The Rehearsal - Buckingham

On Monday, I opened up the document containing my first chapter and, perhaps unsurprisingly, realised that I was stuck. I spent six weeks concentrating on the same ten thousand words that now that it's time to move on from them, I'm outside of my comfort zone. Fortunately, I had a copy of Buckingham's The Rehearsal in my bag, so I spent two days rereading that and taking notes to get back into the flow of things.

I don't think that it's saying too much to claim that The Rehearsal struck a massive blow to heroic drama and effectively changed English theatre. Its success suggested that the burlesque could have, as Simon Trussler writes, a "corrective function" and that furthermore, "the grosser absurdities of the heroic idiom could no longer be perpetrated with impunity". (Trussler, 2)

Even aside from its theatrical importance, The Rehearsal is an interesting play. It has a rather MST3K feel about it: two "men about town" sit down to watch a rehearsal of a bad play, and make sarcastic comments as it plays out in front of them. Throughout, they discuss the play's quality with its author, Bayes - played by the seventeenth-century comic giant John Lacy - who is adamant about its greatness. The bad play is an explicit parody of the heroic dramas that Dryden was putting out - and Bayes is a direct parody of Dryden - and is utterly ridiculous, the chief complaint being that there is no actual plot. The drama is rather a series of scenes depicting people reacting unconvincingly to strange and random events.

Perhaps Buckingham's greatest scene is one in which the Prince Volscius falls in love with a girl just as he is preparing to depart for war. As he is pulling on his boots, he gives a tragi-comic speech on the dilemma of love versus honour - but cannot come to a conclusion and thus "goes out hopping with one Boot on, and the other off". A point charmingly and humourously made regarding the agonies that Volscius' alter egos go through in serious plays.

Unfortunately for my purposes, The Rehearsal does not have a duel in it. However, I shall use what I can, given that it skillfully parodies heroic modes, and there is plenty of comic violence throughout. I am especially fond of a battle scene which has only two soldiers, both wearing ribbon and carrying lutes. This is possibly the first instance of the "two man army" gag, beloved of later burlesques - the joke is, quite simply, that there are only two men representing enormous armies - although I am not certain.

Of particular note is the final battle, won by Drawcansir - a violent young man described by the author as a "fierce Hero". He kills everyone else on the battlefield, after which he declares:

DRAWCANSIR: Others may boast a single man to kill;

But I, the blood of thousands daily spill.

Let petty Kings the names of Parties know:

Where e'er I come, I slay both friend and foe.

The swiftest Horsemen my swift rage controuls,

And from their Bodies drives their trembling souls.

If they had wings, and to the Gods could flie,

I would pursue and beat 'em through the skie:

And make proud Jove, with all his Thunder, see

This single Arm more dreadful is, than he. V:I, 275-284

More powerful than Jove! Buckingham here parodies the belligerence of modern heroes, and in particular the apparent insistence that the greatest, most powerful hero must necessarily be the bloodiest warrior. Remember: up until relatively recently, heroism in English literature didn't depend on killing numerous people on a battlefield. This was especially the case in English drama - medieval dramas were almost exclusively morality tales or retellings of Bible stories.

Drawcansir is a parody of Dryden's greatest heroic creation, Almanzor, from The Conquest of Granada, a character heavily drawn from Achilles. Buckingham was not afraid of misquoting lines from Granada for comic effect; for example, regarding his forbidden love for Almahide, Almazor says:

He who dares love, and for that love must die,
And, knowing this, dares yet love on, am I. IV:III

- while Drawcansir says, in anticipation of a drunken brawl:

He that dares drink, and for that drink dares die,
And knowing this, dares yet drink on, am I. IV:I, 190-191

Indeed, Drawcansir is permissible as a hero in spite of the fact that he "frights his Mistress, snubs up Kings, baffles Armies, and does what he will, without regard to numbers, good manners, or justice" (IV:I, 83-84) because his violent, often brutal behaviour is what had come to be regarded as acceptable heroic conduct. There is no inconsistency; in writing Drawcansir, Buckingham is simply taking the standard to its logical extreme.

A duel would have been nice, of course, as it would mean that I'd be able to write more about The Rehearsal than I'm now going to. Still, the play stands as an excellent parody of heroic behaviour, and perhaps it's one that I'll be able to return to at a later date.