(1) FromThe Castell of Perseverance.[Good AngelandBad Angel,in rivalry, are trying to secure the adherence of the juvenileHumankind:Good Angelhas already spoken.]
(1) FromThe Castell of Perseverance.
[Good AngelandBad Angel,in rivalry, are trying to secure the adherence of the juvenileHumankind:Good Angelhas already spoken.]
Bad Angel.Pes aungel, thi wordes are not wyse,Thou counselyst hym not a-ryth[35].He schal hym drawyn to the werdes[36]servyse,To dwelle with caysere, kynge and knyth,That in londe be hym non lyche.Cum on with me, stylle as ston:Thou and I to the werd schul goon,And thanne thou schalt sen a-nonWhow sone thou schalt be ryche.Good Angel.A! pes aungel, thou spekyst folye!Why schuld he coveyt werldes goode,Syn Criste in erthe and hys meynye[37]All in povert here thei stode?Werldes wele[38], be strete and stye,Faylyth and fadyth as fysch in flode,But hevene ryche is good and trye,Ther Criste syttyth, bryth as blode,Withoutyn any dystresse.To the world wolde he not flyt,But forsok it every whytt;Example I fynde in holy wryt,He wyl bere me wytnesse.
Bad Angel.Pes aungel, thi wordes are not wyse,Thou counselyst hym not a-ryth[35].He schal hym drawyn to the werdes[36]servyse,To dwelle with caysere, kynge and knyth,That in londe be hym non lyche.Cum on with me, stylle as ston:Thou and I to the werd schul goon,And thanne thou schalt sen a-nonWhow sone thou schalt be ryche.
Good Angel.A! pes aungel, thou spekyst folye!Why schuld he coveyt werldes goode,Syn Criste in erthe and hys meynye[37]All in povert here thei stode?Werldes wele[38], be strete and stye,Faylyth and fadyth as fysch in flode,But hevene ryche is good and trye,Ther Criste syttyth, bryth as blode,Withoutyn any dystresse.To the world wolde he not flyt,But forsok it every whytt;Example I fynde in holy wryt,He wyl bere me wytnesse.
[Bad Angelreplies, and thenHumankindspeaks.]
[Bad Angelreplies, and thenHumankindspeaks.]
Humankind.Whom to folwe wetyn[39]I ne may,I stonde in stodye and gynne to rave:I wolde be ryche in gret aray,And fayn I wolde my sowle save.As wynde in watyr I wave.Thou woldyst to the werld I me toke,And he wolde that I it forsoke,Now so God me helpe, and the holy boke,I not[40]wyche I may have.
Humankind.Whom to folwe wetyn[39]I ne may,I stonde in stodye and gynne to rave:I wolde be ryche in gret aray,And fayn I wolde my sowle save.As wynde in watyr I wave.Thou woldyst to the werld I me toke,And he wolde that I it forsoke,Now so God me helpe, and the holy boke,I not[40]wyche I may have.
(2) FromEveryman.[Everymanhas just metFellowship.]
(2) FromEveryman.
[Everymanhas just metFellowship.]
Felawshyp.My true frende, shewe to me your mynde,I wyll not forsake the to thy lyves ende,In the way of good company.Everyman.That was well spoken and lovyngly.Felawshyp.Syr, I must nedes knowe your hevynesse.I have pyte to se you in ony dystresse.If ony have you wronged ye shall revenged be,Though I on the grounde be slayne for the,Though that I knowe before that I sholde dye.Everyman.Veryly, Felawshyp, gramercy.Felawshyp.Tusshe, by thy thankes I set not a strawe,Shewe me your grefe and saye no more.Everyman.If I my herte sholde to you breke,And than you to tourne your mynde fro me,And wolde not me comforte whan ye here me speke,Then sholde I ten tymes soryer be.Felawshyp.Syr, I saye as I wyll do in dede.Everyman.Than be you a good frende at nede,I have founde you true herebefore.Felawshyp.And so ye shall evermore,For, in fayth, and thou go to hellI wyll not forsake the by the waye.
Felawshyp.My true frende, shewe to me your mynde,I wyll not forsake the to thy lyves ende,In the way of good company.
Everyman.That was well spoken and lovyngly.
Felawshyp.Syr, I must nedes knowe your hevynesse.I have pyte to se you in ony dystresse.If ony have you wronged ye shall revenged be,Though I on the grounde be slayne for the,Though that I knowe before that I sholde dye.
Everyman.Veryly, Felawshyp, gramercy.
Felawshyp.Tusshe, by thy thankes I set not a strawe,Shewe me your grefe and saye no more.
Everyman.If I my herte sholde to you breke,And than you to tourne your mynde fro me,And wolde not me comforte whan ye here me speke,Then sholde I ten tymes soryer be.
Felawshyp.Syr, I saye as I wyll do in dede.
Everyman.Than be you a good frende at nede,I have founde you true herebefore.
Felawshyp.And so ye shall evermore,For, in fayth, and thou go to hellI wyll not forsake the by the waye.
