the general public.
She appeals to Arden’s private honour, while Franklin cautions him to remember his public persona. Franklin’s reaction in this scene is incredulous amazement; he is further appalled when Arden desires Alice to be a ‘mediator’ (xiii. 133) between him and Mosby. He questions if Arden understands the degree of damage he is doing to his public image: “Why,
Master Arden! know you what you do?/ Will you follow him that hath dishonoured you?”
(4.4.134-5). Arden, however, does not take kindly to this question and asks Franklin to “hold his peace,” choosing to follow his wife’s counsel instead (4.4.147-8). The scene ends with
Franklin washing his hands of the whole affair, and deciding to accept the inevitable: “He whom the devil drives must go perforce” (4.4.151).
A close-reading of this scene reveals that Alice wishes to push apart the two spheres of private and public. She wants Arden to fully embrace the feminising values of private honour completely, to the point of emasculation, and for him to reject the restrained masculinity that conduct books (and Franklin) advise. She wilfully ignores public opinion and reminds Arden to stay true to the honour that includes self-restraint and temperance.
Meanwhile, Franklin is aware that the spheres are not as disparate as Alice and Arden would like to believe, and he insists that punitive action be taken outright. Arden ignores him, to his downfall. Arden’s interpretation of private honour is a corruption of the values advocated by
Richard Braithwaite and Roger Ascham, yet it is to this very sense of honour that Alice is applying. The context of audience and location is very important to the deployment of these qualities, which is something that Franklin is aware of, but Arden is not. The space where honour is presented (be it domestic, homosocial, public), the people to whom the honour is directed and the advice followed (from conduct manuals, the law, or fictionalized heroic 118 renditions of masculine violence), all play a part in the depiction of honour. And in the case of domestic tragedies, whichever path the hero chooses to follow – whether its private honour to the point of emasculation like Arden, or public honour to the point of murder like Othello, the ending is always the same – the only redemption for the cuckold in domestic tragedy is death.
Arden allows himself to be manipulated, failing to navigate the tenuous connection between the two types of honour. The idea of private honour we glean from domestic manuals and sermons demonstrates an ideal, and does not reflect the harsh realities of early modern life. In Arden’s case, his self-restraint earns him scorn from the public. Yet because he is so easily manipulated by Alice, his behaviour is not justified by what we have seen in conduct manuals either. It would seem that in the world of domestic dramas, a cuckold is a man without any honour at all.43
The second play that we will discuss is Othello, the Moore of Venice by William
Shakespeare, which was first entered into the Register of the Stationers Company on 6
October 1621.44 This play is similar to Arden of Faversham, in that it also depicts the volatility of masculine honour in the face of marital infidelity. However, in the case of
Othello, the titular character’s wife Desdemona is not unfaithful; she is merely perceived as such. There are other resemblances between the two plays – the focus on the cuckolded husband, both of whom are named in the title of their plays, as well as the public perception
43 The various discourse regarding private and public honour give contradictory information about the ideal version of masculinity, which is the source of much of the tension in domestic tragedies. However, this “tension” is very much subject to the genre of the drama in question. Not every play depicts masculine honour in terms of wifely fidelity. In city comedies, such as A Chaste Maid in Cheapside, masculinity is measured by material wealth and status, rather than sexual power. For the characters in these dramas, the cuckold becomes a “wittol,” or a man who is aware and tolerant of his wife's infidelity. These cases of the “contented cuckold” usually occur because the man receives material and social power from his wife’s lover, thereby elevating his own masculine position in the world of the play. See: Jennifer Panek, “'A Wittall cannot be a cookold:' Reading the Contented Cuckold in Early Modern English Drama and Culture," Journal for Early Modern Cultural Studies, 1, 2, 2001, 66-92. 