Joseph Sturcken

Sturcken

1Joseph Sturcken

Dr. Lana Cable

Dr. Ineke Murakami

“Tragical History” and “Tragedy” as Inquisitive Vehicles: Examining the Implications of Marlowe’s Two Faustus Texts

Christopher Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus has presented critics with much to debate. The play, a retelling of the Faust legend in which a man sells his soul to the devil in exchange for twenty-four years of satanic assistance in all his endeavors, remains controversial to this day. Furthermore, there are two immensely different versions of the play: the “A-Text,” first published in 1604 (over a decade after Marlowe’s death), and the “B-Text,” published in 1616 (over two decades after the author’s death). Several questions have risen regarding the two texts, the most prominent of which center on authenticity: either one of the two is the “true” or “more authentic” version, or that the two texts are based on a lost original, then both are mere fragments of the same whole and each fleshed out into full stories. These debates account for a considerable amount of the critical discussion regarding Doctor Faustus. I argue that neither of these questions are appropriate. Instead, I offer a simple critical fiction: what if Christopher Marlowe did, in fact, author both the A-Text and the B-Text?¹ What would be the implications of two different, yet equally “authentic,” plays penned by the same hand? Proceeding with this fiction, I argue that Christopher Marlowe authored two distinct versions of the same tale to explore various questions and uncertainties on humanity and the afterlife contemporary to his time. I refer to these equally authentic texts as “inquisitive vehicles.”

I am not suggesting that Marlowe maintained supreme authorial control over the two texts, especially considering that events in each version refer to occurrences that postdate the playwright’s death. The all-too-common occurrences of plagiarism and censorship in Elizabethan drama would further weaken such a claim. Though the play company known as the Admiral’s Men possessed a “fair” copy of the text(s), the mere act of performing the play shaped and reshaped the text(s), just as Marlowe’s writing shaped and reshaped the performance. Thus, details were naturally added, omitted, and altered; similar arguments are made regarding William Shakespeare’s plays.

Theorists such as David Bevington and Eric Rasmussen further suggest that “the A-text was . . . set in type from an original authorial manuscript composed of interleaved scenes written by Marlowe and a collaborating playwright, and . . . the B-text represents a version of the play that had been extensively revised more than a decade after Marlowe’s death.”² This theory is strengthened when one considers that the B-Text was “advertised in 1619 as ‘With new Aditions’”³ Yet, this is but one theory. There are many others which support it, but also those (such as the one held by W.W. Greg) which suggest that the A-Text is too far beneath Marlowe to actually be his.

However, I see no contradiction between this common practice of redesigning old texts and my theory. Theorists such as W.W. Greg suggest that both versions may have been performed almost simultaneously, suggesting that the alternative versions existed side-by-side as plays. I also direct attention to Tamburlaine Parts I and II. Christopher Marlowe saw an opportunity to capitalize on a popular production (Tamburlaine) with a sequel, thereby creating Tamburlaine Part II. It is not unreasonable to suppose that such a man would not shy away from the opportunity to “remake” one of his most successful plays. (There is certainly no way to create a “Faustus Part II.”) Finally, one must ask the simple question: out of all the “conflated texts” of every Elizabethan play ever written in more than one form, why have we yet to combine the existing texts into a functioning, credible composite version? The texts have unquestionably been altered, but (as I will discuss in my first chapter) these alterations were often made to preserve Marlowe’s distinct style of both writing and theatre. Indeed, I believe that any past alterations support my critical fiction: Marlowe’s inquisitive vehicles were not produced to conduct his own views alone, but to facilitate discussion among all the skeptics and faithful.⁴

My thesis involves much more than simply a side-by-side comparison of the two Faustus texts. I will begin by recounting and examining the ongoing debates over Christopher Marlowe and Doctor Faustus. This will entail viewing and discussing different critics who have previously debated (and still debate) the possible interpretations and implications of the two texts; in particular, I will focus on the debate over which is the “better”/“truer”/“more authentic” text and the belief that the two texts are actually remnants of the true original. This examination of preexisting criticism will account for my first chapter, and will conclude with my tentative placement of this thesis within the ongoing Faustus debates according to its relationship with the preexisting theories and a more concise definition of what an inquisitive vehicle is and does.