[Everymannow explains his need for a companion along the road to the next world.]
[Everymannow explains his need for a companion along the road to the next world.]
Felawshyp.That is mater in dede! Promyse is duty,But and I sholde take suche vyage on me,I knowe it well, it sholde be to my payne;Also it make me aferde, certayne.But let us take counsell here as well as we can,For your wordes wolde fere a stronge man.Everyman.Why, ye sayd, yf I had nede,Ye wolde me never forsake, quycke ne deed,Though it were to hell, truely.Felawshyp.So I sayd certaynely,But suche pleasures be set a syde, the sothe to saye;And also, yf we toke suche a journaye,Whan sholde we come agayne?Everyman.Naye, never agayne, tyll the daye of dome.Felawshyp.In fayth, than wyll not I come there.Who hath you these tydynges brought?Everyman.In dede, deth was with me here.Felawshyp.Now, by God that all hathe bought,If deth were the messenger,For no man that is lyvynge to dayeI wyll not go that lothe journaye,Not for the fader that bygate me.Everyman.Ye promysed other wyse, parde.Felawshyp.I wote well I say so, truely,And yet yf thou wylte ete and drynke and make good chere,Or haunt to women, the lusty company,I wolde not forsake you whyle the day is clere,Trust me veryly.Everyman.Ye, therto ye wolde be redy:To go to myrthe, solas[41]and playeYour mynde wyll soner applyThan to bere me company in my longe journaye.
Felawshyp.That is mater in dede! Promyse is duty,But and I sholde take suche vyage on me,I knowe it well, it sholde be to my payne;Also it make me aferde, certayne.But let us take counsell here as well as we can,For your wordes wolde fere a stronge man.
Everyman.Why, ye sayd, yf I had nede,Ye wolde me never forsake, quycke ne deed,Though it were to hell, truely.
Felawshyp.So I sayd certaynely,But suche pleasures be set a syde, the sothe to saye;And also, yf we toke suche a journaye,Whan sholde we come agayne?
Everyman.Naye, never agayne, tyll the daye of dome.
Felawshyp.In fayth, than wyll not I come there.Who hath you these tydynges brought?
Everyman.In dede, deth was with me here.
Felawshyp.Now, by God that all hathe bought,If deth were the messenger,For no man that is lyvynge to dayeI wyll not go that lothe journaye,Not for the fader that bygate me.
Everyman.Ye promysed other wyse, parde.
Felawshyp.I wote well I say so, truely,And yet yf thou wylte ete and drynke and make good chere,Or haunt to women, the lusty company,I wolde not forsake you whyle the day is clere,Trust me veryly.
Everyman.Ye, therto ye wolde be redy:To go to myrthe, solas[41]and playeYour mynde wyll soner applyThan to bere me company in my longe journaye.
The difference between the plays is clearer now. Somewhere we have met such a fellow as Fellowship; at some time we have taken part in such a conversation, and heard the gushing acquaintance of prosperous days excuse himself in the hour of trouble. But never in daily life was met so dull a creature as one of those angels, nor ever was heard conversation like theirs.
Let us return to trace the change to the Interlude. Quite a short step will carry us to it.
We have said that Moralities gave to the drama originality in plot and in characters. This statement invites qualification, for its truth is confined to rather narrow limits, in fact, to the early days of this new kind of play. Let a few Moralities be produced and the rest will be found to be treading very closely in their footsteps. Forthere are not possible many divergent variations of a story that must have for its central figure Man in his three ages and must express itself allegorically. Nor is the list of Virtues and Vices so large that it can provide an inexhaustible supply of fresh characters. However ingenious authors may be, the day is quickly reached when parallelism drives their audience to a wearisome consciousness that the speeches have all been heard before, that the next step in the plot can be foretold to a nicety. Something of this was perceived by the author ofEveryman. With bold strokes of the pen he drew a line through two-thirds of the orthodox plot, crossed off from the list of characters the hackneyed Good and Bad Angels, and, against the old names that must still remain, seems to have jotted for himself this reminder, 'Try human types.' So, at least, we may imagine him doing. The figures that occupy the stage of the old Morality are for the most part, like the two Angels, mere mouthpieces for pious or wicked counsels. Fellowship and his companions, on the other hand, are selected examples from well-known and clearly-defined classes of mankind. They are not more than that. All we know of Fellowship is his ready faculty for excusing himself when help is needed. He has no traits to distinguish him from others of his kind. If we describe to one another the men or women whom he recalls to our memory we find that the descriptions differ widely in all but the one common characteristic. In other words, he is a type. The step which brings us to the Interludes is the conversion of the type into an individual with special marks about him peculiar to himself. It is an ingenious suggestion, that the idea first found expression in an attempt to excite interest by adding to a character one or two of the peculiarities of a local celebrity (miser, prodigal, or beggar) known forthe quality typified. If this was so, it was an interesting reversion to the methods of Aristophanes. But it is only a guess. What is certain is that in the Interludes we find the 'type' gradually assuming a greater complexity, a larger measure of those minor features which make the ordinary man interesting. Significantly enough, the last thing to be acquired was a name such as ordinary men bear. A few characters attained to that certificate of individuality, but even Heywood, the master of the Interlude, preferred class names, such as Palmer, Pardoner, or Pedlar. This should warn us not to expect too much from the change. To the very end some features of the earliest Moralities are discernible: we shall meet Good Angel and Bad Angel in one of Marlowe's plays. After all, the interval of time is not so very great.The Castell of Perseverancewas written probably about the middle of the fifteenth century;Everymanmay be assigned to the close of that century or the beginning of the next; one of the earliest surviving Interludes,Hick Scorner, has been dated 'about 1520-25'; and Marlowe'sDoctor Faustusbelongs probably to the year 1588.
