spacer1. We know from the first two of the play’s Prologues that the comedy Loiola was twice performed at Trinity College, Cambridge, on February 28, 1623 (New Style) and on March 12 of the same year, the second time in the presence of King James. NOTE 1 The play’s text, as we shall see, is represented by six independent sources, only one of which preserves the name of its author. But there can be no doubt that it is the work of John Hacket [1592 - 1670], currently a Fellow at Trinity and destined to be a distinguished parliamentarian and churchman. NOTE 2 Hacket’s authorship of this play is guaranteed by a note on the dramatis personae page of the ms. identified here as D. Likewise in ms. T1 Loiola is immediately followed by a short letter addressed Ingeniosissimo authori et dignissimo amico domino Hackett, evidently indicating that the original owner of this ms. was convinced of Hacket’s authorship. Hacket’s early biographer Thomas Plume unhesitatingly credited the play to him. NOTE 3, and a contemporary private letter confirms that a comedy by him (which the author does not name) was acted at Trinity in 1623. NOTE 4 The fact that the majority of sources fail to name Hacket should not be attributed to any doubt, but rather to the fact that many readers of this period were unconcerned about the authorship of the plays they read, copied out, and collected, a subject to which I shall return below.
spacer2. According to Plume, “One month in the long vacation, retiring with his pupil, afterwards Lord Byron, into Nottinghamshire for fresh air, there, in absence from all books, and having no other more serious studies, he made Loyola.” Plume does not specify the year in which this occurred, but his information follows hard on the heels of a statement that “He was chosen Fellow of [Trinity College, Cambridge] as soon as he became capable by virtue of his first degree,” and Hacket received the B. A. in 1614. That year must be excluded because John Byron did not enter Trinity College until Easter 1615. In that year Easter fell on April 19, which does not seem to give Hacket and Byron very much time to form a close friendship before that year’s long vacation, and so it seems more likely that Loiola was written during the summer of 1616. The fact that this play reflects the influence of a pair of recently-produced Cambridge comedies (as discussed below) would appear to set the seal on this dating. Evidently Hacket wrote it with an eye for an earlier production which for some reason failed to occur, and perhaps it was taken down from the shelf in 1623 because its contents were deemed likely please the king.
spacer3. Plume’s information solves what would otherwise be a couple of puzzles. The play is prefaced by three Prologues, the first two of which are associated with its two 1623 performances. The third and shortest one contains no introductory information about its purpose, but surely we can assume this is the Prologue originally written in 1616. Also, since English university plays were typically written by students who had recently been admitted to the B. A., it would be strikingly anomalous if Hacket wrote his play in 1623, at which time he was decidedly too senior and advanced in his Church career (by 1623, while still a Fellow of Trinity, he was rector of Trumpington, Cambs., and also of Stoke Hammond, Bucks, Kirkby Underwood, Lincs., and had been elected a prebend of Lincoln Cathedral). The earlier date attested by Plume eliminates this difficulty: Hacket proceeded M. A. in 1616, which would be a very appropriate time for him to write a play (whereas 1615 would not).
spacer4. What Hacket produced in 1623 does show at least one sign of having been slightly doctored in order to make its fictive date entirely contemporary The Prologue to the March 12 performance (36f.) contains an allusion to the settlement in America recently established by the Pilgrim Fathers, and the Spanish general Ambrogio Spinola is once or twice mentioned as a contemporary figure, deserving defeat by Protestant forces (313 in one manuscript, 660 in all of them). This commander waged a campaign in Flanders and the Lowlands from 1621 until 1628, so Hacket must have added these references. Since the play’s action is contemporary, there is of course no possibility that its protagonist is supposed to be the historical figure Ignatius Loyola, who died in 1559. Rather, he is a modern Jesuit having the same name. Since the play’s Loyola shows no signs of Spanish nationality (see the note on line 654), he appears to be no less Dutch than its other characters (Monsieur Michel excepted). NOTE 5