For my second chapter, I will provide an in-depth examination of how skepticism and “political religion” granted Christopher Marlowe the desire and ability to create inquisitive vehicles.⁵ Again, I am not arguing that Christopher Marlowe’s life and lifestyle directly influenced Doctor Faustus, but that Marlowe’s life experiences (especially his time at Cambridge) directly acquainted him with skepticism and thereby affected his handling of the Faust legend.⁶ This examination will begin with Marlowe’s father moving to Canterbury, reference Christopher Marlowe’s childhood, examine his time at Cambridge, and discuss his time as a spy. This chapter will also include an examination of the ways in which religion and atheism were viewed and defined during Christopher Marlowe’s lifetime.

Finally, my third chapter will be devoted exclusively to Doctor Faustus. Having examined the current state of the debate(s) over the texts and placed the author’s skeptical mentality in its proper context, I will offer my comparison of certain parts of the A-Text and B-Text. By no means will this be a full analysis: rather than going through both texts and indicating every difference (a task which cannot be properly completed within the confines of my thesis), I will focus on a few key differences which present the greatest ideological variation. For example, I will focus on the infamous “never too late, if Faustus [can in the A-Text, but will in the B-Text] repent” rather than the sanitization of Robin’s jokes; the former offers a question of predestination in contrast to a sinner’s willingness to forgive, while the latter could simply be censorship.

Thus, I now begin my examination of “[t]he form of Faustus’ fortunes, good or bad.”⁷

Chapter One: The Authenticity Argument, the Conflation Debate, and a New Theory

I cannot begin with an examination of the two Faustus texts, or even an examination of Christopher Marlowe’s life. Like the eponymous doctor, I must first “settle [my] studies” (A and B 1.1.1). This is undeniably necessary, as my thesis stems from the ongoing debates over the two texts. It is a new theory which I offer. To properly ground and present it, I must briefly recount and examine some aspects of the ongoing debates.

In my introduction, I mentioned the two main debates over the Faustus texts which I will examine: the “authenticity argument” and the “conflation debate.” Interestingly, both arguments rely on one major aspect of the texts: authenticity. For my purposes, authenticity refers to the extent to which the two Faustus texts can still be considered Christopher Marlowe’s works.⁸ It is also a major aspect of the two texts which theorists refer to in the debate over authorship: “Marlowe’s authorship of this text is stronger/weaker than the other text, therefore this version is more/less authentic.”

This quest for authenticity in the Faustus texts leads directly to the “authenticity argument.” In the past, critics have compared the two texts in hopes of determining one to be “superior.” If and when it is discovered, the superior version is often said to be more Marlovian. This is the authenticity argument’s tragic flaw: what is Marlovian?⁹ Despite the brevity of his career and the obsessiveness of his interest in certain topics, Christopher Marlowe is (at the very least) a talented writer. A theorist can, to some extent, identify different aspects of the playwright’s works as “Marlovian” or “not Marlovian”: reoccurring themes, sentence structure, rhyme scheme, specific imagery, and so on. However, doing so might lead the theorist to reject certain parts of the text as “non-Marlovian” when they were in fact instances of the credited author experimenting with a new style.¹⁰ Indeed, Marlowe’s style cannot be properly condensed into a formula against which texts can be tested to check how “Marlowian” (as Greg says) they are.¹¹ No comparison can be identified without a “control” of sorts, and no control can be identified without several deeply subjective judgements.

A question: would the true Marlovian Doctor Faustus contain neat, precise blank verse, or would errors “throw off” the blank verse in places? If one were to believe the former theory, he/she could argue that a poet of Marlowe’s status would have no trouble constructing proper blank verse and complex stage directions in order to create a grandiose spectacle of a play (or, as critics such as Leah Marcus call it, “the Marlowe effect.”)¹² He would not struggle with broken stanzas, which the A-Text boasts in abundance. Yet, it is equally valid to assume that Christopher Marlowe wrote only a rough draft (the “bad quarto”) of the play: one could even argue that Marlowe lacked the time to edit and “repair” his work while completing his B.A. in three years and working as a spy for the English crown. (As I will discuss in the next chapter, he would not have received his M.A. had it not been for the Privy Council’s intervention.)

What I have just done is constructed two sample “Marlovian standards.” If applied to the overall debate, the first standard would suggest that the original is a “neat” text: thus, the B-Text is considered superior. However, the second standard favors a deeply meaningful “bad quarto” as the original and thereby touts the A-Text as superior. To demonstrate how subjective Marlovian standards can hamper debate over the Faustus texts, I will examine the downfall of the two critical arguments.