Let us turn toHick Scornerand see the new principle of characterization at work. How much of the old is blended with it may be seen in the opening speech, which is delivered by as colourless an abstraction as ever advocated a virtuous life in the Moralities. A good old man, Pity, sits alone, describing himself to his hearers. To him comes Contemplation, and shortly afterwards Perseverance, both younger men but just as undeniably 'Virtues'. Each explains his nature to the audience before discovering the presence of Pity, but they quickly fall into a highly edifying conversation. Fortunately for us Contemplation and Perseverance have other engagements, which draw them away. Pity relapses into acorner and silence. Thereupon two men of a very different type take the boards. The first comer is Freewill, a careless, graceless youth by his own account; Imagination, who follows, is worse, being one of those hardened, ready-witted, quick-tempered rogues whom providence saves from drowning for another fate. He is sore, this second fellow, with sitting in the stocks; yet quite unrepentant, boasting, rather, of his skill in avoiding heavier penalties. That others come to the gallows is owing to their bad management. As he says,
For, and they could have carried by craft as I can,In process of years each of them should be a gentleman.Yet as for me I was never thief;[i.e.was never proved one.]If my hands were smitten off, I can steal with my teeth;For ye know well, there is craft in daubing[42]:I can look in a man's face and pick his purse,And tell new tidings that was never true, i-wis,For my hood is all lined with lesing[43].
For, and they could have carried by craft as I can,In process of years each of them should be a gentleman.Yet as for me I was never thief;[i.e.was never proved one.]If my hands were smitten off, I can steal with my teeth;For ye know well, there is craft in daubing[42]:I can look in a man's face and pick his purse,And tell new tidings that was never true, i-wis,For my hood is all lined with lesing[43].
Nevertheless once he was very nearly caught. And he narrates the incident with so much circumstantial detail that it would be a pity not to have his own words.
Imagination.Yes, once I stall a horse in the field,And leapt on him for to have ridden my way.At the last a baily me met and beheld,And bad me stand: then was I in a fray[44].He asked whither with that horse I would gone;And then I told him it was mine own.He said I had stolen him; and I said nay.This is, said he, my brother's hackney.For, and I had not excused me, without fail,By our lady, he would have lad me straight to jail.And then I told him the horse was like mine,A brown bay, a long mane, and did halt behine;Thus I told him, that such another horse I did lack;And yet I never saw him, nor came on his back.So I delivered him the horse again.And when he was gone, then was I fain[45]:For and I had not excused me the better,I know well I should have danced in a fetter.Freewill.And said he no more to thee but so?Imagination.Yea, he pretended me much harm to do;But I told him that morning was a great mist,That what horse it was I ne wist:Also I said, that in my head I had the megrin,That made me dazzle so in mine eyen,That I might not well see.And thus he departed shortly from me.
Imagination.Yes, once I stall a horse in the field,And leapt on him for to have ridden my way.At the last a baily me met and beheld,And bad me stand: then was I in a fray[44].He asked whither with that horse I would gone;And then I told him it was mine own.He said I had stolen him; and I said nay.This is, said he, my brother's hackney.For, and I had not excused me, without fail,By our lady, he would have lad me straight to jail.And then I told him the horse was like mine,A brown bay, a long mane, and did halt behine;Thus I told him, that such another horse I did lack;And yet I never saw him, nor came on his back.So I delivered him the horse again.And when he was gone, then was I fain[45]:For and I had not excused me the better,I know well I should have danced in a fetter.
Freewill.And said he no more to thee but so?
Imagination.Yea, he pretended me much harm to do;But I told him that morning was a great mist,That what horse it was I ne wist:Also I said, that in my head I had the megrin,That made me dazzle so in mine eyen,That I might not well see.And thus he departed shortly from me.
By this time a third party has approached; for an impatient inquiry for Hick Scorner immediately brings that redoubtable gentleman upon the stage, possibly slightly the worse for liquor, seeing that his first words are those of one on a ship at sea. They may, however, indicate merely a seafaring man, for he has been a great traveller in his time, 'in France, Ireland, and in Spain, Portingal, Sevile, also in Almaine,' and many places more, even as far as 'the land of Rumbelow, three mile out of hell'. He is acquainted with the names of many vessels, of which 'theAnneof Fowey, theStarof Saltash, with theJesusof Plymouth' are but a few. With something of a chuckle he adds that a fleet of these ships bound for Ireland with a crowded company of all the godly persons of England—'piteous people, that be of sin destroyers', 'mourners for sin, with lamentation', and 'good rich men that helpeth folk out of prison'—has been wrecked on a quicksand and the whole company drowned. Next he has an ill-sounding report of his own last voyage togive. When that is finished Imagination proposes an adjournment for pleasures more active than conversation, where purses may be had for the asking.