spacer5. Confronted with the play’s title and in view of the special second performance given for King James’ edification, one might leap to the conclusion that Loiola was another of those plays chock-full of “explicitly anti-Jesuit tropes for royal entertainment.” NOTE 6 As such, it might be imagined to be cut from the same cloth as the anonymous 1614 comedy Risus Anglicanus (generally assumed to be a Cambridge play) NOTE 7 and the second Prologue to Ruggle’s Ignoramus, featuring a steady barrage of rough anti-Jesuitic humor of a heavy-handed polemic kind that strikes a modern reader as tedious and sometimes rather disgusting (much the same thing can be said about John Donne’s non-dramatic 1611 Ignatius his Conclave, which also exists in a Latin version). In truth, Loiola does contain a certain amount of pointed anti-Jesuit humor, particularly in the masque of the Jesuitical virtues which ends Act I. But as the play continues, it soon becomes evident that parody the Jesuits is a distinctly secondary interest. Two points deserve mention. First, the play also contains plenty of humor directed against Puritans, as embodied by Maarten. There are other Cambridge comedies (Robert Ward’s 1623 Fucus sive Histriomastix immediately comes to mind) which satirize Puritans, but it is impossible to recall any other such play which lampoons both religious persuasions in such an evenhanded manner. Indeed, satirizing Puritans as embodied by the emigré colony that figures in this play may have been an important enough item on Hacket’s agenda to inspire him to give Loiola a Dutch setting.
spacer6. For one can be more specific about the treatment of Puritans in this play. Maarten, Roger the Deacon and their congregation are clearly intended to parody the English Separatist congregation which had migrated to Leiden and recently spawned the Puritan settlement in New England: note Maarten’s statement that he is of English ancestry at 299. Indeed, at a couple of points (378 and 2249) Maarten speaks of his little congregation as nostra Separatio, which guarantees this identification. The consideration that Maarten repeatedly refers to his congregation as “Martinists” (i. e., presumably, as devotees of Martin Luther, although the word might simultaneously mean “adherents of Martin Marprelate”) whereas the Separatists were Calvinists does little to cast doubt on this understanding. In the context of a comedy, doctrinal niceties count for little.
spacer7. The second point is that, once Loiola’s plot begins to unfold, its title character assumes a quite unexpected role. One would anticipate that Loyola would be the villain of the piece but, very much to the contrary, he is its comic facilitator. By “facilitator“ I mean that a frequent situation in Roman comedy involves a young man in love kept separated from his darling by some dour and unsympathetic antagonist, typically his father. Then some other character, usually a cheeky and clever slave, unprincipled and fertile in imagination (such as Pseudolus in Plautus’ Mostellaria), devises a series of misrepresentations, practical jokes and swindles which have the cumulative effect of removing this antagonist as an obstacle to young love, thus paving the way for the union of the boy and his darling which constitutes the play’s happy ending, and at the same time supplying it with its humor. In Loiola Maarten is cast in the role of the antagonist as he presses his own grossly inappropriate suit for Celia’s hand, and it is Loyola who serves as the facilitator when (at Acheron’s behest) he devises the plan of having Philander disguise himself as an Ethiopian and rescue Celia from her predicament of being kept a virtual prisoner in Lavinia and Acheron’s brothel, about to be unwillingly married to Maarten. Even though his motive for devising this plan is less than entirely commendable (he has extracted from Philander a promise that, if he can procure Celia for him, he will join the Jesuit Order, and a couple of passages (236ff., 650ff.) one seems to detect that he has his own lecherous designs on the girl), Loyola is cast in a role which, according to the traditionally frame of reference of Roman comedy, is fundamentally a sympathetic one. This is particularly so because comedy has its own topsy-turvy sense of mora lity, according to which rascality and disruptive behavior are quite acceptable. When viewed through the lens of comedy, a man who empties a chamber pot over somebody’s head is a man who can’t be all bad.
spacer8. On the other hand, the genuinely unsympathetic character in the play is Maarten, who embodies many of the qualities which comedy dislikes: he is dour, cold, insensitive, and, worst of all, anti-fun. In his dealings with Laverna, he sees Celia as little more than a commodity to be bought for hard cash, and the casual brutality of his treatment of his nephew Nebbia in both speaks volumes about his character and gives the audience a fair idea of what Celia’s existence would have been like, had he succeeded in his campaign to marry her. Loyola, for all his faults, is by no means puritanical. According to the way comedy judges people, anybody who so enthusiastically enjoys carousing at Baucia’s tavern is by no means beyond redemption. Pathologically severe old men of the Maarten variety are commonplace in Roman comedy, where they typically serve to obstruct a young lover’s romantic ambitions (in modern comedy criticism this figure is sometimes called an “agelast,” which literally means a man incapable of laughing). To make such a character appear all the blacker, he is often paired off against a second, contrasting, old man, one who is affable and easygoing. Loiola replicates this Roman tactic by introducing the character of Gaudentius, who operates under the slogan “there’s no devil but gloom.” Making Maarten one of the villains of the piece is well in accord with Hacket’s doctrinal position in later life: as a member of the Long Parliament he steadfastly opposed Puritan extremism, for which he was rewarded under the Restoration by being appointed Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry.spacer
