Born, at Buckhurst, Sussex, 1536. Probably educated at Sullington Grammar School. Incumbent of the Chantry at Sullington Church, 1546. Called to Bar at Inner Temple. Married Cicely Baker, 1554. M.P. for Westmoreland, 1558; for East Grinstead, 1559; for Aylesbury, 1563. Tragedy “Gorboduc” (written with Norton), performed in Inner Temple Hall, 1561. Grand Master of Freemasons, 1561–67. Travelled on Continent, 1563–66. Knighted, and created Baron Buckhurst, 8 June 1567. Privy Councillor. Lord Lieutenant of Sussex, 1569. On political missions to France, 1568 and 1571. To Holland, 1587 and 1589; to France, 1591 and 1598. Created M.A., Cambridge, Aug. 1571. Commissioner for Ecclesiastical Causes, 1588. K.G., 24 April 1589. Chancellor of Oxford University, Dec. 1591; incorporated M.A., 6 Jan. 1592. Commissioner of Writs, 1592 (?). Lord Treasurer, 1599. Lord High Steward, 1601. Created Earl of Dorset, 13 March 1604. Died suddenly, at Whitehall, 19 April 1608. Buried in Westminster Abbey. Works: Contribution to “A Myrroure for Magistrates,” 1559–63; “The Tragedy of Gorboduc” (with Norton), 1565; Verses contributed to Sir T. Hoby’s “Courtier,” 1561; and possibly to “A Paradise of Dainty Devices,” 1576. Collected Works: ed. by Rev. R. W. Sackville West, 1859.

Personal

  He kept house for forty and two years in an honourable proportion. For thirty years of those his family consisted of little less, in one place or another, than two hundred persons. But for more than twenty years, besides workmen and other hired, his number at the least hath been two hundred and twenty daily, as appear on check-role. A very rare example in this present age of ours, when housekeeping is so decayed.

  He was a very fine Gentleman of person and endowments both of art and nature; but without measure magnificent, till on the turn of his humor, and the allay that his yeares and good counsels had wrought upon those immoderate courses of his youth, and that height of spirit inherent to his House. And then did the Queen, as a most judicious and indulgent Prince, when she saw the man grow stayed and setled, give him her assistance, and advanced him to the Treasurership, where he made amends to his House for his misspent time, both in the increasement of Estate and Honour, which the Queen conferred on him, together with the opportunity to remake himself, and thereby to shew that this was a Childe, that should have a share in her grace, and a taste of her bounty. They much commend his Elocution, but more the excellency of his Pen, for he was a Schollar, and a person of a quick dispatch, (Faculties that yet run in the bloud). And they say of him, that his Secretaries did little for him by the way of Inditement, wherein they could seldome please him, he was so facete and choice in his phrase and stile.

  It is grievous to think that this splendid genius, who lived to a great age, and was created Earl of Dorset by King James I., afterwards sunk the poet in the coarser character of statesman.

  I might conclude this brief Memoir with the testimony of others to the character and genius of him who is the subject of it, and thus show, as Lord Orford remarks, that “few ministers have left behind them so unblemished a character;” but since the actions and words of a great man are the best biographical comment that can be offered, although it may be found that I have but faintly and imperfectly traced and set forth the former, with confidence as to the result I now place the latter in the hands of the reader.

  Rich, cultivated, sagacious, and favoured by the queen, he possessed all the qualifications for playing a prominent part in politics, diplomacy, and court society…. Dorset is credited by Naunton with strong judgment and self-confidence, but in domestic politics he showed little independence. His main object was to stand well with his sovereign, and in that he succeeded. He was a good speaker, and the numerous letters and state papers extant in his handwriting exhibit an unusual perspicuity. In private life he was considerate to his tenants…. There are portraits of the Earl of Dorset at Knole and Buckhurst (by Marcus Gheeraerst the younger); while in the picture gallery at Oxford there is a painting of him in the robes of chancellor, with the blue ribbon, George, and treasurer’s staff. This was presented by Lionel, duke of Dorset, in 1735. There are engravings by George Vertue, E. Scriven, and W. J. Alais.