Every man bear his dagger naked in his hand,And if we meet a true man, make him stand,Or else that he bear a stripe;If that he struggle, and make any work,Lightly strike him to the heart,And throw him into Thames quite.
Every man bear his dagger naked in his hand,And if we meet a true man, make him stand,Or else that he bear a stripe;If that he struggle, and make any work,Lightly strike him to the heart,And throw him into Thames quite.
This suggestion meets with the approval of Freewill, who, however, takes the opportunity to ask after Imagination's father in such unmannerly terms as at once to rouse his friend's quick temper. In a moment a quarrel is assured, nor does Hick Scorner's attempted mediation produce any other reward than a shrewd blow on the head. At this precise instant, however, old Pity, who has remained unnoticed, and who is unwarned by the fate of Hick Scorner, pushes forward with an idea of intervention. As might have been foreseen, the three rascals promptly unite in rounding upon him. They insult him, they threaten him, they raise malicious lying charges against him, and finally they clap him in irons and leave him—Imagination being the ringleader throughout. Left alone once more Pity sings a lament over the wickedness of the times, whereof the doleful refrain is 'Worse was it never'. A ray of light in his affliction comes with the return of Contemplation and Perseverance, who, releasing him, send him off to fetch his persecutors back. Fortune is on their side, for scarcely has Pity gone when Freewill enters by himself with a wonderful account of his latest roguery—the robbing of a till—for the ears of his audience. Contemplation and Perseverance, stout enough of limb when they have a mind to use force, listen quietly to the end and then calmly inform himthat he is their prisoner, a fact which no amount of blustering defiance can alter. Nevertheless, though he has thus openly confessed his own guilt, they have no wish to proceed to extremes. If only he will give up his wicked life they will be content, made happy by the knowledge of his salvation. It is a strange sort of conversion, Freewill's tongue running constantly, with an obvious relish, on the various punishments he has endured; but at length he capitulates, accepting Perseverance as his future guide, and donning the uniform of virtuous service.
Huff, huff, huff! who sent after me?I am Imagination, full of jollity.Lord, that my heart is light!When shall I perish? I trow, never.
Huff, huff, huff! who sent after me?I am Imagination, full of jollity.Lord, that my heart is light!When shall I perish? I trow, never.
In such a manner does the bolder sinner leap to the front. He scans the little group in search of his friend and stares wonderingly on perceiving him in his new dress. Now begins a second tussle for the winning of a soul. The fashion of it can be inferred from the following fragment.
Perseverance.Imagination, think what God did for thee;On Good Friday He hanged on a tree,And spent all His precious blood;A spear did rive His heart asunder,The gates He brake up with a clap of thunder,And Adam and Eve there delivered He.Imagination.What devil! what is that to me?By God's fast, I was ten year in Newgate,And many more fellows with me sat,Yet he never came there to help me ne my company.Contemplation.Yes, he holp thee, or thou haddest not been here now.Imagination.By the mass, I cannot show you,For he and I never drank together,Yet I know many an ale stake[46].
Perseverance.Imagination, think what God did for thee;On Good Friday He hanged on a tree,And spent all His precious blood;A spear did rive His heart asunder,The gates He brake up with a clap of thunder,And Adam and Eve there delivered He.
Imagination.What devil! what is that to me?By God's fast, I was ten year in Newgate,And many more fellows with me sat,Yet he never came there to help me ne my company.
Contemplation.Yes, he holp thee, or thou haddest not been here now.
Imagination.By the mass, I cannot show you,For he and I never drank together,Yet I know many an ale stake[46].
In the end, mainly through the personal appeal of his friend, Imagination too yields and accepts the guidance of Perseverance, Freewill transferring his allegiance to Contemplation. As Hick Scorner never returns, the double conversion brings the play to a close.
Rising from the perusal ofHick Scornerwe confess that we have made a new acquaintance: we have met Imagination and have not left him until we have learnt a good deal about him; how he fled from a catchpole but lost his purse in the flight, how he and Hick Scorner were shackled together in Newgate without money to pay for an upper room, how brazen-faced his lies were, how near he was to hanging, how ingenious were his excuses, and many other facts besides. We have seen him, too, as the ringleader in mischief and the arrantest rogue in the play. Freewill and Hick Scorner make less impression on us; they are more cloudy in outline, more like types. As for Pity, Contemplation and Perseverance, they are merely talking-machines. We must keep an eye on Imagination, as possessing a dramatic value likely to be needed again.