44 William Shakespeare, Othello, the Moore of Venice [1621], The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, 1993. http://shakespeare.mit.edu/othello/full.html. All subsequent references are to this edition. 119 of their affected masculinity. Both protagonists are unable to discern the nuances of private and public honour and are subsequently manipulated by another figure. For our analysis, we will begin by exploring how Iago uses language to influence Othello’s understanding of honour. Next, we will plot the transition of Othello’s “honourable” behaviour from the start of the play to the end. In doing so, we can see the emphasis on the balance of private and public honour at the beginning of the play to the ultimate breakdown of public honour in the end.45
When Othello is convinced of Desdemona’s infidelity, he reacts in the same way he might have reacted to insubordination amongst his regiment. He brings the militaristic aspect of honour to this domestic tragedy and is frustrated by his inability to navigate the private sphere. Iago, on the other hand, is more than capable of traversing these two domains. The play reveals how Iago (like Alice) can manipulate Othello by controlling his understanding of the public perception of honour, corrupting Othello’s knowledge, and using language to control everyone around him. In light of counterpublic theory, we can see how some characters have experiences that contain aspects of both the public and private sphere, thus giving them a superior advantage to those who are only limited to one. Iago demonstrates more knowledge of the private sphere than Othello, as he is able to blend into any sphere of conversation represented in the play.46 His experience as a man of lower-rank, and a servant to Othello, explains his ability to navigate between these spheres (which are porous to him because his status is indistinct), while Othello’s notions of public masculinity hinder his
45 Arguably, Othello returns to being a chivalric hero at the end of the play when he kills himself – however, as discussed further in this chapter, this last scene paints him as an “honourable murderer,” which is a contradiction in terms. 46 It is interesting that as a character who has such a unique perspective on honour, Iago himself is a man without honour. He remarks in Act 1, Scene 3 that his offended masculinity as one of the reasons he wants to destroy Othello, but his motivations for revenge are myriad and everchanging. Perhaps because he of his ability to navigate the spheres of private and public so well he is able to comprehend the meaninglessness of honour, which is why he ultimately states, “Reputation is an idle and most false imposition, oft got without merit and lost without deserving” (2.3.287-289). 120 comprehension of the differences in behaviour.47 Using this knowledge, he constantly bridges people and artefacts between the spheres to achieve his ends. For instance, when he uses an object with one meaning in the private sphere, such as a handkerchief, to sow discord by placing it in the wrong context in the public sphere. Iago also uses the language of service and rhetoric very effectively to control the discourse of public and private. The double entendre of “service,” to signify both military service, as well as sexual intercourse, is one such example when Iago conflates the two in 1.3.387– 88 when he reflects that Othello is reported to “have done my office” “’twixt the sheets.”48
The use of language to confuse the terms of these two spheres is important when it comes to Iago’s creating confusion in the mind of Othello. In Othello, the public spheres of war and civic policy confront the private spheres of marriage and sexual economies. Rieger notes that Iago carefully creates a world that is opposite to the one that the audience sees on stage, yet as the play progresses, what we see is a slow collision of the two realms as Iago’s vision eventually becomes reality.49 Therefore, what should be considered private and domestic is forced into the public sphere by Iago’s manipulation. In doing so, Iago manipulates Othello to take action according to the code of public honour, rather than the non-aggressive method of private honour.