W.W. Greg and the B-Text: “And Melting [Dogmas] Conspired His Overthrow”

In 1950, W.W. Greg published Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus: 1604-1616. Though no longer current, it is exemplary in presenting the now-defunct argument for the A-Text’s lack of authenticity (and, by extension, the B-Text’s supremacy). W.W. Greg presents a discussion of the two texts, then the two texts side-by-side. In addition to restoring the two texts to their original Elizabethan forms (Greg even preserves the printer’s choice of occasionally using two “V” blocks in place of a capital “W”), he provides his own painstaking commentary on the two dramas. Through this meticulous researching, he concludes that the A-Text is “a reported text of the type . . . commonly known as ‘bad quartos.’”¹³

After careful analysis of the A-Text, W.W. Greg offers a “fair deduction from the evidence gathered” that it

appears to be a version prepared for the less critical and exigent audiences of provincial towns, and prepared, not in an orderly manner by making cuts and alterations in the authorized prompt-book, but by memorial reconstruction from the [original] London performance . . . This report or reproduction serves as a new prompt-book for provincial performance, and in the course of its use as such it suffered further degeneration, partially by the insertion of bits of gag, sometimes of a topical sometimes of an unseemly character, that had proved attractive to a vulgar audience, but also by provision for further shortening and simplification as time or the dwindling resources of the company demanded. (Greg 60)¹⁴

This is, unquestionably, a strong theory. All differences between the two texts (the A-Text’s shorter length, frequency of obscene jokes, simplified stage directions, decidedly less polished dialogue, anachronistic cultural references, and instances of slight variations in diction) are taken into account. Furthermore, Greg declares that “if [his] conjecture is wrong, or if the reader is disinclined to accept it, no harm will be done, for [he] build[s] nothing upon it” (60). In short, W.W. Greg offers this hypothetical birth of the A-Text, not as dogma, but as proof that such a process was possible and reasonable. I cannot criticize Greg for his critical fiction, but I must point out the problematic information on which it is based.

Unfortunately, W.W. Greg’s impressive research has come under much attack since it was first published. Critics such as Michael Warren note that Greg’s theory (like any theory of authenticity, I would argue) “reflect matters of judgement rather than scientific observation.”¹⁵ This is to be expected when “a hypothetical Marlovian perfection” (Warren 143) has been established by the theorist. Warren goes on to note “the extent to which criticism of details of A is often unfounded” (144). For the sake of clarity and brevity, I divide the criticism of Greg’s research into two categories: favoritism and oversimplification.

Warren directly attacks W.W. Greg’s favoring of the B-Text. He notes Greg’s statement that “once revision in the prompt-book is established it is possible to see other instances [of the A-Text’s inferiority]” (Greg 81) and counters that “the contrary is equally true and equally valid: “when someone recognizes that a line may not be corrupt, many others cease to look corrupt”” (Warren 143). W.W. Greg conducted his research according to a distinct Marlovian standard of his own design: namely, a New Critical format which strongly favors the B-Text.¹⁶ What if W.W. Greg examined the two texts through a different standard, one which favored Marlowe’s ability to write internalized scenes and a “creative” approach to religious dogma?¹⁷ Even if this shift would not lead him to favor the A-Text, Greg would certainly be less certain of the B-Text’s supremacy.

Once Greg began “listen[ing] to the siren-call of [his] own hypotheses” (Warren 143), it should be expected that he would simplify in his analysis of the two texts. Simplification is not inherently wrong (I have simplified, and will continue to simplify, many ideas and arguments in my thesis “for the sake of clarity and brevity”), but it can be dangerous. Many of Greg’s simplifications reflect variations in diction between the two texts, and his favoring of the B-Text naturally leads him to simplify these variations in the A-Text as mistakes. In doing so, he ignores the radically different messages present in the two texts, which are actually of such great importance that I will devote a sizable portion of my third chapter to examining and discussing them.

Again, Warren draws attention to several instances of Greg’s oversimplification. In one instance, he focuses on Greg’s criticism of a line near the end of the play, in which Faustus declares (in the B-Text) that “this is the time, and [Lucifer] will fetch mee” (W.B. line 1962); the A-Text presents the line as “the time wil come, and [Lucifer] wil fetch mee” (W.A. line 1428). W.W. Greg criticizes the A-Text’s version, stating that “[o]bviously, if the date was expired, the time had come” (45). Warren counters: “[e]qually obviously, one might reply, even if the “date” has “expired,” Faustus still awaits Lucifer’s arrival” (147).¹⁸ Warren goes on to clarify that “[b]oth texts betray Faustus’ confused, hysterical anticipation of the awful event by the clash of present and future tenses” (147). When faced with Michael Warren’s criticism, W.W. Greg’s argument quickly crumbles.