spacer9. Loiola is also interesting because of the way it handles issues of gender. “The Mute” who attaches himself to Musonius as his servant turns out to be Faustina, who, impelled by love of him, has disguised her true sex and is impersonating a mute in order to enter his service. It certainly looks as if Hacket appropriated this idea from Viola disguising herself as “Cesario“ in Twelfth Night, and, albeit putting his own twist on it, that he copied the way that Shakespeare plays with the idea of transvestism and at least implied homosexual attraction. In Twelfth Night, this is achieved by having Olivia fall in love with Viola, so that a faint aura of lesbianism is hovering in the air. Hacket makes this theme considerably more explicit by having Musonius fall in love with “the Mute.” Without being at all salacious about it, he represents “the Mute” as largely replacing Celia as the object of Musonius’ erotic desire. One is impressed by the way in which he represents this shift of affections as being in no way morally questionable, or even especially remarkable.
spacer10. The play arguably also contains a hint or two of a second homosexual attachment. At 1513f. “the Mute” (i. e., Faustina in disguise) asks Caelia obslivisci mei potest quacum dormivi centies? [“Can Celia forget me when I’ve slept with her a hundred times”] and at 2319 she calls Faustina her collectanea [“bedfellow”] Subsequently, when “the Mute” reveals her true identity to Celia, she asks (1708) Adeon’ ignotae tibi sunt hae labeculae? [“Are these lips so unknown to you?”] But both these questions may strike the reader as hints that Faustina and Celia once had a Lesbian affair, but they are liable to alternative explanations: the recollection of them sleeping together refers to the time when they were children being raised in the household of Monsieur Michel, and Faustina may be calling attention to her lips because they are her only facial feature not disguised by her “Ethiopian” facial makeup. All this may be entirely innocent, but the fact that homoeroticism otherwise figures in the play makes one wonder. The fact that Celia kisses Faustina at 1714 may or many not tip the balance in favor of a lesbian interpretation. In any event, the related issues of gender identity and transvestism figure in the play in other ways as well, when Acheron lies to Friar Joost that Celia is actually a man (152ff.) as a means of protecting her from Maarten’s sexual advances. And Loyola’s scheme for freeing Celia from the brothel requires Philander to gain entry into the establishment disguised as an Ethiopian, and then for him and her to swap costumes, which involves an exchange both of gender and of clothing (after the exchange has been made, a deceived Laverna persists in her belief that this Ethiopian was a woman). And a later phase of his plan involves “the Mute” to remain in the brothel disguised as Celia. This involves a double deception insofar as “the Mute” is actually Faustina in disguise. Or more precisely it involves a more complicated deception since the part of Faustina is being played by a male actor. So we have the remarkable spectacle of a man pretending to be a woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman! But at least in the case of Faustina, the exchange of gender identity is considerably profounder than simple costume-swapping. At one point (1728) she recalls Commasculavi animum et vestitum simul [“I made my mind masculine, and likewise my costume.”] So issues of homoerotic love and gender identity constitute one of the play’s most important themes, and it certainly seems as if Hacket had discerned the presence of this theme in Twelfth Night (or, if you will, in the Laelia play I am about to describe) and decided to probe their comic possibilities more deeply.
11. So it is highly tempting to add Loiola to the roster of university plays which display Shakespearian influence. This is a very likely conclusion, but it is not quite assured. The plot of Twelfth Night had been anticipated by the Cambridge comedy Laelia, produced at Queens’ College in 1595 (a play which may or may not have served as Shakespeare’s model — I have discussed this question in introducing Laelia), and we cannot rule it out of consideration on the grounds that it was an old and presumably forgotten play, since it is preserved as an item in Lambeth Palace Library ms. 838, a collection of four plays also including,Ward’s 1623 Fucus sive Histriomastix (1623), William Alabaster’s Roxana (slightly earlier than 1595), and Walter Hawkesworth’s Leander (1599 0r 1600). The existence of manuscripts of this kind which contain old plays — I shall describe below two more collections of the same kind which preserve the text of Loiola, and the printed text is clearly is based on a third — goes to show that, once performed, Cambridge plays did not necessarily lapse into swift obscurity: some notable earlier ones continued to find readers well into the seventeenth century, sometimes decades after their production (the fact that Edward Forsett’s 1581 Pedantius is preserved in the ms. identified here as T1, which also includes a play written in 1619, is particularly instructive). Hence the possibility that Laelia rather than Twelfth Night served as Hacket’s inspiration cannot be excluded. Be this as it may, given Shakespeare’s status it is extremely likely that most theatergoers would have understood that Hacket was taking a further comic look at the themes and dramatic situations of Twelfth Night.
