The Growth of English Drama

schoolmaster, Geoffrey-about the year 1110. Probably, therefore, the drama was part of the new civilization brought over by the Normans, and came in a comparatively well-developed form. The title o

expect to find from the very commencement a fair grasp of essentials and a rapidly

. This statement, coupled with the fact that all sacred plays, saintly wonder-workings and Bible stories alike, were called Miracles in England, gives a measure of support to Ten Brink's suggestion

, we take up the story again in the fourteenth century, before the end of which we know that there were completed the four great plays still preserved to us-the Chester, Wakefield

ce his life of Jesus with a statement of the reason for His birth, and the 'Fall of Man' was inserted. In writing such an introductory play he set going another possible series. To explain the Serpent's part in the 'Fall' there was wanted a prefatory play on 'Satan's Revolt in Heaven', and to demonstrate the swift consequence of the 'Fall', another play on 'Cain and Abel'; the further story of the 'Flood' would represent the spread of wickedness over the earth; in fact, the possible development could be bounded only by the wide limits of the entire Bible, and, of more immediate influence, by the restrictions of time. That this extension of theme was not checked until these latter limits had been reached may be judged from the fact that in one place it was customary to start the play between four or five o'clock in the morning, acting it sc

s to give a list of the subjects of the scenes, and specimens of the treatment of a selected few. This list, however, should not be glanced through lightly and rapidly. T

scenes of the

e Cre

Fall

in an

ah's

ham's S

and the T

e Pro

arrennes

in the

y's Bet

utation and

seph's

isit to E

al of Josep

Birth of

ration of t

oration of

Purifi

ughter of t

Disputing i

Baptism

e Temp

man taken

Laza

ouncil of

ntry into

e Last

etraying

ing H

Trial of

te's Wif

ation and Cruci

Descent

Burial o

Resurr

Three

t Appeari

Pilgrim

e Asce

cent of the

umption of

Doom

bject demanded, or derogate from the dignity of the celestial Father and Son. That this was partly due to the Bible will be admitted at once. But there is great credit due to the writer (or writers) who could keep so true a sense of proportion that in scenes even of coarse derision, almost bordering on buffoonery, the central figure remained unsoiled and unaffected by his surroundings. A writer less filled with the

erse. God stands amidst his angels, prepared to exe

knowyn, God

o make now wy

restyth my

gynnyng n

t evyr xal h

osyd in

made at m

ve, I may i

y plesa

myth[7] is

xal be wrow

God in per

oo sub

hrow of Satan-not after days of doubtful battle as Milton later pictured it, but in a moment at the word o

nd drags Adam after her. But Adam's guilt is no less than hers. The writer had not Milton at his elbow to teach him how to twist the Bible narrative into an argument for the superiority of man. Adam yields to the same sophistry as led Eve astray; and sin, rushing in with the suddenness of swallowe

we on stal

wey is f

n to my

nesse of

her, but without much success.

e pathos of which these plays were capable. Here in this scene it may be found. Abraham is, before all things else, a father; Isaac is the apple of his eye. When as yet no cloud fil

ne, ffayre fa

yly do I

rty love now

ilde, com,

d, to 'be sett to serve oure Lord God above'. And then, left alone for a while, Abraham, on

an love betty

ac is lo

d, mercyful

ete son I

Lord, with

r frute thou

us God, whe

sone evyr m

ast the secret is confessed, it finds the lad's spirit brave to meet his fate. Perhaps the writer had read, not long before, of the steadfastness with which children met persecution in the days of the Early Christian Church. For he gives us, in Isaac, a boy ready to die if his father wills it so, happy to strengthen that will by cheerful resignation if God's command is behind it. At the rough altar's side Abraham's resolution fails him; from his lips bursts the half-veiled protest, 'The ffadyr to sle the sone! My hert doth clynge and cl

aith; the natural sequence and diversity of emotions, love, pride, thankfulness, horror, submission, grief, resolution, and final joy and gratitude following each other like light and shadow; the litt

ore must be shown free from sin from her birth. The same motive gives us a clue to the character of Joseph. That nothing may be wanting to give whiteness to the purity of Mary, she is implicitly contrasted with the crude rusticity and gaffer-like obstinacy of her aged husband. He is just such an old hobbling wiseacre as may be found supporting his rheumatic joints with a thick stick in any Dorsetshire

I wedde?