The Conflation Argument: “Glutted Now With Learning’s Golden Gifts”

While W.W. Greg is still widely praised for his contributions to research in general (and rightfully so), the conclusions he draws from his analysis of the two Faustus texts have suffered a fall from favor of Luciferean proportions. It is no surprise then that the authenticity argument has diminished in popularity. This marked the rise of the conflation debate. Leah Marcus provides a particularly colorful visualization of the frustration inherent in “the scholarly industry devoted to the recovery or reconstruction of a lost Marlovian “original” for Doctor Faustus” in her essay, “Textual Instabilities and Ideological Difference: The Case of Doctor Faustus” (38). She discusses a dream of a construction site yielding “an autograph copy of The Tragicall Historie of Doctor Faustus inscribed at the end “as written by me, Christofer Marly, 1592. Terminat hora diem, terminat Author opus.”” (Marcus 38). Indeed, such a discovery would “resolve [us] of all ambiguities” (A 1.1.80, B 1.1.76) regarding Doctor Faustus.

Interestingly, Marcus also advocates that we “step back from the fantasy of recovering Marlowe as the mighty, controlling source of textual production” (41). This too should be expected in the wake of the authenticity argument’s decrease in popularity: often (and this is certainly true of W.W. Greg), the Marlovian standards constructed in authenticity arguments are bound to form rather than content. If one concedes that Christopher Marlowe played a diminished role in the two texts’ creation, new theories can be promoted. This leads to theories such as mine, but also to the conflation debate. While this debate is undoubtably a step forward from the authenticity argument (the two texts are no longer pitted against each other) it is still deeply flawed.

Though they differ in their thoughts on its authenticity, Michael Warren and W.W. Greg agree that the B-Text is potentially a “reported text” copied from an original manuscript. Warren also notes that the “original” manuscript for Doctor Faustus “may never have been complete” (153). Leah Marcus, like Warren, advocates “a separation of the two texts of Doctor Faustus” (41), but dangerously goes on to note that “the precise cause of Faustus’s damnation becomes much clearer if one conflates A and B” (52). In such conflated editions, “Faustus’s kiss of Helen of Troy [is the] single experience that seals his hellish fate” (52).¹⁹ However, this illustrates the two largest problems of the conflation debate: the initiation of “line battles” and the creation of a new text.

By “line battle,” I refer to the process by which conflated texts must be constructed. Certainly, there are characters and events in the B-Text which do not exist in the A-Text (such as Benvolio, the B-Text’s counterpart to the A-Text’s knight, and his ill-fated attempt on Faustus’s life). The reverse is true as well (i.e., Robin becomes a much more lascivious character, though this is more likely due to censorship in the B-Text). The vast majority of lines are accounted for in each text, but minor differences abound. How does one decide which line should come from which text?²⁰ The choice cannot be left to chance. A Marlovian standard would be needed, and the end product might be more a reflection of this standard than either of the original texts: the same two texts could be used to create countless different conflated editions simply by changing the Marlovian paradigm.

The “line battle issue” leads to the second, and infinitely more pressing problem: a conflated text is a new text. One of Leah Marcus’s criticisms of the “authenticity argument” is that it seeks to restore “Marlowe’s “original” version of the play—a version assumed to be unencumbered by infelicities and ambiguities that mar the surviving printed playbooks” (39): such a task is absurd, as anything as old as Marlowe’s plays has undoubtably undergone some level of alteration and corruption. I must also harken back to the idea of plays evolving through “conversation” between playwright and performance. This hypothetical “Marlovian original” might have little, if anything, to do with either the A-Text or the B-Text. Using the two texts to create a conflated edition is yet another alteration to the supposed original, taking it one step farther away from the supposed “Marlovian original” for which theorists long. Such a combination cannot avoid marring the more subtle details of the two texts. In chapter three, I will devote a section (titled “A Few Key Binaries”) to some of the radically different ideas in the texts which are promoted through seemingly inconsequential variations in diction.

For all its potential pitfalls, though, the conflation debate might potentially be the “next step forward” in examining and understanding texts. In the case of Doctor Faustus, one must not view the texts are opponents or remnants, nor can he/she fixate on Marlowe’s connection. I believe that my inquisitive vehicle theory accomplishes this.