spacer12. While we are on the subject of Shakespearian influence and Hacket’s sources in general, it is also worth noting that the device of smuggling Loyola into a brothel enclosed in a chest was very likely inspired by the episode in Cymbeline in which Iachimo gains entry to Imogen’s bedchamber by hiding in a chest and emerging after she has fallen asleep (although it must be admitted that somewhat similar transactions occur in Lording Barry’s 1607 The Family of Love, parodied later in the same year in Beaumont’s The Knight of the Burning Pestle — a chest also figures as an important “prop” in Abraham Fraunce’s 1583 Cambridge comedy Victoria, but serves a completely different purpose). And the device of introducing the Mute into the brothel disguised as a newly-purchased Ethiopian seems suggested by the situation in Terence’s Eunuchus, in which Phaedria presents the object of his affection, Thais, with an Ethiopian slave girl and a eunuch, and then his younger brother Chaerea substitutes himself for the eunuch in order to gain access to Thais’ household. Then too, Loiola appears to be written under the influence of two Cambridge comedies acted in the near past. George Ruggle’s 1615 Ignoramus, has a heavy macaronic componen, andhe macaronic nature of Loiola was surely intended to capitalize on the enormous success of Ruggle’s play. And the 1616 Susembrotus (possibly by John Chappell) NOTE 8 had also dealt with the themes of gender misrepresentation and slavery. In that play Susembrotus the schoolmaster becomes enamored with “Fortunia,” a girl in the service of the merchant Emporius, presently away on business. It turns outr that “Fortunia“ is actually Egestus’ male servant whom he has sold into servitude disguised as a girl, under the theory that girls fetch more money on the market (at the end of the play we learn that the servant in question is actually Egestus’ own son). Surely Hacket took some of his germinal ideas from these two plays.
spacer13. Another important leitmotif running through the play, is the subject of involuntary servitude. At this point it is necessary to point out that most academic comedies pose a special problem: they are routinely set in some more or less contemporary city in England or on the Continent, and pressing the vocabulary of the Latin language, designed of course to reflect the realities of Roman society, into service for writing about many concerning contemporary things, including but by no means limited to the social arrangements, customs, political structures, civic offices and military ranks, and even religious beliefs of their characters (at least insofar as they frequently swear by the old pagan gods), involved the introduction of large number of anachronisms. Normally, it would seem that there was an unwritten agreement that the audience should overlook such anachronistic features, and probably mentally substitute their real-world equivalents. An illustrative example of what I mean which frequently occurs in Loiola, is that when sums of money are cited, this is done by specifying Greek or Roman denominations, and the audience is presumably required to enter into a tacit understanding that the Latin words actually refer to the contemporary currency in use in the place where the play takes place. Hence in translating this play, whenever I encounter the word mina I render it as “guilder” and drachma as “florin,” because Loiola’s action takes place at Amsterdam, since presumably this is what theatergoers were supposed to understand. In much the same way, when we encounter a character identified as a servus (a word that normally meant “slave” in classical Latin), we are not normally required to accept the premise that the institution of slavery is persisting in the contemporary world and that the character in question is necessarily a slave. Rather, servus is employed as a general-purpose word to describe any servant (and has such synonyms as minister, ancilla, and assecla), and usually a playwright did not worry his head about the exact nature of the relationship of his servants to their masters.
spacer14. Loiola is an unusual exception to this generalization. Here it is explicitly acknowledged that human beings can be bought and sold: Africans for work — their particular usefulness for colonial enterprises is acknowledged at 768ff. — and women for sexual purposes, so that the standard comic pimp and bawd are transformed into a specialized kind of slave dealer. To remove any possible doubt about this, throughout the play servus is occasionally replaced by the synonym mancipium, a legal term which explicitly designates a person or a thing acquired by purchase. The owner of a slave is likewise called a dominus. Slaves are regarded as less than fully human. As at line 822, an African slave is described as a pecus, i. e., someone who can be classified as cattle, and when Maarten sees Celia in her Ethiopian disguise he asks (1473), Oime, unde ortus est hoc cacadaemon minorum gentium? [“Oh me, who’s this evil demon of a lesser race?”] And, for that matter, in the world of Loiola it is not just private individuals who own slaves: at 