Othello does not understand private honour and is persuaded by Iago to behave in a more militaristic manner within his household. Like Arden, his primary response is violence
47 For servants’ superior ability to navigate between the two spheres see: Trull, 16. Trull makes a persuasive case for the servants of Shakespeare's All's Well That Ends Well moving between public and private with ease as a result of their potential “freedom” of movement. 48 See Michael Neill, "'His Master's Ass': Slavery, Service and Subordination in Othello," in Shakespeare and the Mediterranean, edited by Tom Clayton, et al., (Newark, DE: University of Delaware Press, 2004), 215-229. Neill notes:“… it is more than mere wordplay or loose analogy that links the erotic “office” that the Moor and Cassio have supposedly usurped in Iago’s bedchamber (1.3.387–88, 2.1.307) with the military office (or “place”) of which they have cheated him (1.1.11), just as it is more than mere hyperbole that allows Brabantio to denounce his daughter’s elopement as a “treason of the blood” (1.1.69), or Cassio to describe Desdemona as “our great captain’s captain” (2.1.74), or Iago to insist that “our general’s wife is now the general” (2.3.314– 15).” 49 Gabriel A. Rieger, "'I Am Worth No Worse A Place': Service, Subjugation, and Satire," Sex and Satiric Tragedy in Early Modern England, (Milton Park, Oxfordshire: Taylor & Francis Group, 2009), 107. 121 towards those who have wronged him. But unlike Arden, Othello does not have an Alice to convince him with a perverse form of private honour. Nor does he have a Franklin to help mitigate the damage to his public image. Instead, Iago fans the flames of Othello’s fury by instigating his violent tendencies, forcing them into the private sphere where they do not belong, according to conduct manuals. This type of domestic violence was not the solution to marital discord, according to conduct manuals and marriage advice tracts. John Arthos notes that Othello’s desire for violence is aroused by two criteria - the activities of war, and the violation of oaths.50 He is compelled to destroy both Cassio and Desdemona on the suspicion of infidelity. In Act Three, Scene three, Othello responds to Iago’s request for patience by saying that nothing will satisfy him except for “blood, blood, blood!” (3.3.451). Unlike
Arden, his resolve is firm and unbending:
Like to the Pontic sea, Whose icy current and compulsive course Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on To the Propontic and the Hellespont, Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, Till that a capable and wide revenge Swallow them up. Now, by yond marble heaven, In the due reverence of a sacred vow I here engage my words.... Damn her, lewd minx! O, damn her! damn her! (3.3.453-462, 475)
Othello eschews humility for violence and abandons love for revenge. He turns his back on the type of masculine honour prescribed by courtesy manuals, instead choosing to become the revenger and retrieve his honour through martial means. The solemn vow that Othello makes at the end of this speech blurs the lines of domesticity and marriage (as it is a marriage vow that Desdemona appears to have broken) with the oaths taken as a soldier. When Othello says that his bloody thoughts are like to Pontic Sea, which “Ne'er feels retiring ebb,” this may give us an insight into a potential action that he chooses not to take. Perhaps, like Arden,
50 John Arthos, "The Fall of Othello," Shakespeare Quarterly, 9, 2 (1958), 99. 122 there may have been a chance that he would leave his household, or disown Desdemona.
Unlike Arden, Othello is very conscious of his public image, and his status as an outsider within the Venetian community. He is far more preoccupied with public honour than Arden, which is why he never considers other paths he could take to regain his honour, outside of violence.
However, there is one moment before this scene, where it seems as though Othello would rather be ignorant and happy, and thus seemingly indifferent to the condition of his public honour. In earlier lines, he says:
I had been happy, if the general camp, Pioners and all, had tasted her sweet body, So I had nothing known. O, now, for ever Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content! Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, That make ambition virtue! O, farewell! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war! And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dead clamours counterfeit, Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone! (3.3.397-409) In the first three lines of this speech, Othello initially indicates that he does not care about public honour. Though everyone else in the camp, both high and low, would be aware of
Desdemona’s infidelity, he would still be happy in his not knowing. However, what is it exactly that is keeping Othello content? Would he be happy because he would still believe that Desdemona loved him, and was a virtuous wife? Or is it less about love, and more about the knowledge that as his wife is virtuous, his honour by extension is unsullied?
Othello tells Iago that he must have proof of Desdemona’s infidelity before he kills her, signifying that he has straightaway moved to the militaristic mode of revenge: “Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore,/ Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof” (3.3.411-412).
Othello was the chivalric hero, and he now has to be the revenger hero (“Othello's 123 occupation's gone!”). He would rather be ignorant of his dishonour, allowing us to believe he places more importance being tranquil and happy than on honour. But his next lines show us how important his public image is to him. This confused and erratic speech makes him even more a tragic hero because it is such a departure from the position of power Othello had at the start of the play.
As the only black character in the play, Othello is very conscious of the status of his honour, yet he does not exhibit any anxiety over his public image in the first act of the play.
