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CHAPTER IV.

COMEDY AND TRAGEDY.

We have seen how the old Miracle-plays gradually gave way to Moral-plays; first borrowing some of their materials, then thrown into the back-ground, and finally quite displaced, by what they had borrowed. Yet both these forms of the Drama were radically different from Comedy and Tragedy, in the proper sense of these terms: there was very little of character or of human blood in them; and even that little was not there by any natural right; being forced in by external causes, and not a free or native outgrowth from the genius or principle of the thing. The first, in their proper idea and original plan, were but a mechanical collocation of the events of Scripture and old legend, carried on by a sort of personal representatives; the historical forms being every thing, individual traits nothing, in the exhibition: the second, a mere procession of abstract ideas rudely and inartificially personified, with something of fantastical drapery thrown around them. So that both alike stood apart from the vitalities of nature and the abiding interests of thought, being indeed quite innocent of the knowledge of them: both were the legitimate product of a people among whom the principles of a most generous culture had been planted, but had not yet fructified; who had the powers of the highest art rather lying on the surface of their mind than rooted in its substance; a treasure of grace and truth adopted, but not incorporated.

Of course it was impossible that such things, themselves the offspring of darkness, should stand the light. None but children in mind- in the dim twilight "how easy is a bush supposed a bear" could mistake them for truth, or keep up any real sympathy with such unvital motions. Precluded

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from the endless variety of individual nature and characteristic speciality, they could not but run into great sameness and monotony: it was at the best little more than a repetition of one fundamental air under certain arbitrary variations. As the matter shown was always much the same, the interest had to depend chiefly on the manner of showing it: so that the natural result was, either a cumbrous and clumsy excess of manner, or else a stupifying tediousness of effect; unless, indeed, it drew beyond itself; and in doing this it could not but create a taste that would sooner or later force its entire withdrawal from the scene.

Accordingly, Moral-plays, at a comparatively early period in their course, began, as we have seen, to deviate into veins of matter foreign to their original design; points of native humour and wit, lines of personal interest were taken in to diversify and relieve the allegorical sameness; these grew more and more into the main texture of the workmanship: so that the older occupant may, in some sort, be said to have begotten the new species by which itself was in due time superseded. As the new elements gained strength and grew firm, much of the old treasure proved to be mere refuse and dross; as such it was discarded: nevertheless, whatsoever of sterling wealth had been accumulated, was sucked in, retained, and carried up into the supervening growth.

So that the allegorical drama had great influence, no doubt, in determining the scope and quality of the proper drama of comedy and tragedy; since, by its long discipline of the popular mind in abstract ideas, it did much, very much, towards forming that public taste which required the drama to rise above a mere geography of facts into the empyrean of truth; and under the instruction of which Shakespeare learned to make his persons embodiments of general nature as well as of individual character. For the excellences of the Shakespearian drama were probably owing as much to the mental preparation of the time as to the nowers of the individual man: he was in demand before

he came, and it was that pre-existing demand that taught and enabled him to do what he did. In short, as it was the strength of his genius that lifted him to the top of the heap, so it was the greatness of the heap that enabled him to reach and maintain that elevation. For it is a great mistake to regard Shakespeare as standing alone, and working only in the powers of his individual mind. In fact, there was never any growth of literature or art that stood upon a wider basis of collective experience, or that drew its form and substance from a larger or more varied stock of historical preparation.

The beginnings, then, of English comedy and tragedy were made long before these appeared in distinct formation. Of course, by comedy and tragedy, we mean the drama of individual character and action as distinguished from symbolical representations. And the first known hand that drew off the elements of comedy and moulded them into a structure by themselves, was John Heywood, who belonged to the Revels establishment of Henry VIII., and in 1514 had a salary of £20 a year as "the singer," and also, in 1538, a quarterly allowance of £2 10s. as "player on the virginals." His pieces, however, have not the form of comedies. He called them Interludes, a name in use many years before, and perhaps adopted by him as indicating the purpose to which he designed them, of filling up the gaps or intervals of banquets and other entertainments. They are short, not taking much more time than a single Act in an ordinary comedy. Yet they have the substance of comedy, in that they give pictures of real life and manners, containing much sprightliness of dialogue, and not a little of humour and character, and varied with amusing incident and allusion drawn fresh from the writer's observation, with the dews of nature upon them. This will readily appear upon a brief analysis of some of them.