We shall have been disappointed in the plot. That part of the drama seems to be getting worse. Humankind was at least gaining fresh experience inThe Castell of Perseverance; he was even besieged in a fortress and had the narrowest escape in the world from being carried off to Hell. Everyman's startling doom, his eager quest for a companion on his journey, and his zealous self-discipline keep us to the end in a state of concern for his ultimate fate. But what interest have we in Contemplation, Freewill and the rest, apart from what they say? No suggestion is thrown out at the beginning that two of the rogues are to be reclaimed: their fate concerns us not at all. The quarrel, and the ill-treatment of poor oldPity, are the merest by-play, with no importance whatsoever as a step in the evolution of a plot. Indeed it is open to question whether there is a plot. There are speeches, there is conversation, there is some scuffling, and there is a happy ending, but there is no guiding thread running through the story, no discernible objective steadily aimed at from the start. It looks as though the new interest in drawing (or seeing) a real human individual has monopolized the whole attention; that for the time being characterization has driven plot-building completely into the shade.
A curious, yet not unnatural, thing has happened. InThe Castell of PerseveranceHumankind was more acted upon than acting. The real force of the action lay in the antagonism between the Virtues and Vices, the Good Angel and the Bad Angel, an antagonism so inveterate that even if the temporary object of their struggle were removed, the strife would still break out again from the sheer viciousness of the Vices. This instinctive hostility between Virtues and Vices supplies the groundwork of the Interludes. They dismiss Humankind from the stage. He was always a weak, oscillating sort of creature. Sound, forceful Abstractions and Types were wanted, which could be worked up into thoroughgoing rascals or heroes, rascality having all the preference. Any underlying thread, therefore, that there may be inHick Scorneris this rivalry and embitterment between the wicked sort and the virtuous. We shall observe that already one of the rogues is taking precedence of the others in dramatic importance, in fullness of portraiture, and, of course, in villany.
Like Will to Like—of an uncertain date prior to 1568 (when it was printed) but almost certainly a later production than many Interludes which we omit here,notably Heywood's—illustrates the development of some of these changes. In brief outline its story is as follows.
Nichol Newfangle receives a commission from Lucifer to go through the world bringing similar persons together, like to like. Accordingly he acts as arbiter between Ralph Roister and Tom Tosspot in a dispute as to which of the two is the greater knave, and, deciding that both are equal, promises them equal shares in certain property he has at disposal. Next, meeting Cuthbert Cutpurse and Pierce Pickpurse, he gives them news of a piece of land which has fallen to them by unexpected succession. He then adjourns with his friends to an alehouse, leaving the stage to Virtuous Living, who has already chidden him for his sins who now, after a long monologue or chant, is rewarded by Good Fame and Honour, the servants of God's Promise. On the departure of these Virtues, Newfangle returns, shortly followed by Ralph and Tom, penniless from a game of dice, and more than ever anxious for the property. This last proves to be no more than a beggar's bag, bottle and staff, suitable to their present condition, but so little satisfying, that Newfangle receives a terrible drubbing for his trick. Judge Severity arrives on the scene conveniently to lecture him severely and witness his second knavish device, which is no other than to hand over to the Judge the two fugitives from justice, Cutpurse and Pickpurse, for the piece of land of which he spoke is the gallows. Hankin Hangman takes possession of his victims, and the Devil, entering with a 'Ho, ho, ho!', carries Newfangle away with him on his back. Virtuous Life, Honour and Good Fame bring the play to a proper conclusion with prayers for the Queen, Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons, this customary exhibition of loyalty being rounded off with a hymn.
This play, though so much later in date thanHick Scorner, shows no improvement in plot. Nor, perhaps, ought we to expect that it should. An Interlude, as its name implies, was originally only a kind of stop-gap, an entrée of light entertainment between other events; and what so welcome for this purpose as the inconsequential dialogue, by-play, and mutual trickery of sundry 'lewd fellows of the baser sort'? When it extended its sphere from the castle banqueting-hall to the street or inn-yard no greater excellence was expected from it. Its brevity saved it from tediousness, and the Virtues, whom the lingering influence of religion upon the drama saved from the wreck of the Morality Plays, were given a more and more subordinate place. In this play they serve to point the moral by showing the reward that comes to righteousness in sharp contrast to the poverty and vile death that are the meed of wickedness. But it is noticeable that they are quite apart from the other group, much more so than was the case inHick Scorner.
Instead of a plot we find an increasing admixture of buffoonery, without which no Interlude could be regarded as complete. Herein we see the influence of certain farcical entertainments brought over by the Normanjongleurs(or travelling minstrel-comedians). Just as the Frenchfabliauxinspired Chaucer's coarser tales, so the Frenchfarcestimulated the natural inclination of the English taste to broad humour and rough-and-tumble buffoonery on the stage. Held in some restraint by the dominant religious element, it grew stronger as the latter weakened. Thus, inLike Will to Likea certain Hance enters half-intoxicated, roaring out a drinking song until the sudden collapse of his voice compels him to recite the rest in the thick stutter of a drunken man. He carries a pot of ale in his hand, from which he drinks to thehealth of Tom Tosspot, giving the toast with a 'Ca-ca-carouse to-to-to thee, go-go-good Tom'—which is but an indifferent hexameter. At the suggestion of Newfangle 'he danceth as evil-favoured as may be demised, and in the dancing he falleth down, and when he riseth he must groan', according to the stage-direction. When he does rise, doubtless with unlimited comicality of effort, he staggers into a chair and proceeds to snore loudly. All this is accompanied by a fitting fashion of conversation. We can only hope that the author's attempts at humour met with the applause he clearly expected. We believe they did, for he was only copying a widespread custom.