Instead, he is confident in the righteousness of his actions. Though his very first scene is filled with characters that are hostile towards him, with Iago even stating that Brabantio has spoken “scurvy and provoking terms/ against [Othello’s] honour” (1.2.7-8), Othello is unfazed. Instead, he says:
Let him do his spite; My services, which I have done the signiory, Shall out- tongue his complaints; 'tis yet to know Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, I shall provulgate - I fetch my life and being From men of royal siege, and my demerits May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune As this that I have reached. (1.2.17-24)
In this speech, Othello strikes the right balance between confidence and humility. He is proud of his ancestry, as well as aware of his “demerits.” Ewan Fernie notes that Othello’s air of “modest civility” reinforces “the general sense of natural immunity to shame.”51 ”In other words, Othello’s easy air of courtesy demonstrates his self-assurance in his sense of honour. The “unbonneted” manner in which he speaks, alluding to the lifting of his hat out of respect, displays his modesty and self-deprecating nature. These are the specific qualities echoed in the conduct manuals and sermons we studied in Chapter One. Contrast this surety and poise with Othello’s manner in Act three, Scene three. As the play progresses, we see
51 Ewan Fernie, "Shame in ‘Othello.’" The Cambridge Quarterly, 28, 1 (1999), 31. 124
Othello drawn further into Iago’s snare, losing all of his self-possession. Othello slowly deviates from private honour in his dealings with Desdemona, focusing on revenge instead.
This reliance on the wrong type of honour for the private sphere ultimately leaves him, just like Arden, a man completely bereft of honour.
In Othello, we can see Shakespeare’s ideas about the social implications of masculine honour and the repercussions of society’s dependence on it. No matter what type of honour is depicted in this play, be it private or public, the naive confidence displayed by Othello in implicitly trusting in this system only ends in loss. In other tragedies such as King Lear and
Hamlet, Shakespeare continues to demonstrate his preoccupation with the concept of honour, as well the concept of private and public spaces. The deployment of honour, its social use and understanding and the negative consequences of an overreliance on it - all form a fundamental part of his plays. In comedies, such as Much Ado About Nothing, Shakespeare indicates his interest in the subjective quality of honour, and how easily it is besmirched and renewed. He does not limit himself to space and gender, as we have done in this dissertation, but demonstrates the flaws in both systems of honour: masculine and feminine, across either the private or public spheres. Though there is so much to say about the representation of honour in Shakespearean plays, for the purposes of our brief discussion, it is enough to note that in Othello, Shakespeare is clearly demonstrating how honour in all its forms is a problematic foundation for social order, as it is contingent on too many things to be a base of any stability. As Falstaff points out, “Honour is a mere scutcheon,” (V.i.139) and hardly more reliable that the breath it takes to speak the word.
In the final scene of Othello, when Lodovico asks, “What shall be said to thee?”,
Othello resignedly replies:
Why, anything, An honourable murderer, if you will: For nought did I in hate, but all in honour. (5.2.294-6)
125
Throughout the play, we are witness to Othello’s honour and its devolution as an object of pride to the thing that results in his death. His understanding of honour started as a nuanced concept, exhibiting qualities of both private and public. However, as the narrative progresses, Iago converts Othello’s honour into an inflexible, rigid version of public honour, with none of the qualities reflected in the first scene. Othello’s answer “Why, anything” to
Lodovico returns him to the start of play where he is indifferent to public response.