1184 we are told that the Dutch government (or perhaps more accurately the city corporation of Amsterdam) does too for the convenience of its citizenry. So there is no room for doubt that full-blown slavery exists as a social arrangement in the world of Loiola. This was by no means a fictive literary anachronism. Because slavery seemed necessary for colonizing the New World — the Pilgrim Fathers were rare if not unique for disagreeing with this assumption — over the course of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the institution had been revived to a degree that a Roman would have found quite recognizable. I am no social historian, and am unable to comment on the contemporary reality of the second kind of slavery portrayed in Loiola, the sexual, but it deserves to be remarked that Celia’s situation in our play finds a close match in that of Aurelia and Talanta in the anonymous 1605/06 Cambridge comedy Zelotypus, who are likewise unwilling inmates in a brothel. Likewise, in Ruggle’s Ignoramus the title character tries to purchase Rosabella from the pander Torcol.
spacer15. Although he was very likely disturbed by both forms of slavery, in this play Hacket is primarily concerned with the sexual kind. With only the fleeting exception of, when Monsieur Michel briefly turns up at Laverna’s brothel with a genuine Ethiopian slave named Eleazer in tow, the “Ethiopians” in this play are normal white Europeans only playing a deceptive game. Celia, on the other hand, is seen genuinely suffering because of her confinement, and news of her predicament elicits reactions of shock and disgust from those characters in the play who do not stand to gain from it in one way or another, and regard her rescue as an urgent priority. Even those shady Catholics Loyola and Joost are caught up in this enthusiasm. Hacket makes his feelings about slavery clear in another way, by representing the play’s villains, who enthusiastically profit from the institution, financially or sexually, as being thoroughly repulsive human beings. Laverna is a grasping harpy whose eye is at all times firmly fixed on the guilder. Her husband Acheron ought to be as bad as she is, but, unexpectedly, has a conscience which moves him to manufacture the lie that Celia is actually a man, and, by recruiting Loyola, to set in train the whole series of deceptions which lead to Celia’s liberation. In his dialogue with Joost in IV.x he makes it plain that he only plies the pimp’s trade because he knows no other, and that he is ripe for reformation and a Christian conversion, if only he can be shown how to accomplish this.
spacer16. Although Maarten the Puritan at one point expresses the pious anticipation that, once married, he and Celia can devote themselves to the study of the Hebrew language (725), Laverna is not fooled for a minute and correctly diagnoses his actual motivation as being thoroughly carnal, a desire to which she is more than happy to cater as long as it brings her gain. Likewise, at 723 Loyola acutely addresses him as Priape vetule. Although he calls her by such sobriquets as “my rose” and “my darling,” when he gets down to business Maarten begins to speak of Celia as if she is nothing but an item of property, to be haggled over and purchased like any other. Despite his professed Puritanism, his assumption that marriage is essentially a specialized form of ownership is thoroughly unchristian. Indeed, at several points (perhaps most notably in his monologue at 1409ff.) he lets slip the fact that his commitment to Puritan values is less than wholehearted and that, in actuality, he has a keen interest in such illicit things as drinking and dicing. It is interesting that Hacket represents him as fundamentally hypocritical, and that Robert Ward adopted the same tactic of comically exposing the insincerity of the Puritan title character in his comedy Fucus sive Histriomastix, performed later in the same year. Another way in which Maarten anticipates Fucus, which suggests that Ward learned from Loiola, is his antipathy to stage plays (although he is Dutch, so that his name can legitimately be rendered as Maarten, surely his name was chosen to conjure up Martin Marprelate). Twice in the play we see him attempting to prevent dramatic performances: in the second Prologue he tries to derail Loiola’s production, and at 2308ff. we are told how he instigated a riot in order to prevent a play from being acted. This action proved catastrophic, since at least one person was killed in a fight between the anti-drama and pro-drama factions and the infant Lydia was kidnapped during the commotion.
spacer17. Monsieur Michel, who deals in African slaves (and who has no qualms about turning a girl entrusted to his care over to a brothel), is likewise represented as unpleasantly brutal, grasping and choleric. He is a egocentric boaster, and is notably lacking in self-control and apt to fly into towering rages. One has the distinct feeling that sooner or later he is destined to address his intemperate language to the wrong person and die in a duel. Surely it is possible to discern in these grotesque and unpleasant figures Hacket’s true feelings on the subject of slavery. His play may be a comedy, but a fair amount of moral earnestness palpably entered into its writing.
spacer18. Loiola is preserved by the following sources:

A Loiola, Londini, typis R. C., sumptibus Andro Crooke, et voeneunt sub insigni viridis draconis in coemeterio Paulino, London, 1648 (sig. A2 - p. 159), author unspecified, the first item in a collection of Cambridge play salso containing the anonymous comedies Stoicus Vapulans (1618) and Cancer (n. d.), and Thomas Vincent’s comedy Paria (1627), with Vincent’s name on the title page. A protographic reproduction of this volume is accessible here.

B British Library Add. ms. 26709. Incomplete, breaks off at line 1044 (III.iv), author unspecified. The initial dramatis personae page bears the signature “Thomas Starling” (no Thomas Starling or Sterling is registered in J. and J. A. Venn, Alumni Cantabrigienses). At the end of the ms. appears another signature, that of Vincent Freeman, who matriculated from Emmanuel College in 1622 and took the B. A. in 1625/26).

D Durham Cathedral library, ms. Hunter 26. With a cast list and prefaced by plot-summaries of each Act (in English). A note on the title page identifies Hacket as the author and notes that the play was “printed Lond. 8vo 1648.” Nevertheless, the fact that material inadvertently omitted from the printed version is retained in this ms. shows that it does not depend on the book text.

T1 Trinity College, Cambridge, ms. R.17.9 (initial unnumbered page - p. 32r, author unspecified, containing a cast list), the first item in a collection of Cambridge plays created by binding together three mss. of different sizes that also includes Edward Stubbes’ Fraus Honesta (1619) and Edward Forsett’s Pedantius (1581).