Of far more importance than Hance, however, are the two characters, the Devil and Nichol Newfangle. They invite joint treatment by their own declared relationship and by the close union which stage tradition quickly gave to them. Most of us will remember Shakespeare's song fromTwelfth Nightbearing on these two notorious companions, their quaint garb, and their laughter-raising antics.
I am gone, sir,And anon, sir,I'll be with you again,In a trice,Like to the old Vice,Your need to sustain;Who, with dagger of lath,In his rage and his wrath,Cries, ah, ha! to the devil:Like a mad lad,Pare thy nails, dad;Adieu, goodman devil.
I am gone, sir,And anon, sir,I'll be with you again,In a trice,Like to the old Vice,Your need to sustain;Who, with dagger of lath,In his rage and his wrath,Cries, ah, ha! to the devil:Like a mad lad,Pare thy nails, dad;Adieu, goodman devil.
Newfangle is the 'Vice' of the play; 'Nichol Newfangle, the Vice,' says the list of dramatis personae. We noticed in our consideration ofHick Scornerthat one of the Vices,Imagination, was eminent for his more detailed character and readier villany. The trick has been adopted; the favourite has grown fast. He has becometheVice. Compared with him the rest of the Vices appear foolish fellows whom it is his delight to plague and lead astray. So supreme is he in wickedness that he has even been given the Devil himself as his godfather, uncle, playmate. It is his duty to keep alive the natural wickedness in man, to set snares and evil mischances before the feet of simpler folk, to teach youth to be idle and young men to be quarrelsome, to lure rogues to their ruin; but, above all, to import wit into prosy dialogues, merriment into dull situations. Such is 'the Vice'. Hear him speak for himself:
What is he calls upon me, and would seem to lack a Vice?Ere his words be half spoken, I am with him in a triceHere, there, and everywhere, as the cat is with the mice:TrueVetus Iniquitas. Lack'st thou cards, friend, or dice?I will teach thee to cheat, child, to cog, lie, and swagger,And ever and anon to be drawing forth thy dagger.(Ben Jonson'sThe Devil is an Ass.)
What is he calls upon me, and would seem to lack a Vice?Ere his words be half spoken, I am with him in a triceHere, there, and everywhere, as the cat is with the mice:TrueVetus Iniquitas. Lack'st thou cards, friend, or dice?I will teach thee to cheat, child, to cog, lie, and swagger,And ever and anon to be drawing forth thy dagger.
(Ben Jonson'sThe Devil is an Ass.)
Then what a universal favourite, too, is the Devil, our old friend from the Miracles! 'My husband, Timothy Tattle, God rest his poor soul!' says good Gossip Tattle, 'was wont to say, there was no play without a fool and a devil in 't; he was for the devil still, God bless him! The devil for his money, would he say, I would fain see the devil.' And Gossip Mirth adds a description of the Devil as she knew him: 'As fine a gentleman of his inches as ever I saw trusted to the stage, or any where else; and loved the commonwealth as well as ever a patriot of them all; he would carry away the Vice on his back, quick to hell, in every play where he came, andreform abuses' (Ben Jonson'sThe Staple of News). But our present purpose is with Nichol Newfangle and his arch-prompter. Nevertheless these few general remarks will save us from the necessity of returning to the subject later. The truth of the matter is that here, inLike Will to Like, we have as full a delineation of these two popular characters as may be found in any of the Interludes. Our attention will not be misplaced if we pry a little closer into the method of presentation.
The Vice must be merry; that above all. Accordingly the stage-direction at the opening of the play reads thus, 'Here entereth Nichol Newfangle the Vice, laughing, and hath a knave of clubs in his hand which, as soon as he speaketh, he offereth unto one of the men or boys standing by.' He is apparently on familiar terms already with the 'gallery' (or, in the term of that day, 'groundlings'); as intimate as the modern clown with his stage-asides for the exclusive benefit of 'the gods'. When we read the first two lines we perceive the wit of the card trick:
Ha, ha, ha, ha! now like unto like; it will be none other:Stoop, gentle knave, and take up your brother.
Ha, ha, ha, ha! now like unto like; it will be none other:Stoop, gentle knave, and take up your brother.