Mirror for Magistrates, 1559–63

  Then have we the “Mirrour of Magistrates” lately augmented by my friend mayster John Higgins, and penned by the choysest learned wittes, which for the stately-proportioned uaine of the heroick style, and good meetly proportion of uerse may challenge the best of Lydgate, and all our late rhymers.

  I account the “Mirrour of Magistrates,” meetely furnished of beautiful parts.

  The Reader, in this Performance, will see that Allegory was brought to great Perfection, before Spencer appear’d, and that, if Mr. Sackvill did not surpass him, ’twas because he had the Disadvantage of Writing first.

  Though the induction to the “Mirror for Magistrates” displays some potent sketches, it bears the complexion of a saturnine genius, and resembles a bold and gloomy landscape on which the sun never shines.

  It was designed to form a series of dramatic soliloquies united in one interlude. Sackville, who seems to have planned the scheme, wrote an “Induction,” or prologue, and also one of the stories, that of the first Duke of Buckingham. The “Induction” displays best his poetical genius: it is, like much earlier poetry, a representation of allegorical personages, but with a fertility of imagination, vividness of description, and strength of language, which not only leave his predecessors far behind, but may fairly be compared with some of the most poetical passages in Spenser. Sackville’s “Induction” forms a link which unites the school of Chaucer and Lydgate to the “Faery Queen.” It would certainly be vain to look in Chaucer, wherever Chaucer is original, for the grand creations of Sackville’s fancy; yet we should never find any one who would rate Sackville above Chaucer. The strength of an eagle is not to be measured only by the height of his place, but by the time that he continues on the wing. Sackville’s “Induction” consists of a few hundred lines; and even in these there is a monotony of gloom and sorrow which prevents us from wishing it to be longer.

  The Induction to the “Mirror of Magistrates” is a look in at the infernal regions, and is like a portal to the allegorical part of the “Fairy Queen,” or rather to the sadder portion of that part; for it has none of the voluptuousness, and but little imitation of the beauty; nor is the style anything nearly so rich. Perhaps a better comparison would be that of the quaint figures of the earliest Italian painters, compared with those of Raphael. Or it is a bit of a minor Dante. But the poetry is masterly of its kind,—full of passion and imagination,—true, and caring for nothing but truth.

  A greater work than “Gorboduc” adorns the memory of Sackville. During the last years of Mary, which might well be called gloomy, were it not for the fiery glare that tinges them red as if with martyrs’ blood, he sketched out the design of a great poem, which was to be entitled “The Mirrour of Magistrates,” and was to embrace poetic histories of all the great Englishmen who had suffered remarkable disasters…. The “Induction” is a grand pictured allegory, which describes “within the porch and jaws of hell” Remorse, Dread, Revenge, and other terrible things, that are ever gnawing away at the root of our human life. It contains only a few hundred lines, and yet these are enough to place Sackville high on the list of British poets.

  He infused into it a new and higher spirit. His coadjutors would have been content to drone on with scattered legends on the old plan, but Sackville aspired to emulate Dante with a connected epic. His language, also, as well as his conception, is fresh and powerful: his singing-robes are new and rich, and throw a double dinginess on the verses of his associates, which are covered with mean and incongruous patches.

  His contributions to “The Mirror for Magistrates” contain the best poetry written in the English language between Chaucer and Spenser, and are most certainly the originals or at least the models of some of Spenser’s finest work…. But the poetical value of the whole is extraordinary. The two constituents of that value, the formal and the material, are represented with a singular equality of development…. He has not indeed the manifold music of Spenser—it would be unreasonable to expect that he should have it. But his stanzas … are of remarkable melody, and they have about them a command, a completeness of accomplishment within the writer’s intentions, which is very noteworthy in so young a man. The extraordinary richness and stateliness of the measure has escaped no critic. There is indeed a certain one-sidedness about it, and a devil’s advocate might urge that a long poem couched in verse (let alone the subject) of such unbroken gloom would be intolerable. But Sackville did not write a long poem, and his complete command within his limits of the effect at which he evidently aimed is most remarkable. The second thing to note about the poem is the extraordinary freshness and truth of its imagery.