However, in this scene, it is for the complete opposite reason. Instead of confidence in his honour, Othello now knows that he has none at all. An honourable murderer is a contradiction – “deserving the hell he has just wished on himself.”52 Just like Arden, his inability to navigate the spheres of honour has led him to the point where there is no resolution for the hero besides death. The paths of the resolution of both public and private honour have been denied to these men because the version of honour they chose was corrupted by characters better suited to navigate these nuanced spheres.53
This chapter has focused on an aspect of private honour we have not discussed in the previous three chapters, that is, its relationship to adultery. In early modern English society, there existed an underlying fear regarding masculine honour, and the majority of these fears stemmed from anxiety regarding female sexuality. This is best exemplified in the domestic dramas that emphasize the fear of becoming a cuckold, such as Arden of Faversham and
Othello, where the very threat of adultery leads to murder and the dismantling of social hierarchy. These plays clearly demonstrate that private and public honour are dependent on the social context and construction that surrounds the players. They also illustrate that those that belong in liminal spaces, such as women and servants, have the mobility to navigate between public and private spheres – an ability that the central figures lack. The most
52 Ibid., 42. 53 We have seen a similar perversion of private honour in Chapter two, where poets create sonnet heroes with twisted notions of private honour in order to better demonstrate the poet’s own public masculinity. 126 important fact that we have gleaned from studying these plays is that honour is an unreliable facet of society, with tragedies such as Othello revealing the anxieties about masculinity and the code of conduct. They represent the darker aspects of honourable masculinity, and operated contrary to the idealistic narrative of conduct manuals. Studying how private masculine honour was represented in these two forms of discourse, as well as looking at examples of case-studies of domestic abuse, gives us a clearer idea about how this version of honour was understood in the public writings of Renaissance England.
127
Conclusion
The purpose of this research was to create a definition of masculine private honour.
This required us to answer three questions: what did the concept of “private” mean in
Renaissance England, how was masculinity manifested and represented within this space, and how did this manifestation differ from the representation of masculinity in the public sphere?
This dissertation has demonstrated that, though there existed a “private” sphere separate from the court life and public responsibilities of English noblemen, these two spheres were not completely distinct. There was a lot of overlap between the two, and the most important takeaway is that privacy did not mean in the Renaissance what we consider it to mean today.
The private sphere for English noblemen did not mean total seclusion – it would have included an audience of friends and family or even a performance just for themselves. The main aim of this research was to illustrate that just as masculinity in public was a performance, so was it in private - even if the intended audience was just the performer himself. This concept was demonstrated and proved in Chapters Two and Three, which focused on the depiction of private honour in the arts of the sonnet and miniature portrait respectively. Rather than argue to which sphere these arts belong, this dissertation maintained they straddle the two spheres of private and public.
Our key objective was to determine the nature of masculine honour in the private sphere in the Elizabethan era. This dissertation focused specifically on Robert Sidney, whose private life was a classic specimen for our argument. Previous critical analyses of honour emphasized the public aspects – a man’s house, clothes and his official capacity. However, in this dissertation, those aspects took a back seat, and the primary focus was on the private domain – such as marital relationship and the “private” arts of sonnets and miniatures. We also saw how a nobleman’s son and heir functioned as an extension of a his masculinity, and like the sonnet and miniature, was another object that served to highlight private masculine 128 honour. We were keen to establish the contemporaneous meaning of the term “private,” what activities it encompassed, and how the representation of this “honourable” image in private differed from its portrayal in public. The differences between the two types of honour were very clear in how differently they were depicted across different mediums of art and writing.
In our journey to define private honour, we discovered that private honour is a manifestation of qualities that were conventionally understood as feminine - such as humility, modesty, temperance and self-control. One of the most important takeaways from this research was that the definition of masculine and feminine was not set in stone, and that these concepts were constantly fluctuating throughout Renaissance Europe. As we have noted throughout the dissertation, the inconsistent qualities of masculinity often restricted our study of the representation of early modern English noblemen. We needed to keep in mind that every individual in Renaissance England would have had different views that were formulated as a result of travel, relationships, and education (amongst other factors). The focus of this dissertation was on a specific English nobleman who was stationed in the
Netherlands for much of his career, and as such, his ideas of masculinity were impacted by both English values as well as Dutch. Robert Sidney’s perspective on manhood might not have been completely unique, but neither was it commonplace. In Chapter Three we noted that contemporary Dutch ideas of masculinity were quite different from those of the English.