We can almost hear the shout of laughter at the expense of the fellow who unwittingly took the card. The audience is with Newfangle at once. He has scored his first point and given a capital send-off to the play by this comically-conceived illustration of the meaning of its strange title. Forthwith he rattles along with a string of patter about himself, who he is, what sciences he learnt in hell before he was born, and so on, until arrested by the abrupt entrance of another person. This newcomer somersaults on to the stage and cuts divers uncouth capers exactly as our 'second clown' does at the pantomime. Newfanglestares, grimaces, and, turning again to the audience, continues:
Sancte benedicite, whom have we hereTom Tumbler, or else some dancing bear?Body of me, it were best go no near:For ought that I see, it is my godfather Lucifer,Whose prentice I have been this many a day:But no more words but mum: you shall hear what he will say.
Sancte benedicite, whom have we hereTom Tumbler, or else some dancing bear?Body of me, it were best go no near:For ought that I see, it is my godfather Lucifer,Whose prentice I have been this many a day:But no more words but mum: you shall hear what he will say.
By the time he has finished speaking the other has unrolled himself and presents a queer figure, clothed in a bearskin and bearing in large print on his chest and back the name Lucifer. He too commences with a laugh or a shout, 'Ho!'. That is the hall-mark of the Devil and the Vice, the herald's blare of trumpets, so to speak, before the speech of His High Mightiness. We have not forgotten that other cry:
Huff, huff, huff! who sent after me?I am Imagination, full of jollity.
Huff, huff, huff! who sent after me?I am Imagination, full of jollity.
It is the same trick; the older rascal is, bone, flesh, and blood, the very kin of Newfangle; both have the same godfather. So the dialogue opens between Old Nick and Nichol in the approved fashion:
Lucifer.Ho! mine own boy, I am glad that thou art here!Newfangle(pointing to one standing by). He speaketh to you, sir, I pray you come near.Lucifer.Nay, thou art even he, of whom I am well apaid.Newfangle.Then speak aloof, for to come nigh I am afraid.
Lucifer.Ho! mine own boy, I am glad that thou art here!
Newfangle(pointing to one standing by). He speaketh to you, sir, I pray you come near.
Lucifer.Nay, thou art even he, of whom I am well apaid.
Newfangle.Then speak aloof, for to come nigh I am afraid.
We need not trouble ourselves here with their further conversation, nor yet with Tom Collier of Croydon, whojoins them in a jig and a song. He soon goes off again, followed by Lucifer, so we can turn over the pages, guided by our outline, until we are near the end.
[TheDevilentereth.]Lucifer.Ho, ho, ho! mine own boy, make no more delay,But leap up on my back straightway.Newfangle.Then who shall hold my stirrup, while I go to horse?Lucifer.Tush, for that do thou not force!Leap up, I say, leap up quickly.Newfangle.Woh, Ball, woh! and I will come by and by.Now for a pair of spurs I would give a good groat,To try whether this jade do amble or trot.Farewell, my masters, till I come again,For now I must make a journey into Spain.[He rideth away on theDevil'sback.]
[TheDevilentereth.]
Lucifer.Ho, ho, ho! mine own boy, make no more delay,But leap up on my back straightway.
Newfangle.Then who shall hold my stirrup, while I go to horse?
Lucifer.Tush, for that do thou not force!Leap up, I say, leap up quickly.
Newfangle.Woh, Ball, woh! and I will come by and by.Now for a pair of spurs I would give a good groat,To try whether this jade do amble or trot.Farewell, my masters, till I come again,For now I must make a journey into Spain.
[He rideth away on theDevil'sback.]
The reader must use his imagination, stimulated by recollections of the Christmas pantomime, if this episode is to have its full meaning. Brief in words, it may quite easily have occupied five minutes and more in acting.
As related more or less distantly to the noisy element, the many songs in this Interlude call for notice. The practice of introducing lyrics was in vogue long before the playwrights of Shakespeare's time displayed their use so perfectly. From this point onwards the drama rings with the rough drinking songs, pious hymns, and sweet lyrics of the buffoon, the preacher, and the lover. Thus, turning haphazard toThe Trial of Treasure, the Interlude immediately precedingLike Will to Likein the volume of Dodsley'sOld English Plays, we find no less than eight songs.Like Will to Likehas also eight.New Custom, the other Interlude in the same volume, has only two; but it may be added that, as the author ofNew Customwas writing with a very special and sober purpose in view, he may have felt that much singing would be inappropriate. That these lyrics went with a good swing may be judged from two of those inLike Will to Like.
(1) Tom Collier of Croydon hath sold his coals,And made his market to-day;And now he danceth with the Devil,For like will to like alway.Wherefore let us rejoice and sing,Let us be merry and glad;Sith that the Collier and the DevilThis match and dance hath made.Now of this dance we make an endWith mirth and eke with joy:The Collier and the Devil will beMuch like to like alway.(2) Troll the bowl and drink to me, and troll the bowl again,And put a brown toast in [the] pot for Philip Fleming's brain.And I shall toss it to and fro, even round about the house-a:Good hostess, now let it be so, I brink them all carouse-a.
(1) Tom Collier of Croydon hath sold his coals,And made his market to-day;And now he danceth with the Devil,For like will to like alway.
Wherefore let us rejoice and sing,Let us be merry and glad;Sith that the Collier and the DevilThis match and dance hath made.