Gorboduc; Or Ferrex and Porrex, 1565

  “Gorboduc” is a fable, doubtless better turned for tragedy than any on this side the Alps in his time; and might have been a better direction to Shakespeare and Ben Jonson than any guide they have had the luck to follow.

  Yet it must be granted that the language of “Gordobuc” has great purity and perspicuity; and that it is entirely free from that tumid phraseology which does not seem to have taken place till play-writing had become a trade, and our poets found it their interest to captivate the multitude by the false sublime, and by those exaggerated imageries and pedantic metaphors, which are the chief blemishes of the scenes of Shakespeare, and which are at this day mistaken for his capital beauties by too many readers. Here also we perceive another and a strong reason why this play was never popular.

  Nothing can be more spiritless and inanimate, nor more drawling and monotonous in the tone of the language and in the versification, than this “Ferrex and Porrex;” and although the unities of place and time are in no manner observed, and a number of events are crowded into it, yet the scene is wholly destitute of movement: all that happens is previously announced in endless consultations, and afterwards stated in equally endless narratives.

  As a work of genius, it may be set down as nothing, for it contains hardly a memorable line or passage; as a work of art, and the first of its kind attempted in the language, it may be considered as a monument of the taste and skill of the authors. Its merit is confined to the regularity of the plot and metre, to its general good sense, and strict attention to common decorum. If the poet has not stamped the peculiar genius of his age upon this first attempt, it is no inconsiderable proof of strength of mind and conception sustained by its own sense of propriety alone, to have so far anticipated the taste of succeeding times as to have avoided any glaring offence against rules and models, which had no existence in his day.

  The style of this old play is stiff and cumbersome, like the dresses of its times. There may be flesh and blood underneath, but we cannot get at it. Sir Philip Sidney has praised it for its morality. One of its authors might easily furnish that. Norton was an associate to Hopkins, Sternhold, and Robert Wisdom, in the singing psalms. I am willing to believe that Lord Buckhurst supplied the more vital parts.

  He was at least a poet, if he was not a dramatist. His style possesses all the gloomy grandeur of Spenser in his sombre mood; it is funereal indeed, but it represents the majesty of woe…. With all his deep pathos, and all his sublimity of imagination, Sackville wanted that animation which is essential to a dramatist. He excelled in narrative, but in dialogue he failed. Hence “Gorboduc” is more like an epic broken up into acts and scenes, than a work originally cast in a dramatic mould.

  It shares the qualities, both good and bad, that belong to all the plays of the same kind: it is well written but it is tiresome, the speeches are eloquent but long and sententious, the characters talk too much and do too little, and the high-sounding maxims they pour forth have nothing to do with the plot of the play. There is nothing living or individual in its characters. But if it is devoid of passion this is due to no lack of murders, slaughter, and massacres, for the author, while not allowing himself to shed one drop of blood upon the stage, conscientiously performs his duty as a tragic poet and kills off all his characters one after another.

  Instead of individual nature and real passion, it deals only in vague and labored declamations which never entered any head but the author’s. Nothing is intricate, nothing unravelled, and little pathetic. It has the form of dialogue without the spirit. Singularly frigid and unimaginative, it is not without justness, weight, and fertility of thought. Its diction is transparent. It is celebrated, moreover, as being our first tragedy in blank verse. But the measure, though the embryon of Shakespeare’s, conveys no notion of that elasticity and variety which it was destined shortly to attain.