T2 Trinity College, Cambridge, ms. R.17.10 (fols. 75 - 83v), author unspecified, the final item in a collection of Cambridge plays written out in a single hand, also containing Stubbe’s Fraus Honesta, William Mewe’s Pseudomagia (n. d.), William Alabaster’s Roxana (slightly before 1595), and Samuel Brooke’s Scyros (1613). The text is only partially preserved, containing lines 344 (I.v) - 552 (II.iii), 1085 ( - 1187 (III.viii), 1409 (IV.i) - 2033 (V.ii).spacer

Y Yale University, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library ms. Vault/Shelves/Plays, item 3, author unspecified containing a cast list.

spacer19. From some of these manuscripts, and also the information given above about Lambeth Palace Library ms. 838, it is clear that a not uncommon means of preserving Cambridge plays was to assemble a volume containing three or four, either copied out by a single individual or assembled after the fact by being bound together (the prevalence of the number four probably was dictated by the consideration that such was the maximum number that could be conveniently contained in a single volume). It is equally clear that the print version came about because the printer Andrew Crooke got his hands on a similar one. The fact that he did not credit Hacket with the authorship of this play by no means indicates that he was in any way guilty of unprincipled dealing, since it quite obvious that these seventeenth-century play collectors tended to be uninterested in establishing authorship. This point is worth making because on an earlier occasion Crooke likewise printed an anonymous text of William Alabaster’s tragedy Roxana and was accused by the author of “plagiarism,” a charge that some modern scholars have injudiciously taken seriously. It is far likelier that Crooke based his printed version on a manuscript that simply failed to record Alabaster’s name. Loiola contains plenty of lexical evidence that goes to show that in the early seventeenth century the nouns plagiator and plagium (and presumably the verb plagio and any derivatives thereof) referred to theft in general and not to the particular misdemeanor we mean by plagiarism. To be technical about it, Alabaster was accusing Crooke of piracy, not plagiarism, and even the validity of that accusation is open to question. To see what I mean, the reader may consult lines 1132, 1996f., , 2067, 2127, and 2159. Indeed, in Hacket’s (and Alabaster’s) time they could mean nothing else, since literary plagiarism was not yet considered either a crime or a serious breach of authorial etiquette.
spacer20. It is impossible to present a stemma codicum displaying the relationship of these six texts as a neat family tree. The only things that unambiguously emerge from their collation (the results of which are reported here) is that a number of textual errors common to all six establish that they are derived from a single common source, which was itself a defective copy ms., and that D and Y very often share the same idiosyncratic features and so must be descended from a common source and that, manifestly, the printed text is in no way superior to the manuscript versions. The present edition, therefore, is an eclectic one with readings variously taken, as seems appropriate, from all six sources.  In these sources, the text is written in lines, as if it were poetry, but it is in fact prose. Elsewhere I have explained that this practice, common in Elizabethan and Jacobean academic comedy, appears to have been no more than a writing convention designed to give plays the physical appearance of those of Plautus and Terence (comic meters were very imperfectly understood and generally understood as being little more than prose prior to Richard Bentley’s explanation in the eighteenth century). I see no reason for perpetuating this feature, which would only lead the unwary to look for verse where none exists. Modern punctuation is silently imposed on the text. A special editorial problem was created by the fact that the individuals responsible for all six textual sources were clearly quite ignorant of French, and each in his own way made a complete hash out of Monsieur Michel’s effusions in that language, usually uttered while in the grips of some strong emotion. With the kind help of my friend Dr. Jamie Reid-Baxter I believe I have managed to make sense out of them, (although in a couple of cases I had to bear in mind A. E. Houseman’s dictum that, if necessary, he was prepared to read Constantinopolis where his source simply had o. But even if, with Jamie’s assistance, I have managed to whip the French into manageable shape, I am entirely incompetent when it comes to seventeenth century French orthography and, were I to attempt to retain what traces of it exist in the sources (such as, I suppose, pry for prie) I would be quite beyond my depth.. So all the French in this edition is of the modern varietiy.
spacer21. It will be useful for the reader to understand that Loiola’s action occurs on a street in Amsterdam. The requires a “set” consisting of three free-standing “houses” — these structures are discussed here — respectively representing the houses of Gaudentius and Maarten, and the brothel operated by Acheron and Laverna. This last structure was equipped with a window on the upper level which figures at various points in the action. Similar windows figure in such plays as Abraham Fraunce’s 1583 Victoria and Robert Ward’s 1623 Fucus sive Histriomastix, which may well have been single-storey affairs, but (as is not the situation in those plays) in Loiola it is clear that this “house”must have had two storeys, since a ladder various characters use in their attempts to enter or exit the window is the play’s most important “prop.” Evidently Gaudentius’ house also had two storeys with a window upstairs, since in IV.v Musonius challenges Philander to come down and fight him, so Philander must be speaking down to him from that window, and only descends to ground level later in the scene. The use of more than one two-storey “house” in a play seems quite unusual. It has occasionally been suggested that there was some system whereby a given “house” was used to represent more than one locale during a play. At the beginning of the abovementioned anonymous comedy Risus Anglicanu, a list of the fictitious places represented by the "houses" for that play is introduced by the heading Inscriptiones in Scaena, suggesting that in performing this play a placard would be displayed to indicate what a “house” currently represented. But how common was this practise? I am unaware of any evidence in the texts of other plays suggesting that it was. To be sure, in the second Prologue to Loiola (7), when Maarten says Lacerato aliquis schedulam quae literis maiusculis pingitur [“Somebody must rip up this capital-letter document”] he may conceivably be referring to one of these “house”-identifying inscriptiones, but far more likely this schedula refers to a poster advertising the play’s forthcoming production. Fort it is extremely improbable that a single “house” served a double purpose in Loiola. Most of Act IV is set in front of Gaudentius’ house, with Philander first appearing at its window. Then at the beginning of IV.vii Loyola briefly pops his head out of the brothel window on the other side of the stage as he complains about his inability to escape, after which the focus of this scene remains before Gaudentius’ house. It would have been impossible to stage this scene using a single structure.
spacer 22. In preparing this edition, I have (as usual) run up considerable debts. First, to the authorities of the various libraries which possess manuscripts of Loiola, who have exerted themselves to place photographic copies in my hands (in some cases free of charge). And then to Dr. Martin Wiggins of The Shakespeare Institute, for reading a draft version and making valuable suggestions for its improvement.