man, so Go

yff now to l

yther spor

uty of the bride-elect is delicately referred

ave here? ye

God, xuld

n may nev

e wyff, so

, sere,

in age begy

de she wolde

y, and pyke

ftyn tymes

him into a far district as soon as the ceremony is over, nor does he

ellow' who on the stage would 'tear a passion to tatters, to very rags', and so out-herod Herod. He is of old standing, a veteran of the Church E

yalté in non r

le remys[11], I

of lond in lordc

lofsumere[12],-evyr

boldnes I bere e

f myght I mas

dowtynes the dev

yn and of herthe

nnot slay, Death and the Devil. A banquet is in full swing, Herod's officers are about him, the customary rant and bombast is on his lips when those two stea

another lord has been placed over them. The plan decided upon is the Temptation. But great is Satan's downfall. 'Out, out, harrow! alas! alas!' is the cry (one that had become very familiar to his audience) as he hasten

dental. On the contrary it would have been easy to fall into the error of exciting so much compassion that the sufferer became a pitiably crushed victim of misfortune. With much skill the writer places his most pathetic lines in the mouths of the two Maries, di

ave se

nesse thou

e seyd but w

amys me t

s sone I am, I sey not nay to the!' Still later in the same scene, the silence of Jesus before Herod (sustained through forty lines or more of urging and vile abuse, besides cruel beatings) lifts Him into infinite superior

s. Jesus has invoked God's forgiveness for His murderers, He has promised salvation to the repentant thief, but to her He has said nothing, and the omission sends a f

y sone! my d

ve I defend

to alle tho[16

ord thou sp

ys thou ar

rgeve al her

ef thou ha

yng mercy hef

Lord, why whylt

hi modyr in pey

! why whylt t

of this sorwe[

, and the culmination of the great theme of the play in the Redemption of Man.

inted out before we close our volume of the Coventry Pl

st. Even though we admit, as in some cases we must, that the Plays are heterogeneous products of many hands working separately, and therefore without dramatic regard for other scenes, it is not unreasonable to suppose that when the official text was decided upon, the several scenes may have been accommodated to the interests of the whole. Moreover, the innate relationship of scenes drawn from the Bible gives of itself a certain dramatic cohesion. Of the so-called Dramatic Unities of Time and Place, however, there is no suggestion; there is no unity of characters; there is no consideration of what may

Ghost into English drama as an innovation only in name: the supernatural had been a familiar factor in heightening dramatic interest long before The Misfortunes of Arthur or The Spanish Tragedy were written.-Of the Devils even more may be said. Their picturesque attire,[19] their endless pranks (not set down in the text), their reappearance and disappearance at the most unexpected times, their howls and familiar 'H

t which an age that had not yet lost the ideals of chivalry accepted as the normal qualities of a good woman. The mothers, wives, and daughters of that day would appear to have been before all things womanly, in an unaffected, instinctive way.

the, Mary, my

d buxhum[21],

byr and no

blessynge t

ace on yo

ary, my swe

seph, and God

chylde and

my dowtere

wel, fadyr a

ke my leve

ytt in hev

u in hi

), in the mother's unrestrained misery at the loss of the boy Jesus and rapture on finding Him in the Temple (Scene 20), in the two sisters' forced cheerfulness by the bedside of the dying Lazarus and their sorrow at his death-

n why not on the stage? A funeral was not the less a warning to the living because it was rounded off with a feast. Nor was Jesus on the Cross robbed of any of the majesty and silent eloquence of vicarious suffering by the vulgar levity of those who bade him 'Take good eyd (heed) to oure corn, and chare (scare) awey the crowe'. The strong sentiment of reverence set limits to the application of this humour. Only minor characters were permitted to express themselves in this way. The soldiers at the Sepulchre, the Judaeans at the Cross, the 'detractors' in Scene 14, certain mocking onlookers in Scene 40, these and others of similar stage rank spoke the coarse jests that set free the laugh when tears were too near the

1

this vessel we

d thou; I woul

th, Noye, I hade as

y frynishe

doe after t

fe, doe nowe a

Christe! not or

ande all the d

that wemen be

meke, I da

l seene by

e of you i

2

r, we praye yo

eare, youer

hippe for feare

ve that yo

t will not I, fo

e my goss

, mother, yet

hou wylte

e, wiffe, int

Have thou tha

a! marye, t

d for to

supply for himself appro

t we must turn to the Wakefield (or Towneley) Miracle Play and read the pastoral scene (or, rather, two scenes) there. Here we come face to face with rustics pure and simple, downright moorland sh

ly against the probably widely resented practice of purveyance whereby a nobleman might exact from his farm-tenantry provi

it standys,

oure landys lyys f

ye

so ham

[28] and

ayde ha

yse gent

us oure rest, Oure

lord-fest, thay ca

for the best we

s opprest, in po

l

r his grumblings he

, as I walk th

for to talk in

, has other grounds for discontent.

ystille, as ru

a brystylle, with a

hyr whystyll she co

ater

greatt a

a galon

llow shrewdly suspected of sheep stealing, joins them, and, after some chaffing, is allowed to share their grassy bed. In the night he rises, picks out the finest ram from the flock, drives it home, and hides it in the cradle. He then returns to his place between two of the shepherds. As he foresaw, morning brings discovery, suspicion and search. The three shepherds proceed to Mak's home, only to be confronted with the well concocted story that his wife, having just become the mother of a sturdy son, m