In England itself, qualities of masculinity vacillated between the private and the public sphere. Another factor that would have impacted perspectives of masculinity that was not covered in this dissertation (besides the influence of travel) was the class system. A man from the middling or working class would have experienced a different construct of masculinity than someone from the nobility. It is the hope that the narrow focus of this dissertation allows for a broader light to be shed on these other significant factors as well. 129
Robert Sidney was the exemplary model upon which this study is based, but we had to keep in mind that other noblemen might have expressed their masculinity slightly differently in their artwork or writing, depending on their own personal experiences. The goal of this dissertation was not to give a single or comprehensive definition of private masculine honour but to suggest, first of all, that it existed, and secondly, that it was distinct from public, militaristic honour. How it was represented may have varied slightly, but on the whole, private honour in England seemed to ask for a gentler more temperate ideal from men, rather than traditional ideas of aggression and strength (especially when we consider funeral sermons, conduct manuals and domestic tragedies).
Renaissance conduct manuals were quick to suggest the ideal forms of both masculinity and femininity. However (as noted in Chapter 4), these domestic treatises were deliberately vague. A reading of these manuals might lead us to think that masculinity was a firmly established set of values, but this dissertation demonstrated that it was in fact a complex network of cultural markers that varied between the private and public spheres. In addition, the terms private and public kept evolving in meaning. This sliding signification proved especially problematic when discussing artwork such as the sonnet and miniature portrait – forms that existed neither solely in the public nor the private sphere. However, once it was established that these artworks belonged in a liminal space between private and public, it was easy to see how the qualities they represented were similar to the features of private honour established in Chapter One.
The focus of this dissertation was on masculinity, but of course, feminine honour might also have varied between the private and public spheres. Problematising this was the dictate that women stay in the private sphere, and manuals related to their conduct would have only emphasized their behaviour within it. As this research has shown, the qualities of private honour borrowed from those that are traditionally coded as feminine. The public 130 sphere was connoted as masculine, and hence added to social anxiety about women being free to roam the masculine realm. It would be interesting to compare the discussions of women’s behaviour in private and public with those of men. As we have noted, the manifestation of masculinity evolved from Henry VIII’s rule to Elizabeth’s, and tracking the change in perception of feminine honour as time went by would be a fruitful direction for further research.
Chapters Two and Four examined how the values of private masculine honour might be manipulated and corrupted. The last chapter, in particular, validated the research of the previous three by demonstrating how private honour was a notable part of the discourse on honour in Renaissance England. The nature of representation of private honour had both positive and negative depictions, which helped us form a more holistic image of how the subject was understood during the period. Any study concerning the representation of feminine honour must likewise note how these values were subverted in artistic mediums, such as poetry and plays. We have shown how the two types of masculine honour often appear opposed to each other, which allowed for honour to be manipulated by those who were able to navigate deftly the spheres of private and public. How feminine honour might be depicted, and then subverted, in plays such as Middleton and Rowley’s The Changeling would prove an interesting juxtaposition to this study. It would be particularly fascinating if such a study came to the same conclusion as Chapter Four did, that society’s valuing of honour was constantly undermined and problematized by the playwright.
The goal of this dissertation was to recognise the nuanced constructs of masculine honour in both the public and private realms of Renaissance England. Having a better understanding of the different types of honour would improve our analysis of literary works that deal with the private and domestic sphere. The last chapter considered how domestic tragedies might be reread in the context of private honour. However, there are still more 131 indicators of this type of honour in a range of Renaissance literature, including comedies and epic poetry. Poems such as The Faerie Queene or Orlando Furioso are rich sources of evidence for further studies related to private honour.
Indeed, the hope is that this research will invigorate scholarly attention, not only to
Robert Sidney – whose letters, poems and miniature establish his perspective on private masculine honour, and reveal his strengths and insecurities – but also to the tensions regarding honour that are inherent in domestic tragedies. By looking at the example of
Robert Sidney, we might postulate what the experience of masculinity was for other English noblemen. It is the expectation that this dissertation has improved our understanding of the interaction of men in this time period with the people and objects that influenced their honour
– their wives, children, writings, paintings and even their relationships with themselves.
Honour was a fundamental aspect of identity in the English Renaissance, and it is hoped that this research into its masculine manifestations can deepen our understanding of social customs and the arts alike. 132
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