spacerNOTE 1 The king was supposed to attend the original performance, bringing with him the Spanish ambassadors. But the royal visit was cancelled at the request of Trinity College authorities, who feared lest the Spaniards be scandalized by the play's subject (John Nichols, The Processes, Processions, and Magnificent Festivities, of King James the First, London, 1828, IV.809f.), at a time when Britain was engaged in delicate negotiations with Spain about a peace treaty and Prince Charles was in that country, angling for a marriage with the Infanta Maria. James was also troubled by the gout. Additionally, some members of the college were offended by Hacket’s unfriendly portrayal of a Puritan, as described here and seem to have given trouble. Perhaps to assuage the Trinity College authorities, after he had recuperated the king subsequently the second performance, at which time, according to an eyewitness, "His Majesty expressed no remarkable mirth. He laughed once or twice toward the end" (ib. IV.838). James may have been irked that the play was not more devoted to anti-Jesuit satire and polemics, since he appears to have adored such stuff. But he cannot have been too irked: not long thereafter Hacket was appointed a royal chaplain.

spacerNOTE 2 See Brian Quintrell’s O. D. N. B. biography with references cited.

spacerNOTE 3 In his 1675 An Account of the Life and Death of...John Hacket. Cf. Mackenzie E. C. Walcott’s edition of this work (London, 1865) p. 16. This attribution was picked up by such early bibliographic sources as Isaac Reed, Biographia Dramatica; or A Companion to the Playhouse (London, 1782) I.305 and Alexander Chalmers, The General Biographical Dictionary (London, 1812 - 1817) XVII.7, and seems to have gone unchallenged ever since.

spacerNOTE 4 Alan H. Nelson, Cambridge (Record of Early English Drama series, Toronto, 1980) I.586.

spacerNOTE 5 This is not always properly understood: for example, Gossett, op. cit. pp. 34f., explicitly identifies the title character as Ignatius Loyola.

spacerNOTE 6 Kathyrn Murphy, “Jesuits and Philosophasters: Robert Burton’s Response to the Gunpowder Plot,” Journal of the Northern Renaissance 1 (2009) p. 16. The play’s anti-Jesuit humor is also, perhaps, overemphasized by Suzanne Gosset in introducing her edition of the Catholic comedy Hierarchomachia or the Anti-bishop (Lewisburg, Pennsylvania, 1981) pp. 34f., inasmuch as this element needs to be balanced against the play’s satiric handling of Puritans.

spacerNOTE 7 Preserved in Folger Library ms. J.a.1, photographically reproduced (under the assumption that it has a Cambridge provenance) in Risus Anglicanus, John Hacket, Loiola, Prepared with an Introduction by Malcolm M. Brennan (Renaissance Latin Drama in England series 2:6, Hildesheim, 1988).

spacerNOTE 8 Edited by Connie McQuillen, Ann Arbor, 1997.