  “Gorboduc” is Senecan to the core, and judged from this standard it has very real merits. Its theme is serious, and of tragic significance; the treatment is dignified and, from the special point of view, adequate; there is no lack (to use Sidney’s words) of “stately speeches and well-sounding phrases, climbing to the height of Seneca his style.” As a fact, it is in the language rather than in the matter that the main interest of the play lies…. The verse of “Gorboduc,” though not without vigour in parts, is monotonous and stiff, but it had in it, far beyond the conception of those who first used it, infinite possibilities. They had thought of it as a pale replica of classical measures: it was really destined to an existence in the world of art as independent, as glorious, as immortal as theirs. To have discovered the fitness of blank verse for high dramatic purposes is the distinctive achievement of the English classical playwrights.

General

  The best of these times, if “Albion’s England” be not preferred, for our business, is the “Mirrour of Magistrates,” and in that “Mirrour,” Sackvil’s “Induction,” the work of Thomas, afterward earl of Dorset and lord treasurer of England: whose also the famous Tragedy of “Gordobuc,” was the best of that time, even in sir Philip Sidney’s judgement; and all skilful Englishmen cannot but ascribe as much thereto, for his phrase and eloquence therein.

  Lord Buckhurst is beyond all doubt the immediate father in verse of Spenser; he was by far the greatest, and (which is not always, nor even often a necessary result) the most influential poet of his generation.

  It is probable that Sackville ceased to cultivate poetry because he failed to reap its internal rewards. His genius had no joy in it, and its exercise probably gave him little poetic delight. With great force of imagination, his was still a somewhat dogged force. He could discern clearly, and shape truly, but no sudden ecstasy of emotion gave a “precious seeing” to his eye or unexpected felicity to his hand. There is something bleak in his noblest verse.

  There is a greater restraint and severity than had yet been seen in the choice of language and ornament, though stiffness and awkwardness of phrase, and the still imperfect sense of poetical fitness and grace, show that the writer could not yet reach in execution what he aimed at in idea. And there is visible both in the structure of the seven-line stanzas, and in the flow of the verses themselves, a feeling for rhythmic stateliness and majesty corresponding to his solemn theme. In their cadences, as well as in the allegorical figures and pathetic moralising of Sackville’s verses, we see a faint anticipation of Spenser.

  The defect of Sackville, as a dramatist, is that, with all his great intellectual power, he failed to perceive that the principle of tragic action had altered its sphere. His mind was essentially political. Deeply impressed with the evils and horrors of the Civil Wars, which yet lingered in men’s memories, he sought, in “Ferrex and Porrex,” as in his “Induction,” to draw from the history of Britain examples to warn his countrymen against conduct likely to occasion the recurrence of these calamities. His imagination therefore naturally dwelt on the Greek stories of hereditary Nemesis. He did not see that the evils he dreaded belonged to a past stage of society, and that what was henceforth to make the greatness of the English stage was the representation of the conflict between Good and Evil in the soul of Man.

  One musician, indeed, there was who produced for a very short time a harmony which was both powerful and novel. The solitary poet of a high order between Dunbar and Spenser is Thomas Sackville, afterwards Lord Buckhurst and Earl of Dorset…. Sackville’s poetical life, therefore, closed at about the same age as Keats’s did; he is among “the inheritors of unfulfilled renown.” His withdrawal from the practice of his art probably delayed the development of English literature by a quarter of a century, since of Sackville’s potentiality of genius there can be no question. What he has left to us has a sombre magnificence, a stately fullness, absolutely without parallel in his own age. The poetlings around him were timid, crude, experimental, but Sackville writes like a young and inexperienced master perhaps, yet always like a master. He shows little or not at all the influence of Wyatt and Surrey, but with one hand he takes hold of the easy richness of Chaucer and with the other of the majesty of Dante, to whose “Inferno” the plan of his “Induction” is deeply indebted. In his turn, Sackville exercised no slight fascination over the richer, more elaborate and florid, but radically cognate fancy of Spenser; and even Shakespeare must have read and admired the sinister fragments of the Lord High Treasurer. Scarce an adjective here and there survives to show Sackville faintly touched by the tasteless heresies of his age. His poetry is not read, partly because of its monotony, partly because the subject-matter of it offers no present entertainment; but in the history of the evolution of style in our literature the place of Sackville must always be a prominent one.