My Theory: Two Texts as Inquisitive Vehicles

As I have demonstrated, the two major arguments over the Faustus texts are flawed at best. We do not know if one text is “real” and one is “fake,” or if they are two halves of the same original play that have been fleshed out into two full texts. What we do know, free from any possible counterexample or contradiction, is that we possess two texts of Faustus. Rather than trying to eliminate one of the texts (through the authenticity argument) or mash them together (through the conflation debate), why not simply proceed from this fact? It is my intention to do so with my theory of inquisitive vehicles.

This concept is not new. At its core, a text examined as an “inquisitive vehicle” is examined for its heuristic functions. However, I feel that the concept of an inquisitive vehicle is still unique enough to warrant an original definition. Thus, with some trepidation, I offer my own definition: an inquisitive vehicle is any work which serves to raise awareness and/or curiosity about a particular topic or topics. Admittedly, this is such a broad category that an author will likely find the task of creating something that does not comply with this definition more difficult than creating something that does; however, there is a considerably smaller number of authors whose works truly exemplify the inquisitive vehicle. Christopher Marlowe is one of those authors, and Doctor Faustus goes to great lengths to focus the reader’s attention on questions of humanity and the afterlife. Marlowe’s inquisitive vehicle extends far beyond the mere use of writing as rabble-rousing: for the skilled playwright, Elizabethan theatre was nothing short of another form of rhetoric in the most literal sense, that is to say, debate and persuasion.²¹

One cannot discuss any religious concepts in the free and probing manner which Marlowe does through Doctor Faustus without generating great controversy. Marlowe was able to “get away with” this by employing theatre. One need only look at the Prologue of either Faustus text, in which the audience is informed that the tale to follow is about a destitute student, to see how Marlowe is able to disguise his true message: his vehicle takes the form of a play for the masses disguised with bombastic soliloquies, Latin dialogue, and grandiose characters as a play for the elite.²² If the two versions of the play on which the two texts were based were indeed performed at the same time (a possible theory which I will discuss in the next chapter) they could be alternated depending on the audience. This is not a matter of avoiding controversy, but a realization that no single text could be sufficient for all the questions and curiosities Marlowe wished to voice through verse; the opportunity to compare and contrast religions by instituting different dogmas in each text (a theory I will discuss in my third chapter) exists as well. If anything, the existence of two texts would be a way to increase controversy, or at least preserve the “Marlowe effect.”²³

I must also note how the opening Chorus declares that the play will “perform/[t]he form of Faustus’ fortunes, good or bad”(A and B Prologue.7-8). With this setup, “Marlowe retains the rhetorical framework of [the typical] trial narrative [of the Faust legend], but suspends judgement about the defendant’s guilt or innocence” (Riggs 237). This “calls attention to the imaginative license of theatrical productions” (Riggs 237): even though the story has “already been determined . . . the details remain subject to reinterpretation in performance” (Riggs 237). This is the purpose (and perhaps also the end result) of an inquisitive vehicle: reinterpretation.

If my critical fiction is to be believed, Christopher Marlowe set off a chain of reinterpretation. He reinterpreted the Faust legend twice, suspending the protagonist’s ultimate fate in each. The play was then performed, and the “conversation” between text and performance reinterpreted both. The general masses viewed the play, then eventually had the opportunity to purchase copies of the script; in doing so, they were invited to view and interpret (perhaps reinterpret) their understanding of both the play and the legend. From there, the public is incited to reinterpret its own beliefs on life, humanity, and the afterlife. To this day, theorists (myself included) continue this train of reinterpretation by proposing and debating different interpretations of the texts.

With this as my thesis, I must compare the differences between the two Faustus texts (this will take place in my third chapter). What were once dismissed as errors, imperfections, corruptions, or just generally “non-Marlovian” lines might in fact be deliberate variations to convey different messages. However, I realize that I am forced to construct my own (albeit vague) Marlovian standard to accomplish this. For my argument, the Marlovian standard is simply one of conceptual daring.²⁴ He was not afraid to make blasphemous statements in his writing or disturb his audience. Likewise, he is more concerned with asking questions (even if not his own) than providing answers: the audience is deliberately forced to draw its own conclusions. I will further expand on this Marlovian standard with my next chapter, in which I examine Christopher Marlowe’s life. While it is foolish to assume that Marlowe’s writing can be directly linked to specific events in his life, it is even more foolish to assume that his life experiences had no effect on his writing.