Heywood's oldest piece, written as early as 1521, though not printed till 1533, is entitled “A merry Play between

the Pardoner and the Friar, the Curate and neighbour Pratt." A Pardoner and a Friar have each got leave of the Curate to use his church, the one to exhibit his relics, the other to preach sermon, the object of both being, simply, to make money. The Friar comes first, and is about to begin his preachment, when the other enters and disturbs him: each wants to be heard first, and, after a long fierce trial which has the stronger pair of lungs, they fall into a regular performance of mutual kicking and cuffing. The Curate, aroused to the spot by the clamour, endeavours to part them; failing of this, he calls in neighbour Pratt, and then seizes the Friar, leaving Pratt to manage the other, their purpose being, to set them in the stocks. But they get the worst of it altogether; in fact, they are treated to a sound drubbing; whereupon they gladly come to terms, allowing the Pardoner and Friar quietly to depart. As a specimen of the incidents, we may mention that the Friar, while his whole sermon is against covetousness, harps much on the voluntary poverty of his order, and then gives out his purpose of taking up a collection. In a like spirit of satirical humour, the Pardoner is made to exhibit some very laughable relics, such as "the great toe of the Holy Trinity," the bongrace and French hood of the Virgin Mary, articles of dress worn at that time, and the "blessed jaw-bone" of all the saints in the Calendar;

"Which relic, without any fail,

Against poison chiefly doth prevail.'

Another of Heywood's pieces, also printed in 1533, 18 called "A merry Play between John the husband, Tib the wife, and Sir John the priest." Tib the wife being absent from home, John, who is a hen-pecked husband, brags of his domestic ascendency, and threatens to give her a lusty trouncing on her return. Just then she enters, having overheard him, and demands whom he is going to beat: he dodges off, that "it was Stockfish in Thames-street." She complains of sickness, and he attributes it to her drinking

with Sir John the priest, which, it seems, was a common pastime with her. She then produces a pie, which she has brought home with her; tells him it was made by herself, her gossip Margery, and Sir John; sends him off to invite Sir John to supper; and he dare not refuse to go, though mighty suspicious that she has been playing him false. Sir John having come, she sends her husband out for water to wash their hands with before eating: while he is gone, she and Sir John make merry together at the tricks she has practised upon him: John finds the pail too leaky for use; returns; is furnished with wax, to stop the leaks; while he is busy putting it on, she and Sir John despatch the pie, not heeding his remonstrances, and he not daring to enforce a share of it from them. At last his patience gives way; he throws down the pail in high dudgeon; whereupon Tib and Sir John pitch into him till they make the blood" run about his ears," and then put off together: he fancies they have fled from his superior prowess; but, suddenly bethinking himself that they have withdrawn for another purpose, makes after them, "to see if they do him any villainy;' which concludes the performance.

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Another of his pieces, also full of broad fun, and equally smacking of real life, is entitled The Four Ps; while a fourth, called The Play of the Weather, has something the character of a Moral-play, the Vice figuring in it under the name of Merry Report. What we have given may suffice to indicate the decided steps taken by Heywood in the direction of genuine comedy.

An anonymous interlude called Thersites, and written in 1537, deserves mention as the oldest dramatic piece in English, with characters borrowed from secular history. The object of the piece as stated in the title-page is, to "declare how that the greatest boasters are not the greatest doers." Thersites, the hero, enters fresh from the siege of Troy: having lost his armour, he applies to Mulciber to forge him new suit. Among other things, he wants" a sallet made

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