Gaf ye the c

I trow not o

Fast agayne

ye me

he house, the ot

o grefe if I c

greatt reprefe, and fo

wille it not grefe, that

leyfe, let me

vj p

do way:

rd. Me thy

he wakyn

you g

lefe hym to kys, an

e is this? he h

, for she saw him transformed by a fairy into this misshapen changeling precisely on the stroke of twelve. Not so, however, are the shepherds to be persuaded to disbelieve their eyes. Instead Mak gets a good tossing in a blanket for hi

ection, Deliberation, Declaration, Determination and Divination, a goodly company of Doctors indeed. Of all these intangible figures one only, Milton's 'cherub Contemplation', speaks, but the rest are quite obviously represented on the stage, though whether all in flesh and blood may be matter for uncertainty. Much more talkative, on the other hand, are similar abstractions in Scene 11. Here, in the presence

An examination of the verses quoted will reveal something as to the variety of forms adopted. Those cited from Scenes 1, 4, and 32 illustrate

Ange

orthe, ye

strete

our ther

e in th

ely lorde no

tre with stro

he, thou we

hym, I

ene

callus (t

yng in

comyt

ete an

es t

ere pr

hei ha

r they a

nnot

ene

ld Play will discover in the north country

records to guide us in our suppositions. These date from the time when the complete Miracle

on which could annually draw crowds of country customers into the towns, made themselves responsible for the production of the plays. While delegating all the hard work to the trade guilds, as being the chief gainers from the invasion, they maintained central contr

he production of one scene. If a guild were wealthy it might be required to manage two scenes, and those costly ones. For scenes differed considerably in expense: such personages as God and Herod, and such places as Heaven or the Temple, were a much heavier drain on the purse than, say, Joseph and Mary on their visit to Elizabeth. Where there was no difficulty on the score of finance, a guild might be entrusted with a scene-if there was a suitable one-which made special demands on its own craft. Thus, from the York

nth century. An interesting record (dated 1462) in the Beverley archives states that a certain member of the Weavers' Guild was fined for not knowing his part. It would be quite a mistake, therefore, to suppose that fifteenth-century acting was an unstudied art. Similarly, caution must be used in ridiculing the stage-properties of that day. One has only to peruse intelligently one of the bald lists of items of expenditure to discover that a placard bearing such an inscription as 'The Ark' or 'Hell' was not the accepted means of giving reality to a scene. The Ark was an elaborate structure demanding a team of horses for its entrance and exit; while Hell-mouth, copying the traditional representations in mediaeval sculpture, was a most ingenious contrivance, designed in the lik

he same time. Thus we read in Scene 25 ('The Council of the Jews') of the Coventry Play, 'Here xal Annas, shewyn hymself in his stage, be seyn after a busshop of the hoold lawe, in a skarlet gowne, and over that a blew tabbard furryd with whyte, and a mytere on his hed, after the hoold lawe' (the dress is interesting); and a little further on, 'Here goth the masangere forth, and in the mene tyme Cayphas shewyth himself in his skafhald arayd lyche to Annas'; while yet a little later appears this, 'Here the buschopys with here (their) clerkes and the Phariseus mett, and (? in) the myd place, and ther xal be a lytil oratory with stolys and cusshonys clenly be-seyn, lyche as it were a cownsel-hous'. Again, in Scene 27 ('The Last Supper') will be found this direction: 'Here Cryst enteryth into the ho?s with his disciplis and ete the Paschal lomb; and in the mene tyme the cownsel-hous beforn-seyd xal sodeynly onclose, schewyng the buschopys, prestys, and jewgys syttyn

consideration for the actors forbade that they should be required to act more than twice a day. They were well paid, as much as fourpence being given for a good cock-crower (in 'The Trial of Christ'), while the part of God was worth three and fourpence: no contemptible sums at a time when a quart of wine cost twopence and a goose threepence. A little uncertainty exists as to the professional ch

haphazard existence. Their nature was all against a dramatic subordination of the different plays to each other. Their subject was fundamentally the same; placed in a series, they could unroll no larger theme, as could the indiv

ther as scenes in a larger play is a testimonial to their art. They are more complete in themselves. They are, that is to say, a further stage on the way to that Elizabethan drama which only became possible when all idea of a day-long play had been discarded in favour of scenes more single and self-contained. The sacredness, also, of the saintly narrative was less binding than that of the Bible story. Those who had a compunction in caricaturing or coarsening the unholy or nameless people of the Scriptures would feel their liberty immensely widened in a representation of the secular and heathen world which surrounded their saint. This is clearly seen in the Miracle of the Sacrament, where the figure o