Now of this dance we make an endWith mirth and eke with joy:The Collier and the Devil will beMuch like to like alway.
(2) Troll the bowl and drink to me, and troll the bowl again,And put a brown toast in [the] pot for Philip Fleming's brain.And I shall toss it to and fro, even round about the house-a:Good hostess, now let it be so, I brink them all carouse-a.
More than once reference has been made to the lingering religious element in the Interludes. Probably 'moral element' would describe it better, though in those days religion and morality were perhaps less separable than they are to-day. In the midst of so much comical wickedness and naughty wit, with a decreasing use of the old Morality Virtues, it might be thought that this element would be crowded out. But it was not so. The downfall of the unrighteous was never allowed to pass without the voice of the preacher, frequently the reprobatehimself, pointing the warning to those present. Cuthbert Cutpurse makes a 'godly end' in this fashion:
O, all youth take example by me:Flee from evil company, as from a serpent you would flee;For I to you all a mirror may be.I have been daintily and delicately bred,But nothing at all in virtuous lore:And now I am but a man dead;Hanged I must be, which grieveth me full sore.Note well the end of me therefore;And you that fathers and mothers be,Bring not up your children in too much liberty.
O, all youth take example by me:Flee from evil company, as from a serpent you would flee;For I to you all a mirror may be.I have been daintily and delicately bred,But nothing at all in virtuous lore:And now I am but a man dead;Hanged I must be, which grieveth me full sore.Note well the end of me therefore;And you that fathers and mothers be,Bring not up your children in too much liberty.
The episode of the crowning of Virtuous Life owes its existence to this same element of moral teaching. Take up what Interlude we will, the preacher is always to be found uttering his short sermon on the folly of sin. Our merry friend, the Vice, usually gets caught in his own toils at last; even if he is spared this defeat, he must ultimately be borne off by the Devil.
But there are lessons to be learnt other than the elementary one that virtue is a wiser guide than vice: many an Interlude was written to castigate a particular form of laxity or drive home a needed reform, in those years when the Stage was the Cinderella of the Church; one at least,The Four Elements, was written to disseminate schoolroom learning in an attractive manner.Nice Wanton(about 1560) traces the downward career of two spoilt children, paints the remorse of their mother, and sums up its message at the end thus:
Therefore exhort I all parents to be diligentIn bringing up their children; aye, to be circumspect.Lest they fall to evil, be not negligentBut chastise them before they be sore infect.
Therefore exhort I all parents to be diligentIn bringing up their children; aye, to be circumspect.Lest they fall to evil, be not negligentBut chastise them before they be sore infect.
The Disobedient Child(printed 1560), of which the title is a sufficient clue to its purpose, permits a boy to refuse togo to school, and, as a young man, to flout his father's advice in regard to matrimony, only to bring him to the bottom rung of miserable drudgery and servitude under a scolding wife. Of some interest is the lad's report of a schoolboy's life, voicing, as it possibly does, a needed criticism of the excessive severity of sixteenth-century pedagogues. Speaking of the boys he says:
For as the bruit goeth by many a one,Their tender bodies both night and dayAre whipped and scourged and beat like a stone,That from top to toe the skin is away.
For as the bruit goeth by many a one,Their tender bodies both night and dayAre whipped and scourged and beat like a stone,That from top to toe the skin is away.
A slightly fuller outline ofThe Marriage of Wit and Science(1570 approx.) will show how pleasantly, yet pointedly, the younger generation of that day was taught the necessity of sustained industry if scholarship was to be acquired. It has been suggested, with good reason, that the play was written by a schoolmaster for his pupils' performance. The superior plot-structure, and the rare adoption of subdivision into acts and scenes, indicate an author of some classical knowledge.
Wit, a promising youth, son of Nature, decides to marry Science, the daughter of Reason and Experience. Nature approves of his intention, but warns him that 'travail and time' are the only two by whose help he can win the maid. For his servant and companion, however, she gives him Will, a lively boy, full of sprightly fire. Science is now approached. But it appears that only he who shall slay the giant, Tediousness, may be her husband. To this trial Wit volunteers. He is advised first to undergo long years of training under Instruction, Study, and Diligence; but, soon tiring of them, he rashly goes to the fight, trusting that his own strength, backed by the courage of Will and the half-hearted support of Diligence, will prove sufficient. Too self-confident, he isoverthrown and his companions are put to flight. Will soon returns with Recreation, by whose skill Wit is restored to vigour and better resolution. Nevertheless, directly afterwards, he accepts the gentle ministrations of the false jade, Idleness, who sings him to sleep and then transforms him into the appearance of Ignorance. In this plight he is found by his lady-love and her parents, who do not at first recognize him. Shame is called in to doctor him. On his recovery he returns very repentantly to the tuition of his three teachers, until, by their help and Will's, he is able to slay the giant. As his reward he marries Science.
As one of several good things in this pleasant Interlude may be quoted Will's speech on life before and after marriage, from the point of view of a favoured servant: