Early English Performance, Medieval Plays and Robin Hood Games: Shifting Paradigms in Early English Drama Studies 9781138370937, 9780429427787

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EARLY ENGLISH PERFORMANCE: MEDIEVAL PLAYS AND ROBIN HOOD GAMES

Also in the Variorum Collected Studies Series: Mohamed El Mansour The Boundless Sea Writing Mediterranean History (CS1083) Mohamed El Mansour The Power of Islam in Morocco Historical and Anthropological Perspectives (CS1082) John Marshall, edited by Philip Butterworth Early English Performance: Medieval Plays and Robin Hood Games Shifting Paradigms in Early English Drama Studies (CS1081) Jennifer O’Reilly, edited by Máirín Maccurron and Diarmuid Scully Early Medieval Text and Image II The Codex Amiatinus, the Book of Kells and Anglo-Saxon Art (CS1080) Jennifer O’Reilly, edited by Máirín Maccurron and Diarmuid Scully Early Medieval Text and Image I The Insular Gospel Books (CS1079) Jennifer O’Reilly, edited by Máirín Maccurron and Diarmuid Scully History, Hagiography and Biblical Exegesis Essays on Bede, Adomnán and Thomas Becket (CS1078) Michael Brett The Fatimids and Egypt (CS1077) Hiroshi Takayama Sicily and the Mediterranean in the Middle Ages (CS1076) Stephen Katz Holocaust Studies Critical Reflections (CS1075) John W. Watt The Aristotelian Tradition in Syriac (CS1074) Peregrine Horden Cultures of Healing: Medieval and After (CS1073) David Luscombe Peter Abelard and Heloise: Collected Studies (CS1072) Stephan Kuttner, edited by Peter Landau Gratian and the Schools of Law, 1140–1234, Second Edition (CS1071) https://www.routledge.com/history/series/VARIORUMCS

VARIORUM COLLECTED STUDIES

EARLY ENGLISH PERFORMANCE: MEDIEVAL PLAYS AND ROBIN HOOD GAMES Shifting Paradigms in Early English Drama Studies

John Marshall Edited by Philip Butterworth

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 selection and editorial matter, Philip Butterworth; individual chapters, John Marshall The right of Philip Butterworth to be identified as the author of the editorial material, and of John Marshall for his individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978–1–138–37093–7 (hbk) ISBN: 978–0–429–42778–7 (ebk) Typeset in Times by Servis Filmsetting Ltd, Stockport, Cheshire

CONTENTS



Introduction by Philip Butterworth1

PART I

Dating, staging, and playing the Chester Whitsun Plays   1. ‘The Chester Whitsun Plays: Dating of post-Reformation performances from the Smiths’ accounts’, Leeds Studies in English, n.s. 9 (1977)

13

  2. ‘Players of the Coopers’ pageant from the Chester Plays in 1572 and 1575’, Theatre Notebook, 33 (1979)

23

  3. ‘“The Manner of these Playes”: The Chester pageant carriages and the places where they played’, Staging the Chester Cycle, ed. by David Mills (Leeds: Leeds Texts and Monographs, 1985)

30

  4. ‘Nailing the six-wheeled waggon: A sideview’, Medieval English Theatre, 12.2 (1990)

57

  5. ‘“Walking in the air”: The Chester shepherds on stilts’, According to the Ancient Custom: Essays presented to David Mills, ed. by Philip Butterworth, Pamela M. King and Meg Twycross, Medieval English Theatre, 29 (2009 for 2007)62

v

contents PART II

Who, where, when, and why: Non-cycle and single episode plays in performance   6. ‘Marginal staging marks in the Macro manuscript of Wisdom’, Medieval English Theatre, 7.2 (1985)

77

  7. ‘“Her virgynes, as many as a man wylle”: Dance and provenance in three late medieval plays; Wisdom/The Killing of the Children/The Conversion of St Paul’, Leeds Studies in English, n.s. 25 (1994)

83

  8. ‘“Fortune in worldys worschyppe”: The satirising of the Suffolks in Wisdom’, Medieval English Theatre, 14 (1992)

116

  9. ‘“O ȝe souerens þat sytt and ȝe brothern þat stonde ryght wppe”: Addressing the audience of Mankind’, in European Medieval Drama, 1 (1997), ed. by Sydney Higgins (Turnhout; Brepols)

144

PART III

Archiving the ephemeral: Contemporary depictions of performance and modern productions of medieval plays 10. ‘The medieval English stage: A graffito of a hell-mouth scaffold?’,Theatre Notebook, 34 (1980)

161

11. “‘The Crowning with Thorns and the Mocking of Christ”: A fifteenth-century performance analogue’, Theatre 168 Notebook, 45 (1991) 12. ‘A Scene from the Life of St Edmund: Dramatic representation in an English medieval alabaster’, Theatre Notebook, 48 (1994)

176

13. ‘Modern productions of medieval English plays’, in The Cambridge Companion to Medieval English Theatre, ed. by Richard Beadle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994)194

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contents PART IV

Robin Hood Games: Customary performance and raising funds 14. ‘“goon in-to Bernysdale”: The trail of the Paston Robin Hood play’, Essays in Honour of Peter Meredith, ed. by Catherine Batt, Leeds Studies in English, n.s. 29 (1998)

219

15. ‘“Comyth in Robyn Hode”: Paying and playing the outlaw in Croscombe’, Porci ante Margaritam: Essays in Honour of Meg Twycross, ed. by Sarah Carpenter, Pamela King and Peter Meredith, Leeds Studies in English, n.s. 32 (2001)248 16. ‘Gathering in the name of the outlaw: REED and Robin Hood’, in REED in Review: Essays in Celebration of the First Twenty-Five Years, ed. by Audrey Douglas and Sally-Beth MacLean (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006)

271

17. ‘Riding with Robin Hood: English pageantry and the making of a legend’, in The Making of the Middle Ages: Liverpool Essays, ed. by Marios Costambeys, Andrew Hamer and Martin Heale (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2007)

293

18. ‘Picturing Robin Hood in early print and performance: 1500–1590’, in Images of Robin Hood: Medieval to Modern, ed. by Lois Potter and Joshua Calhoun (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2008) 316 19. ‘Revisiting and revising Robin Hood in sixteenth-century London’, in Robin Hood in Outlaw/ed Spaces, ed. by Lesley Coote and Valerie B. Johnson (London and New York: Routledge, 2017)

337

John Marshall’s bibliography358 Index361

vii

INTRODUCTION

In bringing together the volumes in this series, the General Editors are attempting to bring to a wider scholarly and student readership the most important twentieth- and twenty-first century scholarship on English medieval drama/theatre. In the second half of the twentieth century there were some fundamental shifts in our knowledge of medieval theatre and its practice. The first authors in this series, Professor David Mills, Liverpool, Professor Peter Meredith, Leeds, Professor Meg Twycross, Lancaster and Professor Alexandra F. Johnston, Toronto have between them been responsible for some of the most important research in this field.1 The purpose of the series is to widen the readership for their work and make it more accessible to scholars in related areas. There are also many young scholars of medieval drama/ theatre who are not aware of the depth of investigation that has already been carried out in their field. This volume presents selected works of Dr. John Marshall that have been produced over the last 40 years or so. As is the case with the other authors in this series, much of Marshall’s work has been published in specialist publications that are not readily available to the wider reading audience to which this series is addressed. The work selected for this volume focuses on and reflects his core interests, namely, early English performance as demonstrated in medieval plays and Robin Hood games. The author has an international reputation in both the realm of medieval theatre practice and as a leading authority on Robin Hood in customary performance. His perspective is that of a Drama scholar, director and actor of early English plays that is brought to bear upon the understanding of how medieval plays and Robin Hood games of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries were performed. He examines why, where, when, and how the plays happened, who took part, and who were the audiences. The derived insights are informed by a combination of research and public performance of surviving texts. Research included in this volume unites early English experience of religious and secular performance. This recognition challenges the dominant critical distinction between the two forms and the consequent privileging of biblical and moral plays over secular entertainments. What further binds the 1

i n t ro d u c t i o n two forms is that the destination of funds raised by the different activities maintained the civic and parochial needs of the institutions upon which the people depended. This collection redefines the inclusive nature and common interests of the purposes that lay behind generically different undertakings. They shared an extraordinary investment of human and financial resources in the anticipation of a profit that was both pious and practical. Much of Marshall’s work begins with imaginative speculation which is then investigated through thorough scholarship. He often starts with supposed knowledge of the kind that has not previously been questioned and develops his examination of both the original material and its erstwhile superficial acceptance. This kind of forensic investigation may be seen to be analogous to that used by someone who dismantles a dysfunctional mechanical item in order to repair it and then re-assembles it to make it work. There are strong reconstructive and corrective elements that drive his scholarship. He is intrigued and fascinated by visual evidence from which to develop understanding of performance and is therefore appropriately cautious in distinguishing medieval performance criteria from modern equivalents in the investigation and interrogation of visual imagery. Other penetrating preoccupations are concerned with performance clothing and dance. Here, intuitive responses to meagre evidence in the form of records, stage directions and textual demands are challenged by his acute concerns to reconstruct and correct understanding. Both of these motivational strands coalesce as a result of his considerable practical experience in theatre. His initial interest in theatre was awakened, as is often the case, by an English teacher or, in this case, by two English teachers at Horsenden Secondary Modern School for Boys, Greenford, Middlesex, who directed all-male plays that included The Long and the Short and the Tall (Willis Hall) and Seagulls over Sorrento (Hugh Hastings). Involvement in these plays lit a theatrical light in Marshall that burns to this day. From this point he knew that he had found his ‘home’. He went on to take his ‘A’ levels at Eliots Green Grammar School, Northolt, Middlesex from where he gained a place to train as a teacher of drama at Bretton Hall College of Education, Wakefield, West Yorkshire (1967–71). At Bretton Hall he was further inspired in his understanding of drama, theatre and educational philosophy by John Hodgson, Derek Webster and Victor Quinn. Some two years after completion of his course (B.Ed., 2:1) at Bretton Hall he enrolled on the MA in Drama and Theatre Arts at the University of Leeds, where he fell under the spell of Peter Meredith, who taught an option in Medieval Theatre. After gaining a distinction on this course (1974) it was perhaps inevitable that he should begin post-graduate research with Peter Meredith. The culmination of these academic awards resulted in a PhD from the University of Bristol in 2009. His teaching career began at Minsthorpe High School and Community College, South Elmsall, South Yorkshire (1971). He was subsequently appointed Lecturer (1976) at King Alfred’s College of Higher Education, Winchester, Hampshire (now the University of Winchester) and Senior 2

i n t ro d u c t i o n Lecturer in 1979. While at Winchester he directed productions of the The Nativity sequence of pageants from The Chester Mystery Cycle in the Chapel of King Alfred’s College (1977); Wisdom (c.1464) in Winchester Cathedral (1981. This was the first full-recorded performance that included the dances described in the manuscript since the fifteenth century); The Conversion of St Paul (c.1480) in Winchester Cathedral (1982); and The Killing of the Children and Candlemas Day (c.1500) also in Winchester Cathedral (1983). From here he was appointed as Lecturer in Drama (1984) and Senior Lecturer (1993) in the Department of Drama: Theatre, Film and Television (now the Department of Theatre) at the University of Bristol. At Bristol, his main teaching areas were: early English theatre in practice; English theatre to 1642; approaches to theatre studies; performance analysis; twentieth-century alternative theatre; street performance; history; ideology and practice; Robin Hood in performance; games, plays, film and television. Each of these areas were taught at both undergraduate and post-graduate levels and included many productions that were open to the public. Productions of medieval plays included: The Castle of Perseverance (c.1425), Wickham Theatre, University of Bristol (1986); Fulgens and Lucres (c.1495), Wickham Theatre, University of Bristol (1989); The Mary Play from the N.town Manuscript (c.1468), Wickham Theatre, University of Bristol (1990); From Creation to Nativity (The Towneley Plays), Wickham Theatre and outdoor sites in the university precinct, University of Bristol (1993); Mankind (c.1470), VAR Studio, University of Bristol, in conjunction with the conference, ‘Look, Listen and Learn: Medieval Culture and its Audiences’ (1995); Everyman (c.1510), Wickham Theatre, University of Bristol (1995); The Coming of Antichrist from the Chester Cycle, Van Dyck Gallery, University of Bristol (1996); Mary Magdalene (c.1500), Wickham Theatre, University of Bristol (1997); Everyman (c.1510), VAR Studio, University of Bristol (1998). A number of other productions took place at Winchester and Bristol that reflected Marshall’s additional teaching interests.2 After retirement in 2004 he was appointed to a Senior Research Fellowship at the University of Bristol, a position he still holds. Organization of this work clearly reflects the interests outlined above. The twin concerns for reconstruction and correction are clearly evident in ‘The  Chester Whitsun Plays: Dating of post-Reformation performances from the Smiths’ accounts’. Here, Marshall closely examines detailed evidence of the earliest dates of the Smiths’ accounts of their pageant in the Chester Whitsun plays and in so doing seeks to correct a mis-transcription of a seventeenth-century transcript. Further examination of the Chester Whitsun plays occurs in the ‘Players of the Coopers’ pageant from the Chester Plays in 1572 and 1575’. On this occasion Marshall attempts to identify the names and status of players in the Coopers’ pageant. His task is made more difficult because recorded payments are made to named personages in the pageant and not named players. Even though the players were paid for their performing roles, they were not professionals in the modern understanding of the term. 3

i n t ro d u c t i o n Equally, the players did not necessarily belong to the Coopers’ Guild. The Chester Freemens’ Rolls are of considerable help in identifying players and their guild affiliation. Because the plays were performed over three consecutive days, it seems possible that players could play in more than one pageant if the plays concerned were played on one or two of the alternate days. Further investigation into the Chester plays takes place in ‘“The Manner of these Playes”: The Chester pageant carriages and the places where they played’, where Marshall makes a case in support of David Rogers’ descriptions of the pageant carriages by referring to the interpretations of J. H. Markland and Thomas Sharp. Discussion develops to consider four- and six-wheeled pageants, steering mechanisms, wheel and pageant construction together with discussion of the pageant route. Additional consideration of the number of wheels on the pageants is made in ‘Nailing the six-wheeled waggon: A sideview’. Here, the discussion takes as its starting point the discrepancy contained in David Rogers’ accounts that variously record the numbers of wheels on the pageants as being of ‘vi’ or ‘4’. Marshall hypothesises that the mistaken attribution of the wheel numbers exists because of the angled viewpoint contained in a conjectured drawing depicting a pageant with four wheels that creates an illusion of six wheels. In ‘“Walking in the air”: The Chester shepherds on stilts’, Marshall, yet again, examines the records of another Chester guild, namely, the Painters’ Guild. In this instance, the records identify a man called Robert Wyatt who was fined by the Company for escaping a promise that ‘his man shuld goe vppon the Styltes vppon mydsomer eueen’. This leads Marshall into discussion of the relevance of stilts to the trade of painters and glaziers, who, dressed as shepherds and walked on stilts in their Whitsun play in the Midsummer Show. He cites modern practice of plasterers, painters and decorators and their use of stilts to reach otherwise inaccessible heights in their decorating tasks. French evidence and practice of stilt-wearing by shepherds is also cited to buttress the case for Chester stilt-wearing shepherds. Marshall’s fascination for the play of Wisdom may be seen clearly in ‘Marginal staging marks in the Macro manuscript of Wisdom’. His forensic eye focuses on the qualitative differences between the virgin text and its annotated production copy. Of the interesting scribbles and markings in the manuscript of Wisdom are a number of feint crosses, usually in the left-hand margin. He considers the meaning of these crosses, which are apparently written in a later hand. About half of them coincide with explicit stage directions. Why some stage directions occur simultaneously with the crosses and others do not is speculatively discussed. One consideration is that the crosses refer to a means of comparing the Digby and Macro versions of the play. The implication is that the crosses indicate the purpose of the MS as being a working document.3 Examination of the play of Wisdom is developed in ‘“Her virgynes, as many as a man wylle”: Dance and provenance in three late medieval plays; Wisdom/The Killing of the Children/The Conversion of St Paul’. In attempts to determine authorship and origins of the plays in question Marshall puts 4

i n t ro d u c t i o n stress on indicators of evidence such as those derived from the minimum number of players needed for performance; the range and nature of theatrical devices used; the type of staging required or implied; the likely time of year of performance and whether indoor or outdoor production is best suited to the needs of the play and its occasion. These considerations, together with evidence supplied by REED volumes, are determined to provide the best opportunity of establishing provenance of the plays. Discussion is progressed through carefully organized analysis of the purpose and significance of dance in the plays, authorship, provenance and ownership of the MSS. Within the universal message of the play of Wisdom, Marshall discusses the likelihood of satirical content being directly targetted towards the Suffolks in ‘“Fortune in worldys worschyppe”: The satirising of the Suffolks in Wisdom’. Previously, scholars have regarded the satirical intention to be rather generalized. Marshall is the first to re-direct understanding of the significance of the satire. Concentration on the corrupt practices of maintenance, extortion, bribery, simony and perjury could not help but direct an audience’s attention towards the de la Pole family. Emphasis on corruption is represented by a disguising made up of three-costumed dances: the dance of maintenance; the dance of perjury; and the dance of lechery. Distinctly colourful and detailed stage directions require use of ‘rede berdys’ [red beards] that most strongly identifies them with the Suffolks. In ‘“O ȝe souerens þat sytt and ȝe brothern ȝat stonde ryght wppe”: Addressing the audience of Mankind ’, Marshall assesses attempts to identify the play’s audience, most of which have been hitherto proposed without adequate evidence. He rejects the likelihood of Mankind being a travelling play and exposes condescending responses to imagined performances. Most assumptions, for that is what they are, concerning the nature and composition of audiences have been conjectured from considerations outside of the text, whereas Marshall choses to draw his evidence from the text itself. He discusses terms used to refer to the audience such as ‘souerens’, ‘brothern’ and ‘yemandry’ [yeomanry] and also considers guilds and the inhabitants of Dominican houses as potential audiences. Although most references are to men, he also considers audience inclusiveness to include women. References to spectators as ‘Lordys and ladyes’ are not taken literally but intended to court, compliment and assuage audiences to continue with their concentration and attention. He argues for the auspices of Mankind to belong to the St. Edmund Guild of Bishop’s Lynn and tentatively asserts that performance of the play took place in the refectory of the Dominican priory. The approach taken in ‘The medieval English stage: A graffito of a hellmouth scaffold?’ is typical of Marshall’s conjectural identification of a selected image that has not previously been known of or examined. Here, he seeks to develop the limited bank of medieval staging illustrations by considering the Stetchworth graffito as one that depicts a medieval stage. He carefully refers the reader to what might be seen in the graffito and argues for its 5

i n t ro d u c t i o n identification as a hell-mouth stage which is compared to existing English and European sources in order to promote his case. No definitive identification of the graffito as a hell-mouth stage takes place but his process of examination is both original and rigorous. Just as the Stetchworth graffito invites analysis of its content and relevance to staging, so too does the painting The Crowning with Thorns and the Mocking of Christ by the artist known as the Bartholomew Master of Cologne in The Hours of Reynalt von Homoet. Marshall’s investigation in ‘The Crowning with Thorns and the Mocking of Christ: A fifteenth-century performance analogue’ iterates regret at the paucity of visual images to confirm staging conditions. Careful analysis of the painting takes account of the need to distinguish between artistic licence, painting conventions and pictorial evidence. Comparison with The Martyrdom of St Apollonia is made in such a way as to reaffirm the Martyrdom’s authority in depicting outdoor theatrical performance. Although The Crowning with Thorns might similarly depict an indoor performance, the subject matter may simply be a visual representation of the biblical narrative. Reasons for the dearth of images of performance are again examined in ‘A Scene from the Life of St Edmund: Dramatic representation in an English medieval alabaster’. This work engages with the need to make it clear that a performance is actually taking place in the image. To establish the reliability of the alabaster in depicting performance, the sculptor would need to show that actors are performing and that an audience is witnessing the action. W.L. Hildburgh considered alabaster carvings as records of medieval religious drama, without reference to sufficient evidence to confirm the association. In spite of this difficulty, Marshall examines the tentative representation of an alabaster panel that depicts aspects of the life of St Edmund and makes a tentative connection with a St Edmund play at Bury St Edmunds. In ‘Modern productions of medieval English plays’, Marshall begins by referring the reader back to the early twentieth-century productions of Everyman by William Poel (1901), Youth by Nugent Monck (1905–7) and the York Cycle in the ruins of St Mary’s Abbey, York by T. S. Eliot and E. Martin Browne (1951). From these antiquarian concerns and the revival of interest in religious and verse drama came the development of departments of drama in universities and colleges. In addition to the impetus created by these departments and the earlier twentieth-century productions, there was a commensurate growth of interest in community theatre as articulated by individuals such as Anne Jellicoe and companies like the Medieval Players. However, perhaps the biggest influence upon the revival of interest in medieval drama came from the National Theatre’s production of The Mysteries (1977–1985). Questions of authenticity (and what that means) are discussed in relation to modern productions. And research into the nature of medieval theatre and its presumed audiences takes up much investigation. Civic inspired productions as a means of responding to the heritage of towns and cities are also 6

i n t ro d u c t i o n discussed. Varieties of different forms of staging are considered in terms of original practice together with more flexible modern opportunities. The range of staging possibilities is considered in relation to a scale from ‘reconstruction’ to ‘reinterpretation’. The final section of this collection concentrates on Marshall’s stringent attempts to locate appropriate evidence concerning the legends of Robin Hood. In ‘“goon in-to Bernysdale”: The trail of the Paston Robin Hood play’ he examines twenty-one couplets of action from which he is able to infer dialogue of an early Robin Hood play. The couplets are contained in a single folio manuscript held by Trinity College, Cambridge and designated MS R.2.64. Here, Marshall seeks to link evidence of the play with the Paston family of Norfolk. He relates the chequered history of the ownership of the MS and in doing so picks up slender threads of information that enable him to develop his examination of the document’s relevance. Equally, he pursues the identity of the possible performers of the play. Unsurprisingly, much of the considered evidence emanates from the well known Paston Letters. The play is also discussed in relation to other Robin Hood plays, together with the possible motivation of Sir John Paston in promoting the play. Lack of research into Robin Hood plays in relation to other forms of medieval drama is discussed in ‘“Comyth in Robyn Hode”: Paying and playing the outlaw in Croscombe’. Here, the article investigates the role the revels may have played in financing extensions to the church building and seeks to identify those named as Robin Hood players together with location of the playing or game place. The records at Croscombe are some of the earliest to record the collection of money in Robin Hood’s name and may well be representative of other such activities in other counties. Even though the records are sparse, they do not necessarily reflect the scale of activity. The purpose of these revels was clearly driven by financial needs. The intention to raise money for local community use is again examined in ‘Gathering in the name of the outlaw: REED and Robin Hood’, where records recently brought to light through the REED project are analysed. Marshall questions the purpose of such activity and whether the records actually refer to plays or some other kinds of events. Different periods and their cultural, political, social and religious conditions have clearly imbued and interpreted the Robin Hood myth with their immediate preoccupations. In turn, the REED project has uncovered hitherto unknown records that provide new conditions and understanding. The records in question predominantly come from Bristol, Cornwall, Devon, Dorset and Somerset and permit Marshall to identify that money-raising activity is largely concerned with building and maintenance projects. Other modern influences on the changing identities of Robin Hood may be seen to be determined by film and television. In ‘Riding with Robin Hood: English pageantry and the making of a legend’, examination of these influences led Marshall to the view that ‘This creeping process of historical 7

i n t ro d u c t i o n definition encouraged the belief, without much evidence, that Robin Hood actually existed.’ In 1795, Joseph Ritson, in a two-volume work, perpetuated the myth that Robin Hood came from a noble family—a myth that still survives. His adventures have been allowed to epitomize the middle ages through romantic notions of the English yeoman. Sixteenth- and nineteenth-century pageantry also played a part in establishing this identity. In ‘Picturing Robin Hood in early print and performance: 1500–1590’, further consideration is given to the tales that ‘accumulate and adapt to new genres and to changes in audience composition and expectation’. What did Robin Hood look like? And how is this known? Content of the ballads gives some indications, together with printer’s sources such as factotums. Attempts are made to identify Robin and Little John in factotums and through selected Churchwardens’ Accounts that record types of clothing. Clearly, understanding of what is known and what is unknown about Robin Hood is of perennial fascination. In ‘Revisiting and revising Robin Hood in sixteenth-century London’, Marshall makes use of the ‘known—unknown’ axis, recently iterated by Donald Rumsfeld, as the linguistic mechanism to examine evidence of the role, reputation and reception of Robin Hood events in sixteenth-century London. Previously thought ‘known knowns’ do not turn out to be ‘knowns’. Three items of evidence are re-examined in terms of what might be ‘known’. They are: the felon of 1502, known as ‘Greenleaf’ who is likened to Robin Hood; the Royal May Festival celebrating Robin Hood at Greenwich and Shooters Hill in 1515 and Henry Machyn’s record of Robin Hood in a May game of 1559. Until recently the study of early English drama was largely genre based. This was in part because the subject had predominantly been taught in departments of English where matters of production were secondary to literature. The research contained in this volume focusses on performance practice from the perspective of an academic Drama/Theatre specialist. For convenience, the individual works are arranged conventionally into the categories of the cycle, non-cycle and single episode plays, art and performance, modern productions, and Robin Hood in customary performance but all are approached through the combination of research and realization in public performance.

Notes 1 Mills, David, To Chester and Beyond: Meaning, Text and Context in Early English Drama, ed. by Philip Butterworth, Shifting Paradigms in Early English Drama Studies, Variorum Collected Studies Series (London: Routledge, 2016), xvi + 369; Johnston, Alexandra F., The City and the Parish: Drama in York and Beyond, ed. by David N. Klausner, Shifting Paradigms in Early English Drama Studies, Variorum Collected Studies Series (London: Routledge, 2016), viii + 353; Meredith, Peter, The Practicalities of Performance: Manuscripts, Records, and Staging, ed. by John Marshall, Shifting Paradigms in Early English Drama Studies, Variorum Collected

8

i n t ro d u c t i o n Studies Series (London: Routledge, 2017), xvii + 362; Twycross, Meg, The Materials of Early Theatre: Sources, Images, and Performance, gen. eds. Philip Butterworth, Alexandra F. Johnston, Pamela King; vol. eds. Sarah Carpenter, Pamela King, Shifting Paradigms in Early English Drama Studies, Variorum Collected Studies Series (London: Routledge, 2017), xx + 447. 2 The Farm (David Storey), John Stripe Theatre, King Alfred’s College, Winchester (1977); Waiting for Godot (Samuel Beckett), John Stripe Theatre, King Alfred’s College, Winchester (1979); Demonstrations Magical (Devised), Arts Centre, King Alfred’s College, Winchester (1980); Raffy and Sean (Devised), John Stripe Theatre, King Alfred’s College, Winchester(1981); The Arbor (Andrea Dunbar), John Stripe Theatre, King Alfred’s College, Winchester (1981); Megrim (Maureen Duffy), Arts Centre, King Alfred’s College, Winchester (world premiere: formerly under consideration by the RSC) (1983); Stand by Britain (Devised), Arts Centre, King Alfred’s College, Winchester (1984); The Magpie on the Gallows (Devised), Wickham Theatre, University of Bristol (1990); The Mink Under the Sink (Devised), Wickham Theatre, University of Bristol (1993); The Sad Shepherd (Ben Jonson), Royal Fort Gardens, University of Bristol (1998). 3 In this article, Marshall clearly articulates some of his working rehearsal method and the extent to which he annotates the virgin text. The marks made in his copy of the text are for his benefit as a director and not others. His own directorial methodology is cited in his attempts to unlock such a personal code in the marginal marks of the Wisdom text. For what it is worth, my own experience as a director is such that I start off with all good intentions to record information of what happens or should happen in the production. These details become more sparsely annotated as the production develops its three-dimensional reality. Perhaps this is to be expected, since rehearsal practice is one of moving away from the text on the page.

9

Dating, Staging, and Playing

Part I DATING, STAGING, AND PLAYING THE CHESTER WHITSUN PLAYS

1 THE CHESTER WHITSUN PLAYS: DATING OF POST-REFORMATION PERFORMANCES FROM THE SMITHS’ ACCOUNTS From: Leeds Studies in English, n.s. 9 (1977)

In a recent article on the Chester plays Lawrence Clopper1 drew attention to the problem of accurately dating the earliest Smiths’ account for the Whitsun plays as it appears in the seventeenth century transcription made by Randle Holme (BL MS Harl.2054). The account in question (fols 14v–15r) is dated 1554 in the left margin, and again following the names of the stewards for the year. Clopper points out (p. 51) that if this was the date the entry would seem to be out of sequence, and that a later account is also dated 1554 (fols 15v–16r). He suggests that Holme may have mistakenly transposed the last two numerals of the date as he did with another account, although in the latter instance the error was corrected. This would give an entry date of 1545 and as the usual procedure was to date accounts from the Smiths’ Company election day—the first Sunday after the feast of St Peter (29 June)2—the Whitsun play expenses would refer to a performance in 1546. This date is supported by the Mayors list in BL MS Harl. 2105, but is not included in the BL MS Add. 29777 list, which refers to a performance in the mayoral year 1553–54, and in all other years for which Smiths’ play accounts exist (1560–61, 1566–67, 1567–68, 1571–72, 1574–75). In view of the apparent infrequency of performance in post-Reformation Chester it would be pleasing to have more than the possibility of a scribal error as evidence for redating the Smiths’ account as 1545–46. In order to determine the actual date of the earliest play account it is necessary to establish the dates of the other accounts which surround it. The series begins with an undated entry (fol. 14v) headed by a list of company members who had paid quarterages for the year to their stewards, ‘lo harrison & Simon founder’. From this list of thirty-one members the names of fourteen can be found in the Rolls of the Freemen of the City of Chester.3 To become a member of a Chester guild or company it was generally necessary to have served an apprenticeship of at least seven years with a Freeman of the 13

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g city and then to have taken up one’s own freedom.4 Thus the members listed should all be Freemen and the dates of their admission give some indication of the approximate period of this account. The dates range from 1506 to 19 August, 1545 with half of those dated falling in the 1530s. It would therefore appear that the account refers to a year sometime about 1545. Further evidence for dating comes below the list of names, in the comparatively brief account for the year, with the expenditure ‘at william locker dinner viijd’ (fol.14v). It was apparently a custom of the Smiths to celebrate a man’s freedom of the city and his coming in to the company with a dinner.5 William Locker was made a Freeman on 26 September, 1544 and in all probability the consequent celebration would have taken place at some time during the Smiths’ year 6 July, 1544 to 4 July, 1545. The difficulty in establishing this as the year of the first account in the series is the date, 19 August, 1545, given for the freedom of ‘urian rither’ (Ryder) whose name appears in the list. Although this date is only six and a half weeks later than the end of the year suggested for the account it seems unlikely, but not impossible, that Urian Ryder would have been received into the company before taking up his freedom, especially as the list does not include the names of William Locker and Robert Hancoke, both made Freemen in 1544. The penultimate name in the list, directly below ‘urian rither’, is ‘geo hedmaker maker of Arrow heads’. This was doubtless an alias for George Linson, the only headmaker listed in the Freemen Rolls, who was franchised on 26 September, 1544, the same day as William Locker. The Smiths tended to include the names of new members at the end of their lists after those of widows.6 This is the position in which ‘urian rither’ and ‘geo hedmaker’ appear, although ‘Io midleton’ the last member listed, was made a Freeman as early as 1539. From this limited evidence it seems that ‘geo hedmaker’, following the usual procedure, was admitted to the Smiths’ Company and paid quarterages in the year in which he was made a Freeman, 1544. William Locker became a member of the company later that year, as the payment at his dinner indicates, and was, therefore, not included in the quarterage list. The seemingly premature admission of ‘urian rither’ into the company may have been due to exceptional circumstances or, because the name appears to have been one of family tradition occurring three times in the Freemen Rolls between 1545 and 1640, the name in the first account list may be that of an earlier Urian Ryder than the one franchised in 1545, possibly his father.7 In spite of this difficulty the year 1544–45 seems the most likely date for the opening account. The two-line entry (fol. 14v) which follows this account and is separated from it by a roughly drawn line, is not an independent account. The entry is undated and reads: ‘stuards of the ocupation Rich scryvnner & gilbert knoys the Iurnymen payd yearly to Company & smyths keept their booke’. It is unlikely that these two stewards actually followed those of the first account as Gilbert Knowles was not made a Freeman, and therefore not a member of the company, until 25 March, 1550. Intriguingly their names appear again as 14

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g stewards in the later account marked 1554 (fols 15v–16r). Although it was not unknown for the same stewards to take office in more than one year (Hugh Stocken and John Doe undertook it on four occasions), it certainly seems to have been uncommon. It is, then, quite possible that this entry is related to the later account dated 1554 and that in its present position it is misplaced. The second account in the series, immediately following the two-line entry, is the one in question here. It consists mainly of Whitsun play expenses which, in themselves, are of little help in determining the account year. The only payment of possible significance to the date is, ‘we gaue to barnes & the syngers iijs 4d’ (fol. 15r). It would be misleading to assume that this is a reference to Sir Randle Barnes, a minor canon of Chester Cathedral,8 merely from the evidence of his name also appearing in the play accounts for 1561 and 1568. Thomas Barnes, thought to be the father of Randle, was organist at Chester Cathedral from 1551 to about 1558, and for some years earlier was a conduct or singing man in the choir.9 In view of the payment being made jointly to ‘barnes & the syngers’—later accounts always enter separately Randle Barnes, the organist, and the singers—and the omission of a title or christian name, I am inclined to think that the account refers to Thomas Barnes at a time before he became organist in 1551. Evidence for more precise dating is found in another payment, not related to the play expenses, in the same account: ‘we gaue symeane ffonder more then the shat came to iijd’ (fol.14v). Collection of the ‘shot’ would normally have been the responsibility of the stewards, who in this account are recorded as ‘Robert handcock & william locker’.10 Simon Founder was one of the stewards for the first account in this series, for which I have suggested the date 6 July, 1544 to 4 July, 1545. The payment made to him appears to have been for money he was personally owed by the company, probably when they drank more than they paid for, and it would be reasonable for the stewards of the following year to reimburse him. In this sequence the account would then be for the year 5 July, 1545 to 3 July, 1546, providing Whitsun play expenses against a performance in 1546. The date is confirmed by the receipt in the same account ‘of Io perciuall for stock Cardmaker in mane xxd’ (fol. 14v).11 John Percyvall, made a Freeman on 18 July, 1531, is one of only seven cardmakers that can be positively identified in the Freemen Rolls between 1506 and 1568. Two of them were made Freemen in the same year, 1552—the only two in fact between 1542 and 1565—and at least one of them would have been apprenticed to John Percyvall.12 Masters were required to enrol their apprentices at the first meeting of the company after taking them on and if, as seems likely, the money received was in connection with the enrolment of one or both of the apprentice cardmakers franchised in 1552, the receipt would be recorded in the account seven years earlier, namely 5 July, 1545 to 3 July, 1546.13 The account (fol. 15r) which follows the play expenses gives further support to this date. The year 1547 is written in the left margin, below 1574 which 15

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g is crossed through, and again in the account, on a line with the date in the margin, after ‘for lights on Corpus Christi day’. Of greater significance is the entry in the same account:          howse Spent at Rich Anderton⁁Alderman when the kinges dyrrige was xvjd (fol. 15r). This would seem to be a reference to the death of Henry VIII on 28 January, 1547.14 The expense would therefore have been incurred during the year 4 July, 1546 to 2 July, 1547; the year immediately after that proposed for the first Whitsun play account. The marginal date 1547 clearly refers to the year in which Corpus Christi day fell during the period of the account. The next account (fol. 15r) can be dated, by the receipt of money from ‘Io ball’ who was made a Freeman on 10 May, 1548, with some certainty as the following year 3 July, 1547 to 30 June, 1548. With the exception of the misplaced two lines the opening accounts seem to provide an unbroken sequence of four years from 6 July, 1544 to 30 June, 1548 which include Whitsun play expenses for a performance in 1546. The following, fifth, account in the series (fol. 15v) is short and undated and not necessarily a continuation of the 1544–48 sequence. The five items in the account give no clear indication of the date although the payment ‘to Sr Io smyth for the Reggenall ijd’ is of some interest in connexion with the plays. The account which comes after it is also undated in the manuscript (fol. 15v), but it can be fairly accurately dated from other sources. A Chester City Record Office MS TA0/1, dated 4 November, 1555, lists the monthly contributions to be made in that year by company members towards the construction of the much needed new haven at Neston.15 This document when listing the Smiths’ contributions (fol. 10r) names their stewards at that time as Richard Barker and Hugh Stocken.16 The Smiths’ accounts record these two as stewards together only once, in the second of the undated accounts on fol. 15v; the final entry of which is ‘spent on friday goinge to mr maior about the hauen vjd’. This is the first reference to the haven in the Smiths’ accounts and as it appears that Richard Barker and Hugh Stocken were stewards in November, 1555 the undated account is almost certainly for the year 30 June, 1555 to 4 July, 1556. The Smiths’ contributions to the new haven also play a part in determining the year of the following account which Randle Holme had some difficulty in dating (fol. 15v). He was unable to decipher the final numeral in the year and after his copy of the date wrote ‘I conseaue 1556’. If Holme’s copy of the numeral is accurate then б is certainly the most likely reading,17 but problematically the entry also includes the date of the election day as 4 July. The only year in which the fourth fell on a Sunday—the usual election day—between 1546 and 1574, and for which other verifiable accounts do not 16

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g already exist, was 1557.18 This means that, providing the election procedure was the same as in other years, the account is either for the year 1556–57 (as indicated by the year), or the following year 1557–58 (as indicated by the day and month). The earlier year is supported by the payment in the account made ‘to mr maior to the hauen xxs’. The monthly contributions to the new haven, referred to in connexion with the preceding account, were for the year beginning on the last Sunday of November 1555.19 Payments would therefore be expected from the Smiths during the latter part of their account year 30 June, 1555 to 4 July, 1556 and the first part of the year 5 July, 1556 to 3 July, 1557. Many of the companies seem to have paid regularly at first but then chose to make lump sum payments to cover more than one month’s contribution.20 It is probable that the twenty shillings paid by the Smiths was just such a lump sum, possibly for the period between July, 1556 and November, 1556, in which case the most likely date for the account is 5 July, 1556 to 3 July, 1557. This date not only follows the year of the account above it, but it is also worth noting that the last day of the preceding year would have been 4 July. The original scribe may have been responsible for the simple error of beginning the new year with the date of the previous day ;21 an error which Holme unwittingly transcribed. Following this account is the later entry marked 1554 (fols 15v–16r). Although the date is written in the left margin (fol. 15) and again after ‘payments’ at the top of fol. 16r it is doubtful whether the entry is in fact for that year. One of the items in the account is ‘payd at the Aldermans buring vs 8d’ to which is added, what appears to be Holme’s own comment, ‘this was William huntington by other booke’. If this is a reference to the burial of William Huntington the account could not possibly be for the year 1554–55 as Huntington is named as an Alderman of the Smiths’ Company in the new haven contribution list dated 4 November, 1555.22 A later date than 1554–55 for the account is also suggested by the record of receipts, probably in connexion with admittance to the company, from ‘Ienkyn ap Rees xvjs’ and ‘Ric barker in part xijs vjd’ (fol. 15v). John ap Ries was enrolled as a Freeman on 20 January 1556 and Richard Barker during the mayoral year 1557–5823 Neither, therefore, is likely to have been mentioned in a Smiths’ account before 1556. Considering particularly the date of Barker’s franchise and the year of the preceding account, the more probable date for the entry marked 1554 is 4 July, 1557 to 2 July, 1558. The date of the next account (fol. 16r) would seem to confirm this as it apparently follows chronologically. The year 1558 is written in the left margin and the account records ‘Rec of Tho Towers smyth that day he was sworne brother 4li vjs viijd.’ Thomas Towers is the last name in the Freemen Roll for the mayoral year 1557–58 which suggests that he would have been ‘sworne brother’ of the Smiths’ Company at some time during the account year 3 July, 1558 to 1 July, 1559. From this entry the remaining accounts continue in an unbroken sequence until the year ending 5 July, 1578.24 17

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g The series of Smiths’ accounts can, then, be dated with some certainty as follows: 6 July, 1544 to 30 June, 1548 (fols 14v–15r), and 30 June, 1555 to 5 July, 1578 (fols 15v–21v) with one short undated account (fol. 15v) falling between the year ending 30 June, 1548 and the year beginning 30 June, 1555, and possibly following in date the 1544–48 sequence or coming immediately before 1555–78 sequence. From this discussion it can be seen that the accounts are not in a disordered state as previously thought; none are out of sequence, although two lines are probably misplaced and the accounts for the early 1550s are missing while others are undated and both entries marked 1554 are inaccurately dated. The revised dating of the earlier accounts means that the play expenses are found in the following years, those in brackets refer to the dates given in the margin by Randle Holme: 1545–46 (1554) fols 14v–15v. 1560–61 (1561) fols 16r–17r. 1566–67 (1567) fols 18r–18v. 1567–68 (1568; at the beginning of the account after the stewards’ names is written ‘ix years of our Reyne’, confirming that the account began in 1567) fols 18v–19r. 1571–72 (about 1571; this is possibly an incomplete account as no mention is made of the stewards for the year and only play expenses are entered) fol. 19v. 1574–75 (1574; after the stewards’ names and the election date July 4, 1574 Holme writes ‘by this it should be 1575’, presumably referring to year of performance as he does when dating the other play accounts) fols 20v–21r.25 All but the first date are supported by the Add. 29777 Mayors list which also mentions a performance in 1554. Clopper (p. 51) suggests that the scribe of Add. 29777 may have taken his information about the plays from Harl. 2054 and incorporated this inaccurate date into his Mayors list. The reverse seems more likely. Add. 29777 is probably a late sixteenth-century manuscript26 and consequently the scribe could not have taken his information from the Smiths’ accounts in Harl. 2054 which were transcribed by Randle Holme (probably the second) in the seventeenth century. It is, however, possible that Holme used Add. 29777, or more probably its original source, to establish or confirm the dates of the play expenses when copying them from the Smiths’ account book. 27 This would have been straightforward for performances between 1561 and 1575 where the accounts run in an unbroken and fairly well dated sequence. Holme would then have been left with the remaining reference in the Mayors list to a performance in 1554 which he mistakenly associated with the earlier play account. Possibly the original account was undated, or marked correctly as 1545 which Holme, influenced by the Mayors list, took to 18

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g be an error. If there was a performance in 1554 he would not have been able to find the appropriate Smiths’ expenses, as the account for 2 July, 1553 to 30 June, 1554 is missing. Similarly the possibility of a performance in 1550, which has been suggested by Clopper from the surviving Shoemakers’ play account, goes unrecorded in the absence of a Smiths’ account for the relevant year.28 It is perhaps worth mentioning here that there is no evidence in the accounts for an individual performance of the Smiths’ pageant in 1576 as has been suggested by Chambers and, more recently, Nelson.29 Their evidence is based on an error of transcription, first made by Morris, from the 1576–77 account: ‘Payd on our plas at Ald. Montforts on Midsomer Eve xvid’. 30 The expense was actually incurred when the Smiths ‘payd an ouer plus at Alderman mounforts on midsomer eue xvjd’ (fol. 21v).31 They were paying an overplus, an additional sum of money, not financing their play. Thus the Smiths’ accounts provide evidence for post-Reformation performances of the Chester plays only in the years 1546, 1561, 1567, 1568, 1572, and 1575, although it is possible that the missing accounts for the early 1550s might reveal performances in 1550 and 1554.

Notes   1 Lawrence M. Clopper, ‘The Chester Plays: Frequency of Performance’, Theatre Survey, 14 (1973), 46–58.   2 The accounts which are fully dated with the day, month, and year indicate that the steward’s election day fell on the first Sunday after the feast of St Peter. The account for 1563–64 (fol. 17r) is more explicit: ‘the sunday after st peters day which is 4 Iuly in the 5 yeare of Q Elz is 1563/ was chosen stuarts of the smethyes & peauterers Io ball & Rich Newall’. By 1592 the election day had been moved to the ‘munday next after st peters day’ (from the Orders, Articles, and Agreements of the Smiths also transcribed by Randle Holme in BL MS Harl. 2054, fol. 24r).  3 The Rolls of the Freemen of the City of Chester: Part I, 1392–1700, ed. by J. H. E. Bennett, The Record Society for the Publication of Original Documents relating to Lancashire and Cheshire, 51 (1906). All admission dates given in this article are taken from this source. The Smiths’ Company members whose franchise is not recorded were probably admitted in the mayoral years 1508–10, 1511–20, 1521–22, 1523–26, 1528–30, or 1534–36 for which no records survive. See p. xiii. The mayoral year in Chester began on the Friday following the feast of St Denis (9 October).   4 Frank Simpson, ‘The City Gilds of Chester: The Smiths, Cutlers and Plumbers’ Company’, Journal of the Architectural, Archaeological, and Historic Society for the County and the City of Chester and North Wales, 20 (1914), pp. 5–121 (pp. 44–45).   5 The custom is not mentioned in the Orders, Articles, and Agreements of the Smiths but the accounts provide evidence of its occurrence. The most obvious example is in the 1562–63 account (fol. 17r, dated 1563 in the margin), ‘of gye Cromen for entrance xxs his dinner 33s 4d’. Guy Curmyne, smith, was enrolled as a Freeman in the mayoral year 1562–63. Examples of a similar practice can be found in the Articles of the Gild of Ringers, Bristol, and the Ordinances of the Gild of Tailors, Exeter, where new members were required to provide a breakfast. See English

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dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g Gilds, ed. by Toulmin Smith and L. Toulmin Smith, Early English Text Society, OS 40 (London: Oxford University Press, 1870), pp. 290 and 316.  6 Company lists also occur for the years 1560–61 (fol. 16v), 1566–67 (fol. 18r), 1567–68 (fol. 18v), and 1574–75 (fol. 22r), all years in which the plays were performed.   7 The omission of the father’s name from the Freemen Rolls could be explained by the missing records listed in note 3.  8 Joseph C. Bridge, ‘The Organists of Chester Cathedral: Part I, 1541 to 1644’, Journal of the Architectural, Archaeological, and Historic Society for the County and City of Chester and North Wales, 19 (1913), 63–90 (p. 69).   9 Bridge, p. 66. 10 The stewards of the Smiths were responsible for most of the company’s financial matters as their oath indicates: I will be obedient to the Aldermen of my Company for the tyme beinge and will/ dilligently & duly apply myne office as I ought to doe & will make true account/ of all receiptes & payments which I shall be charged withall duringe the tyme/ of my beinge steward of the sayd Company so helpe me god & holy dome and by the Contents of this booke. (Harl. 2054. fol. 23r). 11 A stock-cardmaker was one who made large wool cards fastened to wooden supports, OED, s.v. Stock-card. 12 From the evidence of the Freemen Rolls it appears that the only other master cardmaker who could have taken them on at the time was Randle Persivall, franchised on 17 November 1541. It is worth noting that he is not included in any of the Smiths’ Company lists, nor is Fulke ap Richard Owen one of those made a Freeman in 1552. The other cardmaker admitted in 1552, Randle Lawton, is named in the lists from 1560–61 onwards. The play lists attached to both the early and late Chester banns associate the Cardmakers with the Skinners, Hatters, Pointers, and Girdlers but the Harl. 2054 accounts clearly show that they were regarded as part of the Smiths’ Company in the second half of the sixteenth century. See The Trial and Flagellation with Other Studies in the Chester Cycle, ed. by W.W. Greg (Oxford: Malone Society, 1935), pp. 130–132 and 160–163. 13 The earliest surviving instructions for the enrolment of Chester Smiths’ apprentices are contained in an early seventeenth-century agreement: It is agreed by Consent of the Company the 7th of Ianuary 1611 that/ euery brother that taketh any apprentice that he Come to Inroule him in the/ meetinghouse at the next meetinge after vpon forfaite of euery his doinge/ the Contrary to be payd to the stuards to the use of the Company vs. (Harl. 2054. fol. 24V)

Examples of guild ordinances which allow for the master to pay the apprentice’s enrolment fee are found in English Gilds, pp. 183 and 316. It should be pointed out that if 1545–46 is the year of the account, Robert Hancoke and William Locker were elected stewards only a year after they were made Freemen. Although this seems unusual, so too was it for both stewards to have been made Freemen in the same year. It is impossible to tell whether the circumstances of the 1545 stewards’ election were extraordinary or whether similar choices were more common in the years before 1544 for which there are no surviving records. Interestingly the Chester Goldsmiths seem, as a matter of policy, to have appointed the most junior member of the company as steward. See Maurice H. Ridgway, Chester Goldsmiths: from early times to 1726 (Altrincham: Sherratt, 1968), p. 11. Thus the Smiths may

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dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g have resorted to their most junior members in years when volunteers for the office were not forthcoming. 14 Alan H. Nelson, The Medieval English Stage: Corpus Christi Pageants and Plays, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974), p. 167, suggests the possibility that the scribe mistook a reference to the death of Edward VI for a reference to the death of his father. If this was the case, as Edward died on 6 July, 1553, the account would be for the year 2 July, 1553 to 30 June, 1554, not 1552–53 as Nelson states, and ought to include Whitsun play expenses for 1554 if the Add. 29777 list is accurate. The redating of the account as 1553–54 would also disrupt the sequence of the early accounts. Both kings, as Prince of Wales, were sometime Earl of Chester but considering the position of the entry and the record of ‘Itm for syngynge to the king’s dirige’ in the Cathedral Treasurer’s Accounts for 1547 (see R. V. H. Burne, Chester Cathedral: From its Founding by Henry VIII to the Accession of Queen Victoria (London: S. P. C. K., 1958), p. 18) the death of Henry seems the more likely reference. 15 I would like to thank Miss A. M. Kennett, Chester City Archivist, for providing information concerning this MS. For discussion and transcription of the MS see Edna Rideout, ‘The Chester Companies and the Old Quay’, Transactions of the Historic Society of Lancashire and Cheshire, 79 (1927), 141–174. 16 Rideout, pp. 167–168. 17 Holme’s copy of the numeral appears thus б. 18 The fourth of July fell on a Sunday in the years 1546, 1557, 1563, 1568, and 1574. An account for the year beginning 4 July 1546 has already been established; in any event this would have been an unlikely year as John Ball, one of the stewards for the year in question, was not enrolled as a Freeman until 10 May, 1548. Accounts for the years beginning in 1563, 1568, and 1574 are all dated with the full 4 July election date which leaves 1557 as the only year with a Sunday, 4 July, unaccounted for. 19 After each company list of members the total monthly contribution is given, followed in most cases by a note similar to that at the foot of the Smiths’ list, ‘the first paymentt ys the last sonday of november’ (Chester City Record Office MS TA0/1, fol. 10r). 20 Rideout, p. 146. 21 A similar error occurs in the 1569–70 account (fol. 19r) where the election day is given as 4 July when, following the usual method of dating, it is more likely to have been Sunday, 3 July. 22 Rideout, p. 146. 23 This Richard Barker was probably the son of the steward with the same name who held office in 1555–56. The elder Richard Barker is named in the Smiths’ quarterage list for 1544–45 (fol. 14v) and his death before the 1560–61 list of members (fol. 16v) was drawn up may be inferred from the inclusion in that list of ‘Rich barker wife’. The latter list also contains the name ‘Rich barker’ but this is almost certainly a reference to the Richard Barker made a Freeman in 1557–58. 24 Between the accounts for 1572–73 and 1573–74 (fol. 20r) Holme writes ‘1573 accounts wants’ but he was misled by the dating of some accounts with the year in which they began and others with the year in which they terminated. 25 The 1575 performance was not at Whitsun but at Midsummer. See Rupert H. Morris, Chester in the Plantagenet and Tudor Reigns (Chester: [n.pub.], 1895), p. 319 for the relevant Assembly Book Order. 26 Add. 29777 is a vellum roll (29ft. 8½ ins. x 8 ins.) which lists the Mayors and Sheriffs of Chester from 1326 to 1584. It is imperfect at the end and, at some time possibly continued beyond 1584, although originally the list may have been

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dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g terminated at 1579. The roll is joined after this date and whilst the arrangement of entries remains the same, there is a distinct change in the secretary hand, suggesting that the second scribe may have been bringing the list up to date. The manuscript was probably prepared, in the last quarter of the sixteenth century, for William Brereton of Brereton as at the beginning of the roll are the arms of Chester (a sword between three garbs—the arms used before, and on some occasions after, the grant of the present arms in 1580) and the initials W. B. set below a drawing of a briar and a tun. In the Catalogue of Additions to the Manuscripts in the British Museum in the Years 1854–1875, 2 vols. (London, 1877), II, p. 721, it is suggested that the initials W. B. may denote ‘William Bird, Mayor in 1580, or William Baxter, alias Meo, Sheriff in 1588’. but this takes no account of the Brereton rebus. William Brereton (1550–1630) who, in 1586, built Brereton Hall, was knighted in 1588, appointed Muster Master for Cheshire, 1595, and created Baron Brereton of Leighlin, Co. Carlow, in the Irish peerage on 11 May, 1624. In 1571 he married Margaret the daughter of Sir John Savage of Clifton (later of Rock Savage) who was Mayor of Chester on three occasions; 1569–70, 1574–75, and 1597–98. This was the Sir John Savage who had to answer to the Privy Council for authorizing, when Mayor in 1574–75, what proved to be the final performance of the Chester plays, in contempt of an inhibition and letters prohibiting the plays from the Archbishop of York and the Lord President of the North. See Harold C. Gardiner, Mysteries End: An Investigation of the last Days of the Medieval Stage (New Haven : Yale University Press, 1946), pp. 80–83. There were others with the name William Brereton living in Cheshire during the second half of the sixteenth century, but none were as notable as Sir John Savage’s son-in-law, nor so likely to possess a Chester Mayors list. Biographical details of William Brereton may be found in: George Ormerod, History of the County Palatine and City of Chester, 2nd edn. rev. by T. Helsby, 3 vols. (London: Routledge, 1882), III, pp. 85–89; Cheshire and Lancashire Funeral Certificates 1600 to 1678, ed. by John Paul Rylands, Record Society for the Publication of Original Documents relating to Lancashire and Cheshire, 6 (Lancashire and Cheshire Record Society, 1882), pp. 34–35; Joan Beck, Tudor Cheshire (Chester: Cheshire Community Council, 1969), pp. 30–31. 27 There is evidence that Holme used Mayor’s Books to corroborate dates and events in his writings about Chester. He remarks upon their poor condition in BL MS Harl. 2056, (fol. 1v), and in his brief notes on the history of Chester and the Smiths’ Company (Harl. 2054) he writes ‘maiors books’ in the left margin, presumably indicating his source, followed by: likewise it appereth by diuers manuscripts that [only] the sayd occupations of smythes etc/ Ioyned all in one Company: played about 4 August 1498 their play called/ the purification of our lady before prince Arthur at Abby gate & high Crosse (fol. 25r). 28 Clopper, p. 52, derives the year 1550 from the dates of the accounts which surround the Shoemakers’ play expenses. 29 E. K. Chambers, The Mediaeval Stage, 2 vols. (London: Oxford University Press, 1903), II, p. 355; Nelson, p. 162. 30 Morris, p. 322, n. 1. 31 Lawrence Clopper makes a similar point in his unpublished notes on the Smiths’ accounts. I am grateful to Peter Meredith for drawing my attention to this.

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2 PLAYERS OF THE COOPERS’ PAGEANT FROM THE CHESTER PLAYS IN 1572 AND 1575 From: Theatre Notebook, 33 (1979)

There exists some confusion over the status of the players of Corpus Christi Cycles in late medieval England. The impression given by some civic documents of the period is that they were drawn mainly from the craftsmen of guilds which presented the individual pageants and, in spite of being paid for performance, may be regarded as amateurs. On the other hand Salter and Bevington, amongst others, have made a case for the increasing use of professional actors in the plays.1 Part of the confusion arises from the guilds’ accounting practice of recording payments to parts rather than players, thereby obscuring their identity. A typical example of this is found in the Chester Smiths’ account of 1546 for their Purification and Christ and the Doctors pageant: we gaue to the docters iijs 4d we gaue to Ioseph viijd we gaue to letall God xijd we gaue to mary xd to damane xd we gaue to the Angells v jd, to ould Semond iijs 4d.2 Interesting as the account may be it is not possible, with any confidence, to draw conclusions from it, as Salter does, concerning the status of the players involved or the organization of casting. More enlightening is the Coopers’ account for the 1572 performance of their Trial and Flagellation pageant from the Chester plays. Although no specific reference is made in the account to the payment of players there is a list of names which in all probability serves this purpose: payde to hugh gyllam payde to Thomas marser payde to Iohn stynson payde to Rychard kale payde to hugh sparke for ryedyng of the Ryegenalle 23

iiis viid iis iiid iis iiid xvid iis 3

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g The placing of these names in the account after payment to the ‘putters’ or porters of the pageant carriage, a common accounting convention, and the absence of a reference elsewhere strongly suggests that these were the Coopers’ players in 1572. More conclusively the same guild’s account for the following performance in 1575 includes the item, ‘spend apon Thomas marser to get him to pleay ijd’.4 This record of inducement to play seems to put beyond doubt the nature of the payment to Marser and the others in 1572. In the past it has been suggested that these players were all members of the Coopers’ guild, but if this was the case it would seem unnecessary to persuade Marser into playing for them when loyalty might have been a stronger influence.5 At least one of the players, however, was certainly a member of the Coopers’ guild. The name of John Stynson appears in the preamble to the 1572 account as one of the stewards of the company for that year, and he can also be identified in the Freeman Rolls of the City of Chester where his freedom is dated 16 June 1556.6 Although in the roll his occupation is given as bowyer this is not inconsistent with his membership of the Coopers’ guild, as the lists and banns of the Chester plays indicate that the numerically smaller crafts of the Bowyers, Fletchers, Stringers, Turners were amalgamated with the Coopers to form a single company.7 The only other name in the list to be positively connected with this company is Hugh Sparke, the Freeman Roll for 1560–61 cataloguing his occupation as fletcher. The Coopers’ accounts for 1572 and 1575 record payment to him for ‘ryedyng of the Ryegenalle’. He was, therefore, strictly a player but responsible for reading the original or registered version of the Trial and Flagellation play. The precise nature of this responsibility is uncertain. It may have involved him in some directorial function as an organizer at rehearsals, or possibly he was hired to prompt at performance and ensure that the players did not deviate from their parts as written. Whatever his function it is perhaps not surprising that this ostensibly administrative role should be taken by a member from the guild responsible for the presentation. The guild membership of the remaining players listed in the account can be determined from the Chester Freeman Rolls and other sources. The date of Hugh Gyllam’s freedom is recorded as 12 April 1537, with his occupation as tailor. He is also included in the list of Tailors who made contributions towards the new haven at Neston in 1555.8 Gyllam seems to have been a particularly versatile performer, as in addition to playing for the Coopers he received, in 1564, 6s. 8d. for ‘dansing at Midsomer by Mr Mayors appointment’.9 It is with performers like Gyllam that distinction between amateur and professional becomes clouded. With further evidence it is impossible to tell whether he regarded performing as his profession, and was a member of the Tailors’ guild in name and training only, or whether he merely exploited his talent for playing when the occasion arose. Certainly, when compared with an average wage at Chester in 1570 ‘by the day without meate’ of a little over 5d., financial rewards from playing and dancing were considerable 24

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g in his case and suggest that given a number of engagements throughout the year a living could have been made.10 It would, though, have been unrealistic for him to be financially dependent upon playing in the Chester plays when post-Reformation performances were so relatively infrequent, numbering probably no more than six or seven between 1546 and 1575.11 No matter what his status it emerges that Gyllam was a player of some reputation in Chester. The franchise of Thomas Marser is not recorded in the extant Freemen Rolls, but his name and occupation of barber-surgeon appear in relation to that of his apprentice, John Smith, for 11 August 1590. He is also listed under the Barbers and Tallow Chandlers as a contributor to the new haven at Neston. His apparent reluctance to play for the Coopers in 1575 may in part be explained by the growing opposition to the plays and official condemnation of their continued performance.12 For what turned out to be the final performance of the plays, they were that year presented at Midsummer instead of the customary Whitsun with ‘such correction and amendement as shalbe thaught Convenient’.13 In this atmosphere Marser may have considered it imprudent to continue his association with the plays, although perhaps was not unwilling to be persuaded otherwise. The enrolment as a Freeman of Richard Kalle took place on 26 October 1563, and the roll refers to his occupation as painter. Interestingly he is also mentioned in the Painters’ account for the performance in 1568, as a player but for failing to pay his annual contribution towards the play expenses, or pageant money, for that year.14 The list of four players, then, includes one member of the Coopers’ guild and three from the separate guilds of the Tailors, the Barbers, and the Painters. It may be reasonably assumed that a craftsman willing and competent to participate in the plays would, in the first instance, be required to play in the pageant of his own guild and only then be allowed to perform in another. Unfortunately the surviving Painters’ accounts which could verify this in the case of Richard Kalle adopt the procedure of recording payment only to parts. Records from Coventry and York, however, do suggest that this may have been a necessary arrangement. The regulations of the Cardmakers’ pageant, contained in the Coventry Leet Book for 1444, make it clear that: ther shall no man of the said iiij Craftes play in no pagent on Corpus Christi day save onely in the pagent of his own Crafte, without he have lycens of the maiour that shal-be for the yer.15 And at York in 1476: And that no plaier that shall plaie in the saide Corpus Christi plaie be conducte and reteyned to plaie but twise on the day of the saide 25

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g playe And that he or thay so plaing plaie not ouere twise the saide day vpon payne of xl s to forfet vnto the Chaumbre asoften tymes as he or thay shall be founden defautie in the same.16 This seems to have been a particular problem inherent in the organization of processional drama where the pageants were played at more than one location on a single day. Obviously a player could only perform in another pageant when his first part had been completed. Dorrell has shown that at York this was at least physically possible.17 In post-Reformation Chester the problem would have been slightly different as the plays were performed over three days; until 1575 on the Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of Whitsun week. Nine pageants were played on each of the first two days and seven on the last day at four or five locations in the city.18 This scheduling suggests that any player wishing to take part in more than one pageant would make himself available to a guild which performed on a day other than his own. The guilds to which the Coopers’ players belonged seem to confirm this. The Trial and Flagellation was presented on the Tuesday, the Barbers and Painters performed their pageants on Monday and the Tailors theirs on Wednesday. Thus the players could meet any obligation to their own guild and still be free to play for the Coopers. Having established the identity and occupation of the players it is possible to speculate upon the parts they played. Excepting the reference to Thomas Marser the 1575 Coopers’ account does not name the players for that year, recording only payment to parts: Item paied vnto pylat and to him that caried arrates clothes & for there gloves vjs vd Item paied vnto the turmenters iiijs vjd Item paied vnto annas xxijd 19 These roles only partly meet the Trial and Flagellation casting requirement for Annas, Caiaphas, Jesus, four Jews (the tormentors), Pilate, Herod, Damsel, and Peter. It is probable, as Clopper has suggested, that the first item indicates the doubling of the Pilate and Herod parts, with the carrying of the clothes anticipating the necessary quick change.20 Comparison between payments made in 1572 and 1575 points strongly to this part having been played by Hugh Gyllam as in both accounts the player and the part receive considerably more than the others. Further doubling of parts is made impractical by the text and is not provided for in the account. On the evidence of equivalence between payments it is probable that Thomas Marser and John Stynson played two of the Jews. Both receive 2s. 3d. in 1572, and the total payment to the ‘turmenters’ in 1575 was 4s. 6d. There is also some correlation between the payment to Richard Kalle and to the player of Annas for in each case 26

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g the amount was less than 2s. and represented the lowest recorded fee. There would, then, seem to be a direct relationship between the order of players in 1572 and the order of parts in 1575. The absence of payment in both years to Caiaphas, Jesus, two other Jews, Damsel, and Peter can best be explained by the reorganization of pageants. At some time in the late history of the plays the Coopers’ Trial and Flagellation pageant was joined to that of the Passion, produced by the Ironmongers, to form a single play. This amalgamation is described in the late banns and the plays are presented as a unit, mentioning both guilds in the heading, in the latest of the surviving manuscripts (BL M Harl. 2124). The amalgamated play, which omits the speeches of Damsel and Peter, has 23 parts of which nine are introduced in the Coopers’ section. Only Herod of the nine Trial and Flagellation characters does not reappear in the Passion and this duplication of roles may have been one of the factors which motivated the reorganization. In these circumstances of cooperation the Ironmongers could be freed from the engagement of four players for their parts of Annas, Pilate, and two of the Jews, as all appear in both plays and, as the accounts reveal, can be supplied by the Coopers. By the same token the Coopers would have four fewer players to find if the Ironmongers provided Caiaphas, Jesus and the other two Jews from their original cast. Such an agreement would have simplicity, parity, and economy to recommend it and implies that the Coopers’ player accounts are an accurate record of their reduced responsibility, and that the two plays were amalgamated by1572 at the latest.21 A final matter of interest is the approximate ages of the players. One of the conditions for enrolment as a Freeman of Chester was the completion of a seven year apprenticeship.22 Assuming both events to have occurred at an average age of 20,23 Hugh Gyllam would have been 55 in 1572, John Stynson 36, and Richard Kalle 29. The age of Thomas Marser is a little more difficult to assess, as the record of his franchise has not survived but as he was alive in 1590 and is listed as a member of the Barbers’ guild in 1555 he must have been 37 or over when he played for the Coopers in 1572. It would be unwise to generalize about the players of Corpus Christi Cycles in late medieval England from the evidence of the Coopers’ cast list alone. But what this does show is that the players of their pageant were not professionals in the usual sense of the word. They were Freemen from various guilds and perhaps some of the most capable amateurs in the city, but highly paid for their occasional services. The presentation of a pageant was clearly still a matter of some pride, and the Coopers sought excellence and a sense of continuity by engaging players like Gyllam and Marser.

Notes   1 F. M. Salter, Mediaeval Drama in Chester (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1955), p. 78 (hereafter referred to as MDC); David Bevington, ‘Discontinuity in

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dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g Medieval Acting Traditions’, in The Elizabethan Theatre V, ed. by G. R. Hibbard (London: University of Waterloo/ Macmillan, 1975), pp. 1–16 (pp.12–13).   2 BL MS Harl. 2054, fol. 15r. In the MS the entry is dated 1554 but this is a scribal error and the account can be dated internally for 1545–46; see John Marshall, ‘The Chester Whitsun Plays: Dating of Post-Reformation Performances from Smiths’ Accounts’, Leeds Studies in English, 9, 1977, 51–61: [Reprinted in this volume as Chapter 1]. All transcriptions of the Chester accounts in the present article are my own and I would like to thank Lawrence Clopper for allowing me to compare them with his transcripts prepared for the forthcoming Records of Early English Drama series.   3 Chester Coopers’ Guild. Account Book, 1571–1611, fol. 3v, in the possession of the company. The account is printed in Salter, MDC, pp. 72–3, where he misreads the ‘s’ in ‘marser’ and prints ‘marler’.   4 Chester Coopers’ Guild Account Book, 1571–1611, fol. 7v; also in Salter MDC, pp. 74–6, with the reading ‘marler’.  5 Lawrence M. Clopper, ‘The Rogers’ Description of the Chester Plays’, Leeds Studies in English, New Series, 7 (Leeds: University of Leeds, 1974), pp. 63–94, 80.  6 The Rolls of the Freemen of the City of Chester: Part I, 1392–1700, in The Record Society for the Publication of Original Documents relating to Lancashire and Cheshire, ed. by J. H. E. Bennett, 51 (Birkenhead: ‘[n.pub]’, 1906). All admission dates given in this article are taken from this source.  7 The Trial and Flagellation with Other Studies in the Chester Cycle, ed. by F. M. Salter and W. W. Greg, Malone Society (London: Oxford University Press,1935), pp. 121–71 (hereafter referred to as Trial).   8 Chester City Records Office MS TAO/1, fols 1r–22r. For transcription and discussion of the MS see Edna Rideout, ‘The Chester Companies and the Old Quay’, Transactions of the Historic Society of Lancashire and Cheshire, 79 (Liverpool: Printed for the Society, 1927), pp. 141–74.   9 Rupert H. Morris, Chester in the Plantagenet and Tudor Reigns (Chester: ‘[n.pub.]’, 1895), p. 325, n. 2. 10 Morris, Chester in the Plantagenet and Tudor Reigns, pp. 367–8, prints a table of wages paid in 48 separate occupations in the years 1570, 1593, 1596 and 1597. 11 Lawrence M. Clopper, ‘The Chester Plays: Frequency of Performance’, Theatre Survey, 14, (1973), pp. 46–58, and my article referred to in note 2. 12 Harold C. Gardiner, Mysteries’ End, Yale Studies in English, 103 (New Haven: Yale University Press,1946), pp. 79–83; Alan H. Nelson, The Medieval English Stage: Corpus Christi Pageants and Plays (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974), pp. 162–5. 13 Chester Assembly Book, 1529–1624, fol. 162v, cited in Salter and Greg, Trial, 2.8 n.1. 14 The Painters’ accounts are transcribed, with a number of inaccuracies, by Joseph C. Bridge, ‘Items of Expenditure from the 16th Century; Accounts of the Painters Glaziers, Embroiderers, and Stationers’ Company, with special reference to the Shepherds’ play’, Journal of the Architectural, Archaeological and Historic Society for the County and the City of Chester, and North Wales, 20 (1914), 153–91. 15 The Coventry Leet Book, ed. by Mary Dormer Harris, 4 vols, Early English Text Society, OS 134, 135, 138, 146 (1907–1913), p. 206. In this and the quotation which follows contractions have been silently expanded and medieval orthography modernized. 16 York House Books 1, fol. 14v, cited in Margaret Dorrell, ‘Two Studies of the York Corpus Christi Play’, Leeds Studies in English, New Series, 6 (Leeds: University of Leeds, 1972), pp. 63–111 (101).

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dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g 17 Dorrell, ‘Two Studies of the York Corpus Christi Play’, 101. 18 Greg, Trial, pp. 160–3. On the number of locations see Lawrence M. Clopper, ‘The Staging of the Medieval Plays of Chester: A Response’, Theatre Notebook, 28 (1974), 65–70. 19 Chester Coopers’ Guild Account Book, 1571–16n, fol. 8r. 20 Clopper, ‘The Rogers’ Description of the Chester Plays’, p. 80. 21 Salter and Greg, Trial, pp. 6–13, suggests that the plays were not amalgamated until 1575. 22 Frank Simpson, ‘The City Gilds of Chester: The Smiths, Cutlers and Plumbers’ Company’, Journal of the Architectural, Archaeological and Historic Society for the County and the City of Chester and North Wales, 20, 1914, 5–121 (pp. 44–5). 23 John Harvey, Medieval Craftsmen (New York: Drake, 1975), p. 43.

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3 ‘THE MANNER OF THESE PLAYES’: THE CHESTER PAGEANT CARRIAGES AND THE PLACES WHERE THEY PLAYED From: Staging the Chester Cycle (1985)

It is entirely appropriate that a paper concerned with the pageant carriages and route of the Chester Whitsun Plays should take for its title a quotation from one of David Rogers’ early seventeenth-century compilations of material describing the city’s late-medieval plays. These descriptions, attributed by David to his father Robert Rogers, Archdeacon of Chester, who died in 1595, exist in four slightly different and at times contradictory versions in five manuscripts.1 Regardless of contradiction and attendant doubts as to precise authorship and accuracy, the descriptions have been probably the single most influential source in defining the popular idea of the appearance of a medieval pageant wagon. In the absence of contemporary pictorial evidence from this country, Rogers’ description has found its way into almost every work concerned with the tradition and development of English theatre. Such popular familiarity though has bred some critical contempt and there have been attempts to discredit the descriptions on the grounds of lateness, inconsistency and religious prejudice.2 Whilst it is true that Rogers, in adopting the tradition that the plays were first performed in the ‘mayoralty’ of John Arnewaye in 1328, was perpetuating an error, it is unreasonable to assume that all of his material is unreliable, particularly that which may derive from the personal experience of Robert Rogers, such as the appearance of the pageant carriages and the route taken by them through the city. I have argued elsewhere for the reasonable accuracy of that part of the description which relates to the pageant carriage and make no apologies here, other than for repetition, for beginning with and making continued reference to Rogers’ description of ‘the manner of these playes’.3 The earliest extant version of Rogers’ description of the plays was written probably between 1609–10 and is now held in the Chester City Archives. An almost identical version exists in the BL Harley MS 1944:

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dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g The manner of which playes was thus: They weare devided into 24 pagiantes acordinge to the companyes of the Cittie. And everye companye broughte forthe theire pagiant, which was the cariage or place which the played in. And before these playes weare played there was a man which did ride—as, I take it, upon Saint Georges Daye— throughe the cittie and there published the tyme and matter of the playes in breeife.   The weare played upon Mondaye, Tuesedaye, and Wensedaye in Whitson Weeke. And thei firste beganne at the Abbaye gates. And when the firste pagiante was played at the Abbaye gates, then it was wheled from thense to Pentice at the Highe Crosse before the maior. And before that was donne, the seconde came; and the firste wente into the Watergate streete and from thense unto the Bridge streete. And so one after another, tell all the pagiantes weare played appoynted for the firste daye. And so likewise for the seconde and the thirde daye.   These pagiantes or carige was a highe place made like a howse with 2 rowmes, beinge open on the tope. The lower rowme, theie apparrelled and dressed themselves; and the higher rowme, theie played. And thei stoode vpon vi wheeles. And when the had donne with one cariage in one place, theie wheled the same from streete to another: firste from the Abbaye gate to the Pentise, then to the Watergate streete, then to the Bridge streete through the lanes, and so to the Estegate streete.4 I shall return to the description of the pageant route later, wishing initially to concentrate upon the carriage itself. In his later versions Rogers words the descriptions differently but only in the number of wheels does he substantially alter the information. In the Chester Record Office copy (c.1619) he writes that the: Pagiant was a scaffolde, or a high foure square buildinge, with .2. rowmes a higher and alower, the lower hanged aboute richly and closse, into which, none, but the actors came, on the higher they played theire partes beinge all open to the behoulders, this was sett on .4. wheeles, and soe drawne from streete to street.5 The description of the carriage in BL Harley MS 1948 (c.1623) is similarly worded: The maner of these playes weare […] a high scafolde with 2. rowmes ahiger & alower, vpon 4 wheeles In the lower they apparelled them selues, And In the higher rowme they played beinge all open on the tope that all behoulders mighte heare & see them.6 31

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g The final and briefest description is that used by the Lysons in their Magna Britannia in 1810 from a manuscript copy now in the possession of Liverpool University (c.1637): pagents. which was. a buildinge of a greate heighte, with a lower and higher rowme, beinge all open, And sett vpon fower wheeles, and drawne from place to place, where they played.7 It is evident that the descriptions are tantalizingly ambiguous and open to a variety of interpretation: there is, for example, no indication of dimensions other than that they were ‘high’, the relationship of the two ‘rowmes’ is unclear, and what precisely does ‘beinge all open on the tope’ mean? One of the first attempts to interpret the evidence appears as an engraving in J. H. Markland’s Chester Mysteries, an edition of the Noah and the Slaughter of the Innocents pageants, published by the Roxburghe Club in 1818 (PLATE 1). The artist was Thomas Uwins (1782–1857), who was later to become surveyor of pictures for the Queen and Keeper of the National Gallery, and the engraver was John Henry Robinson (1796–1871) one of the most eminent engravers of his time who submitted ‘The Abbey Gate Chester’ to the Society of British Artists in 1824. Presumably Markland provided Uwins with either one of Rogers’ descriptions or with his own interpretation of the material. Whatever the circumstances it is possible to see, no matter how unlikely the interpretation may now be regarded, that the engraving was

Plate 1  Uwins/Robinson: The Abbey Gate, Chester. © British Library Board.

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dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g influenced by Rogers’ description. The engraving depicts the Slaughter of The Innocents pageant before the Abbey gates—the first station according to Rogers. The carriage is set upon four wheels and implies that Markland was drawing upon one of the three later descriptions. Significantly the two earlier descriptions which refer to six wheels are the only ones which describe the carriages specifically as being ‘made like a howse’ rather than the more general ‘high foure square buildinge’ or ‘high scafolde’. By no stretch of the imagination could the carriage in the engraving be compared with a house, though one might be prepared to acknowledge that it conforms to a ‘high foure square buildinge’ or ‘scafolde’. The Introduction to Markland’s book adds support to this theory as there he makes reference only to the two latest versions; BL Harley MS 1948 and the copy used by the Lysons.8 Other features in the engraving can also be traced to the Rogers’ description—the two rooms mentioned in all copies have been incorporated by the artist, the lower ‘hanged aboute richly and closse’ and the higher ‘beinge all open on the tope’ interpreted very literally. Much of the period feeling of the scene, and in particular the rhetorical gesture of the stage action, belongs to the early nineteenth century rather than to the late medieval. Nevertheless, the engraving possesses considerable charm and may well represent the earliest attempt to visualize the Chester pageant carriage on the basis of Rogers’ descriptions. If we now find, as I suspect we do, that the engraving is a less than convincing interpretation of the evidence, the combination of Markland’s interest in the Chester pageants and Rogers’ descriptions of them was to result, albeit indirectly, in a much more persuasive illustration. Thomas Sharp published his A Dissertation on the Pageants or Dramatic Mysteries anciently performed at Coventry in 1825. In the Introduction to that work he acknowledges the communication of an unpublished transcript of Archdeacon Rogers’ account of the Chester plays from James Heywood Markland. It transpires in the text of the Dissertation that this unpublished transcript is from the manuscript now catalogued as the Chester City Archives Account Copy—the earliest surviving version. It is reasonable to assume that this manuscript came to the notice of Markland sometime after the publication of his Chester Mysteries. Sharp makes use of the information that it contains by correlating it with the Coventry Smiths’ accounts of expenditure on their pageant of Christ’s Trial and Crucifixion for the purpose of speculating upon the appearance of a typical English pageant vehicle. This speculation finds its most vivid and lasting expression in the engraved frontispiece designed by David Jee (PLATE 2).9 The pageant vehicle incorporates a number of features that can be traced to Rogers’ descriptions: the six wheels, the enclosed lower room and the four square building, open on all sides, roofed like a house. The minor details of design and decoration are taken from the Coventry records. The differences between the two engravings are apparent and considerable; the more notable because both derive, probably, from the separate interpretation of a similar source. The extent to which 33

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g

Plate 2  Jee Pageant vehicle.

the respective authors influenced the designs of their artists is unlikely ever to be known. However, Sharp’s greater practical interest in the presentation of the plays may be responsible, in part, for the impression of authenticity in Jee’s design which is almost impossible to resist. I am clearly not alone in 34

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g being seduced by the appearance of reality—the engraving continues to be reproduced in books of theatre history, often without the caveat that this is an interesting nineteenth-century antiquarian reconstruction. In some respects, it has become almost as influential as the description that it draws upon, spawning a host of imitators.10 The evidence of the early attempts to visualize the English pageant carriage from Rogers’ descriptions illustrates how problematic is such interpretation from so selective and ambiguous a source. Fortunately, a number of Chester guild accounts (none earlier than 1546 and thus all roughly contemporary with Robert Rogers’ likely experience of the plays) record items of expenditure on the pageant carriages and other aspects of the Whitsun plays. The information contained within these accounts is essential to the corroboration and extension of Rogers’ descriptions, but like them the evidence they provide is often vague, contradictory and ambiguous. Obviously, the guild stewards noted expenditure for the purposes of accountancy rather than for future research and accordingly each item is expressed only in the terms necessary to record the nature of the expense incurred. For example, in 1572 the Chester Coopers recorded ‘more payde to John Croulay for the makyng of the caryge, and nayles iiiis’. Useful as it is to know from this and other items that the Coopers’ pageant carriage was dismantled and rebuilt for each performance, it tells us very little else about the appearance and construction of the vehicle. Guild accounts are fraught with problems of interpretation too and any attempt to reconstruct from them the appearance of the Chester pageant carriage can only be regarded as speculative. Barring the discovery of pictorial evidence or the emergence of a more precise eyewitness account, no certainty or authority can be attached to any reconstruction based on such comparatively flimsy evidence. What can be done, though, is to consider the features of the carriage regarded as significant by Rogers in the light of guild expenditure on the same vehicles and to suggest a series of possible models which satisfy the practical demands of the known mode of presentation and the theatrical demands of the text. The distinctive features noted by Rogers in his descriptions are that the pageant or carriage was: i) a high place or scaffold made like a house or four-square building with two rooms; ii) a lower room, hung richly and close where none but the actors went to apparel and dress themselves; iii) a higher room, where the actors played their parts and which was open so that all beholders might hear and see them; iv) set upon six or four wheels. Providing that ‘highe place made like a howse’ and ‘high scafolde’ and ‘high foure square buildinge’ are accepted as synonymous terms, then the only 35

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g real discrepancy to be found between the various descriptions is that the two copies of the earliest version refer to six wheels whereas the later mention only four. Although common sense and common usage might suggest that the four-wheel description is the more likely and thus accurate, the early reference to six wheels cannot be dismissed simply as error or aberration. The guild accounts are of limited help in resolving the discrepancy; payments for axle-trees and the purchase and repair of wheels providing no more than the confirmation that the vehicles possessed at least two axles and four wheels.11 The only possible indication of a six-wheeled vehicle occurs in the accounts of the Smiths’ Company for 1572 where sevenpence was spent on ‘6 cart clouts and nayles’. Cart clouts are the plates of iron affixed to the underside of axle-tree arms to reduce friction and wear on the revolving wheel-hubs. Initially, the most obvious interpretation of this item is that the Smiths purchased six cart-clouts because, in 1572 at least, that is the number of axle­tree arms their carriage possessed. Unfortunately, the mere fact of purchase does not necessarily prove the circumstance of use. The accuracy of Rogers’ reference to six-wheeled carriages in Chester has recently been questioned, most seriously by Alan Nelson who rejects the notion on the grounds of the complexity of the steering mechanism required by such vehicles.12 He attributes the inaccuracy to a mistranscription from original sources by Rogers whom he supposes to have transposed the numerals iv into vj in the earliest description which he then converted into Arabic 6 for the almost direct copy now in the British Library. When Rogers revised the description, it is assumed that he returned to his original sources and accurately converted the Roman iv into the Arabic 4. Although this seems, at first sight, a plausible and rather convincing explanation, which is now widely accepted, it rests upon two questionable assumptions. The first concerns the mistranscription of the Roman numerals; for this to have been the case it is necessary to assume that iv, as well as the more usual iiij was used to represent ‘four’ at or before the time Rogers compiled the descriptions of the plays. Such usage at that time seems to have been extremely rare and I have yet to find a single example of it in the Chester records of the period. It, therefore, seems unlikely that Rogers misread his original source and at least possible that the material he was drawing upon contained information concerning both six and four wheeled carriages. The assertion that the complex technology required to construct an efficiently steerable six-wheeler militates against its use in sixteenth-century Chester depends entirely upon the second assumption that these vehicles steered. If they did not, then although new problems of manoeuvrability arise, six wheels—perhaps on the larger or heavier carriages—no longer presents an insurmountable difficulty. There is pictorial evidence that six-wheeled vehicles existed in the medieval period, generally in military use where, presumably, they depended upon the ready availability of manpower to manoeuvre them.13 Indeed there is some doubt as to the date when the pivoted front 36

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g axle was re-introduced into medieval Europe. Early illustrations of carriages and wagons show no evidence of such a facility.14 Front wheels drawn smaller in size than the rear wheels, to facilitate turning, is a generally accepted indication of a pivoting front axle but the earliest indisputable evidence for a turning train in this period is found in two late fifteenth-century illustrations of a German wagon castle and the overturned wagon of Baldassare Cossa.15 In some respects, this debate is inessential to the question of pageant carriage maneuverability, for, regardless of the timing of the reintroduction of the pivoted axle, was such technology absolutely necessary for vehicles used only occasionally and with considerable manpower available to move them? A further consideration here is that even if they did steer, the turning circle that such vehicles are likely to have been capable of would not have been sufficient to effect turns in relatively narrow medieval streets without the additional assistance of manpower. The Chester guild accounts provide little evidence either way—there is no reference to a bolt or king-pin necessary to locate a pivoting front axle if one were in use, but as there is clearly so much else that has gone unrecorded this can only be regarded as the most negative of evidence. Slightly more positively though, the Smiths’ accounts make it clear that their carriage was dismantled after each performance for ease of storage and that this procedure involved the detachment of the axle-trees from the rest of the carriage. In 1572 the stewards recorded the payment ‘pinns for the axtrees ijd’. The reference to ‘axtrees’ and ‘pinns’ in the plural implies a fixed-axle vehicle as a carriage fitted with four wheels and a pivoted front axle would require only the rear axle-tree to be secured by pins. For a six-wheeled carriage to steer effectively, two pivoting axles are necessary, which again leaves only a single axle-tree to be fixed by pinning. Thus, the reference to ‘axtrees’ and the implication that they were regarded similarly may suggest that the Smiths’ carriage was not capable of independent steering. Vehicles with more than one fixed axle were customarily turned by means of a lever applied to the rear of the wagon.16 Although the Chester records provide no proof of the employment of this system, there is sufficient evidence in references to ‘lewers’, ‘pottyng stang’ and ‘spares for stanges’ to suggest that the pageant carriages of Norwich, York and Newcastle were turned in this way. In the Japanese city of Kyoto the Hoko floats used in the annual festival of Gion Matsuri are a massive 24 metres high and can weigh anything up to 12 tons set on four large wheels and drawn through the streets by manpower. These floats have fixed axles and when changes in direction are required sodden bamboo is strewn on the ground and the vehicle slid across. A similar method may have been in use at Coventry where payments for rushes are to be found in the context of expenditure on movement of the pageant.17 Such apparently primitive means of manoeuvering the pageant carriages may account, in part, not only for the relatively large number of men employed in ‘puttyng’ the pageant—between seven and ten in Chester—but also for the otherwise inexplicable regularity of payments for wheel repairs. 37

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g It would appear, then, that the Chester pageant carriages possessed certainly four and possibly, in some instances, six wheels attached to two or three fixed axles. Pictorial evidence of the period would suggest that the wheels were spoked, though the Chester guild accounts do not confirm this. They do, however, make clear that the wheels were hooped with an iron tyre. In 1572 the Coopers paid for ‘ieren and byndyng of a welle, and one stable’ the latter presumably to fix the two ends of the tyre. Similarly, in 1550 the Shoemakers and in 1561 the Smiths paid for ‘freityng of the weyles’ which is likely to refer to the binding of the wheels rather than to decoration as suggested elsewhere.18 From the accounts of the Smiths and of the Coopers it is evident that the dismantling of the carriage after the performance for the purpose of storage was fairly common practice and involved the separation of the axles from the rest of the carriage.19 If the axles were pinned directly to the carriage bed—or in effect the stage floor—almost half of the wheel would be visible above that floor. Not only would this detract from the visual effect of the pageant; unless the wheels were of an enormous size the stage floor would not be of sufficient height—say eye-level for a standing audience—to allow that ‘all behoulders mighte heare & see them’. Neither would it have been necessary for the Coopers in 1572 to set up a ladder on their carriage, presumably for the purpose of enabling the actors to reach the acting area. Moreover, some distance of about four to five feet between the ground and stage floor is implied in Rogers’ reference to the lower room where ‘none but the actors came’. Consideration of these factors, rather than firm evidence from the accounts, suggests that bolsters would have been placed between the axles and the carriage bed, as found in English farm wagons and other vehicles where the raising of floor level is necessary. It would appear from the Coopers’ expenditure in 1572 on ‘too selles to the caryge’ that the next stage in construction involved the securing of two sills to the bolsters upon which to lay the floor boards of the stage. Sills is a term associated with house, rather than carriage, building and refers to the beams of squared timber used as the foundations for timber-framed buildings.20 The use of such terminology is perhaps significant here as it suggests that the earliest Rogers’ description which talks of the carriage as ‘a highe place made like a howse’ may refer as much to the means of construction as to the overall appearance. It would be pleasing to be able to continue constructing the carriage from the evidence of a single guild, building upon the sills purchased by the Coopers in 1572 from the evidence of their own accounts. Unfortunately, that is not possible as the accounts are primarily concerned with matters of purchase and refurbishment rather than with details of construction. All that can be done is to combine some informed guesswork with information from other guild accounts from the same city whilst being aware of the danger of creating a Chester hybrid. It seems likely that the ‘dosyn bordes to the carych’, bought by the 38

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g Shoemakers in 1550 were for the repair or replacement of the carriage bed or stage floor which would have been nailed to the foundation of sills, as can be inferred from the Smiths’ payment in 1572 ‘for nayles to nayle the bards of the carrage’. It is a pity that neither the Shoemakers nor the Smiths saw fit, when recording these payments, to include the dimensions of the boards, which might have provided a clue to the size of the pageant carriages. With the addition of curtaining around the carriage bed it is possible to conceal the wheels and axles and to create the lower room ‘hanged aboute richly closse into which none but the actors came’ described by Rogers, not as a purpose-built tiring house but from the utilization of otherwise wasted space created by the need to raise the floor above the top of the wheels and to provide a theatrically effective stage level. The ‘3 curten cowerds’ bought by the Smiths in 1561and the curtains washed by Griff Yevans’ wife in 1568 may refer to such hangings or alternatively, perhaps, to a decorative backdrop in the higher room. If it were not for Rogers’ description it might be concluded, from the evidence of the guild accounts alone, that all the carriages consisted of was a simple kind of mobile trestle stage with the occasional addition of localizing features. However, in each of his descriptions Rogers is consistent in referring to two rooms, the higher of which, where they played, was ‘all open on the tope that all behoulders mighte heare & see them’. It is this description of an open room that strongly suggests some form of superstructure framework, although it must be emphasized that unless concealed in general payments for boards and timber the Chester guild accounts provide no sure evidence for the construction or repair of such a framework. Its inclusion here can be justified, in addition to Rogers’ description, only by the existence of similar designs in sixteenth and seventeenth-century pageants on the Continent and by the undoubted theatrical and visual advantage that accrues from the framing of action. It can be reasonably assumed that Rogers’ reference to the carriages being open on the top does not mean that the superstructure was roofless but that the sides were open to view. Some form of covering would seem essential, not only to provide an aesthetically pleasing finish but also to afford some protection from the weather and as an effective means of improving the acoustic. Rogers’ description and the guild accounts provide no help in determining beyond doubt the nature of this covering but three possibilities suggest themselves. Perhaps the simplest alternative is that of a cloth canopy reminiscent of those used to cover the monarch in royal progress or to protect the carrying of the Host in Corpus Christi processions.21 The only possible indication of such usage in the Chester plays occurs in the 1572 Coopers’ accounts where expense was incurred ‘for cordes and penes to sette up the howsynge of the caryghe’. The use of ‘cordes and penes’ taken with the OED definition of ‘housing’ as a covering, especially of cloth, strongly suggests the possibility of such a canopy in this instance. It is, though, possible that this might instead refer to some form of covering draped over the entire 39

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g pageant designed to protect the vehicle over the Monday night which divided the Painters’ rented use of the carriage from the Coopers’ own use on the Tuesday. One obvious advantage of roofing with a cloth canopy is that the process of dismantling, storage and reassembly of the vehicle is made much easier, particularly in the case of the Coopers who are known to have stored their carriage in a cellar.22 A similar, though perhaps more robust, alternative would be to construct a flat roof upon the superstructure frame with boards. The third possibility derives from Rogers’ descriptive gloss that the pageant or carriage was made like a house. If he were describing appearance as well as constructional method then a pitched roof, either of boards or thatch, may have inspired his choice of image. Medieval artists were certainly aware of the pictorial advantage to be gained from framing biblical scenes within a stylized building, particularly and obviously in the case of the Nativity; and without claiming any direct influence from one medium to another it does seem probable that what pleased the eye on the page was likely to be found equally satisfying on the stage. Perhaps the most convincing demonstration of this is the much reproduced Nativity pageant vehicle from Denis van Alsloot’s printing of the Triumph of Isabella which took place in Brussels on May 31, 1615 (PLATE 3). I have deliberately chosen not to treat this vehicle in any detail—that has been done by others elsewhere23—and there is a potential danger in seeing this as an archetypal pageant carriage, inviting correspondence to be made between it and selective English evidence. It will be apparent, though, that in many respects it does conform to the outline characteristics of the Chester pageant carriages described by Rogers; it is high, made like a house with two ‘rooms’, the lower of which hung richly and close and the higher which accommodates the actors, open on all sides. Whilst it is true that without Rogers’ descriptions we should have very little idea of the appearance of the Chester pageant carriage, the fact of their survival has in some respects inhibited thinking about structures alternative to the house-like building. Although neither pageant was, as far as is known, concerned with dramatic performance, the Tree of Jesse carriage in van Alsloot’s painting and that copied by Edward van Evan from Boonen’s original of the Louvain ommegang in 1594 show that not all vehicles, in late Continental processions at least, conformed to the four-square principle (PLATE 4).24 Clearly the superstructure of the carriage should, as in the case of the Noah episode, reflect the content and location of the pageant. In this connection it is interesting to note that in 1550 the Chester Shoemakers paid ‘for seteng op of oure stepoll and for tember’ while in 1567 the Smiths were paying ‘for the steple and the trestle or forme’. The Shoemakers’ ‘stepoll’ presumably represented the temple in Jerusalem from which Christ drove out the money-lenders. The Smiths’ pageant was concerned with the episodes of the Purification and Christ with the Doctors. Both of these incidents are located in a temple in Jerusalem, with the only action to take place elsewhere being indicated by the stage-direction: 40

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Plate 3 Van Alsloot: Brussels Nativity (detail). © the Board of Trustees of the Victoria and Albert Museum.

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dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g Tunc Simeon sedebit expectans consolationem; et alio loco procull a templo dicat Maria. [Then Simeon shall sit, looking for consolation; from another location far from the temple Mary shall speak:] (ll /118+SD)25 The sixteen lines spoken between Mary and Joseph before they join with Simeon in the temple, and their subsequent departure in search of Jesus, could have been delivered off the pageant carriage at ground level. This would mean that the entire pageant carriage could justifiably be given over to the scenic representation of a temple. It is, of course, impossible to determine how this was achieved. At its simplest the carriage superstructure may have consisted solely of the steeple placed centrally upon the carriage bed or stage level. Alternatively, and perhaps more probably, the steeple could have been set atop of the four-square or house-like structure, thus adding to rather than replacing the carriage type described by Rogers. Certainly, the Shoemakers’ reference to ‘seteng op of oure stepoll’ would seem to suggest some such procedure. The Pentecost pageant at Louvain depicts such a carriage which, although hardly medieval in design or decoration, gives an indication of what such a carriage may have looked like and how problems of stability might be coped with (PLATE 5)26. If the Smiths chose to crown their four-square building with a steeple in this fashion then it just might explain why their carriage was possibly constructed with six wheels.27 It should be clear by now that whilst the surviving evidence of Rogers’ descriptions and the Chester guild accounts is immensely valuable, it does not contain the kind of detail necessary for accurate reconstruction. The itemization of expenditure in the guild accounts in no way contradicts the descriptions by Rogers but neither does it, with the exception of references to steeples, add substantially to them. Any reconstruction, then, must acknowledge the limited and fragmentary nature of the evidence and be content with the impression rather than the certainty of appearance. Conflating the limited evidence suggests that the Chester pageant carriages may have, in general, conformed to the basic structure outlined by Rogers with the addition of distinguishing features of location and decoration. In the cases of the Smiths and of the Shoemakers this involved the structural incorporation of a steeple signifying a temple. For the Coopers a comparatively simple covering of cloth over a pillared superstructure may have sufficed to stage The Trial and Flagellation. Indeed, their carriage is almost certain to have been less distinctive architecturally as it was hired to the Painters for their performance of The Shepherds pageant on the Monday of Whitsun week and to the Skinners who undertook The Resurrection on the Wednesday. These three guilds presumably relied upon individual elements of decoration to differentiate their use of the carriage. The Painters, for example, incorporated in some way the ‘payntyng of our ox and asse’ (1568), possibly as a painted back-cloth, while

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Plate 4 Louvain: Tree of Jesse. British Library, Edward van Even, L’Omgang de Louvain (Louvain Bruxelles, 1863), BL shelfmark 9930 i //, Plate XII. © British Library Board.

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Plate 5 Louvain: Pentecost: van Even, L’Omgang de Louvain, BL shelfmark 9930 i //, Plate XXI. © British Library Board.

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g the Coopers conceal the nature of their decoration in the general reference to ‘dressinge the cariadge’ (1575). In addition to the problems of determining the appearance of the pageant carriages is the equally uncertain question of dimensions. Rogers describes the carriages as ‘highe’ but gives no indication of breadth and length. The only clues in this matter are the sizes of the carriage houses where some companies garaged their vehicles. The Tailors’ carriage house off Fleshmongers Lane near to Wolf Gate (now Newgate) was five yards in length and three-anda-half yards in breadth, whereas the Drapers’ carriage house in Grey Friar Lane was apparently larger.28 Unless the Tailors’ carriage was dismantled and stored in a way which disguised its overall dimensions it would seem likely, allowing for space of about 18 inches between the walls and the carriage when housed, that the vehicle would have been little more than 12 feet in length and seven feet six inches in breadth.29 The means available to determine the height of the carriages are even less precise. For various reasons a ‘ground to stage’ floor level of between four to five feet has already been suggested, to which must be added the superstructure height of between six to seven feet which allows for some clearance above the tallest actor and the occasional raising of chavels and swords. A flat top to this structure would give a maximum carriage height of about 12 feet, which might be increased by the addition of a pitched roof or a steeple. Interestingly, the similarity between the dimensions

Fig. 1 Simplified reconstruction of basic pageant carriage with lower curtains removed to reveal undercarriage and without localizing and decorative features. © John Marshall.

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dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g of height and length tends to reinforce Rogers’ description of the carriage as a ‘foure square buildinge’ (FIG. 1). It might be expected that a relationship would exist between the size of the pageant carriage and the route taken through Chester. Either the chosen streets and lanes would influence the breadth of the carriages or the carriage breadth would determine which streets could be used. Evidence for the places where they played is to be found in Rogers’ descriptions of the plays, the earliest account being the fullest: And thei firste beganne at the Abbaye gates. And when the firste pagiante was played at the Abbaye gates, then it was wheled from thense to Pentice at the Highe Crosse before the maior. And before that was donne, the seconde came; and the firste wente into the Watergate streete and from thense unto the Bridge streete. And so one after another, tell all the pagiantes weare played appoynted for the firste daye. And so likewise for the seconde and the thirde daye […] And when the had donne with one cariage in one place, theie wheled the same from one streete to another: firste from the Abbaye gate to the Pentise, then to the Watergate streete, then to the Bridge streete through the lanes, and so to the Estegate streete.30 It is clear from this description that the first station or performance area was before the Abbey Gates in Northgate Street where the clergy witnessed the plays, the next at the Pentice by the High Cross before the Mayor and Aldermen (PLATE 6) and then, it appears, at unspecified places in the main Chester streets of Watergate Street, Bridge Street and Eastgate Street. Rogers’ certainty of the first two stations suggests that these were permanent fixtures on the route providing audience space for church and city leaders respectively. His apparent vagueness about the other stations may indicate that in the cases of Watergate, Bridge and Eastgate streets the venues or stations could alter for each performance, rather in the manner of stations tendered for at York. Alternatively, having referred to the stations occupied by the religious and administrative dignitaries he may have regarded those intended for the general population as comparatively unimportant. Corroboration for performance sites in those streets comes from the Smiths’ accounts for 1561 where the following expenses for refreshment are recorded: for makinge the players to drinke in the Watergate street vd31 This must have been after the performance in front of the Mayor at the Pentice as there is no room in Watergate Street after turning right out of Northgate Street for stopping before. A performance at some unspecified site 46

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Plate 6 Randle Holme: The Pentice built on the south side of St Peter’s Church: BL Harley MS 2073, fol. 88. © British Library Board.

along Watergate Street may be inferred from the next payment, ‘for drinke to the players in the Bridgstret iiid’ as it is unlikely that the Smiths would pay twice for refreshments without the intervening justification of a performance. Similarly, the next payment, ‘to Jo. Layes wife for drinke xiid’ indicates a performance in Bridge Street as John Ley, himself a smith, rented property there.32 The final payment ‘to Jo. Dooes for drink xiid’, another member of 47

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g the Smiths company whose address it has not been possible to locate, was probably made following a performance in Eastgate Street. In 1561, at least, it would seem that the route and schedule of performances for the Smiths was as follows. They began with a performance before the Abbey Gates, then moved down Northgate Street turning right at the junction with Watergate and Eastgate Street to perform before the Pentice at the High Cross. Following this performance, they moved further west down Watergate Street to permit the following pageant to take their place at the Pentice. Whilst waiting for the longer Goldsmiths’ pageant of The Slaughter of the Innocents to be completed they consumed their drink and then moved on to the unspecified station in Watergate Street now vacated by the Goldsmiths. From there they progressed to Bridge Street where they were refreshed before the performance and then after it at John Ley’s occupancy in the same street. They would then have made their way, as Rogers has it, ‘through the lanes’ to Eastgate Street for the final performance and refreshment at John Doe’s. There is sufficient correlation between Rogers’ description of the route and the Smiths’ details of expenditure on refreshment to be reasonably sure that the pageant route taken followed the pattern of the main Chester streets with the likelihood of five stations or performance venues. The two major issues outstanding are the lanes taken between the streets and the nature of the unspecified venues. In many ways, decisions made about one will influence speculation about the other. For example, it has been suggested that the unspecified venues were the Water and Bridge gates of the city.33 If this were the case then such prominent and permanent sites would surely have been recorded by Rogers; what is more, the street gradient north of the Bridgegate would seem to preclude its use.34 The lower section of Bridge Street rises by 27 feet in less than 200 yards with some stretches being considerably steeper than the overall gradient of 1 in 20. An alternative exit from Bridgegate via Claverton Lane (now Duke Street) would involve a similarly sharp incline. By removing this steep section of Bridge Street, and thus the gate, from the route the use of Bridge Street is restricted, for practical reasons, to the remainder from St. Michael’s Church to the junction with Watergate Street. A further consideration in determining the route must be the quality of the road surface on which the comparatively heavy pageant carriages travelled. In 1567 an indenture between the mayor, Sir William Snede, and Thomas Benett, paver, requires the latter ‘to keepe at all tymes the streets of the Citty in good repaire during his life with all the lanes which have bine accustomed to be paved’.35 Clearly the pageant carriages are likely, wherever possible, to have taken a route through the city which was paved and it is therefore worth listing those streets and lanes itemized in the indenture: the high street from the Watergate to the end of Chester lane without ye Barrs, Cowlane, St John’s Lane, Fleshmonger’s lane, St. Werburgh’s 48

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Map 1  Shaded streets indicate extent of paving in 1567.

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g lane, Gose lane, the Norgate Street without the Walls to the high street of the Milke Stupes over against the Pentice, the Barne lane and from the high crosse to the furmost end of Handbridge unto the lane that turneth Wrixham way, the old Comonhall lane, Whitfrier lane and Pepper Street, Cuppings lane so far as it is now paved and the Castle lane to the Gloverston. The extent of the paving can be seen in the shaded streets of MAP 1, from which a route clearly begins to emerge. The Smiths seem to have made three stops in Bridge Street in 1561, once for performance, and twice at apparently separate sites, for refreshment. Given the probable exclusion from the route of the lower section of Bridge Street this would seem to necessitate the maximum use of its remaining length. Access into Bridge Street is therefore likely to have been via Common Hall Lane which in turn involves the use of Alvins Lane (now Weaver Street) which connects it with Watergate Street. The route from Bridge Street to Eastgate Street is described by Rogers as ‘through the lanes’ and in all probability was via Pepper Street and Fleshmongers Lane. Thus the route connecting the five performance venues would seem to be Northgate Street south to the High Cross, turning right into Watergate Street, left into Alvins Lane, left into Common Hall Lane, right into Bridge Street, left into Pepper Street, left into Fleshmongers Lane and left into Eastgate Street for the final performance (see MAP 2).36 This route has much to commend it as not only is it paved throughout, with the exception of the comparatively short Alvins Lane, but also almost all of it is downhill, with the exception of the beginning of Fleshmongers Lane. These are important considerations in relation to pageant­carriage manoeuvrability as, of course, is the width of the streets. The main Chester streets where the performances took place present no problems, with all being at least 25 feet wide.37 Similarly, Alvins Lane (12 feet at its narrowest) and Pepper Street (at a probable width of 25 feet) would have proved negotiable. The only lane which gives rise to some doubt is Common Hall Lane, the narrow end of which at its junction with Bridge Street is now only eight feet wide. As neither of the present buildings adjoining it are contemporary with the plays it is impossible to say whether it was always so and as the other streets giving access to the west side of Bridge Street are equally narrow, and the pageant carriage width suggested here is only seven feet six inches, there seems no reason to disqualify Common Hall Lane from the route. As the route proposed excludes the city gates it is necessary to suggest alternative venues for the performances in Watergate, Bridge and Eastgate Streets. One piece of evidence which may be of significance here is the record of a disagreement in 1568 between John Whitmore and Anne Webster over the right and title to a ‘mansion, rowme, or place for the Whydson plaies in the Brudg-gate strete’.38 It is clear from the case record that John Whitmore believed that he had greater claim to the area which overlooked the plays than 50

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g did Anne Webster who had occupied the site for the past two performances.39 The mansion room or place may have been either a room in a house from which the performance in Bridge Street could be viewed or the tenement Row which would provide a most effective auditorium. The report of the case contains the information that Anne Webster was the tenant of George Ireland but does not explain why John Whitmore should regard himself as the rightful occupier for the duration of the plays. The solution would seem to lie in the nature of the property and partly explains the interest of the mayor in this case. In Chester there were up to 16 customary tenants of the city—often the highest ranking and wealthiest citizens—who by their tenure were bound to watch the city for three nights in the year; Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and St. Stephen’s Day.40 This they did not undertake personally but arranged for others to stand for them as armed watchmen. It seems also that they rarely lived in these tenements themselves but let them to others, who in turn often sub-let them, content to maintain their interest for the civic honour and privilege that was bestowed with them and presumably for the extra money to be made too. Such a customary tenant in 1542 was a John Whitmore with a tenement in Bridge Street and one in Northgate Street—the former, known as the Blackhall, being passed on his death in 1553 to his nephew, also named John.41 It is this John Whitmore who lays claim to the mansion room or place in Bridge Street in 1568. It is now possible to see how the dispute arose: Anne Webster, a sub-tenant of George Ireland, himself a tenant of John Whitmore, has had the use of the place in question ‘for ij tymes past whan the said plaies were plaied’, that is in 1561 and 1567; but in 1568 John Whitmore wishes to assert his right to the mansion room in his capacity as customary tenant of the property. In this suit he was, at least initially, unsuccessful. The outcome of the promised review of the matter, following the feast of Pentecost, has not survived. What is of interest here is not only the relationship between those involved in the case but the real possibility that the stations unspecified by Rogers were in fact the properties of customary tenants, of which there were, in 1542, five in Watergate Street, four in Bridge Street, four in Eastgate Street and two in Northgate Street. If, as I have suggested, there was only one station in each street then problems of property selection arise—unless they were sufficiently close together in each street to make selection unnecessary. Unless the precise whereabouts of these properties can be discovered such questions will remain unanswered but, in the absence of firm evidence either way, performance before properties in which the City held an interest seems a strong possibility. Although all attempts to establish from the Chester records the situation of the Blackhall in Bridge Street have so far failed through lack of evidence, it is possible to speculate upon its location.42 Presumably, Anne Webster’s tenancy of the property was permanent and represented her domicile rather than an occasional renting to watch the plays, meaning that she had lived at the Blackhall from 1561 at least. In 1567, a year before the dispute with Whitmore, a Mistress Webster was contributing fourpence per week to 51

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Map 2  Shaded streets indicate pageant route.

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g the maintenance of the poor as a resident of St. Peter’s Parish.43 The only part of Bridge Street to fall within the parish boundary of St. Peter’s is the section from the High Cross to the junction of Common Hall Lane.44 If the route proposed for the plays here is accurate then the Black hall is most likely to have been either directly opposite the junction of Common Hall Lane on the east side of Bridge Street or on the west side corner with Common Hall Lane. It is a pity that Rogers was content merely to record ‘the places where they were played in euery streete of the Cittie’. A little more precision of matters of route and playing places would be resolved. However, it would be churlish to criticize. Without the descriptions our knowledge of the Chester pageant carriages and places they played would be so much poorer. We are fortunate Rogers considered it worthwhile to describe ‘the manner of these playes’.

Notes   1 For transcription and discussion of these descriptions see Lawrence M. Clopper, ‘The Rogers’ Description of the Chester Plays’, Leeds Studies in English, 7 (1974), 63–94.   2 See, for example, F. M. Salter, Mediaeval Drama in Chester (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1955; rpr. 1968), pp. 55, 68; Alan H. Nelson, The Medieval English Stage (Chicago IL; London: University of Chicago Press, 1974), pp. 154–169; A. M. Nagler, The Medieval Religious Stage (New Haven; London: Yale University Press, 1976), pp. 55–58.  3 John Marshall, ‘The Chester Pageant Carriage’, Medieval English Theatre, 1.2 (1979), 49– 55.   4 All references to dramatic activity in Chester are from The Chester Mystery Cycle: Essays and Documents, with an essay ‘Music in the Cycle’ by Richard Rastall, ed. by R. M. Lumiansky and David Mills (Chapel Hill; London: University of North Carolina Press, 1983). The Rogers’ description is No.19, pp. 260–271.  5 Records of Early English Drama: Chester, ed. by Lawrence M. Clopper (Toronto; Buffalo; London: Manchester University Press, 1979), p. 325.  6 Clopper, REED: Chester, p. 355.  7 Clopper, REED: Chester, p. 436.  8 J. H. Markland, Chester Mysteries: De Deluvio Noe, The Roxburghe Club (London: Bensley, 1818), pp. vii–viii.  9 Evidence of how neglected has been the engraving from Markland’s Chester Mysteries can be found in the publishers’ blurb to the 1973 re-issue of Thomas Sharp, A Dissertation on the Pageants or Dramatic Mysteries anciently Performed at Coventry (Wakefield: E. P. Publishing, 1973) where of Jee’s engraving it is claimed ‘here is the first pictorial reconstruction of a pageant waggon’. 10 For example, from different eras and for different audiences, see the frontispiece to Godfrey W. Mathews, The Chester Mystery Plays (Liverpool: Edward Howell, 1925) and L. Du Garde Peach, The Story of the Theatre: A Ladybird Book (Loughborough: Wills & Hepworth, 1970), p. 19. 11 Guilds tended to buy and occasionally sell their wheels in pairs thus concealing the overall number required; for example see, the Coopers’ accounts in Clopper, REED: Chester for 1575–6, pp. 117. 12 Alan H. Nelson, ‘Six-Wheeled Carts: An Underview’, Technology and Culture 13 (1972), 391–416.

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dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g 13 See, for example, the fourteenth-century mobile siege tower and Leonardo da Vinci’s late fifteenth-century crossbow reproduced in H. W. Koch, Medieval Warfare (London: Book Club Associates/Bison Books, 1978), pp. 80–81. Neither of these vehicles appears capable of independent steering. 14 There are numerous examples reproduced in Laszlo Tarr, The History of the Carriage (London; Budapest: Vision Press, 1969). 15 Tarr, History of the Carriage, pp. 181–2. For a survey and analysis of the evidence see Marjorie Nice Boyer, ‘Medieval Pivoted Axles’, Technology and Culture, 1 (1960), 128–138. 16 I. H. T. Horowitz, ‘Die Drehbewegung in ihrer Bedeutung für die Entwicklung der materiellen Kultur’, Anthropos, 28 (1933), 721–57 (p. 738). 17 See, for example, the Cappers’ accounts for 1539/40: Records of Early English Drama: Coventry, ed. by R. W. Ingram (Toronto; Buffalo; London: Manchester University Press, 1981), pp. 150,153. Such payments by the Cappers show a steady increase from one penny in 1534 to fourpence in 1554, but the Drapers in 1525 paid the extraordinarily large sum of 2s 8d ‘for Russhes in the paganntt’ (REED: Coventry, p. 462). The usual explanation for such purchases is that they were used for strewing floors. Whilst this may have been the typical use, it is not necessarily the only one. 18 OED, s.v. Fret, 3; Clopper, REED: Chester in the English glossary, p. 547, and Lumiansky-Mills, Essays, p. 234, n.32, give ‘decorating’ for ‘frettinge’. This is unlikely for a number of reasons, not least the fact that the wheels were probably concealed by the curtains that enclosed the lower room. 19 The clearest indication of this procedure occurs in the Smiths’ accounts for 1567: ‘for gettinge the Carriage out of the Axeltree viijd & settinge in of the Carrige into the weuers howse viijd’: Clopper, REED: Chester, p. 78. 20 Sills and their function can be clearly seen in the early fifteenth-century French illustration of the building of the Ark, BL Additional MS 18850, fol.15v. For a reproduction see John Harvey, Mediaeval Craftsmen (London; Sydney: Batsford, 1975), Plate 45. 21 There are numerous examples of use in both types of procession. From the midsixteenth century, see the canopy covering the litter of Queen Elizabeth on her coronation progress through London: BL Egerton MS 3320, fol.5, frequently reproduced, most noticeably as the dust jacket to David M. Bergeron, English Civic Pageantry 1558–1642 (London: Arnold, 1971). And from about the same time, the border illumination of the Corpus Christi procession to St. Peter’s in Rome from The Hours of Cardinal Alessandro Farnese, Pierpont Morgan Library, M.69, fols 72v–73r) reproduced in John Harthan, Books of Hours and Their Owners (London: Thames & Hudson, 1977), pp. 166–7. 22 See Clopper, REED: Chester, p. 96 for the Coopers’ accounts of 1572: ‘More payde to John Ioanson for laynge the caryghe in hys seller xviiid’. This cellar was possibly one of those in Watergate Street beneath the Rows, some of which still survive. In the Holy Trinity Churchwardens’ accounts John Johnson is listed in the parishioners’ assessment for 1578 and 1590 where his occupation is noted as ‘coup’. See Rev. J. R. Beresford, ‘The Churchwarden’s Accounts of Holy Trinity, Chester, 1532–1633’, Journal of the Chester and North Wales Architectural, Archaeological and Historic Society, 38 (1951), 95–172, 130, 132. Holy Trinity ward occupied the north side of Watergate Street and the lanes leading from it. Houses in the lanes are unlikely to have had cellars the size of those known to exist in Watergate Street. 23 Meg Twycross, ‘The Flemish Ommegang and its Pageant Cars’, Medieval English Theatre 2.1(1980), 15–41; 2.2, 80–98.

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dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g 24 For the Brussels Tree of Jesse see Twycross, ‘The Flemish Ommegang’, Fig. 24, p. 37. 25 The version given here is that in The Chester Mystery Cycle: A Facsimile of MS Bodley 175, intro. R. M. Lumiansky and David Mills, Leeds Texts and Monographs, Medieval Drama Facsimiles I (Leeds: School of English, University of Leeds, 1973), fol.80v. 26 Unfortunately, the ‘iiij gyse’ bought by the Shoemakers in 1550 with ‘haffe a sper’ are unlikely to be the ‘guide-ropes’, suggested by the English glossary in REED: Chester, which would indicate a similar arrangement for keeping the steeple stable in Chester. Coupled as it is with ‘spar’ the reference to ‘gyse’ is more likely to mean ‘joist’. OED, s.v. Joist l. 27 It is, perhaps, worth noting in this context that the Smiths used more men to put their carriage than the other guilds whose accounts survive. In 1568 they made payment ‘to 10 men for portage of Carrag’: Clopper, REED: Chester, p. 86. The Coopers and the Painters used seven and eight men respectively to move their shared pageant carriage. 28 BL Harley MS 2172, p.17r is recorded in Lumiansky-Mills, Essays and Documents No. 17 (iv), p. 233. The dimensions given for the Taylors refer specifically to the carriage house, whereas the Drapers’ measurement of 11 yards in length and five yards in breadth appears to relate to ‘that whole wast place of land’ on which the carriage house was built, rather than to the building itself. 29 This is considerably smaller than is usually proposed for an English pageant carriage. See M. James Young, ‘The York Pageant Wagon’, Speech Monographs 34 (1967), 1–20, where 10 feet by 20 feet is suggested for width and length, p. 20. The experience of recent revivals of the cycles on farm waggons of a similar, if not smaller, size proposed in my paper has demonstrated how effectively the pageants can be accommodated within such proportions. 30 Chester City Archives: unnumbered MS, c.1609 in Lumiansky and Mills, Essays and Documents, No. 19, p. 263. 31 Clopper, REED: Chester, p. 67. 32 John Ley was a sub-tenant of Thomas Starkie, a customary tenant of the City with property in Bridge Street. See R. H. Morris, Chester in the Plantagenet and Tudor Reigns (Chester: Printed for the author, 1895), pp. 236–7. 33 Clopper, REED: Chester, pp. lvi–lviii. Other playing places have been suggested. Salter, Mediaeval Drama in Chester, p. 77 gives ‘at the Abbey, at the High Cross, before the Castle, and on the Roodee’; Leonard Powlick, ‘The Staging of the Chester Cycle; An Alternate Theory’, Theatre Survey, 12 (1971), 119–50 ignores much of the evidence and places the entire performance on the Roodee, 137; Ruth Brant Davis, ‘The Scheduling of the Chester Cycle Plays’, Theatre Notebook, 27 (1972–3), 49–67 combines the places described by Rogers and guessed at by Salter although she doubts the use of the Castle settles, for the purposes of scheduling, on seven stops, 55– 56. 34 Chester; a Study in Conservation (London: HMSO, 1968), p 18 for a geological features map of Chester which indicates gradients of one-foot rise. 35 Morris, Chester in the Plantagenet and Tudor Reigns, p. 266. 36 I have used the John Speed map of 1610 as, unlike George Braun’s map from Civitates Orbis Terrarum (1572–1618) which is often reproduced in connection with the plays, it includes all the streets and lanes of importance known to have existed by the sixteenth century. I must confess that the route proposed here is not quite the same as that of the lecture; it represents a return to earlier thinking rekindled by the need to prepare the lecture for publication. One of the problems in establishing the route is the pull of the evidence in different directions. For

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dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g example, it is necessary to decide whether paved though narrow lanes would have been more influential in determining the route than unpaved wider ones. The wide variety of routes and playing places for Chester (see note 32) is an indication of the scale of the problem. 37 I am most grateful to T. J. Strickland, Field Officer, and Simon Ward, Excavation Director of the Grosvenor Museum for providing me with evidence for the late medieval street and lane widths of Chester. 38 Lumiansky and Mills, Essays and Documents No.14, pp. 219–220. 39 According to the report, Anne Webster was a widow. It is possible that she had been married to John Webster, mayor of Chester in 1556–7, who died sometime before February1568; a Freeman Roll entry of that date for his apprentice William Pixley, mercer, describes him as defunct. 40 Morris, Chester in the Plantagenet and Tudor Reigns, pp. 234–6. 41 Morris, Chester in the Plantagenet and Tudor Reigns, p. 234; George Ormerod, The History of the County Palatine and City of Chester, 2nd edn, rev. by Thomas Helsby, 3 vols (London: Routledge, 1882), II, p. 506; F. C. Beazley, ‘The Parish of Thurstaston’, Transactions of the Historic Society of Lancashire and Cheshire, 75 (1923), 1–177, (pp. 58–64). 42 Miss A. M. Kennett, Chester City Archivist, has informed me that search of the Chester archives has so far failed to reveal the location. Lawrence M. Clopper, ‘The History and Development of the Chester Cycle’, Modern Philology, 75 (1978), 219–46 (p. 239 n. 58) states that the property was within a block of Bridgegate and gives as his reference BL Harley MS 2054 fol.83r. This is presumably a slip of some kind as that particular folio contains only a list of butchers’ names. However, this could be significant if it implies location near the gate, although Bridge Street itself was sometimes referred to as Bridgegate. 43 Morris, Chester in the Plantagenet and Tudor Reigns, p. 360, n.l. 44 A. F. Estelle Dyke, ‘The Present Boundaries of St. Peter’s Parish, Chester’, Journal of the Chester and North Wales Architectural, Archaeological and Historic Society, 41(1954),79–83. See particularly the map on p. 83 which delineates the present boundary and that prior to 1882. Originally, according to the Assembly Book, St. Peter’s ward excluded Bridge Street, being limited to part of Eastgate Street. Although the division is said to be one revised by Henry Gee, mayor in 1533–4 and 1539–40, Morris claims, without giving any reason, that it is of very much earlier date. Indeed, evidence that by the time of the Webster/Whitmore dispute St. Peter’s parish took in the northern part of Bridge Street can be found in the inclusion of William Wall in the same parish subscription list for poor relief as Anne Webster. Wall appears to have lived and traded in Bridge Street, paying an annual rent to the city treasurer for the posts which held up the extension to his shop front; Morris, Chester in the Plantagenet and Tudor Reigns, p. 259.

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4 NAILING THE SIX-WHEELED WAGGON: A SIDEVIEW From: Medieval English Theatre, 12 (1990)

One of the mysteries of medieval theatre that generates more interest than its significance probably deserves concerns the number of wheels on a pageant waggon. Readers of Medieval English Theatre will hardly need reminding that responsibility for the problem rests with David Rogers’ early 17th-century descriptions of the Chester plays compiled from the notes left by his father, Robert Rogers, Archdeacon of Chester, who died in 1595. These ‘scatered notes’ form the basis of the five manuscript Breviaries or ‘Collectiones of the moste anchant Cittie of Chester’ which contain details of the Chester pageant carriage.1 Although fundamentally similar the five manuscripts give four slightly different descriptions of the ‘Pageant on which they played theire partes’ (CRO,DCC 19), the major discrepancy between them being the number of wheels recorded. The first two almost identical versions (CCA, unnumbered MS, and BL MS Harley 1944) claim that ‘thei stoode vpon vj wheeles’, whereas the later three are consistent in describing only four wheels. Over the years the academic consensus, informed by common sense and the weight of evidence from Chester and elsewhere, has come down heavily in favour of four-wheeled vehicles for the staging of processional drama. I have, in the past, tried to suggest that six-wheeled carriages are not as practically improbable as generally claimed, though I must admit that this has been more in the spirit of devil’s advocate than absolute conviction.2 For the most part, examples of six-wheeled vehicles from the period are either imaginary creations (Dürer’s design for Maximilian I, for example), or military machines requiring limited manoeuvrability.3 It would seem, then, that Rogers’ reference to six wheels was probably an error which he subsequently corrected in later editions of the Breviary. Indeed, this is the conclusion arrived at simultaneously but independently by Alan H. Nelson and Lawrence M. Clopper in the early 1970s, when both suggested that David Rogers had transposed the Roman numeral ‘iv’ from his father’s notes into ‘vi’ in the earliest Breviary, which he then converted into Arabic ‘6’ for the almost direct copy now in the British Library. Returning to his original sources for later editions, he accurately translated the Roman ‘iv’ into Arabic ‘4’.4 Nelson, at least, recognised 57

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g the potential flaw in this otherwise plausible explanation, that ‘iv’ was a ‘somewhat unusual’ means of representing ‘four’ in the late 16th century. This rather understates the case. As far as I know, there is no such example in the surviving Chester records of the period, where the number when Romanized always appears as ‘iiij’. Indeed, David Rogers was still using it himself in the last of the Breviaries in 1637 in the number-heading to the chapter which describes the plays. In order finally to nail the six-wheeled waggon at Chester, a more convincing explanation of the error is required. But before offering an alternative to mistranscription, it will be useful to draw attention to two other problematic features of Rogers’ descriptions that the explanation may, incidentally, help to clear up. Clopper, amongst others, has noted that Rogers’ description is ‘short and general and quite obviously could not fit all the pageants’, citing the Noah pageant as an obvious example.5 This does seem odd, given that an eyewitness account, which is what Robert Rogers’ notes are assumed to be, could easily have included details of such evident structural differences. This, in turn, relates to the second point, where Clopper’s detailed analysis of the Breviaries allows him to claim that ‘a strong case can be made that David revised each version of the Breviary’ from his father’s notes rather than from preceding versions.6 If this is the case, and David is entirely reliant on his father’s description of the pageant carriages, which he returns to each time a Breviary is compiled, rather than any experience of his own, why is it that there is such remarkable variation in the terminology used to describe the basic structure of the pageant carriage? For example, the four versions offer the following variations in general description: a highe place made like a howse with 2 rowmes CCA & BL MS Harley 1994 (REED, p. 239) a high foure square buildinge with 2 rowmes CRO, DCC 19 (REED, p. 325) a high scafolde with 2 rowmes BL MS Harley 1948 (REED, p. 355) a buildinge of a greate heighte Liverpool University MS 23.5 (REED, p. 436) Whilst there is little doubt that the phrases are, in essence, describing the same object, the variety of synonymous terms suggests something other than a common, single, written source, where such duplication would be superfluous. There is a solution to this problem which also answers the question of the one-type, general-description limitation and the discrepancy over the number of wheels. 58

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g It has always been assumed that the source material on which David Rogers was drawing, his father’s ‘scatered notes’, was in written form. In respect of the vast majority of information contained in the Breviaries which concerns the City of Chester, this is not only a reasonable assumption but one which it would be perverse to question. However, in the case of the pageant carriage, where visual appearance is the main interest, Robert Rogers, or someone else, may well have recorded his impression more appropriately as a rough sketch, possibly annotated, which David subsequently interpreted for his written description in the Breviary. Although impossible to prove, it is at least a possibility, marginally more convincing than the ‘iv’ case, and one which is worth pursuing. FIG. 1 is not intended to be taken as a detailed reconstruction of the Chester pageant carriage. Instead, it represents the kind of simple sketch that David Rogers might have been dealing with. If such a drawing was his main, or only, source of information, it would explain his confining of the description a single pageant type. He would simply know of no others. If, as Clopper suggests, he returned to his source material each time he undertook a new edition of the Breviary, it would also explain the variation in terminology. Without stretching credulity too far, each of the four descriptions above could be derived from looking anew at the sketch, without reference to previous written interpretations, but remembering significant characteristics and phrases, particularly if the expression ‘like a howse’ is accepted as a gloss on the ‘2 rowmes’ rather than a specific indication of a pageant with an overall house-like appearance. A written source, unless there were several, is unlikely

Fig. 1  Sketch of Chester pageant carriage. © John Marshall.

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dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g to have produced such variations. Much more intriguing though, is the possibility that the sketch appearance was responsible for David’s confusion over the number of wheels on the pageant. If the waggon were drawn in simple perspective, as here, with the wheels largely concealed by the cloths referred to in CRO,DCC 19, which ‘hanged aboute richly and closse’ (REED, p. 325), the first sight of an unfamiliar object might lead the viewer to mistake the far left-hand wheel for a near middle one, a mistake unlikely to have been made with the far-side right-hand wheel. Without disrupting the perspective, it is then possible to see the vehicle as being six-wheeled by filling in in the mind’s eye the two far-side wheels that cannot actually be seen. However, the more you look at the drawing, the clearer the four-wheeled configuration becomes. Having tried this on my family, for whom pageant waggons hold a less than obsessive interest, they all, independently, told me that the waggon had six wheels, which they then, after further consideration, corrected to four. Might this not be precisely the situation that confronted David Rogers? In his earliest working with the sketch, he thought he was dealing with a six-wheeled waggon, whereas increased familiarity with it, occasioned by the need to edit additional copies of the Breviary, improved his perception and allowed him accurately to record that the pageant ‘was sett on 4 wheeles’ (CRO,DCC 19; REED, p. 325). This explanation, in its way, is as simple and plausible as the idea of a mistranscription but without the problem of depending on the existence of a numerical sign seemingly unknown in the period. However, it too rests on certain assumptions that can be challenged. Crucial in this respect is the fact that the confusion over the number of wheels arises from nothing more than the simplest of optical illusions, but one which is only possible if the wheels are covered by cloths with only the bottom of the rims showing. This seems to have been fairly common practice, allowed for at Chester by Rogers’ reference to the rich and close hanging of the lower room, adopted for all the Louvain waggons, incorporated by two of the Brussels vehicles illustrated by Denis van Alsloot, and used to conceal the bases of Munday’s Lord Mayor’s Show pageants. It is also an illusion that relies on the evidence being a sketch rather than a formal artist’s drawing, where the potential ambiguity would probably have been recognised and compensated for, but a sketch, nevertheless, that attempted rudimentary perspective rather than limiting the view to a single elevation. That such perspective sketches existed at the time can be inferred from the similar examples of hearses roughly drawn by Randle Holme in a 17th-century Chester manuscript describing funeral processions.7 Wheels on the outside of the enclosing pageant cloths, as on some of the Brussels waggons, or a side view without depth would not, of course, have created the same effect. Although it may seem that there are rather too many necessary conditions for the acceptance of a sketch as the source of David Rogers’ information about the Chester pageant carriage, it is in many ways a more immediate and 60

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g effective means of transmitting details of appearance than by written description alone. An almost contemporary example elsewhere would be Johannes de Witt’s drawing of the Swan. Robert Rogers, if it were he, cannot have known that his best intentions would be marred by his limitations as a draughtsman, transforming what was for him an obvious fact—four wheels—into a confusion for his son and a blind alley for scholarship.

Notes 1 All quotations from Rogers’ Breviaries are taken from Records of Early English Drama: Chester ed. by Lawrence M. Clopper (Toronto: Manchester University Press/Toronto University Press, 1979). For discussion of the documents, see Lawrence M. Clopper ‘Rogers’ Description of the Chester Play’ Leeds Studies in English, n.s., 7 (1974), 63–94 and Steven E. Hart and Margaret M. Knapp, ‘The Aunchant and Famous Cittie’: David Rogers and the Chester Mystery Plays (New York: Peter Lang, 1988). 2 John Marshall, ‘The Chester Pageant Carriage—how right was Rogers?’ Medieval English Theatre, 1.2 (1979), 49–55; ‘The manner of these playes’: the Chester Carriages and the Places where They Played’ in Staging the Chester Cycle, ed. by David Mills, Leeds Texts and Monographs, n.s. 9 (Leeds: University of Leeds, 1985), pp. 17–48. 3 Dürer’s ‘The Emperor’s Wedding’ is reproduced as woodcuts 89–90 in Stanley Appelbaum, The Triumph of Maximilian: 137 Woodcuts by Hans Burgkmair and others (New York: Dover, 1964). Two six-wheeled military vehicles can be seen in H. W. Koch, Medieval Warfare (London: Bison Books, 1978), pp. 80–81. 4 Clopper, ‘The Rogers’ Description, p. 79; Alan H. Nelson, ‘Six-wheeled carts: an underview’, Technology and Culture, 13:3 (1972), 391–416 (p. 416). 5 Clopper, ‘The Roger’s Description’, p. 79. 6 REED: Chester, p. xxxi i. 7 BL MS Har1ey 2129. Some of the sketches are reproduced in Cheshire and Lancashire Funeral Certificates, AD 1600 to 1678, ed. by Paul Rylands, The Record Society for the Publication of Original Documents relating to Lancashire and Cheshire, 6 (1882), pp. xvi–xix.

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5 ‘WALKING IN THE AIR’: THE CHESTER SHEPHERDS ON STILTS From: According to the Ancient Custom: Essays presented to David Mills in Medieval English Theatre, 29 (2009 for 2007)

I first encountered David Mills, ‘met’ is perhaps too intimate a description of the occasion, in Leeds on Tuesday, 10 September 1974, as a long-haired postgraduate (me, that is, not David) attending what became, retrospectively, the first SITM meeting. In the 33 years since, I have had the pleasure of meeting him at numerous conferences and lectures and enjoying his and Joy’s hospitality. In that time, I have admired his thorough and meticulous approach to medieval drama research and his uncompromising attention to the tiniest detail of its record. It is in recognition of that admiration and in his honour that I dare to be conjectural, speculative, and even a bit vague in an area in which he is indisputably a world authority. It is also a delight to return to the subject of the staging of the Chester Whitsun Play which I was about to begin researching in the October following my encounter with David; a coincidental rather than causal connection. I’ve always had a soft spot for the Chester records, not least for the glimpses of humanity and human frailty that lie beneath the surface of its magnificent enterprise. This is particularly true of the members of the Painters, Glaziers, Embroiderers, and Stationers’ Company whose quarrels, insults, and transgressions parallel those of the Shepherds in the pageant that they sponsored. At the time I began my research, Records of Early English Drama (REED) was in its infancy and Larry Clopper’s edition of the Chester records was five years ahead. Initially, this meant surveying antiquarian transcriptions of the records. It was here that I first came across the cantankerous painter Thomas Poole. Unfortunately, the account that most fully exposes his irascibility is not in the old or new REED: Chester, for the very good reason that only in the post-modern sense does it have anything to do with performance: Thomas Pole dyd say the laste of October att a metyying that he wolde nott come to any metying at the warnyng of anye Stuerte 62

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g [Steward] upon an others warnyng no nor with Mr Mayre nether That the same tyme he bade Thomas pentnye being stuerte that he shulde nott come in his house, for if he did [...] that that came for the one shuld smarte fo ytt Att the same tyme he sayd to our Alderman by these wordes of the name of Halwood thou lies falsleye and thou wyll prove a thousant lyes I have an [...] othe to lay againste the. At the same tyme he called the whole Company Drunken Swallyguttes.1 It seems that the Painters’ Company were as fond of the ale of Halton as the Shepherds they played. Poole’s outburst had probably been simmering for some time. A year earlier, in 1574, his child was given 4d by the company ‘bycose he pled not our god’.2 Six years before that, in 1568, he himself received 3d as compensation for being ‘bated in his parte’.3 But, I think, my favourite Chester item, for the frustration it reveals and the intrigue it conceals, occurs in the same company’s accounts for 1576–7: Robert Waytt is fyned for that he did promysse the Company that his man shuld goe vppon the Styltes vppon mydsomer eueen 1577 and keptt bothe his man and the Styltes from vs And went in to the Ile of man with them And [...] he [...] caused vs to be at xviijd. more charges vntyll we had neded xijd.4 Why Waytt reneged on his promise is not entirely clear, but his temerity in doing so was no doubt compounded by the fact that he was one of two company stewards for the year responsible for, amongst other things, the safe-keeping of the stilts.5 His ‘man’, whom he committed to stilt-walking at the Midsummer Show, was probably his apprentice or journeyman. Whatever attraction the Isle of Man might have held for Waytt, it was clearly sufficient to outweigh incurring the wrath of his guild and the penalty of a fine.6 He was possibly seduced by the offer of a stilt-walking engagement at the famous Isle of Man Midsummer Fair that formed a major part of the Tynwald Day celebrations held on Tynwald Hill in St John’s.7 The Isle of Man may have paid more for walking on stilts than the Chester Painters’ Company average of 6d, but no fee was ever likely to cover the cost of travel, accommodation, and subsistence for two abroad as well as the loss of reputation at home. It is possible that Waytt, as a glazier, secured work on the island that he opportunistically timed to coincide with the fair. Although there is no evidence of his active involvement with the Painters’ participation in the Chester Midsummer Show after his conspicuous absence in 1577, he remained a guild member and is recorded as processing with their banner on Midsummer Eve 1591.8 The registering of Waytt’s fine is not the only or, indeed, the first time that the Painters’ Company, a glazier, stilts, and the Midsummer Show come together in the Chester records. The earliest explicit reference to stilt-walking at Midsummer is in 1571 when two unnamed men were paid 12d for their 63

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g skill. The last is in 1603 when Moses Dobe received the same sum for going solo. In between these dates, Richard Dobe walked on stilts at Midsummer in 1573 accompanied by his brother Edward who also went alone in 1576, 1582, 1583, and 1594. Another member of the family, Aaron Dobe, stilt-walked in 1602. Unnamed stilt-walkers are recorded in the years 1575, 1577, and 1580. As well as fairly regular appearances in the Midsummer Show, an anonymous stilt-walker featured in the riding and reading of the Banns in 1572; a task later undertaken by Richard Dobe in 1575.9 The Painters’ Midsummer Show account for 1576–7 makes clear that the named and unnamed stilt-walkers appeared in the role and, presumably, the costume of the Shepherds from the Whitsun Play pageant with which they were associated: ‘Item to the ij shepertes for going vppon the Styltes xxd’.10 The form in which the expense is expressed is very similar to a corresponding item in the earliest surviving Painter’s account of 1567–8: Item to tow shepperttes for goyng vppon mydsomer euen x d. Item to the tow sheppertes when the [sheppertes whytsone) banes were Rydden x d.11 This suggests that stilt-walking may have figured slightly earlier in the records of the Painters, Glaziers, Embroiderers, and Stationers’ entertainments than specifically mentioned. All of the stilt-walkers named in the accounts were members of the Dobe family and it is likely that they were also some, if not all, of those unnamed. It is unfortunate that no record survives of the name of Robert Waytt’s apprentice but it is not impossible that he, too, was a Dobe, although no one of the name quite fits the dates. Enough has been written about the Dobe glazing dynasty to require only the briefest outline here.12 Edward and Richard were sons of Richard Dobe of Handbridge, a suburb of Chester. Richard senior was franchised later in life than usual in 1565/6 and died sometime around 1572. Edward appears to have been his eldest son and was made free in 1571. Richard, who was apprenticed to his father, gained his freedom in 1574.13 This makes their probable respective birth dates 1550 and 1553. Moses Dobe became a freeman in 1610/11 and was probably born in 1589 or 1590.14 If correct, these calculations mean that Edward Dobe stilt-walked between the ages of 25 and 44, Richard at 20 and 22, and Moses at the much younger age of 13 or 14. All of the Dobes mentioned were glaziers, as was Henry Dobe, active in 1533, who, in all probability, was Edward’s and Richard’s grandfather.15 Edward Dobe, in particular, was much in demand as a glazier in Chester. He worked on the windows of Holy Trinity Church, the Cathedral, and the parish church of St Oswald’s within the Cathedral, and the Cathedral Song School.16 The bulk of his work was repairing rather than making windows although he did supply new glass and on one occasion was paid to deface images in Holy Trinity according to the Queen’s instructions.17 He took his 64

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g guild membership seriously and was steward and alderman on a number of occasions.18 He died apparently intestate in 1612.19 The obvious questions that arise now are why glaziers and, it seems, only glaziers walked on stilts dressed as the Shepherds from their Whitsun Play pageant in the Midsummer Show and at the Riding of the Banns, and, as a corollary, whether the Shepherds used stilts in the performance of the pageant. The last question is the easier to answer—we simply don’t know. It is certainly not possible to be as definite as F. M. Salter who stated that ‘there would be no “goynge one the styltes” at the Whitsun plays’.20 The pageant text, as it survives, gives very little opportunity for stilt-walking but the convention of station-to-station presentation certainly does in the movement between performances. This would not necessarily be recorded in the accounts as any fee for going on the stilts could be subsumed under the general payments to those playing the Shepherds. In this respect, it is worth noting that Trowle, the youngest Shepherd, consistently received more than the others. The extra payment may be in recognition of his stilt-walking but it is as likely to recompense him for three bouts of wrestling to the one each by Hankin, Harvey, and Tudd. Whatever circumstances the differential payment may reflect, it cannot conceal the fact that if the Shepherds did not go on stilts at some stage in the Whitsun Play there would be no obvious reason for them to do so in the Midsummer Show or at the Riding of the Banns. In the context of these instances of the city’s festive culture, where guild recognition was vital, audience identification of the figures as shepherds would have been paramount. Skill in the art of spectacle was a delightful bonus. This apparent lack of a connection between glaziers, shepherds, and stilts, succinctly summarised by David [Mills] as ‘it is difficult to see why shepherds should be on stilts either in the show or the play’, may explain why so little attention has been paid to the relationship between the occupations and a particular performance practice.21 Peter Meredith, as so often, is an exception here. He has done much to identify the Chester stilt-walkers and speculate on their possible roles in the Painters’ pageant. Even he, though, concedes that, in spite of the named stilt-walkers all being glaziers, ‘their occupation has nothing to do with the plays’ and, by extension, that ‘stilt-walking may have nothing to do with the plays’.22 This leaves us with the rather disappointing conclusion that the situation is serendipitous; the Dobes, and maybe others, could, by chance, stilt-walk and their talent added to the spectacle of customary celebration as in the case of the Moko Jumbies in Trinidadian Carnival.23 The stilt-walkers simply took their place along with the fabulous creatures, morris dancers, and hobby-horses in the Midsummer Show.24 This would be more convincing were there a history of stilt-walking on similar occasions in England and Wales. There is, though, not a single other reference to stilt­walking in the REED volumes to date. Notwithstanding the inconsistent survival of accounts, this absence might suggest the existence of a special relationship between glazing and stilt-walking in Chester. 65

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g It is here that I need to make a leap in time as well as in faith. Since the 1960s, Dura-Stilts, an international company, has been making stilts for use by plasterers, dry-lining contractors, painters, decorators, electricians, and ceiling installers. Their website home page also boasts specification by leading theatre groups and street entertainers.25 It is easy to see the advantage a pair of stilts could bring to these occupations where height and movement are essential. Stilts, in the right circumstances, can offer a safer and/or cheaper alternative to ladders, trestles, and scaffolding. The Chester glaziers would obviously use scaffolding for any job in excess of ten feet and trestles for the installation of whole windows at anything below that but above head height.26 For the kind of repairs that Edward Dobe was undertaking, much of it apparently in situ, a pair of stilts would be a more flexible and less hazardous option than propping a ladder against fragile glass. It is, of course, impossible to prove that the Dobes used them in their working lives. Nonetheless, it is improbable that such use would not have occurred to them following the successful employment of stilts in play. More likely is the reverse connection where the Dobes exploited an existing occupational skill in the celebratory displays of their guild. Stilts as a glazier’s tool of trade might also explain why Robert Waytt was so keen to have them with him in the Isle of Man. The type of stilts used by the Dobes for performing, and possibly working, would have been peg stilts that strap on at the foot and the knee leaving the hands free, rather than pole stilts where the feet rest untied on struts and the hands grip the shafts. An example of peg stilts can be seen in the Luttrell Psalter left-hand marginal illumination of Vulgate Psalm 37 [PLATE 1]27 The Chester stilts were painted at least twice, in the play years 1572 and 1575, either for decoration or preservation, or both, suggesting that they were visible and not covered by costume. At the time of the Whitsun Play and Midsummer Show, the existence of an occupational link between glaziers and stilts may seem somewhat tentative, but that between shepherds and stilts is fairly conclusive. The tradition of shepherds wearing stilts to keep above marshy ground, cross streams, avoid briars, and to extend the distance at which they could see their sheep, particularly on flat ground, is best known in south-west France. The department of Landes in Gascony, bounded by the Atlantic coast to the west, the rivers Adour in the south, and Garonne in the north-east, is a region celebrated for its stilt-walking shepherds. Before forestation in the nineteenth century the area was either a waste land of heath, herbs, and brushwood or, after rain, a boggy marshland. The region lacked roads and relied heavily on the raising of sheep for a living. As an effective means of mobility in these conditions, shepherds depended on stilts. One of the earliest references to this practice survives in a letter Frederick Robinson (1746–1792) sent to his sister, Anne Robinson, from Bordeaux on 29 July 1771. At the time Robinson was Secretary to his brother, Thomas, the Ambassador to Madrid. Frederick spent a week in Bordeaux during which he made courtesy visits, swam every morning, and 66

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g travelled between nearby ports by boat. On landing, he describes the terrain as consisting of black sand, briars, and fir forests and observes that this compels the shepherds to tend their sheep using stilts to avoid the briars.28 Albert Racinet, in his classic, if idiosyncratic, Le Costume Historique, depicts a group of Landes shepherds on stilts, one of whom is also knitting (PLATE 2A).29 Many of Racinet’s illustrations were taken from contemporary photographs. The one that may have inspired his Landes shepherds’ plate survives (PLATE 2B). In both, shepherds can be seen standing on stilts that raise them about four or five feet above the ground. Their feet rest on ledges in stirrups and the stilts are strapped to their legs below the knee. The base of each stilt was often reinforced by a ferrule made of sheep’s bone. To maintain balance when stationary, long staves were used, some fixed with a narrow board for a seat. The stave also enabled wearers to rise from the ground once the stilts had been attached and to lower themselves in order to dismount.30 Although the evidence for stilt-walking in the Landes may be relatively late, there seems no reason to doubt that it was a practice in use before the eighteenth century. In the city of Namur in Belgium, records exist for stilt­walking as a response to the overflowing Sambre and Meuse rivers from as early as the beginning of the fifteenth century. Not only did the inhabitants resort to stilts to avoid the frequent flooding but the local militia also found them useful. Even after improved drainage had removed the necessity for stilts, residents from the old and new sides of the city held regular stilt-fights which are performed to this day.31 In the northern Spanish village of Anguiano stilt dancers annually celebrate the Feast of Mary Magdalene. The tradition is claimed to have been handed down from father to son for generations having originated in the practice of shepherds using stilts to overcome flooded fields.32 In England, the utilitarian value of stilts is recorded in literature from the beginning of the seventeenth century, mainly in the context of the fenlands of East Anglia. In the continuation of Poly-Olbion from the eighteenth song, published in 1622, Michael Drayton lists some of ‘the pleasures of the Fennes’: The toyling Fisher here is tewing of his Net: The Fowler is imployed his lymed twigs to set. One vnderneath his Horse, to get a shoot doth stalke; Another ouer Dykes vpon his Stilts doth walke 33 Drayton had been researching material for this work since at least 1598.34 In 1603 he had published a revised edition of Mortimeriados, first printed in 1596. At one point, this quasi-epic on the civil wars during the reign of Edward II extols the various virtues of fighting men and their weapons in the English counties. When considering the ‘Fens and Marshlands’ he notes that the ‘doubtfull foards and passages’ are best negotiated with ‘stilts and loapstaues’.35 67

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Plate 1 Youth wearing peg stilts, from the Luttrell Psalter, c. 1340. London: British Library, Additional MS 42130, fol. 70v. © British Library Board.

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Plate 2A Landes shepherds on stilts (lithograph), Albert Racinet, Le Costume historique (1876–88).

Plate 2B Photograph of Landes shepherds on stilts, late nineteenth century. From .

A seemingly closer allusion to shepherds stilt-walking is found in the unflattering description of ‘Fen-men or Fen-dwellers’ in Philemon Holland’s English translation of William Camden’s Britannia, first printed in 1610. Camden, who worked closely with Holland on the translation, considers them, ‘a kinde 69

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g of people according to the nature of the place where they dwell rude, uncivill, and envious to all others whom they call Vpland- men: who stalking on high upon stilts, apply their mindes, to grasing, fishing and fowling’.36 It is possible that Camden’s Fenland findings were acquired whilst he was researching for Britannia in Norfolk and Suffolk in 1578.37 More convincing evidence for shepherds using stilts than the literary citations is the marginal illumination illustrating Psalm 1 in the Fenland manuscript Brussels: Bibliotheque Royale MS 9961–62, fol. 14. Better known as the Peterborough Psalter, this manuscript, executed in the early fourteenth century for monastic use, is thought to owe its stylistic background to the court school of Westminster with some of the artists working in the contemporary East Anglian style. The textual and liturgical content as well as the pictorial programme was furnished by Peterborough Abbey.38 The historiated initial B that begins Psalm 1 depicts David playing the harp accompanied by two musicians. In the left­hand border (from top to bottom) David slays Goliath, a young man catches a swan, or possibly disturbs it in order to steal its eggs, and a man walks on stilts carrying a crook over his right shoulder on which is draped his cape (PLATE 3). Lucy Freeman Sandler describes the lower figure as a ‘jester on stilts’.39 Clifford Davidson follows Sandler’s identification by captioning the reproduction of the image in his book on early illustrations of the stage as a ‘fool on stilts’.40 There is, though, nothing ‘foolish’ about the appearance of this character other than his fingering of the crook as though it were a musical instrument. He does not wear the ass’ ears and coxcomb of a medieval fool nor the motley. The carrying, rather than the wearing, of his cape implies an outdoor worker having removed a layer of clothing because of warm weather.41 Moreover, although fools do appear in Psalters it is almost always as an illustration to Vulgate Psalm 52, as is the case with the Peterborough Psalter. The implement carried over the shoulder of the figure on stilts is undoubtedly a shepherd’s crook and not a ‘foolstick’ or marotte as suggested by Davidson.42 It is identical in its rather club-like shape to the crooks carried by shepherds in Annunciation scenes of contemporary manuscripts.43 The border illustration in the Peterborough Psalter is almost certainly a reference to David’s early life as a shepherd, shown in Fenland manner. Although the Fens, as an extensive area, attract most attention to stilt­ walking, it is clear that the inhospitable terrain, rather than a unique practice, is the reason. Stilts are an asset wherever the ground is marshy or boggy. It is precisely these conditions that the Welsh shepherds would have encountered as they worked their way from the Conway to the Clwyd and on to Chester through Saltney Marsh.44 The first shepherd, Hankin, acknowledges as much when he reports that: For with walkynge werye I have mee rought; besydes the suche my sheepe I sought.45 70

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Plate 3 Shepherd on stilts: decorative border illustration to Psalm I of the Peterborough Psalter, East Anglia, c.1300, Brussel: Bibliothèque royale de Belgique, MS 9961–62, fol. 14, detail. © Bibliothèque royale de Belgique.

The fact that their sheep are prone to foot-rot, a separation of the horny portions of the hoof from the sensitive underlying tissues caused by excessive moisture, confirms exposure to a marshland environment. It is entirely credible that the Welsh shepherds were renowned for entering 71

dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g the outskirts of Chester on stilts. It is also possible that the Chester glaziers used stilts in their occupation. The synergy between occupation and Whitsun Play pageant may not be as obvious as that between the Waterleaders and Drawers of Dee and their pageant of Noah’s Flood, or the Bakers and the Last Supper, but to contemporary spectators of the Midsummer Show, the Riding of the Banns, and possibly the Whitsun Play, the association of the Welsh shepherds’ tactics for navigating marshland with the working practices of the glaziers might have made perfect sense.

Notes   1 Joseph C. Bridge, ‘Items of Expenditure from the 16th Century Accounts of the Painters, Glaziers, Embroiderers, and Stationers’ Company with special reference to the “Shepherds’ Play”’, Journal of the Architectural, Archaeological and Historic Society for the County and the City of Chester and North Wales, 20 (1914), 153–91 (p. 189). The account is from the year 1575.  2 REED: Cheshire including Chester, ed. by Elizabeth Baldwin, Lawrence M. Clopper, and David Mills, 2 vols (Toronto: University of Toronto Press; London: British Library, 2007), p. 158.  3 REED: Cheshire, p. 124.  4 REED: Cheshire, p. 180.   5 BL MS Harley 2054 fol. 92. I am grateful to Peter Meredith for allowing me to use his transcript of the document relating to Aldermen and Stewards of the Painters, Glaziers, Embroiderers, and Stationers’ Company.   6 Waytt did not pay the fine directly. He got Thomas Pyllam, who owed him the same amount, to settle the debt: Bridge, ‘Expenditure’, p.173.   7 Tynwald Day was originally held on Midsummer Day. With the alteration to the calendar in the eighteenth century, the date was changed to 5 July. See R. H. Kinvig, The Isle of Man: A Social, Cultural, and Political History (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1975), pp. 72–3.  8 REED:Cheshire, p. 237.   9 The distinction between ‘reading’ and ‘riding’ the Banns is discussed in REED: Cheshire, pp. xxxiv–xxxv. The name ‘Dobe’ is variously spelled in the Painters’ accounts and elsewhere. I have used Dobe throughout to avoid confusion and in keeping with the index entry to the family in REED: Cheshire, p. 1164. 10 REED: Cheshire, p. 180. 11 REED: Cheshire, p. 124. 12 See F. M. Salter, Mediaeval Drama in Chester (New York: Russell & Russell, 1968), pp. 22, 113–114; Peter Meredith ‘“Item for a grone—iijd”—records and performance’, Records of Early English Drama: Proceedings of the First Colloquium, ed. by Joanna Dutka (Toronto: Records of Early English Drama, 1979), 26–60 (pp. 29–31); REED: Cheshire, pp. lxxx, 1016. 13 For the dates of freemanship see The Rolls of the Freemen of Chester: Part I 1392– 1700, ed. by J. H. E. Bennett, The Record Society for the Publication of Original Documents Relating to Lancashire and Cheshire, 51 (1906). In this transcription, Edward’s name is given as ‘Edmund’. This must be an error or an incorrect expansion of ‘Ed.’ as no Edmund Dobe is recorded elsewhere. There is a remote possibility that Richard Dobe was Robert Waytt’s ‘man’ who failed to go on the stilts at the Midsummer Show in 1577. Richard Dobe, apprenticed to his father, did not gain his freedom until at least two years after his father’s death. Someone must

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dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g have taken over the final years of his apprenticeship. It could have been his brother, Edward or Robert Waytt. If Richard Dobe continued to work for Waytt after his freedom, his absence from the 1577 Show might explain why he is only recorded as stilt-walking by name in 1573 and 1575; after the 1577 debacle his services may have no longer been required. 14 The birth-dates are calculated on the premise that craftsmen received their freedom after seven-year apprenticeship and their coming of age at 21. This assumption is borne out, in Chester, by the report of the examination of John Boland in 1570. He is described as being ‘of the age of thryttye yeares or there abowtes’ (REED: Cheshire, pp. 130–1). John Boland was made free in 1559/60 making him 30 or 31 in 1570. 15 Henry Dobe (Dawby) was paid 5s 4d in 1533 for glazing the Holy Trinity steeple windows: J. R. Beresford, ‘The Churchwardens’ Accounts of Holy Trinity, Chester, 1532 to 1637’ Journal of the Chester and North Wales Architectural, Archaeological and Historic Society, 38 (1951), 95–172 (p. 109). 16 For references to his employment see Beresford, ‘Churchwardens’ Accounts’ and R. V. H. Burne, Chester Cathedral: From its Founding by Henry VIII to the Accession of Queen Victoria (London: SPCK, 1958). 17 Beresford, ‘Churchwardens’ Accounts’, p. 128. 18 British Library, MS Harley 2054 fol. 92. 19 J. P. Earwaker, ‘An Index to the Wills and Inventories now preserved in the Court of Probate at Chester from AD 1545 to 1620’ in The Record Society for the Publication of Original Documents relating to Lancashire and Cheshire, 2 (1879), p. 49. 20 Salter, Mediaeval Drama in Chester, p. 126, n.19. 21 David Mills, Recycling the Cycle: The City of Chester and its Whitsun Plays (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1998), p. 91. 22 Meredith, ‘Item for a grone’, 30. 23 For a recent description and analysis of Trinidad Carnival with references to Moko Jumbies see Culture in Action—The Trinidad Experience, ed. by Milla Cozart Riggio (New York and London: Routledge, 2004). 24 For a list of the Midsummer Show creatures see REED: Cheshire, pp. 111–12. 25 See < http: / / www.dura-st ilts.co.uk > [accessed 3 July 2019]. 26 In 1562 Mr Boydle was paid to set up two boards against the windows by the font of Holy Trinity Church. This is followed in the churchwardens’ accounts by a payment to Richard Dobe (Dawby) for re-glazing broken windows: Beresford, ‘Churchwardens Accounts’, p. 124. 27 BL Additional MS 42130 fol. 70v. 28 Bedfordshire and Luton Archives and Record Service, Lucas MS L 30/ l 7/ 2/ 5. 29 Albert Racinet, Le Costume Historique, 6 vols (Paris: Librairie de Firmin-Didot, 1876–88). The illustration is also included in the re-edited and translated edition Albert Racinet, The Historical Encyclopedia of Costume, intro. by Aileen Ribeiro (London: Studio Editions, 1988), p. 301. 30 For information regarding stilt-walking shepherds in Landes see the website < http: / / lous.tchancayres.free.fr/ stilts.html > [accessed 3 July 2019] and the entry ‘Stilts’ from The Encyclopaedia Britannica: a dictionary of arts, sciences, literature and general information, 29 vols, 11th edn (New York: Encyclopaedia Britannica; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1910–11), 25, pp. 923. 31 Encyclopaedia Britannica, p. 923; see the numerous websites under ‘stilt-walkers of Namur’; see also the official site of the stilt-walkers: http://www.echasseurs.org/en/ stilts.php [accessed 3 July 2019]

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dat i n g, s ta g i n g, a n d p lay i n g 32 See < www.donquijote.org /culture / spain / fiest as/ danzadeloszancos.asp> [accessed 3 July 2019]. I am grateful to Sheila Christie and Garrett Epp for this reference. 33 Michael Drayton, The second part, or a continuance of Poly-Olbion from the eighteenth song Containing all the tracts, riuers, mountaines, and forrests: intermixed with the most remarkable stories, antiquities, wonders, rarities, pleasures, and commodities of the east, and northerne parts of this isle, lying betwixt the two famous riuers of Thames, and Tweed (London: Augustine Mathewes for John Marriott, John Grismand, and Thomas Dewe, 1622), song 25; STC 7229. 34 See the entry for Drayton in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography: From The Earliest Time to the Year 2000, ed. by H. C. G. Matthew and Brian Harrison, 61 vols (Oxford University Press, 2004), or online. 35 Michael Drayton, The barrons wars in the raigne of Edward the second. With Englands heroicall epistles (London: James Roberts for N.[icholas] Ling, 1603) verse 43; STC 7189. 36 William Camden, Britain, or A chorograpicall account of the most flourishing kingdomes England, Scotland, and Ireland, and ilands adjoining, out of the depth of antiquitie, trans. by Philemon Holland (London: George Bishop and John Norton, 1610), p. 491; STC 4509. 37 See the entry for William Camden in the ODNB. 38 Lucy Freeman Sandler, The Peterborough Psalter in Brussels and other Fenland Manuscripts (London : Harvey Miller, 1974), p. 134. 39 Sandler, Peterborough Psalter, p. 145. 40 Clifford Davidson, Illustrations of the Stage and Acting in England to 1580 (Kalamazoo MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 1991), p. 69. 41 Generally speaking there was no difference between summer and winter workers’ clothing. In warm weather layers were removed and replaced in cold. See Françoise Piponnier and Perrine Mane, Dress in the Middle Ages, trans. by Caroline Beamish (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1997), p. 44. 42 Davidson, Illustrations of the Stage, p. 68. For a recent discussion of fools in religious manuscripts see Sandra Pietrini ‘Medieval Fools in Biblical Iconography’, Medieval English Theatre, 24 (2002), 79–103. 43 Perhaps the most convincing example is the historiated initial of the ‘Annunciation to the Shepherds’ in the Graduel de Fontevraud (Gradual of Eleanor of Brittany) executed in Limoges in the second half of the thirteenth century: Limoges, Bib. mun. MS 2, fol. 1v 9, In this example the shepherd also carries his crook over his right shoulder. The image can be seen at < http :/ / www.moyenageen lumiere.com/ image/ index.cfm ?id =596 > [accessed 3 July 2019] under ‘Annonce aux bergers’. 44 The Chester Mystery Cycle, edited R. M. Lumiansky and David Mills, Early English Text Society, SS3 (1974), p. 125, line 5. 45 Chester Mystery Cycle, p. 125, lines 9–10. The word suche here means ‘a boggy or swampy place’. See OED sv sough n 2 1.

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Who, where, when, and why

Part II WHO, WHERE, WHEN, AND WHY: NON-CYCLE AND SINGLE EPISODE PLAYS IN PERFORMANCE

6 MARGINAL STAGING MARKS IN THE MACRO MANUSCRIPT OF WISDOM From: Medieval English Theatre, 7.2 (1985)

In 1981 the Medieval English Theatre meeting held at Westfield College was ‘concerned with what manuscripts could tell us about theatre through stage directions’. I seem to recall that it told us quite a lot but that there was some uncertainty as to precisely what. David Mills wisely published his contribution on Chester soon after the meeting whilst some of us took the editorial invitation to ‘take some time to assimilate fully’ the material before the publication of a separate book on the subject rather more liberally. During my own period of assimilation, which continues apace, I was struck by a second order of stage directions which was not, as far as I remember, raised at the meeting but which might usefully be considered, at least by those of us whose period of assimilation is as yet incomplete. Most of us with experience of directing will be aware that the production text of any play is a far more interesting and informative document than the virgin text unblemished by the doodles, underlinings and hieroglyphics that record entrances, exits, movement, gestures, silence, sound and so forth. Rarely, at least in my case, are these notations consistent or uniform, and even in the knowledge that my text should be interleaved with blank paper and neatly divided into stage system columns I still indicate music with ‘M’or red underlining or in moments of clarity with the word ‘music’. Possessed with the code to unlock the practical reality of these markings it would be possible to learn a great deal more about a particular production, in so far as what was actually done, than from the written stage directions which are an indication of what the playwright thought should be done. However, even when the code is deciphered the message may still require interpretation and a lack of consistency in the notation can be a most efficient means of concealing a system. The late-fifteenth century morality Wisdom is particularly noted for its stage directions which give the most detailed descriptions of costume in medieval English drama. If this information is excluded the stage directions serve the more familiar function of indicating some entrances and exits, music and 77

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y song, and in a limited way action not immediately apparent from the text. The Macro manuscript of the play is also well-known for its quite considerable marginal notation which ranges through protestations of ownership, drawings of dragons and men, ballad fragments, ciphers and ‘kis min arcs knave’ written backwards, none of which seem to be theatrically motivated. Less amusing but perhaps more significant are the number of crosses placed, usually in the left-hand margin, against the text. Although impossible to date accurately they appear to be in a hand later than the original scribe pointing to a post-copying purpose. Furthermore, their distribution—almost half coinciding with stage directions—suggests that they probably represent a means of notating certain points of production and should thus be viewed as postscriptive indications of stage action distinct from the prescriptive stage directions to which some of them are related. If this is the case then notwithstanding their apparently inconsistent employment the positioning of these crosses may throw some light on those moments of staging considered significant by whoever was responsible for seeing the text in to performance, in addition to those formally recognized by the playwright. The crosses (catalogued by folio number/line number/stage direction and left-or right-hand margin indication) are to be found in the following places: 105/324sd/1; 105v/357/1; 106/380sd/1; 108/487/r; 108/500/1; 108v/507/1; 108v/516/1; 109/524/r; 109v/550sd/1; 110v/620sd/1; 111v/666/1; 112/685/1; 112/692/l; 112v/699/r; 112v/717/l; 112v721/l; 113/724sd/l; 113v/752sd/l; 113v/757/l; 113v/767/l; 114/776sd/l; 114 /800/l; 115v/868/l; 115v/873/l; 116/902sd/l; 116/912sd/r; 119/1064sd/l. Of the 27 crosses by far the largest proportion (eleven) are placed against stage directions, presumably functioning as a means of drawing immediate attention to those places in the text where some change in the stage action is required. The need for marking in such apparently obvious places may be explained by the fact that in the Macro manuscript of Wisdom the stage directions are not rubricated and although in common with each speech they are lineated they tend, at first glance, to merge with the spoken text. This does not though explain why the remaining five stage directions in the manuscript seem not to require similar treatment. Three of them represent the earliest directions at lines 1, 16 and 164 and may simply be explained by the system just not having been thought of, or not thought necessary, until approximately a third of the way through the play. There is perhaps an initial and natural reluctance to mark any text when it is comparatively new and unused. Even this somewhat light­weight theory will not hold for the other two unmarked directions at lines 978 and 996. All that can be offered in terms of explanation here is that these two directions fall within a gap of 152 lines between marginal 78

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y marks—the largest interval with the exception of the opening third of the play. However, speculation on positive reasons for omission presupposes some consistent policy which in the context of an informal aid to production is probably inappropriate. The only conclusion which can safely be drawn is that almost half of the marginal crosses are placed against two­thirds of the stage directions. Proportionally this is sufficiently strong evidence to suggest that if the markings do have a common purpose then it is in some way related to stage action and movement. This proposition is supported by the crosses at lines 516 and 873. In the case of the former it appears in the left-hand margin against a speech of Will: And I in lustys of lechery, As was sumtyme gyse of frawnce wyth wy wyppe ffarwell quod I þe dewyll ys wppe This clearly represents a speech of departure for Will, and with him Mind and Understanding, leaving the stage free for Lucifer to disclose his evil ends and means for man’s soul. Indeed, the Digby manuscript of the play confirms this exit with the marginal stage direction Exiant added in a slightly later hand. Similarly, after line 873 the cross seems to indicate the re-entrance of Wisdom, unacknowledged in the text other than by the speech heading, with the thunderous command: O thu mynde remembyr the Turne þi weys þou gost a myse which prevents the three powers of the Soul leaving for their (off-stage) conciliatory meal. Interestingly, five lines before the reappearance of Wisdom is another cross against Will’s line, ‘Now go we to þe wyne’ (line 868). The movement suggested by this line is clearly intended to increase the dramatic effect of Wisdom halting the stage action of their departure rather than having the character-weakening alternative of Wisdom merely entering their established space. The playwright recognises this in the stage direction implicit in Will’s line whilst the person responsible for the production to which these crosses relate chose to note the move more explicitly. A comparable function may be served by the cross against line 767 where Mind’s solution to the degeneration of the relationship between the powers of the Soul, exacerbated by the three dances, is to, ‘hurle hens thes harlottys here gyse ys of france’. They in fact do not depart until line 776 with the stage direction Exient also marked by a cross. The content of the nine lines between these two crosses leaves no doubt that at this point the action reflects the quality of relationship and involves the perpetration of violence between Mind, Will and Understanding witnessed by the ‘harlottys’. There is no stage 79

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y direction of the ‘here they fight’ category and in many respects the text makes the use of such a direction redundant but the sudden change in action and stage picture required in production is recorded in the margin. There are six other crosses which seem to indicate some change in the stage picture as a consequence of movement or action in production but which may have been insufficiently significant in the writing to justify a formal stage direction. At line 356 for example Lucifer declaims: In þe soule ben iij partyes I wys Mynde. wyll. wndyrstondynge of blys ffygure of þe godhede I know well thys which seems to parody Wisdom’s speech beginning at line 277: lo thes iij myghtys in on soule be Mynde wyll & wndyrstondynge. There are good theatrical reasons for supposing that Lucifer not only impersonates Wisdom’s voice for these lines, reverting to his own speech for the dismissive ‘I know well thys’, but also adopts the physical demeanour and possibly even the stage location used by Wisdom when delivering his lines. Vocal and physical action of this kind, whilst implicit in the text, is not normally formalised in stage directions. The next example, at line 507, may represent the type of movement that develops through rehearsal rather than being part of authorial intention. The powers of the Soul, having succumbed to Lucifer’s view of the world, are describing the unpleasantness which may befall them should they fail to measure up to the worldly pleasures on offer. Understanding opts for, ‘And yff I care cache I þe gowte’; an invitation to appropriate mimetic action unlikely to have been ignored by any actor. The remaining four crosses in this category are related to the dance sequences. At line 685 Mind’s statement, ‘Now wyll we thre do make a dance’, heralds a change in the action from relatively static debate to dance movement, a transformation possibly reflected at this point in an alteration of the stage picture consisting perhaps of some brief dance steps undertaken by Mind, Will and Understanding. Indeed, such movement might follow naturally if Understanding’s image of conspiracy two lines earlier, ‘So we thre be now in hande’ is also manifested visually. In a similar way the lines: ‘And þe deule hade swore yt þey wolde ber wp falsnes / And maynten yt At þe best þis is þe deullys dance’ (699–700), ‘now wyll I than be gyn my traces’ (717) and ‘The quest of holborn cum in to þis placys’ (721) sound like verbal introductions to imminent changes in movement. There can be less certainty about the purpose of crossing the six lines which remain to be discussed. Will’s boast that, 80

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y Wen I com lat to þe cyte I walke all lanys & weys to myn affynyte & I spede not þer to þe stews I resort (798–800) might be accompanied by a walk designed to visually reinforce the speech and alter the grouping of the three powers of the Soul.Will’s introduction of ‘yowr mynstrell a horne pype mete’ (757) may involve the taking up of position by the musician or indicate the point where he begins to play three lines before the commencement of the dance. There seems little point in speculating on what action might be indicated by the cross against line 666 where Understanding observes, ‘Wo wyll haue law must haue monye’, although gestures in the direction of the audience do suggest themselves. The right-hand margin cross at line 487 and the bracketing of the four speeches which follow seem not to have an immediately obvious theatrical association. More damaging to the hypothesis of production marks are the double crosses at lines 500 and 524. In the latter example the crosses, in the right-hand margin, may relate to the underlining and possible querying of ‘a rome’ in Lucifer’s line, ‘Grace ys owt & put a rome’ though quite why it should be singled out for particular attention escapes me. The case of the other two crosses encourages a quite different explanation for the existence of these marks than that proposed so far. Although Lucifer’s line, ‘A ser all mery þan a wey care’ might promote some stage movement that acknowledges physically the point at which Mind, Will and Understanding finally and totally acquiesce to Lucifer’s argument, it may be more significant that comparison with the corresponding line in Digby, ‘a ha sere all mery than and a wey care’, reveals two points of variation in the vocabulary. It is possible that these variant readings are recorded in the margin by the two crosses and that all these marginal marks represent an early attempt to compare the Macro and Digby manuscript versions of Wisdom. If this were the explanation it must have occurred before the loss of the latter part of the Digby play as the crosses in the Macro manuscript continue beyond line 752. It is true that a number of the crosses are positioned against lines which are at variance to some degree with the Digby readings. However, there are also lines crossed with readings so similar that such rigorous application of this principle would, if consistent, demand the crossing of almost the entire text. Conversely there are variant readings of the order of line 500 which are not marginally noted at all. Furthermore, a checking device of this nature would not explain the preponderance of marks against stage directions—they are neither more nor less at variance than the speeches. It would also be a remarkable coincidence that three-quarters of the lines singled out for attention as variant readings happened to involve moments of movement or stage action. It is perhaps the case that those few instances where attention to variation in reading seems more plausible than references to staging are simply more difficult to interpret as theatrical moments. 81

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y The balance of evidence seems then to favour the crosses recording fairly significant changes in the stage picture; major instances being anticipated by the playwright in stage directions and others becoming apparent in the process of production. The pageantic and masque-like qualities of Wisdom are well-known and the experience of production (Winchester Cathedral 1981) confirms that the play demands a very formal theatrical style with tableaux linked by processions, controlled entrances and exits and precise changes in overall stage picture in contrast, say, to the fluidity of movement associated with some other morality plays. That the manuscript bears evidence of having been a working text which takes account of such moments is perhaps no surprise. More surprising though no less comforting is the evidence that development in production-text notation over the last five hundred years has been only marginal.

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7 ‘HER VIRGYNES, AS MANY AS A MAN WYLLE’: DANCE AND PROVENANCE IN THREE LATE MEDIEVAL PLAYS; WISDOM/THE KILLING OF THE CHILDREN/THE CONVERSION OF ST PAUL From: Leeds Studies in English, n.s. 25 (1994)

In a paper presented at the Wisdom Symposium in 1984, Alexandra Johnston suggested that it was possible, ‘to make an educated guess about the original audience of a morality from the social status of the protagonist’.1 Whatever the merit of the suggestion, as a line of inquiry it reveals as much about the lack of evidence available in the area of morality-play provenance as it does about the concern a playwright may have shown for protagonist/audience correspondence. Nevertheless, as long as a desire for knowledge about the origins and authorship of medieval plays exists, no matter how critically unfashionable, researchers will depend, to varying degrees, upon just this kind of textual inference. Apart from the obvious ones of local reference, language, scribal identity and manuscript attribution, other useful indicators of this type include the minimum number of players needed for the performance, the range and nature of the theatrical devices employed, the type of staging required or implied, the likely time of year of performance, and whether indoor or outside production is best suited to the needs of the play and the occasion. The interpretation of these indicators, in conjunction with the increasing volume of evidence from the Records of Early English Drama (REED) projects, probably represents the best chance of determining the provenance of those plays that otherwise resolutely refuse to give up their origins. This is particularly so of that group of plays that comprise the Macro and Digby collections. That these plays are East Midland in dialect is beyond doubt, but who, where, and under what circumstances they were performed is much less certain. In spite of some recent rigorously argued claims for 83

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y patronage, to be discussed below, the absence of scholarly consensus is in itself, perhaps, an indication that the relative lack of hard evidence about these plays forces a degree of speculation that makes almost anything seem possible. In these circumstances, it seems useful to draw attention to another potential indicator of a play’s auspices that has received much less notice than those listed. Of the six different plays that make up the Macro and Digby manuscripts only the earliest, The Castle of Perseverance, does not include dancing of some kind. This, in itself, is quite an extraordinary statistic that suggests, unless this represents simply a coincidence of survival, that dance may have figured more prominently in some kinds of medieval drama than has previously been thought. Given the centrality of dance, to all levels of medieval society, as a form of religious worship and social recreation, it would, perhaps, be surprising if it did not frequently appear in the drama of the period as visual entertainment and an effective means of representing states from spiritual joy to worldly excess. The dances in Mankind and Mary Magdalen are of the latter type, and are performed by named characters from within the plays. In Mankind, ‘Her they daunce’ (81) directs Newguise, Nowadays and Nought to dance in front of, or more probably around, the still figure of Mercy, in an attempt to destroy his spiritual control. In Mary Magdalen, a gallant (Curiosity), leading Mary astray, asks her, ‘But wol yow dawns, my own dere?’ (530), to which she assents. In both cases, the dance is an entertaining and effective means of developing character and of furthering the plot, but is of little help in determining auspices. More helpful, in this respect, are the dances in the three remaining plays which, although of different types, have in common performance by dancers in groups, rather than by individual characters. Not only do the dances vary in type they also seem to differ in status, ranging from the structurally integrated dances of Wisdom, through the addition of dancing to the original role of singing in Candlemas Day and the Killing of the Children, to the use of dance as a further attraction or substitute for processional staging in The Conversion of St Paul.2 The three dances in Wisdom are the most elaborate examples surviving in a medieval English play text, and yet until two productions in the 1980s demonstrated how crucial they are to the play’s structure and aesthetic they had received very little critical attention.3 In the form of a masque, or more accurately at the time ‘a disguising’, the dances portray, more effectively than words, the depths of worldly corruption to which the three powers of the Soul, Mind, Will and Understanding, fall. Having agreed amongst themselves that maintenance, perjury and lechery were never more prevalent in the land than now, they consent to display their own debased conditions in the form of a dance: Mynde: Now wyll we thre do make a dance Off thow that longe to owr retenance. (685–86) 84

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y Mind is the first to call on his retainers, whose appearance is described in a stage direction: Here enter six dysgysyde in the sute of Mynde, wyth rede berdys, and lyouns rampaunt on here crestys, and yche a warder in hys hande; her mynstrallys, trumpes. Eche answere for hys name, (692) It would seem from his speech that Mind joins in with this dance as he announces, ‘And the sevente am I, Mayntennance’ (696). This would suggest that the dance was, probably, a ronde or early type of branle since a dance based on sideways movement, with the dancers usually holding hands or linking fingers to form a chain or circle, would allow for an uneven number of all male dancers in a configuration particularly suited to being watched.4 The fact that the dancers each carried a ‘warder’ might suggest that it was these batons which linked the dancers.5 Presumably Mind, as Maintenance, did not have a warder himself. His status, in relation to his retinue, might render it inappropriate, and in practice it would not have been necessary, as seven men dancing in a line need only six warders to connect them. Such an arrangement presents the possibility that the warders were used in a way similar to that of the sword dance ceremony. The fact that evidence in this country for these dances is later than the play and limited to north-eastern England might make this seem doubtful, but it is worth noting that one of the characteristics of the sword dance is the calling-on song in which the characters of the dance are introduced in a manner not unlike that used by Mind in Wisdom.6 Furthermore, in drawing attention to the appropriateness of trumpeters to accompany his dance, Mind makes an interesting military connection: Off batell also yt ys on instrumente, Yevynge comfort to fyght. Therfor they be expedyente To thes meny of meyntement. (703–06) Although the sword dance ceremonies occasionally involve an element of hero combat, they are not, essentially, about fighting as such, and, except possibly at an allegorical level, nor is Mind’s ‘Deullys dance’. Nevertheless, the playwright considered the possession of a ‘warder’ sufficiently important for each dancer that he recorded it in the stage direction. Whatever his intentions may have been, such formality implies a function more spectacular than that of merely signifying character. Following Mind’s dance, Understanding introduces his dancers, whose entrance and appearance are similarly recorded in a stage direction:

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y Here entrethe six jorours in a sute, gownyde, wyth hodys abowt her nekys, hattys of meyntenance thervpon, vyseryde dyuersly; here mynstrell, a bagpype. (724) A line dance of the type led by Mind would be appropriate here, too, since Understanding appears to join, or lead, the dance as, ‘Perjury, yowr fownder’ (733), making for an uneven number of dancers. A dance of this kind would also maximize the dramatic effect of the two-faced masks worn by the jurors. Two, slightly different, effects are possible, depending upon the position of the faces. If, for example, ‘vyseryde dyuersly’ in the stage direction, and the reference by Understanding to, ‘Jorowrs in on hoode beer to facys’ (718) means a Janus-like mask, with a face at the front and one at the back, then a line dance provides an opportunity to establish one face before turning to reveal the other in a highly effective visualization of, ‘Fayer speche and falsehede in on space ys’ (719). Although physically not difficult to achieve, the success of this effect relies upon an element of audience surprise that is, somewhat, forestalled by Understanding drawing attention to the two faces of fair and false speech shortly before the dancers enter. There is also a practical problem in this arrangement with the other items of costume noted in the stage direction. The ‘hodys abowt her nekys, hattys of meyntenance thervpon’ would spoil the effect of a front and back differentiated only by the mask as it would be obvious to the audience which way the dancers were facing. An interesting effect could still be achieved by turning to show the backward looking face of falsehood, but the inclusion of the hoods and hats might suggest that the two faces were positioned side by side, facing forward.7 In either case, a branle seems a likely dance form for a visual spectacle where it is, perhaps, more fitting for the dancers to face the audience than each other. In so far as the third dance provides some of the only evidence for women performing on the medieval English stage it is, perhaps, the most interesting of them all. Will, whose dance it is, describes it as, ‘a sprynge of Lechery’ (747), and details of the costume are given in a stage direction; Here entreth six women in sut, thre dysgysyde as galontys and thre as matrones, wyth wondyrfull vysurs congruent;8 here mynstrell, a hornepype (752). There are some puzzling aspects to this stage direction, and the dance to which it refers, that it will be useful to explore, as well as considering the type of dance that may have been performed. On the face of it, the direction is straight forward; six women dance together, three costumed and masked as fashionable young men, and three dressed as matrons.9 Gallants, of the finely attired, lady’s man variety, seem entirely appropriate to a dance of lechery, but ‘matrones’ do not readily spring to mind as partners in their debauchery. The most common use of the word ‘matron’ combines married status with a 86

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y sense of moral or social dignity. More specifically, it can refer to women with an expert knowledge in matters of childbirth, which is unlikely to have been the kind of expertise that the gallants were interested in.10 Neither sense fits the nature of the dance exactly and unless ‘matron’ has another meaning, now lost, it seems most likely that the word is intended, here, to identify three of the dancers as married women, rather than maidens. In the light of the vice that their dance represents, these ‘matrones’ should, probably, be seen in the same tradition as the adulterous wives of fabliaux and folk-tales. The gallants and matrons are given names by Will, as Mind and Understanding had done for their dancers, but it is not immediately clear how they are attributed: Cum slepers, Rekleshede and Idyllnes, All in all, Surfet and Gredynes, For the flesche, Spousebreche and Mastres, Wyth jentyll Fornycacyon. (753–56) Eccles, the editor of the Macro text, in a note on the names, suggests that the three gallants are, ‘Rekleshede’, ‘Idyllnes’ and ‘Surfet and Gredynes’. The latter being a double name for the single character that seems to be implied by the preface, ‘all in all’. The matrons take the roles of, ‘Spousebreche’, ‘Mastres’ and ‘Fornycacyon’. Eccles claims that Will does not give himself a new name, as Mind and Understanding did, although he calls his dance, ‘a sprynge of Lechery’.11 One might argue that ‘Lechery’ is indeed his new name, but in the context of the speech in which it occurs, it makes more sense as a reference to the subject matter of the dance than to the name of the character under whose auspices it is performed. The position of the speech before the entrance of Will’s dancers is also out of keeping with the point at which Mind and Understanding change their names. For both characters, this happens after they have called on stage, by name and in pairs, their respective dancers. These speeches of introduction follow such a similar pattern that if Will does have a new name it is likely to be found in a corresponding position. As Eccles discovered, his distribution of names amongst the dancers leaves nothing in the speech for Will. However, his reading of the situation is not the only one possible. The assumption that Will introduces the gallants as a group of three, who are then followed on by the matrons, need not necessarily be correct. It seems more appropriate in a visual representation of lechery for the gallants and the matrons to be partners, and introduced by Will in their pairs. It is also possible that, ‘Surfet and Gredynes’ is not a single character but the names of two dancers. If these two were paired, the tag, ‘all in all’ could have the meaning ‘all together’, in the sense of both entering at once, rather than ‘all in one’ from which a combined character could be inferred.12 On this basis, the gallants would take the roles of, ‘Rekleshede’, ‘Surfet’ and ‘Spousebreche’, and be partnered by the matrons as, ‘Idyllnes’, ‘Gredynes’ and ‘Mastres’. 87

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y These couples would then be the, ‘thre fortherers of loue’ (759) referred to by Will later in his speech. Not only does this reattribution of names make more sense of the relationship between the dancers but also it leaves the name, ‘Fornycacyon’ to be adopted by Will as his, entirely appropriate, new identity.13 Although Will has a new name, like Mind and Understanding, he does not seem to take part in his dance, as they appear to have done in theirs. Mind’s participation seems fairly clear from the way in which he counts himself in with the dancers that he has just introduced; ‘And the sevente am I, Mayntennance/ Seven ys a numbyr of dyscorde and inperfyghtnes’ (696–97). Understanding also leaves little doubt about his inclusion in the dance when he says, ‘They daunce all the lande hydyr and thedyr,/And I, Perjury, yowr fownder./Now dance on, ws all! The worlde doth on ws wondyr’ (732–34). Will, on the other hand, says nothing that might suggest he was similarly involved. On the contrary, he seems to confirm his non-participation by drawing attention to the exclusively female membership of his dance; ‘Thys dance of this damesellys ys thorow this regyn’ (760). The reasons for him not dancing are probably quite simple. The dances of Mind and Understanding represent essentially political vices where the element of organized conspiracy is aptly expressed in a group dance. If, as suggested, both were a type of line dance, like the branle, then it is fitting for Mind and Understanding to join in on the grounds of content and form alike. The situation is quite different for Will’s dance. The vice his dancers portray could have a group dimension, but it seems more logical for it to be expressed in terms of male/female coupling. In such circumstances, Will, or ‘Fornycacyon’, would be something of a gooseberry in the dance. Beyond dancing as three couples, it is difficult to be certain about the type of dance the ‘fortherers of loue’ may have performed, but a possibility is that it, at least, began as a basse dance.14 This popular but rather sedate dance was considered by Arbeau, a sixteenth-century French dancing master, to be particularly favoured by wise and dignified matrons for being full of virtue and decorum.15 It is also the type of dance, in its Spanish guise, that Cornelius presents as part of his wooing of Lucres in Fulgens and Lucres, a play almost contemporary with Wisdom.16 Of possibly greater significance, in the context of Will’s dance of lechery, is the late medieval association of the basse dance with Mary Magdalene. Drawing upon pictorial, musical and dramatic sources, Colin Slim has made a case for this being the dance that Magdalene and the gallant performed to convey delight in worldly pleasure.17 As a dance of gliding advances and retreats, the basse dance may not perfectly fit the description of ‘a sprynge of Lechery’, which seems to imply more in the way of leaping. Nonetheless, there is something to be said for beginning the dance in a manner that the audience would recognize as a serene symbol of courtship that develops, physically and metaphorically, into something more base.18 Apart from being a dance for couples, the other reason why Will probably does not dance has to do with the sex of the dancers. Although not stated 88

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y as such, the first two groups are, presumably, all male dancers as befits their characterization and costume and, therefore, present no difficulty in being joined by Mind and Understanding. The gallants and matrons, though, are specifically mentioned as being played by women. This may be because the type of dance was better suited to female performance, or because it was thought improper to have lechery performed by a mixed group, even though both sexes are portrayed in the dance. For whatever reason, the separation of the sexes in this way suggests that it might have been considered inappropriate for Will, as a man, to dance with a group of women. Perhaps the choice of women, rather than men, to perform the dance was influenced by a sense of moral propriety but whatever the motive, the identification in the stage direction of the dancers as women is explicit. This is not a view accepted by all critics of the play, however. Suzanne Westfall, in her study of Tudor patronage, is only the most recent of scholars to suggest that the dances were performed by boys.19 She believes them to have been members of a household Chapel, but more often the case for boys derives from the attempt to see Wisdom as a professional play. David Bevington was perhaps the first person to propose such auspices, but it is a position that has been maintained by Donald Baker, the most recent editor of the play.20 Their motive for replacing the women with a small group of boys, who perform all the dances as well as the Five Wits and the seven devils, is to reduce the human staging requirement of the play to a manageable size for touring. This overlooks the stage direction which, in stating, ‘Here entreth six women in sut’, is identifying the sex of the dancers and not that of the characters they play, which is conveyed by the division into ‘galontys’ and ‘matrones’. For Bevington and Baker to be right, the stage direction, carried out to the letter, would have created an unnecessary confusion, involving three of the boys in a simultaneous double disguise of women dressed as gallants. There is no evidence in the text to support the case for boys, or the idea that all the dances were performed by the same group of six. If anything, the text confirms that each dance had its own group of dancers. Only two eight-line stanzas separate the finish of one dance from the entrance of the next. Apart from raising a question of the dancers’ stamina, this hardly seems sufficient time in which to effect the changes in costume that would be required of a single group. It is also worth pointing out that the only reference in the text to the dancers’ exit comes after the third and final dance, where a stage direction and Will’s instruction to leave may be directed at all dancers, rather than his alone: Dompe deuys, can ye not dare? I tell yow, outwarde, on and tweyn! Exient (775–76) A single group of dancers would have made two earlier exits before this final departure. The text gives no indication of this happening. There is no reason 89

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y why the playwright should have obscured the number and nature of the dancers when writing the stage directions which, taken at face value, account for eighteen dancers, in addition to Mind and Understanding, made up of twelve men and six women. In order to consider how this number and distribution of dancers may help in determining the provenance of Wisdom, it is necessary to see them in the context of the other casting requirements of the play. Disregarding the possibility of doubling, for which it has to be said there is very little evidence, the play requires six actors for the speaking parts (four of whom, Anima, Mind, Will and Understanding, also sing), five singers (the Five Wits of the Soul), seven small boys21 (the devils who run out from under the mantle of the Soul, one of whom probably acted as the ‘schrewde boy’ taken out of the audience by Lucifer) and at least four minstrels (two or more trumpets, bagpipe and hornpipe). With the dancers, this amounts to the active involvement of forty people, made up of men, women and children. A cast of this size, for a play that lasts little over an hour, suggests a major artistic undertaking for a special occasion. It would also seem, logistically, to discount the theory of professional performance, at least in terms of a travelling production. Interestingly though, both manuscripts of Wisdom indicate that cuts could be made to the text that would have the effect of reducing the numbers involved. This could be seen as a way of creating a touring version of the play, adapted to the size of a professional company. Alternatively, the cuts could simply register an awareness that performance of Wisdom was still viable with only limited human resources. This would be useful information for any group borrowing the manuscript in anticipation of performance, especially a group without the same access to dancers, musicians and singers as the original production. Both manuscripts indicate that the dances, and their accompanying speeches, could be left out by noting ‘Va’ in a contemporary hand in the left margin against line 685 where Mind announces, ‘Now wyll we thre do make a dance’ and ‘cat’, in the Macro text, after line 784 which concludes the business with the dances; the Digby text does not reach this point. Moreover, the Macro text appears to indicate that the Five Wits, who sing and process, could also be omitted. After the stage direction which marks their first entrance (166) a hand, other than that of the main scribe, has written, ‘va va va’, seemingly implying its deletion.22 The Wits exit stage direction (324) is not annotated in any way, and nor is their re-entrance with Anima towards the end of the play (1064). This may have been deliberate in order not to confuse the omission of the Five Wits with the speeches between the stage directions, or the necessary re-appearance of other characters. On the other hand, it may be nothing more than inconsistent notation. It is probably safer not to draw too firm conclusions from the evidence but to note the possibility that the annotation records an occasion when the Five Wits were not played. If this had coincided with the omission of the dancers the play would have been reduced to six speaking parts and seven mute devils. 90

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y Whatever the circumstances of subsequent performances, the original production seems to have required an impressive cast of actors, singers, dancers, musicians and small boys. This extraordinary list has, in part, been responsible for Wisdom being identified with just about every kind of group and institution known to have promoted drama (and some that are not) during the late middle ages. Mark Eccles, in his introduction to the Macro text, gives a useful summary of these, which is updated by Baker, Murphy and Hall in their edition of the Digby play.23 Since the publication of these volumes, there have been two further attempts to determine the auspices of Wisdom. Gail McMurray Gibson has argued for an original performance in the monastery of Bury St Edmunds from the evidence of manuscript ownership and the abbey’s power to influence all aspects of spiritual and temporal life in the monastic borough town.24 Suzanne Westfall, on the other hand, sees the aesthetics of noble household performance in the staging requirements of Wisdom, that could adequately be met by the various members of a Chapel.25 Both cases are strongly made but are not without problems. Probably most damning in the instance of monastic auspices is the sheer lack of evidence. Very few records of dramatic activity survive from the abbey at Bury St Edmunds. In those that do, mention is only made of payments towards the local Boy Bishop ceremony and to the receiving of minstrels and players.26 Indeed, taking the, albeit, limited and fragmentary evidence of monastic houses in England as a whole, there is no indisputable proof of them generating, rather than receiving, theatrical performances.27 In addition to the lack of evidence, there are other reasons that make the case for the monastery at Bury St Edmunds less than entirely convincing. Part of the justification for identifying the Trinity College, Hartford production of Wisdom in 1984 with monastic auspices was the textual evidence of the, ‘contemplative theme and the characterization of the Mights as cloistered monks’.28 The evidence, in the text, for the latter may not be as unequivocal as the statement suggests but even if it were, a play about miscreant monks, even ultimately reformed ones, seems an odd choice of material for monastic entertainment, especially in the circumstances, as further defined by the production, of presentation before the monarch. It may also be significant that, whilst the abbey was rightly renowned for the extent and quality of its library, it was not known as a lavish patron of the arts.29 In the absence of firm evidence, it is impossible to say whether the abbey at Bury St Edmunds had either the will or the artistic experience to patronize a production of Wisdom. In the context of the dances, though, I wonder whether a monastery, even with the resources and influence of the house at Bury St Edmunds, would be the most likely patron of a play that, in its first performance at least, specifically placed the participation of women on the list of staging requirements. The argument for a household Chapel performance of Wisdom is rather more persuasive. Suzanne Westfall describes the Chapel as, ‘a performing coterie’ during the early Tudor period, involved in staging sacred and secular 91

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y plays as well as musical entertainments that incorporated disguisings.30 Not only, in her view, does the musical and rhetorical training of the Chapel make them suitable candidates for performing a play like Wisdom but also their number and division into men and boys means that they can cope with the distribution of speaking and singing roles. The number of men and boys in a Chapel inevitably varied between households, but the Duke of Norfolk’s Chapel in the late fifteenth century, for example, comprised seven adults and between five and seven children.31 Although there is no actual evidence to connect Norfolk with Wisdom, it will be clear that these numbers closely correspond to the six adult speaking characters and the five parts for children, described as virgins, who sing as the Wits of the Soul.32 A noble household would also be able to provide the minstrels required to accompany the dances. Westfall compiles a great deal of persuasive evidence for Chapel involvement in a range of religious and secular entertainments during the Tudor period, but her attempt to demonstrate the self-sufficiency with which a Chapel could accommodate Wisdom causes her to miss an opportunity to further her claim in respect of the dances. Westfall believes that the Chapel boys who sang as the Five Wits also doubled as the dancers, but a household performance could provide other candidates for the dancing. In some late fifteenth-century examples of court entertainments which involved Chapel performance, the guests and retainers of the noble host participated in allegorical dances as a finale to the festivities.33 Wisdom, although bearing little resemblance to these secular entertainments, could possibly have presented a similar opportunity for participation in its three dances to the members and guests of a noble household. In many ways the fit between the staging requirements of Wisdom and the facilities of a noble household seems too good to be true. However, it is important to enter a caveat or two. The primary role of the Chapel was singing, not acting - it is not until the beginning of the sixteenth century that records refer to even the Chapel Royal Gentlemen as players - and Wisdom, although it requires some singing, is above everything else a play. If the play had been written for Chapel Gentlemen one might have expected rather more opportunity for them to demonstrate their choral skills. An alternative arrangement, alluded to by Westfall, involves the employment of household players in the speaking roles.34 On the grounds of numbers alone, this would seem to disqualify Wisdom from household auspices in that the play requires six actors, and very few household companies, including the King’s, employed anything like that number.35 As there are logistic reasons for being cautious about household performance, so there are other reasons concerning the appropriateness of the play itself. This is much more difficult territory, and the absence of surviving texts known to have Chapel auspices deprives us of comparison. Nevertheless, Wisdom does not look very much like the predominantly secular entertainments, involving Chapel members, described at the end of the fifteenth and 92

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y beginning of the sixteenth centuries. Nor does it fall into the category of scriptural plays noted in the Earl of Northumberland’s Household Books.36 Furthermore, while the religious tone of Wisdom may have appealed to the more conservative members of the aristocracy, there is little in the play of immediate relevance to such an audience, as there is, for example, in a play like Fulgens and Lucres. Whilst caution encourages doubt it cannot deny the fact that Chapel involvement in household performance is one of the few identifications of the play with a place capable of accommodating the dances without distorting the evidence of the text. Part of the attractiveness of the case for household Chapel auspices lies in the meeting of the staging requirements of Wisdom by an assortment of readily available, trained personnel. However, there are other groups capable of drawing upon comparable resources that may have had better reasons for producing the play than the aristocracy. In his ‘Introduction’ to The Macro Plays, Mark Eccles, somewhat non-committally, suggested that, ‘Wisdom may have been presented by the men and women of a town or guild for a general audience’.37 Almost no-one, it seems, has taken up his suggestion, even though in many ways it is very plausible. Certainly, the impression given by the records collated by Ian Lancashire, in Dramatic Texts and Records of Britain, is of town and guild drama dominant in the fifteenth century, with household drama, in the form of travelling players, taking precedence in the sixteenth century. Although there are too many variables to make the case an authoritative one, this general impression is borne out by the particular experience of places like King’s College, Cambridge. Here, during the second half of the fifteenth century, much of the entertainment was supplied by local parish players.38 It is not, of course, always possible to determine the nature of the dramatic activity simply from the occurrence of a town or parish name in the records. Many references to ‘game’ and ‘play’ are probably to Robin Hood or other forms of seasonal celebration. However, there is considerable evidence for religious guilds taking responsibility for a range of plays in the fifteenth century. Many of these were scriptural, but in one instance, at least, a will bequest to a guild in connection with a, ‘ludo de Mankynd, et aliis ludis’ implies involvement with moralities.39 In many respects, religious guilds, with their particular concern for the safe passage of members’ souls through purgatory, are ideal institutions for the promotion of plays with repentance and the sacrament of penance at their theological heart.40 In the specific case of Wisdom, the final emphasis, in Christ’s nine points, on acts of charity would seem to confirm not only that a lay rather than a religious audience was intended but also that the play has particular relevance to the values and purposes of religious guilds, especially in respect of almsgiving.41 Of course, these are matters of concern to all Christians, but for many religious guilds they represented an institutionalized raison d’être, and drama is clearly a very effective means of publicly demonstrating and celebrating their significance. This appropriateness of subject 93

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y matter was, in many instances, matched by a resource capability. Some of the wealthier guilds even employed their own Chapels, thereby duplicating the performance resources of noble households.42 Even without such a facility, religious guilds were clearly capable of generating, as well as receiving, dramatic activity. In so doing, they presumably drew on their own members as performers, as their craft guild counterparts did for Corpus Christi pageants, or employed outsiders when necessary.43 For example, the need for singers, men or boys, could in some cases be met more easily by the religious guilds, through their association with a parish church, than by craft guilds who may have been in competition for the services of cathedral or parish choir members. The employment of minstrels, too, was a common enough feature of guild feasts not to present a problem in a production of Wisdom. There is no doubt that a religious guild of some wealth could have had access to the resources necessary for meeting the acting, singing and music requirements of Wisdom, which directs attention once more on to the dances. There is some evidence that dance was an accepted part of guild festivities. The Holy Trinity guild at Wisbech, for example, paid ten shillings in 1379 to the minstrels and a further six shillings and eight pence for the purchase of apparel for ten dancers.44 That the payment was for clothing, rather than performance, suggests that the dancers themselves came from within the guild. Dancing of, perhaps, a different kind, but still seemingly associated with a parish guild, is indicated by the dedication day celebrations of St Mary parishioners recorded regularly in King’s Hall, Cambridge accounts from 1342–43 until 1477–78.45 In some instances guilds refer specifically to women dancing. The guild of St John Baptist at Boston, Lincolnshire, for example, includes in its 1389 certificate the requirement for all the sisters to come together on the saint’s day and dance with each other on pain of a fine.46 And in an unspecified context, guild accounts for 1483 in Croscombe, Somerset acknowledge a six shilling contribution at the ‘wyfes dansyng’.47 Such activity in guild festivity may have been more prevalent than the evidence suggests, given that of the more than 500 returns made in 1389, in response to a parliamentary order for information regarding the foundation, statutes and property of guilds, only five were not made up equally of lay men and women.48 Although this, almost certainly, did not mean that womens’ participation in guild activity was as equal as their number, it is evidence of a shared role within a significant aspect of medieval religious and social life that, in turn, suggests an active engagement in those guild functions that were deemed decorous. At this time, in England at least, this would have excluded acting in plays but not, it would seem, dancing. The difficulty in associating the dances in Wisdom with guild members, though, is that they do not seem to have much in common with the types of dance for which there is guild confirmation. This is, perhaps, because the functions of the dances were so different. The dances performed by the sistren of St John Baptist and the parishioners of St Mary were part of the guilds’ 94

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y annual rituals, and presumably traditional in nature, whereas the allegorical dances in Wisdom were occasional and probably derived from social dances popular at the time. Dances dedicated to the foundation of a guild are more likely to be recorded in certificates and financial accounts than recreational dancing which, even so, would have had a place in guild celebrations. Many guild members may have seen, or participated in, both kinds of dance on the same festal day. Another consideration is that some of the more prestigious guilds, particularly in market towns, became synonymous with the civic governing body, developing in their members, not without some justification, pretensions towards the gentry.49 These guilds may have manifested their sense of upward mobility in the nature of their entertainments, as much as individual members did in the purchase of land and the building of grand houses. To them a play like Wisdom, incorporating three disguisings with overtones of the court, in which men and women of the fraternity could take part, might seem especially attractive. With the added possibility that guild members’ sons took on the, ‘lyknes of dewylls’, Wisdom could have been, for some, a family affair. The case for a religious guild producing Wisdom seems to be as plausible as either of the other two recent claims for patronage. In some respects, it is stronger. Religious guilds are known to have produced a variety of plays which may have included moralities. Much of the meaning of moralities, especially Wisdom, accords with the principles on which the guilds were founded. The extensive human staging requirements of Wisdom could be met by a combination of guild members and trained personnel, to whom the guild had access. And an entirely appropriate physical setting, for the indoor performance that the play requires, could be found in the guildhall. This is probably as far as the case for religious guild auspices can be taken. Neither manuscript of the play contains the kind of information that would allow a specific guild identification to be made. Nevertheless, it is possible to make a speculative identification, but as it relies upon circumstantial evidence that emerges from consideration of another play in the Digby collection, it may seem more convincing if deferred until after that discussion. At first sight, there seems very little connection between Wisdom and Candlemas Day and The Killing of the Children (hereafter referred to as The Killing of the Children). Generically they are certainly different, but in other respects there are some notable parallels. Both are written, predominantly, in double quatrains rhyming ababbcbc, but then so is much East Anglian drama of the period. More significantly, they appear to have been copied by the same scribe, with the exception of a small section of the Candlemas sequence.50 As The Killing of the Children is dated 1512 at the beginning and the end of the manuscript, this means that possibly a decade or two separates the copying of each play. The other similarity, of course, is that both plays include dance as a theatrical device. Whereas the Wisdom dances were integral to the 95

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y original performance, even if subsequently omitted, the dances in The Killing of the Children look as though they may be additions to the original staging intentions of the play. As it exists in the manuscript, the play combines the scriptural events of the massacre of the innocents and the purification of the Virgin. A prologue and epilogue, given by the Poet, records that the occasion of the performance was St Anne’s Day and that in the previous year the Shepherds and Magi episodes had been shown, while for the following year the Disputation of the Doctors was scheduled. Such a programme could represent a Corpus Christi cycle, presented not on a single day, as at York, or on consecutive days like Chester, but spread over a number of years. From the scenes listed by the Poet, it is impossible to tell whether the incidents dramatized extended beyond those of immediate relevance (to ‘Oure Ladye and Seynt Anne’ (18), to whom the performance is dedicated) to include all the episodes that conventionally comprised a Corpus Christi cycle. The Poet, though, describes a series of only three plays, and to impose the structure of an entire cycle upon this evidence is to be swayed overmuch by the survival of manuscripts and records from the comparatively few English towns where this was the case. Whether a mini-series or an entire cycle is involved, there is some evidence to suggest that The Killing of the Children, as it appears in the Digby manuscript, was compiled from existing material, with the composition of the Poet’s speeches designed to create the impression of a self-contained unit. On their own, there is nothing that dramatically connects the two episodes of the play other than chronology and the characters of Mary and Joseph. Although some coherence is achieved from the context of the plays that preceded and followed them, a playwright, commissioned for the occasion described by the Poet, would surely have made more attempt to unify the two parts than, ‘Here dieth Herowde, and Symeon shalle sey as foluyth’ (388). Furthermore, the sequence in the text, of massacre followed by purification, is in festal order but contrary to that given by the Poet in the prologue, where the episodes are reversed. His order is the more traditional and follows that of the N.town manuscript and the Beverley Cycle list. Presumably, the prologue indicates an intention to preserve such an order, whereas the text may have been copied from a source that followed the alternative sequence, also favoured by the Chester and the Towneley plays. The confusion is sufficiently blatant to imply that the text of the two episodes and the Poet’s speeches were not composed at the same time and that the latter may denote a change in the conditions of performance of the former. To some degree, this is confirmed at the end of the play where the second scribe draws a line beneath Anna’s final speech and writes, ‘finis’. The first, and main, scribe cancels ‘finis’ and adds a couplet to Anna’s speech before completing the play with a two-stanza epilogue from the Poet. The implication is that the second scribe was copying from a source without the Poet’s final speech. There are a number of circumstances that could explain this situation. It may be that the Digby text derives from a town 96

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y where the regular production of a cycle of plays became practically or economically difficult to sustain by the early sixteenth century. As a result, serialization may have seemed preferable to complete cancellation, especially as the composition of contextualizing opening and closing speeches was all that was required, as far as the text was concerned, to effect the change. Alternatively, a town establishing drama as part of a St Anne’s Day celebration may have borrowed the play text from elsewhere and had the Poet’s speeches specially written for the purpose. Another possibility is that a town or guild, already possessing one of the plays in the Poet’s series, decided to extend the scope of their performance by the addition of related episodes, either borrowed or newly written. The positioning of the dances in the play appears to corroborate the textual evidence for some kind of change in the circumstances of performance. There are three dances in The Killing of the Children, none of which occurs in the actual text of the two episodes, even though performance of the play can give the impression of quite close integration. This is achieved, in no small part, by the dances being performed by the group of virgins who figure in the Candlemas part of the play. However, closer inspection reveals the inclusion of the dances to be part of the process that also made the Poet’s speeches necessary. The first dance occurs at the end of the prologue where the Poet, having dedicated the performance, ‘to the honor of God, Oure Lady, and Seynt Anne’ (51), begins the proceedings with: And ye menstrallis, doth youre diligens! And ye virgynes, shewe summe sport and plesure, These people to solas, and to do God reuerens! As ye be appoynted, doth your besy cure! (53–56) That ‘sport and plesure’ refer to dance is confirmed by the stage direction, ‘et tripident’ occurring immediately after the speech. In the manuscript sequence the dance and the dancers, dislocated from their festal function, have no connection with the Herod and messenger scene which follows. Their purpose, at this point, is simply one of enhancing the entertainment. The virgins do not dance again until the end of the play, where the initial impression of being part of the original text turns out to be false. In Simeon’s final speech he instructs Anna to: Doth youre devire and youre diligent laboure, And take these virgynis euerychon with you, And teche hem to plese God, of most honoure. (542–54) Dance would not seem to be one of the didactic implications of this instruction, as Anna’s reply suggests that it was complied with off-stage:

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y Lyke as ye say, I wille do this houre. Ye chast virgynis, with alle humylite, Worshippe we Jhesu, that shalbe oure sauyoure— Alle at ones, come on, and folowe me. (545–48) This sounds like the exit line that the second scribe certainly thought it was by underlining and writing ‘finis’ beneath it. The first scribe then complicates the issue by cancelling ‘finis’ and adding a couplet to Anna’s speech: And shewe ye summe plesure as ye can, In the worshippe of Jhesu, Oure Lady, and Seynt Anne! (549–50) As before, ‘plesure’ is glossed as dance by the marginal stage direction, ‘et tripident’. At this point, the situation is somewhat confused by the Baker, Murphy and Hall edition of the play. They give the stage direction following Anna’s couplet as, ‘Anna Prophetissa et (virgynes) tripident’. This not only suggests, somewhat improbably, that the old lady dances with the virgins but also it makes her last-line instruction to them, in the original text, sound as though it is referring to dance steps! The ‘Anna Prophetissa’, written in the right-hand margin, is actually a speech heading to the first scribe’s couplet and not part of a stage direction. Although this naming is not strictly necessary, as the preceding speech is also Anna’s, it re-emphasizes the continuation of the play after the second scribe’s attempt to finish it. The stage direction should, therefore, read, ‘et tripident’, exactly as it does in the earlier instruction, following the prologue, where it refers just to the ‘virgynes’. The completion of this, the second, dance gives way to the Poet’s final speech in which he seeks the customary pardon for any offence caused by the performers’ ‘sympylle cunnyng’, advertises the coming year’s attraction, and closes the show with: Wherfor now, ye virgynes, er we go hens, With alle your cumpany, you goodly avaunce! Also, ye menstralles, doth your diligens; Afore oure departyng, geve vs a daunce! (563–66) The positioning of the dances at the beginning and end of the play, in close proximity to the Poet’s speeches, strongly suggests that, like them, their function was to augment theatricality and create a greater sense of self-containment. As it exists, the play, including the Poet’s part, consists of only 566 lines, which would take little more than half an hour to perform. The dances would clearly extend this to something, in terms of time and experience, more worthy of the occasion. Conversely, if the two episodes had been part of a one-day cycle, the inclusion of dances would have impeded progress and possibly seemed incongruous to the narrative process. Certainly, none of the 98

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y other dramatizations of these episodes, that survive, include dance of any kind. If the dances give the impression of being supplementary, it is possible to tell something of the virgins original role in the play from two stage directions: ‘Her virgynes, as many as a man wylle, shalle holde tapers in ther handes’ (464), and, ‘Here shal Symeon bere Jhesu in his armys, goyng a procession rounde aboute the tempille, and al this wyle the virgynis synge Nunc dimittis’ (484). The functions of liturgical singing and processing with candles derive from the Feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin. Their execution here by ‘virgynes’ is probably attributable to the Golden Legend, where a noble lady, sorrowful of missing the feast mass through the absence of her chaplain, fell asleep during her prayers and experienced a vision of Mary attended by virgins, with candles, who sang the mass.51 The allusion to this tradition in the Digby play seems to be unique in surviving Purification pageants, as none of the others specifically refer to virgins in their treatment of the occasion. Indeed, only the Coventry Weavers’ pageant includes a procession of any kind and this, although accompanied by singing, is essentially a dramatic device to get Simeon, Anna and the Clerk down from the pageant stage in order to meet the approaching Mary and Joseph. Of the others, N.town and Chester have stage directions for the singing of Nunc dimittis by Simeon, whereas York has him speak the lines from Luke 2: 29–32. The incomplete Towneley text does not reach this point. Although the Chester text suggests that Simeon may sing alone, the accounts of the Smiths, who produced the pageant, tell a slightly different story. In each of the six years for which accounts survive, the Smiths made payments, in addition to those who played the speaking parts, to various singers and musicians from the cathedral. These ranged from anonymous ‘synngares’ to the highly respected Elizabethan composer, Robert Whyte. Of particular interest here, though, is the payment for the performance in 1561, ‘to Sir Io Genson for songes xijd to the 5 boyes for singing ijs vjd’,52 John Genson was a minor canon of Chester Cathedral, one of only ten monks who remained to staff the cathedral after the dissolution of its former existence as St Werburgh’s Abbey. He died some time between 1567 and 1572.53 Given his engagement, the boys would, almost certainly, have been drawn from the eight choristers of the cathedral.54 That these payments were made in connection with the performance of the pageant can be inferred from their place in the account between the wages, ‘to Symyon 3s 4d’ and, ‘to the Angell vjd’. The fact that Simeon was required to sing and that the angel was also, probably, played by a boy who received the same remuneration as each of the singers, might suggest that, in the case of these two characters, the Smiths were looking to the cathedral for more than just singers and songs. The involvement of cathedral personnel in the Chester Smiths’ Purification pageant may suggest that the single musical reference in the text is not an entirely accurate reflection of the contribution in performance. This would not be all that surprising as the realization of a text is an enhancing, and not merely reproductive, 99

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y process. Texts, after all, tend to indicate intention, not record achievement. In this light, the employment of the boys in Chester may have been, simply, to accompany Simeon singing Nunc dimittis, or to cover the business with the angel over the word ‘virgin’ in the book on the altar, but they could also have been used to process with candles. Similar arrangements of employment may have existed for the performance of the Digby The Killing of the Children, where boys with trained voices were needed, in the first instance, to sing, and, subsequently, to dance as well. The casting of boys in these roles may seem uncontentious but recent discussions of the play have assumed that the combination of virgins and dances can only mean the involvement of young women.55 The argument for boys, though, is fairly sound. As already shown, the original function of the virgins was to sing and process, and whilst the latter might well have been accomplished by girls, it is unlikely that the former would have been in the context of public performance, especially as one of the virgins has a brief speaking role in the play. Although the word ‘virgin’ can apply to either sex, it would seem to refer, in the context of the play and the tradition illustrated in the Golden Legend, to chaste young women. However, of all the roles in which boys played women, that of youth is likely to present the least visual and vocal discrepancy.56 A similar situation exists in Wisdom, where the Five Wits, who sing and process, are described by both Anima and a stage direction as, ‘vyrgynes’ (164). There is no evidence one way or the other in the text, but given their function in the play, as singers of liturgical office, they are likely to have been boys. Further evidence of boys’ involvement in The Killing of the Children appears to have been recorded, indirectly, in the manuscript itself. At the end of the play, the first scribe has listed, ‘The namys of the pleyers’, which he totals as seventeen. This is useful insofar as it confirms that the two episodes were performed as an entity, with the same Mary and Joseph used throughout, and conveys information about casting. At first sight, it is difficult to see what criterion the scribe is using in his list, for although it starts with ‘The poete’ and ‘Kyng Herowde’ it is not in any order of appearance (taking the play as a whole or the episodes separately), and nor is it in an order of importance based on character status or part length. It could be argued that the list divides on the sex of the characters, with the men listed first. To a large extent this is true, with ‘Joseph’ being named before ‘Maria’, but the latter half of the list also includes ‘Angelus’ who would not automatically be characterized as female. What is fairly certain, though, is that the angel would have been played by a boy, and I suspect that the scribe was separating the players according to the parts to be played by men and those to be performed by boys or young men. Thus, the list gives nine mens’ parts and eight for boys, as only one virgin (the speaking part) is included. The actual number would, of course, have been larger to account for the other virgins, ‘as many as a man wylle’. If at least one boy was required in the speaking part of a virgin, and boys are the most likely source of singers in the liturgical context, then 100

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y there seems very little reason to doubt, without evidence to the contrary, that they also danced. Nevertheless, girls should not be entirely excluded from the pleasures of medieval theatre. They clearly did take part in public displays of dancing, and it is not impossible that they partnered the boys in The Killing of the Children dances.57 In many ways this would echo the vision in the Golden Legend, where the company of virgins is joined by a company of young men, all of whom carry candles.58 For the original performances of The Killing of the Children it would, presumably, have been enough for the scribe to record ‘virgynes’ in the text for whoever produced the play to know exactly what was required in terms of casting, or at least to have been aware of the range of acceptable alternatives. Much the same may have been true of the dances. The only information about them in the text is that they could be performed by any number and that they were accompanied by minstrels. The Poet establishes a context for the dances by drawing attention to their twofold purpose of entertainment and Christian worship: ‘These people to solas, and to do God reuerens’ (55). Anna, in her final couplet, similarly acknowledges the dual function of ‘plesure’ and ‘worshippe’ in the dances. Because of the religious context and the open-endedness of the numbers involved, a ring dance seems the most likely form for the dances to have taken. This type of dance, long associated with the Church, is thought to have originated in imitation of the dance of the angels.59 As a symbol of divine mystery, the ring dance provided those on earth with an opportunity to participate in those mysteries. Within the form of a circular dance a variety of steps was possible, ranging from simple sideways movements to the more vigorous stamping of feet with the clapping of hands, and even to the inclusion of great leaps. The three dances in The Killing of the Children may have consisted of one such dance repeated, although a more entertaining alternative is that each dance represented a variation of the basic ring dance. The Killing of the Children list of players, in distributing the parts almost equally between men and boys, also raises some interesting questions regarding auspices. The numbers involved, on their own, would seem to discount the view that it is a professional, touring play.60 The Poet’s indication that it forms part of an annual celebration, in which the performance of each section would never be more frequent than once every three years, and the stage direction that provides, in the role of the virgins, an opportunity for open-ended casting suggest above all a community play. Unfortunately, the Poet does not make it clear whether the group performing The Killing of the Children also took responsibility for the Shepherds and Magi or Doctors plays, which came before and after it. He implies as much by stating that, ‘the last yeere we shewid you in this place’ (25), but this should not be read as proof of a single group concern. The Poet and his use of ‘we’ may be devices to focus on the collective purpose and collaborative nature of the whole project which, possibly, spread over a number of years, in a series of separate 101

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y performances, might otherwise appear fragmentary. Within the series, different groups could have taken responsibility for individual pageants, in the manner of craft guild involvement in some Corpus Christi plays, with overall control retained by some governing body. To some extent, this arrangement is borne out by the survival of the manuscript. If performance of all the plays rested with a single group, one might have expected the other texts, for the adjacent years at the very least, to have survived with The Killing of the Children. In their absence, the separate existence of the play suggests a system of plural responsibility. Although The Killing of the Children was part of a performance schedule quite unlike anything else recorded in England, the play itself is very much the kind of enterprise undertaken by religious and craft guilds.61 As is often the case, the text gives no formal indication of original ownership, but it does, somewhat intriguingly, provide speculation on authorship. At the end of the play, after the list of players and in a hand a little later than that of the main scribe, someone has written, ‘Jhon Parfre ded wryte thys booke’. The same hand made an earlier, aborted, attempt to record the attribution at the end of the text of the play before realizing that the scribe had included the list of names on the verso of the last folio. Whoever was responsible for the information clearly felt that it was important. The formula used implies an active relationship of John Parfrey with the text, rather than passive ownership that seems to be the case with the Hyngham inscription at the end of the Macro Wisdom and Mankind.62 Quite what ‘wryte’ actually means here is difficult to resolve, as it could range from original authorship of the play, to composition of the Poet’s speeches, to the final compilation registered in the manuscript, or even to the function of scribe. Whatever the nature of his involvement it merited a permanent record, and identifying John Parfrey might go some way to determining the play’s provenance. Although the name is not uncommon in the region of East Anglia from which the play originates, and family members have been located in the area of Thetford, there is one candidate who is of particular interest.63 In his will of 1509, John Parfrey, a wealthy draper of Bury St Edmunds, leaves sufficient funds not only to ease his soul through purgatory and meet the needs of his family but also to pave the road to Ipswich and endow the ringing of the St Mary curfew bell.64 The latter bequest was made in gratitude for a safe return home, made possible by following the sound of the bell after losing his way in dense fog.65 Such altruism is not, in itself, sufficient reason for connecting him with The Killing of the Children, but, if he was involved, his civic reputation might explain why any association with the play was worth recording after his death. Gail McMurray Gibson makes a similar point in her recent work that seeks to establish a working relationship between some of the Macro and Digby plays and the monastery at Bury St Edmunds.66 Whilst she, interestingly, exploits the manuscript associations with the place, principally relating to ownership, the linkage is, perhaps, overstated. Possession may be 102

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y nine tenths of the law but it is not necessarily synonymous with authorship or auspices. The monastery may, at one time, have held the texts in its famed library, or provided the scriptorium in which they were copied, but it does not follow that they were instrumental in their literary composition or theatrical production. However, in the case of The Killing of the Children there is, perhaps, a good reason for seeing a connection between the text, the town of Bury St Edmunds and John Parfrey. In common with many other wealthy merchants of the town, John Parfrey was a member of what used to be known as the Alderman’s guild.67 The history of this burghal elite, established in the first half of the twelfth century as a guild merchant, and its opposition to the power of the abbey, has been well documented.68 Membership, open to men and women, was essentially a matter of wealth, and its function, initially, was to deal with non-governmental, commercial concerns. Increasingly, however, it extended its powers to the governance of secular affairs, with the offices of alderman of the town and alderman of the guild becoming synonymous. This fusion of guild membership with municipal government continued until the burgesses took complete control of the town with the dissolution of the abbey in 1539. Their progress to power, however, was not entirely smooth. Consequent upon the revolt in 1327, the abbey revoked the charter of privileges so recently won and abolished the guild.69 This setback in no way diminished the political ambition of the burgesses who re-formed under the protection of the Candlemas guild, or Guild of the Purification of our Lady. This guild, possibly the same as the Guild of St Mary in St James’ Church, seems to have been founded almost immediately after the loss of the 1327 charter.70 The guild was one of considerable prominence in the fifteenth century, acting as trustee for land bequeathed to the town and as custodian of the common funds. Membership was elite and much sought after, as is shown by the 1504 will of John Hedge of Bury with his bequest, of two gallons of wine annually for twelve years, to the Candlemas brotherhood, providing they accepted in membership his tantalizingly named brother, Robert Hedge.71 Although there was not the same merging of town and guild offices as before, it is evident that there existed a remarkably close relationship between the guild and the governing body of the town. By the fifteenth century the guild was recognized as the leading non-monastic institution in Bury St Edmunds, and as a fraternity, or as individuals, would have taken an active interest in all aspects of the political and social life of the town. Not least amongst these would have been the occasions of civic and religious ceremony. Of these, the most important to the guild would have been the celebration of the Feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin. At the time of the guild returns in 1389 this required members to assemble with a candle to hear the mass at the altar before St Mary’s image.72 Elsewhere, the celebration took on a more dramatic form. At Beverley, for example:

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y all the bretheren and sisteren shall meet together in a fit and appointed place, away from the church; and there, one of the gild shall be clad in comely fashion as a queen, like to the glorious Virgin Mary, having what may seem a son in her arms; and two others shall be clad like to Joseph and Simeon; and two shall go as angels, carrying a candlebearer, on which shall be twenty-four thick wax lights. With these and other great lights borne before them, and with much music and gladness, the pageant Virgin with her son, and Joseph and Simeon, shall go in procession to the church. And all the sisteren of the gild shall follow the Virgin; and afterwards all the bretheren; and each of them shall carry a wax light weighing half a pound. And they shall go two and two, slowly pacing to the church; and when they have got there, the pageant Virgin shall offer her son to Simeon at the high altar; and all the sisteren and bretheren shall offer their wax lights, together with a penny each. All this having been solemnly done, they shall go home again with gladness.73 Whether the Bury Candlemas guild’s celebration of the feast developed in this way is not known. The dramatic qualities inherent in the liturgical ceremony certainly make it unlikely that mimetic elaboration would be confined to the Beverley example. Interestingly, David Mills sees a similar combination of liturgy and mimesis as central to the structure of the Candlemass part of the Digby play.74 Although there is no evidence that the play evolved from the ceremony, it is perhaps significant that of all the pageants dealing with the purification, the Digby version remains closest to the liturgical rite. Even in the absence of a history, it is reasonable to claim that a guild dedicated to the Purification of the Virgin is a likely contender for association with a Candlemas play. The case for that guild being the one from Bury St Edmunds, of which John Parfrey was a member, is strengthened by the existence of another guild. All members of the Alderman’s or Candlemas guild were also members of the guild dedicated to St Nicholas, which was also known as the Dusse after its foundation in 1282 by twelve priests.75 In addition to functions common to other fraternities, the guild ministered to the poor and cared for the needs of alien merchants who came to Bury St Edmunds. Like the Candlemas guild membership was dependent upon wealth and social standing. Of interest here, though, are two more public activities of the guild. They were, appropriately, sponsors of the town’s Boy Bishop ceremony observed in the parish church of St Mary, and, therefore, not unfamiliar with quasi-dramatic activity,76 but perhaps more importantly, they were also responsible for maintaining the Scola Cantus or Song School. This school, situated in Song School Street between the abbey grounds and the grammar school, taught the rudiments of the sung mass and psalter, as well as providing an education in reading and grammar.77 It was independent of the abbey, who not only had their own monastic school but also retained control over the fabric and 104

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y finances of the local grammar school. The Song School was, according to one historian, ‘a venerable local institution, entrenched in the hands of the townsfolk’, by the mid-fourteenth century.78 These twin concerns of the Dusse guild would seem to have considerable relevance to the performance of a play like Candlemas Day and The Killing of the Children. The saint, to whom the guild was dedicated, and the occasion of the Boy Bishop ceremony on Holy Innocents’ Day are significant points of connection with a play that commemorates the massacre. As beneficiaries of the guild’s sponsorship, the celebrants of the Boy Bishop in St Mary’s Church may well have come from the Scola Cantus, less than a hundred yards away. The school and its scholars is also a very likely source for the virgins who sing Nunc dimittis and process with candles in The Killing of the Children, as well as other female roles in the play.79 Although the only evidence connecting The Killing of the Children with Bury St Edmunds is the, somewhat, tenuous manuscript attribution to John Parfrey, it is evident that the town possessed, in the common membership of two prominent and prestigious guilds, institutions with both reason and resources to take responsibility for this section of a series of plays. Whether Bury St Edmunds had a cycle or series of plays is not certain. An ‘interludium’ of Corpus Christi is listed as the function of one of the two Bury guilds of that name in the 1389 certificate returns, and a guild ordinance of 1477, dealing with fines for craft guild violations, reveals that the Bury Weavers’ guild was responsible for the pageant of the Ascension and the gifts of the Holy Ghost in, ‘the processione in the feste of Corpus Xte’.80 There is no way of telling whether these pageants were theatrical or not. They may have been visual representations only. Another problem is that these references are specific to the Feast of Corpus Christi, and not to St Anne’s Day proclaimed as the time of the performance for The Killing of the Children. Of course, the survival of so little evidence of dramatic activity does not, in itself, preclude the possibility of the series of plays being from Bury St Edmunds. As Gail McMurray Gibson has pointed out, the last day of the summer Bury Fair, held over three days at the Feast of St James between July 24th and 26th, coincided with St Anne’s Day.81 It may have been for such an occasion that John Parfrey compiled or revised The Killing of the Children. If it was performed by the Candlemas guild it is possible that they also presented the other plays in the series. The survival of only one of the plays, though, might rather suggest that they were the responsibility of other guilds in the town. A final difficulty in this theory of auspices concerns the discrepancy between the date of John Parfrey’s death in 1509 and the date of the manuscript recorded by the scribe as 1512. The simplest explanation is that the Digby text is a copy made in 1512 of an earlier version with which John Parfrey had, in some way, been connected. Fortunately, someone made sure that he was not forgotten. 105

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y Some of the argument for connecting the Bury Candlemas and Dusse guilds, through John Parfrey, with the Digby The Killing of the Children can be used to speculate on the same guilds’ involvement with Wisdom. If the Candlemas guild did undertake The Killing of the Children it is unlikely to have exhausted their desire or capacity for dramatic entertainment. The play, forming part of a corporate venture, would have been regarded as an essential contribution to the general social and religious life of the town, in which guild dedication could be closely identified with public performance. Wisdom, on the other hand, may have represented a more spectacular opportunity for the expression of prominence within the civic community. Unfortunately for this line of argument, there is no incontrovertible evidence to connect a performance of Wisdom with Bury St Edmunds. What associations there are all relate to ownership of the two manuscripts. However, there are some circumstantial factors that might favour an identification with the town. The coincidence of the same scribe’s involvement with the Digby Wisdom and The Killing of the Children probably has more to do with the reasons behind copying the texts than with common auspices, although it is a factor. Both plays actively employ liturgical singing as a theatrical device to be performed by virgins; roles that could be met by the boys from the Scola Cantus. The nature of moralities, like Wisdom, is in keeping with the purposes of religious guilds, and the Candlemas guild, in particular, may have taken pleasure in seeing portrayed the corruption that ensues when those committed to contemplation and celibacy choose vita mixta and meddle in secular affairs. The plot takes on a significant edge when considered in the light of the struggle for municipal independence from monastic authority that characterized the civic history of Bury St Edmunds. Another, even more speculative, factor concerns the Wisdom stage directions. These are extremely thorough, not only in regard to stage action but also in detail of costume. What is more, they, uniquely in plays of the period, specify the type of cloth to be used. This helpful, but somewhat unusual, practice could be explained by the high level of visual signifiers, relating to costume as metaphor, featured within the play. Alternatively, it could be explained by the high proportion of Candlemas guild members being drapers, like John Parfrey, with, one might suspect, as much interest in textiles as in texts.82 Finally, the guild, in their prominent civic role, held the occupancy of the Guildhall, which would have provided excellent accommodation for performance in a hall measuring, internally, about 21ft 6ins by 119ft (6.5m x 36m).83 Interestingly, the hall underwent considerable rebuilding and refurbishment in the second half of the fifteenth century and it is not impossible that a performance of Wisdom may have figured as part of the fund-raising or re-opening celebrations. The dances in The Conversion of St Paul, like those in The Killing of the Children, are additions to the original staging requirements of the play. But unlike the dances of the virgins, the dances which follow Saul’s progress are not referred to by the similarly named Poet. They do, however, occupy an 106

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y equivalent place in being identified with the Poet’s speeches. Whether this is influence or coincidence is impossible to say. In the Digby manuscript of The Conversion of St Paul, copied, for the most part, in the first quarter of the sixteenth century, there are three marginal stage directions of, ‘Daunce’, written in a hand later than that of the main scribe but probably contemporary with the interpolated Belial and Mercury scene of about 1550.84 The first instruction comes at the end of the Poet’s two stanza prologue, the second just before his conclusion to the first station representing Jerusalem, and the third in a similar position at the end of the second station that presented the road to Damascus. In these positions they appear to act as a bridge between the geographically separated episodes of the play and, as such, may be no more than an entertaining elaboration of the Poet’s role. Alternatively, they may, like the dances in The Killing of the Children, have been a consequence of a change in the conditions of performance. In spite of some attempts to prove otherwise, the play, as represented by the Poet, is clearly intended for processional performance, with the audience moving twice to take up new positions at the second and third stations.85 The Poet’s conclusion to the first station seems unequivocal in the matter: Fynally, of this stacyon thus we mak a conclusyon. Besechyng thys audyens to folow and succede Wyth all your delygens this generall processyon. (155–57) This echoes the 1st Knight’s earlier commitment to travel on Saul’s behalf, ‘I shall yow succede, and make perambulacyon/Thorowoute Damaske [...]’ (67–68), and is reinforced by the stage direction, ‘Finis istius stacionis et altera sequitur’ (161), which separates the Poet’s two stanzas between stations. It is true that the conclusion to the second station does not make such overt reference to audience movement but one might reasonably expect them to have got the idea by then. Certainly, the Poet’s introduction to the third station, which follows in the text immediately after the previous conclusion and confirming stage direction, sounds as though he is re-establishing his acquaintance with the audience after some delay. There is nothing sufficiently specific in the Poet’s speeches to suggest the environment in which the processional performance took place. One attractive possibility is that, in imitation of a number of medieval festal processions, including Corpus Christi, the performance began at one parish church, probably outside given the introduction of Saul’s horse, and moved to another, where a stage may have been set up over the porch to allow for, ‘Godhed spekyth in heuyn’ (182), before moving inside for Saul’s sermon in Damascus.86 This combining of spiritual theme and physical action in a journey creates for the audience an element of participation in the play by making them literally followers of Saul. There is no reason why processional dance should not have accompanied this movement, as it did successfully in a production of the play 107

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y in Winchester Cathedral in 1982.87 But it is just as possible that the dances were introduced as a substitute for procession rather than as a complement to it. In The Conversion of St Paul manuscript the scribe has written, ‘Poeta si placet’ above the word ‘Conclusyon’, at the end of the first station, suggesting that in some instances the speech which refers to the audience following in procession could be left out. None of the other speeches delivered by the Poet has the same option. In these circumstances the play could be performed at a single site, without enormous loss of dramatic unity, especially if the dances were used to demarcate the changes in stage location. The recognition by the scribe that the play had the potential for different staging methods may indicate that the manuscript was not prepared for exclusive use, or that he was aware of the need for alternative staging in particular circumstances. If, for example, the play was performed in celebration of the Feast of the Conversion of St Paul on January 25th—there is no evidence that it was—the weather may not always have been kind enough to allow for outdoor, processional performance. At such times there would hardly be sufficient notice to summon up dancers for an indoor performance, although omission of the Poet’s reference to the ‘generall processyon’ would still be necessary. By the middle of the sixteenth century, single site production may have prevailed and justified the registering of the dances in the manuscript. However it was staged, responsibility for its production is most likely to have resided with a town or parish guild. Without the Belial and Mercury addition, the play has twelve speaking parts, which even with doubling could not be played by less than nine or ten players. Add to them a number of dancers and it becomes improbable that the play was the property of a travelling company.88 As the dancers are not characterized in the manner of Wisdom, or even The Killing of the Children, it is fruitless to speculate on who they were beyond the likelihood of guild members or their children. However, there is in the King’s College, Cambridge, Mundum Book a tantalizing payment that may throw some light on the kind of auspices analogous to a play like The Conversion of St Paul. In the account for 1499–1500 the following appears: Item in commemoratione Sancti palli soluti in regardis parochianis beate marie in collegio ludentibus & gestantibus iijs iiijd in potu iiijd89 A similar payment the following year confirms by date the indication above, that the occasion is the Feast of the Commemoration of St Paul, rather than the Conversion. The translation of the item in the REED volume gives ‘gesturing’ for ‘gestantibus’ and glosses it as ‘possibly miming’. Although semantically this may be correct, it is difficult to see why miming should be differentiated from ‘playing’ unless ‘ludentibus’, in this instance, refers to a nonmimetic activity.90 This would be very unusual, and the sense of ‘gestantibus’ 108

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y may be closer to the ‘gesticulari’ given as the Latin equivalent, with the more common ‘tripudiare’, for ‘to Dawnce’ in the Catholicon Anglicum.91 If this was the meaning intended, the record would match very closely the little that is known about The Conversion of St Paul. It is tempting to see more than coincidence at work here; the parishioners of an important local church act and dance at the time of the Feast of the Commemoration of St Paul, the date of the college performance is very close to that conjectured for the manuscript of the Digby play, and the language of the play is identified as East Midland with East Anglian features and instances of usage found frequently in the Cambridge area.92 Even if the play and the payment are unrelated, the extent of coincidence suggests an auspices for the play very similar to that recorded in the King’s College accounts. The payment also confirms, as do a number of the Cambridge records, the significant role that dance played in a variety of commemorative and festive occasions. Evidence of this kind, and of the three plays discussed here, points to a policy of maximizing participation in performance where financial consideration, in the form of professional payments, was not a determining factor. These are the conditions under which parish or religious guilds essentially operated, and whilst the expansion of speaking roles was not really feasible, the use of dance, as a festive and numerically open-ended activity, was an ideal alternative. It may also have made possible the participation of girls and women, otherwise excluded from theatre at the time. In the hands of religious guilds, the plays performed over a number of years may well have seen revisions, interpolations and additions of this kind not always formally recorded in the text. What is certainly clear from the manuscripts of the three plays is that change and adaptation was the norm rather than the exception. All three bear evidence of scribal awareness of an active life for the plays beyond the original performances. Wisdom can still be performed when the cast is reduced from forty to six, The Killing of the Children, in the marginal note, ‘Vacat ab hin’ between the two episodes, acknowledges an occasion when the Candlemas part may be omitted, and The Conversion of St Paul provides the option of alternative staging by cutting the references to procession. In this light, the manuscripts begin to look like copies of plays made after successful performance and held for reference or borrowing by other interested parties. Maybe, at one time, the Macro and Digby texts were lodged in the library at the abbey of Bury St Edmunds. The library was certainly not restricted to monastic use, with distinguished citizens borrowing from as early as the twelfth century. By the fifteenth century it seems that townspeople were making more use of it than the monks.93 Such borrowings may account for the marginal scribbling in some of the play texts, and the frequency of seemingly unconnected signatures. More important than matters of possession, the manuscripts declare their contribution to a lively and versatile dramatic tradition, of which dance was a significant part.

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y Notes   1 Alexandra F. Johnston, ‘Wisdom and the Records: Is There a Moral?’, in The ‘Wisdom’ Symposium, ed. by Milla Cozart Riggio (New York: AMS Press, 1986), pp. 87–101 (p. 94).   2 Of these plays Wisdom is unique in surviving in two manuscripts. Macro provides a complete text (c. 1465–70) and Digby a later (c. 1490–1500) incomplete copy of 752 lines. The two texts are very close and what differences there are suggest that both were copied from a common exemplar rather than one from the other. See Late Medieval Religious Plays of Bodleian MSS Digby 133 and E Museo 160, ed. by Donald C. Baker, John L. Murphy and Louis B. Hall Jr., Early English Text Society, OS 283 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982), p. lxvi. All references to the Digby texts are from this edition. Quotations from Wisdom are, unless otherwise stated, from the complete Macro version in The Macro Plays, ed. by Mark Eccles, Early English Text Society, OS 262 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969).   3 The two productions of Wisdom took place in Winchester Cathedral (1981) and Trinity College, Hartford, Connecticut (1984). For reviews of the productions see Avril Henry, ‘Wisdom at Winchester Cathedral’, Medieval English Theatre, 3.1 (1981), 53–55; Peter Happé, ‘Wisdom’, Research Opportunities in Renaissance Drama, 24 (1981), 196–97; Therese Coletti and Pamela Sheingorn, ‘Playing Wisdom at Trinity College’, Research Opportunities in Renaissance Drama, 27 (1984), 179–84.   4 On this and other dances of the period see Mabel Dolmetsch, Dances of England and France from 1450 to 1600 (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1949; repr. New York: Da Capo Press, 1976).   5 It is not clear from the stage direction precisely what kind of ‘warders’ are intended here. They may have been batons or truncheons, both of which were carried as symbols of office and used, amongst other things, to signal the commencement or cessation of hostilities in a battle or a tournament. See the OED entry for ‘Warder’, sb2.   6 On the English sword dance ceremony see Alex Helm, The English Mummers’ Play, The Folklore Society (Woodbridge: D. S. Brewer, 1981). Earlier examples from elsewhere can be found in Violet Alford, Sword Dance and Drama (London: Merlin Press, 1962): see particularly Plates 1 (Sword Dancers and Carnival Maskers at Zurich, 1578) and 12 (Portuguese Sword Dancers in Goa, 1548). Another variation is depicted in ‘La Kermesse de la Saint Georges’ (c. 1559) by Peter Bruegel: see H. Arthur Klein, Graphic Worlds of Peter Bruegel The Elder (New York: Dover, 1963), p. 59. Interestingly, Phillip Stubbes, in his Anatomy of Abuses (1583) describes, unfavourably, a morris dance which he calls the ‘deuils daunce’: Phillip Stubbes’s Anatomy of the Abuses in England in Shakspere’s Youth AD 1583, ed. by Frederic J. Furnivall (London: New Shakspere Society, 1887–9), p. 147. Even though Wisdom and Abuses are separated by more than a century, it may be more than coincidence that in the play Mind/Maintenance tells the audience that his group will perform the ‘Deullys dance’ (700).)   7 Some discussion of ‘caps of maintenance’ can be found in Iris Brooke, Medieval Theatre Costume (London: Adam & Charles Black, 1967), p. 78. For details of their use in heraldry see Arthur Charles Fox-Davies, A Complete Guide to Heraldry (London: Nelson, 1909, rev. edn, 1949), pp. 378–82. For an interesting discussion on two-faced masks, with a fifteenth-century illustration of Janus with faces side by side, see Meg Twycross and Sarah Carpenter, ‘Masks in Medieval English Theatre: The Mystery Plays 2’, Medieval English Theatre, 3.2 (1981), 69–113 (pp.76–79). Another and more local example of two faces beneath a single hat is the misericord

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y in Norwich Cathedral described by G. L. Remnant in A Catalogue of Misericords in Great Britain (London: Clarendon Press, 1969), p. 108 as ‘Deceit’ and dated c. 1480. Coincidentally ‘Dyscheyit’ is the name given to the last of the Perjury dancers to be introduced by Understanding in the play (727). The misericord is reproduced in Edward G. Tasker, Encyclopedia of Medieval Church Art (London: Batsford, 1993), p. 204.   8 Both manuscripts have ‘conregent’ here, which Eccles emends to ‘congruent’. The OED has a definition for ‘conregent’ of ‘ruling or reigning together’, but this derives solely from the Wisdom example and does not make much sense in the context of visors. ‘Congruent’, on the other hand, could mean that the visors were appropriately matched to the male and female roles of the dancers. However much the emendation improves the sense, it is a fairly major editorial intervention.   9 There is a very remote, and certainly less dramatic, possibility that the dancers represented only women, as ‘gallant’ can refer to a woman as a ‘fashionably attired beauty’ (OED, s.v. Gallant, B sb b.). The first illustrative quotation given in the OED for this meaning is from the play, Lusty Juventus. However, the use of the term in the play does not appear to illustrate the meaning in quite the way that the OED suggests. It seems to imply more of a moral than a sartorial judgement. 10 OED, s.v. Matron 1 and 2. 11 Eccles, The Macro Plays, p. 212, note to line 752 sd. 12 OED, s.v. All, adj 8d and 9d. 13 I am indebted to Peter Meredith for suggesting this interpretation. 14 Dolmetsch, Dances of England and France, pp. 1–48. 15 Thoinot Arbeau, Orchesography, trans. by Mary Stewart Evans (New York: Dover, 1967), p. 51. 16 The Plays of Henry Medwall, ed. by Alan H. Nelson (Woodbridge: D. S. Brewer, 1980), pp. 76, 380. 17 H. Colin Slim, ‘Mary Magdalene, musician and dancer’, Early Music, 8 (1980), 460–73 (pp. 462–65). 18 In some respects, this would mirror the development of the basse dance on the Continent in the sixteenth century where the characteristic steps and movements acquired hops and leaps: see Dolmetsch, Dances of England and France, p. 1. 19 Suzanne R. Westfall, Patrons and Performance: Early Tudor Household Revels (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990), p. 53. 20 David Bevington, From ‘Mankind’ to Marlowe: Growth of Structure in the Popular Drama of Tudor England (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1962), p. 116, and Donald C. Baker, ‘Is Wisdom a “Professional” Play?’, in The ‘Wisdom’ Symposium, pp. 67–86. 21 The manuscript stage direction gives only ‘vj’ small boys. Eccles, The Macro Plays, p. xxxv, quite reasonably, assumes this to be an error as they represent the seven deadly sins. 22 Norman Davis in his review of David Bevington’s facsimile edition of the Macro plays in Notes and Queries, 22 (1975), 78–79, says of the marks, ‘they are simply interlaced curves making a line-filler’ (79). This seems unlikely as none of the other stage directions are treated in this way. 23 Eccles, The Macro Plays, pp. xxxiv–xxxv; Baker and others., Late Medieval Religious Plays, pp. lxx–lxxii. 24 Gail McMurray Gibson, The Theater of Devotion: East Anglian Drama and Society in the Late Middle Ages (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1989), and ‘The Play of Wisdom and the Abbey of St Edmunds’, in The ‘Wisdom’ Symposium, pp. 39–66. The question of ownership is dealt with in some detail in both works, but for a

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y summary see the article in The ‘Wisdom’ Symposium, pp.40–43. The case rests principally on the Latin inscription at the end of the Macro text that claims that the book belongs to a monk named Hyngham, who has been identified, by some, as the abbot of Bury St Edmunds from 1474 to 1479. Other connections made are with Bury as the birthplace of the earliest known collectors of both manuscripts. Myles Blomefylde owned the Digby text in the sixteenth century and Cox Macro the copy that now takes his name in the eighteenth century. 25 Westfall, Patrons and Performance, pp. 52–54. 26 Records of Plays and Players in Norfolk and Suffolk 1330–1642, ed. by David Galloway and John Wasson, Malone Society Collections XI (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980/1), pp. 147–48. 27 Johnston, ‘Wisdom and the Records’, pp. 97–99. For an overview see Ian Lancashire, Dramatic Texts and Records of Britain: A Chronological Topography to 1558 (Toronto; Cambridge: University of Toronto Press; Cambridge University Press, 1984). 28 Milla Cozart Riggio, ‘The Staging of Wisdom’, in The ‘Wisdom’ Symposium, pp. 1–17 (p. 5). 29 Robert S. Gottfried, Bury St. Edmunds and the Urban Crisis: 1290–1539 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982), p. 211. 30 Westfall, Patrons and Performance, p. 13. 31 Westfall, Patrons and Performance, p. 16. 32 Johnston, ‘Wisdom and the Records’, p. 101, has tentatively raised the possibility of the Howards, Dukes of Norfolk, being the original patron of Wisdom. The family held a seat at Stoke-by-Nayland in Suffolk during the period of the play. 33 A particularly interesting, and well documented example, occurred on Twelfth Night, 1494 when Henry VII entertained the mayor and his brethren with the ambassadors from France and Spain. The entertainment included, ‘a goodly Interlude’, the figures of St George, a fair virgin and a huge red dragon spitting fire, speeches, and a sung anthem of St George. It was brought to a close with the entrance of, ‘xij lordes knights and Esquyers with xij ladies dysguysed’ who danced to a ‘small Tabret & a subtyle ffedyll’: see Sydney Anglo, ‘William Cornish in a Play, Pageants, Prison, and Polities’, The Review of English Studies, 10 (1959), 347– 60; W. R. Streitberger, ‘William Cornish and the Players of the Chapel’, Medieval English Theatre, 8 (1986), 3–20; Westfall, pp. 37–38. 34 Westfall, Patrons and Performance, p. 44. 35 Westfall, Patrons and Performance, Appendix A, pp. 210–12, where the average troupe size works out as 3.39; Lancashire, Dramatic Texts and Records of Britain Appendix I, pp. 347–408. 36 Westfall, Patrons and Performance, p. 28. 37 Eccles, The Macro Plays, p. xxxv. 38 Records of Early English Drama: Cambridge, ed. by Alan H. Nelson, 2 vols (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1989), II, pp. 710–11. 39 Lancashire, Dramatic Texts and Records of Britain, p. 128. 40 On guilds and purgatory see Barbara Hanawalt, ‘Keepers of the lights: late medieval English parish gilds’, Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 14 (1984), 21–37; Clive Burgess, ‘“A fond thing vainly invented”: an essay on Purgatory and pious motive in late medieval England’, in Parish, Church and People: Local studies in lay religion 1350–1750, ed. by S. J. Wright (London: Hutchinson, 1988), pp. 56–84. 41 On the appropriateness of Wisdom for a lay audience see Rev. John Joseph Molloy, A Theological Interpretation of the Moral Play, ‘Wisdom, Who Is Christ’ (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America, 1952), pp. 150–56.

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y 42 H. F. Westlake, The Parish Gilds of Medieval England (London: S. P. C. K., 1919), p. 19. 43 For craft guilds hiring members as actors see John Marshall, ‘Players of the Coopers’ Pageant from the Chester Plays in 1572 and 1575’, Theatre Notebook, 33 (1979), pp. 18–23 [Reprinted in this volume as Chapter 2]. 44 Westlake, Patrons and Performance, p. 107. 45 Nelson, REED: Cambridge, pp. 3–59. 46 Westlake, Patrons and Performance, p. 34. 47 Westlake, Patrons and Performance, p. 61. 48 English Gilds, ed. by Toulmin Smith and Lucy Toulmin Smith, Early English Text Society, OS 40 (London: Oxford University Press, 1870), p. xxx. 49 Hanawalt, ‘Keepers of the lights’, pp. 25–26. 50 Baker and others, Late Medieval Religious Plays, p. liv. 51 The Golden Legend, ed. by F. S. Ellis, 7 vols (London: ‘[n.pub]’, 1900), III, pp. 25–26. 52 Records of Early English Drama: Chester, ed. by Lawrence M. Clopper (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1979), p. 67. 53 R. V. H. Burne, The Monks of Chester (London: S. P. C. K., 1962), pp. 180–81. 54 R. V. H. Burne, Chester Cathedral (London: S. P. C. K., 1958), p. 10. 55 Baker and others, Late Medieval Religious Plays, p. lxiii, has ‘village girls collected for the occasion’, and Gibson, Theater of Devotion, p. 99, sees in the Virgins a violation of ‘the English medieval custom of all-male performers’. 56 Evidence of boys dressed as girls, singing and dancing from a Computus roll of 1441 is quoted by E. K. Chambers, The Mediaeval Stage, 2 vols (London: Oxford University Press, 1903), I, p. 361. 57 For references to girls dancing see Nelson, REED: Cambridge, pp. 25, 30, 33. 58 Ellis, The Golden Legend, III, p. 25. 59 Two quite well known paintings of the fifteenth century depicting angels dancing in a ring are, The Last Judgement by Fra Angelico (Museo di San Marco, Florence), and ‘Mystic Nativity’ by Sandro Botticelli (National Gallery, London). For a history of the ring dance and the Church see E. Louis Backman, Religious Dances in the Christian Church and in Popular Medicine, trans. by E. Classen (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1952; repr. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1977). 60 Baker and others, Late Medieval Religious Plays, p. lxi; Donald C. Baker, ‘When is a Text a Play? Reflections upon What Certain Late Medieval Dramatic Texts Can Tell Us’, in Contexts for Early English Drama, ed. by Marianne G. Briscoe and John C. Coldewey (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989), pp. 20–40 (p. 33). 61 For a range of references to religious and craft guild plays see Lancashire, Dramatic Texts and Records of Britain to 1558. 62 Eccles, The Macro Plays, p. xxvii. It has been suggested that Hyngham may have been the scribe as well as the owner of the Macro copy; see Richard Beadle, ‘The Scribal Problem in the Macro Manuscript’, English Language Notes, 21 (1984), pp. 1–13 (p. 9). 63 Baker and others, Late Medieval Religious Plays, p. lvi. 64 Wills and Inventories from the Registers of the Commissary of Bury St Edmunds and the Archdeacon of Sudbury, ed. by Samuel Tymms, The Camden Society, 49 (London: Printed for The Camden Society, 1850), pp. 108–13. 65 Gottfried, Bury St. Edmunds and the Urban Crisis, p. 44, n. 51. 66 Gibson, Theater of Devotion, p. 126. 67 Gottfried, Bury St. Edmunds, pp. 44, 147– 48. 68 M. D. Lobel, The Borough of Bury St Edmund’s: A Study in the Government and

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y Development of a Monastic Town (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1935), and Gottfried, Bury St Edmunds. 69 Gottfried, Bury St. Edmunds and the Urban Crisis, pp. 222–31. 70 Lobel, The Borough of Bury St Edmund’s, p. 147; Westlake, Patrons and Performance, p. 226. 71 Tymms, Wills, Wills and Inventories, p. 104. Robert Hegge, of course, is the name of the earliest known owner of Cotton MS Vespasian D. VIII (The N. town manuscript). 72 Westlake, Patrons and Performance, p. 226. 73 Toulmin Smith, Gilds, pp. 149–50. 74 David Mills, ‘Religious drama and civic ceremonial’, in The Revels History of Drama in English: Volume I, Medieval Drama, ed. by A. C. Cawley, Marion Jones, Peter F. McDonald and David Mills (London: Methuen, 1983), pp. 152–206 (p. 159–65). 75 Gottfried, Bury St. Edmunds and the Urban Crisis, pp. 134, 148, 190; Lobel, pp. 46, 73; Westlake, pp. 12–14. 76 Gibson, Theater of Devotion, p. 121, and Galloway and Wasson, Norfolk and Suffolk, pp. 147–48. 77 Gottfried, The Borough of Bury St Edmund’s and the Urban Crisis, p. 211. 78 Gottfried, The Borough of Bury St Edmund’s and the Urban Crisis, p. 211. 79 It is worth noting in this context that some Boy Bishop ceremonies appear to have included dance as part of their celebrations. See Backman, Religious Dances, pp. 64–66. 80 Karl Young, ‘An Interludium for a Gild of Corpus Christi’, Modern Language Notes, 48 (1933), 85–86; Gibson, Theater of Devotion, p. 114; Westlake, Patrons and Performance, p. 225; Chambers, The Mediaeval Stage, II, pp. 343–44. 81 Gibson, Theater of Devotion, p. 126. 82 Gottfried, The Borough of Bury St Edmund’s and the Urban Crisis, p. 147. 83 Margaret Statham, ‘The Guildhall, Bury St Edmunds’, Proceedings of the Suffolk Institute of Archaeology, 31 (1968), 117–57 (pp.131–32). 84 Baker and others, Late Medieval Religious Plays, p. xvii. 85 For a summary of opposing opinions see Baker and others, Late Medieval Religious Plays pp. xxvi–xxviii. 86 For the building of stages over church doors see The Medieval Records of a London City Church (St Mary at Hill) A. D. 1420–1559, ed. by Henry Littlehales, Early English Text Society, 2 vols, OS 125, OS 128 (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner, 1904–1905), pp. 198, 301, 304, 327. Although the only connection that The Conversion of St Paul has with Bury St Edmunds is the ownership of the manuscript in the sixteenth century by Myles Blomefylde who was born there in 1525, the town offers a particularly good example of a locality suitable for the type of staging suggested in this article. The south door of St James’ Church (now St Edmundsbury Cathedral) faces the Notyngham porch built on the north side of St Mary’s Church in 1440. The two entrances are exactly aligned and a little over a hundred yards apart, separated by a churchyard. Performance of The Conversion of St Paul could have begun with the first station at the door of St James’ Church, processed to the north side of St Mary’s Church for the second station, where God was raised above the porch, and then entered the church for the final station. The appeal of this location is somewhat diminished by the fire of 1465 which gutted the interior of St James’ Church. Rebuilding was not completed until 1550 but perhaps, for the sake of speculation, the south door survived. 87 For a review of the performance that mentions the dancing, see Peter Meredith, ‘The Conversion of St Paul at Winchester Cathedral’, Medieval English Theatre,

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y 4.1 (1982), 71–72. There is considerable evidence for the use of processional dance in medieval European religious ceremonies. Corpus Christi processions were frequently accompanied by dances, as were celebrations in honour of saints. See Backman, Religious Dances, pp. 86, 97–102. 88 Baker and others, Late Medieval Religious Plays p. xxviii. 89 Nelson, REED: Cambridge, p. 75. 90 On Latin terms used in records of dramatic activity see Abigail Ann Young, ‘Plays and Players: the Latin terms for performance’, REED Newsletter, 9 (1984), 56–62 (p. 60). 91 Catholicon Anglicum: an English-Latin Wordbook dated 1483, ed. by Sidney J. H. Hertage, Early English Text Society, OS 75 (London: Trübner, 1881). 92 Baker and others, Late Medieval Religious Plays, p. xix. 93 Gottfried, The Borough of Bury St Edmund’s and the Urban Crisis, p. 212.

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8 ‘FORTUNE IN WORLDYS WORSCHYPPE’: THE SATIRISING OF THE SUFFOLKS IN WISDOM From: Medieval English Theatre, 14 (1992)

It has been recognized for some time that the fifteenth-century morality play Wisdom contains within its universal message, inspired by mystical writings, an element of contemporary political satire. David Bevington, in an important article, drew attention to the way in which the fall from grace experienced by the three Mights of the Soul; Mind, Will and Understanding, is characterized by their abandonment of the contemplative life in favour of the worldly vices of maintenance, perjury and lechery.1 Bevington, among others, considered the adoption of these debased conditions to be a generalized warning against the secular ambitions of some clerics. Although not agreeing with his identification of the Mights with the clergy, Milton Gatch similarly considered the satire in Wisdom to be ‘general and conventional’ without ‘pointed allusion to legal problems peculiar to the fifteenth century’.2 This view of the role of the satirical content of Wisdom as non-specific has never been seriously questioned, even though it is a view of the play perhaps more blurred by time than most. What to a modern critic may look like ‘general and conventional’ references to politics in a text might well appear in performance to a contemporary audience as specific and concrete examples of political corruption and legal injustice. It is not unusual for satire to avoid overt identification of the objects of its criticism. It is both safer for the writer and more enjoyable for the audience if the identification is made through allusion and innuendo. What is necessary in these circumstances is that the audience, in the form of their everyday experience, brings to the performance the context that makes the references topical and particular. Once this active ingredient in the reception of a play is no longer current the satire in the text inevitably appears general. This could be what has happened to the satiric element of Wisdom, although in this case it may be possible to recover the source of the satire. The dialect and approximate date of Wisdom are generally agreed to be East Anglian and about 1460.3 The East Anglian provenance of the play is, 116

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y to some extent, confirmed by the one-time ownership of the Macro manuscript by a monk named Hyngham, who may have been the abbot of the monastery at Bury St Edmunds from 1474 to 1479, and by the initials of Myles Blomefylde at the beginning of the Digby manuscript, who lived in Chelmsford for much of his life but was born in Bury in 1525.4 There have been attempts to place the original performance of the play in London, possibly at the Bishop of Ely’s palace in Holborn or at the Inns of Court, on the basis of the legal references and the number of city locations referred to in the text.5 However, these places are, for the most part, courts of law and brothels that had meaning beyond the city boundary, particularly in a region as close as East Anglia. The legal terms, too, are sufficiently common to be understood by an informed but not necessarily specialist audience. Any play performed in East Anglia during the early years of the second half of the fifteenth century that dealt critically with the corrupt practices of maintenance, extortion, bribery, simony and perjury could probably not help but direct an audience’s thoughts to the behaviour of the de la Pole family, especially William, the first Duke of Suffolk, his wife Alice Chaucer and their eldest son John de la Pole, the second Duke of Suffolk. Even ‘general and conventional’ references to maintenance and perjury are likely to have seemed particular to the Suffolks in areas where their exercise of power and influence was viewed with suspicion and fear. Wisdom possibly goes further than this with a number of references that would leave a contemporary audience in little doubt as to the identity of those being satirized. Before discussing them it is important to make clear that the concern of the play in these scenes is to condemn the sins of the world as practised by Mind, Will and Understanding, rather than to lampoon the de la Poles. The references to the Suffolks serve to particularize those sins in respect of time and place. It is also worth noting that there is some dispute over the extent of William de la Pole’s malversation in the government of Henry VI, but what is of interest here is not so much the actual level of his maladministration and corruption as the popular perception of his character and behaviour at the time. And there is considerable contemporary evidence to show that not only was he the most powerful man in England during much of the reign of Henry VI but also one of the most despised. The details of William de la Pole’s life, political career and murder are sufficiently well known to need only the briefest of outline here.6 He was born on 16 October 1396, the second son of Michael, Earl of Suffolk who died of a fever at Harfleur in 1415. William succeeded to the title of Earl of Suffolk on the death of his elder brother at Agincourt in 1415 and was knighted shortly after and made a Knight of the Garter in 1421. Much of his early career was spent in France where he led the king’s forces from 1428 until his capture and ransom in 1430. He was appointed steward of the royal household in 1433 and grew in favour and influence with the king, acquiring numerous honours and official appointments.7 In May 1444 he returned to France as proxy for 117

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y the marriage of Henry VI and Margaret of Anjou in the church of St Martin in Tours, and was created Marquis of Suffolk later in the same year. He came to dominate English politics in the 1440s, advancing adherents to positions of power in church and state through his personal patronage. He was made Great Chamberlain of England in 1447 and was created Duke of Suffolk the following year. In 1450, in the midst of growing hostility to his role in the defeat in France and his personal aggrandizement through the king’s favour, he was impeached by the Commons on suggestion of treason. Henry VI dismissed the bill of impeachment and instead exiled the Duke for five years from 1 May 1450. He left England on that date and was intercepted off Dover by the Nicholas of the Tower. He was taken aboard and the following day executed in an open boat. In about 1430 William had married Alice Chaucer, granddaughter of Geoffrey Chaucer and only child and heir of Thomas Chaucer of Ewelme in Oxfordshire, who was Speaker of the House of Commons on five occasions, and Maud/Matilda, daughter and co-heir of John Burghersh. Alice had previously been married to Sir John Philip (d.1415) and Thomas Montacute, fourth Earl of Salisbury (d.1428). She died in 1475 and is buried at St Mary’s Church, Ewelme.8 John de la Pole was born to William and Alice on 27 September 1442. The title of Duke of Suffolk was confirmed on him in his twenty-first year by Edward IV. At some time before October 1460 he married Elizabeth daughter of Richard, third Duke of York, and sister of Edward IV and Richard III. Their first son was born about 1462, created Earl of Lincoln and in 1485, following the death of Richard III’s son, was designated heir to the throne. John de la Pole had previously been married to his father’s ward Margaret, the only daughter and heir of John Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, which had given rise to one of the articles of William’s impeachment that this marriage was part of an attempt to secure the succession to the throne for his son. The marriage was dissolved sometime before March 1453. Unlike and possibly because of his father, John de la Pole seems to have kept out of court politics preferring to concentrate upon his own interests in East Anglia. He died during the summer of 1492 and was buried at Wingfield Church in Suffolk.9 This bald outline of family history and political office, whilst conveying something of the Suffolks’ historical importance, gives no indication of the sense of outrage with which their actions in pursuit of power and property were met locally and nationally. In the case of East Anglia, which is of principal interest as far as Wisdom is concerned, the cause of such hatred is succinctly summarized by a recent historian of the period: In the decade or so before the crisis year of 1450, the counties of Norfolk and Suffolk, like Kent, were dominated socially, politically, and governmentally by William de la Pole [...] along with his councillors, servants, and proteges. According to The Paston Letters (and 118

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y their laments are substantially confirmed by other evidence), his affinity maintained itself in the two counties by means of extortion, high-handed demands, seizures of property, denials of justice, and even by perverting due legal process; his representatives manipulated the courts and abused their own position and offices, perpetuating their local sway often by unashamed fear.10 Similar evidence suggests that these tactics did not come to an end with the death of William de la Pole, on the contrary, they continued to be employed by Alice and her son in sustaining and extending their interests in East Anglia; as a letter from Margaret Paston to her husband makes only too clear. Written on 7 January 1462, it continues her concern expressed in a previous letter for the ‘ryotows felawschep in thys contre’ and the possibility of a ‘comone rysyng’. The Lord of Clarence and the Duke of Suffolk with ‘serteyn jwgys’ are reported to be coming to ‘syt on syche pepyll as be noysyd ryotous’, a prospect Margaret views with less than equanimity: They loue not in no wyse the Dwke of Sowthfolk nor hys modyr. They sey that all the tretourys and extorsyonerys of thys contre be meyntynyd by them and by syche as they get to them wyth her goodys. to that intent to meynten suche extorsyon as hathe be do by suche as hathe had the rewyll vndyr them be-for-tyme. Men wene and the Dwke of Sowthfolk come ther schall be a schrewd reuell, but if ther come odyr that be bettyr belovyd than he is her. The pepyll feryth hem myche the mor to be hurt be-cause that ye and my cosyn Barney come not home.11 Indeed, it is with mother and son in particular that Wisdom seems to make the clearest association with the corrupt practice of maintenance referred to in the letter. In the play, the worldly corruption that befalls Mind, Will and Understanding is represented by a disguising made up of three costumed dances that portray, respectively, the evils of maintenance, perjury and lechery. The first of these is led by Mind, who changes his name to ‘Mayntennance’ (696) and introduces his six dancers by names indicative of their condition. Their appearance is described in, what is for the period, a particularly full stage direction: Here entur six dysgysyde in the sute of Mynde, wyth rede berdys, and lyouns rampaunt on here crestys, and yche a warder in hys honde; her mynstrallys, trumpes. Eche answere for hys name (SD 692). Although their actual livery is not described, it is clear from the stage direction that the dancers wear identical costumes as a means of conveying their 119

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y dependence on Mind. At this level they operate as abstract figures fulfilling a dramatic function. What, possibly, gives them substance and a reality beyond the play world is the wearing of the ‘lyouns rampaunt’ on their crests. W. K. Smart suggested some time ago that the lions may represent the badges of the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk.12 This idea has received very little attention and was doubted by Mark Eccles in the notes to his edition of the Macro manuscript of the play where he saw the lions simply as familiar symbols of pride.13 Such animal symbolism is undeniably appropriate to the play at this point, but the stage direction is more specific in its use of heraldic terminology than would seem to be necessary for such purposes. Moreover, for an East Anglian audience the rampant lion, in the form of an heraldic badge, was perhaps a more familiar symbol of those maintained by John de la Pole and his mother than that of abstract pride. In the late Middle Ages the heraldic badge was, in many ways, the most public and familiar of all armorial devices. It was not worn by the owner but rather used as a mark of ownership and worn for the purposes of identification by his or her retainers and adherents. At the time it was not uncommon for families without armorial crests to record their badges instead, and for the word ‘badge’, ‘device’ and ‘crest’ to be used interchangeably.14 Certainly, in the context of a dance representing maintenance, ‘crestys’ is more likely to refer to an heraldic badge than the technically more accurate meaning of a three dimensional device mounted on a helmet and incorporated in a coat of arms. It might also suggest that the crests in Wisdom were displayed on the chest of the livery uniforms, as is the case with the beefeaters, rather than worn as impractical headdresses. In common with many nobles, John de la Pole used more than one badge to denote his ownership of property and personal affinity. One of these was the Suffolk knot but the other was a ‘Lyon of gold the Kewe forched’.15 The queue fourche, or divided tail, almost certainly identifies this device as the Burghersh gold lion that Alice inherited from her maternal grandfather through her mother’s marriage to Thomas Chaucer. These arms were quartered with the arms of de la Pole following Alice’s inheritance of the Chaucer estate. They were recorded in a Tudor book of arms (BL MS Harleian 6163 fol.119) and blazoned by the twentieth-century editor of the volume as: Azure, a fess between three leopards faces or, POLE; quarterly with, CHAUCER, argent, a chief gules, over all a lyon rampant queue fourchee or.16 These arms can be seen in a number of places, notably on Alice Chaucer’s tomb in St Mary’s Church, Ewelme, and carved in wood on the pulpit of St Andrew’s Church, Wingfield (PLATE 1). The pulpit dates from the nineteenth or early twentieth century, but the carving is very much older and may 120

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Plate 1 Carving on the pulpit of Wingfield Church showing the de la Pole arms quartered with Chaucer © John Marshall.

be contemporary with the work carried out by William de la Pole to enlarge and improve the parish church in memory of his father.17 There appear to have been no fixed rules of inheritance governing heraldic badges, and it was probably political prudence on the part of John de la Pole that led him to adopt a device that emphasized his mother’s heritage rather than the ape’s clog with chain belonging to his father that had given rise to his nickname Jack Napes.18 John de la Pole was obviously not the only noble to use the lion as his heraldic badge. Three Dukes of Norfolk, for example, used the ‘white lyoun’ in the fifteenth century and could also be considered as suitable candidates for the political satire in Wisdom.19 However, although there is evidence to show that the Mowbray Dukes of Norfolk were capable of employing some of the less savoury tactics of the Suffolks in pursuit of their interests, they wielded less power and consequently had slightly less opportunity to abuse it and fewer people to inflict it upon. They were also often in dispute with the Suffolks during the period, and much of the time supported opposing 121

Plate 2 The Saracen’s head crest of Jon de la Pole’s monument in Wingfield Church © John Marshall.

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y factions.20 It therefore would make little political or dramatic sense to have, as Smart implied, both sets of retainers represented in the dance wearing the same livery. Fortunately choosing between these two evils as the representative of maintenance is not just a question of determining which lion rampant abused most power. What seems to clinch the connection of the Suffolks with the stage direction is the additional costume detail of the dancers wearing ‘rede berdys’. In his theological interpretation of Wisdom, Molloy compares the red beards of the dancers with that worn by Judas as the sign of the traitor.21 Eccles, on the other hand, connects them with the wrathful men as ‘rede as blode’ in Handlyng Synne.22 These interpretations are fine as far as general points of comparison go, but both ignore the essentially heraldic nature of the stage direction. The wearing of livery with crests, the carrying of ‘warders’ or batons and the use of trumpets all feature in the more militaristic aspects of heraldry that played a significant and much criticized role in the public display of maintenance during the fifteenth century. It is not surprising, therefore, that the Wisdom playwright should exploit the theatrical potential of heraldry in the costume and acknowledge the connotation of battle in the musical accompaniment of trumpets to the dance (see lines 702–706). Having done so, it seems improbable that the red beards would have been chosen for their general association with treachery and wrath alone, but unlike the other features of the stage direction their heraldic significance is not immediately obvious. The explanation, though, like the ‘lyouns rampaunt’, may be found in the de la Pole armorial bearings. Although William and John had different badges and, over time, their coats of arms reflected the marshalling changes of marriage, they shared the same armorial crest. In the standard reference works this is blazoned as ‘a savage man’s head couped at the shoulders ppr, banded or, studded az’.23 This description, though, does not give the full picture. To begin with it would be more accurate to describe the head, from the depictions of it that survive, as that of a Saracen rather than a savage.24 The two types are very similar, and in either case it would be reasonable to assume that, in common with other examples, the head was bearded. It would be misleading, though, to assume that, as is the convention, the beard was black, or very dark, from the information in the blazon that the colour was proper (ppr) or natural. Other sources indicate beyond doubt that in the case of the de la Pole crest the head and the beard were both red. As Knights of the Garter, William and John de la Pole had their arms painted on plates of gilded metal affixed to the panelling at the backs of the stalls in the choir of St George’s Chapel in Windsor Castle. In both plates the crest is shown above a silver helm as a man’s head in profile painted red with a beard streaked with gold.25 Further and more striking evidence of the red beard on the crest can be found in the parish church at Wingfield. The alabaster effigy on the tomb of John de la Pole against the north wall of the chancel shows him in armour lying next 123

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y to his wife Elizabeth. His feet rest upon a lion with a forked tail, and his head is supported by his tournament helm. The helmet is surmounted by the magnificently carved crest of a man’s head with an earring in the right ear (PLATE 2). Few traces of original colour remain on the effigy except on the face and beard of the crest where they can clearly be seen to be red; in this instance without gold streaks. Confirmation of this colouring appears on one of the armorial accoutrements probably made for the funeral procession of John de la Pole and subsequently placed on the wall above his monument. Regrettably few examples of these commemorative symbols of chivalry have survived, but in the case of John de la Pole it is fortunate that, as well as two supporters, of which one is a rather damaged lion rampant, the crested tournament helm still exists (PLATE 3). This scaled down replica of the original fighting helmet is made of wood and now black rather than silver with what was probably once gold bordering and with a red mantle covering the sides.26 The crest is joined to the helmet with a torse banded blue and gold. The man’s face, hair and beard are all painted in a deep brick red. It is impossible to say if the helm and crest has been repainted since the funeral in 1492. The colouring is quite dull and there is certainly no evidence of it having been painted in this century. As what is known about the tincture of the crest from contemporary sources so closely matches what survives of the colour on the funerary helm, it seems reasonable to assume that if there has been any retouching that it has been faithful to the original. The distinctiveness of this armorial device, and its symbolic association with battle, may explain its choice as part of the costume for the dance of maintenance. In combination with the lion rampant, it would have constituted a fairly unambiguous sign of the Suffolks for an audience with adverse knowledge or experience of their activities in East Anglia. It is important to emphasize here that even if the playwright intended to connect the vice of maintenance with the Suffolks he did not do so at the expense of wider understanding or the concentration on religious matters within the play. Nothing in the stage direction or the text unequivocally identifies the Suffolks with maintenance, and in many ways it would have been a mistake to have done so as the vice extended, even in East Anglia, well beyond the individual activities of one family. To limit the problem through specification to one, albeit major, example of the practice would have been to minimize its magnitude and possibly alienate those of the audience unaffected by the Suffolk regime. The playwright avoids this by ensuring that the presentation of maintenance is sufficiently open that meaning is not dependent on making an identification with the Suffolks. However, for those in the audience who do recognize the satirical allusion to the family in the costume of the dancers, the play takes on a topical and specific sharpness. The same kind of thing may explain why the dance of maintenance, or the tune to which it was performed, was called ‘Madam Regent’. Mind, as Maintenance, having commented on the appropriateness of trumpets to 124

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y accompany the dance, instructs the minstrels and the dancers to ‘Blow! Lett see Madam Regent,/Ande daunce, ye laddys! yowr hertys be lyght’ (707–708). A.W. Pollard, in the introduction to an early edition of the play, thought this possibly a reference to Margaret of Anjou and her attempt in January 1454 to claim the regency of England during one of the periods of her husband’s incapacity through illness.27 Public feeling was strongly against her, however, and the protectorate was, briefly, bestowed upon the Duke of York until Henry VI recovered. Although she continued to play a major and troublesome role in English politics until the death of her husband in 1471, notably in her leadership of the Lancastrian faction in the northern campaigns and her advance on London via the eastern counties in 1461 with an undisciplined and ruthless body of men that reputedly plundered villages and despoiled churches, she never was officially Queen Regent.28 Nonetheless, she was sufficiently unpopular in East Anglia, and elsewhere, for an ironic reference to her powerful political influence between 1455 and 1461 to have some meaning in the context of the dance in Wisdom. What may seem a fairly slight reason for naming the dance of maintenance, somewhat obliquely, after her is, perhaps, strengthened, in respect of the discussion so far, by her personal friendship and support of the Suffolks. From the time William de la Pole negotiated her marriage to Henry VI, and the subsequent peace with France, to his impeachment and death in 1450 he remained a great favourite of Margaret’s, if not quite to the extent portrayed by Shakespeare.29 As well as being her chief adviser, it is possible that William also wrote poems in her honour.30 His wife Alice accompanied him as head of the mission to France in 1444 that was to bring Margaret to England, and she continued to attend the queen after the royal marriage in 1445.31 Less happily, Alice was one of the twenty-nine named individuals that the Commons sought to remove from the king’s presence in late 1450 for their undesirable influence on the royal household.32 Her inclusion on the list may have been by association with her late husband or possibly in her own right as a close friend of the queen. In late 1471, Margaret, no longer the threat she once had been, was removed from confinement in Windsor Castle, where she had been kept following her capture after the battle of Tewkesbury, to the custody of the now Yorkist Alice in her Wallingford home, where she remained for four years.33 This history of friendship and patronage between Margaret of Anjou and the Suffolks may go some way to explain why a dance that appears to satirize them may be named after her. An alternative identification of Madam Regent was suggested by Smart in his work on the sources of Wisdom that makes an even closer connection with the Suffolks. He thought that ‘Madam Regent’ might refer to Alice herself during the period of her son’s minority when she took responsibility as dowager for the de la Pole affairs.34 This fits very well with the proposal of the Suffolks being identified with the first dance of the play but, of course, it relies entirely upon that identification being made in the first place. An audience 125

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y alert to the heraldic signs of the Suffolks in the costume would probably recognize the reference in the text to the status of the Duchess. For an audience without that awareness the title would not necessarily be meaningless but might rather suggest the behaviour of Queen Margaret. The term ‘regent’ need not only refer to one who governs in place of the sovereign but it is by far its most common use, and possibly the meaning most likely to be attached to it on first hearing.35 It was also very common for noblewomen to outlive their husbands and take control of their affairs until the eldest son reached the age of majority, and yet there is very little evidence of ‘Madam Regent’ being used at the time to describe this particular condition, although it is used 150 years later in Bartholomew Fair to signify governance by a woman in the absence of the head of the household.36 It may be that, as with the last example, the term was in colloquial use to deride the queenly manner with which some women took control of their deceased or absent husband’s affairs. Alice Chaucer certainly seems to have retained some control and considerable influence over her son and the de la Pole interests even after John came of age.37 For the title to be an accurate, as well as satirical, reference to Alice’s status, and coincide with a time when her son could be expected to have a badge of his own, the play would have to be dated before 1463, when his coming of age was marked by his confirmation as Duke of Suffolk and the granting of the licence to allow entrance into all his lands without proof of age, and probably by early 1461 at the latest, when as a Yorkist he fought at the battles of St Albans, Ferrybridge and Towton.38 Exactly the time that Margaret Paston was complaining about mother and son and their maintenance of traitors and extortioners.39 Coincidentally, if ‘Madam Regent’ relates instead to Margaret of Anjou, a very similar date might be suggested if the title refers not to her unsuccessful attempt to gain the regency in 1454 but to the period from July 1460 (the battle of Northampton) to February 1461 (the second battle of St Albans) when Henry was held by the Yorkists and Margaret led the Lancastrians in government and battle. Without further references to ‘Madam Regent’ coming to light it seems unlikely that the right of either woman to the dubious title in the play will be resolved. By 1461 Alice and Margaret were politically on different sides, but their lives and fortunes had been inextricably entwined and reference to either in the play in conjunction with the costume of the dancers would, in East Anglia at least, evoke Suffolk associations. In much the same way that an audience familiar with the Suffolks and aware of their heraldic devices might, not unreasonably, associate ‘Madam Regent’ as the title of a dance of maintenance with Alice Chaucer, so other references in the play that appear general on the surface might, at the time, have had particular relevance to the de la Poles. The behaviour of Alice and John in pursuit of their East Anglian interests, at least as represented in the Paston letters, was as much as anything a legacy of the political tactics and infamous conduct of William de la Pole. Although he was murdered in 126

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y 1450, the depth of hatred he engendered and the strength of the self-serving network he created ensured that he lived on in memory and effect.40 It would not be surprising, therefore, if such a reputation found expression in a play that dealt, partly through the satirizing of his family, with the political vices of maintenance and perjury, even if it may have been written some years after his death. Perhaps because of the time interval or a desire to treat the sins universally, the references are not explicit, and there is a danger of reading into them the actions of a man who came to personify so much of the corruption that they represent. For example, he was responsible for one of the more notorious cases of maintenance in the mid-fifteenth century that was the subject of one of the second set of charges brought against him by the Commons in March 1450. This concerned his protection of William Tailboys, who on 28 November 1449 made an assassination attempt on Lord Cromwell outside the star chamber in Westminster Palace; an act possibly prompted by Suffolk, who was accused of causing justice to be delayed and procuring a pardon for Tailboys.41 In a similar vein, he was also charged in the articles with appointing county sheriffs for bribes or the furthering of his own interests. Margaret Paston, in a letter to her husband in 1448, was only too aware of the consequences of such machinations: Ther xal no man ben so hardy to don nother seyn ayens my lord of Sowthfolk nere non that longyth to hym; and all that han don and seyd ayens hym, they xul sore repent them.42 At the time she was writing there is no doubt that Suffolk was by far the most powerful man in East Anglia, if not the entire country, and that he achieved and maintained this position by the unscrupulous actions of those he retained. The men who acted as his agents are frequently named in the Paston letters with considerable disdain as the perpetrators of criminal and violent acts. Prominent among them were Sir Thomas Tuddenham of Oxburgh, who was appointed keeper of the Great Wardrobe in the king’s household in 1446, and his colleague John Reydon, a lawyer from Baconsthorpe who had been Sheriff and Recorder of Norwich and was notorious for his use of threats and force in the pursuit of his and Suffolk’s interests. Equally threatening, if lower in standing, were John Wymondham, William Prentis, a manipulator of juries, and John Ulveston.43 Although after Suffolk’s death the threat that these men posed was briefly curtailed, they soon re-established their grip on the community, and Tuddenham and Reydon are still linked with Alice as late as June 1461 when they were pardoned by the king and travelled to London for the coronation of Edward IV in the company of the Duchess of Suffolk.44 Further evidence of Suffolk’s methods are graphically recorded in a lengthy indictment of the Duke written in response and some frustration to the Lords’ decision to proceed no further with the Commons’ bill of impeachment after 127

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y Suffolk had answered the accusations against him. Some of the writing would not have been out of place in Wisdom: therby alle tho that wolde not be of his secte were over sette in their countres; therby every matier trewe or fals that he wolde favour went fourthe; therby alle other trewe mannes matier of nonsuche mighte went bakke; therby perjuries begonne and encresed that yet sinfully continued in Englond, which sume men drede shalle cause the landes destruccion; but good amende hit; therby were trewe men hangyng; therby were theves saved, therby menne lost their lands with wronge such as he wolde; therby hath he purchaced many a grete lordship for mayntenaunce; therby falshode encreased, therby trouth destroued; therby was trouth put under, and falshold was lyfted above; thereby is justice lost; therby is lawe mischeffed.45 There is no doubt from this and other sources that William de la Pole was regarded by many in the mid-fifteenth century as one of the worst offenders in exploiting the malpractices of maintenance and perjury. It would not be unexpected, therefore, if a play dealing with these vices was to evoke his memory. The costume of the dancers and the title ‘Madam Regent’ would, quite possibly, confirm the connection. There are also, perhaps, some other more subtle reminders in the text. Soon after the appearance of the Mights of the Soul in the new array that marks their transition from innocence to fall, Mind, Will and Understanding consider the advantages of a commitment to worldly pleasure. Understanding is aware that ‘Ryches makyt a man equall/To hem sumtyme hys souereyngys wer’ (587–588) and Mind tells the other two that ‘Fortune in worldys worschyppe me doth lace’ (578). These are undoubtedly universal attractions, but they are particularly relevant to the de la Pole family history. In a letter written on 13 July 1465 John Paston, in denying the claim of John de la Pole to the estate of Drayton, invokes the Suffolk pedigree: as for the pedegre of the seyd Dewk, he is sone to William Pool, Dewk of Suffolk, sone to Mychell Pool, Erl of Suffolk, sone to Mychel Pool, the furst Erl of Suffolk of the Polis, mad be King Richard seth my fader was born. And the seyd furst Mychell was sone to on William Pool of Hull, whech was a wurchepfull man grow be fortwne of the werld, and he was furst a marchant, and after a knygth, and after he was mad baneret.46 The de la Poles were, perhaps, the first of the country’s merchant families to be ennobled—a cause of some resentment among fellow peers—and could certainly claim to be the equal of all but the sovereign himself by the time William was created Duke of Suffolk.47 In social and financial terms the 128

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y family came a very long way in a short space of time by turning the ‘fortwne of the werld’ into ‘fortune in worldys worschyppe’. Two means of acquiring wealth favoured by Understanding are ‘govell’ and ‘symony’ (602). These were not uncommon money-spinners at the time, but it is of interest here that the sale of bishoprics and the preferment to desirable sees of his own followers was something of which William was often accused. Although ecclesiastical appointments were the king’s prerogative there is little doubt that they were subject to Suffolk’s approval.48 And on one occasion, at least, he seems to have promoted his own man, Walter Lyhert, above the king’s personal choice of his confessor, John Stanbury, to the bishopric of Norwich.49 Whether for reasons of political or financial gain, Suffolk was so successful in filling ecclesiastical posts according to his interests that immediately after his death a satirical poem circulated in the form of a parody of the Funeral Mass in which a succession of those promoted through his patronage conducted parts of the ceremony.50 In the play, Understanding sanctions his new-found acceptance of gavel and simony as legitimate practices with ‘To be fals, men report yt game; / Yt ys clepyde wysdom, ‘Ware that!’ quod Ser Wyly’ (603–604). It would be stretching things too far to say that these lines could have been inspired by Suffolk’s answers to the king and the Lords concerning the falseness of the accusations contained in the Commons’ bill of impeachment, but the attribution of the quotation to ‘Ser Wyly’ might be intended to hint at William de la Pole.51 Although the name crops up elsewhere in other forms, it may be significant that in the poem referred to above, that celebrates the death of the Duke of Suffolk, he is described as ‘wyly’: Therto a pater-noster saith the bisshop of synt Davy For thes soules that wise were and mightty, Suffolk, Moleyns, and Roos, thes thre; And in especial for Jac Napes, that ever was wyly, For his soule Placebo and Dirige52. The changing of an apt adjective into a name is not an uncommon device, and there were doubtless many others for whom the appellative ‘wyly’ would have been appropriate. The same is probably true of the coincidence of the author of the indictment written after the dismissal of the impeachment proceedings twice accusing the Duke of Suffolk of ‘insaciable covetise’ and Understanding referring in the play to the ‘fadyr of vs, Covetyse’ (744).53 In the context of Wisdom, the naming of ‘Covetyse’ as the father of all sins needs no elaboration for the meaning to be clear, but it is possible that for some of the audience a known association of Suffolk with the ruling vice would be further evidence of the playwright’s satire of the de la Poles. Understanding makes his point about ‘Covetyse’ after the dance of perjury which he connects with ‘the quest of Holborn’ (721). It has not been possible, 129

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y so far, to positively identify the court at which this seemingly corrupt jury sat. Furnivall, in a note to his edition of Wisdom, thought it a reference to a wardmote quest.54 This does not seem very likely as the wardmote was the smallest of the London courts where the jury was concerned with the inquiry rather than the trial of offenders. It is difficult to imagine how such a court would acquire the kind of reputation described by Understanding. Eccles was, perhaps, nearer the mark in considering the quest to be a ‘jury presided over by the sheriff and justices of Middlesex, who met in High Holborn, where a new Quest House was built in 1590’.55 A difficulty with this suggestion is that the parochial concern of the court would not seem to match Understanding’s delight in the fact that they ‘daunce all the londe hydyr and thedyr’ (732). The ability of the jury to have influence beyond the boundary of Middlesex points rather to the Holborn quest being connected with the King’s Bench and the bill of Middlesex.56 In the early days of the King’s Bench the court was divided into two, with the one before the king, coram ipso domino rege, following him about the country while the other remained at Westminster. When on tour the King’s Bench superseded all other courts in the county where it sat. One of the many advantages of the arrangement was that complainants could seek redress by the use of a bill rather than resorting to the expensive and time-consuming process of purchasing the necessary writs out of chancery. Writs, generally, involved the employment of an attorney and were so rigid in form that, once presented, they could not be departed from in any way. Bills, on the other hand, were cheaper, less formal and need not correspond to a form of action already prescribed by law, nor would they be dismissed because the case developed in a way that departed from the description of the original complaint, as happened with writs. During the fifteenth century the migrations of the court became fewer and fewer until the vast majority of the King’s Bench sessions were held at Westminster. Along with its other business, the court continued to hear plaints by bill but they were restricted to offences that occurred in Middlesex. Inevitably these often involved people from outside the county who visited London for purposes of business or pleasure. It was, therefore, possible for a resident or visitor to sue by bill of Middlesex for loss or physical violence against a defendant who lived elsewhere, providing the original offence took place in Middlesex, and for a writ of latitat to be sent to the sheriff of the county where the offender was thought to reside. This was a straightforward, if not always successful, procedure, but there was another aspect of the bill of Middlesex that was to make it a more powerful legal weapon. The court of King’s Bench was prepared to hear any civil action arising from any part of the country if the defendant was already in the custody of the court on another charge. While in prison the defendant could not be summonsed by other inferior courts to answer separate charges. To ensure that this did not lead to the avoidance of justice elsewhere, the King’s Bench 130

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y was prepared to consider any other suits brought against their prisoner. This privilege was extended in 1452 when they agreed that a man on bail should, for the purposes of further litigation, be regarded as though he were in custody. In order for a complainant to get the King’s Bench to examine actions that would normally have been the responsibility of other courts, it was necessary to get the defendant into ‘custody’ by means of being bailed to a bill of Middlesex. The original offence, though, need not always have been genuine. It was unscrupulous rather than illegal to pick a quarrel in Middlesex with the defendant in order to bring a bill alleging assault that would set in motion the legal process desired. It was even more dishonest, but increasingly the practice after 1452, to initiate the procedure with a fictitious bill of Middlesex. Once in ‘custody’, the feigned trespass in Middlesex could be proceeded with or dropped without the defendant being able to contest it, and without it affecting the hearing of additional cases against him, which could now be brought by plaintiffs other than the original complainant. This might lead to the case being directed for trial to the county where the other offence occurred, presided over by a judge who may, or may not, have been a Justice of the King’s Bench. In any event, the original bill of Middlesex, which had ensnared the defendant in the first place, would play no further part in the prosecution. This process, intended to extend the jurisdiction of the King’s Bench but open to abuse and discredit, was at its height in the fifteenth century between 1450 and 1470, during which time Wisdom was almost certainly written. In those cases where a jury was required to examine a bill of Middlesex, real or fictitious, they were summonsed from the county by the sheriff, whose initiative in the process soon came to exceed that of the King’s Bench. If these Middlesex juries came to be popularly known as the Holborn quest, after the part of London where the county court met, then it is possible to see how the involvement could be considered by Understanding to have countrywide consequences. There is no doubt that legal procedure like this was worthy of critical treatment in Wisdom in its own right, but the role of the sheriff in the process could be seen to implicate William, Duke of Suffolk, once more. During the reign of Henry VI the appointment of sheriffs was, in many instances, made through nepotism and patronage, with members of the king’s household receiving a disproportionate number of shrievalties, particularly in the home counties. As with the advancement of bishops, William de la Pole was responsible for making many of these opportunist appointments that served his interests rather than those of Justice.57 His partiality did not go unnoticed and formed one of the reasons for his impeachment. It is highly probable that he would have had a hand in the annual appointment of the sheriff of Middlesex in the years up to 1450, and, perhaps, by implication in the reputation of the juries that heard the bills of Middlesex. Although promoting the conditions in which perjury could flourish in England was one of the charges against William, there is no obvious reference 131

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y to him or his family in the stage direction that describes the appearance of the dancers of perjury, as there seemed to be in the case of maintenance: Here entrethe six jorours In a sute, gownyde, wyth hodys abowt ther nekys, hattys of meyntenance thervpon, vyseryde dyuersly; here mynstrell, a bagpype (SD 724). There is nothing here that offers the kind of specific detail in costume that made possible the identification of the Suffolks with the dance of maintenance. However, there is a tenuous literary connection between the two-faced jurours ‘vyseryde dyuersly’ and William de la Pole’s own duplicity. Understanding prepares for the entrance of his dancers by signalling that ‘Jorowrs in on hoode beer to facys / Fayer speche and falsehede in on space ys’ (718–719). In a different context, but still with judicial overtones, Suffolk is also accused of showing two sides: God kepe oure kyng ay, and gide hym by grace, Save hym fro Southefolkes, and frome his foois alle; The Pole is so parlyus men for to passe, That fewe can ascape hit of the banck rialle. But set under suger he shewithe hem galle; Witnes of Humfrey, Henry, and Johan, Whiche late were one lyve, and now be they goon.58 Suffolk was known to refer cases, like that of suspected treason against the servants of the late Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, to the ‘banck rialle’ or King’s Bench, where he was, quite possibly, also influential in their outcome.59 Understanding, too, declares his intention to further his interests by use of the court of King’s Bench at Westminster: At Westmyster, wythowt varyance, The nex terme xall me sore avawnce, For retornys, for enbraces, for recordaunce. Lyghtlyer to get goode kan no man on lyue. (789–792) There is, though, not enough evidence here to connect Suffolk explicitly with the corrupt legal practices portrayed by the dancers or itemized by Understanding. However, between them they do give some indication of the scale of the problem in the fifteenth century, and it is clear from the charges brought against him and the poems that denounce him that Suffolk was seen by many as responsible for creating the conditions in which a character like Understanding could thrive. In such an environment the playwright’s choice of two-faced masks to convey a sense of judicial hypocrisy was entirely apt. Interestingly, a contemporary carving in Norwich Cathedral shows what 132

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Plate 3 The funeral replica of John de la Pole’s tournament helm and crest in Wingfield Church. © John Marshall.

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Plate 4 The ‘Deceit’ misericord from Norwich Cathedral c.1480. © John Marshall.

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y these masks may have looked like. The last but one misericord on the north side of the cathedral from the west shows a two-faced man looking benignly at a smiling supporter to the left while poking his tongue out at the scowling counterpart on the right (PLATE 4). The two-faced man wears a single chaperon that has a rondlet set well on the head with a folded sorget over the right-hand face. This was typical headgear of the first half of the fifteenth century and still in favour about 1460, but it could not be confused with a hat of maintenance, which was of a different shape with ermine lining showing.60 However, the hat in the misericord does have what could be taken for a badge in the centre of the rondlet. It is quite crudely carved and could represent a variety of botanical forms. The ‘flower’ is made up of five outer circles, each of which is marked with a central dot. Behind and between the petals are the five points of a star. It is just possible that these are intended to be the intervening leaves between the petals that make up the barbs of the conventional heraldic rose, and that the political climate of the time and the subject of the carving combined in suggesting a Lancastrian sympathizer. Coincidentally, the misericord is described as ‘Deceit’ in A Catalogue of Misericords in Great Britain, which is also the name given to the last of the jurors introduced by Understanding in Wisdom.61 It is, of course, unlikely that there is any direct connection between the play and the misericord, but the coincidence in date and of place for the treatment of analogous material in different media may mean that there could have been a resemblance between the carving and the jurors masks.62 There is little doubt that much public opinion was against the Suffolks and identified them closely with the contemporary ills of maintenance and perjury. The opinion may not always have been based on the surest of facts, but it was widespread and hostile. Possible references and subtle allusions to them in a play dealing with these political vices are unlikely to have gone unnoticed by a reasonably well-informed audience. Whether the audience would have made a similar identification with the sin of lechery is much less clear. There were rumours about William and his relationship with Margaret of Anjou, but these seem to have been recorded only later by Hall and Holinshed, and then taken up by Shakespeare. William was, though, accused of lechery in the charges made against him after the impeachment proceedings where it was claimed that: The nighte before that he was yolden he laye In bede with a Nonne whom he toke oute of holy profession and defouled, whos name was Malyne de Cay, by whom he gate a daughter, now married to Stonard of Oxonfordshire.63 In respect of the daughter’s marriage to Thomas Stonor there seems to be some substance to the story, although there is no corroboration concerning the circumstances of her conception.64 135

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y In Wisdom there are few references to specific acts of lust, although Will, who oversees the dance of lechery, confesses to taking a diversion on his visits to London: Ande euer the latter, the leuer me. Wen I com lat to the cyte I walke all lanys and weys to myn affynyte; And I spede not ther, to the stews I resort. 

(797–800)

There is no suggestion that the Suffolk males did likewise, but the de la Pole London residence was situated in Suffolk Lane in Dowgate ward only a few streets from Love Lane in Billingsgate, named after the brothels sited there, and close to London Bridge that led to the Bankside stews.65 William bought the house from John Holland, Duke of Exeter, and was, apparently, living there in 1446. On his death it was retained by his heirs, and would have been used by Alice and John on their visits to London. There is, though, no evidence, other than proximity, to connect Will’s deviations with either Duke of Suffolk, and the only other possible allusion, in this context, to William de la Pole is Will’s description of what brings him joy in his new guise: To me ys joy most laudable Fresche dysgysynge to seme amyable, Spekynge wordys delectable Perteynynge onto loue. (589–592) Whether many of the audience shared the contemporary belief of John Shirley that William wrote poems ‘perteynynge onto loue’ is impossible to say, although the playwright may have been similarly aware of his association with eloquence and ‘wordys delectable’.66 As was the case with the jurors there is nothing specific about the costume of the dancers of lechery immediately to invite an identification of the Suffolks with their lustful behaviour: Here entreth six women in sut, thre dysgysyde as galontys and thre as matrones, wyth wondyrfull vysurs congruent; here mynstrell, a hornepype (SD 752). However, there is an intriguing possibility that the context of the dance and the nature of the disguise may serve to implicate Alice, as she seemed to be with the dance of maintenance, rather than William, by recalling a particularly bizarre episode in her life. At some time before she became Duchess in 1448, Alice, as Countess of Suffolk, is cited in a list of complaints concerning the extortions, oppressions, maintenances, and perjuries of Sir Thomas Tuddenham, John Heydon, 136

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y and others against the Mayor, Aldermen, and Commonalty of the City of Norwich. She is accused of being set against the city as a consequence of the time that she: cam to the said cite, disguysed like an huswyf of the cuntre and the sayd Tho. Tudenham and two other personys, went with heir also disguisyd, and thei to tak their disportis went out of the sayd cite, on an evyn agayn night, so disguisyd, toward a wode clepyd Lakenham wode, to tak the ayr and disport theym self 67 Whatever form these ‘disportis’ took,68 their ‘goyng oute in that wise’ had the effect of concealing their identity from Thomas Ailmer, a keeper of the city ditches, who discovered them in the woods and issued a challenge. This provoked an argument with Tuddenham that, in turn, led to a fight with the keeper, ‘wher by the seyd Duchesse was sore affrayd’. In an attempt to placate the displeasure that this aroused in Alice and Tuddenham, the mayor had Ailmer arrested and kept in prison for thirty weeks; notwithstanding which, they were thought to have persisted in their hatred towards the city. Tuddenham, a divorcé, and Heydon, a cuckold, represented the more brutal aspect of the Suffolk affinity and the insinuation of scandal conveyed by the wording of the presentment might suggest that prurient interest in the incident survived long after it occurred, possibly through Alice’s lifetime.69 This, in itself, is probably not sufficient to connect it with the dance of lechery in Wisdom but what may bring the two closer together is the detail that Alice was ‘disguysed like an huswyf’. In the Catholicon Anglicum, a work contemporary with Wisdom, the Latin equivalent of ‘huswyfe’ is given as matrona, and from other fifteenth-century sources, too, it is clear that huswyfe and matrone were, in certain contexts, regarded as synonymous terms.70 It is just possible that the playwright, in selecting what might, on the surface, seem an odd partnership with gallants for a celebration of lust, was alluding to Alice and her disports with Tuddenham and Heydon in having three of the dancers ‘dysgysyde [...] as matrones’. Thomas Tuddenham and two others are also described in the presentment as being disguised but, unfortunately, without the detail that might make an association between the dance and the night in the woods that much more convincing. Nonetheless, by the time of the third dance an audience may well have been sufficiently prepared by the previous two to expect some allusion to the Suffolks in the costume, and in the disports of Alice those expectations could readily have been fulfilled. The connection of the Suffolks with lechery in Wisdom is much more tenuous than with maintenance and perjury. However, the references cited should not be seen in isolation, but rather as part of a series of innuendos that become clearer in purpose as the instances accumulate. The fairly explicit designation of the Suffolks as the maintainers of the first group of dancers would seem to confirm any suspicion of identity that an audience may have 137

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y gained from earlier in the play and, if necessary, provide a pointer to the way in which subsequent examples of contemporary evil could be read. It is worth reiterating, though, that this process is not essential to the treatment of the vices, or to the understanding of the play, but provides topical bite and local colour. In this connection it is interesting to note that there seems to be a case in East Anglia during the 1440s that mirrored some of the political concerns expressed in Wisdom. John Hauteyn was a Carmelite friar who petitioned the pope to discharge him from the order on the grounds that he had been forced to enter it against his will when under age. His true motive seems to have been more worldly and aimed at restoring his right to hold property and pursue a claim to the manor of Oxnead. The claim, and the grounds of his release that made it possible, was contested by the Paston family, who owned the property at the time.71 Hauteyn, only too aware of the Paston influence in the area, complained to the Chancellor of England that his actions against them were obstructed because he could ‘gete no counsell of men of court to be with hym in the seid maters by-cause that the seid W. P. (William Paston) was one of the Kynges Justices, and John P., son and heire to the seid W. P., is also a mon of court’.72 Perhaps in an attempt to redress the balance, he is reported by Margaret Paston to have boasted, some years later on a visit to Norwich, that ‘he xal haue Oxnede, and that he hath my lord of Suffolkys good lordschip and he wol ben his good lord in that matere’.73 As might be expected, no more is heard of the friar, or his claim, after the death of William, Duke of Suffolk.74 The case is, obviously, too specific and limiting to be in any way the inspiration for Wisdom, but it does provide an actual example of the kind of situation with which it was partly concerned. If there are sufficient clues in the text of Wisdom to invite the audience to make a connection between the vices portrayed and the Suffolks, then there are clear implications for the nature of that original audience. It would seem, for example, to rule out a performance at the Wingfield household of John de la Pole, as tentatively suggested by Alexandra Johnston, although her other possibility of the Howards, Dukes of Norfolk, at their Stoke-by-Nayland home is feasible.75 A satirical view of the Suffolks would also seem to disqualify the claim for a performance in the monastery of Bury St Edmunds.76 William de la Pole and Alice Chaucer were both admitted to the chapter fraternity of the abbey during the time of Abbot Curteys (1429–1446), who regarded Suffolk as his ‘grete lord’.77 Unless there was a dramatic change in allegiance, the abbey was, perhaps, unlikely to have played host to a play that was, apparently, critical of past and present associate members. If it is possible to discount, on the basis of audience sympathy for the Suffolks, some of the suggestions that have been made for the auspices of Wisdom, it is not possible to reverse the process and propose an original audience on the strength of their opposition to the de la Poles. There are many, more critical, factors other than local politics involved in determining possible auspices, but it is clear from their letters that the Pastons and their 138

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y friends, for example, would recognize and appreciate the satire in Wisdom. In East Anglia, in particular, they were unlikely to be the only group of people for whom ‘lyouns rampaunt’, ‘rede berdys’ and ‘Madam Regent’ had a special meaning.78

Notes  1 David M. Bevington, ‘Political Satire in the Morality Wisdom Who is Christ’, Renaissance Papers (1963) 41–51. Much of the argument in this paper was incorporated in the same author’s Tudor Drama and Politics: A Critical Approach to Topical Meaning (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968), pp. 28–34.  2 Milton McC., Gatch, ‘Mysticism and Satire in the Morality of “Wisdom”’, Philological Quarterly, 53.3 (1974), 342–362 (p.357).  3 Wisdom survives in two manuscripts: a complete text (c.1465–1470), The Macro Plays ed. by Mark Eccles, Early English Text Society, OS 262 (London: Oxford University Press, 1969), and an incomplete copy (c.1490–1500), The Late Medieval Religious Plays of Bodleian MSS Digby 133 and E Museo 160, ed. by Donald C. Baker, John L. Murphy and Louis B. Hall, Early English Text Society, OS 283 (London: Oxford University Press, 1982). All quotations from the text of Wisdom, unless otherwise stated, are from the Macro copy. For the purposes of this article the thorn has been modernized to ‘th’.   4 On early ownership of the manuscripts see Eccles, pp. xxvii–xxx; Baker, pp. xii–xv; Gail McMurray Gibson, ‘The Play of Wisdom and the Abbey of St Edmunds’ in The Wisdom Symposium, ed. by Milla C. Riggio (New York: AMS Press,1986), pp. 39–66 (pp. 40–43). It has been suggested that Hyngham may have been the scribe as well as the owner of the Macro copy; see Richard Beadle ‘The Scribal Problem in the Macro Manuscript’, English Language Notes, 21 (1984), 1–13.   5 For the Bishop of Ely’s palace see Gatch, p. 358; for an Inn of Court see John Joseph Molloy, A Theological Interpretation of the Moral Play, ‘Wisdom, Who is Christ’ (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1952), p. 84.   6 The political life of William de la Pole is dealt with in some detail in Ralph A. Griffiths, The Reign of King Henry VI: The exercise of royal authority,1422–1461 (London: Ernest Benn, 1981). See also his entry in The Dictionary of National Biography and in The Complete Peerage, 12.1, ed. by Geoffrey H. White (London: St Catherine Press, 1953), pp. 443–448.   7 These are listed in The Official Baronage of England, ed. by James E. Doyle, 3 vols (London: Longman, Green and Co, 1886), III, 436–438.   8 For details of Alice Chaucer see Griffiths, The Reign of King Henry VI, Complete Peerage, 12:1,pp. 447–448. For a discussion of her role in the administration of the de la Pole affairs see Rowena E. Archer, ‘“How ladies [...] who live on their manors ought to manage their households and estate”: Women as Landholders and Administrators in the later Middle Ages’ in Woman is a Worthy Wight: Women in English Society c.1200–1500, ed. by P. J. P. Goldberg (Stroud: Alan Sutton, 1992), pp. 149–181 (pp.153–6). I should like to thank Carol Meale for her generous help and criticism in the preparation of this paper, particularly in respect of information concerning Alice Chaucer.   9 For details of John de la Pole see Complete Peerage, 12.1, pp. 448–450; Official Baronage III, pp.438–439; J. A. F. Thomson, ‘John de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk’, Speculum, 54 (1979), 528–542. 10 Griffiths, Reign of King Henry VI, p. 584. 11 Paston Letters and Papers of the Fifteenth Century, ed. by Norman Davis, 2 vols

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y (London: Oxford University Press, 1971), I, pp. 278–280. For the earlier letter referred to see I, pp. 276–278. 12 Walter Kay Smart, Some English and Latin Sources and Parallels for the Morality of ‘Wisdom’ (Menasha, WI: George Banta Publishing Co. 1912), p. 89. 13 Eccles, Macro Plays, p. 211. 14 Arthur Charles Fox-Davies, Heraldic Badges (London: Bodley Head, 1907), pp. 18–19. 15 Fox-Davies, Heraldic Badges, p. 147. 16 Two Tudor Books of Arms - Illustrated - Being Harleian Manuscripts 2169 and 6163 Blasoned by Joseph Foster (London: De Walden Library, 1904), p. 301. 17 S. W. H. Aldwell, Wingfield, Its Church, Castle and College (Ipswich: W. E. Harrison, n.d. [1925]), pp. 39, 67. 18 Fox-Davies, Heraldic Badges, p. 147. 19 Fox-Davies, Heraldic Badges, p. 128. 20 Griffiths, Reign of King Henry VI, pp. 584–592. 21 Molloy, A Theological Interpretation, p. 115n. 22 Eccles, Macro Plays, p. 211. A similar association of red hair with ‘wrath and thretyng’ can be found in the ‘Ashmole’ version of Secretum Secretorum, ed. by M. A. Manzalaoui, Early English Text Society, OS 276 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977), p. 92, and as a sign of ‘dysseyuabylnes’ in Johannes de Caritate’ translation of the same work p. 199. For a general discussion on the meaning of red hair and beards in the context of late medieval culture, see Ruth Mellinkoff, Outcasts: Signs of Otherness in Northern European Art of the Late Middle Ages, 2 vols (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), I, pp. 147–59. It is, perhaps, worth pointing out that beards were not fashionable at the time Wisdom was written. 23 Sir Bernard Burke, The General Armoury of England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales (London: Harrison, 1884), p. 810, and with only the slight variation of ‘savage’s head’ for ‘savage man’s head’ see Fairbairn’s Book of Crests of the Families of Great Britain and Ireland, ed. by A. C. Fox-Davies, 2 vols (Edinburgh: T.C. & E.C. Jack, 1892), p. 360. 24 The savage’s head is usually represented with a wreath of leaves about the temples, whereas a Saracen’s head, as in this case, is more frequently found with a torse or twisted wreath; see A Complete Guide to Heraldry, ed. and rev. by Arthur Charles Fox-Davies (London: Nelson and Sons, 1909), p. 167 and figs 253 and 255. 25 For a description and reproduction see W. H. St John Hope, The Stall Plates of the Knights of the Order of the Garter 1348–1485 (London: Constable, 1901), plates 50 and 79. 26 Aldwell suggests that it is the original tilting helmet, but the material and the size make this impossible. On the use of replicas in funeral ceremonies see Fox-Davies A Complete Guide to Heraldry, pp. 304, 335. 27 The Macro Plays, ed. by F. J. Furnivall and Alfred W. Pollard, Early English Text Society, ES 91 (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner, 1904), p. xix. The regency claim by Margaret is documented in a newsletter written by John Stodeley that is included by James Gairdner as an ‘interesting political letter of the period’ in his edition of The Paston Letters, 6 vols (London: Chatto and Windus, and James G. Commin, Exeter, 1904), II, pp. 295–299. 28 Griffiths, Reign of King Henry VI, pp. 872–5; J. J. Bagley, Margaret of Anjou Queen of England (London: Herbert Jenkins, n.d. [1948]), pp. 96–122. 29 Henry VI Part II, III. 2. 30 Henry Noble MacCracken, ‘An English Friend of Charles of Orleans’, Publications of the Modern Language Association of America, 26 (1911), pp. 142– 180. MacCracken’s attribution or the poems in Bodleian Fairfax 16, fols 318–29 to

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y William de la Pole is based on fairly flimsy circumstantial evidence and has recently been questioned by Johannes Petrus Maria Jansen, The ‘Suffolk’ Poems: an Edition of the Love Lyrics in Fairfax 16 attributed to William de la Pole (Groningen: Rijksuniversiteit, 1989), pp. 14–21. 31 Griffiths, Reign of King Henry VI, pp. 486–487, 256. 32 Griffiths, Reign of King Henry VI, p. 308. 33 Bagley, Margaret of Anjou, p. 235; Davis, Paston Letters, I, p. 446. 34 Smart, Some English and Latin Sources, p. 88. 35 See the entry for ‘Regent’ in OED sb l and 2, and in MED n (b). 36 Bartholomew Fair, I. 5. 17. 37 Thomson, ‘John de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk’, 537–539. 38 On the confirmation of the title and the grant of the licence to enter lands without proof of age, see Calendar of Patent Rolls 1461–67 (London: HMSO, 1897), p. 261. 39 See note 11. 40 A letter written five years after his death still speaks of his affinity with some bitterness; see Davis, Paston Letters, II, pp. 120–121. 41 For details of the impeachment of William de la Pole, and this incident in particular, see Select Documents of English Constitutional History 1307–1485, ed. by S. B. Chrimes and A. L. Brown (London: A & C Black, 1961), pp. 285–290, and for discussion see Griffiths, Reign of King Henry VI, pp. 580–581. 42 Davis, Paston Letters, I, 220–223 (p. 222). 43 Griffiths, Reign of King Henry VI, pp. 585–592. 44 Davis, Paston Letters, II, p. 237. 45 From a mutilated paper roll, Bodleian MS Eng hist b.119, printed in English Historical Manuscripts Commission, 3 (London: HMSO, 1872), pp. 279–280 (p. 280). See also Griffiths Reign of King Henry VI, p. 682. 46 Davis, Paston Letters, I, p. 135. 47 Aldwell, p. 9. For an assessment of the mercantile origins of the de la Pole family and their rapid social advancement see Rosemary Horrox, The De La Poles of Hull (East Yorkshire Local History Society, Beverley, 1983). 48 Lita-Rose Betcherman, ‘The Making of Bishops in the Lancastrian Period’, Speculum, 41 (1966), 397–419 (p. 416). 49 Griffiths, Reign of King Henry VI, p. 348. 50 Three versions of this poem survive. The fullest is Lambeth MS 306 fol. 51r, a sixteenth-century copy in John Stow’s hand, printed in Three Fifteenth-Century Chronicles, ed. by James Gairdner, Camden Society, n.s., 28 (1890), 99–103. A slightly shorter version with some variations exists in a fifteenth-century collection, BL Cotton MS Vespasian B 16 fol. 1v, printed in Political Poems and Songs Relating to English History Composed During the Period from the Accession of Edward III to that of Richard III, ed. by Thomas Wright, 2 vols. Rolls Series, 14 (1859), pp. 232–234. The third and shortest version is also fifteenth century and to be found in Trinity College Dublin MS 516 fol. 116. 51 Chrimes, Select Documents, p. 287. 52 The version quoted from is the Cotton Vespasian MS copy; see Wright, Political Poems, p. 334. The Stow copy has the variation ‘that evar was sly’, Gairdner, Fifteenth-Century Chronicles, p. 101. For other forms of the name ‘wyly’ see Eccles, Macro Plays, p. 210. The Digby copy of Wisdom has ‘Wyly’ instead of ‘Ser Wyly’ (604). Norman Davis, in a review of David Bevington’s facsimile edition of The Macro Plays, agreed with Furnivall, in the first EETS edition of the play, that the mark before ‘Wyly’ in Macro is a cancelled ‘I’ rather than an abbreviated ‘Ser’: Notes and Queries, 220 (1975), 78–79 (p. 79). However, the abbreviation is very similar to other examples of ‘ser’ in the text (see particularly lines 463 and 500),

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y and it may not be possible to prove conclusively one way or the other. In terms of the present discussion it makes little material difference. 53 English Historical Manuscripts Commission, 3, p. 280. 54 The Digby Plays, ed. by F. J. Furnivall, Early English Text Society, ES 70 (1896), p. 168. 55 Eccles, Macro Plays, pp. 211–212. 56 For details of the bill of Middlesex and the court of King’s Bench, see Marjorie Blatcher The Court of King’s Bench 1450–1550 (London: Athlone Press, 1978), pp. 111–166 passim. 57 Griffiths, Reign of King Henry VI, pp. 334–337. 58 From a poem (BL MS Cotton Rolls ii 23) criticizing William Booth, Bishop of Coventry and Lichfield in 1447, and advanced by Margaret of Anjou to the archbishopric of York in 1452: Wright, Political Poems, pp. 225–229 (p. 228). ‘Humfrey, Henry, and Johan’ are Humphrey Plantagenet, Duke of Gloucester, Henry Beaufort, cardinal of Winchester, and John, Duke of Bedford. 59 Griffiths, Reign of King Henry VI, p. 498. 60 On the chaperon see Hilda Amphlett, Hats: A History of Fashion in Headwear (Chalfont St Giles: Richard Sadler, 1974), pp. 65–67, and on caps of maintenance see Iris Brooke, Medieval Theatre Costume (London: A & C Black, 1967), pp. 78 and Fox-Davies, A Complete Guide to Heraldry, pp. 378–382. 61 G. L. Remnant, A Catalogue of Misericords in Great Britain (London: Oxford University Press, 1969), p. 108. 62 For a discussion on two-faced masks see Meg Twycross and Sarah Carpenter, ‘Masks in Medieval English Theatre: The Mystery Plays (2)’, Medieval English Theatre, 3.2 (1981) 69–113 (pp. 76–79). 63 English Historical Manuscripts Commission, 3, p. 279. 64 See The Stonor Letters and Papers 1290–1483, ed. by C. L. Kingsford, Camden Society, 2 vols 29 and 30 (1919, 1920), I, p. xxiii; Complete Peerage; p. 447. 65 A Survey of London by John Stow, ed. by C. L. Kingsford, 2 vols (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1908, amended, 1971), I, p. 237, II, p. 322 on the Suffolk residence, and E. J. Burford, The Bishop’s Brothels (London: Robert Hale, 1976, rev. edn, 1993), p. 68 on Love Lane. 66 John Shirley, the scribe of a number of fifteenth-century manuscripts, attributes several of the French love lyrics in Trinity College, Cambridge MS R.3.20 to ‘my lord of Suffolk’. It has recently been suggested that Suffolk might more properly be described as a ‘transmitter’ of the lyrics rather than the ‘author’ of them; see Julia Boffey, Manuscripts of English Courtly Love Lyrics In the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge: Brewer, 1985), pp. 65–6. For the purposes of the discussion here the accuracy of the attribution is not at issue. What is important is that an association of Suffolk with the writing of love lyrics was current at the time of the composition of Wisdom. On general references to Suffolk’s eloquence, see Jansen, The ‘Suffolk’ Poems, p. 16. 67 For a transcription of the document from which the quotation is taken, see F. Blomfield, An Essay towards a Topographical History of the County of Norwich, ed. by William Hudson and John Cottingham Tingey, 2 vols (Norwich: Jarrold and Sons, 1906), II, pp. 343–5; Archer, ‘How ladies [...]’, pp. 154–5. 68 Although disport generally means ‘any pleasant or amusing activity’, it can have a sexual connotation: see MED sv disport (b). 69 For references to the marital circumstances of Tuddenham and Heydon, see Colin Richmond, The Paston Family in the Fifteenth Century: The First Phase (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), p. 171n. 70 Sidney J. H. Herrtage, Catholicon Anglicum: an English-Latin Wordbook dated

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y 1483, Early English Text Society, OS 71 (1881), p.193. For other examples, see MED entries for hous-wyf and matrone. 71 See the deposition against John Hauteyn by James Gresham, clerk to William Paston, in Davis, Paston Letters, II, pp. 515–517. 72 Davis, Paston Letters, II, p. 520. 73 Davis, Paston Letters, II, p. 234. 74 For a possible connection between the two events, see William Lomner’s letter to John Paston I on the subject of the Duke of Suffolk’s death; Davis, Paston Letters, pp. 35–36. 75 Alexandra F. Johnston, ‘Wisdom and the Records: Is there a Moral?’ in Riggio, The Wisdom Symposium, pp. 87–102 (p. 101). 76 See Gibson, ‘The Play of Wisdom’ in Riggio. 77 The Victoria History of the County of Suffolk, ed. by William Page, 2 vols (London: Constable, 1907 and 1911), II, p. 71, and Griffiths, Reign of King Henry VI, p. 604 n. 78 For a more detailed exploration of the auspices of Wisdom, see John Marshall ‘“Her virgynes, as many as a man wylle”, Dance and Provenance In Three Late Medieval Plays: Wisdom, The Killing of the Children, The Conversion of St Paul’, Leeds Studies in English, 21 (1994), 111–48 [Reprinted in this volume as Chapter 7].

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9 ‘O ȜE SOUERENS ÞAT SYTT AND ȜE BROTHERN ȜAT STONDE RYGHT WPPE’: ADDRESSING THE AUDIENCE OF MANKIND. From: European Medieval Drama, 1 (1997)

There is, paradoxically, no clearer indication of how little is known about the audience of late medieval English non-cycle drama, especially of the morality play, than the volume and diversity of claims that have been made for their identity. Wisdom, for example, has been placed before a bewildering, and often contradictory, array of audiences where, in the absence of external evidence, identification tends to be based on a coincidence of an interest in the play with the self-interest of the audience. By such means, it has been possible to locate the original performance before students at the Inns of Court (Molloy, 1952), lawyers at the bishop of Ely’s palace in Holborn (Gatch, 1974), monks at the Benedictine abbey of Bury St Edmunds (Gibson, 1986), guests of a noble household as part of a Chapel performance (Westfall, 1990), possibly the Howards, dukes of Norfolk at Stoke-by-Nayland (Johnston, 1986), and members of the Bury St Edmunds Candlemas guild in the municipal guild-hall (Marshall, 1994). One, some or none of these may be the rightful home of Wisdom, although it is inconceivable that they all are, and yet each designation is argued with a conviction and logic that is difficult to completely discount. This may demonstrate the universal Christian appeal of the morality play in the second half of the fifteenth century but the diversity of opinion is only possible because the lack of evidence precludes any certainty. At least in the case of Wisdom, the attempts to identify an audience have been, for the most part, fairly specific. Mankind, on the other hand, for all its twentieth-century popularity and contemporary reference to individual and place names, has fared less well, with identifications being couched in much more general terms. The approaches taken to Mankind are rather different from the more precise analyses of Wisdom and tend to revolve around 144

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y the oppositions of indoor/outdoor performance and common/educated audiences. The most persistent, and still expressed, view of Mankind as, ‘most likely to have been a travelling play’ (Coldewey, 1994, p. 196) is founded on the somewhat simplistic equation of place names in Cambridgeshire and Norfolk with a company requirement of no more than six players. This, and a partially scurrilous and scatalogical content, prompted Hardin Craig to proclaim Mankind as a corrupt play performed by ‘a small troupe’ for the ‘yokels and toughs of small towns’ (Craig 1955, p. 351); a position perpetuated by Eccles in his Early English Text Society edition of The Macro Plays (1969, pp. xlii and xlv), reiterated by Bevington in his facsimile of the manuscript (1972, p. xi), slightly refined by Potter, in giving the ‘fifteenth-century rural audience’ credit for being sophisticated enough to appreciate the blending of ‘popular’ and doctrinal elements (1975, p. 55), and, on the evidence of textual reference to the proximity of an ostler, a tapster, a courtyard and an ale-house, placed by Tydeman on a booth-stage in an inn-yard as part of a tour by local amateurs (1986, pp. 31–52). A slightly different approach, but one which reached much the same conclusion, was adopted by Alexandra Johnston where ‘an educated guess about the original audience of a morality from the social status of the protagonist’ results in ‘a play directed at a largely peasant audience performed anywhere the troupe could gather an audience’ (1986, p. 94). The prevailing assumption that Mankind was intended for a rural, common or peasant audience was challenged by Lawrence Clopper by drawing much needed attention to the quantity of learned reference and untranslated Latin in the play. This was a necessary antidote to the earlier critical concentration on the ‘popular’ elements of the play which enabled him to consider the potentiality of a private auspices for Mankind before an educated, possibly aristocratic audience (Clopper, 1991, p. 246). For theatrical, rather than literary, reasons. Richard Southern had also proposed a household performance before the screens of a great hall (Southern, 1973, pp. 21–45). More recently, Tom Pettitt, by comparing Mankind with the Fastnachtspiel of German-speaking provincial towns, has categorized the play as ‘the Shrovetide revels of a domestic (ie noble) or institutional household (eg a Cambridge college)’. (Pettitt 1996, p. 191). In many ways this extends the exploration of the folk-play characteristics of Mankind undertaken by Neville Denny, which also questioned the justification ‘for assuming the existence of a band of professional players ... on tour in the provinces’ (Denny, 1974, p. 253). In arriving at these different interpretations, emphasis has been placed variously on the play’s language, subject matter, character status, calendrical occasion and theatrical demands in the context of what is known and, more dubiously, what is assumed of fifteenth-century theatre practice in East Anglia. What is noticeably, and surprisingly, absent from these approaches is any attempt to determine the nature of the audience from the unusually 145

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y large number of references to them in the text. One reason for this may be the inevitable difficulty in ascertaining the degree of correlation between audience address and composition. There is a tendency in the circumstances of polite and formal address to either raise the actual status of the audience or to acknowledge only the socially superior members. When, for example, the speaker of the epilogue to the play that preceded the church ale at Acle in Norfolk, included by Robert Reynes in his commonplace book (Tanner MS 407), refers to ‘Lordys and ladyes and frankelens in fay’ (Davis, 1970, p. 123.2), are we to assume that only the gentry were present? Certainly, given the number of noble households in the area, they may well have comprised a significant section of the audience, particularly in the context of fund raising. But it would be unusual, to say the least, if the audience did not include other social groupings; a situation which the epilogue may allude to when referring to the occasion: For an ale is here ordeyned be a comely assent For alle maner of people þat apperyn here þis day (27–8) The distinction Reynes is drawing would seem to be between the generality of ‘alle maner of people’ and the specificity of the ‘wursheppful souereyns þat syttyn here in syth’ (1); a social divide also to be found in Mankind, expressed in the title of this paper. It could be argued that there is an important difference between the references to the audience in Mankind and those in the epilogue. Whereas the latter is likely to have been spoken by a non-performer, in the sense of not participating in the narrative, possibly Reynes himself as church-reeve, and therefore with an audience expectation for exactness, the former are made as part of character speeches that may reflect a different, semi-fictional, purpose. However, this may be more of an issue with historical figures in the dramatization of biblical episodes or saints’ lives, where there is a need to position the audience as witnesses of past events rendered present, than it is with a morality play, where there is a deliberate dramaturgical attempt to satisfy doctrinal purpose by collapsing the boundaries of the stage and real world. In these circumstances, the accurate identification of the audience by the playwright may have been an essential requirement for the empathetic reception of the play. Mankind makes more reference to the audience than any other surviving play of comparable length. Excluding those that are doubtful or ambiguous, there are 26 allusions to the audience as a whole or to individual members. By far the most frequent form, as it is in medieval drama in general, is ‘souerens’. In the majority of these instances it is used as a conventional term of polite address, signifying a token of social deference. On one occasion, though, in its contrasting use with ‘brothern’, it may have a more precise meaning in not merely distinguishing social status but in describing the hierarchy of an 146

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y institution. Taken together, the two terms could refer to the ranking within a religious household (MED, ‘soverain’ 3 and ‘brother’ 4b), but this seems unlikely given other references in the play to ‘þe yemandry þat ys here’ (333) and to ‘þe goodeman of þis house’ (467) who in the following line is addressed as ‘master’, which seems to imply a lay environment. With the exception of ‘yemandry’ which has the fairly specific meaning, if not always consistent interpretation in the fifteenth century, of ‘small landed proprietors’ (OED ‘yeomanry’ 1), although equally can refer to servants or attendants in a royal or noble household (OED ‘yeoman’ 1), the other terms are capable of widespread use in a variety of institutional and social contexts. Indeed, so flexible are they as forms of address that they have the capacity to acknowledge the entire membership of any formal assembly. ‘Souerens’, for example, can refer, as it is clearly intended in one sense in Mankind, to principal guests (MED ‘soverain’ 4 d), while ‘brothern’ can be interpreted as broadly as fellow men (MED ‘brother’ 3 c). ‘Goodeman’ and ‘master’, though, whilst capable of general use as a courtesy title, tend to be more precise in their meaning as individual, rather than group, appellations. One environment in which all these terms could be used with some coherence, including ‘yemandry’, is the noble household, confirming a play auspices that concurs with the views of Southern, Clopper and Pettitt. Although the forms of audience address would not be out of keeping with members and guests of a household, the play may well be. In the absence of incontrovertible evidence it is a matter of opinion rather than fact but Mankind, in its theatrical devices and social milieu, does not look like the kind of play that would invite aristocratic interest, nor, more significantly, does it conform to the kinds of entertainment, secular or scriptural, that were known in noble households at the time (Westfall, 1990; Marshall, 1994, p. 122). A, perhaps, more appropriate audience, in terms of doctrinal appeal, and one in which the forms of address are equally applicable, is the religious guild. ‘Goodeman’ and ‘master’ are both titles given to one who is in charge of a guild (MED 2(a) god man; 1(c) maister), and are used synonymously in Mankind (11. 467–468). Furthermore, the ‘house’ of which the goodman is master could as reasonably be an allusion to the fraternity (MED hous 4 b) as to a secular household. In many ways Mercy’s description of the audience, who are not of sufficient standing to qualify for seating, as ‘brothern’ is the most tangible instance of a possible identification of the audience as members of a guild (MED brother 4 c). ‘Souerens’ too, in the circumstances of a guild assembly, could have a meaning that is more specific than the generality of principal guests, in that it can refer to aldermen (MED soverain 4 a). The employment of fraternity titles as forms of audience address is not the only reason for associating Mankind with a performance by, or for, a religious guild. One of the very few, if not only, external references to what appears to be a morality play is in an East Retford will bequest to a guild of a gilded and jewelled circlet for the image of the Virgin, for a ‘ludo de Mankynd, et 147

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y aliis ludis’ (Lancashire, 1984, p. 128). Moreover, the spiritual concerns of the morality play are very much in sympathy with the principles on which religious guilds were founded (Westlake, 1919; Hanawalt, 1984). And their desire to regulate the social behaviour of their members is mirrored in the dissolute activity and ultimate correction of fallen mankind figures in moralities (McRee, 1987; Lindenbaum 1996). In many practical respects, as well as spiritually and socially, religious guilds were eligible candidates for the production or hosting of drama in the fifteenth century in having the finance, organization and, in some instances, accommodation that performance demands. If the aptness of Mankind as a realization of guild function is, to some extent, confirmed by the use of fraternal forms of address, it ought to be possible to narrow down the geographic limits of its auspices from other references in the text. Two issues have tended to obscure the question of location. The first concerns the apparent ownership, and possible copying, of the manuscript by Hyngham, a monk. For very little reason this has, in the past, been taken to be Richard Hyngham, who was abbot of the monastery at Bury St Edmunds between 1474 and 1479 (Smart, 1912, p. 86). Recently, it has been proposed that, on palaeographic grounds, it is more likely to have been Thomas Hyngham, also a monk at Bury, who owned a copy of a John Walton’s Middle English verse translation of Boethius with a similar mark of ownership to that at the end of Mankind (Beadle 1995). There were, though, other monks in the vicinity whose name derived from the place name of Hingham in Norfolk and who might have possessed the surviving manuscript of Mankind. Moreover, the ownership of a manuscript is rarely equated with its composition, or in the case of a dramatic text with its original production. The other associations with Bury, that have, perhaps, claimed more significance than they deserve, are the manuscript inscriptions, in later hands, by Bury residents (Eccles, 1969, p. xxxvii) and the reference in line 274 to a ‘comyn tapster of Bury’ if the play had been intended for a Bury audience, as has been suggested (Gibson, 1989, p. 111), more detailed reference to the town, in the manner of the named individuals living on the outskirts of Cambridge and King’s Lynn, might have been expected. It is these names and places that have given rise to the second confusion. They have generally been assumed to indicate people of local importance and define the possible geographic extent of the tour undertaken by a travelling company (Smart 1916, p. 307). This makes little practical sense insofar as two locations imposes an unreasonable restriction on the economic necessity that is, generally, the reason for touring in the first place. Similarly, the notion that a broader itinerary was possible if the individual and place names were altered to correspond with the area of performance ignores the problem of maintaining metrical consistency in the play, and the likelihood that Mankind was written for a single purpose and specific occasion with which those named were in some way associated. The confining of place names largely to the southern and eastern districts of Cambridge and King’s Lynn has the effect, and possibly intention, of 148

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y particularizing the locality of the play, and strongly suggests that the author, and by implication the audience, were familiar with the two areas. For those with this familiarity it would be evident that the playwright was being specific in his delimitation, rather than creating the impression of wide geographic range, because, discounting those that are to be ‘spared’ for reasons of judicial authority, Newguise only troubles residents of Sawston, Hauxton and Trumpington in Cambridgeshire, while Nowadays and Nought confine themselves to those that live in the villages of Walton, Gayton and Massingham on the outskirts of Kings’s Lynn. In this distribution appears to be a deliberate recognition of the distance between the two areas, and, given this awareness, it would not be unreasonable to consider the possibility of the play being written for a religious guild in Bishop’s Lynn (as it was then known) by someone with a knowledge of Cambridge or vice versa. Particularly illuminating in this respect are the guild returns from Bishop’s Lynn. Although somewhat uniform and formulaic in their expression, there are some aspects of observance and regulation that are unique to the guilds of this area of East Anglia. These are most evident in the descriptions of procedure and behaviour to be observed during the guild feasts, from which it becomes apparent that Mankind, for all its doctrinal emphasis on repentance and Shrovetide revelry, could be patterned on the proscriptions of guild ordinances. For reasons of convenience and association that will soon become clear, the return of the Bishop’s Lynn guild dedicated to St Edmund will be used to illustrate the remarkable parallels between festal regulation and Mankind, with reference to other guilds in the town when necessary. The staging of Mankind before an audience of guild members would seem most appropriate in the context of a feast or ‘in time of drinke’ as it is called in the ordinances. At least two Bishop’s Lynn guilds began their feast with what must have been the fairly common practice of a prayer. In the case of the guild of St George the Martyr the ‘clerk shal stonden vp’ to give the blessing, which may imply that before this he is sitting amongst, or at least with, the guild members (Smith and Brentano, 1870, p. 76). In the play, Mercy’s opening speech may be intended to imitate this custom, and he, too, might rise from amongst the audience. Although his speech is not strictly a prayer, in that it sets the penitential tone and didactic purpose of the play, the first two stanzas could, in the expectation of a feast, initially be interpreted as such by the guild assembly. This, perhaps, makes more sense of the beginning of the play than the alternative view that it is a tedious sermon which would annoy and puzzle an audience who have come to be entertained (Eccles, 1969, p. xiv; Neuss, 1973, p. 45). Confirmation of the guild feast context for the play may be found in the response of Mischief to Mercy’s speech. The regulations of a number of Bishop’s Lynn guilds prohibit the interruption of the prayer or the making of noise during the ‘time of drinke’, suggesting that the nature and timing of the interaction between Mercy and Mischief would have been recognized as a singular transgression. The penalty imposed for misconduct 149

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y of this kind by the St Edmund guild was the holding of the rod of penance, which if refused would be followed by a fine (Smith and Brentano, 1870, p. 95). Although somewhat tenuous, this might explain Newguise’s entrance instruction to ‘Ley on wyth þi ballys tyll hys bely breste!’ (73), which could be directed to the minstrels’ vigorous drumming or, perhaps more likely in terms of guild regulations, to Nowadays who is using the rod, or scourge, to force Nought to dance (MED ‘balei’ a). A closer and more persuasive connection between the play and the St Edmund guild statutes can be found in the line that follows the regulation against interruption where it is ordained that, ‘noman be so hardi, in time of drinke, to slepe, ne to late þe cuppe stondin be him’ (Smith and Brentano, 1870, p. 95). This rule appears to be unique to three Bishop’s Lynn guilds, of which St Edmund is one, and is very possibly to what Newguise and Nowadays are alluding when they complain to Mercy that they were otherwise engaged when he spoke of them; ‘Crystys curse hade þerfor, for I was in slepe’ and ‘And I hade þe cuppe in my honde, redy to goo to met’ (99–100). The similarity between the order and expression of these lines in two quite different texts is surely more than coincidence. In addition to what appears in the play to be almost direct quotation from the guild ordinances, in terms of prohibition and language, one of the central themes of Mankind, ‘for euery ydyll worde we must ȝelde a reson’ (173), was also a major concern of the guilds. In the St Edmund guild statutes the very first regulation that applies to behaviour, rather than organization, deals with the punishment to be incurred for speaking maliciously or contemptuously of another member in the presence of the alderman or brethren, and is followed by the same fine of vjd for anyone who is ‘rebele of his tonge’ against the alderman (Smith and Brentano 1870, pp. 94–5). The condemnation, in the play, of ‘large’ or licentious language and lies, whilst of consequence to more than a coterie audience, would have a particular resonance in the context of a guild assembly. Another instance in the play where an audience might see a reference to guild exclusions is in the cutting down of Mankind’s coat. The transformation of his ‘syde gown’ (671) into a ‘fresch jakett after þe new gyse’ (676) would, presumably, leave him barelegged and, therefore, invoking another of the St Edmund guild regulations that prevented any man from attending the feast ‘in tabbard ne in cloke, ne bar-lege, ne barfoote’ (Smith and Brentano, 1870, p. 95). Apart from these correspondences between ordinances and play, a guild feast setting for the performance of Mankind could also explain the presence of minstrels and, possibly, the inclusion of the Christmas song as familiar forms of guild entertainment. It might also explain Mankind’s reference to the ale-house (609), which has been the subject of some debate in trying to locate an appropriate playing place for the play. Rather than indicate the proximity of a tavern in the case of inn-yard performance (Tydeman, 1986, p. 150

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y 33), it could, by the use of the definite article, refer to the guild ale-chamber which the St Edmund guild prohibited any member from entering without the permission of the men of office, and, thus, be seen as a further infringement by Mankind of fraternity regulations. The parallels of speech and behaviour between play and Bishop’s Lynn guild ordinances suggests a strong possibility of association, which is further supported by some local reference in the play text. To define the connection more narrowly by nominating an individual guild provenance is more difficult. The conjecture that the St Edmund guild was founded by men from Bury (Owen, 1984, p. 60) may, in part, explain the interest that lay behind the ownership of the surviving manuscript and the visit made by Nought to the ‘comyn tapster of Bury’. Intriguingly, the play may also allude to St Edmund’s martyrdom. When Mercy goes in search of Mankind after his defection to vice he departs with the line; ‘My predylecte son, where be ye? Mankynde, vbi es?’ (771), the latter part of which Mischief sarcastically repeats, to be answered by Newguise; ‘Hic hyc, hic hic, hic hic, hic hic!’ (775) which he translates as ‘here, here, here!’ in the following line. This may recall the parable of the good shepherd who searches for the lost sheep (Luke, 15. 3–7; Lester, 1981, p. 48n) but in East Anglia is more likely to remind the audience of the lines spoken by the Christians in search of St Edmund’s severed head and his reply given in English and Latin, exactly as here, in the Life of St Edmund by Abbo of Fleury (Winterbottom, 1972, pp. 81, 11. 32–34). The joke is good enough wherever it is played but it would have a special meaning for the members of a fraternity dedicated to the memory of the king and martyr. It could be argued that a guild assembly is an inappropriate audience for a play in which their ordinances are flouted and their dedication saint mocked. But this would be to ignore their unique understanding of the transgressions enacted and to deny the carnivalesque aesthetic of much medieval drama (Gash, 1986). It is also obvious, but worth pointing out, that the miscreant behaviour is indulged in only by the vices or the fallen Mankind. The play, therefore, becomes an effective demonstration of the spiritual and social need to comply with the principles of good behaviour that membership of the guild requires. An additional, but somewhat speculative, link of the play with the St Edmund guild may be discovered in the possible Shrovetide occasion of the play and the dates of the guild meetings. The guild met four times during the year. The first was on the ‘general day’, which may, or may not, have been on St Edmund’s day on 20 November; not all guilds held the general day on the feast of their dedication. The second meeting was arranged for the Sunday after St Peter’s day, which is unlikely to have been the saint’s day shared with St Paul on 29 June, as the third occasion fell on the Sunday following St Barnabas’ day on 11 June. The fourth assembly met on the Sunday after the feast of St Luke on 18 October. In the light of this sequence and allowing for a relatively even distribution of assembly dates throughout the year, the St 151

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y Peter observance intended is quite possibly the feast of St Peter’s Chair which occurs on 22 February. These periodic assemblies, or morn-speeches as they are called in the guild return, were usually preceded, the evening before, by a feast. The date of one of these St Edmund guild feasts would seem particularly apposite for a performance of Mankind. Although the dating of the play is by no means certain proposals have ranged from 1464 to 1474—the internal evidence of the parody of the manorial court where Mischief sets the proceedings in the year of Edward the nought, in the regnal year of no king (689–693), would only seem to have meaning in the period of Edward IV’s exile between October 1470 and April 1471 (Smart, 1916, p. 45). If the pre-Lenten emphasis in the play was underlined by performance on or near Shrovetide one would be looking for a date in 1471 close to Shrove Tuesday which fell on 26 February. In that year, the second morn-speech of the St Edmund guild would have been held, following the feast of St Peter’s Chair on Friday 22 February, on Sunday 24 February with a feast on the Saturday beforehand. In no other year between 1464 and 1474, apart from 1465 when Easter fell on the same day, was there such a close calendrical coincidence between feast and Shrovetide. If this was the occasion for the original performance of Mankind it would represent an uncommon precision in the dating and auspices of non-cycle, medieval drama in England. There is, of course, apart from the element of conjecture, a major problem in such an interpretation; the question of those named in the play living in Cambridgeshire. A number of, ultimately irresolvable, explanations can be found. Two of those named, Allington of Bottisham and Wood of Fulbourn, were Justices of the Peace with a more than parochial significance in the area. In terms of the others it is possible, considering the trading links with the port of Bishop’s Lynn and the connecting rivers Cam and Ouse, that they may have been members of the St Edmund guild. Another possibility is that the play was written for use by guilds in both places, although the Cambridge guild returns that survive do not record the same parallels with the play as those from Lynn. The kind of evidence that would confirm or challenge guild membership or play sharing as the reason for the Cambridgeshire names is unlikely to emerge. In its absence, perhaps, the most fruitful source of an explanation may be the identity and occupation of the author. Relatively little has been written on the authorship of Mankind, although a notable exception is contained in the appendix to the interpretation of Mankind by Sister Mary Philippa Coogan (1947). Through textual reference, particularly Newguise’s perversion of dominical friary into ‘demonycall frayry’ (153), the playwright’s undoubted knowledge of the liturgy, the Bible and penitential doctrine, and the incorporation of Dominican texts in the play, Sister Philippa argues convincingly not only for the characterization of Mercy as a Dominican friar but also for the same identification of the author (Coogan, 1947, pp. 116–118). In many ways the doctrinal mission of the Order, instituted from the beginning in the 152

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y preaching and salvation of souls, fits very well with the penitential concerns and didactic function of the play (Hinnebusch, 1951, p. 335). Certainly, there is nothing in Mankind that would counter Dominican authorship and much that would support it. There were only nine Dominican houses in the entire region of East Anglia; two of which were at Bishop’s Lynn and Cambridge (Knowles and Hadcock, 1953, pp. 182–188). Interestingly, both were situated to the east of the towns in the same compass direction as the cluster of villages named in the play. The Cambridge priory, which was also the Studium Generale for the novices and students of eastern England, was located in Preachers’ Street (now St Andrew’s Street) on land subsequently occupied by Emmanuel College (VCH Cambs, 1948, II, pp. 269–276; Palmer,1885), and the Bishop’s Lynn priory between Clow Lane and Skinner Lane, not far from Clow Bridge (VCH Norfolk, 1906, II, pp. 426–428; Palmer, 1884). It is not unlikely that there was some interchange of personnel between the two priories, which is now impossible to reconstruct, but one name does emerge as having close ties with both houses. On 23 November 1463, Nicholas Meryll, a Cambridge graduate, is named in a financial account as prior of the Cambridge Black Friars, where he had been resident since at least 1458 (Palmer, 1885, p. 140; Emden, 1963, pp. 402–403). By 6 March 1464 he had been replaced by William Edmundson and possibly transfered to Lynn, where in 1475 he was confirmed by the master general in his privileges of a study and small garden, and his many friends and relations are acknowledged as having been benefactors of the Order and therefore received as participants in its prayers (Palmer, 1884, pp. 83–84). In 1487 he was again in Cambridge licensed by the bishop of Ely to hear confessions (VCH Cambs, 1948, II, p. 273). Although nothing in this brief biography can establish Meryll as the author of Mankind, he has the credentials of vocation, time and place. He clearly would have known Cambridge and Bishop’s Lynn well; he was in Cambridge at the time of John Poket’s office as prior of Barnwell abbey and papal representative, who may be the Pope Pokett referred to by Nought as having granted forty days pardon for a certain sexual act (144–145, Jambeck and Lee, 1977), and he was probably in Lynn at the time conjectured for the orginal performance of the play. A Dominican association with a guild dedicated to St Edmund would also be in keeping with the area. The Thornham Parva retable has been identified as being made to adorn the high altar of the Dominican house at Thetford, and in its depiction of saints, pairs St Edmund with St John the Baptist. This may be because the two men largely responsible for the foundation of the priory were named Edmund and John; a pun of some consequence but not one that was likely to have overridden veneration. The inclusion of St Edmund in the panel, in the company of saints of particular Dominican devotion, would suggest that, in East Anglia at least, he was held by the Order in special regard (Norton, Park and Binski, 1987, p. 42 and 91). Even if the play was 153

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y written by a Dominican friar for the St Edmund guild of Bishop’s Lynn, it is not possible to determine where it was performed. The guild may have had its own hall, although no evidence for it survives, or shared that belonging to one of the more prestigious Lynn fraternities. Another possibility is that some of their meetings and social gatherings were held in the Dominican priory. This would not be an unfamiliar arrangement. The devotions of the Cambridge guilds of St Peter Martyr and St Ursula were conducted in the Dominican church (VCH Cambs, 1948, II, p. 274), the Lynn guild of St Francis held their assemblies at the premises of the Grey Friars (Owen, 1984, p. 93) and the Acle St Anne guild met in Weybridge priory (Blomefield, 1810, p. 93). Monastic houses are also known to have hosted dramatic entertainment as in the example of the ‘Seynt Edmunds pley in the Frayt[er]’ at the Benedictine monastery of Bury St Edmunds (Gibson 1989, p. 115) and in the Cluniac priory of St Mary, Thetford payments to household and parish plays (Beadle 1978). There was a chapel of St Edmund in St Nicholas’ church, Lynn but this would not have provided an appropriate location for the performance of Mankind. One problem with the possible use of the Lynn priory of St Dominic is that it suffered a major fire in 1456 and was still not fully restored twenty years later, although clearly continued to function (Palmer, 1884, p. 83). Nothing remains of the priory, the site having been engulfed by the railway, although it is believed that the church, rather unusually, flanked the southern side of the great cloister (Hinnebusch, 1951 p.133n). This would, possibly, have placed the refectory, the most suitable accommodation for meetings and performances, to the north, with access via the north alley of the cloister. With such an arrangement, it is not inconceivable that the proximity of the cloister is to what Mercy is referring at the end of the play when he invites Mankind to: ‘Aryse now and go wyth me in thys deambulatorye’ (843). For the same positional reason, the playwright may have had the cloister garth in mind when Mankind announces his sudden need to go into the yard and relieve himself (561–563). Finally, there is one aspect of audience address in Mankind that might also hint at a performance in religious surroundings. All the references, in the play, to the audience are directed at men; ‘sers’, ‘man’, ‘masters’, ‘brother’, ‘knawys’, ‘men’. It is, of course, possible that ‘souerens’ includes women, as it appears to do in the Reynes epilogue quoted earlier, and that ‘brothern’ encompasses sistren, as it sometimes does in guild returns. Apart from these general terms, though, there is not a single address to women in the play, as there is, for example, in the Reynes epilogue or in The Pride of Life acknowledgement of the ‘Men and wemen þat bet her’ (3). Furthermore, unlike other moralities, all the fictional characters in Mankind are male, while those allusions there are to women, with the exception of ‘Owr Lady’, are notoriously misogynous. The content of the play, too, in its scatalogical humour and descriptions of violent, often sexual, behaviour, seems stereotypically masculine in its appeal. Whether this is sufficient to consider the play being written purposely for 154

w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y a predominantly or exclusively male audience is doubtful. The indications tend to be negative, and the absence of evidence for women in the audience is not the same as evidence of their absence. However, the exclusion of women from some guild gatherings was not unknown (Pythian-Adams, 1976, p. 107), and could also be explained if Mankind was presented at a guild feast held in a priory refectory. Some support for this suggestion occurs in the Reynes commonplace book version of the Life of St Anne that was recited before members of the Acle St Anne guild that met at Weybridge priory. The opening line is addressed to, ‘Souereynys and serys’ (Louis 1980, p. 196.1), which, like Mankind, seems not to acknowledge the presence of women, unless they are subsumed in ‘souereynys’. Interestingly, the other surviving manuscript copy of this Life (MSHarley 4012), which is thought to have belonged to Anne Harling (Dutton, 1994) and was, presumably, intended to be read aloud in her household, not only removes, as one would expect, the reference to ‘this gylde’ (453) but also alters the opening line to, ‘Soueraignes & frendes’ (Parker 1928, p. 110). This might be in recognition of a less formal occasion for the reading than a guild meeting, the absence of religious as part of the audience, or be an acknowledgement of a mixed, rather than restricted, audience. Approaching the auspices of Mankind through the nature of the audience, in terms of address and institutional appeal, has, perhaps, been stretched to breaking point in the proposal that the play was written by Nicholas Meryll, a Dominican friar, for the male membership of the St Edmund guild of Bishop’s Lynn on the occasion of a feast held on Saturday, 23 February 1471, in the refectory at St Dominic’s priory. Some, or indeed none, of this may be true. Even if in matters of detail, the interpretation is too precise for the slightness of evidence, an association between Dominican authorship and a religious guild audience is not only theoretically feasible but can also answer questions of place and subject matter hitherto unexplained, and help to relocate the play in a more specific and, perhaps, appropriate environment than has previously been possible.

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y Clopper, Lawrence M., ‘Mankind and Its Audience’ in Clifford Davidson, C. J. Gianakaris and John H. Stroupe, eds., Drama in the Middle Ages: comparative and critical essays, Second Series (New York: AMS Press, 1991), pp. 240–248 Coldewey, John, C., ‘The non-cycle plays and the East Anglian tradition’ in Richard Beadle, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Medieval English Theatre (Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp.189–210 Coogan, Sister Mary Philippa, An Interpretation of the Moral Play, ‘Mankind’ (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press,1947) Craig, Hardin, English Religious Drama of the Middle Ages, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1955) Davis, Norman, Non-cycle Plays and Fragments, Early English Text Society, SS1 (London: Oxford University Press, 1970) Denny, Neville, ‘Aspects of the Staging of Mankind’, Medium Aevum, 43 (1974), 252–263 Dutton, A. M., BL Harley 4012, Seventh York Manuscripts Conference Paper, 1994 Eccles, M., The Macro Play, Early English Text Society, OS 262 (London: Oxford University Press,1969) Emden, A. B., A Biographical Register of the University of Cambridge to 500 (London: Cambridge University Press, 1963) Gash, A., ‘Carnival Against Lent: The Ambivalence of Medieval Drama’, in Aers, D., ed., Medieval Literature: Criticism, Ideology and History (Brighton: Harvester Press, 1986), pp. 74–98 Gatch, Milton. McC., ‘Mysticism and Satire in the Morality of Wisdom’,Philological Quarterly, 53 (1974), 342–362 Gibson, G. M., ‘The Play of Wisdom and the Abbey of St Edmunds’, in Riggio, M. C. ed., The ‘Wisdom’ Symposium : Papers from the Trinity College Medieval Festival (New York : AMS Press, 1986), pp. 39–66 Gibson, G. M., The Theater of Devotion: East Anglian Drama and Society in the Late Middle Ages (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1989) Hanawalt, B., ‘Keepers of the lights; Late Medieval English Parish Gilds’, Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 14 (1984), 1–37 Hinnebusch, W. A., The Early English Friars Preachers (Rome: Institutum Historicum FF Praedicatorum Romae ad S. Sabinae, 1951) Jambeck, T. J. and Lee, R. R., ‘Pope Pokett’ and the Date of Mankind, Medieval Studies, 39 (1977), 511–513 Johnston, A. F., ‘Wisdom and the Records : Is There a Moral?’, in Riggio, M. C. The ‘Wisdom’ Symposium: Papers from the Trinity College Medieval Festival (New York: AMS Press, 1986), pp. 87–101 Knowles, D. and Hadcock, R. N., Medieval Religious Houses in England and Wales (London: Longman, Green, 1953) Lancaster, I., Dramatic Texts and Records of Britain: A Chronological Topography to 1558 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984) Lester, G. A., Three Late Medieval Morality Plays (London: Ernest Benn, 1981) Lindenbaum, Sheila, ‘Rituals of Exclusion : Feasts and Plays of the English Religious Fraternities’, in Meg Twycross, ed., Festive Drama (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer), pp. 54–65

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y Louis, Cameron, The Commonplace Book of Robert Reynes of Acle: An Edition of Tanner MS 407 (New York and London: Garland Publishing,1980) Mcree, B. R., ‘Religious Gilds and Regulation of Behaviour in Late Medieval Towns’, in Joel Rosenthal and Colin Richmond, eds., People, Politics and Community in the Later Middle Ages (Gloucester: Alan Sutton, 1987), pp. 108–122 Marshall, John, “‘Her virgynes, as many as a man wylle’ : Dance and Provenance in Three Late Medieval Plays, Wisdom/The Killing of the Children/The Conversion of St Paul”, Leeds Studies in English, 25 (1994) 111–148 Molloy, John Joseph, A Theological Interpretation of the Moral Play, Wisdom, Who Is Christ: A dissertation (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1952) Neuss, Paula, ‘Active and Idle Language : Dramatic Images in Mankind’, in Neville Denny, Medieval Drama, Stratford-upon-Avon Studies, 16 (London: Edward Arnold, 1973), pp. 41–67 Norton, Christopher, Park, David and Binski, Paul, Dominican Painting in East Anglia: The Thornham Parva Retable and the Musee de Cluny Frontal (Woodbridge: Boydell Press,1987) Owen, Dorothy M., The Making of King’s Lynn: A Documentary Survey (London: British Academy,1984) Palmer, C. F. R., ‘The Friar-Preachers, or Black Friars, of King’s Lynn’, The Archaeological Journal, 41 (1884), 79–86 Palmer, C. F. R., ‘The Friar-Preachers, or Black Friars, of Cambridge’, The Reliquary, 25 (Jan. 1885; Apr. 1885), 137–42, 206–212 Parker, R. E., The Middle English Stanzaic Versions of the Life of St Anne, Early English Text Society, OS 174 ( London : Oxford University Press, 1928) Pettitt, Tom, ‘Mankind: An English Fastnachtspiel?’, in Meg Twycross ed., Festive Drama (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1996), pp. 190–202 Potter, Robert, The English Morality Play: Origins, History and Influence of a Dramatic Tradition (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1975) Pythian-Adams, Charles, ‘Ceremony and the Citizen: the Communal Year at Coventry 1450–1550’, in Peter Clark, ed., The Early Modern Town (London: Longman: Open University Press,1976), pp. 106–128 Smart, Walter Kay, Some English and Latin Sources and Parallels for the Morality of ‘Wisdom’ (Menasha, WIS.: George Banta Publishing, 1912) Smart, Walter Kay, ‘Some Notes on Mankind’, Modern Philology, 24 (1916), 45–48, 293–313 Smith, Toulmin and Brentano, Lujo, English Gilds, Early English Text Society, OS 40 ( London: Oxford University Press,1870) Southern, Richard, The Staging of Plays before Shakespeare (London: Faber and Faber, 1973) Tydeman, William, English Medieval Theatre 1400–1500 (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1986) Victoria History of the County of Cambridge and the Isle of Ely, ed. by Louis Francis Salzman and others, 10 vols (London: University of London Institute of Historical Research, 1938–2002) Victoria History of the County of Norfolk, ed. by H. Arthur Doubleday and William Page, 6 vols (London: Archibald Constable, 1901–1941)

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w h o, w h e r e , w h e n , a n d w h y Westfall, Suzanne R., Patrons and Performance: Early Tudor Household Revels (Oxford: Clarendon Press,1990) Westlake, Herbert Francis, The Parish Gilds of Mediaeval England (London: SPCK, 1919) Winterbottom, M., Three Lives of English Saints (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies,197)

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Archiving the ephemeral

Part III ARCHIVING THE EPHEMERAL: CONTEMPORARY DEPICTIONS OF PERFORMANCE AND MODERN PRODUCTIONS OF MEDIEVAL PLAYS

10 THE MEDIEVAL ENGLISH STAGE: A GRAFFITO OF A HELL-MOUTH SCAFFOLD? From: Theatre Notebook, 34 (1980)

With the single exception of the stage plan attached to the Macro manuscript of the early fifteenth-century morality The Castle of Perseverance, no contemporary illustration of a medieval English stage is known to exist. Even the Castle plan is of limited value in that, apart from the sketch of the central tower, it describes only the placing, rather than the appearance, of the scaffolds around the platea.1 Consequently, impressions of medieval English stages are largely derived from the interpretation of written records of performance related to the theatrical demands of play texts, the evidence of Continental pictorial documentation and the supposed relationship between pictorial art and theatre practice.2 The acknowledged absence of indisputable pictorial evidence from this country not only, to some extent, inhibits research into medieval staging but is also likely to arouse suspicion when a claim is made for the discovery of such evidence. It is, therefore, with some caution that I draw attention to a graffito, in the church of St Peter, Stetchworth, which might conceivably represent a medieval stage (PLATE 1).3 A rubbing taken from this graffito is reproduced in Violet Pritchard’s book English Medieval Graffiti (1967, p. 61) where it is described as a ‘cat drawn within a square’ and connected with the sculptured cats’ heads found on the voussoirs of Norman arches. The description is, perhaps, easier to accept than the connection which, certain details of the drawing suggest, might more plausibly be made with the staging of Hell-mouth. The problems in establishing such a connection are, none the less, considerable, not least the almost impossible task of positively dating the graffito within the medieval period. The drawing is cut into a clunch pier of the Cambridgeshire church, forming part of the north arcade rebuilt towards the end of the fourteenth century,4 at a height which suggests that it was incised by someone either sitting on a bench or kneeling. Thus, providing the graffito was made in situ, and not already present on stone reworked from an earlier structure, a date later than the close of the fourteenth century seems reasonably certain. Further 161

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Plate 1 The Stetchworth graffito. © John Marshall.

evidence, although only circumstantial, for an approximate dating can be found in two other graffiti located in the same area of the church. The first of these depicts a woman wearing an elaborate heart-shaped headdress, reticulated with what was probably gold wire, popular in the fifteenth century.5 The second drawing, of a man in a thigh length tunic with padded shoulders, hose, long pointed turned-up shoes and curved sword, seems to be from the same period.6 Unfortunately, there is no way of telling whether these graffiti 162

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l were incised at the same time or by the same person as the graffito under consideration here, but it is a remote possibility.7 The dating of the graffito must, therefore, remain an open question, although if it can be shown that the drawing more probably represents the staging of Hell-mouth than anything else then it too may well date from the fifteenth century when plays requiring such setting were in performance. Initially, the probability of the proposed relationship depends upon the extent to which the appearance of the graffito conforms to the established iconography of Hell. A variety of images were evolved by medieval painters to represent Hell which derived largely from the inversion and parody of their conception of Heaven, but when the vision incorporated the mouth of Hell it was invariably depicted as the maw of some real or mythical beast.8 A similar convention was apparently adopted, on the Continent at least, for the staging of Hell.9 Hubert Cailleau, for example, shows the entrance to Hell as the open jaws of a dragon in his view of the stage for the Passion performance at Valenciennes in 1547, and a leonine head occupies the lower level of the Hell scaffold in The Martyrdom of Saint Apollonia painted, about 1460, by Jean Fouquet.10 Although the draughtsmanship of the Stetchworth graffito is less precisely detailed than in these miniatures, the figure is, in many respects, characteristic of the animal heads depicted in them; the prominent eyes and gaping mouth with teeth evident are all features in common. An obvious, though not necessarily significant, featural difference is that in neither of the miniatures are the ears visible, unlike the graffito where the pointed ears give the figure a distinctly feline appearance. This impression may have been unintentional and arisen simply as a consequence of the limitations of the medium, but even if the drawing accurately records the likeness of a cat this would not invalidate the connection with Hell-mouth. The cat, to medieval preachers symbolized Satan in pursuit of the soul as a mouse and, thus, might credibly serve as an allegorization of the entrance to Hell.11 On the evidence of a correlation between physical features then, it is reasonable to suppose that the graffito was inspired by some portrayal of Hell. The strong possibility that the source was theatrical, rather than pictorial, is suggested by the incorporation of a rectangular frame surrounding the animal head which closely resembles the basic structure of the scaffolds depicted by Fouquet.12 The arrangement of the framing lines in the graffito and, in particular, the upper and lower vertical extensions beyond the horizontals is analogous to the framework of posts and rails in the central scaffold of the miniature. There can be little doubt that this aspect of the drawing was deliberate, and not merely the result of poorly executed attempt to enclose the head within a square, as close inspection reveals that both horizontal lines were cut after the incision of the verticals. This means that the lines extending below the level of the jaw are not careless slips but an important element of the structure and may be intended to denote the legs of the scaffold which, either free-standing or secured in post holes, would effectively raise the head slightly 163

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l from the ground. Thus, there is some reason for supposing that the vertical and horizontal lines of the graffito may represent the front upright posts and cross rails of a scaffold stage. Supporting this theory, and of further structural interest, is the perspective given to the drawing by the short diagonal line in the bottom left corner which creates the impression of three-dimensional construction. This certainly echoes the nature of the scaffolds depicted by Fouquet and suggests that the purpose of the line may have been to signify one of the side rails necessary to stabilize the four-square framework. An implication of this interpretation is that the lower side edges of the face did not fit flush with the posts, thereby partially exposing the side rails to audience view. This may mean that the facial outline followed a more natural curvature in tapering to the chin than is apparent in the graffito. Presuming that the drawing was made from memory such imprecision is, perhaps, understandable, especially where the conveyance of a general impression is likely to have been more important than specific detail. Insufficiency of detail also makes it impossible to determine from the graffito whether the head was constructed in relief or as a two-dimensional facade. The evidence of the Hell-mouths depicted by Fouquet and Cailleau would suggest the former but there is no reason to suppose that this was an exclusive design. Indeed, a fundamental difference between them and the graffito might indicate the use of a painted front in the Stetchworth example. In both miniatures the lower jaw of Hell-mouth rests upon the ground, partly in order to prevent strain on the remainder of the structure whereas in the graffito it appears that the entire head was raised from the ground by the legs of the scaffold. This may have been necessary to improve the sight lines for a standing audience but it effectively removes the possibility of a head projecting far from the scaffold frame. Although a cut-out may be thought less spectacular in appearance than relief heads it would, whilst presenting a similarly horrifying aspect, have the advantage over them of being more portable if the scaffold were part of a stage set toured by players in the manner conjectured for The Castle of Perseverance.13 Comparison of the graffito with the Fouquet Hell-mouth reveals two other points of difference worth mentioning. The first of these concerns the openness of the jaws, which in the miniature appear wide enough to allow a standing man to pass through them. The aperture shown in the graffito would seem to prohibit such access, although other, less dignified means of entering the mouth may have been possible. Secondly, and more radically, the Fouquet scaffold incorporates an upper level occupied by devils which clearly does not figure in the graffito. Although a stage direction in Mary Magdalen, ‘here xal entyr the prynse of dylles in a stage and helle ondyrneth that stage’,14 implies that equivalent two-storey scaffolds were familiar in England, it does not follow that all stage representations of Hell were of this type. In the absence of contrary evidence, it is reasonable to assume that in some instances a single ­storey scaffold would be sufficient setting for 164

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l the performance of scenes requiring the location of Hell. The graffito may well illustrate such a scaffold although the possibility that an upper level was omitted from the drawing because it lacked the visual interest of what lay below cannot be discounted. The connection of the graffito with a Hell-mouth scaffold is reinforced and partly explained by the situation of Stetchworth. The village lies three miles south of Newmarket in the East Midlands region from which a large proportion of the surviving texts of English saints’, morality and non-cycle plays originate.15 The area was clearly one of considerable dramatic activity where the place and scaffold method of staging appears predominant; The Castle of Perseverance, Mary Magdalen and the N.town Passion plays are the most notable examples of the form. Whether any of these plays, or others now lost, were actually performed at Stetchworth will probably never be known as the parish documents extant—court rolls and deeds—are unlikely to reveal references to dramatic activity.16 The population of Stetchworth was, perhaps, too small17 to support a play of its own, although this would not necessarily prevent the inclusion of it on the itinerary of a touring company which might additionally attract an audience from the neighbouring village of Dullingham.18 A further possibility is that Stetchworth combined with other parishes in subscribing to a play held in an adjoining town or village which, for reasons of location and resources, initiated and took responsibility for organizing the production. Such arrangements were fairly common practices in East Anglia19 and evidently operated at Bassingbourne in Cambridgeshire where, in 1511, 27 villages contributed financially to the play of ‘the holy martir seynt georg’.20 It would seem, therefore, that a Stetchworth parishioner might have ample opportunity for witnessing a performance in the place and scaffold mode, either within his own community or in the near vicinity. That the most spectacular of the scaffolds should inspire a drawing in the accessible stone of the local church is, perhaps, not surprising and for medieval theatre research most fortunate.

Notes  1 The interpretation of this plan is the subject of some debate. Opposing theories are presented by Richard Southern, The Medieval Theatre in the Round, 2nd edn (London: Faber and Faber, 1975) and Natalie Crohn Schmitt, ‘Was There a Medieval Theatre in the Round? A Re-examination of the Evidence’, Theatre Notebook, 23, (1968–69), 130–42; 24, (1969–70), 18–25.   2 For a summary of the findings of these methods of research see A. M. Nagler, The Medieval Religious Stage: Shapes and Phantoms, trans. by George C. Schofield (New Haven; London: Yale University Press, 1976).   3 The graffito is reproduced actual size: although the photograph was taken from a slight angle which marginally foreshortens the horizontal plane. I should like to thank the Rev. Neville Auster for allowing me to photograph the graffito.   4 Nikolaus Pevsner, The Buildings of England: Cambridgeshire, 2nd edn (Harmonds­ worth: Penguin, 1970), p. 460; The Victoria History of the County of Cambridgeshire

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a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l and the Isle of Ely, ed. by A. P. M. Wright, 6 (London: Oxford University Press, 1978), p. 175.   5 Hilda Amphlett, Hats: A History of Fashion in Headwear (Chalfont St Giles: Sadler, 1974), pp. 41–62.   6 Francis M. Kelly and Randolph Schwabe, A Short History of Costume and Armour Volume I, 1066–1485 (London: Batsford, 1931), pp. 39–42; Violet Pritchard, English Medieval Graffiti (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967): see pp. 58 and 60, where she reproduces rubbings of both graffiti which she dates as early as 1330.   7 The relationship between these graffiti may be even closer than is tentatively suggested here. The finery of medieval women was denounced by the clergy as the Devil’s snare, with the extravagant headdresses of the type shown in the graffito singled out for particular attack; see G. R. Owst, Literature and Pulpit in Medieval England, 2nd edn (Oxford: Blackwell, 1961), 390–404. In a misericord at Ludlow a similar, slightly earlier, headdress is worn by an otherwise naked cheating ale-wife who is being taken to Hell-mouth on the back of a devil; see G. L. Remnant, A Catalogue of Misericords in Great Britain (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969), p. 133 and Plate 15d; M. D. Anderson, Drama and Imagery in English Medieval Churches (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963), p. 176. Although merely speculation it is just possible that the graffiti are similarly connected and may relate to a play which, in part, sought to demonstrate the evil vicissitudes of fashion.   8 On the iconography of Hell see Robert Hughes, Heaven and Hell in Western Art (London; Frankfurt: Weidenfeld & Nicholson, 1968).   9 Alternative symbolic representations of Hell in the medieval theatre are discussed by D. C. Stuart, ‘The Stage Setting of Hell and the Iconography of the Middle Ages’, Romanic Review, 4 (1913), 330–42. 10 Both miniatures referred to are frequently reproduced in studies of theatre history and recently appeared in Theatre Notebook, 33.3 (1979), Plates 3, 4. 11 Beryl Rowland, Animals with Human Faces: A Guide to Animal Symbolism (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1974), p. 52. 12 The construction of the Fouquet scaffolds is considered by Southern, Medieval Theatre in the Round, pp. 91–120. 13 The conjecture arises from the deliberate omission in the play’s banns of a specified town or village for the performance; see The Macro Plays, ed. by Mark Eccles, Early English Text Society, OS 262 (London: Oxford University Press, 1969), pp. xxi–xxiii. 14 Bodley MS Digby 133, fol. 103r. The text is edited by Furnivall, see n.15 below. 15 The texts of the plays with an East Midlands provenance can be found in the following volumes; The Digby Plays, ed. by F. J. Furnivall, Early English Text Society, ES 70 (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner. 1896); Eccles, The Macro Plays; Non-Cycle Plays and Fragments, ed. by Norman Davis, Early English Text Society, SS 1 (London: Oxford University Press, 1970). The N.town plays are also from the same area; K. S. Block, Ludus Coventriae or The Plaie called Corpus Christi, Early English Text Society, ES 120 (London: Oxford University Press, 1922). 16 I have not searched the Stetchworth records myself but am indebted to Susan M. Keeling of the Institute of Historical Research and J. M. Farrar, Cambridgeshire County Archivist, for their assurances that no references to dramatic activity in the parish have been found or are likely to emerge. 17 There were 106 adult inhabitants of Stetchworth in 1377 and 46 householders in 1563; Wright, Victoria County History Cambridgeshire, 6, p. 172. 18 Although not apparently requiring scaffold staging, it is possible that the fifteenth­ century morality Mankind was toured in the area as three of the place-names men-

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a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l tioned in the text, Fulbourn, Bottisham and Swaffham, are only up to eight miles west of Stetchworth. 19 Robert Wright, ‘Community Theatre in Late Medieval East Anglia’, Theatre Notebook 28.1 (1974), 24–39. 20 J. Charles Cox, Churchwardens’ Accounts From the Fourteenth Century to the Close of the Seventeenth Century (London: Methuen, 1913), p. 270.

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11 ‘THE CROWNING WITH THORNS AND THE MOCKING OF CHRIST’: A FIFTEENTH-CENTURY PERFORMANCE ANALOGUE From: Theatre Notebook, 45 (1991)

The paucity of contemporary pictures representing medieval theatre performance has had two major consequences. On the one hand the few undisputed illustrations that do survive, like Jean Fouquet’s ‘Martyrdom of St Apollonia’, tend to be regarded with disproportionate respect as evidence of theatre practice whilst, on the other hand, new proposals are greeted with deep suspicion. In drawing attention here to a painting which may have been inspired by performance, but hitherto unrecognized as such, I hope to allay some of the latter by invoking some of the former. With the exception of paintings and drawings depicting mummings, disguisings and tournament prize-givings most pictorial records of medieval theatre are of outdoor performances.1 It is unlikely that this reflects the greater proportion of performances being given in this way; indeed, it could just as easily indicate the relative novelty, or at least special nature, of performance in the open air. Neither conclusion can reasonably be drawn from such limited evidence but such circumstance adds interest to the manuscript illumination to be discussed here in that it appears to be of an indoor performance. ‘The Crowning with Thorns and the Mocking of Christ’ (PLATE 1) by the artist known as the Bartholomew Master of Cologne is one of 13 miniatures which illustrated The Hours of Reynalt von Homoet, commissioned by Sophia von Bylant, in posthumous honour of her husband who died in 1459, and probably produced in 1475 if the date found on another of the miniatures may be applied generally to the whole work.2 The border which surrounds ‘The Crowning with Thorns’ is painted in matt gold and occupied by a series of overlayed scenes which symbolically refer to the central event of the miniature where, momentarily, evil exerts its might over the right of good. The miniature itself depicts a scene familiar from the English Corpus Christi Cycles; a particularly dramatic moment from the Passion sequence. Three torturers force the crown of thorns upon 168

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Plate 1 ‘The Crowning with Thorns and the Mocking of Christ’ by the Bartholomew Master, c.1475. © the Wallraf-Richartz Museum, Rheinische Bildarchiv, Cologne.

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a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l Christ’s head whilst he is mocked by the figure of a fool holding a reed. Pilate directs operations with the aid of a baton and the scene is watched over by a woman, who may be Pilate’s wife, and others at a window. Even at first glance the miniature is strikingly theatrical in its composition. The figures are grouped in precisely the manner dramatic realization of the occasion would seem to require. Unfortunately, this alone is insufficient to support a claim for theatrical provenance. Art and theatre share too many of the conventions of representation to be able to infer a direct relationship simply from their coincidence. However, there are other aspects of the painting where closer examination may advance the case for performance. The biblical location for the scene in the miniature is the Praetorium (Mark, 15:16) or common hall (Matthew, 27:27). As one might expect in the fifteenth century the artist has made no attempt at geographical or historical accuracy in representing the scene, any more than he has with the costume, but placed it in a hall of the period in which he was painting.3 What is, perhaps, less expected is that the hall is not depicted with the grandeur that might be thought appropriate for a fifteenth-century equivalent of a major Roman public building. On the contrary it has the appearance of a rather modest domestic hall. Many of the features are certainly characteristic of such architecture. The hall is aisleless with a rectangular transomed window on one side from which the shutters have been removed from the lower casements in order to permit an unobstructed view of the action for the onlookers as well as exposing them to our view. In the end wall are two small arches the function of which it is difficult to determine although they too may be windows. Whatever their purpose they add little compositional interest to the painting beyond reinforcing the rectangular definition of the room. However, the inclusion of such detail does suggest that the Bartholomew Master was depicting with some accuracy an actual rather than an idealized hall. The floor is covered with traditional two-colour tiles from yellow clay in a variant of a gyronny pattern while the roof is restrained by tie-beams decorated with a pendant fleur-de-lys design. This motif is also picked up in the intricate tracery which seems to be part of the framing of the miniature rather than architectural decoration.4 Such details do not, of course, prove the case for performance; they merely confirm the place as a hall, contemporary with the painting, which may have been for domestic, guild or civic use. What is significant is that in varying degrees these were all venues for much of the indoor entertainment, including plays, of the period. In this respect a particularly important feature of the miniature is the cloth suspended behind the action towards the end wall. If this were a performance in a domestic hall it would be played at the service end facing the dais where the noble and esteemed guests sat. Normally in England by this time the service doors leading to the kitchen and elsewhere were screened off to reduce draughts and possibly noise. This arrangement eventually resulted in a screened passage separated from the main hall by a partition which in some instances had a gallery built over it. In the earlier 170

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l stages of development, however, the service end might be concealed by a curtain or moveable screen positioned between the ‘speres’ or short screens projecting at right angles from the side walls, leaving two openings for access.5 Apart from its obvious functional value this formation would prove extremely useful in facilitating entrances and exits when plays and other entertainments were performed. In the example of the miniature, though, the situation is less clear. The curtain or hanging appears to be of gold and green brocade panels with a design based on some botanical form. It is similar to hangings used at the time to both decorate and insulate otherwise stark surroundings, particularly at the dais end.6 If this were the intention here then it would more probably have been hung directly against the wall, whereas it is actually positioned some distance from the end wall suspended by a cord attached to a hook above the transomed window.7 This suggests a purpose closer to the screening of the service end but if it were a permanent fixture this would seem to be a rather makeshift and cumbersome means of partitioning and is, perhaps, an indication that it was only an occasional device used simultaneously to conceal the service doors and furnish a pleasing backcloth when plays were performed. Given that it would also have improved the acoustic properties of the hall and provided the actors with a means of concealment when withdrawal from the action was required, the curtain or hanging in the miniature may well represent one of the earliest pictorial examples of the traverse in a theatrical context.8 The actual depiction of the crowning, as opposed to the setting, is typical of fifteenth-century German representations of the scene. In particular it resembles in composition the wing of an altarpiece from about 1410 now in Utrecht but thought to have been produced in the central Rhine region.9 In view of the Bartholomew Master having worked in Cologne from 1470 it is possible that he was familiar with the painting as well as with the conventions which informed it. Certainly, there are some notable similarities. In both, the soldier to the right of Christ applies pressure to the pole, used with brutal effect in the crowning, with his right hand and left armpit. Behind Christ the soldier in the altarpiece raises his right arm in a gesture of violence. In the miniature the corresponding figure raises his arm in the same position but for the purpose of levering on with a stick the crown of thorns; an action which forms with the pole a symbol of the cross. It has been claimed that this feature derived from the performance of similar scenes in medieval drama.10 Whatever the origin, something of the same kind is surely intended by the stage direction in Passion Play II from the N.town manuscript: And qwan he is skorgyd, þei put upon hym a cloth of sylk and settyn hym on a stol and puttyn a kroune of þornys on hese hed with forkys11 In both altarpiece and miniature Christ is mocked by a figure kneeling at his feet who holds the reed that substitutes for a sceptre. This figure is often 171

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l depicted as a grotesque as here, where they also share a similar facial expression.12 As well as marked similarities there are important differences. With the exception of Christ’s seamless robe there is no direct correspondence in costume, although the character to the left of Christ in the altarpiece wears hose, short-sleeved jerkin and headgear not unlike that of the figure directly behind Christ in the miniature. The miniature also inserts a figure to the right of Christ, whose mockery takes the form of face pulling, which is absent from the altarpiece. The most obvious difference between the two, however, is the inclusion in the miniature of Pilate. It is not absolutely clear from the biblical accounts of the incident whether Pilate was present for the crowning and mocking as he had been for the flagellation. Matthew (27: 27–30) and Mark (15: 16–20) suggest not, but a slightly different version of events in John (19: 1–5) implies that he may have been a witness. His presence in art does not seem to be recorded until the middle of the fifteenth-century,13 and only in the Chester play of extant English cycles does he return to the scene, following John, immediately after the crowning and mocking have taken place. The Bartholomew Master identifies Pilate by his baton of authority and elegant costume of the period; a richly embroidered gown or houppelande with loose sleeves worn over a reddish-brown tunic and a red chaperon with green roundlet.14 From this comparison it would seem that the artist of the miniature was following the conventions of the period in representing this particular scene; conventions which may have been shared by painting and theatre alike. What distinguishes the Homoet Hours interpretation as a possible record of performance is the type of setting in which the scene takes place. It is this question of the character of the setting signifying the nature of the action that invokes reference to ‘The Martyrdom of St Apollonia’ (PLATE 2). From an artistic and documentary point of view this miniature from The Hours of Etienne Chevalier is well known, frequently reproduced and the subject of detailed discussion.15 What is new and of interest here is the way in which it seems to employ similar compositional devices to the ‘Crowning with Thorns’ miniature. Jean Fouquet probably completed The Hours of Etienne Chevalier by 1456 and as it remained in the possession of the Chevalier family until 1630 it seems unlikely that the Bartholomew Master was acquainted with it.16 It seems more likely that it is the shared subject of torture and mockery, albeit within different narratives, that produces certain coincidences in treatment. Both miniatures place a bound and helpless figure as the centre of attention, surrounded by tormentors employing instruments of torture in a lower left to upper right orientation. The martyrdom of St Apollonia is overseen by Emperor Decius, dressed as a fifteenth-century king, in much the same way that Pilate imposes his authority on the crowning with thorns. In many ways these are comparable figures although Pilate also seems to embody some of the features of the ‘director’ with book and baton, seen to the left of Decius, whose role appears to be one of orchestrating the actors and musicians. 172

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Plate 2 ‘The Martyrdom of St Apollonia’ by Jean Fouquet, c.1456. © the Musée Condé, Chantill.

A  more striking coincidence, though, concerns the incorporation of a fool in the bottom left hand corner of both miniatures. The costume that denotes them as such is surprisingly similar in design if not in colour. They each hold a mock emblem of office—the reed appropriate to the crowning with thorns and in ‘The Martyrdom of St Apollonia’ the traditional fool’s bauble—and 173

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l both make the same contemptuous gesture, common in the period, with hand and buttock. The undoubted parallels between the two miniatures need not necessarily indicate any direct relationship or influence; rather it is probable that in wishing to connect the torture of St Apollonia with the suffering of Christ Fouquet exploited a design that would associate the events in the mind of an observer, implying, perhaps, an element of artistic licence on his part. Alternatively, if in the type and disposition of figures Fouquet was accurately recording an actual performance it might suggest that those responsible for the production were acutely aware of other forms of representation. What is significant in this respect is that it is only those aspects of the miniature extraneous to the action of St Apollonia’s martyrdom, such as the director and the scaffolds with their occupants, which indicate that this is a performance of a play. Transposed to a setting such as that in which Fouquet depicts ‘The Martyrdom of St James the Major’ for example, the scene would lose none of its artistic quality or thematic significance but neither would it convey anything of its original theatrical context. 17 This may seem an obvious point but it clearly demonstrates that in paintings of this period evidence of performance is not necessarily to be found in the performers. Similarly, although ‘audiences’ are an important feature of all five of Fouquet’s portrayals of martyrdom in The Hours of Etienne Chevalier it is only in that of St Apollonia that the setting for them is unequivocally theatrical. The evidence is persuasive and beyond doubt. The same cannot be said for the Bartholomew Master’s ‘Crowning with Thorns’. He incorporates an audience but one that occupies a place in keeping with the historical event rather than its dramatization, although it could be said to draw attention to the theatricality of the subject as a scene observed. Applying the same principle of separating the action from the setting leaves the depiction of a scene common to art and drama which follows the conventions of the time but is otherwise unremarkable. The locating of it, though, in the type of place known to have accommodated performance of various kinds, in part by utilizing a curtain behind the action, provides theatrical evidence of some strength if less spectacular than that recorded by Fouquet. It is, perhaps, being unnecessarily cautious, but the least that can be said with confidence is that if a scene featuring the crowning with thorns were to be performed in an interior space then fragments of evidence from elsewhere suggest that it might not look very different from the miniature. The Fouquet miniature has undoubtedly advanced twentieth-century understanding of open-air medieval theatre practice in Europe; perhaps the Bartholomew Master can take a similar place in confirming what went on indoors.

Notes  1 For a selection of indoor entertainments depicted see the plates in Glynne Wickham, Early English Stages 1300–1660, 4 Vols (London: Routledge, 1959–

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a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l 2002), I, plates X, XXII and XXIII and the series of dances from the Freydal Codex reproduced by Stella Mary Newton, Renaissance Theatre Costume and the sense of the historic past (London: Rapp and Whiting: Deutsch, 1975).  2 John Harthan, Books of Hours and Their Owners (London: Thames and

Hudson, 1977), pp. 158–61. The miniature is reproduced in colour on p.159. Paul Pieper ‘Miniaturen des Bartholomaus-Meisters’, Wallraf-Richartz Jahrbuch, 15 (1953), 135–56 discusses the work in some detail and reproduces the miniatures.  3 Gertrud Schiller, Iconography of Christian Art, 2 vols (London: Lund Humphries,1971–72), II, p. 72.   4 Similar framing occurs in another of the miniatures (Christ before Pilate) and can be found in other paintings of the period. See, for example, the left and right hand panels of ‘The Justice of Emperor Otto’ by Dieric Bouts in Max J. Friedlander, Early Netherlandish Painting,14 vols (Leyden: A. W. Sijthoff, 1967–1976), III (1968), plates 48 and 49.  5 Margaret Wood, The English Medieval House (London: Phoenix House, 1965), pp. 139–47.  6 Wood, The English Medieval House, p. 402.  7 There are many instances of wall hangings in paintings of the period. For a particularly clear example see the illustration from the Histoire de Renaut de Montauban c. 1462 reproduced in Bryan Holme, Medieval Pageant (New York: Thames and Hudson, 1987), pp. 68–9.   8 For discussion on the traverse see Richard Southern, The Staging of Plays Before Shakespeare (London: Faber and Faber, 1973), pp. 264–70 and Wickham, Early English Stages, I, p. 92. It should be pointed out that the artist also incorporated a curtain in three other miniatures from the Homoet Hours; ‘The Annunciation’, ‘Christ before Pilate’ and ‘The Scourging’. None of them, with the possible exception of ‘Christ before Pilate’, appear to have the theatrical implication of ‘The Crowning with Thorns’.  9 Schiller, Iconography of Christian Art, II, p. 72 and fig. 253. 10 James Hall, Dictionary of Subjects and Symbols in Art (London: J. Murray, 1974; rev. edn. 1979), p. 80. 11 The Passion Play From the N. Town Manuscript, ed. by Peter Meredith (London: Longman, 1990), p. 117. 12 Schiller, Iconography of Christian Art, II, p. 72. 13 Schiller, Iconography of Christian Art, II, p. 72. 14 This seems particularly appropriate headgear for Pilate. The chaperon was most fashionable in the first half of the fifteenth century and remained reasonably popular until about 1460 after which time it was ‘relegated to the professional classes and graver bourgeoisie’: Francis M. Kelly and Randolph Schwabe, A Short History of Costume and Armour 1066–1800, 2 vols (London: Batsford, 1931), I, pp. 30–32. No doubt the artist was making a political point through the choice of costume that is somewhat lost in the twentieth century. 15 See Claude Schaefer (ed.), The Hours of Etienne Chevalier: Jean Fouquet, ed. by Claude Schaefer (London: Thames and Hudson, 1972); Richard Southern, The Medieval Theatre in the Round, 2nd edn (London: Faber and Faber, 1975), pp. 91–107; A. M. Nagler, The Medieval Religious Stage: Shapes and Phantoms (New Haven; London: Yale University Press, 1976), pp. 102–105. 16 Schaefer, The Hours of Etienne Chevalier, pp. 18–19. 17 Schaefer, The Hours of Etienne Chevalier, plate 34.

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12 A SCENE FROM THE LIFE OF ST EDMUND: DRAMATIC REPRESENTATION IN AN ENGLISH MEDIEVAL ALABASTER From: Theatre Notebook, 48 (1994)

The recent publication of Illustrations of the Stage and Acting in England to 1580 (1991), compiled by Clifford Davidson, reproduces 166 items considered to be illustrative of the early English stage, made up of diagrams, drawings, carvings, stained glass panels, manuscript illuminations and woodcuts, and yet not one of them, unequivocally, depicts an actual theatre performance of the period. This extraordinary absence, which is no fault of Davidson, is difficult to explain. The possibility that all pictorial representations of drama in performance simply failed to survive has only simplicity to favour it. The loss is so complete, unlike the survival of medieval and early Renaissance texts and records of performance, that factors other than chance would seem to be involved. At one extreme the loss might be accounted for by a concerted campaign of destruction. However, even at a time when some types of performance came under clerical attack, it is unlikely that the attempts at official suppression of certain plays would have extended so thoroughly to the annihilation of their representation in paintings and carvings. If it did the authorities were considerably more successful with art than they were with the plays.1 At the other extreme is the possibility that, for some reason, relatively few pictorial records of theatre performance were produced in the first place, making the loss regrettable but not numerically significant. This too is not entirely convincing. In a variety of forms from folk play to court interlude, dramatic entertainment played an important part in the social and religious life of most communities in the period and was, presumably, worthy of visual documentation. Moreover, the subject matter of many plays would seem to provide an extensive catalogue of vivid scenes likely to inspire reproduction in art. Artists were not inhibited or reluctant to record other, apparently more frivolous, aspects of cultural life in their work. Many manuscripts and church carvings, for example, include dancers, fools, acrobats, jugglers and other entertainers amongst their subjects.2 This discrepancy between the survival in 176

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l art of some kinds of entertainers and the apparent non-existence of others may in itself offer a clue to the absence of theatre illustrations. One of the main features that distinguishes entertainers like dancers, fools and acrobats from actors in plays is that the former are essentially involved in acts of self-presentation where the emphasis is on physical skill or verbal wit, whereas actors, or more properly at this time ‘players’, were, for the most part, engaged in acts of character representation within the context of a narrative that, for much medieval drama, derived from the Bible or the lives of saints. The entertainers are clearly defined by the nature of their actions, or in the case of fools by their costume and baubles, and the extraeveryday or ‘game’ quality of their performance makes them immediately recognizable to a spectator in life or in art. The unmistakeable purpose of their activity combined with an element of physical distortion makes them ideal subjects for painting and sculpture. Actors, on the other hand, although equally involved in a ‘game’ activity, represent historical or allegorical characters behaving in ‘earnest’. For a live audience this tension between the ‘real’ and the ‘pretend’ is very apparent and an essential component of the theatrical experience, but from an artist’s perspective the actions and gestures of the characters are indistinguishable in appearance from those that may be imagined for the historical events that they signify. In the case of medieval art this sense of verisimilitude is compounded by the sharing with theatre of the convention of visualizing historical scenes, to a very large extent, in contemporary costume and setting. In these respects, it would be almost impossible for an artist to indicate pictorially that the source of a painting depicting a scriptural subject was theatrical unless he or she included in the picture the more obvious details of staging, or the existence of an audience. Rarely, perhaps, would this have seemed relevant, as the function of most art dealing with religious matters was devotional, with significance residing in the spiritual relationship of the viewer with the subject. Only subsequently, with the recognition of the documentary value of paintings and carvings of the period, has the focus widened to take a more particular interest in the details of the physical setting. If correct, this would suggest that the absence of any known pictorial evidence of English medieval theatre was the consequence of neither prohibition nor inhibition. Rather, artists may have chosen, when working from performance, to emphasize the religious subject matter by dissolving the theatrical context in favour of more ‘realistic’ surroundings, or no physical setting at all. This means that the criteria for considering an illustration as instructive of medieval theatre practice may need to be slightly relaxed from the current stringency of accepting, on the basis of surviving European examples, only those that include overtly theatrical settings. Paintings and carvings may often include theatrical features in their composition, without drawing attention to the specific content of their origin. A brief example will illustrate this and other points made so far. 177

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l The Luttrell Psalter is, perhaps, the best known of all English medieval manuscripts.3 Written and illuminated in the early fourteenth century for Sir Geoffrey Luttrell of Irnham in Lincolnshire, it contains, in the margins, numerous decorations of everyday rural life. As well as tasks of agricultural labour, it depicts an array of pastimes and entertainments that includes musicians, animal acts, stilt-walkers, acrobatic dancers and wrestlers. It may also illustrate a pageant dragon on wheels amongst the many fantasy figures and grotesques that characterize the manuscript.4 Although the bulk of written records of drama in England is later than the manuscript (c.1340), there is little doubt that theatre flourished during the fourteenth century, and in the light of the variety of activity that the Luttrell Psalter portrays, it would seem almost perverse if the illuminators had not made some use of theatre performance for pictorial inspiration.5 At first sight this does not seem to be the case. Apart from the dragon, there is nothing in the manuscript that strikes the viewer as potentially theatrical. Certainly, there are no stages of the waggon or place and scaffold type, and nor is there anything that could be construed as an audience. However, amongst the biblical scenes and figures of saints is a simple representation of the crucifixion of St. Andrew (fol. 40).6 The saint is being tied, according to tradition, to a standing saltire cross by two executioners. All three characters are dressed in knee length tunics of the early fourteenth century. There is no painted background to the scene which focuses solely on the moment of the binding of the saint’s wrists to the cross. From this description there is nothing to imply that the illumination was inspired by performance. As suggested above, it is impossible to tell whether the characters depicted represent the historical figures or their medieval actors. For the purpose of the picture it makes very little difference. On this evidence there is no reason to suppose that the miniature derived from anything more interesting that an existing pattern or the imagination of the artist. There is, though, one detail which could indicate a theatrical source. The executioner who ties St. Andrew’s right wrist to the cross reaches him by balancing his left foot on a low, four­legged stool. The other executioner, presumably having accomplished his task, is placed slightly lower in the picture, pulling on a rope attached to St. Andrew’s left wrist, in a position that no longer requires the aid of the stool. Although, pictorially, the stool adds a certain grotesque realism to the scene, it is not absolutely necessary, in terms of the scale of the figures, to the execution of the task. If it were possible to erase the stool from the picture I doubt whether its need would be remarked upon. However, in a dramatization of the scene it is precisely the kind of stage property that would have been required for human actors to perform the action effectively. Although, of course, impossible to prove, this is just the sort of detail that might suggest a painter’s debt to the theatre for inspiration rather than as a source of material for exact reproduction.7 This implies that evidence of drama in art of the period should, perhaps, be sought in the technical detail of theatrical representation and not in the 178

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l elusive depiction of stages and audiences, or in the actions of the characters portrayed. The idea that theatrical representation may have influenced aspects of pictorial composition is by no means a new one. In the past though, such attempts to examine the role of drama in art have been largely resisted because of their tendency to overplay the extent of the influence, seeing in too many instances the exact reproduction in art of a dramatized scene. A notable example of this is the work of W. L. Hildburgh on English alabaster carvings as records of medieval religious drama.8 Hildburgh believed there to be a fairly direct visual relationship between the stage of the mystery plays and some alabaster carvings, which he deduced from their sharing of scriptural subject matter and a popular audience, as well as some specific points of practical detail that he considered to be theatrically inspired. His analysis is interesting and in places revealing but he too readily translates parallels and coincidence between the two forms into evidence of influence from one to the other. So much so in fact that critical caution now questions the entire premise upon which his case was made, and not one of the alabasters that he dealt with is included in Illustrations of the Stage and Acting in England to 1580.9 Evidence now suggests that, for the most part, the alabaster carvers were either copying each other or taking their designs from standard patterns or contemporary prints.10 However justified the criticism of Hildburgh may be, it is not so damaging as to deny the possibility of a less explicit relationship between the two forms of representation, and his work is probably due for some re-assessment. Such a major task, though, is not the intention of this article. The rather more modest purpose is to draw attention to an alabaster that Hildburgh did not consider in his study of religious drama but which, nonetheless, may well record features of medieval theatre practice. In his discussion of alabasters and religious drama, Hildburgh concentrated, almost exclusively, upon those carvings that dealt with scenes from the canonical and the apocryphal gospels—essentially the birth, ministry and Passion of Christ—mainly because it was the depiction of these episodes that he was able to compare with the surviving texts of Corpus Christi plays. Towards the conclusion of his study, he acknowledges the existence of a number of other alabasters, illustrating the lives of saints, but considers them only briefly as there are insufficient dramatic texts with which to compare them. In this coda to his main work, Hildburgh lists some of the saints for whom alabaster panels survive, while only commenting upon two or three of them. One of those listed, without further discussion, is St. Edmund (841–869), King of East Anglia and martyr, who was captured by invading Danes and shot with arrows before being beheaded. Three late fifteenth-century carvings, related to these events, survive in the Victoria and Albert Museum collection of English medieval alabasters. The three panels appear to represent a sequence that may originally have been part of an altarpiece and are described in the museum catalogue as 1) Scene from the life of St. Edmund, 2) St. Edmund shot with 179

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l arrows, and 3) St. Edmund’s head restored to his body.11 The second and third panels are fairly straightforward representations of the scenes described in their catalogue titles and, as far as one can tell, do not appear to owe anything to the theatre for their design. The first panel, though, (PLATE 1) is both less clear in the identity of the scene it depicts and more striking in its apparent theatrical influence. The problem in identifying the scene is that the action portrayed does not seem to correspond with any of the events chronicled in the life and martyrdom of St. Edmund, which explains why the catalogue title is so unspecific. This uncertainty has led some historians to question whether the panel can be associated with St. Edmund at all, and prompted them to suggest some rather unlikely alternatives.12 These are ingenious rather than convincing, and there are good reasons for not only identifying the king in the panel with St. Edmund but also for seeing the scene as partly allegorical, rather than a purely historical, portrayal of the martyrdom. As far as the identity of the king is concerned, there is sufficient similarity of appearance in all three panel figures to suggest that they represent the same person. The flowing hair, scrolled beard and foliated crown are features common to all three, and, although there is a tendency for all kings in alabaster carvings to look rather alike, the resemblance is so strong between them that an identification other than with St. Edmund, for the king in the first panel, seems quite improbable. Although this appears to resolve the question of identity, it leaves unanswered the nature of the scene depicted, which, in addition to the king, includes representative soldiers of the invading Danes and images of agricultural labour. The figure to the left of the panel is wearing a short, belted tunic over bare legs, with soft leather boots and a stalked cap; costume characteristics of farm-workers in the first half of the fifteenth century. He carries under his left arm a trug, or oblong basket, which may be filled with grain. His right hand is just visible at the edge of the panel, in a position which makes it difficult to tell whether he is sowing seed or supporting the basket. He seems unaware of the presence of the Danes. This looks like a fairly conventional depiction of an aspect of rural life. More puzzling, and the main cause of doubts concerning the scene, is the figure of the woman to the right of the foreground. She stands behind a crop of wheat and in front of two bound sheaves, suggesting that reaping was in progress. She wears a close-fitting gown and a veil, with a sickle resting upon her head. Not surprisingly, it is this last feature that is the source of the problem. It seems unlikely that it records an established method of stowing the sickle when in repose, or when surprised by soldiers. Other means come more readily to mind. The Luttrell Psalter, for example, has a miniature depicting reaping (fol.172v) in which a woman rests a sickle over her right shoulder. This looks almost as precarious as balancing it on the head, though potentially less hazardous, and could have been duplicated in the alabaster panel if the intention was simply to show that the reaping had been interrupted.13 180

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l The highly unrealistic effect, created by the sickle on the head, caused Philip Nelson, one of the earliest writers on alabasters, to suggest that the scene represented the moment in the life of St. Nothburg when, refusing to reap corn on a Sunday, she flung her sickle in the air where it remained as the crescent moon.14 Nelson was probably right to look for an explanation outside medieval farming practice, but possibly wrong to find it in an obscure Tyrolean saint. The placing of the sickle, which is clearly deliberate, may be a device intended to achieve precisely the kind of effect that it had on Nelson and other historians, namely, defamiliarizing the otherwise apparent realism of the character, thereby inviting a meaning for her that transcends that of a female agricultural worker. It is in this way, I believe, that the woman can be identified as Ceres, the goddess of agriculture. As a personification of plenty she was particularly associated with corn, and is frequently depicted wearing a crown made from the ears. She could also be characterized by her possession of a sickle, and it is possibly this attribute that is incorporated into the headdress worn by the woman in the panel.15 Why such a figure should be included in a scene from the life of St. Edmund is not immediately apparent. It possibly arises as a consequence of transferring the legend from one medium to another, where the translation of a lengthy written description of the events leading to the martyrdom into visual terms has necessitated the use of personification.16 One of the most likely literary sources of subject matter for this and other alabaster panels is the Golden Legend, a collection of saints’ lives and associated legends, written in Latin in the thirteenth century and first translated into English in 1438.17 The Golden Legend version of the ‘Life of St. Edmund’ largely follows the story first outlined by Abbo of Fleury who wrote his Passio Sancti Eadmundi between 985 and 987, based on the events retold by St. Dunstan, Archbishop of Canterbury, who himself, when a boy, had overheard the king’s armour bearer relate his eye-witness account of St. Edmund’s death.18 Both versions recount that the Danish tyrants, Ivarr and Ubbe, laid waste to Northumbria before Ivarr invaded East Anglia, killing many of the inhabitants. Ivarr, conscious of King Edmund’s bravery and strength, questioned some of those who survived the invasion to ascertain the king’s whereabouts. With the information he sent a knight messenger to Edmund demanding that he make an alliance with him. The terms of this alliance required Edmund to surrender his hereditary wealth and treasures to Ivarr, as well as agreeing to reign under him. Refusal to meet these terms would result in the death of the king and his remaining subjects. Edmund sought the counsel of one of his bishops who, concerned for the king’s safety, exhorted him to comply or flee. Edmund, rejecting this advice and following the example of Christ, refused Ivarr’s demands and surrendered himself to death. He was seized and bound to a tree where arrows were shot at him while he continued to praise God. This so enraged lvarr that he commanded that the king’s head should be cut off. The mutilated body was left where it lay, but 181

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Plate 1 A Scene from the Life of St Edmund. A late fifteenth-century English alabaster panel. © the Board of Trustees of the Victoria and Albert Museum.

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a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l the head was hidden in a dense thicket to ensure that it would not be found by the Christians. After the Danes had departed East Anglia the body was recovered, but not the head. It was eventually discovered by Christian men who, attempting to keep in contact while they searched the woods, called out, ‘Where are you?’ to each other and were rewarded for their devotion to the dead king by the head answering, ‘Here! Here! Here!’. The head, which had been guarded in its hiding place by a wolf, was miraculously restored to the king’s body and finally buried. Although no episode in either the Passio Sancti Eadmundi or the Golden Legend corresponds exactly with the scene depicted in the alabaster, there does appear to be some agreement between them over the role of the king in his martyrdom. The sacrificial nature of the king’s death, described in the accounts, is clearly visualized in the panel by his physical gesture. Standing between two armed soldiers, he is centrally placed, with head slightly bowed and his hands crossed over his chest. This gesture is not uncommon in medieval art, and can be found in a number of contexts with apparently different connotations. It seems, for example, to convey an expression of reverence and awe on the part of Mary in paintings of the Annunciation, and to be used as a symbol of the cross in funerary art. In the panel, though, it would appear to imitate the gesture of humility and sacrifice adopted by Christ in some representations of the Man of Sorrows. It may also echo the liturgical gesture of crossing the hands on the chest, performed by the priest at the commencement of the mass, as an expression of humility and the hope that God will accept his sacrifices.19 It would seem, then, that the use of the gesture in the panel was to emphasize the sacrificial element of St. Edmund’s death. In this context it is possible to offer a meaning for the remainder of the panel scene. Apart from refusing to renounce his Christianity and be subject to a pagan king, St. Edmund surrendered his life in order to protect those of his citizens that had survived the Danish invasion. In his response to the bishop’s counsel of appeasement, Edmund is reported by Abbo as seeing his death as a means of preventing further killings and restoring his people to a life of prosperity: Et utinam inpresentiarum uiuendo quique gemerent ne cruenta cede perirent, quatinus patriae dulcibus aruis, etiam me occumbente, superstites fierent et ad pristinae felicitatis gloriam postmodum redirent! (And how I wish that all those who are unhappy as a result of living in present circumstances may not perish by a gory death so that, even if I die, they may survive for the sweet fields of their homeland and may hereafter return to the glory of their former prosperity.)20 It may be this threat to the agrarian idyll posed by the Danes that the panel carver is illustrating. This was not an easy task, and in order to encompass 183

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l the breadth of the theme the carver had to ensure that the scene would not be read literally as two farm-workers in imminent physical danger. This was achieved, in part, by transcending the real time of the martyrdom in winter (20 November) by the portrayal of the annual agricultural cycle in scenes of sowing and reaping from the spring and the summer. In addition to the treatment of time, the carver also transforms the reaper, by the device of the sickle headdress, from an individual farm-worker into Ceres, the personification of the earth’s abundance.21 Although an explanation for the panel scene may be found in the written legends of St. Edmund, there is no evidence that the way in which it was realized by the carver derived from the same sources. Neither is the symbolic depiction of the threat to abundance likely to have been the carver’s own invention, as what is known about the way in which the alabasters were produced suggests that the borrowing of images was much more common than original creation.22 An existing pictorial treatment of the subject is a possible derivation but certain features of the St. Edmund panel point to the theatre as the source of the borrowing. One of these features is the character of Ceres. At first sight, the inclusion of a pagan goddess in a fifteenth-century Christian image may seem strange. However, many of the Roman deities were incorporated into the literature and art of the medieval period without a sense of incongruity or the implication of pagan belief.23 Indeed, some of the gods acquired sacred associations in addition to their mythological functions. Ceres, for example, in keeping with the myth of her search for her abducted daughter, Proserpine, stood for the Church seeking to recover the souls of the faithful who had strayed from the fold.24 But it is her role as goddess of agriculture, and symbol of plenty, that is of interest here. In such a guise she appears in medieval English literature (Chaucer mentions her twice)25 and in a variety of dramatic entertainments from the fifteenth to the seventeenth century. The earliest of these, that I am aware of, is John Lydgate’s Mumming at Eltham, presented before the three year old Henry VI and his mother, Queen Catherine, at Christmas, 1424.26 The verses of this semi-dramatic entertainment refer to Bacchus, Juno and Ceres sending gifts of ‘Wyne, whete and oyle by marchandes that here be’ (1.5). It is not altogether clear from the text whether the merchants who present the gifts betokening peace and plenty are actually accompanied as mummers by impersonations of Bacchus, Juno and Ceres. The gods, in tableau, could have overseen the presentation by the merchants or, less dramatically, the references to them may be invoking a presence in spirit rather than in person.27 By the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century there is no doubt that Ceres had become an embodied and popular character in Elizabethan pageantry. She appeared with her nymphs in a harvest cart to meet Queen Elizabeth at the foot of the hill at Bisham in 1592 where, after a song, the goddess presented the queen with a gift and delivered a speech of welcome and homage.28 In 1594 Ceres figured in the christening celebrations of Prince Henry, son of James VI 184

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l of Scotland, at Edinburgh. Along with Fecundity, Faith, Concord, Liberality, and Perseverance, she rode in a chariot that brought the banquet dessert into the hall.29 She appeared again before the king, as James I, in his royal entry to London in 1604. On this occasion Ceres shared a pageant with Peace, Plenty, Pomona, and the Nine Muses and the Seven Liberal Sciences.30 In addition to these pageants, Ceres is also found as a character in early seventeenth-century masques, perhaps most notably in the wedding masque of The Tempest (IV. 1). Unfortunately, Shakespeare gives no indication of the way in which she was visualized in such entertainments. For such detail one needs to turn to the first court masque of the reign of James I. Written by Samuel Daniel, The Vision of the Twelve Goddesses was presented at Hampton Court on 8 January 1604 by ‘the Queen’s Majesty and her Ladies’ (I.8).31 Ceres, as an expression of plenty, was the eleventh of the goddesses ‘presented in their proper and several attires, bringing in their hands the particular figures of their power which they gave to the Temple of Peace’ (II.56–8). Their costume, most of which was ‘borrowed’ from Queen Elizabeth’s wardrobe, consisted of ‘loose mantles and petticotes but of different colors, the stuffs embrodered sattins and cloth of gold and silver’.32 Ceres is described by Daniel as being dressed ‘in a straw colour and silver embroidery, with ears of corn, and a dressing of the same, presents a sickle’ (II.88–9). It is clear from the descriptions of some of the other goddesses that ‘dressing’ refers to a headdress, which in the case of Ceres is made up of ears of corn. This certainly echoes classical interpretations of her appearance, but it is worth noting, in the context of the alabaster, that the sickle is regarded in the masque as the ‘figure of her power’. This brief list of appearances shows that Ceres featured in courtly, semi­ dramatic entertainments from the first quarter of the fifteenth century to well into the seventeenth century. The difficulty in using this as evidence in connection with the alabaster will be obvious. Most of the references are over a century later than the probable date of the panel, and the entertainments are predominantly aristocratic in nature, as well as being essentially visual, rather than dramatic, in form. With regard to the last point, Ceres does feature in a late sixteenth-century play, The Cobblers Prophesie, by Robert Wilson, where the role of the gods is somewhat less serious than was their treatment in pageantry and the masque. The opening stage direction records Ceres’ entrance and her company: Enter Iupiter and Iuno, Mars and Venus, Apollo, after him, Bacchus, Vulcan limping, and after all Diana wringing her hands: they passe by, while on the stage Mercurie from one end Ceres from another meete.33 This play, too, was probably intended for a court audience. For something closer in time to the date of the panel, and a more popular audience than the examples quoted so far, it is necessary to look beyond 185

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l England. In Dublin, at Christmas in 1528, a series of stage plays were presented on Hoggen Green (now College Green) in a joint venture by some craft guilds and local priories. The eight plays took their subject matter from an odd mixture of sacred history and classical mythology, with the overriding principle of selection seemingly determined by the performers’ occupation, as the list makes evident; Adam and Eve (the Tailors), Crispin and Crispianus (the Shoemakers), Bacchus (the Vintners), Joseph and Mary (the Carpenters), Vulcan (the Smiths), Ceres (the Bakers), The Passion of Our Saviour, and, The Deaths of the Apostles (the Priors of St. John of Jerusalem, the Blessed Trinity, and All Hallows).34 This series of plays suggests that Christian and mythological subjects could exist side by side without apparent incongruity. Whether they could also be combined in the manner of the alabaster panel is more difficult to determine. Clearly in the Dublin plays, and others of a scriptural nature, such mixing would be unnecessary rather than inappropriate. The occasions on which dramatic advantage was to be gained by incorporating classical figures in religious plays must have been comparatively few, and generally confined to circumstances like that of St. Edmund where they would serve as an elaboration of an idea rather than as a function of the plot. This brief survey of the medieval and Renaissance history of Ceres as a dramatic character illustrates that certainly aristocratic, and possibly popular, audiences could have been familiar with her meaning through a range of theatrical entertainments. The rather limited evidence suggests that, while most of these would have placed her in the classical environment of her origin, there is nothing to have prevented her from being called upon to personify the earth’s abundance in a context where the emphasis was, otherwise, Christian. In either context, her character would be distinguished, visually, by means of the attributes of ears of corn and/or the sickle. In theatrical presentations, often because her hands needed to be free to present the gifts of the earth with which she was associated, this probably, and in one instance certainly, took the form of a headdress. Of course, this neither proves that the woman in the alabaster is Ceres, or that just because she wears a sickle on her head that a case for theatrical origin is established beyond reasonable doubt. All that can be claimed from the evidence so far is that the identification of the woman in the panel with Ceres remains possible, and that such a character could be found in dramatic entertainments of the period. There are, though, reasons other than the woman’s identity for seeing evidence of the theatre as an influence in the panel. One of the features of some alabaster carvings that first alerted historians, even before Hildburgh, to the possibility that they recorded the staging of religious plays, was the device of darkening the faces of executioners and torturers.35 This means of depicting evil characters, and its converse of gilding God’s face, seems to have been a fairly widespread practice in medieval theatre. Although, at times, it can be difficult to distinguish, in the written records, whether the darkening is to the actual face or to a mask, the convention is the 186

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l same. In Coventry the Drapers’ accounts, in connection with their pageant of Doomsday, record payments ‘for blackyng of the Sowles facys’ from 1561 to 1573.36 For the corresponding pageant at York, the Mercers’ indenture of 1433 records the fact that the two evil souls wore ‘ij vesenes’ (visors), which may also have been painted black.37 At Chester, in 1550, the Cordwainers and Shoemakers paid ‘ffor geyldeng of godes ffase & ffor peyntyng of the geylers ffasses’, encapsulating the two extremes of character treated in this way.38 And in Coventry, again, the Smiths made payments to the painting of ‘Herodes face’ and ‘for payntyng the players facys’ throughout the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.39 The Smiths were responsible for the presentation of the Betrayal, Trial and Crucifixion of Christ, in which four tormentors and two knights fulfil roles similar to those of the Danish soldiers in the arrest and death of St. Edmund, and would, almost certainly, have been amongst those players whose faces were painted. Whether the Danes’ darkened faces in the panel derive directly from observation of theatre practice, indirectly from general knowledge of the convention, or from another source entirely is, of course, impossible to tell. The convention is not unknown in painting, for example, and the carver may simply have followed a formula common to all forms of representation where the visual distinction between good and evil needs to be clearly made.40 Even with this caution borne firmly in mind, it is possible to see in the depiction of the Danes the application of a technique known to have been employed in medieval theatre. Although this brings us closer to the kind of practical detail that may be indicative of theatrical influence it is not, in itself, positive proof of a relationship. The convention of darkening faces works as well in art as it does in the theatre. What is needed is something like the stool in the St. Andrew miniature where the detail is more significant in dramatic realization than it is to the pictorial treatment of the same subject. Such a detail in the panel is the curtain or back-cloth which separates the king and his captors from the scene in the fields. The cloth is painted green with clusters of mainly six white dots surrounding one red dot, producing the effect of a daisy pattern. This colouration and pattern is common to many of the English alabasters, where it is usually confined to the lower ground of the panels, representing the grass and flowers of outside scenes, as it also does in some illuminated manuscripts of the period. 41 Indeed, so common is the practice that it is incorporated into the design of more than half of the 260 English alabasters in the V and A collection. And yet only in the Scene from the Life of St. Edmund is this ‘background’ elevated from decoration to serving a practical purpose. This single example of deviation from normal practice implies a degree of originality that was uncharacteristic of the medium and which was, presumably, motivated by more than artistic whim. In the way in which the carver treats the subject, the cloth is a very useful device for dividing the representation of an historical event from its allegorical interpretation, while allowing for the simultaneous showing of both. This 187

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l could be all the explanation that is required, except that, in its realization, the carver has drawn particular attention to the device by making the cloth so prominent in the composition and realistic in appearance. It would have been quite possible to create the necessary effect without making the purpose of the cloth so obvious. However, a contemporary dramatization of the episode, in which the same separation of scenes was required, might employ a curtain in exactly the way recorded in the panel. Unfortunately, such a view rests rather more on the impression of what might have worked in late medieval theatre than on surviving evidence. What evidence there is for the use of such a device comes, for the most part, from pictures of booth stages of the time, mainly from the Low Countries, which are, frequently, shown with a curtain the width of the stage, from behind which actors make their entrances. Often the booths have a ladder leaning against the traverse bar, with what looks like an actor peering over the top of the curtain.42 This feature occurs so frequently that it is tempting to see it as a record of theatre practice, although it could simply be an artistic device to add another level of interest to the picture. In performance it would certainly provide a very useful means of enabling a character to oversee, or listen in to, the action on stage, without the knowledge of the other characters but in full view of the audience. This is not quite the situation with St. Edmund, though, and nor is there any detail in the panel that might suggest the use of a booth stage. Indeed, there is very little firm evidence for the use of such stages in England during the period in question. This need not affect the claim for a theatrical origin of the panel scene, however, as a play commemorating the martyrdom of St. Edmund is more likely to have been performed indoors, given that the saint’s feast day falls on 20 November. Indoor performances in civic, guild, noble, and monastic halls, and possibly even in churches, may well have used curtains, or a back-cloth, to produce an effect similar to that of the booth stages. Richard Southern has explored the use and development of the traverse in indoor theatre in some detail.43 He, quite convincingly, sees the reference in Godly Queen Hester (c.1527) to a ‘trauers’, which the ‘kynge entryth’ while ‘a man goeth out’, as an indication of a curtain placed between the two hall screen openings that were used for entrances and exits.44 In this, and other instances, the traverse provides characters, like the king, with a means of temporary withdrawal from the action that is not as final as an exit. As Southern points out, there are a number of late medieval and Tudor interludes where such a facility is not formally recorded in the text but which would have been extremely useful if available. In addition to concealment, the curtain could also be used, like the booth stage traverse, for the performance of ‘upper scenes’. Such scenes might involve one character appearing above another in the manner of Clytemnestra who is required, by a stage direction in Horestes (1567), to ‘speake ouer ye wal’.45 More conventionally, raised characters could indicate a location superior to that of the ground, as in the case of God speaking in Heaven at the beginning of Everyman (c.1500). Alternatively, 188

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l like the booth stage scenes, the traverse could enable a character to observe, unseen, the action below. In the case of the St. Edmund panel, the saint’s appearance above the curtain suggests another possibility that allows for the simultaneous showing of scenes that are interrelated but not physically connected. In these ways, the traverse is a very simple but highly effective device that can also be used as a back-cloth to the main stage action. Indeed, it is sufficiently adaptable to suggest that it could have been used in a variety of performance spaces, including those without the formal arrangement of hall screen openings. In these circumstances, entrances could be made either side of the curtain, or through it if the traverse was divided, with scenes performed in front of and above it.46 The curtain in the alabaster is, apparently, undivided and suspended by the two top corners, causing the upper edge to dip, rather than hung on a bar, suggesting a temporary structure for an occasional purpose.47 The principle, however, remains the same. Interestingly, the Danes approaching Ceres in the panel actually look as if they are making a stage left entrance from the side of the curtain. Whether in this detail the carver was recording an actual performance or, more likely, drawing on theatre practice for inspiration is impossible to tell. The question of the origin of the curtain, or back-cloth, is, in some ways, similar to that of the darkened faces; there is evidence for both being used in the theatre of the time but the effect is equally successful in painting and sculpture. Taken separately, the possibility of a theatrical origin for each of the features discussed has been treated with some caution. However, the cumulative evidence, of Ceres wearing what may be a theatrical headdress, the darkened faces of the Danes and the use of a cloth in a way that suggests a traverse, weighs more heavily in favour of the theatre as a source for the panel. All three features concern technical aspects of theatre, drawn from the areas of costume, make-up and stage-setting. And whilst they clearly contribute to the overall effectiveness and meaning of the panel, their nature and purpose make them more critical functions of theatre production than they are to the rendition of the same subject in carving. Whatever the source of the panel, it is at least possible that a play dealing with the life and martyrdom of St. Edmund existed at the time of the alabaster carving. Saints’ plays seem to have been one of the most popular forms of drama in England during the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, and, although only two texts survive, records indicate that a considerable number of saints’ lives were dramatized.48 Only recently, though, has any evidence for a play of St. Edmund emerged. As may be expected, the evidence comes from Bury St. Edmunds, where Thomas Pykrell, in his will of 1509, bequeathed ‘all my pleying garements to Seynt Edmunds pley in the Frayt (er)’.49 This entertainment, which took place in the monastery refectory, may be the same as the ‘revell on Seynt Edmund’s nyght’ recorded in another will, where it further appears that the Bury guild of St. John the Baptist was at least partly 189

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l responsible for the revels on the eve of the feast that commemorated the translation of St. Edmund’s relics to Bury (29 April).50 It is not certain what form the ‘pley’ or ‘revell’ took, or even whether the reference to ‘St. Edmunds pley’ is to a play of the saint or to a play from the town. In Bury of all places, though, a play on the eve of the Feast of the Translation of St. Edmund is likely to have dealt, in some way, with the events of his martyrdom. Dramatizations of the saint’s life were also possible elsewhere, as his fame and popularity extended beyond the monastic borough of his name. He was the twenty-seventh most popular saint in the list of pre-Reformation English church dedications, with sixty one churches named after him, a third of them in East Anglia.51 Any one of them, or the five parish guilds dedicated to the saint in the 1389 guild certificate returns, might have chosen a play as a fitting tribute to their patron.52 If they, or indeed any other parish, town or religious guild, had done so, it is possible that the dramatization of at least part of the legend could have borne a strong resemblance to the scene depicted in the alabaster panel.

Notes   1 On the suppression of religious drama see Harold C. Gardiner, Mysteries’ End: An Investigation of the Last Days of the Medieval Religious Stage (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1946).   2 A number of examples are reproduced in Clifford Davidson, Illustrations of the Stage and Acting in England to 1580, Early Drama, Art, and Music Monograph Series, 16 (Kalamazoo: Western Michigan University, 1991).   3 The manuscript (B.L. Additional MS 42130) is fully described with reproductions of almost all of the miniatures in E. G. Millar, The Luttrell Psalter (London: British Museum, 1932).  4 See Peter Meredith and John Marshall, ‘The Wheeled Dragon in The Luttrell Psalter’, Medieval English Theatre, 2.2 (1980), 70–3.   5 For an overview of dramatic activity during the period see Ian Lancashire, Dramatic Texts and Records of Britain: A Chronological Topography to 1558 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984).   6 This is one of the very few miniatures not reproduced in Millar. It is, though, included in Janet Backhouse, The Luttrell Psalter (London: British Library, 1989), p. 13.  7 Interestingly, the parish church at Irnham was dedicated to St.Andrew, and although there is no evidence that the illuminators of the manuscript actually visited the family seat, it is possible that the church may have had a play of their patron saint which inspired the miniature.   8 W. L. Hildburgh, ‘English Alabaster Carvings as Records of the Medieval Religious Drama’, Archaeologia, 93 (1949), 51–101.   9 For criticisms of Hildburgh see M. D. Anderson, Drama and Imagery in English Medieval Churches (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963), p. 12; Clifford Davidson, Drama and Art: An Introduction to the Use of Evidence from the Visual Arts for the Study of Early Drama, Early Drama, Art, and Music Monograph Series, 1 (Kalamazoo: Western Michigan University, 1977), p. 5; Meg Twycross, ‘Apparell comlye’ in Aspects of Early English Drama, ed. by Paula Neuss (Cambridge: Brewer, 1983), pp. 30–49, n.l.

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a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l 10 For alabaster panel sources see Francis Cheetham, English Medieval Alabasters (Oxford: Phaidon-Christie, 1984), pp. 18–20. 11 The three panels are described and reproduced in Cheetham, pp. 96–8. The Victoria and Albert Museum catalogue numbers for the panels are, A120-1946, A120A-1946 and A120B-1946. 12 Suggestions include St. Radegund, Eustace, son of King Stephen, and Herod’s soldiers searching for the child Jesus. See Cheetham, English Medieval Alabasters, p. 96. 13 In the existing design of the panel it would be rather more difficult to carve the sickle on a front to back axis over the woman’s shoulder, than the side to side profile adopted above her head. However, if the purpose was to signal the abrupt cessation of reaping brought about by the appearance of the soldiers, she could have been shown holding the sickle, or having dropped it to the ground. W. L. Hildburgh, in ‘Folklife Recorded in Medieval English Alabaster Carvings’, Folk Lore, 60 (1949), 249–65, considered the placing of the sickle to be ‘no more than a townsman’s invention’ and in no way symbolical, pp. 260–61. 14 Philip Nelson, ‘An English Fifteenth Century Alabaster Reredos of St. Edmund’, Transactions of the Historic Society of Lancashire and Cheshire, 75 (1923), 208–12, (209). 15 For a brief, but useful, description of Ceres, see James Hall, Dictionary of Subjects and Symbols in Art (London: Murray, 1974), pp. 62–3. 16 For a collection and translation of the main prose and verse accounts of St. Edmund’s life and martyrdom see Corolla Sancti Eadmundi: The Garland of St. Edmund King and Martyr, ed. by Lord Francis Hervey (London: E. P. Dutton, 1907). For an assessment of the historical accuracy of this literature see Dorothy Whitelock, ‘Fact and Fiction in the Legend of St. Edmund’, Proceedings of the Suffolk Institute of Archaeology, 31 (1969), 217–33; Alfred P. Smyth, Scandinavian Kings in the British Isles: 850–880 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977), pp. 201–13; Antonia Gransden, ‘The legends and traditions concerning the origins of the Abbey of Bury St. Edmunds’, The English Historical Review, 100 (1985), 1–24. 17 The 1438 translation survives in seven fifteenth-century manuscripts, none of which have yet been edited. The English translation made in 1483 by William Caxton has been edited by F. S. Ellis, The Golden Legend (London: [n.pub.], 1892). 18 Passio Sancti Eadmundi is included in Hervey, Corolla Sancti Eadmundi, pp. 6–59, with an English translation. A more scholarly edition is available in Three Lives of English Saints, ed. by Michael Winterbottom (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1972), pp. 67–87. 19 The gesture is discussed in some detail in Moshe Barasch, Giotto and the Language of Gesture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), pp. 72–87. 20 Winterbottom, Three Lives of English Saints, p. 75. The translation is by Ian Moxon of the University of Leeds to whom I am most grateful. 21 Although there is a danger in reading too much into the meaning of the panel, it is possible, particularly in the light of the agricultural emphasis, to see the sacrifice of St. Edmund as part of the death and regeneration traditions of both Christian and pagan religions. On the assimilation of pagan images and beliefs by Christianity see Ronald Hutton, The Pagan Religions of the Ancient British Isles: Their Nature and Legacy (Oxford: Blackwell, 1991). 22 Cheetham, English Medieval Alabasters, p. 18. 23 Hutton, Pagan Religions, p. 295. 24 Jean Seznec, The Survival of the Pagan Gods: The Mythological Tradition and its Place in Renaissance Humanism and Art (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1972), p. 93.

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a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l 25 The Parliament of Fowls, 1. 276, and Troilus and Criseyde, V. 1. 208. 26 The Minor Poems of John Lydgate, ed. by Henry Noble MacCracken, Early English Text Society, OS192 (London: Oxford University Press, 1934), pp. 672–74. 27 For two, slightly different, interpretations of the mumming see Glynne Wickham, Early English Stages 1300–1660, 4 vols (London: Routledge, 1959–2002), I, pp.199–200; Derek Pearsall, John Lydgate (London: Routledge, 1970), p. 184. 28 Robert Withington, English Pageantry: An Historical Outline, 2 vols (Cambridge MA: Harvard Univerity Press, 1918; repr. New York/London: Benjamin Blom, 1963), I, pp. 217–18. 29 Withington, I, p. 218. 30 Withington, I, pp. 222–26. 31 Jacobean and Caroline Masques, ed. by Richard Dutton, Nottingham Drama Texts, 2 vols (Nottingham: Nottingham University, 1981), I. 32 Quoted from a contemporary account of the masque in a letter by Sir Dudley Carleton in Dutton, Jacobean and Caroline Masques, I. 33 Robert Wilson, The Cobblers Prophesie, ed. by A. C. Wood, Malone Society Reprints (London: Oxford University Press, 1914). 34 For details of these plays see J. T. Gilbert, A History of the City of Dublin, 3 vols (Dublin; London: Duffy, 1861), III, pp. 3–4. 35 One of the earliest discussions of this aspect of the alabasters was in E. S. Prior, ‘The Sculpture of Alabaster Tables’ in Illustrated Catalogue of the Exhibition of English Medieval Alabaster Work, Held in the Rooms of the Society of Antiquaries, 26th May–30th June 1910 (London: [n.pub.],1913), p. 21. 36 Records of Early English Drama: Coventry, ed. by R. W. Ingram (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1981), pp. 217–64. 37 Records of Early English Drama: York, ed. by Alexandra F. Johnston and Margaret Rogerson, 2 vols (Manchester; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1979), I, p. 55. 38 Records of Early English Drama: Chester, ed. by Lawrence M. Clopper (Manchester and Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1979), p. 50. 39 Ingram, REED Coventry, pp. 59–181. 40 An example in art that may be derived from the theatre occurs in a miniature of the Flagellation of Christ from the Luttrell Psalter (fol. 92v) where the torturer to the left, who raises a tawse above his head in readiness to strike Christ, wears what looks like a darkened mask. 41 See, for example, the colour reproductions of illuminated pages in Janet Backhouse, The Bedford Hours (London: British Library, 1990). 42 Examples of booth stages with a ladder propped against the traverse bar, or an actor peering over the top of the curtain, can be found in the two engravings of fair scenes by Pieter Bruegel, ‘La Kermesse de la Saint-Georges’ and ‘La Kermesse d’Hoboken’, both reproduced in H. Arthur Klein, Graphic Worlds of Peter Bruegel the Elder (New York: Dover, 1963), pp. 58, 60, and in the two, very similar, paintings of a village fete, one by Pieter Balten, included in Phyllis Hartnoll, A Concise History of the Theatre (London: Thames & Hudson, 1968), p. 50, and the other by Pieter Bruegel reproduced as Plate 6 in The Revels History of Drama in English ed. by Norman Sanders, Richard Southern, T. W. Craik and Lois Potter, 8 vols (London: Methuen, 1980), II, 1500–1576. 43 See the indexical entries under ‘travas, or traverse’ in Richard Southern, The Staging of Plays before Shakespeare (London: Faber, 1973). 44 A New Enterlude of Godly Queene Hester, ed. by W. W. Greg (Louvain: Uystpruyst, 1904). The stage direction appears in the left margin after line 137. Another reference to the ‘trauerse’ occurs in a similar position after line 635: ‘Here the kynge

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a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l entreth the trauerse & Hardy dardy entreth the place’. See Southern, Staging of Plays before Shakespeare, pp. 264–66. 45 The play Horestes by John Pikeryng is included in Three Tudor Classical Interludes, ed. by Marie Axton (Cambridge: Brewer, 1982). The stage direction occurs after line 695; ‘Let the trumpet leave soundyng and let Harrauld speake, and Clitemnestra speake over the wal’. 46 Unfortunately, there are no contemporary prints or paintings that show such a device in use. Something of the effect, though, can be envisaged from the, much later, frontispiece included in Henry Marsh, The Wits, or Sport upon Sport (London: Henry Marsh, 1662), which was re-used for the expanded second edition issued by Francis Kirkman, The wits, or, Sport upon sport (London: [n.pub.], 1673). See R. A. Foakes, Illustrations of the English Stage 1580–1642 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1985), pp. 159–61. Other examples of curtains used in this way can be found in the vignettes of stages from the title-pages of William Alabaster’s, Roxana, 1632 (Foakes, pp. 72–3) and Nathaniel Richard’s Messalina, 1640 (Foakes, pp. 80–1). 47 For an instance of a curtain being used in a similar way to that described for the alabaster, in what may also be a theatrical context, see John Marshall, ‘The Crowning with Thorns and the Mocking of Christ: A Fifteenth-Century Performance Analogue’, Theatre Notebook, 45 (1991), 114–21. [Reprinted in this volume as Chapter 11]. 48 On the extent and popularity of the saints’ play in England see Clifford Davidson, ‘The Middle English Saint Play and Its Iconography’ in The Saint Play in Medieval Europe, ed. by Clifford Davidson, Early Drama, Art, and Music Monograph Series 8 (Kalamazoo: Western Michigan University, 1986), pp. 31–122. 49 Gail McMurray Gibson, The Theater of Devotion: East Anglian Drama and Society in the Late Middle Ages (Chicago IL: University of Chicago Press, 1989), p. 115. 50 From the 1494 will of John Benale. See Gibson, Theater of Devotion, p. 115. 51 Francis Bond, Dedications and Patron Saints of English Churches: Ecclesiastical Symbolism Saints and Their Emblems (London: Oxford University Press, 1914), pp. 17, 128. 52 An analysis of the guild certificates of 1389 is published as an appendix to H. F. Westlake, The Parish Gilds of Medieval England (London: S. P. C. K., 1919).

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13 MODERN PRODUCTIONS OF MEDIEVAL ENGLISH PLAYS From: The Cambridge Companion to Medieval English Theatre (1994)

The casual reader of academic journals given over to medieval matters could be forgiven for thinking that more medieval drama has been produced in the twentieth century than was in its own time. Notices of future and reviews of past productions occupy a significant section of journals such as Medieval English Theatre (METh) and Research Opportunities in Renaissance Drama (RORD; now Research Opportunities in Medieval and Renaissance Drama, ROMARD) in proper recognition of the current academic and theatrical interest in the performance of medieval plays.1 Although the casual reader’s impression is almost certainly false, created as much by the modern exercise of practical criticism as by the limited number of surviving medieval texts and records of performance, it is true that this century has seen an unprecedented interest in the revival of medieval drama. Indeed, the committed theatre-goer, as opposed to the casual reader, could probably have seen, within the last decade or two, a performance of almost every extant medieval English play text. The occurrence of medieval drama revivals in the twentieth century may seem an historical phenomenon that encapsulates in time a single purpose, but it would be misleading to assume that the motives of revivalists were always the same, even though it may be possible to detect three generally distinct phases within the movement. The earliest productions of William Poel and Nugent Monck owed much to the antiquarian spirit of the time and the desire of these two actor/producers to extend their practical exploration of Elizabethan theatre texts and conventions of staging into what they and scholars of the time saw as the period of Shakespearean ancestry. Poel’s Elizabethan Stage Society production of Everyman in 1901 was remarkable not only for its novelty (the first revival of a medieval play) but also for its commercial and partial critical success.2 Various aspects of the production and cuts in the text, however, suggest that in spite of Poel’s religious scepticism the informing principles of the production were essentially Victorian rather than medieval. Unfortunately, Poel would not be the last director to

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l allow a sense of decorum and an ill-conceived notion of audience expectation and response to obscure the nature and demands of a medieval text, leading to the compromise between authenticity and accessibility which rarely satisfies the interests of either. If the initial impulse to revive was antiquarian and exploratory in nature, the movement—if it can be unified as such—was sustained by the early twentieth-century reawakening of interest in religious and verse drama, which found notable expression and critical recognition in the work of T. S. Eliot. Its influence on E. Martin Browne, culminating in the 1951 Festival of Britain production of the York cycle, was especially significant in the area of medieval drama revival. It was this performance that led to the cycle becoming the focus of the triennial York Festival. Enjoyed by a large number of people, most of whom will have no other experience of medieval drama, the play can be seen to fulfil one of its original purposes in bringing together a community of participants and spectators in celebration of both God and City. Given the coincidence of intention, it is, perhaps, a regret not just of purists that the production in the ruins of St Mary’s Abbey on fixed staging bears such little resemblance to what is now known of the performance conditions in medieval and Tudor York. What is more, the success of the Festival productions has encouraged other cities keen to promote their heritage to imitate the style and form of presentation adopted at York, creating a popular impression of medieval drama which is somewhat detached from reality.3 This is not to underestimate the commitment and energy of those involved or to minimize some of the qualities and insights gained from such productions. Neither is it to insist that every production should take the form of an archaeological reconstruction serving the interests of research, but it is clear from the revival of drama from other periods that productions grounded securely in an understanding of performance conditions and conventions are, all other things being equal, only likely to benefit the quality of performance and experience of the audience. In many ways it is the testing of this knowledge in practice that inspired the third and most recent phase of modern productions. Although an over­ simplification of the case, the phase coincides with the establishment of drama departments in universities and colleges and a new recognition  of and concentration upon the theatrical as well as the literary qualities of the plays. Reinforced by the research and publication of works such as Glynne Wickham’s Early English Stages, with the more recent development of the Records of Early English Drama volumes making available previously unknown or difficult to access records of performance, it has been possible to undertake productions in which staging, costume, masking and so forth are to some extent authenticated by evidence. Since the mid 1970s the emphasis on ‘original staging’ has principally encouraged production of the cycles where the evidence is fullest but it has also inspired attempts to reconstruct the performance of plays such as Wisdom and Mary Magdalen, where close 195

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l attention to stage directions and the application of research findings in connection with other plays has resulted in significant discoveries.4 Although research and academic interest has played a leading role in the recent revival of medieval drama it is by no means the sole factor responsible for its current popularity. The success of a theatrical event depends upon more than the satisfaction of academics seeing their research take practical form. It is undoubtedly true that they often constitute a fair proportion of the audience for these productions, but reviewers frequently remark upon the broad social and age spectrum of the audience and their level of engagement, particularly at street performances, which recreate the potential for casual attendance. There is clearly something in the nature and structure of medieval drama and its relationship with community and audience that generates popular appeal. In this context it is perhaps significant, rather than simply coincidental, that two of the major developments in theatre in the past twenty years seem to have much in common with some aspects of medieval drama. The community play, given focus by Ann Jellicoe and drawing on the skills of dramatists as renowned as Howard Barker and David Edgar, seeks to involve as many local people as possible, with enabling assistance from some professionals, in creating a play that celebrates the history and traditions of the community.5 Without being sidetracked into detail, it is possible to see very real connections between the purposes and processes of such undertakings and the production of medieval Corpus Christi cycles. The satisfaction to be derived from engaging in activity dependent upon cooperative skills and energy for its success and one in which corporate identity is reaffirmed has evidently not diminished as much in 500 years as some social critics and politicians would have us believe. What is obvious here but worth re-emphasizing is that Corpus Christi plays were and modern community plays are undertaken largely by amateurs, with professional assistance sought only in areas essential for the technical proficiency of the performance. In the case of fully professional performances connections can also be made between those companies that presented, among other things, moral interludes and some of the small-scale touring work of the alternative/fringe theatre movement since 1968. It is, for example, probably similar economic and practical, rather than artistic, factors which tend to restrict both types of company to five or six members, thereby making doubling a necessary theatrical convention shared by both. More fundamental, though, is the way in which the religious commitment and didactic intention of much medieval drama produces a type of theatre that echoes in the forms of more recent political theatre. John McGrath, one of the most influential exponents of the latter and founder of the 7.84 theatre company describes, in his series of lectures on popular theatre, the styles, techniques and devices evolved from the tradition of working-class entertainment that characterize the company’s work.6 He does this at one point by describing ‘some fairly generalized differences between the demands and tastes of bourgeois and of working class 196

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l audiences’. Recognizing them to be highly contentious he nevertheless lists nine differences covering the areas of directness, comedy, music, emotion, variety, effect, immediacy and localism (of material and of identity).7 He provides examples of each difference and, while it is not appropriate to discuss them in detail here, it is remarkable that without reference to, and possibly even knowledge of, medieval drama he accurately identifies many of the features now recognized as being instrumental not only in the effective communication of the message of medieval drama but also in the popular appeal of the medium. This similarity of stylistic features in types of theatre separated by time and ideology is perhaps not as surprizing as one might initially think. Both have clear and declared intentions which go beyond the mere distraction of their audience, and both are aware of the need to achieve their brand of ‘profit’ by means of popular ‘pleasure’. The realization that medieval plays were not only popular in their own time but have the ability to entertain more than those predisposed by a sense of history, religion or scholarship has recently been confirmed by some professional productions which have not only received critical acclaim but have also achieved a degree of commercial success. The work of the Medieval Players in building up a large and loyal following for medieval and Tudor plays is the clearest demonstration of the wider appeal of at least some medieval drama in crossing national, social and educational boundaries. Further justification for placing medieval drama in the popular category came with the enormous success of the National Theatre’s production of The Mysteries. Starting life as an Easter Saturday performance of the Crucifixion episodes on the National Theatre terraces in 1977, the project grew to encompass separate performances of The Passion (1977), The Nativity (1980) and Doomsday (1985) before being presented in sequence at the Cottesloe Theatre in 1985 and subsequently being transferred to the Lyceum Theatre, where it was also filmed for Channel Four.8 Whilst one may not entirely agree with translator and adapter Tony Harrison’s remark that ‘these are local northern classics that have been taken away from northerners and betrayed, made genteel’,9 it was clear to those who attended the performances that the resources and skills of a major professional theatre company contributed immensely to the realization of the plays’ theatrical energy and brilliance to an extent perhaps not seen before in modern times, and justifiably making The Mysteries one of the most significant and talked-about theatrical events of the 1980s.10 If Tony Harrison and director Bill Bryden were not entirely responsible for rescuing the cycle plays from genteel betrayal their production did raise important questions about the limitations of some original-staging, predominantly amateur performances. While the professional performances provide ample evidence that medieval drama still works in performance for more than a coterie audience, it is apparent that the vast majority of modern productions are the work of non-professionals, either local amateur groups contributing to a cycle production or student productions. Because these 197

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l productions are often initiated by those engaged in research, it is from them that much can be learned, but they are not without their problems. In the case of large-scale cycle productions, the situation often requires groups of varying interest, enthusiasm and experience to participate on the original guild model of taking responsibility for an individual pageant. Such arrangements have much to commend them but the organization of these events is awesome, and resources rarely extend to the provision of individual specialist assistance. Consequently, standards of production and acting vary considerably and so, potentially more damagingly, do levels of understanding. Compounded by limited funds, some of the presentations, whilst fun for the participants, and no less valuable for that, can be almost counter-productive in reinforcing erroneous notions of naivety and primitivism. This may seem harsh, but records relating to the organization and preparation of civic drama clearly indicate that the cycles were undertaken with enormous care, adequate finance and an almost frightening degree of quality control—circumstances increasingly difficult to reproduce in an amateur or academic context. This is not to suggest in any way that much that is good has not come out of revival productions, since for the most part they are thoroughly enjoyable occasions in which important questions are raised, new ideas stimulated and speculation confirmed or challenged. But it is noticeable that the quality of performance is often the most persuasive factor affecting the reception of an idea. In a related way, student productions, when part of a curriculum, necessarily give priority to the educational needs and development of the participants, which may conflict with the more straightforward task of maximizing an audience’s enjoyment or of proving a point.11 There are, of course, other problems in presenting medieval drama in the twentieth century in the hope of learning more about how the plays worked when originally performed. Not least is the question of text and language. Even the most ambitious projects have found it necessary to edit or more ruthlessly cut passages or whole pageants. In some cases, this is simply a matter of expediency and practicality. Few modern audiences, without some vested interest, are prepared to sit through The Castle of Perseverance in its entirety or commit a whole day to the performance of a complete cycle. Cuts of a different order, such as Poel’s excision of references to ‘Fellowship’s offer of a woman to Everyman, and the allegations of Knowledge regarding the illegitimate children of sinful priests’12 and the deletion of all anti-Semitic references from the Towneley text for the Toronto production in 1985,13 owe more to changes in attitudes than in stamina. Cuts in the text for reasons of reduction to manageable length, where they are not detrimental to the structure or meaning of the plays, ma y be excused on the grounds of modern levels of physical tolerance and concentration and, kept within reason, probably do not dramatically alter the experience of the plays. Having said that, it is important not to underestimate an audience’s staying power or to ignore the lesson to be learned from cycle reconstruction of the quality of endurance: 198

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l the sheer scale of witnessing a day-long performance produces a sensation quite unlike any other theatrical experience and distinctly transforms for the audience the relationship between spectating and participating. Furthermore, as Sarah Carpenter has pointed out, the playing of a whole cycle has ‘the effect of reducing the focus on any single play, and bringing out the powerful connections between different plays in the cycle’.14 Inevitably this, and much else, is lost where cutting involves reducing a cycle to the convenience of a three-hour evening performance or disregards essential elements of the narrative.15 The question of whether to modernize the pronunciation or idiom of the original text or to attempt a reconstruction of medieval speech is one that concerns all directors of medieval plays.16 For plays with relatively uncomplicated plots which are conveyed as much through action as by speech, the use of original pronunciation does not seem to inhibit enjoyment or understanding. In other circumstances where speeches are long and theologically complex and where characters tend to stand and speak at rather than to each other the desire for authenticity can be at the expense of comprehension. Almost every alternative imaginable has been tried at some time but the solution to the problems of length and language most commonly adopted is that succinctly described by David Mills in a review of The Castle of Perseverance at Manchester: ‘the text, shortened and modernized was an intelligent compromise, retaining the rhythms of the original and communicating efficiently at the expense of occasional and probably inevitable stylistic incongruities’.17 The distance between a modern audience and the original performance of medieval drama is not just one of vocabulary and pronunciation. It is also one of context. What distinguishes medieval drama from that of our own time as much as anything else is its religious sense of festive occasion. No amount of carnival trappings is going to reproduce the essentially spiritual dimension of the original performances and one must accept that this represents a major omission from even the most rigorous recreations of original staging. Unavoidable and regrettable as this loss may be, it probably does not constitute such a serious distortion of the plays as some of the directorial responses to the loss of relevance of the play’s religious content. Undeniably, religion plays a less significant role in the lives of a modern audience than was the case when the plays were written, but this discrepancy is not dissolved by simply humanizing the issues, contemporizing the setting or over-exploiting the comedy.18 This is a quite different issue from that of modern-dress production, which can be quite successful but seems to be a consequence of directors either underestimating their audience or failing to trust their material. This is not meant to sound like a plea for undue reverence or the suppression of innovation and experiment—far from it—rather it comes from the simple belief that a production of medieval religious drama must treat its audience as intelligent Christian adults, whether they are or not. By starting from such a premise it is unlikely that directors and actors will be tempted to achieve 199

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l spurious relevance though acts of gimmickry. An alternative approach to the question of context—but as damaging to enjoyment as gimmicks are to intelligence—are productions in which bogus authenticity substitutes for considered reconstruction. Though less common than meretricious productions, they are nevertheless just as thoughtless and insulting to an audience. Attempts to recreate a formal manner of delivery only by the use of bold and mechanical gesture with exclamatory speech patterns while ignoring other more intimate and subtle demands of the text simply alienates an audience in the ‘I wish I was some­where else’ sense rather than the Brechtian use of the term.19 Location is a further aspect of the context which separates modern revivals from original performances. If the sense of occasion was a more essential feature of medieval drama than it is today then so, too, was the sense of place. Even for modern productions the playing of Chester at Leeds, or York at Toronto is an away game, and with all the advantages to be gained from being at home, and in spite of considerable efforts, it has still not been possible to present a complete cycle in the circumstances of time and place approximating to the original performances. This has to do with the bureaucracies of local government rather than the convenience of those organizing the cycle revivals. It is, for example, quite surprising, given the pride with which York promotes its heritage, that the authorities have not yet given permission to close the appropriate streets to traffic for twenty­four hours in order to present a fully processional performance on wagons along the original route. A first attempt at achieving the right plays in the right place was the presentation of eight pageants from the Chester cycle in the city streets in 1983. Although this proved an illuminating and rewarding experience, even here the twentieth century imposed its own unique limitations on reconstruction, with traffic noise turning speech to shouts and parked cars preventing the full use of what, even without them, would have been a truncated route20. There are many aspects of medieval drama concerning which lack of evidence sets a limit on knowledge, but one of the few things about which there is a degree of certainty is the pageant route at York21 and, to a lesser extent, Chester.22 Recent opportunities (in 1988 and 1992) to produce parts of the York cycle along a section of the original processional route have thrown up a wealth of new ideas, problems, and pleasures.23 Perhaps the difference between outdoor and indoor performance has an even more fundamental effect upon an audience’s experience than the accuracy of location. Commerce and climate may be the main reasons for giving outdoor plays in indoor venues, but the implications for changes in performance are quite considerable. The effects of such change are particularly noticeable when the weather is responsible for making the transition in mid­performance, as it was at Leeds in 1983 for the production of the Chester cycle. The intention was to perform the cycle over three days, as in the sixteenth century, on decorated wagons at three stations in the university precinct. The first day 200

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Plates 1–3 The York Crucifixion wagon production at the Minster Gate station, York, 1992: raising the cross, placing the cross in the mortice, Christ crucified. Players from Bretton Hall, Wakefield, directed by Philip Butterworth. © Philip Butterworth.

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Plate 5 1988 York Festival. Joculatores Lancastrienses’ Last Judgement waggon at Minster Gates: Angels blow the Last Trump. Photograph screen capture © Meg Twycross. Plate 4 1988 York Festival. Last Judgement waggon after dark in Low Petergate. Christ seated in judgement on the rainbow. © Meg Twycross.

Plate 6 1992 York Festival. Joculatores Lancastrienses’ Resurrection waggon at station halfway down Stonegate, junction with Little Stonegate. Taken from first-floor window. Note (self-selected) disposition of audience. © Meg Twycross.

Plate 7 1992 York Festival. Joculatores Lancastrienses’ Resurrection: Christ places his foot on a sleeping soldier. Taken from first-floor window: dignitaries’ eye-view. © Meg Twycross.

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a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l saw the realization of these ambitions, but for the second and third days rain drove plays and audience indoors, where the former became ‘leisurely and emotive’ while the latter behaved with new­found reverence. It seemed that the actors took their tonal cue from the conditioned response of the newlyenclosed audience in becoming ‘slower, more expansively self-indulgent’.24 It may be that professional actors would have been less intimidated, and indeed less disappointed, by the change in atmosphere brought on by a change in venue, but it is clear from such experiences that audiences behave quite differently watching a play inside than they do when part of an outdoor event. It is also the case that texts intended for outdoor performance contain within their structure and in their devices an acknowledgement of open-air scale almost impossible to give full expression to in the more intimate surroundings of a theatre or hall. This does not mean that indoor performances of outdoor plays are always negative affairs. On the contrary, they can offer new and different insights into the play. Meg Twycross identifies some of the different qualities, when comparing the outdoor Toronto performance of The Castle of Perseverance (1979; see PLATES 8–10)25 with the indoor production of Philip Cook’s at Manchester (1981): it [Toronto] was spectacular, sweeping ... on the whole declamatory, declarative and flat; while Philip’s much smaller-scale indoor production was more subtle, the characterization stronger and more detailed, and the climaxes better engineered, but missed out on the grand-scale pomp and pageantry.26 What this all, rather obviously, points to is that choice of venue is a highly significant feature in the sympathetic or otherwise realization of the medieval text and will be an important contributing factor in the audience’s reception of and response to the performance.27 The twin problems of furnishing an appropriate religious and location context for the revival of medieval drama often find a compromize solution in the selection of a church or cathedral for the performance, although initially satisfying in seeming to provide ready-made compensation for the lack of religious occasion, it rarely is the right location either in terms of historical accuracy for most of the surviving English plays or in terms of atmosphere and actor- audience relationship. If being in a building reduces audiences to reverential voyeurs responding with polite applause at conventionally acceptable moments, then the even more powerful conditioning of the church elevates this to a form of worship. Whilst for some plays like Wisdom, for example, the liturgical and processional associations of church performance can be a useful gain, for others it can negate more than it offers. A specific problem associated with performances of modern pronunciation texts in churches is the acoustic tendency they have to enhance and solemnize the sung Latin word and to jumble and distort the spoken English. Again, for plays in which processions 203

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Plate 8 The Castle of Perseverance, Toronto, 1979. Poculi Ludique Societas, directed by David Parry. © PLS.

Plate 9 The Castle of Perseverance, Toronto, 1979: Hell scaffold. © PLS.

Plate 10 The Castle of Perseverance, Toronto 1979: Death. © PLS.

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a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l or splendour of pageantry are dominant features this may not matter too much, but for plays in which character and spoken idea are paramount lack of verbal comprehension is a serious defect. In passing, though, it might be worth speculating on how influential the factor of acoustics was in the complex development of vernacular drama and the church. It may seem from the discussion so far that modern productions of medieval drama are fraught with potential pitfalls and more inclined to failure than success. Such an impression would be an unfair distortion of a reality where some unfortunate misjudgements are more than outweighed by the excellent work of the Medieval Players, Poculi Ludique Societas, Joculatores Lancastrienses and countless untitled ad hoc groups. But it does give an indication of some of the very particular problems encountered by both original-staging and modernized productions of medieval drama. There has been an inevitable element of learning from mistakes, but production in the twentieth century has also provided answers to questions unlikely to have been resolved in the study alone. This is certainly true of the whole area of staging, where production helps to flesh out limited evidence, test hypotheses and settle conflicting interpretations. It was in many respects for these reasons that one of the first original-staging productions, of the York cycle at Leeds in 1975, came into being. In part it was a practical response to Alan Nelson’s vigorous questioning of the entire validity of processional staging at York and elsewhere.28 In retrospect his heterodoxy may have been just the impetus the production of medieval drama needed. It certainly provoked heated debate, and ultimately it was the success of productions like Leeds as well as the weight of accumulating evidence, that was to convince most doubters that not only was processional staging feasible in practical terms but also that the mode of staging was crucial in more ways than simply meeting the demands of a particular dramatic form. The production did confirm the expectations that a cycle structured as a sequence of short, separate but related episodes demands the definition of serial production offered by processional wagon staging and that much of their power and interest is eroded when conjoined for the convenience of continuous performance on fixed staging. What was less expected was the significance of the non-textually related aspects of processional staging; the sheer spectacle of even moderately dressed converted farm wagons accompanied in procession by costumed and masked actors, some with musicians, approaching an expectant audience is unparalleled in English theatre, though it has much of the excitement if less of the brazenness of Notting Hill Carnival. Productions like the one at Leeds have revealed a wealth of information about the practice and mechanics of cycle production, which can hardly have altered very much since the original performances. The fact that as a member of an audience it was possible, if not essential, to leave the performance at certain times without any substantial sense of loss and either pick up where you left off at a different station or simply give an episode a miss was something of a revelation, certainly something 205

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l one could not have discovered from reading the text. This seemingly noncompulsory aspect of the relationship with the performance can be strangely liberating, creating a far greater active ingredient in the act of spectatorship than modern audiences are accustomed to. Far from inhibiting concentration, it actually sharpens it by allowing for self-determined breaks. It also carries with it, of course, potential for the cruellest of all acts of criticism. The plays seem to be structured to accommodate this feature of performance in that dramatic climaxes occur at fairly frequent intervals and important narrative points are subject to repetition. This may sound like the blueprint for a soap opera, but it is further evidence of the dramatist’s acknowledgement not only of the mode of staging but also the nature of the event. It also meant in the circumstances, at Leeds at least, that an early repeat of a particularly enjoyable pageant was always possible. For a quite different reason I seem to remember for the Chester production at Leeds in 1983 Adam having built up quite a following by the third station. A feature of station-to-station presentation that had always been foremost in criticism of it was the problem of scheduling a sequence of pageants of unequal length.29 Although the Leeds production could not have been expected to answer questions relating to the effect of interval accumulation on the whole cycle playing time it did demonstrate that inequalities of length causing delays between pageants was of no real concern to the audience, who were free to wander off for refreshment, craft stalls or a pageant elsewhere. It is also the case in these, and presumably was in the original, productions that the actor-audience relationship is enhanced by the former making up a considerable part of the latter. There are few other events where it is possible to experience both in the same day. This genuine sense of sharing the occasion engendered by the particular organization of the plays and the effect they have of drawing a wide audience from a variety of interests reveals something of the social dimension of the original performances. Something else that had been suspected but could only be confirmed in practice was the effect different actors playing the same character had in emphasizing the non-illusory nature of this theatre, and that performance requires acts of presentation rather than identification.30 In this and other respects it would be fair to say that as much as anything else original-staging productions have challenged preconceptions derived from a twentieth-century experience of theatre-going rather than a medieval imagination. Another consequence of the original-staging production of cycles has been the cutting down to size of the pageant wagon. Partly because of the limited evidence there has been a tendency to go along with M. James Young and his proposition that the wagons at York, and by implication elsewhere, were ‘a maximum size of ten feet by twenty feet’.31 He arrived at this figure in recognition of practical and aesthetic demands for compactness but may still have overestimated what was required. Albeit on the flimsiest evidence of pageant-house dimensions in Chester it is possible to propose a wagon 206

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l of no more than twelve feet by seven feet six inches.32 This size having been arrived at independently of practice and almost rejected for being impractical, it was illuminating to see that it approximated to the size of the farm wagons adapted, out of necessity, for performance at Leeds.33 I am not for one moment suggesting that at York and Chester farm wagons were converted for use in performance: on the contrary, the evidence suggests that not only were carts in more frequent agricultural use, but that the pageant wagons were purpose-built. What is of particular interest is that the experience of stages this size did not, as had been feared, impair performance or limit theatrical possibilities. Rather, in the case of pageants like the Last Supper, it forced a visual arrangement pleasingly reminiscent of medieval manuscript illuminations of the scene and provided a framing of view that could be encompassed by the human eye at a moderate distance, which more expansive staging cannot achieve. The condensing of image and action is a formal feature of the plays which staging of this type and size enhances rather than promotes. Modern productions have not only helped resolve conflicting interpretations of the records, they have also provided insights where no other evidence but the text exists. Such an example is The Conversion of St Paul and the question of whether it was intended for peripatetic or fixed staging.34 The confusion centres on the proper meaning of the Poet’s instruction to ‘folow and succede / Wyth all your delygens this generall processyon’ (156–7) and what precisely is meant by the same character’s reference to ‘thys pagent at thys lytyll stacyon’ (363). Semantics has played no little, if inconclusive, part in this issue. It convinced F. J. Furnivall, one of the first editors of the manuscript, that the play was performed at a series of three stations with the audience following the actors and their wagon from one to the other. Much later Mary del Villar argued that ‘this generall processyon’ meant ‘this story’ and that the play was produced in the place-and-scaffold mode.35 At around the same time Glynne Wickham also contested the case for a perambulatory audience and proposed instead a fixed arena into which successive pageant wagons were brought, representing the required locations.36 If arguments about the meaning of words like ‘processyon’ in the late fifteenth century failed to resolve the problem, then perhaps production could. This was one of the reasons behind the performance at Winchester Cathedral in 1982.37 Making use of architectural features and church furnishings for the setting, the play was performed in three separate locations: the north transept, the nave (with all chairs removed) and the south transept. The audience followed the Poet’s instructions and Saul’s journey in the most natural commingling of spiritual theme and physical action. If the play lacks the implicatory devices characteristic of moralities like Mankind it more than makes up for the sense of audience complicity in the action by making them literally followers of Saul. For this production it was also decided to realize the stage directions to ‘daunce’ between the stations, even though they are later additions to the 207

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Plate 11 Wisdom, staged in Winchester Cathedral, 1981. Players from King Alfred’s College, Winchester, directed by John Marshall. The Dance of Lechery. Photograph by Peter Jacobs. © John Marshall.

manuscript. It may well be that the ‘daunce’ directions are connected with the ‘si placet’ option recorded in the right-hand margin of the manuscript against the Poet’s concluding speech at the first station. The omission of this speech removes the reference to following the general procession and could be a way of acknowledging that processional performance was not in all circumstances either possible or appropriate. The dances may then have provided an effective alternative means of demarcating the three distinct sections of the play.38 However, the Winchester production chose to make them an integral part of the movement process, suggesting that their addition to the play might have been a further and deliberate exploitation of this type of staging rather than a substitute for it. Used to comment on the action and reflect the atmosphere by changes in tempo and costume, the dances led the audience in masque-like fashion from one station to the next, producing a spectacular effect entirely in keeping with the tone of the play but one that far exceeded any expectation one might have had from the appearance of ‘daunce’ in the text. What the production ‘proved’ was that The Conversion of St Paul really does benefit from performance at separate locations with the audience encouraged by processional dances to follow the action physically. 208

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Plate 12 Wisdom, staged in Winchester Cathedral, 1981: the final procession. Photograph by Peter Jacobs. © John Marshall.

But there is little doubt that it is perfectly possible to present it with perhaps less audience involvement at a single site, with or without the dances. Unlike processionally staged cycles like York and Chester, where there seems to be an intimate relationship between play and stage, it appears that performance flexibility may have been an essential characteristic for many of the non-cycle plays. Given that manuscripts of plays for which it is not possible to provide specific location were, in many cases, probably intended for performance in a variety of places, either as the property of a professional touring company or as a text for hire, it is not surprising that their staging requirement should be relatively flexible. Paradoxically, the very specific demands of The Castle 209

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l of Perseverance may explain why this apparently touring manuscript uniquely has a staging plan attached to it. Production of the non-cycle plays does more than confirm their potential for a varied and flexible performance history; it also gives prominence to the non-verbal dramatic elements of the plays. In the case of Wisdom, which conveys meaning as much through the actualization of visual metaphor as through words, production has played an important part in rescuing it from the prevailing critical view expressed by its most recent editor: ‘Wisdom is too intent on teaching moral virtue to have much concern with dramatic virtues’.39 Dramatic virtues that engage the eye, such as signification through costume, liturgical resonance through procession, as well as song, and the emblematizing of spiritual condition through dance require either a vivid theatrical imagination or performance in order to be fully appreciated. It is these virtues which particularly characterize Wisdom, and recent productions have done much to alter critical perceptions of this—perhaps more than in the case of any other medieval play—and help redefine it, if somewhat anachronistically, within the genre of the masque (see PLATES 11–12).40 Earlier critical neglect of visual and non-verbal potential within the plays has certainly been rectified, at least in part, by the attention drawn to it by performance. Music, costume and masking are now taken much more seriously as essential components of the whole experience of medieval drama. Deserving of similar attention is the area of dance. Production of Wisdom has demonstrated how imperative the three dances are to the meaning and structure of the play even though a marginal note in both surviving manuscripts indicates that they may be omitted. Less obviously structural in their purpose are the dances added later to The Conversion of St. Paul discussed above. Incorporated in the text of The Killing of the Children for reasons of ‘solas’ for the people and ‘reuerens’ to God are the dances by ‘virgynes, as many as a man wylle’ following the Poet’s prologue and before and after his epilogue. What makes these three examples of dance in medieval drama particularly intriguing is that they occur in the three shorter plays collected together in Bodleian MS Digby 133. The other play in the collection, Mary Magdalen, is much longer and seems to require a form of staging that distinguishes it from the others.41 It does, however include a dance but, unlike the group dances of the other plays, it is undertaken by two characters, Mary and Curiosity, as part of the seduction plot. My own involvement in the production of the three shorter plays in successive years in the same venue convinced me that the dances are not merely diversionary afterthoughts but have a real contribution to make to the feeling and understanding of the plays. Their significance in performance seemed to be so out of proportion to the minimalism of their reference that it raised the question of whether it is their inclusion of dance that explains the collection of what is otherwise a disparate group of plays. It is perhaps the most obvious feature that connects them. Their collection could represent common ownership by a company with regular access to a 210

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l group of professional dancers, although the eighteen required by Wisdom and the variation in number allowed for by ‘as many as a man wylle’ at the end of the Candlemas Day play makes this somewhat unlikely. More speculative but in many ways more interesting is the possibility that the dances make provision for a highly innovative form of prepared audience participation, whether at the aristocratic level of disguising incorporated into Wisdom, or the festive engagement of local people, probably young women, in the celebration of St Anne’s Day, to which the Poet dedicates the performance of The Killing of the Children. This is, perhaps, not as improbable as it might first appear. In a context where ‘dancing is the characteristically medieval form of rejoicing and self-entertainment, appropriate to secular revels, seasonal festivals and Church feasts’,42 it would not be incongruous for drama which shares a similar impulse to accommodate this popular form of expression within performance. The plays with their different levels of integrating dance within drama may, then, be indicative of a theatrical tradition more common than the limited survival of texts would otherwise seem to suggest. The spirit of the dances that concluded The Mysteries at the National Theatre may not have been as removed from the truth as twentieth-century feelings of embarrassment implied. Recent productions have done much to re-emphasize the dramatic virtue and theatrical quality of features such as costume, music and dance and provide a modern audience with a genuine opportunity to share in the pleasure of spectacle that was clearly part of the plays’ original attraction. In such instances the interests of research and audience coincide; discovery of what delighted a medieval audience is seen to be not so very different from what is theatrically pleasing in the twentieth century. Not all theatre conventions travel so well however and their restoration in performance, whilst academically valid, can actually distance a modern audience from a sense of shared experience. Such is the case with attempts to recreate the effect of all­male casting. All the English evidence confirms the exclusion of women from medieval performance, although they may have been involved in some of the dances and were at Chester, as ‘wyffys of this towne’, responsible for the organization of the Assumption of Our Lady pageant. Meticulous reconstruction of a medieval performance should, then, include the casting of men and boys in women’s roles. The experiment conducted by Meg Twycross of having men play the parts of Anna and Mary in the Chester Purification43 promoted necessary and valuable discussion to do with the implications for performance style and the encouragement of expectations of non-realism which has been well documented.44 Without detracting from the importance of the experiment or minimizing the extraordinary care with which it was executed, it did seem that much of the general and critical response was governed by the sense of difference that men playing women engendered amongst a modern audience. The appropriate element of alienation produced by the convention was formed as much by the fracturing of modern expectation as 211

a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l by any inherent potentiality. In these circumstances closeness to the original practice may actually distance the sharing of the original experience. For what to the medieval audience was presumably an accepted custom, validated by tradition, today raises questions of sexuality and gender that transform a convention into a theme. In many ways this encapsulates a predicament faced by all modern revivals of medieval drama: their place on the ‘reconstruction’ to ‘reinterpretation’ production scale. That the balance so far tends to tip in favour of reconstruction is not surprizing when so many of the plays have only comparatively recently received either their first revival or the benefit of a researched production. In these circumstances accuracy of original detail may seem more important than the more speculative comparability of audience experience. As knowledge through evidence and practice grows it seems probable that medieval drama will increasingly inhabit the tradition of living theatre and receive reinterpretation though modernized production in the manner of some current performances of Elizabethan and Jacobean drama.45 The success of such productions, though, will depend in no small part on the understanding of text and performance derived from dedicated reconstruction. Whatever directions future performances take it is clear that recent revivals have done as much to inspire scholarship and re-assess criticism as research has to encourage performance. This is a positive and fruitful relationship not unlike that of a laboratory science where theory and practice inform each other. And like the best of humane science it is rewarding for those concerned with medieval drama when the fruits of endeavour are enjoyed by the widest possible audience, ‘In such order and sort as they haue byn acustomd’.

Notes   1 These two journals provide the most comprehensive coverage of recent productions, and Research Opportunities in Renaissance Drama 13–14 (1970–1), 259–66 contains John R. Elliott Jr’s list of earlier productions; this also forms the basis of the list given by Glynne Wickham in The Medieval Theatre (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1974; repr. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), pp. 221–6. For discussion of modern productions based on reviews of plays produced between 1965 and 1980, see Neuss ‘God and Embarrassment’ in Themes in Drama, 5, Drama and Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), and, for a more general survey of the phenomenon in the twentieth century as a whole, see Elliott’s Playing God: Medieval Mysteries on the Modern Stage (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1989). A number of the productions discussed above and in these publications are available on videotape: see The Cambridge Companion to Medieval English Theatre, ed. by Richard Beadle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 364.   2 Early revivals of medieval plays are discussed by John R. Elliott in Playing God; in the context of editing texts see, Ian Lancashire, ‘Medieval Drama’, in Editing Medieval Texts: English, French, and Latin written in England, ed. by A. G. Rigg (New York and London: Garland, 1977), pp. 58–85; Robert Potter, The English

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a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l Morality Play: Origins, History and Influence of a Dramatic Tradition (London and Boston: Routledge, 1975), pp. 222–225.   3 For an unfortunately typical view of the York Festival productions in recent years, see the following selection: John R. Elliott Jr, ‘Playing the Godspell: Revivals of the Mystery Cycles in England, 1973’, Research Opportunities in Renaissance Drama, 15–16 (1972–3), 125–30 ; ‘The York Mystery Plays’, Research Opportunities in Renaissance Drama, 27 (1984), 187–8; David Mills, ‘The York Mystery Plays at York, Medieval English Theatre, 10.1 (1988), 69–72. A similar problem elsewhere is touched on by William Tydeman, ‘N-Town Plays at Lincoln’, Medieval English Theatre, 3.2 (1981), 131–4.   4 Peter Meredith, ‘Original-Staging Production of English Medieval Plays—ideals, evidence and practice’, in Popular Drama in Northern Europe in the later Middle Ages: A Symposium, ed. by Flemming G. Andersen and others (Odense: Odense University Press, 1988).  5 Ann Jellicoe, Community Plays: How to Put Them On (London: Methuen, 1987).  6 John McGrath, A Good Night Out: Popular Theatre: Audience, Class and Form (London: Methuen, 1981).  7 McGrath, A Good Night Out, pp. 53–60.  8 ‘The Mysteries’, National Theatre, Channel Four Television, 1985.  9 Derek Jones, The Making of the Mysteries (London: Chanel Four Television, 1985), p. 6. 10 For an example of non-medievalist enthusiasm, see the review by Bernard Levin, ‘When Mystery was an Open Book’, The Times (London), 19 April 1985. 11 On this point in practice see the review by Peter Meredith, ‘The Conversion of St Paul at Winchester Cathedral’, Medieval English Theatre, 4.1 (1982), 71– 2. 12 Potter, The English Morality Play, p. 222. 13 Martin Stevens, ‘Processus Torontoniensis: A Performance of the Wakefield Cycle’, Research Opportunities in Renaissance Drama, 28 (1985), 188–199 (p. 197). 14 Sarah Carpenter, ‘Towneley Plays at Wakefield’, Medieval English Theatre, 2.1 (1980), 49–52 (p.49). 15 On these points see Tydeman, ‘N-Town Plays at Lincoln’, Medieval English Theatre, 3.3 (1981), 131–4; David Mills, The ‘N-Town Pageants’, Medieval English Theatre, 10.1 (1988), 63–9. 16 Paula Neuss, ‘God and Embarrassment’, pp. 250–52. 17 David Mills, ‘The Castle of Perseverance at Manchester’, Medieval English Theatre, 3.1 (1981), 55–6 (p. 56). 18 It is perhaps unfair to single out particular examples, but each of the following reviews is generally favourable except in respect of the responses identified in the text: Patricia S. White, ‘Everybody: On Stage in New York’, Research Opportunities in Renaissance Drama, 29 (1986–7), 105–7; David Mills, ‘Part Two of Medwall’s Nature’, Medieval English Theatre, 6.1 (1984 ), 40–2; Diana Wyatt and Pamela King, ‘Chanticleer and the Fox and The Shepherds’ Play’, Medieval English Theatre, 6.1 (1984), 168–72. 19 For an example of such a production, see Pamela King and Jackie Wright, ‘Rex Vivus at Southwark Cathedral’, Medieval English Theatre, 4.1 (1982), 61–3. 20 Meg Twycross, ‘The Chester Plays at Chester’, Medieval English Theatre, 5.1 (1983), 36–42; also Meredith ‘Original Staging’, pp. 68–73. 21 Meg Twycross, ‘“Places to Hear the Play”: Pageant Stations at York, 1398–1572’, REED Newsletter, 2 (1978), 10–33; Eileen White, ‘Places for Hearing the Corpus Christi Play in York’, Medieval English Theatre, 9.1 (1987), 23–63. 22 John Marshall, ‘“The Manner of these Playes”: the Chester Pageant Carriages and the Places Where They Played’ in Staging the Chester Cycle, ed. by David Mills,

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a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l Leeds Texts and Monographs, 9 (Leeds: School of English, University of Leeds, 1985) [Reprinted in this volume as Chapter 3]. 23 Beadle, The Cambridge Companion to Medieval English Theatre, pp.98–100, 364; Peter Happé, ‘Acting the York Mystery Plays: a Consideration of Modes’, Medieval English Theatre, 10.2 (1988), 112–16; John McKinnell, ‘Producing the York Mary Plays’, Medieval English Theatre, 12.2 (1990), 101–23; ‘The Assumption of the Virgin’, Durham Medieval Players, Flare Video, York 1988; ‘The York ‘Doomesday’, Joculatores Lancastrienses, Lancaster University Television, 1988. 24 Sarah Carpenter, ‘The Chester Cycle at Leeds’, Medieval English Theatre, 5.1 (1983), 29–35. 25 See illustrations 30–32 in Beadle The Cambridge Companion to Medieval English Theatre, p. 301 and PLATES 8–10 in this edition. 26 Meg Twycross, ‘The Toronto Passion Play’, Medieval English Theatre, 3.2 (1981), 122–31 (p. 126). 27 For an interesting experiment in performing the same text, the morality Wisdom, both indoors and out see The ‘Wisdom’ Symposium, ed. by Milla C. Riggio (New York: AMS Press, 1986). 28 Alan H. Nelson, The Medieval English Stage: Corpus Christi Pageants and Plays (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1974). 29 Nelson, Medieval English Stage, pp. 15–33. 30 Carpenter, ‘Towneley Plays’, 50; Meredith, ‘Original Staging’, p. 94. 31 James M. Young, ‘The York Pageant Wagon’, Speech Monographs, 34 (1967), 1–20 (p.13). 32 Marshall, “The Manner of these Playes”, p. 34. 33 Meredith, ‘Original Staging’, p. 92. 34 Beadle, The Cambridge Companion to Medieval English Theatre, p. 273. 35 Mary del Villar, ‘The Staging of The Conversion of St Paul’, Theatre Notebook, 25.2 (1970–1), 64–68. 36 Glynne Wickham, ‘The Staging of Saint Plays in England’ in The Medieval Drama, ed. by Sandro Sticca (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1972), 99–119. 37 For reviews of this production see Peter Happé, ‘Conversion of St Paul’, Research Opportunities in Renaissance Drama, 25 (1982), 145–6, and Peter Meredith, ‘The Conversion of St Paul at Winchester Cathedral’, Medieval English Theatre, 4 (1982), 71–2. 38 Donald C. Baker, ‘When is a Text a Play? Reflections upon What Certain Late Medieval Dramatic Texts Can Tell Us’, in Contexts for Early English Drama, ed. by Marianne G. Briscoe and John C. Coldewey (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1989), pp. 20–40 (pp. 21–4). 39 The Macro Plays, ed. by Mark Eccles, Early English Text Society, OS 262 (London: Oxford University Press, 1969), p. xxxvi. 40 On the production of Wisdom at Winchester see Avril Henry, ‘Wisdom at Win­chester Cathedral’, Medieval English Theatre, 3.1 (1981), 53–5; Peter Happé, Review of Wisdom, Research Opportunities in Renaissance Drama, 24 (1981), 196–7; on the production at Hartford, Connecticut, see Theresa Coletti and Pamela Sheingorn, ‘Playing Wisdom at Trinity College’, Research Opportunities in Renaissance Drama, 27 (1984), 179–84; Riggio, The ‘Wisdom’ Symposium. 41 On the staging of Digby Mary Magdalen see Beadle, The Cambridge Companion to Medieval English Theatre, pp. 273–5; Meg Twycross and Peter Meredith, ‘Mary Magdalen at Durham’, Medieval English Theatre, 4.1 (1982) 63–70; John McKinnell, ‘Staging the Digby Mary Magdalen’, Medieval English Theatre, 6.2 (1984), 126–52.

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a rc h i v i n g t h e e p h e m e ra l 42 Richard Axton, European Drama of the Early Middle Ages (London: Hutchinson, 1974), p. 47. 43 ‘The Chester Purification and Doctors’, Joculatores Lancastriensis, Lancaster University Television, 1988. 44 On this topic see Peter Happé and others, ‘Thoughts on “Transvestism” by Divers Hands, Medieval English Theatre, 5.2 (1983), 110–122; Meg Twycross, ‘“Transvestism” in the Mystery Plays’, Medieval English Theatre, 5.2 (1983), 123– 80; Richard Rastall, ‘Female Roles in All-Male Casts’, Medieval English Theatre, 7.1 (1988), 25–51. 45 See Stevens, ‘Processus Torontoniensis’, p. 198.

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Robin Hood Games

Part IV ROBIN HOOD GAMES: CUSTOMARY PERFORMANCE AND RAISING FUNDS

14 ‘GOON IN-TO BERNYSDALE’: THE TRAIL OF THE PASTON ROBIN HOOD PLAY From: Essays in Honour of Peter Meredith, Leeds Studies in English, n.s. 29 (1998)

Line for line, the mutilated single folio manuscript of an early Robin Hood play carries more weight in the interpretation of medieval English theatre history than possibly any other text of its time. (See PLATES 1 and 2 for a reproduction of the manuscript, and APPENDIX I of this essay for a transcription.) The twenty-one couplets of action inferring dialogue represent the chief source of information, from the fifteenth century, for the Robin Hood plays that are thought to have been a feature of some May games in which Robin officiated as a parish money-gatherer and presided, as a type of summer lord, over seasonal celebrations. As such, the text has become central to the study of non-religious medieval drama in England, and to the history of the Robin Hood myth in performance.1 Conscious of this critical reputation, this essay nevertheless seeks to reconsider the evidence for associating the play with the Paston family, re-examine what the manuscript can contribute to an understanding of the play and its circumstances of performance, and, finally, to question the cultural and political interests that may have been served by its patronage. The evidence for connecting the Pastons with the play is entirely circumstantial and involves the descent of the manuscript on the one hand, and the unkindness of servants on the other. To begin with retrospection. In 1908, W. Aldis Wright presented the manuscript to the library of Trinity College, Cambridge, where it was catalogued as MS R. 2. 64.2 He had been given it by the widow of Philip Frere. Frere’s father, William, Master of Downing College, Cambridge, was the nephew by marriage of Sir John Fenn, the first editor of the Paston letters. Fenn acquired his material for the volumes from John Worth, a chemist of Diss in Norfolk, who had purchased it from the estate of the antiquary Thomas Martin, executor of Peter le Neve, Norroy, and husband of his widow.3 This collection le Neve had bought in the early eighteenth century from William Paston, earl of Yarmouth. It is quite 219

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Plate 1 Cambridge, Trinity College, MS. R.2.64r. © the Master and Fellows of Trinity College Cambridge.

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Plate 2 Cambridge Trinity College, MS R.2. 64v. © the Master and Fellows of Trinity College Cambridge.

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s possible that MS R.2.64 was included in these papers as, at some time during the third decade of the eighteenth century, the antiquary William Stukeley made a copy of the Robin Hood text while it was still in the possession of Peter le Neve. Stukeley’s transcript of the manuscript, which he claimed had been ‘taken from the inside of some old book’, passed to his great-grandson, Richard Fleming St John, along with other antiquarian material, which he, in turn, brought to the attention of ‘J. M. G.’ of Worcester, who printed it for the first time in 1855.4 Unfortunately, Peter le Neve’s ownership of the manuscript is not proof that it came from the Pastons, for, as is well known, he also possessed material from other sources, notably one of the manuscripts of the Howard household books, that he had been given by Thomas Martin in 1727, that is now in the library of Arundel Castle.5 Somewhat paradoxically, it is the breaking up of the collection of Paston papers, following Fenn’s publication of them, that, possibly, strengthens a family connection with the Robin Hood manuscript. Fenn, who seems to have purchased only Paston material from John Worth,6 deposited the originals of his first two volumes in the library of the Society of Antiquities. Shortly after, he responded to an intimation that George III had an inclination to see them with an offer to place them in the Royal Collection. This was accepted, and Fenn knighted on 23 May 1787. The manuscripts were not seen again publicly until 1889, when they turned up at Orwell Park in Suffolk. The original material of volumes three and four also disappeared after publication in 1789, only to re-emerge nearly a century later in the possession of George Frere, the then head of the Frere family, at Roydon Hall near Diss. Fenn died in 1794 having almost completed the fifth volume of letters which his nephew, William Frere, finally saw through publication in 1823. In that volume, Frere, by now somewhat predictably, noted that he was unable to find the originals, although he did have some original material that he thought Sir John Fenn did not intend for publication. The letters were rediscovered in 1865 by Philip Frere in the house at Dungate in Cambridgeshire that had belonged to his father. Along with the mainly fifteenth-century manuscripts of the fifth volume were found the other Paston papers, including letters from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, that had not been published by Fenn. Frere sold this collection to the British Museum a year later. One item he clearly did not include in the sale, that may well have been part of the unprinted material, was the Robin Hood manuscript that his widow was to pass on to Aldis Wright. Was this because he could see no obvious connection between the manuscript and the Pastons? Certainly, there is no internal evidence for such a relationship. It was not until 1888 that Francis Child made the suggestion that the play referred to by Sir John Paston in a letter of 1473 as, ‘Robynhod and the shryff off Notyngham’, and that recorded in the manuscript were one and the same.7 The clear descent of MS R.2.64 to Philip Frere via Fenn’s purchase of it amongst Paston material, that had once belonged to Peter le Neve, suggests that Child may well have been correct in putting the two together. Frere, on 222

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s the other hand, was, in 1866 at least, either unaware of its likely provenance or considered it insignificant to the documentary history of the Pastons. In spite of the manuscript’s persistent attachment to a collection of Paston papers, that passed through six hands over a century and a half, the crucial issue of its origin rests with Peter le Neve and whether he acquired it from William Paston. It may be significant that the remarks of William Stukeley on the manuscript, reproduced by ‘J. M. G.’, make no reference to the Pastons nor, it has to be said, to any other context for it than an inaccurate transcription of the third item of the account on the verso. To be fair, he may not have known of the other papers in the le Neve collection. His primary concern seems to have been with the literature and pedigree of Robin Hood, and, moreover, interest in the Pastons had yet to be aroused by Fenn’s publication of the letters. The history of the manuscript alone is not sufficiently certain to attribute original ownership to the Pastons, although it is supported, as Child noted, by the Paston correspondence. Even though extracts from the letter concerned are often reproduced, it is worth quoting in some detail here as it is also referred to when considering the possible circumstances of performance. On 16 April 1473 (Good Friday) Sir John Paston was at Canterbury, preparing to leave for Calais the following Tuesday. He wrote to his younger brother John, in Norfolk, about a peace treaty between France, England, and the duke of Burgundy that had been agreed in Brussels the previous month, before lamenting the disloyalty of his servants: No more, but I haue ben and ame troblyd wyth myn ouere large and curteys delyng wyth my seruantys and now wyth ther onkyndnesse. Plattyng, yowre man, wolde thys daye byd me fare-well to to-morow at Douer, not wythstondyng Thryston, yowre other man, is from me and John Myryell and W. Woode, whyche promysed yow and Dawbeney, God haue hys sowle, at Castre þat iff ye wolde take hym in to be ageyn wyth me þat than he wold neuer goo fro me; and ther-vppon I haue kepyd hym thys iij yere to pleye Seynt Jorge and Robynhod and the shryff off Notyngham, and now when I wolde haue good horse he is goon in-to Bernysdale, and I wyth-owt a kepere.8 Two aspects of this letter help to corroborate the association of MS R.2.64 with the play referred to by Sir John Paston. First, it is the only known reference to a play or game of Robin Hood in an East Anglian context in the late Middle Ages. While it is conceivable that, in Norfolk and Suffolk, they were embraced by the generic term ‘game’, and thus become invisible in the records, the survival of the Robin Hood play in manuscript may be a possible indication of its unique character in the locality. And second, Paston’s eponymous title includes the Sheriff of Nottingham, with whom an audience would, no 223

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s doubt, identify the ‘sheryffe’ who makes an early appearance in the play text. This too was unusual for the period. In other regions the sheriff does not seem to figure in the plays or games until very much later—the earliest being post-Reformation—and even then his appearances are comparatively rare.9 Unless this is an instance of absence from the records, rather than exclusion from the game, it could be explained by the predominant patronage of Robin Hood gatherings by the parish, where the anonymity of the perpetrators of injustice and corruption may have been more expedient than the identification of the Crown’s deputy as the source of indignation. Alternatively, it may be because, whatever some recent critics would like to read into the Robin Hood games, the gatherings were essentially parochial fund­raising activities that celebrated communal identity and fraternity, rather than the symbolic enactment of social and political conflict that attendance by the sheriff might have encouraged.10 The inclusion of the sheriff in both the Paston play title and the Robin Hood manuscript, at a time when his presence in such activities is otherwise, literally, unheard of, makes stronger the case for linking the two, and for challenging the assumption that the play is archetypal of the genre. The very act of recording a text that appears, superficially at least, to be little more than an aide-memoire to a sequence of actions raises questions about its status and original purpose. The condition and the uses made of the manuscript imply that, whatever they may once have been, sight or need of them was very soon lost. MS R.2.64 is a single paper sheet, now held between two pieces of glass, that measures, approximately, 251mm x 209mm (97/8 by 81/4 inches).11 At the bottom of the sheet is a series of cuts that have removed the lower section and, in two places on the recto, mutilated the last four lines of the Robin Hood text. Much of its appearance suggests that the text is a copy rather than the original composition. It is written, in brown ink, by a single hand of the mid-fifteenth century without errors or emendations. Although possibly a copy, it was not necessarily one designed for preservation, as no speech headings or stage directions are included, and the handwriting becomes progressively larger and less tidy. Furthermore, the scribe, or someone else, drew, in ink of a similar colour to the handwriting, a broken vertical line about half way across the page after the last word of the opening line of text. As some subsequent words appear to have been written over this line, it is possible that it was drawn, after writing the first couplet, as a scribal guide, either to see if the text could be kept within an area that would approximate to the dimensions of some literary manuscripts of the time or, if necessary, to continue the text into the right hand division of the sheet.12 Whatever the intention, it was, apparently, compromised by the lengths of all but one of the remaining lines. This could suggest that the copy was made from dictation, rather than from sight where the problems of tabulation might already have been evident. The verso of the manuscript is largely taken up with a series of six receipts, recording payments made to John Sterndalle by Richard Wytway, painter, for 224

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s the house rent of a property described as the ‘wardorrop.13 (See PLATE 2 and APPENDIX 1). From the date recorded for the third receipt, ‘the vij day of november Ao Ed iiijti xv’ (i.e. 1475), it is possible to calculate that the entries extend from May 1475 to August 1476, and that, if made in arrears, the payments cover the period from August l474 to August 1476. Correlation of the sums paid, and changes between entries in the colour of ink and the size of letters, indicate that the payments were recorded, after the first instalment, at quarterly intervals. They were entered throughout by a single hand. Although very similar, this is probably not, as Davis thought, the same hand as the recto.14 There is sufficient variation in letter forms—the verso consistently uses a much more looped upper stroke for f than the more angular recto for example—to agree with Greg that the hands are different but contemporary.15 Beneath the receipts is a painting of a green wyvern or dragon. The lower body, feet, and tail have been lost by the cuts to the manuscript. This damage makes it difficult to determine, precisely, what it represents. It could be a copy of an armorial crest or badge. The absence of the torse and helm, that may originally have been present in the missing part of the manuscript, limits the case for a crest, although its upper figuration is not unlike some examples of the early Tudor period.16 If its origin was heraldic, the blazon would read; a wyvern with wings expanded vert, tongue barbed gules; to this should probably be added, belly and wing tips or, but these areas are so cracked by folding and darkened by age as to be beyond verification. More simply, it may be a preliminary drawing for an inn sign or some interior decoration. An appealing alternative, given the possible East Anglian connection, is that the painting either depicts, or is a design for, the dragon that was part of the Norwich, Gild of St George procession. Sir John Paston had Wood play ‘Seynt Jorge’ about the time the character seems to have been reintroduced to the procession, following an absence of fifteen years after the restructuring of the gild in 1452.17 In 1471 the gild assembly found it necessary to ordain that, ‘the George shall goo [in] procession and make a conflicte with the dragon’, implying that this had not been the case in recent years.18 There is some similarity, particularly in the long neck, jaws, ears, and wing tips, as well as in colour, between the manuscript painting and the surviving Norwich dragon of c.1795, preserved in the Castle Museum. Unfortunately, there is no way of knowing whether Sir John Paston is referring to the Norwich, St George procession in his letter, or if the fifteenth-century dragon resembled that of three centuries later. Sir John Paston is likely to have belonged to the gild, as other members of his family did, although there is no evidence of his active participation.19 To the left of the wyvern or dragon are much cruder sketches of a woman’s head, wearing what appears to be a gable-coif with shoulder length pleats of the early sixteenth century20 and an implement of indeterminate purpose that may be anatomic or pyrotechnic in origin. Notwithstanding the attractiveness of subject matter and draughtsmanship coinciding in their crudity, or 225

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s the logic of the five thin protrusions representing the outstretched fingers of a hand or glove, I am inclined to think that the drawing is of a siege gun in the act of firing. The discharged missile is seen above the woman’s head and, following the conventions of much more sophisticated depictions, the explosive charge is shown by lines emanating from the muzzle, and the unused ammunition by the circles beneath the barrel. It would appear, then, that there is no immediately obvious connection between the recto and the verso of the manuscript, or between the account and the Pastons. Neither the name Sterndalle nor Wytway appears in the Paston correspondence or related papers. Indeed, it has proved impossible to trace either name beyond the documentation of the rental. Nevertheless, one piece of information John Sterndalle considered worthy of recording may intimate a historical association between the performance of the play and the property rented. The identification of the tenement occupied by Wytway as the ‘wardorrop’ is intriguing. Unlikely to refer to the royal household establishments of that name, it could be one of the London buildings acquired by the nobility after 1300 to store clothes, soft furnishings, and other luxury items. Although primarily storehouses, it was not unknown for them to be used, by their owners, as occasional lodgings.21 Down in scale, spatially and socially, from the detached wardrobes of royalty and nobility were those integral to the houses of the upper gentry. Under normal circumstances, none of these seems likely to have been leased to a painter for two years, unless superfluity of space and financial necessity combined to provide the incentive. In essence, these were the conditions prevailing at Caister Castle at the time of Wytway’s tenancy. When the building of Caister Castle (about a half a mile north-west of West Caister, Norfolk) began in 1432, Sir John Fastolf can hardly have imagined that it would become the site of such violent disputation a generation later. The contesting of Fastolf’s written and nuncupative wills, and the right of the Pastons to inherit Caister Castle, is of such complexity that it has recently received a book-length study of its own.22 What needs to be extracted from the internecine wrangling between executors and claimants, for the purposes of this discussion, is the alternating possession of Caister. Probate of Fastolf’s will was granted to Sir John Paston and Thomas Howes (Fastolf’s chaplain and one of the ten executors of his will) on 26 August 1467.23 At this point the trustees released Caister and other Fastolf manors to Sir John Paston, thereby, temporarily, legalizing the current occupancy of Caister by the Paston family. There was barely time for any Paston satisfaction in this resolution. On 1 October 1468, William Yelverton, justice, and other trustees of Fastolf’s will, including Thomas Howes who had now deserted the Paston cause, sold Caister to John Mowbray, fourth duke of Norfolk, for 500 marks.24 From this moment on, Sir John Paston took steps to protect Caister from an anticipated forced entry by the duke of Norfolk 226

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s in pursuit of his claim by sale.25 The siege began on 21 August 1469 and ended with surrender by John Paston, Sir John’s younger sibling, who commanded the defending forces in his brother’s absence, on 27 September 1469.26 The Pastons regained Caister following the readeption of Henry VI and the duke of Norfolk’s decision, in December 1470, to remove his servants from Caister and publicly to declare his renunciation of a claim to the manor on the grounds of misinformation.27 Again, Paston possession of Caister was short-lived. Both brothers fought on the losing Lancastrian side at the battle of Barnet (14 April 1471). In the wake of Edward IV’s restoration, Caister was retaken on 23 June 1471 for the duke of Norfolk by his groom, John Colby, while the Paston servants took an afternoon nap.28 Norfolk held Caister until it was restored to the Pastons in the summer of 1476 by command of the king, following the death of the duke earlier that year.29 This to-ing and fro-ing of possession, whilst deeply disturbing for the Pastons, is of particular interest in respect of the transactions between John Sterndalle and Richard Wytway because Caister Castle accommodated a wardrobe of some considerable size. Although its precise location in the castle is unknown, it was sufficiently large, according to a testamentary inventory made prior to Sir John Fastolf’s death in 1459, to house over 270 items of clothing, fabric, pillows, bed­covering, cloths of Arras and tapestry.30 Three years later, the contents had, apparently, been reduced to eighty-four rather mundane items, mainly of bedding.31 The clothes, stocks of quality material, and all but two of the magnificent collection of illustrated tapestries, had gone. The fate of what remained there, and of the Paston’s own possessions, is unclear. The duke of Norfolk, in his declaration of safe conduct to the Paston affinity, conditional on the surrender of Caister, allowed for the removal of ‘goodes, horsse and hameys, and other goodes beyng in the keping of the seid John Paston’, providing that the weapons remained.32 The younger John Paston may have doubted either the sincerity of the duke’s pronouncement or the ability of fatigued men to carry the goods away as he took the precaution of making an inventory, now lost, before departing from Caister.33 His suspicion or caution was apparently justified. Sir John Paston, in his petition to the king, recalls that the duke of Norfolk not only deprived him of possession but also took and carried away, ‘stuf and ordinaunces’ to the value of £100.34 Paston had been informed of the situation by his servant, John Pampyng, who wrote on 15 July 1470 to tell him that, ‘at Caster, they selle and make mony of such stuffe as they fond there’35 Forewarned, the Pastons made an inventory of the ‘goodes and stuffe of howsold’ that had been ‘born and led awey’, during Norfolk’s occupation, soon after they regained possession in 1470.36 Only one of the items listed, though, is specifically from the wardrobe, which implies that what little was left there of Fastolf’s goods either failed to impress the Norfolks or had been removed by the Pastons at the duke’s invitation at the time of surrender. The latter is, perhaps, confirmed by the report of John Paston to his elder brother of the perennial complaint of mothers about 227

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s the state of their son’s bedroom; ‘Item, she [their mother, Margaret] wold ye shold get yow an other house to ley in youyr stuff syche as cam fro Caster; she thynkyth on of the freerys is a fayir house’.37 Whatever glories the wardrobe at Caister may formally have held, it was possibly empty by 1472 when John Paston wrote to his brother of their mother’s concern. The Paston and Fastolf contents were by now elsewhere, and in spite of the duke of Norfolk’s fierce determination to own Caister, he does not seem to have installed his family there. In January 1470, during Norfolk’s first occupation, the younger John Paston informs his brother that, ‘ther is now but iij men in it, and the bryggys alwey drawyn’.38 And throughout the negotiations for the restoration of the manor to the Pastons, with the duchess and Norfolk’s council, they almost always happened at Framlingham. For the duke, it seems that possession of Caister was primarily a matter of expanding his sphere of influence in the area, and of acquiring much needed revenue from the associated manorial tenancies at a time when he ‘was in a state of chronic, constantly worsening, indebtedness’.39 It is not impossible that the renting out of the Caister ‘wardorrop’ for thirty-six shillings a year was a welcome contribution to the relief of these debts. The rental expired in August 1476 during the quarter in which the Paston claim to Caister was finally resolved. Although this happened at the end of June, there is no indication of when the Pastons physically resumed occupation.40 Unhelpfully, only one Paston letter from the second half of the year survives. The date is 30 August but the year uncertain, although internal evidence suits 1476, and it places Sir John and his brother, temporarily, in Attleborough.41 It is, then, conceivable that Wytway’s tenancy was terminated in August by the return of the Pastons. It is probably fruitless to speculate on why Wytway may have been at Caister between 1474 and 1476, beyond noting the spatial suitability of a wardrobe to the professional needs of a painter. Given the tenancy arrangement, it is, perhaps, unlikely that he was employed directly by the duke of Norfolk. If the wyvern is an example of his craft, he may, though, have been undertaking some heraldic duty on behalf of the duke in his capacity as Earl Marshal. Interestingly, Sir John Paston, at some time after 1475, listed four books of arms amongst his library holdings, one of which was, ‘the nywe boke portrayed and blasonyd’.42 Might Wytway have had a hand in it? Even if this speculation has some grains of truth, it does not explain how a sequence of receipts came to be written on the back of the Robin Hood play, or, of course, vice versa. For a possible answer it is necessary to return to the letter in which Sir John Paston, with characteristic restraint, catalogues the desertion of his servants. In it he glosses the departure of ‘W. Woode’ with some valuable information about his employment.43 He may have been prompted to do so by the imminence of St George’s day (a week away) in whose celebration Wood had previously taken part. In addition to whatever skill Wood possessed as a groom, his ability to ‘pleye Seynt Jorge and Robynhod 228

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s and the shryff off Notyngham’ clearly contributed to his attractiveness as an employee. Sir John, somewhat unnecessarily one would think, reminds his brother that he had ‘kepyd hym thys iij yere’ for this very purpose. Sir John’s reckoning needs some clarification. It is not clear from which year he is counting. When he wrote the letter, the traditional seasons for playing St George and Robin Hood had not arrived. This implies that Wood’s final performances occurred in 1472. Working back in years, rather than figures, would give a first performance in 1470. And yet Sir John also reminds his brother that Wood had been hired, and swore Paston fealty, in the presence of John Daubeney, a family servant. Daubeney was killed at the siege of Caister in September 1469.44 Confirmation, from another source, that Wood was at Caister that year, by August at the latest, comes in the Itineraries of William Worcester. There he is listed amongst the names of the defenders of the castle, against the duke of Norfolk, in a group of three ‘seruientes Paston jun’.45 The apparent confusion over which Paston was the master arose, presumably, because, as the letter rehearses, the younger John Paston employed Wood on behalf of his absent brother. If Wood was taken on in the summer, he would have missed the season of St George celebration, but not necessarily that of Robin Hood. If so, Sir John’s calculation that he had ‘kepyd hym thys iij yere to pleye Seynt Jorge’ turns out not to contradict the time of Wood’s appointment. He first played St George in 1470. He may, though, have been employed early enough in the year to play ‘Robynhod and the shryff off Notyngham’ on four occasions, beginning in 1469. In the predicament of losing nearly all his Calais destined servants, Sir John’s trifling oversight, if indeed it was, is excusable. Regardless of the timing of Wood’s first performances, it is unlikely that he was employed for this purpose alone. His main occupation seems to have been that of horse- keeper. He was also, no doubt, a competent archer; not only because of his involvement with Robin Hood but because Sir John Paston sought to replace him, and the others, with ‘lykly men and fayre condycioned and good archerys’.46 For this particular skill he was, almost certainly, hired, or more accurately re-hired given the qualification ‘ageyn wyth me’ in reference to him in the letter, in response to the fears of Sir John Paston for the safety of Caister. These he expressed in a letter to his brother in November 1468. He wrote that he had engaged ‘iiij wel assuryd and trew men’ to help keep the place, and that if local men were to be taken on in addition that they be ‘but few, and that they were well assuryed men; fore ellys they myght discorage alle the remenant’.47 Maybe at the time, and in the light of previous service, Wood was considered one ‘well assuryed’. As the above demonstrates, there is no way of being sure where or when Sir John Paston had Wood play Robin Hood. If he followed his heart and tradition, it would have been Caister in the summer. Wood was there in 1469, but was Sir John? His brother evidently hoped to see him there that year ‘a-bowght Mydsomer or be­for’.48 In early June, Sir John went some way to 229

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s fulfilling this expectation by making tentative arrangements, from London, to stay at Caister if he accompanied Edward IV on his visit to Norfolk.49 For whatever reason he did not go; his brother reports on the king’s visit to him in reply, as well as reflecting, with hope now turning to fear, that, ‘your men at Caster wyll deperte ... and ye be not at hom wyth-in thys fortnyght.’50 This may have galvanized Sir John into action. He either made the visit or his brother was exaggerating; the men remained at Caister until their expulsion by Norfolk in September. Whether or not Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham was performed at Caister in 1469, it certainly did not take place there the following year when Norfolk held the manor. It could, though, have been there in 1471, possibly at Whitsun, before the surprise repossession by Norfolk’s groom on 23 June. There is a gap in the correspondence to and from Sir John Paston in that year between the letter of 18 April 1471, that he wrote to his mother, from London, after the battle of Barnet, and the letter to his brother, written at Bishop’s Waltham on 15 September 1471.51 He was quite possibly at Caister for some of that time. In either 1469 or 1471, Sir John Paston may have brought or had copied there the manuscript of the Robin Hood play, preparatory to performance. In neither year, though, was its preservation likely to have been uppermost in the minds of men forcibly expelled from the castle. Unlike any valuable property that could have been removed, the sheet of paper, in all probability, was left behind. And it may have been left where household documents and accounts were sometimes stored, in the wardrobe.52 There it may have remained during Norfolk’s possession of Caister until Richard Wytway’s tenancy. The manuscript, by then, was redundant, and the blank verso could be used for the painting of the wyvern and for recording the receipt of rent. With Caister restored to the Pastons, the tenancy agreement ended, and the receipts were no longer required. The manuscript, witnessing yet another change in Caister’s fortunes, may have again been left in the wardrobe, to be reunited with the Paston papers. This is only one of a number of scenarios possible to explain the history of the manuscript. One could, using some of the same evidence, argue that Sir John Paston, responding to his mother’s request in 1472 that he remove the stuff that came from Caister to another house, acquired a property for the purpose in Norwich. Rather than take up her suggestion of ‘on of the freerys’, he may have found a more suitable storehouse in a wardrobe. No building of that name is known in Norwich at the time, although a subsequent change of use may have determined a change in title.53 If the Caister contents had been dispersed by 1474, Sir John may have sub-let the property to Richard Wytway through the agency of John Sterndalle. The same relationship, described above, between the unwanted copy of the play and the receipts would then apply. In these circumstances, the connection between the painting in the manuscript and the Norwich Gild of St George annual procession with the  dragon may be strengthened. The problem with either possibility is that the internal evidence is slight, and unless John Sterndalle or Richard 230

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Wytway can be identified, inconclusive. Nevertheless, the narrative outlined for the period in which the manuscript was active is, at least, consistent with the turbulent events and the enforced movements of the Paston family in the years between 1469 and 14 76. Not surprisingly, the play has, in the past, received rather more attention than its provenance, but this too involves a deal of speculation. The text is a series of interchanges between characters, all but one of whom are addressed by name or title, that contextualize physical action. Although there is no indication in the manuscript, the piece divides into two episodes. The first describes a sequence of contests between the Knight and Robin Hood that end with the Knight’s death. The second concerns the capture and imprisonment, by the Sheriff, of two outlaws, presumably Robin’s men. As Child was the first to observe, this does not appear to be an original creation, but a dramatic version of the ballad, Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne.54 Although precise dating of the ballad, first printed by Thomas Percy from a seventeenth-century manuscript in 1765, is not possible, the resemblance of the opening verse to that of Robin Hood and the Monk, which has been dated by handwriting and vocabulary to the second half of the fifteenth century, suggests that it may be contemporary with the Robin Hood play.55 Moreover, the play and the ballad have in common not only major protagonists and dramatic incidents but also a significant number of words or their variants. In spite of its comparative brevity, the play is not merely a crude adaptation of the ballad. It forgoes the foreshadowing device of Robin’s dream, in which he meets and is beaten and bound by two yeomen, in favour of the more sharply dramatic bargain between the Sheriff and the Knight that is only implicit in the ballad. It ignores the characterizing quarrel, that temporarily separates Robin Hood and Little John, in order not to delay the contests between Robin and the Knight. This decision has the additional advantage of removing the problem of the simultaneous action of Little John’s capture in the ballad by deferring it until Robin has killed the Knight. Having done so, it becomes necessary to deviate from the ballad by introducing Friar Tuck as a companion for an unnamed outlaw, almost certainly Little John. Both are captured by the Sheriff whilst distracted by the Friar’s boastful demonstration of his skill at archery. This is the first instance of Friar Tuck in the Robin Hood literature, and it is possible that his inclusion may have been inspired by his involvement in the May games, although this is not recorded until the early sixteenth century.56 The play text ends with the imprisonment of the outlaws, in contrast to the ballad that concludes with the death of the Sheriff from an arrow shot by Little John who had been released by Robin Hood disguised as Sir Guy. The discrepancy in endings has been explained by alternative theories. The simplest assumes that the play manuscript is fragmentary, with the ballad ending cut away.57 The most contrived proposes a complete text by redistributing the conventional attribution of final speeches to enable Robin to lock the Sheriff inside his own prison.58 A position between the two is taken by 231

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s the view that the verbal text is intact, and that the performance concludes with heroic action alone.59 Yet another explanation, or rather a refinement of the third, can be found in a close examination of the manuscript. Given the probable Paston connection with the play, it is possible that it was written on paper also used for their letters. According to Davis, the full sheets from which letters of varying sizes were cut measured ‘about 17 x 111/2 inches’ (432mm x 292mm).60 The usual practice was to write the first letter across the shorter side, with wire lines running vertically, and cut it from the sheet when completed. The remaining rectangle would either be used in the same way or, as some letters reveal, turned through 90 degrees, with the writing now parallel to the horizontal wire lines. This is the orientation of MS R.2.64, and if it took up the remainder of a full sheet, the letter cut from it would have measured about 111/2 by 71/8 inches (292mm x 181mm); a size not uncommon in the Paston correspondence. As no water mark is apparent in the manuscript it was, presumably, located in the part of the sheet used for the letter. This means that the width of MS R.2.64 has remained constant at 97/8 inches (251 mm), whereas, on these calculations, the length originally extended to 111/2 inches (292mm). As it is now, on average, only 81/4 inches (209mm), the cuts that removed the bottom of the manuscript must have been made, approximately, 31/4 inches (83mm) from the lower edge. These dimensions are confirmed, to some extent, by two previously unobserved folds in the manuscript.61 The uppermost creases the paper horizontally in towards the verso and occurs on a slight downward, left to right, slope that crosses from above to below line 10 of the play. The second fold, also horizontal, bends the manuscript, concertina fashion, the other way (i.e. in towards the recto) and bisects lines 20 and 21. As the lower fold is very close to what is now the edge of the manuscript, it is reasonable to assume that the folding took place before the mutilation. Refolding the manuscript, if the glass permitted, would show that, providing the lower pleat was roughly the same size as the other two, allowing for an even folding with the bottom of the missing segment meeting the crease of the upper fold, the strip would have measured about 31/4 inches (83mm). This would give a restored manuscript the same length (111/2 inches, 292mm) as one of the sides of an original Paston sheet. As well as adding to the evidence of a Paston connection with the play, this reconstruction of the manuscript indicates that if the scribe used all the space available he could have written another seven lines; more than enough, given the economy of dialogue, to cover Robin’s reappearance, the release of the outlaws, and the shooting of the Sheriff. But there is also evidence, in the manuscript, that he wrote no more than what survives. The cuts across the bottom of the manuscript, although irregular, seem to try to avoid destroying the text, unlike the loss of parts of words caused by the two diagonal intrusions. It appears from the bisection of the wyvern, and the preservation of the last line of the play, that the cuts were made with the recto uppermost. The initial cut looks to have been made from the right-hand 232

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s edge. It moves left on a gentle curve for about 60mm (23/8 inches) until it stops abruptly and changes direction. The reason for this would seem to be that continuation of its trajectory would have cut into the final word ‘gon’ of the last line. The cuts then weave their way to the left-hand edge, turning away from the text whenever it is threatened. Such care from someone apparently so unskilled with scissors or knife might indicate that the text was deliberately preserved, and always finished where it does now. This is supported by Greg’s observation that ‘no traces of the tall letters of the next line are visible’.62 All this points to the improbability of the play being fragmentary as a consequence of the mutilation to the manuscript. It is either verbally complete and resolves in action or was never completed by the copyist. If dialogue was intended to provide a final exchange between the Sheriff and Robin it is unlikely to have extended beyond a line or two, and it is difficult to see why the scribe would not have seen the task through. Moreover, there is no information additional dialogue could provide that the audience did not already possess. They knew of the agreement between the Knight and the Sheriff, and they had seen Robin disguise himself. If the play concludes with the outcome of the ballad, there is no need to reinforce its enactment with spoken commentary. From this, and other information, it is possible to provide a conjectural reconstruction of the play with speeches attributed to characters. This appears in Appendix 2, with variations from other published versions noted. The undeniable resemblance between Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham and Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne has tended to obscure some revealing differences. Whilst the ballad may have been the inspiration for the plot of the play it was not, necessarily, the source of all the action. The play places much greater emphasis on the physical contests between Robin and the Knight than does the ballad. Whereas the latter confines the combatants to the military arts of archery and sword fighting, the play extends the competition by inserting the sports of casting the stone and axle-tree, and wrestling. Non-dramatic Robin Hood games may be thought to have inspired their inclusion if it was not for the problems of time and place. As previously noted, no other examples of Robin Hood games are known in East Anglia, and, if the play can be dated to Wood’s engagement in 1469, this is only the second recorded instance of Robin Hood in performance anywhere in the country.63 If the derivation of the extra contests was not directly from the Robin Hood game it was, probably, not very far removed. In the early fifteenth century, depositions were taken to resolve a dispute over grazing and extraction rights to land called the Lyngs between the inhabitants of Litcham, in north-west Norfolk, and those of neighbouring villages. The first witness recorded in the deposition roll is ‘Sire Thomas Bolewere’, who is described as, ‘lyvende and dwellyng in Bodenaye’.64 This dates his statement prior to 1421 when Thomas Bulwer ceased to be rector of St Mary, Bodney, and translated to Narborough.65 He follows testimony on the pasturing of cattle with a more revealing recollection: 233

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Also þe forn seyd Thomas witnesseth þat he hath sen vpon þo lynges diuerse pleyes made be þo men of lucham þat is to seyne Schetynges wrestelynges puttynges of þo ston where he saugh Ion payn and howe of easton butten for þo prys gamen and Ion payn wan þo prys gamen þere vpon þo lynges sette and made be þo men of lucham withowten lettynge of ani man. All that is required to transform an event like this into the first episode of the Robin Hood play, apart from the pre-determined outcome, is a few lines of speech and, perhaps, some costumes. Coincidentally, Litcham is only four miles north-east of Sporle Wood where the Pastons held property. But, no doubt, they could have been exposed to this variety of summer sport almost anywhere in East Anglia. In 1528 and 1533 the churchwardens’ accounts of Great Witchingham, Norfolk, for example, record the receipt of payments for ‘the increse off the Wrestelyng and Shoting’.66 It is not improbable that many of the unspecified games in the area were also of the Litcham kind. This local evidence and the emphasis in the play on Robin’s prowess as an athlete suggests that these games may have been as influential in the creation of Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham as the ballad that provided the literary framework. This raises the question of what initiative, if any, lay behind the combining of sport and art in this way. The concept of grafting a narrative on to displays of physical combat is not unknown at the time but is, almost exclusively, a device of the tournament. The medieval practice of employing an allegorical fiction to explain the presence of knights in the pas d’armes would, no doubt, have been familiar to Sir John Paston. His interest in the combative and aesthetic aspects of the tournament is attested by his collection of chivalric and romance literature.67 One of the contents of his Grete Boke, that describes numerous jousts and tourneys, deals specifically with the fictional background to a Burgundian pas d’armes.68 His pleasure in the subject was not confined to its literature. In the spring of 1467, Sir John Paston wrote to his brother, with conspicuous delight, undiminished by an injured hand, about his participation, on the side of the king, in a tournament at Eltham.69 The following year, both brothers attended the marriage of Charles, duke of Burgundy and Margaret of York, at Damme near Bruges. A spectacular feature of the celebrations, that so impressed the younger John Paston that he wrote to his mother likening them to the court of King Arthur, was the eight days of jousting followed by a day of tournament held in Bruges.70 Known as the Pas d’armes de l’Arbre d’Or, the fictional content was based on part of the Roman de Florimont, in which a golden tree is defended by a knight in the service of the Dame de l’Isle Celee.71 Not unexpectedly, Sir John Paston had the challenge of Antoine, Bastard of Burgundy, acting as the Chevalier a l’Arbre d’Or, copied into his Grete Boke.72 Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham was possibly written a year after 234

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s the tournament at Bruges. The proximity of the two events may be no more than coincidence, although, interestingly, both have a tree as a central scenic location and include a character blowing a horn. And, if the play culminates in any kind of affray between Robin and his men and the Sheriff, both adhere to the format of single combats preceding a mêlêe. More telling, though, is the sharing of the conventions of staging, impersonation, and narrative to contextualize combat. It is possible that the chivalric experiences of Sir John Paston encouraged him to create a rural equivalent of the pas d’armes for the entertainment of his household and tenants. To do so, he simply fused two popular traditions; the summer game and the Robin Hood myth. This would not be uncharacteristic of the man. As well as his erudition and love of courtly pastime, he indulged in crude verse, and took juvenile pleasure in such things as ‘litell Torke’, the performing dwarf, whose ‘pyntell is asse longe as hys legge’.73 His tastes were catholic, and he is as likely to have been familiar with the culture of his servants as his masters. What emerges from this cultural intermixing is the intriguing possibility that Sir John Paston may have had a hand in the composition of the play. The manuscript is not in his handwriting, but this was not unusual in his impersonal papers.74 The text employs some spellings he used in his letters and others that he did not.75 Whoever was responsible for the authorship of the play, rather than its copying, seems, like Sir John Paston, to have had some knowledge of jousting. When, in the appended reconstruction of the play, the Knight challenges Robin to a fight to the death, he uses the word ‘ottraunce’. The word does not appear in Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne, or the other medieval ballads. In the sense that it is used by the Knight, it is mainly to be found in the context of chivalry, where its meaning, as in joust à outrance, focuses on the war-like conditions of combat rather than the final outcome.76 Both senses fit the engagement between the Knight and Robin. It is a word that Sir John Paston would, almost certainly, have known and recognized as a technically appropriate term to register the escalation to armed conflict in the play. He may also have been aware that the object of combats à outrance was to win something worn by the challenger.77 Robin’s disguise in the Knight’s clothes is a motif taken from the ballad, and essential to the plot, but its tournament connotation is unlikely to have escaped Sir John’s notice and may have further influenced his choice of terminology. There is no evidence that he had a copy of Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne, unless ‘the Greene Knyght’ contained in his ‘blak boke’ denotes a ballad collection rather than, as has been conjectured, a copy of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.78 Even if he did not own a copy, he knew the ballad well enough to quote amusingly from it in the letter that bemoans the departure of his servants. Interpretations of Sir John’s report that Wood had ‘goon in-to Bernysdale’ conclude that this was either a ‘jesting way of saying that he had paid Woode for wasting his time’, or an ironic indication that Wood participated in dramatic activity without his blessing.79 Both are more inventive 235

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s than is necessary. In the ballad, Robin and Little John quarrel over who is to confront the ‘wight yeoman’ who leans against a tree. Robin, angered by what he sees as Little John’s challenge to his authority and courage, is only restrained from inflicting a blow to his head by the fear of damaging his bow. They part acrimoniously: But often words they breeden ball That parted Robin and John; John is gone to Barn[e]sdale, The gates he knowes eche one.80 There is no way of telling how accurately the seventeenth-century manuscript of the Percy Folio preserved the wording of the medieval ballad. Nevertheless, the closeness of the third line of the stanza to Sir John Paston’s sardonic gloss on a similarly bitter parting is surely intentional and, moreover, typical of the man. Whether or not the hand of Sir John Paston can be detected in the play, his patronage of it seems well founded. What doubts have been expressed cite the obstacles of his military career and mobile life to the continuity of annual drama.81 This need not have posed a problem. As already shown, performances could have taken place as a feature of Whitsun celebrations at Caister in 1469 and 1471. In 1470, Sir John Paston spent at least part of the summer in London, but not necessarily with his servants as he did in 1472. In July that year, the younger John Paston sent greetings, in a letter to his brother, to ‘W. Wood, and all’.82 In October, he wondered whether any of them had been sent to Calais as, ‘me thynkys it costyth yow to myche money for to kepe hem all in London at your charge’.83 This was, almost certainly, the group of servants he listed, in full, for greeting by name in a previous letter that year.84 It turned out to include all those who left the Paston service in 1473. A performance in London in 1472 is by no means impossible. The play was clearly portable and required no more than the five players that could be met by the number of servants, including Wood, Paston had with him. Reading between the lines of a letter he sent to his brother on 3 June 1473, he may even have anticipated a performance further afield; ‘I hopyd to have been mery at Caleys thys Whytsontyd, and am weell apparayled and apoyntyd saff that thes folkys fayle me soo; and I have mater there to make off ryght excellent’.85 A performance in 1470, if one did take place, might also have been in London, providing his servants were present. Alternatively, it may have occurred, as indeed it might in other years, at one of Margaret Paston’s properties, possibly Norwich or Fritton, without him.86 A year or two before, his mother was evidently taking care of ‘syche folk’ of her son’s, at her own expense, while he was elsewhere. Perhaps conscious of the debt, but confirming the arrangement, he assured his brother, in 1473, that if he had Caister again, and his mother chose to live there, he would pay for the board, ‘iff any horsekeper off myn lye ther’.87 Sites 236

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s of performance were always more likely to be determined by the location of his servants than the whereabouts of Sir John. Wherever the performances took place, it is not certain that they were confined to the years of Wood’s employment between 1469 and 1473. Sir John Paston infers the timescale in his letter, but only because his purpose was to illustrate the extent of his loss and Wood’s ingratitude. Even a performance life so limited by vicissitude does not prejudice the unique position of the play in the history of Robin Hood drama. It is, as far as records show, the only example of such a play in household patronage.88 The great majority of Robin Hood games, with or without plays, were organized by the parish. Shrewsbury was an exception in being under civic sponsorship.89 In Scotland, too, the burgh generally took control.90 The tenants of Cleeve Prior, ‘pleying’ with Robin Hood and Maid Marian before Prior William More of Worcester in 1531, may have been acting under manorial auspices, and the watchful eye of their lord, but the relationship is not directly comparable with the Paston situation.91 It is, of course, possible that the level of Sir John’s patronage has been overestimated here, and that he did no more than provide a servant for a local play as part of his duty as a gentleman. But the lack of Robin Hood games in the area, the earliness of the play in the history of the genre, and the depth of feeling aroused by the loss of Wood as a performer, all tend to favour a personal initiative. In the absence of evidence that there was an existing model for Sir John Paston to imitate, he may have been responsible, if not for inventing the Robin Hood play, for creating an independent version. His experience of drama was not limited to Robin Hood. He, presumably, knew the Norwich Corpus Christi play well enough to appreciate the characterization of a political adversary as Herod.92 And he either sponsored or contributed Wood for a play or procession of St George, in Norwich or elsewhere. He may not have possessed the inspiration for an original creation, but his breadth of interest and his skill as a lively correspondent may be regarded as sufficient qualification to synthesize the three pre-existing cultural forms of game, ballad, and tournament. His credentials for authorship are, perhaps, as visible as his motives were transparent. Although Sir John Paston may not have wholly identified with the yeoman status of Robin Hood in the ballads, the ‘extending of his umbrella of solidarity over distressed knightly victims of oppression’ would have appealed to the sense of injustice he felt from the moment he became head of the family.93 The problems inherited with Fastolf’s will, the threats and attacks on property, the delays and frustrations of law, and the increasing impoverishment that was their consequence, almost crushed the spirit of the family.94 In a world in which corruption and the deficiencies of law prevented justice, it is no wonder that Sir John Paston turned, symbolically at least, to Robin Hood for restitution. It is tempting, but perhaps too whimsical, to imagine Sir John seeing Robin as his alter ego. He seems to identify with him in his choice of quotation to describe Wood’s 237

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s departure. His father had been outlawed.95 And members of his family would sometimes envisage those whom they admired or despised as characters from drama and romance.96 This kind of imaginative play may seem incompatible with the seriousness of his circumstances. But at times, he must have seen parallels between his role as prosecutor of the Paston cause and Robin’s as personifier of justice in the face of corrupt administration. It is true that there is little of this side of Robin in the play. This is because it concentrates on the spectacle of remedy. The nature of the complaint is a matter of audience choice. With this degree of openness, it is possible that Sir John Paston recognized that, in the play of Robin Hood, he could assimilate the political and cultural interests of his servants with his own. The quest for justice and the desire for freedom—the ‘double image’ of appeal to the gentry and to the yeomanry observed by Dobson and Taylor97—may have ostensibly united the household at a time when consensus, or at least commitment to a common cause, was crucial to survival. It turned out to be ‘double edged’. After ‘thys iij yere’, Wood, perhaps unnerved by the prospect of Calais, was no longer prepared to enact his freedom, he took it. Justice for the Pastons took a little longer.

Appendix 1 Cambridge, Trinity College, MS R.2.64 Recto Syr sheryffe for thy sake / Robyn hode wull y take. I wyll the gyffe golde and fee This be heste þu holde me. Robyn hode ffayre and fre / vndre this lynde shote we. With the shote y wyll / Alle thy lustes to full fyll. Have at the pryke. And y cleue the styke. 5 Late vs caste the stone / I graunte well be seynt Iohn. Late vs caste the exaltre // Have a foote be fore the. Syr knyght ye haue a falle. // And I. the Robyn qwyte shall Owte on the I blowe myn horne /. Hit ware better be vn borne. Lat vs fyght at ottraunce // He that fleth god gyfe hym myschaunce. 10 Now I haue the maystry here / off I smyte this sory swyre This knyghtys cloth is wolle I were // And in my hode his hede woll bere. Welle mete felowe myn / what herst þu of gode Robyn Robyn hode and his menye / wt the sheryff takyn be. 15 Sette on foote wt gode wyll / And the sheryffe wull we kyll Be holde wele ffrere tuke // howe he dothe his bowe pluke Ȝeld yow syrs to the sheryffe /. Or elles shall yor bowes clyffe. Now we be bownden alle in same / ffrere[ ]uke þis is no game. Co[ ]e þu forth pu fals outlawe. þu shall [ ] hangyde and y drawe. 238

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Now[ ] allas what shall we doo / we [ ]oste to the prysone goo Opy[ ] the yatis faste Anon // An[ ]te theis thevys ynne gon

20

Verso Be it k[n]owne that I Iohn Sterndalle haffe Resseved of Rechard wytway penter ffor þe Rent of þe wardorrop ffor iij quarters of A ȝere xxvij s Item Received of Rechard wytway penter ffor hes hosse Rent in ffulpayment ix s Item Received of Rechard wytway penter ffor hes hosse Rent in ffullpayment ix s the vij day of november Ao Ed iiijti xv Item Received of Rechard wytway penter ffor his hosse Rent in ffull paymant ix s Item Received of Rechard wytway penter ffor his hosse Rent ix s Item Received of Rechard wytway penter ffor his hosse Rente ix s

APPENDIX 2 Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham KNIGHT SHERIFF KNIGHT ROBIN KNIGHT ROBIN KNIGHT ROBIN KNIGHT ROBIN KNIGHT ROBIN KNIGHT ROBIN

Syr Sheryffe, for thy sake Robyn Hode wull Y take. I wyll the gyffe golde and fee. This be-heste thou holde me. Robyn Hode, ffayre and fre, Vndre this lynde shot we. With the shote Y wyll, Alle thy lustes to full-fyll. Have at the pryke! And Y cleue the styke. Late vs caste the stone. I graunte well, by Sent John! Late vs caste the exaltre. Have a foote be-fore the. Syr Knyght, ye haue a falle. And I the Robyn, qwyte shall. Owte on the! I blowe mine horne. Hit ware better be vn-borne. Lat vs fight at outtraunce: He that fleth, God gyfe hym myschaunce! Now I haue the maystry here: 239

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s

Off I smyte this sory swyre. This knyghtys clothis wolle I were, And in my hode his hede wolle bere.

LITTLE JOHN FRIAR TUCK LITTLE JOHN FRIAR TUCK SHERIFF LITTLE JOHN SHERIFF FRIAR TUCK SHERIFF

Welle mete, felowe myn. What herst thou of gode Robyn? Robyn Hode ande his menye With the Sheryff takyn be. Sette on foote with gode wyll. And the Sheryffe woll we kyll. Be-holde wele, Frere Tuke, Howe he doth his bowe pluke! Yeld yow, syrs, to the Sheryffe, Or ells shall your bowes clyffe. Now we be bownden alle in same: Frere [T]uke this is no game. Co[m]e thou forth, thou fals outlawe; Thou shall [be] hangyde and y-drawe. Now[e], alas, what shall we doo? We [m]oste to the prysone goo, Opy[n] the yatis faste anon, An[d la]te theis thevys ynne gon.

Note to Reconstruction There have been four serious attempts to reconstruct the play by allocating speeches to characters and providing putative stage directions. In order of appearance they are Specimens of the Pre-Shaksperean (sic) Drama, ed. by John Matthews Manly, 2 vols (Boston: Athenaeum Press, 1897; repr. New York: Dover Publications, 1967), I, 277– 81; Collections 1.2, ed. by W. W. Greg, Malone Society (Oxford:Oxford University Press, 1908), pp. 122–23; R. B. Dobson and J. Taylor, Rymes of Robyn Hood: An Introduction to the English Outlaw (London: Heinemann, 1976 ), pp. 205–07; and David Wiles, The Early Plays of Robin Hood (Cambridge: Brewer, 1981), pp. 34–35. A version by George Parfitt, ‘Early Robin Hood Plays: Two Fragments and a Bibliography’, Renaissance and Modern Studies, 22 (1978), 5–12 (pp. 5–6), simply replicates Manly for the first episode and Greg for the second. There is no disagreement, in any of the versions, over the attribution of the first four couplets. Wiles then gives the invitation to shoot at the target to Robin. He is at odds with the others who are surely correct in seeing the contests initiated from the beginning by the Knight. Wiles’ alternation of the lines between Robin and the Knight then differs from Manly, Greg, and Dobson and Taylor. Wiles is probably right, though for the wrong reasons, in giving the line, ‘Have a foote be-fore the!’, to the Knight rather than to Robin, 240

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s as the others do. The line is a proposal to wrestle (see OED, foot, sb. 28), and as the Knight, apparently, is the initiator of each encounter, this too should be ascribed to him. Only Wiles has Robin blow the horn. This not only fits the blowing of Sir Guy’s horn by Robin in the ballad, Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne, which the Sheriff interprets as a sign of the knight’s success, but is also an appropriate response by Robin to the Knight’s preceding threat, in the play, to kill him. All four reconstructions have Robin proposing the fight to the death. This seems inconsistent for three reasons. The Knight has, probably, been the instigator of all the previous contests. In the face of a succession of defeats, the Knight resorts to a death threat that he carries through to the challenge. The word ‘ottraunce’ is more aptly spoken by the Knight than someone of Robin’s assumed social status (see the text of the essay for a fuller explanation). On the issue of the Knight’s defeats, it is worth observing that although Robin is often the loser of contests in the later ballads this is invariably to opponents who subsequently become members of his outlaw band. He rarely, if ever, loses in single combat to the representatives of corrupt authority. In the second episode Manly, somewhat obscurely, has Robin speak the opening couplet. All the others give it to Little John. Although the speaker is the only character not mentioned by name or title in the play, his identification is based on the centrality of Little John to the ballad. Analogy with the same source prompts Greg, and Dobson and Taylor to attribute the following speech to Will Scarlet. This seems unnecessary. Scarlet’s role in the ballad is silent and limited to facilitating the plot in a way that is not determined by character. Manly gets around the problem by using the uncontentious ‘Man’. Wiles is probably closer in giving it to Friar Tuck, who is mentioned further on in the play as one of those captured by the Sheriff. In terms of dramatic practicality, the inclusion of Will Scarlet is an extravagance. Consequent upon this allocation is Friar Tuck indulging in boastful self-promotion (Wiles), rather than Scarlet or Little John describing his display of archery (Greg, and Dobson and Taylor). This is not only in keeping with later developments in the character but provides a comic distraction that contributes to the capture of the outlaws. There is general agreement over the distribution of lines once the Sheriff enters. Wiles, though, somewhat idiosyncratically, has Robin reappear after the Sheriff has announced sentence on the outlaws, and with his men bundle Nottingham into his own prison. Since the writing of this essay a new reconstruction has appeared in Robin Hood and Other Outlaw Tales, ed. by Stephen Knight and Thomas Ohlgren, TEAMS (Kalamazoo, Michigan: Medieval Institute Publications, 1997), pp. 276–80. The first episode of this version follows Wiles with the exception of reversing the attribution of the lines, ‘Have at the pryke!’ and ‘And Y cleue the styke’. The second episode is very close to that given above. The only differences are the naming of the first two speakers as Outlaw 1 and Outlaw 2 rather than Little John and Friar Tuck, and the assigning of the penultimate 241

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s couplet to Outlaw I (Little John above) rather than to Friar Tuck (equivalent to Outlaw 2).

Notes   1 For a representative sample of recent works see the following; R. B. Dobson and J. Taylor, Rymes of Robyn Hood: An Introduction to the English Outlaw (London: Heinemann, 1976); David Wiles, The Early Plays of Robin Hood (Cambridge: Brewer, 1981 ); David Mills, ‘Robin Hood Plays’, in The Revels History of Drama in English: Volume I, Medieval Drama, ed. by Lois Potter (London: Methuen, 1983), pp. 133–38; Stephen Knight, Robin Hood: A Complete Study of the English Outlaw (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994), pp. 98–115; Ronald Hutton, The Rise and Fall of Merry England: The Ritual Year 1400–1700 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), pp. 31–33; Robin Hood and Other Outlaw Tales, ed. by Stephen Knight and Thomas Ohlgren, TEAMS (Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 1997), pp. 5–7, 269–80.   2 For details of the transmission of the manuscript in the context of the inheritance and purchase of the Paston papers see The Paston Letters 1422–l509AD, ed. by James Gairdner, 6 vols (London: Chatto & Windus; Exeter: James G. Commin, 1904; repr. Gloucester: Sutton 1983), I, pp. 1–23; Collections I, ed. by W. W. Greg, Malone Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1908), pp. 118–19; Paston Letters and Papers of the Fifteenth Century, ed. by Norman Davis, 2 vols (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), I, pp. xxiv–xxxi.   3 For extracts of the will of Peter le Neve and Martin’s inheritance see Gairdner, The Paston Letters, I, pp. 330–31.   4 J. M. G., ‘Dr Stukeley’s Manuscripts, Drawings, and Books’, Notes and Queries, 12 (27 October 1855), 321–22.  5 The Household Books of John Howard, Duke of Norfolk, 1462–1471, 1481–1483, intro. by Anne Crawford (Stroud: Sutton, 1992), p. xi.  6 Gairdner, The Paston Letters, I, p. 6.  7 The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, ed. by Francis James Child, 5 vols (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1882–98), III (1888), p. 90.  8 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p. 461. References to Paston Letters and Papers are by page number not item number.   9 The earliest reference outside of MS R.2.64 to the Sheriff of Nottingham in a play or game occurs in the proposition made by Richard Morison, in c.1535, that ‘playes of Robyn hoode, mayde Marian, freer Tuck...[and] the shiref of Notyngham’ be prohibited in favour of anti-Catholic propaganda. See Ian Lancashire, Dramatic Texts and Records of Britain: A Chronological Topography to 1558 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), p. 65. The earliest reference to a specific location is as late as 1572–73. At Yeovil, the churchwardens of St John the Baptist account for ‘a grene silke Rebyn for the Sheriffe’; Records of Early English Drama: Somerset, ed. by James Stokes, 2 vols (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996), I, p. 410. 10 For the view that the Robin Hood game was carnivalesque and gave ‘formal expression to repressed political tendencies’ see Wiles, The Early Plays of Robin Hood, pp. 51–58, and Peter Stallybrass, ‘“Drunk with the cup of liberty”: Robin Hood, the Carnivalesque, and the Rhetoric of Violence in Early Modem England’, Semiotica, 54 (1985), 113–45. 11 These dimensions differ from those given in, Non-Cycle Plays and the Winchester Dialogues: Facsimiles of Plays and Fragments in Various Manuscripts and the

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Dialogues in Winchester College MS 33, ed. by Norman Davis, Leeds Texts and Monographs: Medieval Drama Facsimiles, 5 (Leeds: University of Leeds, 1979), p.75. Davis’s measurement of 185mm (71/4 inches) for the length is an inch short. 12 The booklets that make up the Macro and Digby play collections of the second half of the fifteenth century, for example, average about 215mm x 160 mm, but the writing rarely takes up more than the 115mm of the opening line of MS R.2.64. The Pride of Life manuscript divided the play into four columns by vertical lines; see Davis, Non­Cycle Plays: Facsimile, p. 23. 13 I am following the convention of ascribing the Robin Hood text to the recto of the manuscript that assumes its priority over the account on the verso. There is, though, no internal evidence of precedence. 14 Davis, Non-Cycle Plays: Facsimile, p. 75. 15 Greg, Collections I, p. 118. 16 See, for example, the Walwayne crest reproduced in Banners, Standards, and Badges from a Tudor Manuscript in the College of Arms, intro. by Howard de Walden (privately printed: de Walden Library, 1904), p. 287. There is also some resemblance, in style if not species, between the wyvern/dragon of the manuscript and the similarly coloured lizard crest of Farington in the near contemporary ‘Ballards Book’, College of Arms MS M.3, fol. 37v, reproduced in Thomas Woodcock and John Martin Robinson, The Oxford Guide to Heraldry (Oxford: Oxford University Press,1988), plate 22. I am extremely grateful to Robert Yorke, archivist of the College of Arms, for his help in this matter. He doubts that the beast depicted in the manuscript has any heraldic significance. However, I persist in the association with a crest or badge in order to cover a range of possibilities. 17 Benjamin R. McRee, ‘Unity or Division? The Social Meaning of Guild Ceremony in Urban Communities’, in City and Spectacle in Medieval Europe, ed. by Barbara A. Hanawalt and Kathryn L. Reyerson, Medieval Studies at Minnesota, 6 (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1994), pp. 189–207 (p. 200). 18 Records of the Gild of St George in Norwich, 1389–1547: A Transcript with an Introduction, ed. by Mary Grace, Norfolk Record Society, 9 (1937), p. 67. 19 His grandfather, William, and his brother, John, were members of the gild. See Grace, Records of the Gild of St George, pp. 23, 90; E. K. Chambers, The Mediaeval Stage, 2 vols (London: Oxford University Press, 1903), I, p. 223, mistakes the latter for a reference to Sir John Paston who was dead by the time of the 17 March 1497 memorandum. 20 Hilda Amphlett, Hats: A History of Fashion in Headwear (Chalfont St Giles: Sadler, 1974), pp. 82–84. 21 For details of royal and noble wardrobes see John Schofield, Medieval London Houses (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1994), p. 35; Pamela Nightingale, A Medieval Mercantile Community: The Grocers’ Company and the Politics and Trade of London 1000– 1485 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), p.106. 22 Colin Richmond, The Paston Family in the Fifteenth Century: Fastolf’s Will (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). 23 Richmond, The Paston Family, pp. 178–79. 24 Richmond, The Paston Family, pp. 188–96. 25 See the letter (9 November 1468), concerning the preparations, from Sir John Paston to his brother at Caister; Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. 398–99. 26 For the dates of the siege of Caister see the account in William Worcestre Itineraries, ed. by John H. Harvey (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969), pp. 186–87. For a detailed description and analysis of the events see Richmond, The Paston

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Family, pp. 192–209. For the Paston letter concerning the surrender see Davis, Paston Letters, I, p. 546, II, pp. 431–32. 27 Gairdner, The Paston Letters, V, p. 92, for an abstract of the renunciation, and Richmond, The Paston Family, p. 226, for commentary. 28 William Worcestre Itineraries, pp. 252–53; Richmond, The Paston Family, p. 232. 29 Sir John Paston petitioned Edward IV in 1475; Davis, I, pp. 487–89. He wrote to his mother concerning its progress on 27 May 1476: Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. 494–95. And to his brother on its success on 30 June 1476: Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. 496–97. 30 The wardrobe was probably situated in the inner court of the castle. See H. D. Barnes and W. Douglas Simpson, ‘The Building Accounts of Caister Castle AD 1432–1435’, Norfolk Archaeology, 30 (1951), 178–88 and, by the same authors, ‘Caister Castle’, The Antiquaries Journal, 32 (1952), 35–51. For the contents of the wardrobe see the transcript by Francis Blomfield in ‘Letter from Thomas Amyot, Esq. F. R. S. Treasurer, to the Earl of Aberdeen, K. T. President, Accompanying a Transcript of Two Rolls, Containing an Inventory of Effects Formerly Belonging to Sir John Fastolfe’, Archaeologia, 21 (1827), 232–79 (pp. 252–61). 31 See the inventory and indenture (6 June 1462) made by John Paston I: Davis, Paston Letters, I, pp. 107–14 (p. 111). Where the contents had gone is not clear. John Paston I denies knowledge of the Fastolf wardrobe inventory: Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p. 109. His brother, William, was exhorting him to remove Fastolf’s goods and ‘ley it secretly’ only a week after Fastolf died: Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, 157. 32 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, II, pp. 431–32. 33 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p. 550. 34 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p. 488. 35 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, II, p. 402. 36 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. 434–36. 37 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p. 576. 38 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p. 553. 39 Lucy Ellen Moye, ‘The Estates and Finances of the Mowbray Family, Earls Marshal and Dukes of Norfolk, 1401–1476’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, Duke University, 1985), p. 201. 40 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. 496–97. On 21 March 1476, Sir John Paston was still unsure of when he ‘maye entre Castre’: Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p.494. 41 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. pp. 497–98. 42 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. pp. 516–18 (p. 518). 43 Wood actually left Sir John Paston four days before the letter was written; see Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p. 458. 44 Margaret Paston reports Daubeney’s death in a letter to her son written on 12 September 1469: Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p. 344. Richmond, The Paston Family, p. 200, suggests 9 September 1469 as the date of his death. 45 Worcestre Itineraries, pp. 190–91. 46 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p. 463 (3 June 1473). 47 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. 398–99. 48 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p. 542 (May 1469). 49 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. 400–01. 50 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. 543–45. 51 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. 437–38, 439–41. 52 A similar fate befell other, more valuable, manuscripts belonging to Sir John

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Paston. He was still trying to have his books restored to him in November 1472: Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. 453–54. 53 I am grateful to Jean Kennedy, County Archivist of Norwich Record Office, for confirming that no reference to a ‘wardrobe’ is known in any Norwich context. 54 Child, The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, III, p. 90. 55 Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, ed. by Thomas Percy, 3 vols (London: Dodsley, 1765). For Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne see Dobson and Taylor, Rymes of Robyn Hood, pp.140–45, and for Robin Hood and the Monk, pp. 113–22: for the dating see p. 114. 56 The earliest reference to Friar Tuck participating in Robin Hood games is from Kingston-upon-Thames. He had probably entered the game by 1509, although his name, rather than title, is not used until slightly later. See Wiles, The Early Plays of Robin Hood pp. 24–26; Michael Heaney, ‘Kingston to Kenilworth: Early Plebeian Morris’, Folklore, 100 (1989), 88–104; Sally-Beth Maclean, ‘King Games and Robin Hood: Play and Profit at Kingston Upon Thames’ in Fifteenth-Century Studies 13, ed. by Edelgard E. DuBruck and William C. McDonald (Stuttgart: Heinz, 1988), pp. 309–20. 57 Dobson and Taylor, Rymes of Robyn Hood, p. 204. 58 Wiles, The Early Plays of Robin Hood, pp. 33–35. 59 Knight, Robin Hood: A Complete Study, p. 101. 60 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. xxxiii–xxxiv. 61 Davis, Non-Cycle Plays: Facsimile, p. 75 notes creases at the top and bottom of the paper, but these are small and, apparently, insignificant. 62 Greg, Collections I, p. 118. 63 The earliest reference to what may be a Robin Hood play is from Exeter in 1427; ‘Item dato lusoribus ludentibus lusum Robyn Hood’; Records of Early English Drama: Devon, ed. by John M. Wasson (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1986), p. 89. In spite of the apparent precision of the terminology, it is possible that the reference is to a game of Robin Hood, rather than a play. The next recorded occurrence, after the probable date of Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham, is a Robin Hood ale at Thame in 1474: W. Patterson Ellis, ‘The Churchwardens’ Accounts of the Parish of St Mary, Thame, Berks, Bucks and Oxon Archaeological Journal, 19 (1913), 20–24, 84–86 (p. 22). Croscombe was not far behind with a Robin Hood gathering in 1476: REED:Somerset, I, p. 86. In connection with the earliest reference from Exeter, it is worth noting that there is a remote possibility that Richard Wytway introduced Sir John Paston to the Robin Hood game. Wytway is, in origin, a Devon name: see P. H. Reaney, A Dictionary of British Surnames (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1959). Whiteway Barton, a mile north-east of Kingsteignton, and Whiteway Wood, two miles north of Chudleigh, are both less than ten miles south of Exeter and surrounded by sites of Robin Hood games in the sixteenth century such as Ashburton, Chagford, Chudleigh and Woodbury: Devon, pp. 21, 25, 54–57, 284–86. The churchwarden’s accounts of these places are either too late or not specific enough to tell whether Robin Hood games existed there in the fifteenth century, as was the case in Exeter. If Wytway was the source of Sir John Paston’s interest it implies that they knew each other prior to Wytway’s tenancy of the wardrobe in 1474. 64 Norfolk Record Office, MS KIM 1/9/ l 6. I am extremely grateful to Colin Richmond for drawing my attention to this roll. The only other reference to it, as far as I know, is by Paul Rutlege, ‘Steracles in Norfolk’, Records of Early English Drama Newsletter, 20.2 (1995), 15–16. 65 Francis Blomefield, An Essay Towards a Topographical History of the County of Norfolk, 11 vols (London: Miller, 1805–10), VI (1807), p. 18.

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s 66 Records of Plays and Players in Norfolk and Suffolk 1330–1642, ed. by John Wasson and David Galloway, Malone Society Collections, 11 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980–81), p. 8. 67 G. A. Lester, ‘The Books of a Fifteenth-Century English Gentleman, Sir John Paston’, Neuphilologische Mitteilungen, 88 (1987), 200–17. 68 G. A. Lester, Sir John Paston’s ‘Grete Boke’: A Descriptive Catalogue, with an Introduction, of British Library MS Lansdowne 285 (Cambridge: Brewer, 1984), pp.150–53. 69 The letter survives only in a seventeenth-century transcript (see Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p. 396) but its content seems genuine from his brother’s less than enthusiastic reply: Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. 534–35. 70 For John Paston’s description see Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. 538–40. For the jousts and tournament see Richard Barber and Juliet Barker, Tournaments: Jousts, Chivalry and Pageants in the Middle Ages (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1989), pp. 121–24. 71 Gordon Kipling, The Triumph of Honour: Burgundian Origins of the Elizabethan Renaissance (The Hague: Leiden University Press, 1977), p. 117. 72 Lester, Grete Boke, pp. 118–22. 73 For the verse see Davis, Paston Letters and Papers I, p. 452; and for the ‘litell Torke’, p. 415. 74 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. xxxv–xxxix. 75 Davis, Non-Cycle Plays: Facsimile, p. 76. 76 MED, outraunce, n(2)(e). 77 Barber and Barker, Tournaments, p. 126. 78 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p. 517; Lester, The Books, p. 204. It is possible that either Sir John’s nephew or great nephew inherited his interest in manuscripts and Robin Hood. The unique copy of the ballad of Robin Hood and the Potter survives in an early sixteenth-century manuscript miscellany, Cambridge, University Library, MS Ee.4.35. On fol. 24v appears the merchant mark and inscription of ownership of Richard Calle; see A Catalogue of the Manuscripts Preserved in the Library of the University of Cambridge, ed. by C. Hardwick and others, 5 vols (London: Hamilton Adams; Cambridge: Deighton Bell, 1856–67), II (1857), p.168; Julia Boffey and Carol M. Meale, ‘Selecting the Text: Rawlinson C.86 and Some Other Books for London Readers’, in Regionalism in Late Medieval Manuscripts and Texts: Essays Celebrating the Publication of A Linguistic Atlas of Late Mediaeval English, ed. by Felicity Riddy (Cambridge: Brewer, 1991), pp. 143–69 (p. 160, n. 54), note that comparison of the manuscript signature with the handwriting of Richard Calle, the Paston bailiff who married Margery Paston, indicates that he was not the owner. It could have belonged to their third son who is described by Charles S. Romanes, The Calls of Norfolk and Suffolk: Their Paston Connections and Descendants (privately printed: Constable, 1920) as ‘of Norwich’ in the family tree appended to that work. This may be the same Richard Calle who was admitted as a mercer to the freedom of Norwich in 1526–27; Calendar of the Freemen of Norwich from 1317 to 1603 ed. by John L’Estrange and Walter Rye (London: Elliot Stock, 1888), p. 26. Alternatively, it could be the eldest son of John Calle who was the son and heir of Richard Calle and Margery Paston. This Richard is described as ‘of Little Melton’ in The Visitations of Norfolk, 1563, 1589, and 1613, ed. by Walter Rye, Publications of the Harleian Society, 32 (London: 1891), p. 63, and as ‘a dyer’ by Romanes. 79 Davis, Non-Cycle Plays: Facsimile, p. 76; Wiles, The Early Plays of Robin Hood, p. 36. 80 Dobson and Taylor, Rymes of Robyn Hood, p. 142, stanza 11.

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s 81 Davis, Non-Cycle Plays: Facsimile, p. 76; Wiles, The Early Plays of Robin Hood, p. 36. Both interpret the letter that mentions the play as meaning that Paston was a patron of a troupe of players. The situation is much less formal. He seems to be supporting two seasonal events. 82 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p.577. 83 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p.582. 84 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p. 579. 85 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p. 463. 86 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p. 536. 87 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. 473–74. 88 Wiles, The Early Plays of Robin Hood, p. 66, n. iii, points out that E. K. Chambers, The Mediaeval Stage, I, p.177, n. 6, is mistaken in his reference to a Robin Hood play in the Northumberland household. 89 Records of Early English Drama: Shropshire, ed. by J. Alan B. Somerset, 2 vols (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1994), II, 404. 90 Anna J. Mill, Mediaeval Plays in Scotland, St Andrews University Publications, 24 (Edinburgh and London: Blackwood, 1927). 91 Records of Early English Drama: Herefordshire and Worcestershire, ed. by David N. Klausner (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1990), p. 513. See also David N. Klausner, ‘Parish Drama in Worcester and the Journal of Prior William More’, in English Parish Drama, ed. by Alexandra F. Johnston and Wim Hüsken, ‘Ludus’: Medieval and Early Renaissance Theatre and Drama, I (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1996), pp.119–35 (p. 128). 92 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, II, p. 426. There is a problem in assuming this to be a reference to the Norwich Corpus Christi play because of the lack of evidence for it in the city during the fifteenth century. See Joanna Dutka, ‘Mystery Plays at Norwich: Their Formation and Development’, Leeds Studies in English, 10 (1978), 107–20 (p. 111). However, the letter was written by J. Whetley, a Paston servant, on Corpus Christi eve, from Norwich. 93 The quotation is from Knight, Robin Hood: A Complete Study p. 88, in reference to the Gest of Robin Hood. 94 Richmond, The Paston Family, pp. 165–216. 95 Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, II, pp. 302–06. 96 Margaret Paston likens John Heydon to Pilate (24 June 1465); Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, p. 307; and John Paston describes the earl of Arran in terms of Arthurian hyperbole (5 June 1472); Davis, Paston Letters and Papers, I, pp. 574–75. 97 Dobson and Taylor, Rymes of Robyn Hood, p. 36.

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15 ‘COMYTH IN ROBYN HODE: PAYING AND PLAYING THE OUTLAW IN CROSCOMBE’ From: Porci ante Margaritam: Essays in Honour of Meg Twycross, Leeds Studies in English, n.s. 32 (2001)

At the end of the last century, Medieval English Theatre published a Cumulative Index for Volumes 1–20.1 In addition to its usefulness as a resource, it is splendid testimony to the vision of the first two editors; Meg Twycross and Peter Meredith. Their decision to concentrate on medieval English theatre in such a way that Continental material and the early Renaissance would not be excluded, and to interpret ‘plays’ as ‘any kind of dramatic activity’, has been applauded by more than eighty contributors world-wide.2 The editors’ prediction that the journal’s staple would comprise ‘mysteries and moralities’ turns out, not surprisingly, to be accurate, and their expectation that the ‘material will mostly be from the late medieval and early Renaissance periods’ fully realized. Furthermore, their belief that England would be illuminated by reference to the Continent was shared by contributors from the very beginning.3 With all this success, it is surprising that one area of medieval English theatre, through no fault of the editors, has received so little attention. For reasons that may be to do with the vagueness of some of the evidence, or the tendency to place the subject in the field of local history rather than drama, only a single article on the plays or games of Robin Hood has been published by Medieval English Theatre. Moreover, John Wasson’s account of the St George and Robin Hood plays in Devon is alone in being devoted to what might loosely be described as folk or traditional drama.4 This is in spite of ‘Folk Drama’ being the topic for the annual METh meeting in 1996. It is true that Meg Twycross, with her encyclopaedic interests, mentions Maid Marian twice but this, like the reference to Friar Tuck by W. R. Streitberger, is in the context of the royal household, not the village green.5 This under representation of the subject of Robin Hood in early performance is not peculiar to METh. It is rather a symptom of the wider neglect observed recently by two Robin Hood scholars. Jeffrey L. Singman, in the introduction to his study of the legend, acknowledges the value of David 248

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Wiles’ book, The Early Plays of Robin Hood (D. S. Brewer, Woodbridge, Suffolk, 1981), while recognizing that in terms of reference it has been overtaken by the work of the Records of Early English Drama (REED) project. He maintains that Robin Hood scholars have been slow to absorb the new data, and that the ‘subject remains in desperate need of a full-length study’.6 Similarly, in a paper delivered at The First International Conference of Robin Hood Studies, held at the University of Rochester in 1997, Stephen Knight appealed for scholars to examine the increasing detail of the Robin Hood games being revealed by the publication of drama records in order to improve our knowledge of these ‘unusual events’.7 The full-length study must probably wait for the completion of the REED volumes for counties where Robin Hood games are known, or are likely, to have occurred. In the interim, REED editors themselves—John Wasson (Devon), James Stokes (Yeovil), SallyBeth Maclean (Kingston-upon-Thames) and Alexandra Johnston (Thames Valley)—are doing much to provide the necessary elucidation of the records at a local level.8 This article attempts to do something of the same for the Robin Hood of the Somerset parish of Croscombe. It explores the role the revels may have played there in financing extensions to the church building, seeks to identify those named as Robin Hood players, and tries to locate the playing or game place. More speculatively, it questions the persistent, although not entirely unchallenged, view that Robin Hood’s appearance in these games implies a level of conscious subversion on the part of the participants, or at least of carnivalesque inversion. This critical perspective, dominant in the late twentieth century, sees Robin as an embodiment of disorder and misrule, and the games as giving formal expression to repressed political tendencies.9 In contrast, I suggest that it is possible to reposition the role of Robin Hood, in late medieval England, as a champion of the ideals of communalism and local identity that underpinned the emergence of autonomous parish assemblies. There are many reasons for choosing the Croscombe records, even though antiquarian knowledge of them goes back more than a century.10 They are the earliest lengthy sequence of surviving churchwardens’ accounts to record the gathering of money in Robin Hood’s name. In the fifty-year period between 1476 and 1526, collections are made on 18 occasions. Earlier references than this to Robin Hood plays or games are more isolated; Exeter in 1427, possibly Caister in Norfolk in 1469 or 1470, and Thame in 1474.11 The parish of Croscombe engaged in a comprehensive round of annual collections that sub-divided almost the entire community into groups defined by age, occupation, and, on at least one occasion, marital status. It is thus possible to see the Robin Hood revels in the wider context of parish finance and administration. Croscombe was also part of an intriguing cluster of Somerset towns and villages that hosted Robin Hood games; Glastonbury, Tintinhull, Wells, Westonzoyland and Yeovil.12 249

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Croscombe is a relatively small village on the southern edge of the Mendip Hills (grid reference ST590444), lying in the valley of the Doulting Water (River Sheppey), midway between Wells and Shepton Mallet (PLATE 1). In the period of the accounts, the parish occupied an area of 1,433 acres that has since been enlarged by a third.13 The population in the mid-sixteenth century was probably about 300; an increase of more than a half over the likely population at the time of the 1377 poll-tax returns.14 The lordship of Croscombe was held by the Palton family from 1330 to 1449. They were responsible for rebuilding the nave of the parish church and for the establishment of the Palton Chantry Chapel in the east end of the south aisle. On the death of Sir William Palton, the estate eventually descended by marriage to the Fortescues of Filleigh in Devon, following temporary possession by Richard Pomeroy, a cleric from Wells who had married into the family. The wealth of the village was founded on the cloth trade, with a high proportion of inhabitants occupied in weaving and fulling. The village was granted a charter in 1343, confirmed in 1438, to hold a weekly market on Tuesdays and a yearly fair on the eve of the Annunciation and the two following days.15 The church, dedicated to St Mary the Virgin, is mainly of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, although the tower may be slightly earlier and the south doorway is thought to be late thirteenth century (PLATE 2). It is particularly noted for the survival of extensive Jacobean church furnishings. 16 The Croscombe churchwardens’ accounts run from 1475/6 to 1560/1 and record outlay on the fabric and furnishings of the church, and the means by which this was funded. The income came, in part, from a few rents, some gifts and bequests of money, rings, gowns, woad, vestments, sheep and cows, but mainly from the annual collections and church-ales organized by the parish. The accounts were generally audited on the first or second Saturday after Epiphany and consequently cross two calendar years.17 This means that when a contribution from the sport or revel of Robin Hood is registered, it refers to an event held in the first year of the account. The wardens’ record of these gatherings is disappointingly concise: 1476–7: Comes Thomas Blower and John Hille and presents in xls. of Roben Hod’s recones 1481–2: Comes John Halse and Roger Morris for Roben Hod’s revel, presents in … xls. ivd. 1482–3: Comys Robin Hode and presents in … xxxiijs. ivd. 1483–4: Ric. Willes was Roben Hode, and presents in for yere past … xxiijs. 1484–5: Comys Robyn Hode and presents in ... xxiijs viijd. 1486–7: Comys Robyn Hode, Wyllyam Wyndylsor, and presents in for the yere paste iijl. vjs. viijd. ob. 1488–9: Comys Robyn Hode and presents in ... iijl. vijs. viijd. 1490–1: Comys Robyn Hode and presentith ... ls. 250

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s 1494–5: Robyn Hode presents in ... xlvjs. viijd. 1500–1: Comyth in Robyn Hode and Lytyll John and presentyth in … xvs. 1502–3: Comyth Robart Hode and presentyth in ... xis. 1505–6: Presented in of the sport of Robart Hode and hys company ... liijs. iiijd. the wych resteth in the hands of W. Carter. in the hands of W. Dunpayn to by ches ... vjs. viijd. 1506–7: Presented in for the sporte of Robart Hode ... xliijs. iiijd. 1507–8: The wardens present for the sport of Robart Hode ... ixs. viijd. In the hands of Donpayn to by chese ... vjs. viijd. 1509–10: The comyng in of Robyn Hode (John Honythorne) ... iijl. 1510–11:  Comyng in of Robyn Hode … iijl. vjs. viijd. To J. Donpayne for by chesse … vjs. viijd. 1511–12: Itm. the Croke box ... iijl. ixs. jd.  “ “ Robyn Hode (J. Honythorn and J. Stevyn) ... xxxvs. xd. 1526–7: Gifts. Robyn Hode ... iiijl. iiijd.18 The descriptive evidence from these accounts, even when put together, provides only the barest outline of activity. Robin Hood and his company, that includes, but may not exceed, Little John, preside over occasional revels or sports that contribute a ‘recones’ to church funds. It is probably safe to assume that the references are, in the main, to a church-ale with a Robin Hood flavour. Contemporary accounts indicate that church-ales could include feasting, drinking, dancing, minstrelsy, archery and other competitive sports such as wrestling, and plays.19 Of these, feasting is the only item from the menu possibly to feature in the Croscombe accounts. On three occasions in the sixteenth century (1505/6, 1507/8, 1510/11) the churchwardens appear to reserve a sum in connection with Robin Hood for the buying of cheese. The connection, though, may be one of proximity in the records only, and the cheese meant for some other occasion, as it clearly was in 1508/9 when a similar payment occurs in a year without Robin Hood games.20 The lack of documentary detail in the accounts is regrettable but explicable and does not necessarily reflect the level of activity. The expenses incurred by the Robin Hood revels, including items of costume, were probably accounted for independently by the presenters, with only the profit to the church recorded by the churchwardens. Even so, such little information raises the question of what level of mimetic action is necessary to identify a church-ale or revel with Robin Hood. In some places, such as Kingston upon Thames, the connection was immediate and obvious with dramatic impersonation by costumed characters in dance or scripted drama.21 It would be a mistake, though, to assume from these references that all Robin Hood games followed 251

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s their example. There is a danger in conflating widely dispersed evidence (of time and place) in order to create a prototype game where the sum of the parts exceeds any one whole. The church-ale ingredients listed above, combining feasting and fraternity with competition and conviviality, are already suggestive of Greenwood hospitality and Robin Hood’s fellowship. All that need be added to make the suggestion explicit is the disguise of two parishioners as Robin Hood and Little John to oversee the festivities and collect the livery fee. Whatever form the revels took, their impulse was clearly financial and their profit substantial. This was certainly the case at Croscombe where Robin Hood returns outstripped all other kinds of gathering. The parish was particularly well organized in raising money from all sections of the community. This it did through a mixture of individual and communal collections that fit into three broad categories. First there were the annual collections from parishioners for Easter (‘paskall and fonte taper’) and St Michael’s Light. Second, the annual gatherings by sub-parochial groups or guilds differentiated by the occupation or status of their members. Third, the occasional gatherings open to the entire local and, very likely, neighbouring populations. Table 1 shows the frequency and level of contributions from the second and third categories during the period 1475 to 1538. The churchwardens’ accounts give no more information about the means that produced the guild returns than they do about the form of the Robin Hood revels. From evidence elsewhere in Somerset, it seems that the Croscombe Hogglers were a group of men who, sometime during the twelve days of Christmas, conducted door to door gatherings of money, or food for church-ales, in return for possibly sung entertainment.22 It is not clear from the records whether the practice of hoggling survived the period of the accounts. The last detailed record of a collection was in 1532/3, but this may reflect Hobhouse’s decision to abbreviate the accounts for later years to ‘usual entries’ rather than the demise of hoggling. It is possible that a vestige of the practice continued until the 1970s with the Old Year’s Eve celebration on 5 January when a group of handbell ringers and singers toured the parish streets collecting for charity.23 The Maidens’ collections may be from the festival of Hocktide. In a number of Croscombe accounts, the entry for the Maidens follows that for the paschal taper, suggesting a possible Easter connection.24 The Young Men’s involvement in these games is a possibility, as happened elsewhere, except that they usually make their contribution not with the Maidens but after the Weavers and Fullers. This might suggest a different activity on a separate occasion, but the accounts are not sufficiently consistent to draw conclusions about what was done from the order of presentation alone. The Weavers and Fullers, or Tuckers as they are referred to in the accounts, may have raised their contributions from a levy or through some social gathering. Each year, the guilds were provided with a ‘stock’ by the churchwardens, usually 12d, with which to purchase votive lights. The amount the guilds 252

253

1475/6 1476n 1477/8 1478/9 1478/80 1480/1 1481/2 1482/3 1483/4 1484/5 1485/6 1486/7 1487/8 1488/9 1489/90 1490/1 1491/2 1492/3 1493/4 1494/5 1495/6 1496/7 1497/8 1498/9 1499/00 1500–1 1501/2 1502/3 1503/4 1504/5 1505/6

Year

23s 10½d

20s 13s 1d

✔

King’s Revel

53s 4d

40s

15s

46s 8d

50s

£3 7s 8d

£3 6s 8½d

40s 4d 33s 4d 23s 23s 8d

40s

Robin Hood

St George

3s 4d 0 4s 4d 4s 1½ 6s 2d 4s 10d 5s 5s 6s 2½d 5s 3½d 4s 9d 4s 4½d 6s 1d 4s 5d 4s 7½d 4s 9d 6s 5d 6s 6s 1d 4s 6d 4s 6d 4s 9d 5s 6s 2d 3s 9d

2s 10d 3s 10d 3s 8d 3s 1d

Hogglers

Table 1  Croscombe Parish income From Communal Activity 1475–1538

3s5d 3s 1d 5s 1d 4s 4d 5s 4d 41d 5s 5s 4s 8d

3s 4d 3s 4d 4s 6d 4s 2s 3s 8d 5s 2d 5s ✓ 6s 8d

9s 3d* 3s 8d 1s 5d (?) 0 8s 2d*

2s 2d 3s 9d 7s 2s 9d

Young Men

21s 16s 18d† 13s 17s 5d

35s 4d 25s 4d 27s 4d 13s 1d 22s 5d 20s 4d

9d 9s 7d 3s 3s 4s 8d 0 ‘yet’ 0 9s 6d 16s 3½d 17s 4d 17s 4d 22s 20s 4d 23s 4d 25s 16s 2d 18s 3d

Maidens

0 0 0 0

23d 22d 18½ 21d 20d 2s 0 0 0 0 7d

Weavers 23d 2s 2d 2s 2d 2s 2s 2d 2s 1d 3s 4d 3s 7d 3s 4d 2s 11d 2s 8d 3s 3s 6d 4s 3s 6d 2s 9d 4s 2½d 2s 5d 3s 2s 8d 2s 11d 3s 2½d 3s 7½d 2s 11½d 3s 4s 3s 4d 3s 3s 4d 2s 11d 2s 10d

Fullers

254

1506/7 1507/8 1508/9 150910 1510/11 1511/12 1512/13 1513/14 1514/15 1515/16 1516–/17 1517/18 1518/19 1519/20 1520/1 1521/2 1522/3 1523/4 1524/5 1525/6 1526/7 1527/8 1528/9 1529/30 1530/1 1531/2 1532/3 1533/4 1534/5 1535/6 1536/7 1537/8

Year

King’s Revel

£4 0s 4d

£3 £3 6s 8d 35s 10d

43s 4d 9s 8d

Robin Hood

33s 4d 57s 4d 26s 8d 13s 26s 8d 18s 4d ✓ ? ? ? ?

13s 8d

✓

12s 16s 8d

St George

? ? ? ? 2s 8d ? ? ? ? ?

✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ? ? ✓ ? ?

✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ? ✓ ✓ ? ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ 4s ✓ ? ? ? ?

2s 4s 3s 8d 3s 4d 4s 5d 5s 10d 4s 5d ✓

Young Men

4s 7½d 4s 5d 5s 4s 4s 2½d 4s 8d 4s 7d ✓

Hogglers

? ? ? ? 17s 4d ✓ ? ? ? ?

✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ? ? ✓ ? ?

9s 2d 13s 1½d 15s 6d 16s 16s 10d 20s 18s 6d ✓

Maidens

Weavers

? ? ? ? 21d ? ? ? ? ?

✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ? ? ✓ ? ?

3s 6d 3s 10d 3s 4d 3s 4d 3s 2s 11d 2s 2½d ✓

Fullers

255

1538/9 1505/6 1506/7 1507/8 1508/9 150910 1510/11 1511/12 1512/13 1513/14 1514/15 1515/16 1516–/17 1517/18 1518/19 1519/20 1520/1 1521/2 1522/3 1523/4 1524/5 1525/6 1526/7 1527/8 1528/9 1529/30 1530/1 1531/2 1532/3 1533/4 1534/5 1535/6

Year

King’s Revel

£4 0s 4d

£3 £3 6s 8d 35s 10d

53s 4d 43s 4d 9s 8d

Robin Hood

33s 4d 57s 4d 26s 8d 13s 26s 8d 18s 4d ✓ ? ?

13s 8d

✓

12s 16s 8d

26s 8d

St George

? ? ? ? 2s 8d ? ? ?

✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ? ? ✓ ? ?

✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ? ✓ ✓ ? ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ 4s ✓ ? ?

4s 8d 2s 4s 3s 8d 3s 4d 4s 5d 5s 10d 4s 5d ✓

Young Men

3s 9d 4s 7½d 4s 5d 5s 4s 4s 2½d 4s 8d 4s 7d ✓

Hogglers

? ? ? ? 17s 4d ✓ ? ?

✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ? ? ✓ ? ?

4s 17s 5d 9s 2d 13s 1½d 15s 6d 16s 16s 10d 20s 18s 6d ✓

Maidens

Weavers

? ? ? ? 21d ? ? ?

✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ? ? ✓ ? ?

2s 10d 3s 6d 3s 10d 3s 4d 3s 4d 3s 2s 11d 2s 2½d ✓

Fullers

256

King’s Revel

Robin Hood ? ? 26s 8d

St George ? ?

Hogglers ? ?

Young Men ? ? 4s

Maidens

Weavers

? ?

Fullers

NOTES After 1538/9 the only entries relevant to the table above occur in 1547/8 when the wardens received 22s 6d from ‘the maydes ayll’ and 17s 2d from ‘The Ale att Wytsontyde’. The latter may refer to the St George ale or its successor. A single contribution of 6s was received in 1483/4 from the ‘wyfes dansyng’. In addition to the income from communal activity, there were annual collections for Easter (‘paskall and fonte taper’), St Michael’s Light (most years until 1503/4 and again in 1523/4) and twice for St Nicholas’ Light (1475/6 and 1477/8). In the table, the Roman numerals of the accounts have been converted into Arabic.

KEY *Income from this and preceding year †This small sum was returned to the Maidens as stock for the coming year. It suggests that they may not have collected in 1503, (?) Possibly an error; sums under 2 shillings are usually expressed in pence. ✓ Contribution noted but sum not recorded. 0 Nil return recorded ? Contribution probably made but not transcribed by Hobhouse who gives only the ‘usual entries’

1536/7 1537/8 1538/9

Year

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s raised above this sum, called the ‘increase’, was presented to the churchwardens as their contribution to church funds. Unlike these guild wardens, the Robin Hood presenters are never given a stock. This was presumably because they did not represent a specific membership with an obligation to provide candles each year. Moreover, as an irregular event, it would not always be known, from year to year, when the next revel would occur. What emerges from analyzing the accounts as a whole is that the annual guild contributions, for all the variation in amounts, were sufficient, along with rents, gifts and bequests, to maintain the lights and the predictable day to day expenses of the church. The occasional events of the King’s Revel and the sport of Robin Hood, on the other hand, are either brought out to rescue the parish from potential debt or scheduled to finance extensions to church property. From the table, a pattern to the Robin Hood sports emerges, with two intense periods of activity evident; one of four years beginning in 1481, and one of six years in a seven-year period between 1505/6 and 1511/12. At the end-of-year audit, the churchwardens calculated the balance of church funds after the payment of expenses. What was left is described as ‘the remains in stock’. In 1481/2 the stock was at its lowest level since the records began: £1 15s compared with £15 1s 10d three years earlier. Without the Robin Hood revel that year, the stock would have been in deficit. In 1503/4 the stock drops to £2 14s 10d from the previous year high of £16 17s 5d. It remains comparatively low (averaging just over £3) until picking up again to £13 in 1511/12. Neither instance is a case of mismanagement or unforeseen crisis. Both can be explained by an active programme of church building undertaken by the churchwardens on behalf of the parishioners. In 1481/2 the sudden depletion in stock is accounted for by the payment of a ‘bille for makyng of the Cherch house’. The wardens for the year, Roger Morris and William Branch, settled the costs of a carpenter and a fellowship of masons amounting to £13 2s 6½d (the account miscalculates the sum as £13 2s ll½d). By 1485/6 the stock used to pay for this building, intended to enhance the social life of the parishioners, had been restored, in no small measure, by Robin Hood (PLATE 3).25 Unlike this remedial role, the clutch of Robin Hood revels beginning in 1505/6 exhibits a degree of financial foresight. In the accounts for 1507/8 appears the first reference to John Carter, ‘Jorge maker’, a free mason of Exeter who receives £4 ‘off the parech of Croscombe’. In 1509/10 he is paid 30s for ‘the settyng oppe of the Jorge’ and in 1512/l 3 the large sum of £27 11s 8d to settle the ‘holle sume of all the caste’ of the George. These payments, over a five-year period, refer to the construction of the Chapel of St George at the north-east end of the church (PLATE 4). It is possible that the sums paid to John Carter also include, but do not refer to, the contemporary building of the two-storey vestry and treasury at the south-west comer of the church (PLATE 5). This is first mentioned in the accounts for 1510/11 and became the secure destination of the funds raised by 257

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s the guilds. By 1511/12, the final year of this burst of Robin Hood revels, the church stock had not only coped with major extensions to the fabric of the church but had climbed back to a healthy surplus of £13. At Croscombe, Robin was a victim of his own success. The generosity he inspired amongst the parishioners contributed to his downfall, or rather to his usurpation. The establishment of the Chapel of St George seems, predictably, to have promoted a new hero to headline the church-ale. Never as financially successful as Robin Hood, George makes up in consistency what he lacks in profusion. Robin makes a spectacular return in 1526/7 with the largest collection in the history of the Croscombe accounts. The churchwardens, or more likely Hobhouse, give little indication of why Robin was resurrected after a gap of fifteen years. The published accounts stop listing the stock figure in 1520/1. At £7 13s 4d, it gives little cause for alarm. Around the time of the revel, the only unusual expenses recorded are for the distraint of rent by the Lord of the Manor for all the parish in 1526/7 and for the ‘mendyng of the home of the cherch’ in 1527/8. The reintroduction of Robin Hood may have been to cover these expenses or to replenish the stock reduced by not holding the St George Ale in the previous two years. It would represent a crude negation of the social dimension of Robin Hood games to assume that they were only held to satisfy the financial needs of a parish. Nevertheless, at Croscombe and elsewhere this was a powerful motive and probably best explains why the revels were only occasional.26 It certainly calls into question modern notions of Robin Hood as the Green Man or as an incarnation of spring.27 For such ritual associations to be culturally meaningful, Robin would surely need to appear annually. The level of mutuality between Robin Hood and parish enterprise, revealed by the accounts, is supported by the identity of the presenters. That those named were the impersonators of Robin Hood, rather than just administrative wardens, can reasonably be assumed from the formulation in 1483/4 that ‘Ric. Willes was Roben Hode’. From the Croscombe churchwardens’ accounts, wills and other related documents it is possible to draw up a brief biography for each presenter.28 The years of presentation are in square brackets.

Thomas Blower [1476/7] •• ••

may have been churchwarden in 1475/6, only ‘Thomas’ transcribed. makes gift to the church of a gown, gold ring and kerchief in 1478/9.

John Hille [1476/7] •• •• •• ••

churchwarden in 1476/7, 1477/8 and 1478/9. gatherer of paschal money on Easter Day 1477 and 1478. makes gift to the church of a ring and a towel in 1489/90. Jone Hill (probably sister) warden of the Maidens in 1480/1 and 1483/4. 258

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s John Halse [1481/2] •• •• •• ••

churchwarden in 1484/5. witness to Joan Mayow’s will in 1496. died 1500/1 leaving money to Our Lady, the Rood, the bells and his grave. ‘Halses’ (probably sister) warden of the Maidens in 1483/4.

Roger Morris [1481/2] •• •• •• •• •• •• •• ••

churchwarden in 1481/2. Fullers’ warden in 1477/8, 1478/9, 1479/80 and 1480/1 (possibly for the years 1475/6 and 1476/7 when only ‘Roger’ recorded). witness to Joan Mayow’s will in 1496. supervisor of Richard Maudeley’s will in 1508. overseer of William Carter’s will in 1513. one of three patrons of the parish incumbent, William Morris LL.D (1498–1519), possibly his brother. will made on 9 Jan 1519, proved at Lambeth on 17 Feb 1519; occupation given as ‘clothier’; buried in chancel of Croscombe church. John Mors (probably son) churchwarden in 1527/8.

Ric. Willes [1483/4] •• •• ••

•• ••

churchwarden (Richard att Wyll) in 1493/4. Young Men’s warden in 1483/4 (possibly in 1482/3). Hogglers’ warden between 1486/7 and 1492/3 (possibly for most years following until 1507/8 if Vowles, Vells, Volls, Wells, Woll etc. are the same person. If they are, he may also have been the Richard Vowlys who was churchwarden in 1487/8). Johan Wylls (possibly wife) makes a gift to the church of a silver and gilt ring in 1508/9. relative(?) John att Wyll churchwarden in 1551/2.

Wyllyam Wyndylsor [1486/7] •• •• •• •• ••

churchwarden in 1482/3. gives/leaves vjs viijd to the church in 1503/4. ‘Wyndelsor’s servant’ gives iiijd to the church in 1486/7. Margery Wynsor (possibly wife) makes a gift to the church of beads, rings and money in 1502/3. Edwarde Windsore (brother?) Young Men’s warden in 1488/9, 1491/2, 1492/3 and 1493/4, and churchwarden in 1504/5 and 1505/6.

259

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s William Carter [1505/6] •• •• •• •• ••

churchwarden in 1513/14; died in office and replaced by his father John Carter, clothier, who was previously churchwarden in 1486/7. will made 15 Apr 1513 and proved 3 Nov 1513. Jone Carter (sister) warden of the Maidens in 1494/5. John Carter (brother) warden of the Young Men in 1495/6. Carters were also churchwardens in 1533/4 (John), 1544/5 (John) and 1550/1 (Joseph).

John Honythorne [1509/10 and 1511/12] •• ••

churchwarden in 1521/2. J. Honythorne (father?) churchwarden in 1489/90 whose death may be recorded by the gift of two rings and viijd in 1502/3.

John Stevyn (aka Sadeler) [1511/12] ••

churchwarden in 1537/8, 1542/3 and 1544/5.

The striking thing about this list is that all presenters, with the possible exception of Blower, were, had been, or would become churchwardens. At Croscombe, the churchwardens were, according to the account for 1476/7, elected by ‘al the parresch’. Such democracy ought to ensure that they were respected by the community as responsible and capable individuals. The Robin Hood presenters may also have been chosen by parishioners or appointed by the churchwardens. The element of trust in handling money that a link between the presenters of Robin Hood and churchwardens implies is borne out by the evidence of other parishes.29 In addition, all named Robin Hood presenters, except the first and last, either held office as wardens of other guilds or had relatives, male and female, who had done so. For these families, at least, commitment to the community went beyond mere obligation. As far as it is possible to tell, the wardens of church and Robin Hood were neither the wealthiest nor the poorest parishioners. For the most part they were the craftsmen of middling status. Croscombe’s two longest serving churchwardens, William Branch and Edward Bolle, were both fullers.30 This profile of non-gentry wardenship is by no means uncommon.31 They were not, though, without ambition. Roger Morris, for example, seems to rise from the status of fuller in the years before he presented as Robin Hood to a clothier in his later years.32 William Carter, too, came from a family of clothiers. None of the men named were sufficiently wealthy to make endowments or large bequests to the church. Roger Morris, at the time of his death in 1519, was perhaps the most prosperous. In his will he leaves: 260

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s 12d to the cathedral church of Wells 20d to the high altar of Croscombe for tithes and oblations forgotten 20s to the chantry of Croscombe to pray for his soul and the souls of his two wives 12d to the curate of Croscombe a blue gown to his son, John 20d to his eldest daughter, Joanna a dozen silver spoons, a maser, a flock-bed with tester and other household goods to his youngest daughter, also Joanna 3 quarters of woad and a cloth with the residue of his estate to his wife, Agnes33 At Yeovil the Robin Hoods were drawn from among the ‘relatively older rather than younger men of the parish’.34 Chagford in Devon went to the opposite extreme and entrusted the games to the ‘yongemen off the parysche’.35 Croscombe seems to have favoured something between the two. Assuming that Roger Morris became a warden of the Fullers only after serving an apprenticeship at 21, and that he held office in 1475, the latest year of his birth would be 1453. This would make him 65 or 66 at his death in 1519 and mean that he was 27 or 28 in 1481 when he became churchwarden and presented as Robin Hood. Richard Willes (sometimes referred to as ‘att Wyll’) represented the Young Men in the same year he was Robin Hood. It is not certain whether membership of this guild terminated at the coming of age. If it did, Willes was possibly 21 when he played Robin Hood, and 31 when he became churchwarden. Although these crude calculations cannot be applied to the others named, a comparable age range of early to mid twenties can be guessed at for John Hille, John Halse, William Windsor and William Carter from the years their siblings were wardens of the Young Men and Maidens. It is tempting, from these ages, to draw conclusions about physical strength and prowess being criteria for the selection of Robin Hood. This, in turn, might suggest that the revels stressed the athletic and combative aspects of the character familiar from the early plays and ballads. The uncertainty that surrounds the form of the revels extends to their location. The accounts give no indication of where they took place. On the basis of the large amounts raised by the relatively small population, it seems probable that the majority of Croscombe parishioners, and a substantial number of those from neighbouring villages, attended.36 Perhaps the most likely setting for such a gathering is the field to the north-west of the church known as Fair Place (see the field to the left of the church spire in Plate 1). As the name may reflect, this was the site of the annual fair, at least during the Victorian period.37 There is no way of telling if the field derived its name from the medieval fair granted a charter in 1343, or from its open and pleasing appearance. Nevertheless, the use of the site as a fair ground in the nineteenth century, and 261

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s the absence of a suitable alternative elsewhere in the village, makes it by far the most likely venue. It is also only a few yards from the church and church house where the food and drink for the ales were probably prepared. In spite of the lack of detail, it seems clear that the growth of the Robin Hood myth and its broadening appeal during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries was, in large part, due to its dissemination through parish games. The relationship was not one-sided. Parishes increased their revenue by associating church-ales with a popular hero. This mutual alliance, and the social and economic interests it served, are revealing in understanding the distribution and orientation of the Robin Hood games. The evidence for Robin Hood games in England down to 1550 is limited to an area south of the Wash. Except for isolated instances, it predominates in the Thames Valley and the South West.38 Particularly in respect of the West Country, the late medieval Robin Hood games coincide with an especially active period of church building.39 Responsibility for the nave and tower rested with the parish and funds to pay for them had to be raised over and above the regular income of rents and gifts. In such circumstances, the Robin Hood game, or its equivalent, was a necessary source of extra finance. The games also tend to be found grouped in areas of the greatest growth in wealth during the period. By 1515, for example, Somerset had become the second wealthiest county in England (after Middlesex and excluding London), having moved from a position of 23rd in 1334.40 Devon, Cornwall and Surrey also experienced outstanding levels of growth during the period that they held, or came to establish, Robin Hood games. In true Robin Hood fashion, it seems that in these places there was wealth to be redistributed. More generally, Robin Hood games occur in the southern half of England where parish funds were generated largely by church-ales rather than by relying on the alternatives of patronage by the gentry, bequests or the levying of a church rate.41 In these circumstances a structure for charitable giving in a convivial atmosphere already existed on which to graft Robin Hood. The obvious similarity between the celebratory character of church-ales and the ballad descriptions of Greenwood hospitality was clearly visible then as now. Equally, it may be significant that the games flourish at a time when the middling or yeoman class, that represent the socially defining culture of Robin Hood, emerge as the source of parish government officers. It is possible that the inspiration for associating church-ales with Robin Hood rested with those who most closely identified with him. These connections between form and content may be no more than coincidences. What is indisputable, though, is that the institutional principles upon which parish assemblies were founded bear striking resemblance to those underlying the Greenwood. The parish in late medieval England, like the Barnsdale or Sherwood of the ballads, sought to practise the ideals of independence and self-government. It has been described as a territorial unit 262

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Plate 1 Croscombe from the South with Fair Place field to the left of the church spire. © John Marshall.

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Plate 2 St Mary the Virgin, Croscombe. © John Marshall.

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s

Plate 3 The Church House. © John Marshall.

Plate 4 The Chapel of St George. © John Marshall.

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266

Plate 5 The Treasury and Vestry. © John Marshall.

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s that ‘provided a framework for the solution of problems which affected all members of local society, but transcended their individual powers’.42 It was sustained by a system of shared values that emphasized the horizontal ties that bound its members, rather than the vertical line of hierarchy that divided them. In this political respect, the Greenwood mirrored the parish paradigm. In addition, Robin’s legendary means of acquiring wealth for redistribution may only have been adopted by the parish at the symbolic level of game, but the charitable ends were practically the same. Robin is for the parishioner, then, not necessarily a conduit for repressed political feelings but a hero of communalism and autonomy, where the individual derives strength from the mutual support of fellowship. The relationship between myth and parish was similarly reciprocal; it is why it lasted so long. In the games or revels, Robin Hood acquired a presence in performance that sustained and energised the myth. And the parish elected a heroic representative who successfully embodied the values of fraternity and charity. In the event, at Croscombe and elsewhere, these explanations count for nothing without the sheer fun to be had from dressing up in Lincoln green and brandishing a bow and arrows with a few friends.

Notes  1 Medieval English Theatre, 20 (1998 [1999]), 127–38.  2 Meg Twycross and Peter Meredith, ‘Editorial’, Medieval English Theatre, 1.1 (1979), 1–2.   3 Alan H. Nelson, ‘Easter Week Pageants in Valladolid and Medina del Campo’, Medieval English Theatre, 1.2 (1979), 62–70.   4 John Wasson, ‘The St George and Robin Hood Plays in Devon’, Medieval English Theatre, 2.2 (1980), 66–69.   5 Meg Twycross, ‘Two Maid Marians and a Jewess’, Medieval English Theatre, 9.1 (1987), 6–7; W. R. Streitberger, ‘Court Performances by the King’s Players, 1510– 1521’, Medieval English Theatre, 14 (1994 for 1992), 95–101.   6 Jeffrey L. Singman, Robin Hood: The Shaping of the Legend (Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 1998), p. 4.   7 Stephen Knight, ‘Which Way to the Forest? Directions in Robin Hood Studies’, in Robin Hood in Popular Culture: Violence, Transgression, and Justice, ed. by Thomas Hahn (Woodbridge, Suffolk: D. S. Brewer, 2000), pp. 111–28.   8 John Wasson (see note 4); James D. Stokes, ‘Robin Hood and the Churchwardens in Yeovil’, Medieval and Renaissance Drama in England, 3 (1986), 1–25; Sally-Beth MacLean, ‘King Games and Robin Hood: Play and Profit at Kingston-uponThames’, Research Opportunities in Renaissance Drama, 29 (1986–87), 85–94; Alexandra F. Johnston, ‘Summer Festivals in the Thames Valley Counties’, in Custom, Culture and Community in the later Middle Ages, ed. by Thomas Pettitt and Leif Søndergaard (Odense: Odense University Press, 1994), pp. 37–57 and, more broadly, ‘The Robin Hood of the Records’, in Playing Robin Hood: The Legend as Performance in Five Centuries, ed. by Lois Potter (Newark, NJ: University of Delaware Press, 1998), pp. 27–44.   9 For a representative sample of these views see David Wiles, The Early Plays of Robin Hood (Woodbridge, Suffolk: D. S. Brewer, 1981), pp. 51–58; Peter Stallybrass,

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s ‘“Drunk with the Cup of Liberty”: Robin Hood, the Carnivalesque and the Rhetoric of Violence in Early Modern England’, Semiotica, 54 (1985), 113–45; Christine Richardson, ‘The Figure of Robin Hood within the Carnival Tradition’, REED Newsletter 22.2 (1997), 18–25; Claire Sponsler, Drama and Resistance: Bodies, Goods, and Theatricality in Late Medieval England (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997), pp. 24–49; Peter H. Greenfield, ‘The Carnivalesque in the Robin Hood Games and King Ales of Southern England’, in Carnival and Carnivalesque: The Fool, the Reformer, the Wildman, and Others in Early Modem Theatre, ed. by Konrad Eisenbichler and Wim Hüsken (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1999), pp. 19–28. 10 The accounts were first published as the Church-Wardens’ Accounts of Croscombe, Pilton, Yatton, Tintinhull, Morebath, and St Michael’s Bath Ranging from A.D. 1349 to 1560, ed. by Edmund Hobhouse, Somerset Record Society, 4 (1890). The original accounts are now lost. 11 For Exeter see Records of Early English Drama: Devon, ed. by John M. Wasson (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1986), p. 89; for Caister see: John Marshall, ‘“goon in-to Bernysdale”: The Trail of the Paston Robin Hood Play’, Leeds Studies in English, 29 (1998), 185–217; for Thame see: W. Patterson Ellis, ‘The Churchwardens’ Accounts of the Parish of St Mary, Thame’, Berks, Bucks and Oxon Archaeological Journal, 19 (1913), 20–24. 12 For the records of these places see Records of Early English Drama: Somerset, ed. by James Stokes, 2 vols (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996). 13 Hobhouse, Churchwardens’ Accounts, p. 3. For the history and topography of Croscombe see John Collinson, The History and Antiquities of the County of Somerset, 3 vols (Bath: R. Cruttwell, 1791), III, pp. 469–70; John East, The Village (Bristol: J. Chilcott, 2nd edn, 1834); William Phelps, The History and Antiquities of Somersetshire, 3 vols in 2 (London: J. B. Nichols, 1836, 1839), I, pp. 228–36; Keith Armstrong, The Story of Croscombe: A Somerset Village (privately printed for the author by St Andrew’s Press, Wells, [n.d.]. 14 Population calculations are notoriously difficult for such small parishes at this time. The figures are based on the 220 Croscombe communicants recorded by the Chantries Survey of 1548; The Survey and Rental of the Chantries, Colleges and Free Chapels, Guilds, Fraternities Lamps, Lights and Obits in the County of Somerset as Returned in the 2nd Year of King Edward VI: AD 1548, ed. by Emanuel Green, Somerset Record Society, 2 (1888), p. 137. Chantry certificates were frequently returned with crudely rounded numbers but this is perhaps less likely in areas of comparatively low population. To calculate the total population from the number of communicants I have used the Wrigley and Schofield formula. This estimates that in the mid sixteenth century 24.9% of the population was below the age of communion. Population totals are derived from multiplying the number of communicants (220) by 100 (22000) and dividing by 100 – 24.9 = (75.1). For Croscombe this gives a total of 293 in 1548. On such small numbers this can only be regarded as a very approximate figure. The calculation of a population of 178 in 1377 is produced by dividing 293 by the trimean of the ratios between the parish poll-tax returns and the chantries survey (1.645). etc. See E. A. Wrigley and R. S. Schofield, The Population History of England 1541–1871: A Reconstruction (London: Edward Arnold, 1981), pp. 563–67. 15 Calendar of the Patent Rolls: Henry VI Vol. III: AD 1436–1441 (London: HMSO, 1907), p. 163. 16 Nikolaus Pevsner, The Buildings of England: North Somerset and Bristol (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1958), pp. 177–79. 17 Hobhouse’s dating of the accounts is slightly misleading and appears to be consist-

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s ently out by a year. I have followed the realignment proposed by Stokes, Somerset, II, p. 532. 18 Records taken from Hobhouse, Church-Wardens’ Accounts, pp. 1–48. See also Stokes Somerset, I, pp. 86–90. 19 The most informative, and the most critical, near contemporary account of games and ales is Philip Stubbs, The Anatomy of Abuses, with an introductory note by Peter Davison (New York: Johnson Reprint, 1972). 20 On this point see Stokes, Somerset, II, p. 897, n. 89. 21 For the Kingston upon Thames accounts see Singman, Robin Hood: The Shaping of the Legend, pp. 181–83; Sally-Beth MacLean, ‘King Games and Robin Hood’; John Forrest, The History of Morris Dancing 1458–1750 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1999), pp. 156–67. 22 On hoggling in Somerset see James Stokes, ‘The Hoglers: Evidences of an Entertainment Tradition in Eleven Somerset Parishes’, Somerset and Dorset Notes and Queries, 32 (1986–1990), 807–17; Stokes, Somerset, II, pp. 641–708. 23 Armstrong, The Story of Croscombe, pp. 122–23. 24 On the festival, see Sally-Beth MacLean, ‘Hocktide: A Reassessment of a Popular Pre-Reformation Festival’, in Festive Drama, ed. by Meg Twycross (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1996), pp. 233–41. 25 As will be seen from the photograph, the church house has undergone some, mainly Victorian, alterations since the end of the fifteenth century. On the function of church houses see Patrick Cowley, The Church Houses: Their Religious and Social Significance (London: SPCK, 1970). 26 At Glastonbury in 1500 a Robin Hood revel was held by the parish of St John to contribute towards new seats and the restoration of the St George image, and at Tintinhull in 1512 ‘robyne hoodes All’ paid towards the acquisition of new pews. See Katherine French, ‘Parochial fund-raising in late medieval Somerset’, in The Parish in English Life 1400–1600, ed. by Katherine French, Gary G. Gibbs, and Beat A. Kűmin (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1997), pp. 115–32 (p. 128). 27 For these associations see Wiles, The Early Plays of Robin Hood, pp. 19, 56; John Matthews, Robin Hood: Green Lord of the Wildwood (Glastonbury: Gothic Image, 1993); Lorraine Kochanske Stock, ‘Lords of the Wildwood: The Wild Man, the Green Man, and Robin Hood’ in Hahn, Robin Hood in Popular Culture, pp. 239–49. 28 The wills are to be found in Somerset Medieval Wills 1383–1500 and 1501–1530, ed. by F. W. Weaver, Somerset Record Society 16 and 19 (1901 and 1903). The patronage of Croscombe incumbents in Somerset Incumbents, ed. by Fredereic William Weaver (privately printed, Bristol, 1889), pp. 76–77. 29 See particularly the evidence from Yeovil in Stokes, ‘Robin Hood and the Churchwardens’. 30 William Branch served for 25 years between 1479/80 and 1507/8 and Edward Bolle, continuously, from 1507/8 to 1532/3. 31 On the professional status of churchwardens see Beat Kümin, The Shaping of a Community: The Rise and Reformation of the English Parish c. 1400–1560 (Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1996), pp. 37–39. 32 According to Heather Swanson, Medieval Artisans: An Urban Class in Late Medieval England (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989), p. 41, fullers were the most likely of textile artisans to become entrepreneurs. She is speaking specifically of Winchester and Colchester but Morris’ elevation suggests that this might also be the case in some rural areas. It is not possible to tell from the 1481/2 account whether Roger Morris represented Robin Hood or Little John. His listing after

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s John Halse may suggest the latter. Whichever part he played, the question of the age and status of the presenters is germane to both roles. 33 Weaver, Somerset Medieval Wills 1501–1530, p. 205. 34 Stokes, ‘Robin Hood and the Churchwardens’, 4. 35 Singman, Robin Hood: The Shaping of the Legend, p. 173. 36 There were 220 Croscombe communicants in 1548. If a similar number attended the Robin Hood revel in 1526, they contributed the equivalent of almost 4½d per head. This might suggest that the participants were drawn from a wider constituency than the village. 37 Armstrong, The Story of Croscombe p. 123. The field is described as ‘Fair Place’ and designated ‘pasture’ in the Croscombe Tithe Map c.1840; SRO DID/RT Croscombe A (Award List) and M (Map). 38 See Singman, Robin Hood: The Shaping of the Legend, pp. 71–76, for a useful series of chronological maps. 39 Colin Platt, The Parish Churches of Medieval England (Secker and Warburg, London, 1981), p. 97. 40 R. S. Schofield, ‘The Geographical Distribution of Wealth in England, 1334–1649’, in Essays in Quantitative Economic History, ed. by Roderick Floud (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1974), pp. 79–106 (p. 97). 41 According to Judith M. Bennett, ‘Conviviality and Charity in Medieval and Early Modern England’, Past and Present, 134 (1992), 19–41 (34 n.40) there is no firm evidence for church-ales further north than Derbyshire. 42 Kümin, Shaping of a Community, p. 260.

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16 GATHERING IN THE NAME OF THE OUTLAW: REED AND ROBIN HOOD From: REED in Review (2006)

The myth of Robin Hood endures, not least, because of its capacity for transformation. This propensity for reinvention has seen the outlaw hero shift over time from ruthless yet courteous anti-authoritarian yeoman, through genteel but dispossessed nobleman, to Green Lord of the Wildwood, the spirit of Spring.1 Apart from the essential attraction of a champion of justice and freedom, Robin Hood retains his popular appeal, unlike some other outlaws, because he lacks historical certainty and the confinement of biography. He becomes what each age demands of him, shaped by the social and political desires and anxieties of each generation. As Stephen Knight has observed, ‘what is notable about these periods of increased Robin Hood activity is that they are all times when government has been overtly and consciously repressive’.2 The most recent flurry of Robin Hood activity occurred during the 1980s and coincided with and responded, often blatantly, to the oppressive monetarist and anti-trade union policies of the Reagan and Thatcher administrations. Such time-specific expressions tend to shape a generation’s view of Robin Hood and his meaning. For most people under the age of thirty, for example, Robin Hood is Kevin Costner, Prince of Thieves. This ability of Robin Hood to embody the zeitgeist is not limited to popular culture. The spirit of the age has also coloured the interpretation of the myth and its cultural manifestations by historians and literary critics. By far the most influential study of the Robin Hood activity of immediate interest to REED is David Wiles’ book on the early plays and games.3 Published in 1981 it displays critical and political sympathies in keeping with the age and in many ways anticipates, and may have influenced, the television and cinema versions of the myth that followed. More substantial has been its impact on Robin Hood studies. To a large extent the major conclusions, rather than the accuracy of some of the evidence, have gone unchallenged and acquired the status of authority.4 Wiles’ interpretation of Robin Hood games may be summarized in three statements:

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s •• •• ••

Robin, in the guise of the Mock King, or Summer Lord, is the emblem or incarnation of Spring the games allow for a carnivalesque release of the suppressed political tendencies of the people plays are key to and generically define the activity.

Although some of this, particularly the first statement, can be traced back to E. K. Chambers and the influential impact of the popular but non-historical ideas of James Frazer,5 emphasis on the cultural function of the games says more about the impact of critical theory and the desire for an effective political opposition in the late 1970s and early 1980s than it does about the possible meaning of Robin Hood games 500 years earlier. The late twentieth-century preoccupations with the spirit of carnival, distrust of established religion, concern for the environment, and resistance to the perceived threats to social democracy could all find expression in the shape of Robin Hood. In much the same way and for similar reasons if for different purposes, Richard Carpenter’s Robin of Sherwood, made for HTV in 1984, also combined magical allegiance to the natural world with the political awareness and resistance of a freedom fighter. Barely disguised allusions to the Falklands’ war, the miners’ strike, keeping your nose clean and head down, and a Tory minister’s exhortation to the unemployed to ‘get on your bike’ left few viewers in doubt about the contemporary relevance of a medieval hero.6 Artistic interpretations of the myth that invent and pick and mix narrative elements from the past in order to engage with the present are part of the tradition of Robin Hood literature. The interpretation of cultural performance, on the other hand, depends on evidence. Colourful views of Robin in the fifteenth- and sixteenth-century games as inheritor of a pagan spirit or figure of carnival mock-rule are only possible where that evidence is partial and selected. In many respects, of course, evidence is always going to be partial, given the serendipity of survival, and selective in pursuit of an argument. David Wiles did not have the benefit of REED volumes when preparing his book on the Robin Hood plays/games. Instead he relied on a limited number of antiquarian transcriptions of churchwardens’ accounts, mainly from the Thames Valley. Such imposed selectivity inevitably affects the outcome of interpretation. A revision of The Early Plays of Robin Hood would look very different today, not only because of the changing times in which we live but because of the emergence of REED. The publication of REED volumes began in 1979 but it was not until 1986 that the first reference to Robin Hood appeared in the collection for Devon. From then to 2004 REED has published a further ten volumes. Of these all but Cambridge and Oxford make reference to Robin Hood activity. Collectively and individually these works and their editors have done much to revise thinking about the games.7 Based on the close analysis of the records, more and fitting stress has been placed on their social function and fund-raising role. It becomes increasingly possible to place the Robin Hood games in the context 272

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s of displays of parish unity, social exchange, and financial administration. This more parochial view is a necessary antidote to the generalized theoretical overview that tends to blur regional and period differences. However, the REED volumes so far do perpetuate, perhaps unconsciously, what might turn out to be yet another Robin Hood myth. Not surprisingly, given the editorial remit of REED, all but one of the volumes with more than a single reference to Robin Hood has an index entry to ‘Robin Hood plays’ and refers to them as such in the introduction.8 It is true that in the first of these volumes, John Wasson alerts the reader to the danger ‘in concluding that all of these references are to actual drama’.9 Similar reservations can be found in some of the other volumes but there is always the impression that some form of drama is central to the outlaw gathering. Unlike the records from Kingston-upon-Thames and the Thames Valley, yet to appear in REED, there is no incontrovertible evidence in the records published to date of Robin Hood plays in the sense of a scripted and rehearsed enactment. That is not to deny the possibility of other kinds of performance involving costumed imitation, processions, cowl-staffing, physical contests, or improvised dialogue and action but to call them ‘plays’ may be to misclassify these events and potentially mislead REED users. If the accumulation of index entries and editorial references to ‘plays’ might unduly influence their interpretation by over-defining the activity and underplaying the evidence for local variation, the publication of the records themselves provides the best opportunity yet for a systematic regional study of Robin Hood gatherings. Although REED volumes for Surrey, Berkshire, and Oxfordshire, as well as the Records of Early Drama volumes for Scotland, yet to come, will add considerably to our knowledge of Robin Hood games nationally, as well as providing material for further regional surveys, those published so far make possible an analysis of activity in southwest England. Although the rest of this essay will concentrate on the counties of Bristol, Cornwall, Devon, Dorset, and Somerset it will for completeness look very briefly at the other counties where Robin Hood activity has been discovered and published by REED. The basic information provided by the records is shown in TABLE 1. The first column indicates the place where the activity originated. In most cases this is also the place where the activity occurred. Where it is clear that it happened elsewhere, the location appears in the ‘Period of Accounts’ column indicating the source of the evidence. For example, the parish records from Colyton in Devon do not survive but those of the churchwardens of St Michael’s, Honiton, record a visit from their neighbours’ Robin Hood in 1572. It follows that Robin Hood activity probably took place in Colyton as well, possibly in the same year, but without the Honiton accounts nothing of it would be known. The inference of an occurrence at Colyton is interesting but, obviously, not sufficient proof for it to be counted in the statistics for Robin Hood activity, whereas that of the recorded visit to Honiton legitimately forms part 273

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s of the calculation. The tabulation of the Worcestershire records is an exception to this rule of place and is discussed below. The second column registers the period of the accounts from which the records of Robin Hood activity are taken, in most cases those of church or guild wardens. Other records may exist for a particular place but if they do not contain information about Robin Hood they are not included in the table. A catalogue of all records pertinent to the REED project can be found in ‘The Documents’ section of individual volumes. The dates given in the table are termini and do not signal lacunae found in some of the accounts. Details of actual coverage are also noted in ‘The Documents’. The period during which the games of gatherings occurred shows the dates of the first and final references to Robin Hood within the period of the accounts. The number of gatherings that may be inferred from the records appears in the next column. Given the idiosyncrasies of early English accountancy some of the figures given are open to interpretation and should be compared with the records themselves. It is assumed, for example, that if a costume is repaired or replaced it is reasonable, but by no means certain, that it is in preparation for or a consequence of activity that year. A similar difficulty arises with the names of characters mentioned in the accounts. A game or gathering named after Robin Hood implies his physical presence and has been recorded as such in the table; it need not, of course, any more than a St George celebration requires a man with a lance on horseback. References to items of costume and to properties and/or setting are recorded in the final two columns. Accounts presented in this way, although lacking some of the distinctive detail, can be very revealing. The striking thing about the counties of Kent, Lancashire, Shropshire, Sussex, and Worcestershire is that none of the references to Robin Hood, with the possible exception of the Worcester parish of St Helen’s, appears more than once. In spite of some Robin Hood activity providing the channel for violence or the settling of scores, it seems improbable that in each of these cases once proved once too often. It is more likely that other events were either unrecorded, because no expense was incurred or income received, or became hidden in the accounts by the use of a generic term like ‘game’ or ‘ale’. In Shrewsbury, for example, where the Robin Hood game was under civic sponsorship, May games, sometimes called the Abbot of Marham game, were held during the mid-sixteenth century, and unnamed players were occasionally rewarded in Whitsun week. Might Robin Hood have figured in these events without featuring in the accounts? It hardly makes much economic sense for the bailiffs to have spent nearly £3 in 1553 on coats and other clothes for Robin Hood if he and his company wore them only once.10 Nonetheless, taken at face value, the evidence of these counties raises the possibility that in some places the Robin Hood games were occasional in the infrequent as well as in the seasonal sense. In the cases of Ludlow and Bridgnorth in Shropshire and Rye in Sussex, payments to Robin Hood may be singular because they were to visiting 274

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Period of Accounts

Period of Gatherings

1520–1604

1526–? (‘several years’)

St Ives Stratton

St Columb Minor

St Ives 1570–1638 St Breock 1529–98 1570–1638 1512–77

St Breock 1529–98 1529–98 1584–1909

Mawgan

St Breock St Columb Major

1538–84 1505–6

Antony Bodmin

1 3

1

1590

1584 1536–9

1

1 1 1 1

1591 1573 1595

1588

4 1 poss.2 ‘gaderyng’

1+

Number & Name of Gatherings

1554–8 1506

Robin Hood Gatherings in Cornwall

Bristol St Nicholas

Robin Hood Gatherings in Bristol

Place

Table 1:  Robin Hood gatherings recorded in REED volumes, 1979–200411

Robin Hood Robin Hood

Robin Hood

Robin Hood

Robin Hood Robin Hood Robin Hood Robin Hood

Robin Hood Robin Hood

Robin Hood Little John

Characters Named

‘clothes’ (loaned out in 1588)

‘hosyn’ and ‘lynyng’

Costume

‘the wode of Robyn hode is howse’ sold in 1544

Properties and/or Setting

276

1479–1580 1389–1649

1554–1611

1530–99

1561–1677

Honiton 1570–1651

1304–1642

1412–1598

1564–1678

1570–1651 1537–1792

Ashburton Barnstaple

Braunton

Chagford

Chudleigh

Colyton

Exeter Poss. St John’s Bow

Exeter St John’s Bow

Farway

Honiton Woodbury

1577 1541–77

1567

1488–1554

1427

1572

1561

1554–64

1561–4

1526–41 1559

Robyn Hood Gatherings in Devon

1 4 ‘ale & gatheringe’

1

3 ‘lusione’

1 ‘lusum’

7 ‘howdes-men’ 1 ‘gathering’ 1

2 1 ‘pastime’ 3

Robin Hood Robin Hood Little John

Robin Hood

Robin Hood Little John

Robin Hood

Robin Hood Little John Robin Hood

Robin Hood Little John Robin Hood

Robin Hood Robin Hood

‘cott’ ‘cott’

‘Tunice’

‘cottes’

‘cote’ ‘cote’ ‘cotes’

‘tunica’

‘Roberte Hoodes Howse’

St Edmund’s Arrow

1lb of ‘powdar’

‘sylver arrowe’

277

1490–1578

Poole

New Romney 1381–1635

1533

1580 (letter)

1579

1550–1642

1466–1635

1269–1642

Bridgnorth

Ludlow

Shrewsbury

1553

1567

1588

Robin Hood Gatherings in Shropshire

Burnley

Robin Hood Gatherings in Lancashire

Hythe

Robin Hood Gatherings in Kent

1508–10

1567–8

1455–1640

Netherbury



1555

1555

Bridport

Robin Hood Gatherings in Dorset

1

1

1

‘Robyn hoode and the May games’

1

3

1 ‘Robynhode Ale’ 2 ‘Church ale’

Robin Hood

Robin Hood

Robin Hood

Robin Hood

Robin Hood

Robin Hood

Robin Hood Little John

Robin Hood

‘tunics’ & ‘vestimentis’

278

Yeovil

Weston Zoyland

Wells

1516–1643

1607–8

1378–1625

1433–1612

1366–1626

Glastonbury

Tintinhull

1475–1548

Croscombe

1516–78

1607

pre 1497 & 1607

1512

1501

1476–1526

Robin Hood Gatherings in Somerset

Robin Hood Little John Sheriff

Robin Hood

1 ‘parishe Alle’ 22 ‘churche ale’

Robin Hood ‘galantes’

Robin Hood

Robin Hood

Robin Hood Little John

2 ‘Maygames’ ‘Churchales’

1 ‘robyne-hoodes All’

18 ‘revel’ ‘sport’ 1

‘Reband lace’ ‘silke Rebyn’

‘rayed in greene’

‘tunica & ‘caligarum’

‘arrowes’ ‘home’

‘bowe & arrowes’

279

1405–1643

1511

Worcester 1518–35

Worcester 1518–35

Worcester/ Battenhall 1518–35

Crowle

1518–35

Battenhall 1518–35

Worcester City Parish poss. St Helens

Worcester St Helens

Worcester Claines or St Helens?

Cleeve

Prior

Ombersley

1535

1531

1530

1529

1519

Robin Hood Gatherings in Worcestershire

Rye

Robin Hood Gatherings in Sussex

1

1

1 ‘the box’

1

1 ‘getheryng’

1 ‘visitacion’

Maid Marion Other Robin Hood Little John

Robin Hood

Robin Hood

Robin Hood

Robin Hood

Robin Hood

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s ‘players’ or to ales in neighbouring parishes rather then to their own. This appears to have been the case in the Kent town of New Romney where the only reference to actual Robin Hood activity occurs when the chamberlains contribute to the Robin Hood of Hythe.12 This type of relationship might also explain the difference in the records between fee expended on Robin Hood and money received from him or his gathering. The Robin Hood records from Worcestershire reveal a rather different relation­ship between activity and patron. Without the survival of William More’s weekly account book, there would be no evidence of Robin Hood activity in the county.13 The prior of Worcester Cathedral Priory is rewarding games or gatherings from parishes with which he has some personal or official connection on an apparently rotational basis. It would, perhaps, be surprising if these parishes limited their Robin Hood activity exclusively to occasions patronized and recorded by the prior. Unfortunately, confirmation of this has been lost with the respective churchwardens’ accounts. Moreover, it is not always possible to tell from his accounts which parish he is rewarding, where the activity took place, and whether he was in attendance. In addition to the Priory, More occupied three principal residences in the manors of Battenhall, Crowle, and Grimley, none more than four miles distant from the Cathedral. In 1519, from Worcester, he gives the rather generous sum of 3s. 4d. to ‘Robyn whod & hys men’ who were ‘getheryng to tewkesbury bruge’, presumably King John’s Bridge, formally known as the ‘long bridge’ that carries the Gloucester to Worcester road across the Mill Avon. Who they were and where they came from is not recorded. It is possible that they were from Tewkesbury and were encountered by the prior on his way to Worcester. Alternatively, the city location of the payment might suggest the parish of St Helens, collecting beyond their boundary, which he did reward during Whitsun week 1529 when dividing his time between Worcester and Battenhall. Similarly, the same parish may have benefited from the 12d. the prior donated ‘to þe box of Robyn hood’ in 1530. It is, though, possible that in this instance Robin Hood is from the Worcester parish of Claines whose dancers immediately precede Robin Hood in the expenses record for the week of 12–18 June. Over the two days of 25–6 July 1531, the prior was at Crowle and his account book records the reward to his tenants of Cleeve Prior for ‘pleying with Robyn Whot Mayde Marion & other’. Cleeve Prior is some thirteen miles southeast of Crowle, further by road, and it is not clear whether Robin, Marion, and the others travelled to Crowle to entertain the prior (perhaps the most likely) or whether the prior visited his tenants. A similar situation arises in 1535 when the prior was at Battenhall in early June and made a payment to Robin Hood and Little John of Ombersley. The village is about five miles north of Battenhall and, again, it seems probable that the outlaws visited the prior. The uncertainty of the detail makes it difficult to reduce the payments to place names for the purpose of the table. The solution adopted is to put what appears to be the originating parish in the first column and the location 280

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s of the payment as the likely venue for the activity (with the possible exception of the 1519 reference to Tewkesbury) in the second. In much the same way that the frequency of activity may be concealed by non­specific terminology or the intent of the record, the listing of characters, costumes, and properties is only going to occur where payment is involved. The near total absence of such payments in the counties of Kent, Lancashire, Shropshire, Sussex, and Worcestershire can be explained by the fact that only the Shrewsbury account refers to the making of a Robin Hood game. The remainder, with the possible exception of Rye, appear to be extraneous payments unlikely to include production costs. In respect of characters, it is worth pointing out that William More’s account of his payment to the tenants of Cleeve Prior is the only reference published so far that actively associates Maid Marion with Robin Hood, although more will follow. A rather different picture emerges from the records of southwest England where the majority of accounts refer to the generation rather than to the receiving of games. Even so, a glance at TABLE 1 will show that, with the exception of Croscombe and Yeovil in Somerset, none of the parishes records more than a handful of events.14 In part, explanations already given may hold good here, as, for example, in the case of Ashburton in Devon. The extensive churchwardens’ accounts, spanning a century, mention Robin Hood only twice: in 1526–7 and 1541– 2.15 Both instances register the buying of costume. The lack of any other reference to Robin Hood, including funds raised by him, might suggest that his activities were accounted for elsewhere. As well as a Corpus Christi play or pageant, a ‘play ale’ in 1487–8 furnished Ashburton churchwardens with money; receipts from the sale of ale are recorded from the beginning of the accounts in 1479–80. Is Robin lurking silently within, only to be heard from when he needs new clothes? Or should the records be trusted in recording that Ashburton called upon him just twice? It is perhaps too easy to explain infrequent reference by inconsistent accountancy. In fact, two games per parish works out to be the average of the records published to date. Although statistically crude, TABLE 2 lists the number of Robin Hood ales or gatherings that can be inferred from the REED volumes so far, and the number of places (parishes in most cases) where they occurred. The location to event ratio is 1:2.57. Although this figure conceals the extremes of the relatively high number of gatherings at Croscombe and Yeovil and the majority of places where only a single event is certain, it is, by any reckoning, a much lower incidence of the outlaw than most studies would lead us to believe. As with any average it is unusual to find it matching an actual example although Devon at 1:2.27 is very close. This match makes the breakdown of the relationship between Devon parishes, extant accounts, and Robin Hood games in the county all the more instructive. For the REED Devon volume 430 parishes were checked, out of which forty-three, or 10 per cent, had records surviving.16 Of these, ten, or 23 per cent, recorded Robin Hood activity.17 281

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Table 2:  Number of locations and event references to Robin Hood gatherings in REED volumes 1979–2004 REED Volumes

Locations

Events

York (1979) Chester (1979) Coventry (1981) Newcastle upon Tyne (1982) Norwich 1540–1642 (1984) Cumberland/Westmorland/Gloucestershire (1986) Devon (1986) Cambridge (1988) Herefordshire/Worcestershire (1990) Lancashire (1991) Shropshire (1994) Somerset including Bath (1996) Bristol (1996) Dorset/Cornwall (1999) Sussex (2000) Kent (2002 Oxford (2004)

11* 0/5 1 3 6 1 3/8* 1 1 -

25 0/5 1 3 45 1 6/15 1 1 -

Totals

40

103

* Includes parishes for which accounts are not extant but whose Robin Hood receives payment from parishes where they survive.

Although it would be unwise to build a theory on the basis of these calculations, it does seem sensible to consider whether long runs of Robin Hood games were the exception rather than the rule. The figures certainly challenge the notion that Robin Hood had any ritual ‘Spring’ meaning where annual evocation would seem to be a fundamental condition. Similarly, the suppressed political tendencies of the people would need a rather more regular conduit for expression, one would think, than Robin Hood was apparently providing in south­west England. If it was not pagan spirit or subversive activist that the people were looking for in Robin, what function did he serve? His role as a parish fund-raiser has been acknowledged for some time, but if he was such a successful money gatherer it is difficult to explain why he was called upon infrequently in some parishes and not at all in others. If the Devon records can be believed, he was used sparingly by those who employed him—seven times at the most (Chagford), for the rest four or less. More remarkably, four in five Devon parishes extant records seem to have declined his services altogether. Indeed, to discover in what circumstances Robin Hood would be required, it might be useful to ask why, as a renowned figure, so many communities in the southwest had no need of him. Two examples from Somerset are particularly informative. The relatively 282

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s large parish of Yatton undertook, during the period of the extant churchwardens’ accounts (1448–1601), a fairly extensive program of rebuilding, refurbishment, and decoration of the church.18 Money was raised from gifts, bequests, the hire of the church house, and church ales, especially those held at Whitsun. In spite of the heavy expenses incurred, the accounts never show a deficit during this period. In every year a surplus was handed over to the incoming wardens. The customary arrangements for giving were sufficient to meet the desire for improvement without the added encouragement of Robin Hood. On a smaller scale, but no less self-sufficient, was the village of Pilton. It, too, had no need to resort to the outlaw during the thirty-two years of relevant surviving accounts (1498–1530), even though successive churchwardens must have been aware that, during the same period, their neighbours in the village of Croscombe often did.19 Collections, gifts, bequests, and the hire of parish stock were adequate to cover all necessary expenses and the installation of a rood loft at the turn of the century. Parishes like Pilton and Yatton, it seems, could prevail upon the piety and charity of their members without relying on the outlaw’s powers of persuasion. Croscombe, though, was different and held Robin Hood revels or sports eighteen times in fifty years between 1476 and 1526. This appears to conform to the assumed model of an active and regular sequence of Robin Hood games. Close inspection of the churchwardens’ accounts, though, reveals a telling and businesslike relationship between Robin Hood and an ambitious church building programme. Although the Robin Hood revels are spread over fifty years, the majority of occasions cluster around two periods: the 1480s and the early 1500s. The first of these coincides with the building of the church house (PLATE 1) and the second with the erection of the St George Chapel and the two-storey vestry. Although the maintenance of votive lights and other day-to-day expenses of the church were met by the highly organized system of annual guild collections, rents, gifts, and bequests found elsewhere, they were never large enough to cope with a major building project. It is clear from the churchwardens’ accounts that without the additional income from Robin Hood revels the wardens’ stock would have been in deficit or the ­extensions to the church not built.20 Croscombe was by no means alone in resorting to Robin Hood when the cost of a project might exceed customary income. Glastonbury and Tintinhull in Somerset have long runs of churchwardens’ accounts but each records Robin Hood only once.21 In both places, money raised went on new church pews. Those of St Margaret Tintinhull still survive (PLATE 2). At Braunton in Devon three ales in four years paid for the same.22 The proceeds of a Robin Hood gathering in Bodmin, in 1506, were destined for the Berry Tower Building Fund (PLATE 3).23 Also in Cornwall, the parish of St Andrew in Stratton met some of the expense of installing a new rood loft with money raised by Robin Hood and his company. The year after the final payment was made to the carpenter, receipts from Robin Hood ceased and, four years 283

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s later, the wood from his ‘house’ was sold.24 With the exception of Braunton, all of these projects precede the impact of Reformation injunctions on parish churches that brought about their physical decline. Following the dissolution of religious guilds much of the traditional institutional framework for fundraising disappeared. In some places Robin Hood emerged or re-emerged as an alternative incentive fo’r giving. In Chagford, Devon, for example, there were upwards of eleven guilds in 1531 supporting the maintenance and services of the parish church. By 1551 there was one. In 1554 the wardens and receivers of charitable gifts for the poor were raising funds through the sale of ale, tin, wool, and the churchyard grass, the hire of the church cauldron, and the rate levied on the Quarters of the parish; it was not enough. On 24 August 1554, bells and other necessary things of the parish church are described as being manifestly in decay. That year the guild of Young Men, in the guise of Hoodsmen, is first recorded as contributing 10s. to church funds. Two years later they raise the much larger sum of 53s. 4d. out of which they take 26s. to buy new service books in line with the return of Catholicism. The remainder they hand over to the Four Men responsible for administering church funds.25 Whether in response to the pre-Reformation growth in wealth and the desire to rebuild, extend, and embellish church buildings as a display of collective piety, or as a secularized reaction to the post-Reformation abolition of ales and stores dedicated to saints, the hero rises up in the time of special need. It becomes apparent that, in the southwest at least, an ale with a Robin Hood flavour signals the expectation of exceptional generosity, a prospect that, according to the evidence of the returns, was invariably met. In these circumstances, it seems that the adoption of Robin Hood was a matter, not of his pagan spirit, nor, necessarily, of his resistance to oppression and injustice, but of his legendary prowess as a thief and redistributor of wealth to deserving causes. What more efficient way to encourage lavish giving than in the context of a game where to give was to side with the good outlaw in becoming a ‘merry man’ and to refuse or fall short to be identified with the miserly and corrupt world of the abbot and sheriff ? A gatherer in any other guise looks too much like the tax collector. And the giving was certainly lavish. Robin Hood games frequently outstrip all other kinds of fund-raising. At Croscombe, for example, Robin Hood sports regularly raised more than twice as much as the alternative gatherings of the King’s Revel and the St George Ale held in other years.26 Money and its proper distribution is a major theme of the Little Gest of Robin Hood and of the early ballads but it is not the only feature that makes the outlaw an appropriate captain of the game. The church ale with its emphasis on feasting and fraternity, competition and cordiality is evocative of greenwood hospitality and the ideal of ‘good fellowship’ that partaking promotes. In addition to these values, the church ale already provided an institutional structure for charitable giving within a festive atmosphere. The embracing of Robin Hood as the fictional framework to focus these activities 284

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s must, at least to some, have seemed only too natural. Moreover, how fitting, in this context, that the language of Robin Hood’s record should be that of the accountants. The records of southwest England may be instructive in seeing a relationship between Robin Hood and types of fund-raising but they are less helpful in discovering how, and with what level of performance, he went about it. Some clues may be found in the various names used to record the activities. These tend to emphasize different aspects of the game by focusing on the central figure (Robin Hood ale), the season (May game), institutional auspices (church or parish ale), or social and financial purpose (gathering). Croscombe highlights the role of entertainment in describing them as ‘revels’ or ‘sports’. None of the descriptions, though, refer to them as ‘plays’. Even the Latin terms used in the Exeter Receivers’ Account Roll (‘lusoribus ludentibus lusum Robyn Hood’)27 are not specific enough to be sure what type of ‘playing’ was involved. Fortunately, the detail within the records is a little more forthcoming than the terminology. It is evident that the expense most commonly incurred by a Robin Hood gathering, as can be seen from Table 1, was for costume. This implies an accent upon iconic presentation. Robin Hood and his company must not only be instantly recognizable but able to connote visually the qualities of conviviality and charity that the myth embodies. The game and its principles must be clear for all to see. In this respect, Robin Hood is rather like Father Christmas. The costume, and what it signifies, is the primary means of communication. The quality of the ‘performance’ is of some consequence but secondary to appearance. The few properties mentioned in the accounts, mainly bows and arrows, reinforce the identification.28 From this position of high visibility, the chosen Robin Hood can undertake his role of money gatherer without repeated and intrusive explanation. If performance is to emerge from, rather than be imposed upon, this activity then it is likely to come from his encounters with parishioners. The characters named in the ales rarely extend beyond the double act of Robin Hood and Little John. Only in the case of Yeovil, and then comparatively late in the day (1572), is there, in the figure of the sheriff, the potential for dramatic conflict. The friar who was part of the St Columb Major morris dance might also have provided a challenge to Robin in the manner of the ballad and play of Robin Hood and the Curtal Friar.29 In the general absence of fictional antagonists, Robin and Little John may meet their match (a plot motif common in the ballads that may well derive from the games) in their confrontation with grudging contributors. Anyone who has seen a decent production of Mankind will be aware of the enormous potential for improvization and audience participation there is in the episode where the three Ns gather money as a prerequisite for the appearance of Titivillus:

285

286

Plate 1 St Mary the Virgin, Croscombe, Somerset: church house dating from the late fifteenth century and built with money raised by Robin Hood revels. © John Marshall.

287

Plate 2 St Margaret, Tintinhull, Somerset: pews and bench ends installed in 1511/12 and partly funded by a Robin Hood ale. © John Marshall.

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s

Plate 3 Church of the Holy Rood, Bodmin, Cornwall: Berry Tower constructed between 1501 and 1514 with money contributed to the building fund by Robin Hood gatherings. © John Marshall.

288

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s NEWGUISE

Yea, go thy way! We shall gather money unto, Else there shall no man him see.

NOWADAYS NEWGUISE

Now ghostly to our purpose, worshipful sovereigns, We intend to gather money, if it please your negligence For a man with a head that [is] of great omnipotence. Keep your tale, in goodness I pray you good brother! He is a worshipful man, sirs, saving your reverence, He loveth no groats, nor pence or tuppence. Give us red royals, if ye will see his abominable presence. Not so! Ye that mow not pay the ton, pay the tother. At the good-man of this house first we will assay. God bless you, master! Ye say as ill, yet ye will not say nay. Let us go by and by, and do them pay. Ye pay all alike, well more ye fare! (ll. 457–70)30

Without the hyperbolic references to Titivillus, it is possible to see how this episode, in keeping with the satirical tone of the play, may be an intentional parody of fund-raising events. One can easily imagine the banter, challenge, and counter­challenge that may have accompanied Robin’s and Little John’s demand for money. Such encounters are not only likely to provide amusement for other parishioners but embryonic material for ballads and plays. A playful refusal to contribute may lead to a challenge in the manner of the meeting of Robin Hood and the Potter.31 Whether in archery, wrestling, or sword fighting, the content of the ballads and the nature of the games with their code of good fellowship demand that Robin meet his match and by so doing assimilate his opponent into his band. The impulse to perform is inherent within the structure of the game. The romantic, somewhat sentimental view of Robin Hood popular today is a by­product of his gentrification. His characterization as a carnivalesque spirit of nature is a more recent transformation. As represented by the Little Gest and the early ballads and plays of Robin Hood, contemporary with the games, Robin may be a courteous and hospitable yeoman but he is also a ruthless and quarrelsome leader.32 He adopts extreme, often violent means to achieve what he sees as justifiable, pragmatic ends. His strategy is a kind of ‘tough’ charity. Who better to preside over a game that combines giving and feasting, collective obligation and communal celebration? In the southwest, at least, REED has shown that it is not just the May that brings in Robin, it is the money that Robin brings in.

Notes 1 The latter is the title given to Robin Hood in John Matthews, Robin Hood: Green Lord of the Wildwood (Glastonbury: Gothic Image Publications, 1993), and reflects

289

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s the late twentieth-century adoption of Robin Hood by elements of the green and new-age movements. For the other manifestations of Robin Hood from ballad to Hollywood, see Stephen Knight, Robin Hood: A Mythic Biography (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2003).   The preparation for this essay was undertaken during a period of research leave funded by the University of Bristol and the Arts and Humanities Research Board. 2 Knight, Robin Hood, p. 207. 3 David Wiles, The Early Plays of Robin Hood (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1981). 4 But see Alexandra F. Johnston, ‘The Robin Hood of the Records’, in Playing Robin Hood: The Legend as Performance in Five Centuries, ed. by Lois Potter (Newark, DE; London: University of Delaware Press, 1998), especially pp. 29–30. 5 E. K. Chambers, The Mediaeval Stage (London: Oxford University Press, 1903), I, pp. 160–81; James Frazer, The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion, 13 vols (London: Macmillan, 1890). 6 ‘Robin of Sherwood’, written by Richard Carpenter, produced by Paul Knight, HTV Production in association with Goldcrest Television, 1984. 7 In addition to the introductions of individual REED volumes, see John Wasson, ‘The St George and Robin Hood Plays in Devon’, Medieval English Theatre, 2.2 (1980), 66–9; James D. Stokes, ‘Robin Hood and the Churchwardens in Yeovil’, Renaissance Drama in England, 3 (1986), 1–25; Sally-Beth MacLean, ‘King Games and Robin Hood: Play and Profit at Kingston-upon-Thames’, Research Opportunities in Renaissance Drama, 29 (1986–7), 85–94; Alexandra Johnston, ‘Summer Festivals in the Thames Valley Counties’, in Custom, Culture and Community in the Later Middle Ages, ed. by Thomas Pettitt and Leif Sondergaard (Odense: Odense University Press, 1994), pp. 37–56, and, more broadly, ‘The Robin Hood of the Records’; Peter Greenfield, ‘The Carnivalesque in the Robin Hood Games and King Ales’ in Carnival and the Carnivalesque: The Fool, the Reformer, the Wildman, and Modern Theatre, ed. by Konrad Eisenbichler and Wim Hüsken, Ludus 4 (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1999), pp. 19–28. 8 Only in Records of Early English Drama: Somerset, ed. by James Stokes and Robert J. Alexander, are they referred to as ‘games’ throughout. 9 Records of Early English Drama: Devon, ed. by John M. Wasson (Toronto Buffalo London: University of Toronto Press, 1986), p. xxv. 10 Records of Early English Drama: Shropshire, ed. by J. Alan B. Somerset, 2 vols (Toronto Buffalo London: University of Toronto Press, 1994), I, p. 203. 11 Records of Early English Drama: Wales ed. by David N. Klausner (Toronto Buffalo: The British Library; University of Toronto Press, 2005), has no references to Robin Hood. 12 There is another reference to Robin Hood in the Kent records but it does not refer to a specific event. It is a general prohibition made at Dover against ‘Robyn hoodes pley’ and other entertainments by the warden of the Cinque Ports. See Records of Early English Drama: Kent: Diocese of Canterbury, ed. by James M Gibson, 3 vols (Toronto Buffalo: The British Library; University of Toronto Press, 2002), II, pp. 426–7. 13 See Records of Early English Drama: Herefordshire/Worcestershire, ed. by David N. Klausner (Toronto Buffalo London: University of Toronto Press, 1990); David Klausner, ‘Parish Drama in Worcester and the Journal of Prior William More’ in English Parish Drama, ed. by Alexandra F. Johnston and Wim Hüsken (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1996), pp.119–35. In REED: Herefordshire/Worcestershire there is another reference to Robin Hood that I have excluded for the purposes of this essay. In a pamphlet called ‘Old Meg of Herefordshire’, published in 1609, there is a description of a remarkable morris dance. In eulogistic prose a number

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s of notable relationships are invoked to extol the virtues of a Herefordshire morris dance. The last of these claims that, ‘nor euer had Robin Hood a more deft MaydMarian’ (126). In spite of the pamphlet identifying Old Meg with Maid Marion there is no evidence that Robin Hood ever took part in the Hereford morris described in the pamphlet. 14 Bristol may be another exception. The parish records of St Nicholas did not survive the bombing of the city in the Second World War. An early twentieth-century antiquarian account of them, however, notes that ‘hosyn for Robyn hoode & lytyyll John’ were provided in ‘several years’. See Records of Early English Drama: Bristol, ed. by Mark C. Pilkinton (Toronto Buffalo London: University of Toronto Press, 1997), p. 276. The date given for Bristol in TABLE 1 is taken from a nineteenthcentury antiquarian transcription of the records in Pilkinton, REED: Bristol, p. 37. 15 Devon Record Office: 2141A/PW1, in Wasson, REED: Devon, pp. 21, 25; Churchwardens’ Accounts of Ashburton,1479–1580, ed. by Alison Hanham, Devon and Cornwall Record Society, n.s., 15 (Torquay: Devon and Cornwall Record Society, 1970). 16 Wasson, REED:Devon, p. xxi. 17 If the Robin Hood ‘players’ who appeared before the mayor of Exeter in 1427 were from the parish of St John’s Bow, as is possible, the number of parishes would be reduced to nine with a corresponding reduction in the percentage to twenty-one. The difference between the number of parishes recording Robin Hood activity (10) and the number given in the table (11) is explained by the Robin Hood of Colyton, where churchwardens’ accounts for the period do not survive, visiting Honiton. 18 Somerset Record Office: D/P/yat 4/1/1–4. The records are published, up to 1560, in Church-wardens’ Accounts of Croscombe, Pilton, Yatton, Tintinhull, Morebath, and St michael’s, Bath, Ranging from A. D. 1349 to 1560, ed. by Edmund Hobhouse, Somerset Record Society, 4 (London: Somerset record Society, 1890), pp. 81–172 (Yatton). 19 Somerset Record Office: D/P/pilt/4/1/1. See also Hobhouse, Church-wardens’ Accounts, pp. 51–77 (Pilton). 20 The Croscombe churchwardens’ accounts no longer survive but were transcribed and published by Hobhouse, Church-wardens’ Accounts, pp. 3–48 (Croscombe). For a detailed analysis of the Croscombe records of Robin Hood, see John Marshall, ‘“Comyth in Robyn Hode”: Paying and playing the Outlaw at Croscombe’, in Porci ante Margaritam: Essays in Honour of Meg Twycross, ed. by Sarah Carpenter, Pamela King and Peter Meredith, Leeds Studies in English, n.s. 32 (2001), pp. 345–68 [Reprinted in this volume as Chapter 15]. 21 Glastonbury (1500–1): Somerset Record Office: D/P/gla.j. 4/1/35, in Stokes and Alexander, REED: Somerset, I, p. 126. Tintinhull (1512–13): Somerset Record Office: D/P/tin 4/1/1, in Stokes and Alexander, REED: Somerset, I, p. 231. For a discussion of these records, see Katherine French, ‘Parochial Fund-Raising in Late Medieval Somerset’ in The Parish in English Life, 1400–1600, ed. by Katherine L. French, Gary G. Gibbs and Beat A. Kümin (Manchester; New York: Manchester University Press, 1997), pp. 115–32 and, in a broader context the same author’s The People of the Parish: Community Life in a Late Medieval English Parish (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001). 22 Braunton (1561–4): Devon Record Office: 1677A/PW1a, in Wasson, REED: Devon, p. 52. See also J. C. D. Smith, Church Woodcarvings: A West Country Study (Newton Abbot: David & Charles, 1969), p. 57. 23 Bodmin (1505–6): Cornwall Record Office: B/Bod/314/1 /6, in Records of Early English Drama: Dorset Cornwall, ed. by Rosalind Conklin Hays, C. E. McGee,

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Sally L. Joyce and Evelyn S. Newlyn (Toronto Buffalo: Brepols; University of Toronto Press, 1999), p. 471. Only the ruin of the Berry Tower, once part of the Church of the Holy Rood, still survives on the outskirts of Bodmin. 24 Stratton (1536–9): BL: Additional MS. 32,244, in Hays, McGee, Joyce, Newlyn, REED: Dorset/Cornwall, pp. 521–2. See also Records of the Charity Known as Blanchminster’s Charity, in the Parish of Stratton, County of Cornwall, ed. by R. W. Goulding (Louch: J. W. Goulding & Son, 1898). 25 Chagford (1554–64): Devon Record Office: 1429A add/PWl and PW2, in Wasson, REED: Devon, pp. 54–6. See also The Church Wardens’ Accounts of St Michael’s Church, Chagford 1480–1600, ed. by Francis Mardon Osborne (Chagford: privately printed, 1979). For obvious editorial reasons the REED volumes do not always give the destination of the funds raised by Robin Hood activity, as in the case of the service books in 1556. This tends to obscure the close relationship, in the southwest, between Robin Hood and targetted fund-raising. 26 See Marshall, ‘“Comyth in Robyn Hode”’, pp. 350–2. 27 Exeter (1426–7): Devon Record Office: ECA in Wasson, REED: Devon, p. 89. 28 There is no absolute certainty that the ‘sylver arrowe’ recorded in the property column for Chagford, Devon, in TABLE 1 belonged to the Robin Hood game. It is mentioned in the Hoodsmens’ payment accounts for the year 1587–8, some twenty years after the last reference to Robin Hood. Given the prominence of precious arrows as prizes in the myth it seems likely that the guild may have held on to a valuable property after the reason for its existence had gone. 29 See the St Columb Major entry in Hays, McGee, Joyce, Newlyn, REED: Dorset/ Cornwall, pp. 507–13, for references to the friar’s involvement in the morris dance and for the inventories that refer to his ‘coate’. Other locations in the region where Robin Hood may have been associated with a morris dance are the Devon parishes of Chudleigh, Woodbury, and St John’s Bow, Exeter. For the association of Robin Hood with the morris dance, see John Forrest, The History of Morris Dancing (Toronto Buffalo: University of Toronto Press, 1999), especially chapter 6. 30 Mankind: An Acting Edition, ed. by Peter Meredith (Leeds: Alumnus, 1997), p.68. 31 See both ballad and play of this episode in Robin Hood and Other Outlaw Tales, ed. by Stephen Knight and Thomas Ohlgren (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 1997), pp. 57–79, 281–95. In both, the Potter’s refusal to pay Robin ‘pavage’ or a toll to pass through the forest leads to a fight with the outlaw, a narrative action suggestive of the levy imposed by Robin upon those attending his game. 32 See Knight and Ohlgren, Robin Hood and Other Outlaw Tales, for the Gest of Robyn Hode and the early ballads pp. 31–183.

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17 RIDING WITH ROBIN HOOD: ENGLISH PAGEANTRY AND THE MAKING OF A LEGEND From: The Making of the Middle Ages (2007)

The medieval proverb, ‘many men speak of Robin Hood that never bent his bow’, has had limited effect in discouraging uninformed opinion.1 Nor, if it was the intention, has it curbed the enthusiasm to speak of Robin Hood since the late fourteenth century when the priest Sloth confessed, in Piers Plowman, that: I kan noght parfitly my Paternoster as the preest it syngeth, But I kan rymes of Robyn Hood and Randolf Erl of Chestre.2 Resisting all constraints, Robin Hood has remained firmly in the popular imagination and on the lips of successive generations for eight centuries, an achievement that earned him the only properly fictional character entry in the first edition of the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Although the outlaw myth acts, centrally, as a reference point for contesting the concepts of freedom and justice, it fluctuates in emphasis according to the tastes and anxieties of each age. In addition to transformations fashioned by audience sensibilities and social and political conditions, the myth is moulded by the practical demands of the different media through which it is transmitted. This has seen Robin shift in shape over the years from the sometimes violent, antiauthoritarian yeoman of the late medieval ballads and games through the genteel, dispossessed nobleman of Renaissance plays and Victorian novels to the Green Lord of the Wildwood, the incarnation of spring, of new age literature. He is, undeniably, one of the best-known and most enduring secular figures in the western world. But Robin has another string to his bow. Since the early nineteenth century he and his adventures have epitomized the middle ages. For film and television generations in particular, the visualizations of character, costume and scenery have created an image and evocation of the period uninhibited by historical correctness. This cinematic medievalism is the culmination of 293

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s years of conflating fact and fiction in an attempt to make the Robin Hood myth seem ‘real’. Many narrative developments and historical details now so familiar would have been unrecognizable to the ballad and game audiences of the fifteenth century. The setting in the reign of Richard I, the noble status of the dispossessed outlaw (Earl of Huntingdon or Loxley), the principle of robbing the rich to give to the poor and the love of Maid Marian are all late sixteenth-century elaborations of the myth.3 They become, though, consistent and memorable features of Robin Hood tales in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries as, after Ivanhoe in 1820, does the emphasis on Robin’s Saxon heritage. From that moment, Robin becomes the patriotic figure and emblem of English identity that audiences take for granted today. This creeping process of historical definition encouraged the belief, without much evidence, that Robin Hood actually existed. Growing interest in the indigenous literature of the past led the radical literary scholar Joseph Ritson to publish in 1795, for the first time, a two-volume edition of nearly all the extant Robin Hood ballads.4 Ultimately as influential as his gathering of texts was the ‘Life of Robin Hood’ that began the first volume. Based on a variety of manuscript and published sources it sought, with an impressive academic apparatus, to provide the nearest thing Robin had ever received to a biography. Some of the references are more convincing than others. Least believable of all now is Ritson’s uncritical adoption of William Stukeley’s pedigree of Robin Hood that ennobled the outlaw and traced his descent from the nonexistent Earl of Fitzooth and Lord of Kyme. The genealogy may have lacked authority, but the gist of authentic nobility it generated survives.5 A distinct advantage of noble origin, even though it robs us of the common man and contradicts the content of the ballads, is that it adds context to the outlaw narrative. The early ballads and May game plays are essentially brief, episodic depictions of frequently violent action. In them—and, presumably, to early audiences—it was not so important who Robin was, other than a yeoman, or where he came from, but what he did to whom and why. In these early treatments of the myth where, with the rare exception of a rather perfunctory death scene, the story never ends, biography and history are unnecessary constraints. In the extended forms of full-length plays, popular novels and films, on the other hand, where stories begin and end, and characters are subject to the processes of change, the ups, downs and restoration of noble birthright within a defined historical period are essential devices. Romanticism, antiquarian interest, the fashion for biography and developments in the novel produced, by the early nineteenth century, the Robin Hood that flourishes today. He became, for the first time, in Thomas Love Peacock’s novel Maid Marian, a fusion of features that had previously been kept separate; a noble and patriotic outlaw with an inheritance, who also possessed the physical skill and courage of the English yeoman.6 Other aspects of his ‘life’ were consolidated to give some biographical consistency. He no longer lived, as in the Geste of Robyn Hade, in the nebulous reign of an unnumbered 294

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Edward, but securely in the time of Richard I. His devotion to Mary was transferred to Marian. He became a freedom fighter with a nationalist cause rather than an opportunist bandit. He embodied the qualities of Englishness and typified chivalry, fellowship and loyalty that made him an ideal role model for adolescent boys and classic material for the soon-to-emerge cinema. For all the undoubted impact on the Robin Hood myth in the nineteenth century of ballad anthologies, historical biographies and novels, they were literary in form and, for the most part, solitary in audience experience. The communal aspect of live exchange fundamental to the sharing of tales told through ballad and game endured, somewhat diluted, in the guise of comic operettas and plays with incidental music. Popular as many of these anodyne entertainments were, the myth of Robin Hood reached a significantly larger and more engaged audience through another performance medium. English pageantry has a long and illustrious, if rather neglected, history in which Robin plays his part. One of the attractions of its revival in the nineteenth century was that it resonated with the image and spirit of the ‘medieval’. What actually furnished that resonance was not always strictly medieval. Rather it was an idealized form of antique presentation, owing more to the seventeenth century than to the fifteenth, inhabited by figures from a romanticized past. Historically, English pageantry is an elusive combination of spectacle and speech in which metaphor, allegory, symbolism, mythology and history combine to commemorate and honour a person or an event. For the most part, early civic pageants were vehicles for propaganda that demonstrated allegiance to the crown and staged relations of power within the city. In later years they would celebrate local and national identity by depicting momentous occasions and honouring public worthies. The elite auspices of the early pageants made them an uneasy medium in which to raise a potentially subversive hero like Robin Hood. But this is precisely what was done for the 1615 Lord Mayor’s Show in London. The reputation of this pageant, in which Robin Hood appears as a historical figure, rests mainly with the author and devisor. Better known for his contribution, with Shakespeare and others, to the play of Sir Thomas More, Anthony Munday wrote two plays, acted by the Admiral’s Men at the Rose Playhouse in the late I590s, on the downfall and death of Robert, Earl of Huntington. An anti-Catholic government spy, Munday later became a prolific devisor/author/producer of Lord Mayor’s Shows.7 In one capacity or another he was involved in fifteen of them between 1602 and 1623. In 1615, for the second year running, Munday was asked by the Drapers’ Guild, of which he was a member, to devise an entertainment to celebrate the election to mayor of Sir John Jolles. He called this pageant Metropolis Coronata; the Triumph of Ancient Drapery and, as before, relied on a mixture of history, mythology and moral allegory to convey his heady mixture of flattery and instruction.8 The devices on the River Thames were occupied by Jason, Medea, representations of Neptune and Thamesis, Fame and Time as well as the figure 295

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s of Henry fitz Ailwin, a draper and the first lord mayor of London. On land the new mayor encountered the Monument of London inhabited by the city herself and her Twelve Daughters representing the twelve livery companies. They were attended by the ‘foure especiall qualities’ necessary for civic happiness: Learned Religion, Military Discipline, Navigation and Homebred Husbandry. Somewhat incongruously, these ‘shewes’ acclaiming drapery, the golden fleece and London were followed by a ‘device of Huntsmen, all clad in greene, with their Bowes, Arrowes and Bugles, and a new slaine Deere carried among them’ (200–0I). Munday explains Robin Hood’s presence through genealogy; Henry fitz Ailwin is Robin’s father-in-law. This is a subtle but expedient change in name from the Robert Fitzwater who occupied the role in his play, The Downfall of Robert Earl of Huntington. In order not to upset the protocol of the occasion this is no rough-handed Robin Hood disposed to theft. He is the gentrified, ‘Earle Robert de la Hude, sometime the noble Earle of Huntington’ (202–03). Even his outlawry lacks a criminal basis, being blamed instead on ‘the cruell oppression of a most unnaturall covetous Brother [...] Gilbert de la hude, Lord Abbot of Christall Abbey, who had all, or most of his Lands in mortgage’ (207–09). For the purposes of eulogizing guild culture, Munday emphasizes the gallantry of Robin’s company of men and praises them for honouring him as their ‘Lord and Master’ (211). In the evening conclusion to the show, the brave huntsmen present ­themselves before the mayor to whom Robin speaks directly: Since Graves may not their Dead containe, Nor in their peacefull sleepes remaine, But Triumphes and great Showes must use them, And we unable to refuse them; It joyes me that Earle Robert Hood, Fetcht from the Forrest of merrie Shirwood, With these my Yeomen tight and tall, Brave Huntsmen and good Archers all: Must in this Joviall day partake, Prepared for your Honours sake (310–19). For Munday, ‘Triumphes’ and ‘Showes’ are not only enough to wake the dead but let the sponsor influence the choice of an outlaw’s in-laws. Munday’s reason for deviating from the biography he had created for Robin in his plays may have been because fitz Ailwin’s inaugural mayoralty, allegedly, coincided with the reigns of Richard I and John. Never one to be over-bothered by historical accuracy, it does not seem to have concerned Munday that fitz Ailwin had no daughters. He was, though, predeceased by his eldest son, Peter, who left two girls. The eldest of these became Henry’s heir. Robert Fitzwater may have had the better claim, if only mythically, to father-in-law of Robin, but 296

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s in 1615 he lacked the essential virtues of being a draper and the first Lord Mayor of London. This was not the first instance of Robin Hood being used to display prowess by association. Henry VIII, with eleven noblemen, entered the Queen’s chamber on the morning of 18 January I5I0 dressed as ‘Robyn Hodes men’. Abashment on the ladies’ part was eased with some dancing before ‘thei departed’.9 Henry VIII’s encounter with Robin Hood and his men on Shooters’ Hill in 1515 is usually categorized as an elaborate aristocratic version of a May game, but it owes as much, if not more, to the aesthetic and form of the ‘royal entry’. It was highly organized, if not choreographed, and involved Robin with more than a hundred, made up of the King’s guard, speaking directly to and in honour of the King and Queen. Returning from the Greenwood, the King and Queen meet Lady May and Dame Flora, richly apparelled in a chariot drawn by five horses. On each horse sat a lady representing in turn ‘humidite’, ‘vert’, ‘vegetave’, ‘pleasaunce’ and ‘swete odour’. The King was saluted with ‘diverse goodly songes’ and the whole occasion brought ‘great solace and confort’ to the large number of people, estimated at 25,000, who witnessed the event. It may have been May that was being celebrated, and the Robin Hood game acknowledged as a popular means of observance, but the artistic devices employed were those of pageantry.10 It has echoes of what may be the earliest ceremonial royal involvement with Robin Hood. In late May 1357, Edward the Black Prince and the captive King John of France were ambushed, on their way from Winchester to London, by 500 men in a forest. The men dressed in green were, the Prince explained, foresters behaving like robbers as was their custom. By the time the King reached Cheapside and the magnificent display mounted by the London Goldsmiths he must have realized that he had been exposed to a performance of pageantry rather than a threat to his life. The time of year, the costume and the nature of the encounter suggest, in spite of the early date, that Robin Hood or some other outlaw tradition was being invoked.11 This crossover between customary game and pageantry may also explain Queen Elizabeth’s interest in the London Midsummer Day May game of 1559. The event comprised a giant, drums and guns, the nine worthies with speeches, a ‘goodly’ pageant with a queen and divers others with speeches, St George and the dragon, and a morris dance followed by Robin Hood, Little John, Maid Marian and Friar Tuck who all had speeches around London.12 This does not sound much like the contemporary May games of the Thames and Severn Valleys over which Robin presided and it probably would not have been the sort of thing to set before the queen at Greenwich the following day if it was. The reference, which uses both generic terms ‘May game’ and ‘pageant’, is a useful reminder that there probably never was an archetype of the Robin Hood game and that differences in local circumstances and audience constituency inevitably conditioned custom and practice. It is possible that the arrangement of diverse scenes in procession of the May game lent itself 297

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s to the formality of pageantry whereas the games of village parishes were less structured and emblematic in their performance and less ceremonious in their relationship with the audience. Although pageantry as a form of presentation clearly had an influence on the making and diffusion of the Robin Hood myth before the Commonwealth, the number of instances where Robin actually appears seems fairly limited. This is perhaps because early pageantry tends to concentrate on personifications rather than persons, unless they are royalty. Robin Hood fits uneasily in an art form that is populated by embodiments of cities, countries, continents, rivers, mountains, time, seasons and the months—although he is often associated with May—as well as figures from classical mythology. Moreover, what he represents socially, even when gentrified, is too specific in a world of servitude and injustice to appear in the glorification of authority. This changed in the last quarter of the nineteenth century. Robin reappeared as a star of pageantry when pageantry remodelled its ideological purpose. From the late eighteenth century to the middle of the nineteenth century the art of pageantry, particularly the Lord Mayor’s Show, was in serious decline, becoming little more than a shabby military parade. For whatever reason, not least to do with confidence in international expansion and a growing sense of national identity, the Lord Mayor’s Show of 1884 discarded the symbolism and pseudo-history of an individual company and celebrated instead the history of the City of London and Britain’s Imperial greatness. Perhaps more importantly, the show that year stressed, for the first time, the educational value of the past it was celebrating. Its purpose was to present before the public ‘some of the glorious traditions of our ancient city—to show how, from time almost immemorial, the Corporation has been both loyal to the Crown and true to the people’.13 Unsurprisingly, the show began with Dick Whittington who was followed by William the Conqueror, Richard Coeur de Lion, Richard II and Queen Elizabeth, and a tableau of Lord Mayor Walworth standing over the slain Wat Tyler. The procession continued with the City’s first charter, a Nile boat, a herd of camels and elephants ridden by representatives of Rajahs with a group ‘symbolical of India’. Although Robin does not feature in this show, it is possible to see how this forerunner of the Victorian educational pageant, with its emphasis on chronology rather than moral allegory, might accommodate him. Chronology as a means of establishing an evolutionary national history that erased contradictions, smoothed differences and celebrated continuity became the dominant organizing principle of late nineteenth and early twentieth-century English pageantry. Robin had previously made an appearance in a pageant that was part military, part history and part allegory. On 23 June 1862 the Coventry pageant, which celebrated Lady Godiva, was revived after an interval of eleven years. The procession was fronted by two heralds and a detachment of the First Life Guards. They were followed by the band of the menagerie, consisting 298

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s of twelve men with tureens and porringers, and St George with a Templar attendant. After them came members of the city guilds and a fire engine. Next processed the Ancient Order of Foresters with, indicating perhaps the thinking behind the inclusion, Robin Hood and Maid Marian accompanied by Will Scarlet, Friar Tuck and other Merry Men. After the Black Prince in armour, more bands and guilds preceded the long-awaited Lady Godiva on a white horse. Bringing up the rear was a tableau containing handsome Florizell and pretty Perdita dressed as shepherd and shepherdess, seated in a bower with sheepdog and lamb at their feet.14 Around the same time, Knutsford participated in the vogue for a ‘Merrie England’ experience by reviving, or rather reinventing, the May Day celebration. What this involved in the early years from 1864 is unclear but in 1913, and possibly earlier, Robin, Marion and Will Scarlet took their place in the procession that escorted the May Queen and her attendants. Their presence had some seasonal purpose to it, as did the involvement of Jack-in-the-Green and the morris dancers, but it is more difficult to account for the inclusion of King Cnut, Scottish highlanders, Night, Spanish and Swiss girls, John Bull and Britannia, a special Canadian tableau complete with Miss Canada and a trooper on a pony, Japanese girls, a Turk, Grace Darling and her father, some cricketers and Alice in Wonderland.15 Robin, though, was getting used to keeping odd company. In 1893 he appeared in the Lichfield ‘Greenhill Bower’. This Whitsuntide procession of uncertain origin began at the Guildhall and made its way to the ‘Bower House’. Robin, Friar Tuck and Little John processed behind Wombwell and Bailey’s ‘World Renowned Menagerie’, with their brass band, in the company of Shylock, Portia, Buffalo Bill, Mexican Joe, a Toreador, a Chinaman, John Bull, a Yellow Dwarf and Mephistopheles. They were followed by tableaux that juxtaposed fairy tales with royal and political figures. Succeeding them, in keeping with the fashion of the time, was the ‘Grand Mediaeval Display of Ye Olde Court of Arraye, consisting of Knights and Men at Arms’.16 The events at Coventry, Knutsford and Lichfield seem more like fancy dress celebrations of past glories and present fascinations than a history lesson. Even so, the bias of the Lord Mayor’s Show of 1884 concurred with the educational tenor of the times and was cultivated by Louis N. Parker, the man usually credited with the invention and founding of modern pageantry. A schoolmaster at Sherborne School, he planned, throughout his time there at the close of the nineteenth century, to put on a musical ‘folk-play’. It was not, though, until he had left the school that an opportunity arose. He deliberately used the term ‘folk-play’ to distance himself from earlier forms of pageantry but it was considered misleading and dropped. Parker was aware that the earlier techniques of allegory and symbolism presented visually in procession were unsuitable for learning history. Instead he chose to present his pageants at static open-air sites and emphasized their educational and dramatic potential. Historical accuracy was a guiding principle. He insisted upon archive 299

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s research to find precise words for speeches and songs as well as evidence for reconstructing costumes and props. It was also important to him that the dramatic episodes presented should relate specifically to the history of the place. The Sherborne Pageant of 1905 was the culmination of Parker’s thinking. There were eleven episodes in all, written and performed by amateurs. It began with ‘The Coming of Ealdhelm’ in 705, encompassed the defeat of the Danes and the introduction of the Benedictine Rule to Sherborne in 998, and concluded with ‘Sir Walter Raleigh comes to Sherborne’ in 1593. 17 Somewhat strangely for a man committed to authenticity and evidence, he interpolated between episodes seven and eight ‘a Morris Dance, in which Robin Hood, Maid Marion, and their band take part’.18 As both episodes represent events occurring in 1437 it is possible that Parker was thinking of Robin Hood games rather than a historical figure. No evidence for such games exists in the local parish records, although from their beginning in around 1505 to the Reformation there are receipts from the King game or revel and, in the earliest account, for a ‘Morys daunce’.19 The list of Sherborne episodes further indicates that Robin and his band ‘play a small part in the action of the seventh’.20 It does not say what this ‘small part’ was, although it is easy enough to guess from the title: ‘The Quarrel between the Town and the Monastery’. During the fifteenth century there was fierce animosity between the parishioners and the monks of Sherborne, caused, not least, by the dispute over a new baptismal font for the parish church which the monks opposed. The quarrel intensified and in 1436 townsmen reputedly set fire to the roof of the abbey church with a flaming arrow.21 From such flights of fancy legends grow. Parker’s primary aim was the education of a community in its own past. He saw this as a protest against modernity: ‘this modernizing spirit, which destroys all loveliness and has no loveliness of its own to put in its place, is the negation of poetry, the negation of romance [...] This is just precisely the kind of spirit which a properly organized and properly conducted pageant is designed to kill’.22 Although Parker deserves the credit for transforming English pageantry and finding yet another campaign for Robin Hood to fight, he was not alone and not the first. There was another exponent of the pageant who believed in the redemptive power of the past, the character-building quality of the sports and pastimes of old England, the obligation to research, the significance of place and the need for Robin Hood. He was D’Arcy Ferris. The Ripon Millenary Festival of 1886 established D’Arcy Ferris as the nation’s leading Master of Revels and Pageant Master of the nineteenth century. The initial idea for a celebration to mark the 1000th anniversary of Ripon came in the form of an innocent rhetorical question from the vicar of Trinity Church. He wondered out loud before his congregation what the citizens of Ripon had to look forward to in 1886.23 Plenty it seemed. It was fifty years since the recreation of the bishopric of Ripon and, according to the Corporation Calendar, 1000 years since King Alfred had given the city its foundation charter.24 The vicar thought a ‘splendid service in the Cathedral’ 300

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Plate 1 D’Arcy Ferris in costume as Master of the Revels/Lord of Misrule. © the De Ferrars family.

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s was a worthy commemoration. He could not have known then how his simple idea would generate gargantuan ambitions and become the focus for political jealousies and religious dissent. It started the way of all millennial celebrations; was 1886 the right date? Was the calendar entry genuine? Then the dean of Ripon, agreeing to the service in the Cathedral, mused on the possibility of a festival for the Corporation. The Mayor concurred and stated at a public meeting that the subject had been before the council who referred it to the finance committee who, in turn, thought it should be discussed further by an appointed sub-committee who should give consideration to the content and proper title of the event. The composition of the sub-committee caused ructions in the council chamber. Ancient prerogatives had not been fully recognized. All members of the Corporation should be on the committee claimed those who were excluded. Even the proposed title of the event, ‘The Festival of the Existence of a Thousand Years of the See and the City of Ripon’ was attacked. It wasn’t accurate; the see had not existed uninterruptedly for 1000 years. It was sectarian and divisive in that it described a united civic and ecclesiastical celebration that excluded nonconformists.25 When the programme of events drawn up by the sub-committee was put before the city council the majority of members treated the matter with ‘unbecoming levity’. They mocked and ridiculed the committee’s choice of activities and bayed at them, ‘who is going to pay?’ Eventually the proposal to hold the festival was accepted, but only on the casting vote of the Mayor. The festival was to be over three days at the end of August. On the Wednesday there would be a procession through the city to a service in the Cathedral followed by a subscription luncheon. In the afternoon a public meeting would be held in the market place where addresses appropriate to the occasion would be given. A torchlight procession in the evening would bring the first day to a close. On the Friday and Saturday— Thursday was market day—old English sports and pastimes would be performed at Fountains Abbey. The whole event would come to be known by its finally agreed short title, ‘The Ripon Millenary Festival’. For the purposes of the history of pageantry and Robin Hood, the most significant meeting was that of the Millenary Sports Committee held on Saturday 24 April. It was there that the programme for the Friday and Saturday was agreed prior to its presentation before Lord Ripon, as owner of Fountains, for his approval. It read: Play of Robin Hood, with choruses, on the traditional spot near the Abbey where the famous encounter took place with the Curtal Friar, Old English Revels, to include Morris Dancers, May Pole, &c., at the west end of the Abbey, Procession of the Ancient Guilds of Ripon.26 At a meeting of the Millenary Festival Committee on 1 May it was decided to offer a prize of £10 10s for the best open-air play written on the legendary 302

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s encounter. Competitors were to pay special attention to dramatic effect and provide suitable solos, duets and choruses, ‘as the play will be set to music, and should occupy about one hour’.27 Advertisements placed in national papers and literary journals set the first day of June as the deadline for receipt of entries. Although D’Arcy Ferris was not formally engaged by the Festival Committee as Master of the Revels until 19 May 1886, it is highly probable that the play was his idea. He was in contact with the Ripon town clerk earlier in the year before the first public meeting in February called by the Mayor to discuss the possibility of a festival. A letter from Ferris survives in the festival archive in which he explains to the town clerk that he did not reply sooner as he was away from home. He goes on to say that he has already been in correspondence with the editor of the Ripon Chronicle, from whom he may have heard about the festival, to make suggestions for the event. He promises to set a programme before the committee after consulting the Bodleian, Guildhall and British Museum libraries, anticipating Parker’s methods by almost twenty years. He attaches great importance to the ‘fete’, as he calls it, ‘as being a revival of ancient civic pageants’. If entrusted with a function in it he promises a worthy presentation that is ‘at once of antiquarian as well as spectacular interest’. He concludes in a way that suggests he had previously discussed the possibility of including a play with the town clerk: within 2 or 3 days I will submit a programme. In the meantime Birch’s ‘Merry Men of Sherwood Forest’ might be selected & choruses practised by a choir of about 50 voices or more who would form the chorus of Foresters & forest maidens in a play of Robin Hood in which the well known incident of his fight with the friar of Fountains might be introduced. Should you have no one to write the play (which will be necessary in order to be suitable for open air performance) perhaps Oscar Wilde—who is really a clever poet—might do so, or I could undertake it. I will write to Mr Wilde in any case.28 Wilde’s response is unfortunately not known. Ferris’s ambitions for the play may now seem unrealistic, but it is worth remembering that at this time Wilde was not a household name. He had published Poems to mixed critical reviews in 1881 and had only a single play performed in New York in 1883; Vera: or The Nihilists was not a success, instant or otherwise, running for just a week. It is a rather immature and laboured melodrama about Russian revolutionaries that debates the difference between terrorism and idealism and ends in a parody of Romeo and Juliet. It is a poor predictor of the talent to emerge and unlikely to have been seen by Ferris. It is possible, though, that it was Wilde’s youthful enthusiasm for liberty, expressed in the early poems as well as Vera, which made Ferris think he would be attracted to the subject of Robin Hood. Equally disappointing as Wilde’s lost reply is the fading from 303

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Plate 2 The River Skell and Fountains Abbey where, according to tradition, Robin Hood met and fought with the curtal friar. © John Marshall.

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Plate 3 Ticket to the Ripon Millenary Festival, designed and drawn by D’Arcy Ferris (W. Harrison, Ripon Millenary, Ripon, 1892).

performance history of D’Arcy Ferris. There is not space here to give him the biography he deserves; a few cuttings will have to do.29 His business card described him as ‘Tenor of the Royal Albert Hall and Professor of the West London Conservatoire of Music and Dramatic School, Conductor of various choral societies’. Although music was his profession—member of the chorus in the original production of HMS Pinafore, conductor of the premiere of Holst’s operetta Lansdown Castle, musical arranger and choir master for Lady Archibald Campbell’s open-air production of As You Like It at Coombe House, Kingston-upon-Thames (coincidentally reviewed by Oscar Wilde in the Dramatic Review, 6 June 1885)—he had many other interests. He was, almost single-handedly, responsible for the revival of the ‘Ancient English Morris Dance’.30 His interest in the morris and pageantry sprang from the same source. He was passionate about improving the social condition of the people and believed that revival of the old (medieval) English sports and pastimes would encourage a ‘spontaneous attempt among the masses [...] to amuse themselves [...] lightening the life of the poor by innocent pastimes [...] with the additional hope that by breaking down class prejudice, we may, as a nation, live more happily together’.31 This romantic notion of the redeeming potential of recreation inevitably brought Robin Hood into Ferris’s crusade. Ferris described him as ‘the representative of Democratic Freedom in his day’ and ‘of never­ending interest to “Merrie England” and her bards’.32 At the same time as his morris dance revivals he was devising a series of pageants. 305

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Robin made an appearance in at least three of them: ‘The Festival of ye Summer Queen’ at Lockinge House for Lord and Lady Wantage, ‘Ye Progress of ye Harvest Quene’ for the Lord Lieutenant of Yorkshire at Grimston, and in the ‘Red, White and Blue Bazaar’ May revels at Islington.33 The first two involved Robin as a character in a play, possibly written by Ferris, although the programme wryly credits ‘Mayde Playne’, and the third in procession with Little John, Friar Tuck and Maid Marian as Queen of the May. Such were his credentials and renown—he went on to take responsibility as Pageant Master for the highly successful Liverpool Pageant of 1907—that when Ripon planned their millenary festival they were unlikely to look further than D’Arcy Ferris for their Master of the Revels. They offered him a fee of 30 guineas and 10 per cent of the profits.34 One of his first tasks was to judge the short list of plays that had been submitted after the committee had ascertained that he had not entered himself. Opportunistically, and in the absence of an entry from Oscar Wilde, he had, but it was three days late and disqualified. It may have been a disappointment to the Festival Committee that only seventeen scripts were received, although more than this number requested details of the project. Potential authors may have been put off by the fourweek deadline or the subject matter. As one contributor put it, ‘the subject of the ballad, and the ballad itself, are utterly devoid of dramatic interest’; consequently he ‘looked in another story’.35 Unsuccessful entries were returned with a single exception. Mr Sayle of Dresden was late in seeing the advertisement for the ‘Prize Play’ competition and sent in a ‘sample’ of an unexceptional dramatic treatment of the ballad, with Martin Parker, the seventeenth-century professional ballad writer, as the poet prologue.36 More colourful is Sayle’s accompanying letter setting out his plan of action for the play, particularly when he reaches the point where the friar’s bandogs enter to attack Robin and his men. As he says: Now comes the crux. Can you or can you not get 50 dogs to be so trained several days before so as to be let loose at a certain time and rush on to the stage? It is my belief that you can by this expediency, viz. that they shall be fed only once a day and fed on the spot of the play. Being kennelled up mean and then let loose they would run every day to the spot to be fed; and they would do so on the day of the play. But if this is asking too much we can vary the play.37 The winning entry, recommended by Ferris, came from Augustin Dawtrey of Nottingham who used as his motto, to preserve anonymity during the selection process, ‘Son of York’, where he returned to live just before the festival.38 While D’Arcy Ferris was preparing, as Master of the Revels, to direct the play he was also devising the historical pageant that would precede it. As planned, the pageant cars and participants assembled at Studley Hall 306

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s and processed through the estate grounds to Fountains Abbey. It was, by all accounts, an impressive spectacle. Ferris’s pageant philosophy is described in his own words: The procession was designed to be historical and emblematical, with a few of the masquerading elements inseparable from mediaeval pageantry. Appropriate subjects for representation was my first aim, historical accuracy the second, and beauty and artistic arrangement the last.39 As he had promised, he researched his subject in the major academic libraries of England to ensure visual accuracy, especially in costume, wherever possible. The historical portion of the pageant began with the ‘Druidical Period’, progressed through the Roman, Danish and Saxon eras, included Robin Hood and concluded with Charles I, ‘nothing specially noteworthy in the history of Ripon being suitable for presentation in the subsequent periods’’.40 It is almost as if anything after the Restoration and the golden age of English pageantry is not a proper subject for ‘historical and emblematical’ treatment, or, perhaps, is too closely associated with the ‘modernising spirit that destroyed all loveliness’ that so offended Louis Parker. The rest of the pageant comprised the classical groups as an emblem of Ripon triumphant, with the Genius of the City played by the mayoress. It was in this section that Ferris’s confidence in his organizational and artistic skills was tested to the point of irritation. When suitable children could not be found for one of the cars, causing his ‘logical allegory’ to be upset by ‘illogical re-arrangements’, he remarked, ‘Alas! On what delicate ground do we walk when novices attempt to tread the domain of metaphor!’41 The rear of the procession was brought up by the civic authorities preceded, in Ferris fashion, by Maypole dancers and the specially invited Kirkby Malzeard Sword Dancers, emphasizing the spirit of the middle ages. It is evident that for Ferris and the Millenary Festival Committee, if not for all the citizens of Ripon, Robin Hood and his men took their rightful place in the historical part of the pageant. The group was made up of the actor/singers who would perform the play at the ‘traditional spot’, wearing costumes of sober character and hue so that they would be ‘a relief from the gorgeous colouring of the majority’.42 The phrase, ‘traditional spot’, seems to have acquired the potency of a magical mantra. It is repeated over and over again in the festival publicity and minutes and was quoted by nearly all the newspaper reviews. It is as though the tangible evidence of place was sufficient proof of Robin’s existence and that the re-enactment of his encounter with the friar would render the past ritualistically present. It is also indicative of Ferris’s scholarly desire for accuracy. The ‘traditional spot’ is situated on the bank of the River Skell just to the east of the remains of the abbey kitchen, chapel and garderobes. For all its 307

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Plate 4 C. H. Knowles as Robin Hood by John Jellicoe (W. Harrison, Ripon Millenary, Ripon, 1892).

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s public avowal, it is not certain how this came to be the ‘traditional spot’. The two versions of the ballad, Robin Hood and the Curtal Friar, surviving from the seventeenth century do not even name the River Skell, never mind the spot. In fact, all extant copies of the ‘B’ broadside and garland version have Robin only going as far as Fountains Dale, rather than the abbey, to meet with the friar.43 The tradition may have a pictorial origin. When illustrators depicted the scene for broadside or garland publication they are likely to have included the abbey in the composition. This not only adds visual interest; it determines the location. The perspective of foreground river and background abbey spontaneously produces the ‘traditional spot’. As though to reinforce the location, Robin Hood’s Well was built, probably in the eighteenth century, into the wooded bank on the south side of the Skell adjacent to the ‘spot’. The text of Dawtrey’s play pays homage to location from the start.44 It begins, ‘Scene: The Traditional Spot, near Fountains Abbey’. The performance began with an ‘Invisible Chorus’ made up of local men and boys, 39 in all but representing 50, as Foresters. Concealed behind the abbey, their voices filled the empty space, allowing the ‘spot’ itself to take centre stage before the entrance of human actors. But, it seems, nature can always be improved upon. As the official review of the play put it: Care had been taken to restore to the scene of the combat some of its pristine appearance, by the collection of brushwood, heather, and logs of wood; the stage had been ‘dressed’ like a piece of forest land, by the insertion of trees where none before existed.45 This sits somewhat uneasily with the reasons D’Arcy Ferris gave, at a public lecture in Ripon Town Hall, for preferring open-air plays. He told his audience that they differ most from the ordinary stage, in that they present living pictures of nature in contrast to the artificiality of stage scenery. In place of the counterfeit we have the real, instead of art we have nature, real flowers grow, and birds in the real boughs overhead offer their gratuitous services. Real perspective of distance too, in which perhaps the tuneful lay of foresters grows faint, till nothing but the gentle rustling of the trees, or the bleating of a far-off flock is heard.46 As the audience gazed upon the ‘spot’ restored, the Invisible Chorus established the historical credentials of the encounter: In Fountain’s dale, long years ago, Before the Abbey’s overthrow, Met Friar and Robin—foe to foe, Long years ago, long years ago. 309

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s And as though conscious of performance as an act of resuscitation, the Chorus incants the heroes’ return: To try a bout again they come, Again the verdant dale they roam; From cloisters and from forest home. Again they come, again they come. (my italics) Having linked the past with present and place, the ‘tuneful lay of foresters grows faint’ and is shattered by three blasts on horns heralding the entrance of Robin Hood on horseback followed by Little John, Will Scarlet and the 50 Merry Men on foot. The entrance was made to a rousing excerpt from the cantata Robin Hood by Liverpool-born composer John Liptrot Hatton. The powerful presentation of Robin is maintained as he sings his first solo on horseback. It establishes him as the model of alternative but just authority. He compares his kingdom and courtiers favourably with any in existence and sets out his characterizing philosophy of wealth redistribution. His laws are ‘simple and few’; to take from the lord and the bishop and give not to the poor—this is the fiftieth year of Victoria’s reign after all—but to the ‘halt and the lame’, the weak and the old; in other words to the deserving poor whose poverty is faultless and visible. In the second verse of his solo, Robin extols the virtues of his pastoral idyll and, like Duke Senior in the opening of Act II of As You Like It, despises the pomp of the court. This is a noble Robin Hood who barely mentions his outlaw status. It is not just in sentiment that Dawtrey’s text borrows from Shakespeare’s Robin Hood play. As Robin Hood and Ye Curtall Fryer draws to a close, Will Scarlett is borne on the shoulders of two foresters and a slain deer is carried on a pole by two others as the Merry Men sing ‘What shall he have who killed the deer’ from Act IV sc. ii. As soon as they finish, Robin calls for ‘Rob the Songster’, played by D’Arcy Ferris, to sing a lay. He responds with ‘Under the greenwood tree’ from Act II sc. v. Slightly less obvious, but undoubtedly still a literary debt, is the similarity between the punning banter exchanged between Robin and the Friar and that between Orlando and Oliver in the opening scene of As You Like It. In addition, Robin’s observation that ‘The fat capon that lines thy paunch’ will disturb the Friar’s digestion rather than his meditation looks to be lifted from Jaques’ description of the justice, ‘In fair round belly, with good capon lin’d’ (II. 7). Although Dawtrey’s play relied for its plot, action and some dialogue upon the ballad of Robin Hood and the Curtail Fryer published by Ritson, it is clear that its dramatic sensibilities were Victorian Shakespeare (at one point hideous witches enter and bid Robin ‘beware’) rather than late medieval May game. Dawtrey, and Ferris, seem to have been unaware of Copland’s sixteenth-century printing of a May game play of the same episode, or, if they were, chose not to use it. The Shakespearean influence is unlikely to have 310

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Plate 5 ‘A Group of Ye Foresters’: the cast of Robin Hood & ye Curtall Fryer (W. Harrison, Ripon Millenary, Ripon, 189 2).

been Dawtrey’s alone; he was paid a further £1 six weeks before the festival to revise his play.47 D’Arcy Ferris may have instigated the changes. He had been involved in the prestigious open-air production of As You Like It at Coombe House the year before. The ballad may have provided the plot, As You Like It the spirit, Victorian England the sentiment, but it was to pageantry that Ferris turned for the aesthetic. In his lecture he stated that he favoured pageant and movement over lengthy dialogue and went on to observe: The tableaux formed by groups of actors during the play are striking pictures which will remain in the memory. These should be as natural and unstagy as possible, in fact, the more you can dispense with stage traditions, and the nearer you approach real life, the more truthful will be the presentation. Testimony and photographs of the production seem to verify Ferris’s beliefs: an actual, the actual, river was used for the dunking, arrows were fired and deflected by the Friar’s buckler, a real deer was brought on stage, 50 dogs fought with Robin and his men. Well, not quite. Twenty boys dressed up as dogs scuffled with the foresters. This may have stretched a desire for naturalism to the limit; ‘reverse-of-realistic’ the Dramatic Review of 4 September 311

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s 1886 memorably called it. Nevertheless, the text wastes no time in making the dogs’ presence thematic as well as dramatic. To the Victorian home-spun philosophy that permeates the play, the loyalty of dogs is added to the virtues of nature, obedience, temperance and mirth. Before the dogs enter the fray the Friar sings: The friend of man, a faithful friend When others turn aside, A service his which hath no end Whatever luck betide. A guardian he o’er childhood’s feet, A gentle guard and kind; A comrade in the city street, And eyes unto the blind. The play, the revels and the procession were an enormous success and repeated, under Ferris’s direction, ten and twenty years later. The festival made a profit of £178 5s 7d divided between Jepson’s Hospital for orphans and the Ripon Dispensary. The local, national and international press lavished praise upon the event, with one extreme exception. The journalist sent to cover the occasion for the Yorkshireman tellingly head­lined his report, published on 4 September 1886, ‘High Jinks at Ripon’. He was not easily impressed and things started badly: ‘from the moment you set foot in Ripon you were expected to delude yourself into the belief that you had suddenly dropped back into the Middle Ages’. Neither did he find the speeches at the Market Cross to his liking. According to him they became ‘so solemn and lugubrious that people who had come for the week began to wonder when was the next train home, while others, who were forced to stay, wished they might die before the next millenary’. Nor was food a way to his heart. He noted that anyone sceptical of the antiquity of Ripon would have had their doubts removed by the cold fowl served at the luncheon which must have been hatched for the occasion a thousand years ago. He was, though, brief but generous in his appreciation of the pageant. His mood did not last and he either filed the most honest review of the play or saw a different performance from the others, possibly that on the Saturday when admission was less than half that of Friday to accommodate the poorer citizens of Ripon. It is worth quoting in its entirety: The play of Robin Hood and ye Curtall Fryer was somewhat disappointing, the book being poor and the delivery somewhat halting and disconnected. There were many funny incidents. The crowd, of course, got into the background and spoiled the set; and the Master of the Revels hastily donning the gown of the Town Clerk of Ripon, had to come on and expostulate. When he had done with the crowd 312

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Mr Ferris had to settle with one of the wild men of the pageant, who, in order the better to sustain his character of primaeval man, mounted a picturesque bit of ruin belonging to the set and tried to pose. He was, however, ‘posed’ off and the play then proceeded. It had not gone far, however, before the wild man again asserted himself, and this time neither threats nor entreaties could drive him from his lofty perch. The Friar, who appeared in the parti-coloured trunk hose of the Jester, occasionally forgot his role, and returned to the business of fooling which had occupied him in the procession from Studley to Fountains; Robin Hood lost his wig in the affray; the music went hideously wrong all through the play; the bugle was sounded when Robin did not blow, and Robin blew in vain for the music that did not come; the foresters came bouncing in to the arena before the bugle called them, and the spectators had to wait an unconscionable period for the appearance of the monks. But somehow the business got through, and of course brought down the ‘house’. Then there was a rush for refreshments which were not to be obtained. night Whatever histrionics may have resulted from what sounds like last­ euphoria, not to say frenzy, or over-confidence brimming from a successful first night, it would be wrong to detract from the contribution D’Arcy Ferris made to the revival of interest in medieval popular culture. He and the justifiable faith put in him by the Ripon Millenary Committee contributed to the creation, with Augustin Dawtrey and others, of a Victorian Robin Hood, masculine, fair and philanthropic, a lord of the greenwood that was both heritage and refuge. He did so by placing Robin in a ‘spot’ of history that was material in place and medieval in imagination. Ferris may not have been a professional academic, although his business card titled him ‘professor’, but he subscribed to the practices of scholarship in pursuit of research-based productions. Although less permanent in memory and lasting in legacy than the ballad collectors Ritson, Gutch and Child, he, like them, promoted the study as well as the continued enjoyment of Robin Hood. Ferris deserves his self-appellation ‘apostle of pageantry’ and to be better known as one who legitimately ‘bent his bow’.

Notes   1 References to the early use of this proverb can be found in R. B. Dobson and J. Taylor, Rymes of Robyn Hood: an Introduction to the English Outlaw, rev. edn (Stroud: Sutton, 1997), pp. 289–90.   2 William Langland, The Vision of Piers Plowman: A Critical Edition of the B-Text Based on Trinity College Cambridge MS (B.15.17) ed. by A. V. C. Schmidt, 2nd edn (London: Longman, 1995), p. 82, Passus V 11. 395–96.  3 For the evolution of the myth see Stephen Knight, Robin Hood: A Mythic Biography (Ithaca, NY; London: Cornell University Press, 2003).

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s  4 Robin Hood: A Collection of all the Ancient Poems, Songs and Ballads Now Extant Relative to the Celebrated English Outlaw: To Which Are Prefixed Historical Anecdotes of His Life, ed. by Joseph Ritson, 2 vols (London: T. Egerton and J. Johnson, 1795).   5 William Stukeley, Palaeographia Britannica: or discourses on antiquities in Britain N o. 1–3 (Stamford: Francis Howgrave, 1746), II, p. 115.   6 Thomas Love Peacock, Maid Marian (London: Hookham, 1822). I am grateful to Stephen Knight for this observation.  7 For a recent assessment of Munday see Tracey Hill, Anthony Munday and Civic Culture: Theatre, History and Power in Early Modern London 1580–1633 (Manchester; New York: Manchester University Press, 2004). For criticism of his Lord Mayor’s Shows see David M. Bergeron, English Civic Pageantry 1558–1642 (London: Edward Arnold, 1971).  8 Anthony Munday, Metropolis Coronata, The Triumphs of Ancient Drapery (London: G. Purslowe, 1615). For a modern edition see Pageants and Entertainments of Anthony Munday: A Critical Edition, ed. by David M. Bergeron (New York; London: Garland, 1985), pp. 85–99. Quotations in the text are from this edition.   9 Janette Dillon, Performance and Spectacle in Hall’s Chronicle (London: Society For Theatre Research, 2002), p. 31. 10 Ibid., pp. 56–57 11 The Anonimalle Chronicle 1333 to 1381, ed. by V. H. Galbraith (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1927), pp. 40–41; Anne Lancashire, London Civic Theatre: City Drama and Pageantry from Roman Times to 1558 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), pp. 44–45. 12 The Diary of Henry Machyn, ed. by John Gough Nichols, Camden Society, 42 (London: The Camden Society, 1848), p. 201. 13 Robert Withington, English Pageantry: An Historical Outline, 2 vols (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1918; repr. New York: Benjamin Blom, 1963), II, pp. 122–23. 14 Ibid., II, p. 170. 15 Ibid., II, pp. 153–54. 16 Ibid., II, pp. 148–51. 17 Ibid., II, pp. 194–233. 18 Ibid., II, p. 210. 19 Records of Early English Drama: Dorset/Cornwall, ed. by Rosalind Conklin Hays, C. E. McGee, Sally L. Joyce and Evelyn S. Newlyn (Toronto Buffalo: Toronto University Press, 1999), p. 250. 20 Joseph Fowler, Mediaeval Sherborne (Dorchester: Longman,1951), pp. 264–66. 21 Withington, English Pageantry, II, p. 210. 22 Withington, English Pageantry, II, p. 195. 23 Ripon Millenary: A Record of the Festival. Also A History of the City arranged under its Wakemen and Mayors from the year 1400, ed. by W. Harrison (Ripon: William Harrison,1892), p. 205. 24 Ibid. 25 The minutes of the committees of the Ripon Millenary Festival and other archive mate­rials are kept by the North Yorkshire County Record Office DC/RIC VII 2/37/1–36. The planning, presentation and reception of the festival are reviewed in Harrison, Ripon Millenary. 26 NYCRO DC/RIC VII 2/37/1, p. 25. 27 NYCRO DC/RIC VII 2/37/1, pp. 26–27. 28 NYCRO DC/RIC VII 2/37/2, no.1. 29 There is a brief entry for him under the later spelling of his name, de Ferrars,

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s by Roy Judge in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography: From the Earliest Time to the Year 2000, ed. H. C. G. Matthew and Brian Harrison (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004). 30 Roy Judge, ‘D’Arcy Ferris and the Bidford Morris’, Folk Music Journal, 4.5 (1984), 443–80. 31 Ibid., p. 444 32 D’Arcy Ferris, ‘A Review of ye Pageant’, in Ripon Millenary, ed. by Harrison, p. 160. 33 Faringdon Advertiser, 29 August 1885 (Lockinge House); York Herald, 2 September 1885 (Grimston); Morning Post, to May 1886 (Islington) and the Ferris Collection in the Vaughan Williams Memorial Library of the English Folk Dance and Song Society. 34 NYCRO DC/RIC VII 2/37/1, p. 31. 35 NYCRO DC/RIC VII 2/37/2, no. 149. 36 NYCRO DC/RIC VII 2/37/9. 37 NYCRO DC/RIC VII 2/37/10. 38 Little is known about Augustin Dawtrey. His name does not appear in the census for 1881 or 1891 although a number of Dawtreys record their birthplace as Yorkshire in the 1861 census. He gives his address, when sending in his play, as 75 Woodborough Road, Nottingham. He may have been a lodger at this address located in the Robin Hood Municipal Ward as White’s directory for 1885–86 lists the occupant as Henry Lowry, boot and shoemaker. It is possible that Augustin Dawtrey was a pseudonym. The local Catholic church, also in Woodborough Road, was dedicated, in 1876, to St Augustine, Apostle of England. Under the name Dawtrey he was the author of a serial, ‘The Family Skeleton’, that appeared in the Notts Figaro during 1885. I am grateful to Christina Raven Conn, the Team Librarian of the Local Studies Library, Nottingham for her help with this information. 39 D’Arcy Ferris, ‘Review’, p. 151. 40 Ibid., pp. 157–58. 41 Ibid., p. 158. 42 Ibid., p. 155. 43 The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, ed. by Francis James Child, 5 vols (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1882–98), III, pp. 120–27. 44 The text is printed in Harrison, Ripon Millenary, pp. 105–24. 45 Ibid., p. 26. 46 The lecture was given on 29 June 1886 and extensively reported in the Ripon Gazette and Times, 1 July 1886. 47 The sum also covered writing music for the play and words for the festival march composed by Ferris: NYCRO DC/RIC VII 2/37/1, p. 45.

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18 PICTURING ROBIN HOOD IN EARLY PRINT AND PERFORMANCE: 1500–1590 From: Images of Robin Hood: Medieval to Modern (2008)

It is a measure of Robin Hood’s universally renowned and iconic status that he is one of very few characters, real or fictional, who can be identified by a single piece of costume. The image of his green and feathered bycocket hat, with its scalene triangle profile, is sufficient to conjure up the outlaw hero. This is amply illustrated by the design of the cover for Stephen Knight’s most recent book on Robin Hood where a simple sketch of the legendary hat is the only visual accompaniment to the title and the name of the author.1 A nineteenth-century broadside ballad singer might have asked Robin Hood, ‘Where did you get that hat?’ or, for that matter, any other bit of the now standard costume. Not, it would seem, from the Geste of Robin Hood or from the surviving fifteenth and sixteenth-century ballads. Although the bycocket was in common use throughout the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, it is never mentioned as a Robin Hood accessory in the early writings.2 When headwear is referred to, as it is only in the Geste, it is to a hood that can be downed respectfully when greeting the distressed knight (115) and sardonically when receiving the high cellarer from St. Mary Abbey (901).3 It is true, though, that the earliest surviving rhyme to describe Robin Hood, usually dated to the first quarter of the fifteenth century, and therefore probably predating the Geste, has him well covered: Robyn hod in scherewod stod Hodud and hathud, hosut and schod Ffour and thuynti arowus he bar in hits hondus4 The alliterative combination of hood and hat accurately describes a late medieval practical and fashionable response to the north-European weather. The hood, a popular choice of outdoor headgear during the period, was often surmounted by a bycocket to distinguish the status of the wearer. 316

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s The early rhyming stress on Robin Hood’s apparel is unusual and not found in such detail in the Geste or the early ballads. Information from them regarding the outlaws’ appearance, physical and costumed, is slight in the extreme, extending no further than the dressing of ‘styffe’ and ‘stronge’ frames (1746) in green mantles, kirtles, and gowns. Such meagreness may indicate an audience’s existing familiarity with appearance but contrasts with the personal descriptions given in the tales of ‘real’ outlaws. Hereward is handsome with a remarkable figure, long blond hair and an open face with large grey eyes, the right one slightly different from the left. Formidable in appearance, his sturdy limbs make him look a little stout. In spite of his stature he is strong and agile, possessed of courage, generosity of spirit and strength of mind.5 Foulke fitz Waryn is handsome, strong and tall with dark eyes,6 and William Wallace is strong and bold, sober of countenance as well as reticent, wise, courteous, and gracious.7 Reasons for the discrepancy are not hard to find. Real outlaws are blessed with a biography that explains their character and defines their look. They are fixed in time, place, and appearance. Their stories may be episodic but, as far as we know, are confined to discrete narratives that permit no variation in appearance other than disguise. Robin Hood, on the other hand, is initially free of historical ties. His tales accumulate and adapt to new genres and to changes in audience composition and expectation. In the absence of a definitive description (in terms of appearance, Robin Hood, in the early texts, is an invisible man) he can be, look, and wear, within reason, whatever we want as he shifts between this and that kind of yeoman before solidifying in the straitjacket of ennoblement. Nevertheless, for all the mythic advantages of Robin Hood’s multivalanced he has occasionally to assume tangible form. In illustration or in performance, visualization entails judgments about appearance and costume. Where printers, in their choice of woodcuts, and churchwardens, in their purchase of game costumes, got their ideas for how Robin Hood looked is not entirely clear, although the content of the ballads must have been an influence, if not a particularly helpful one. It is likely that they fed off each other in the manner of the relationship between theatre, film, and book illustration in the twentieth century. In the case of sixteenth­-century printers, the evidence points to the economy of finding a close match between Robin’s status recorded in the early writings with that of figures in existing cuts, rather than incurring the expense of commissioning original images. This may explain why none of the surviving sixteenth-century illustrations of Robin Hood began life as him and why, more surprisingly, only one has evident English origin. The copy of the Gest of Robyn Hode known as the Lettersnijder edition [STC 13689.5], after the typeface used, and usually but insecurely attributed to the Antwerp printer Jan van Doesborch, with a possible date between 1510 and 1515, is illustrated with a slight revision of the image used by Richard Pynson to depict Chaucer’s knight’s yeoman in his 1492 printing of The boke of the tales of Canterburie [STC 5084].8 317

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Plate 1 Woodcut of ‘Robin Hood’ from the Lettersnijder edition of the Gest of Robyn Hode, Chepman and Myllar Prints, National Library of Scotland, RB.x.006(11). © the Trustees of the National Library of Scotland.

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s It seems highly likely that the Antwerp printer used as his source a copy of Pynson’s edition of the Geste, from about 1500.9 Only three fragments survive, none of which contain the opening three fyttes of the poem or, consequently, any title page. The strong probability exists, though, that Pynson incorporated the image of the knight’s yeoman from his printing of the Canterbury Tales as an apt exemplar of Robin Hood; an example that the Antwerp printer followed. The Lettersnijder image is so close to the Pynson original that differences are not immediately apparent. Although they are basically the same size, the Antwerp printer shaved all four edges of the Pynson woodcut to achieve a fit to his smaller page size, losing in the process the top of the yeoman’s hat, the end of the horse’s tail, and the lower extremities of two hooves as well as the upturned edges of the landscape. Minor variations not caused by trimming include the slightly more refined facial features to the yeoman, an increase in the number of studs on the horse’s harness and more pronounced shading.10 One of the most notable features of the figure, in both woodcuts, is his wearing of a bycocket hat with the peak reversed like a baseball cap and secured, against the wind, with a scarf or the gorget of a hood. Rather than a fashion statement, the arrangement allowed the wearer to ride, hunt or work in the open without fear of losing his headgear.11 Is this where Robin got that hat? It is interesting that the woodcut is the earliest image purporting to be Robin Hood that has come down to us and that the style of hat is one of the most distinctive differences between it and what appears to be Pynson’s source. Although artistically inferior, there are sufficient similarities between Caxton’s woodcut of the knight’s yeoman, that illustrates his 1483 second edition of the Canterbury Tales [STC 5083], and that made for Pynson to suggest an awareness of the former by the latter (see PLATE 2). In some ways, Caxton’s depiction of the knight’s yeoman is the more accurate of Chaucer’s description of him. While both prints incorporate the coat, the sword, and the mighty bow with a sheaf of arrows, only Caxton includes the sword and buckler and the horn hung upon a baldric.The buckler is an important point of reference in that it confirms the particular status of the wearer. It is a defensive weapon associated with foot soldiers, archers, and yeoman, as well as Robin Hood, and was used by the English bowmen at the Battle of Agincourt. Occasionally employed by knights as a training and sometimes military weapon, it was by 1500 largely restricted to the subordinate classes. As part of a yeoman’s equipment it was as essential as the bow, a reality borne out by Stephen Knight’s observation that the early outlaws fought mainly with swords and staffs, with archery largely a matter of game and display.12 Neither printer depicts the silver St. Christopher worn on the yeoman’s breast. Nor, more tellingly, do they include the hood of green that matches the color of his coat. Chaucer also describes the yeoman as having closely cropped hair, a style that neither woodcut follows, opting instead for 319

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Plate 2 The Knight’s Yeoman from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, printed by William Caxton, 1483. British Library G.11586 fol. 5r. © British Library Board.

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s shoulder-length hair that reflects the fashion at the time the cuts were made rather than the period when Chaucer was writing. It suggests that image makers interpreted textual reference from the past through contemporary eyes, a convention that may explain Pynson’s choice of a reversed bycocket hat for the knight’s yeoman in preference to Caxton’s beret depicted a decade earlier. It is worth noting, though, that in the same edition Caxton shows the Squire wearing a bycocket hat with an ostrich feather that will become Robin Hood’s trademark. Although the adoption of the Pynson print in the Lettersnijder edition of the Geste conveys the costume and livery accoutrement of a household yeoman who discharged the functions of weapon carrier, protector and, in the case of Chaucer, forester appropriate to Robin Hood’s status, it seems a slightly odd choice in that it shows him on horseback. Whilst accepting that it is entirely proper for a pilgrim, Stephen Knight has questioned whether the woodcut illustrating the Geste was intended to refer to the knight, not least because Robin ‘never rides a horse in the early materials’.13 Although scarce, there are, in fact, two references to him riding in the Geste: with the king on their way to Nottingham (1693) and in the old knight’s exaltation, to the king, of Robin’s resilience (1445–56). He also keeps a stable of, presumably stolen, horses from which he equips the knight with a gray courser (301) and a good palfrey (305). These allusions, with perhaps other tales now lost, might suggest that a picture of Robin Hood on horseback would not necessarily throw the reader. Moreover, it is very rare for single woodcuts to depict relatively minor characters in early printing and Pynson, if he had intended to depict the knight, had a much better example at his disposal from his edition of the Canterbury Tales. Even cheaper than borrowing or recutting existing woodcuts was the printing practice of resorting to factotums. These multi-purpose figures, buildings, and natural features could be used singly or in combination to create a composite picture. Because of their nature they tended to be limited to visualizing characters or relationships rather than narrative events. They were, accordingly, particularly useful when illustrating works where the emphasis was on personification, such as Tudor interludes, or character dominated romances and tales like Robin Hood.14 The factotums used in English printing from the beginning of the sixteenth century derive largely from Antoine Vérard, one of the leading French book producers in the transition from manuscript to print. Active between 1485 and 1512, his output extended to more than 300 editions. In terms of the circulation of factotums, two of his works are of particular interest. At some time around 1500 he produced Therence en francois complete with a series of figures that he used many times in that and other works.15 It is thought that these woodcuts entered the English market through another of Vérard’s works, The Kalendar of Shepherds printed in Paris in 1503 and intended for export. Printers in England were quick to publish revised and translated editions of 321

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s this popular work: Pynson in 1506 [STC 22408], Wynkyn de Worde in 1508 [STC 22409], and Julian Notary in 1518 [STC 22410], all of whom used or copied the Vérard factotums. From their arrival in England at the beginning of the sixteenth century, these woodcut factotums became staple items for most of the leading printers who used them repeatedly to illustrate mainly secular and popular works.16 Because of the ubiquitous and sometimes unrelated use of these images in printing for almost a century they have received very little academic attention. Indeed, most art historians dismiss them as trivial and crude decoration if they mention them at all. Whilst undoubtedly a cheap alternative to commissioned or recut narrative scenes, it does not follow that factotums were used without consideration. A good example of seeking a reasonable match between text and image is to be found in the 1504 printing of The lyf of Adam or ‘Golden Legend’ by Julian Notary [STC 24877]. The edition is illustrated with a substantial number of woodcuts but includes only one of Vérard’s factotums to depict St. Theodore. The image chosen is that of an armored man with halberd and scimitar, which William Copland would use half a century later to represent Little John in the title page to A mery geste of Robyn Hoode. Notary, or one of his workers, looks to have deliberately selected the factotum as a fitting visualization of the part in the text where St. Theodore describes himself as ‘a soldier in the service of God and Jesus Christ’.17 Incidentally, this is possibly the first use of a Vérard factotum in England, predating that of Pynson by two years. Wynkyn de Worde used Vérard and other factotums from 1506 until almost the end of his life in 1535. The blocks seem to have passed to William Copland through his relation Robert, probably his father, who worked for de Worde as well as operating as an independent printer. The title page of Wynkyn de Worde’s Lytell Geste of Robyn Hode [STC 13689] (see PLATE 3) is dominated by a tableau of three factotums; one woman and two men. These are not taken from Vérard’s editions of Terence or The Kalender of Shepherds, nor have I found them in his other works. They are, nonetheless, very similar in style with hatched and millefleurs bases and superjacent banderols. If these are not factotums from Vérard’s stock, then they very probably share a common pattern book origin. The Short Title Catalogue [STC] gives a date for de Worde’s Geste of 1506. This may be correct or possibly a little too early. De Worde was employing Vérard’s factotums by 1506 but he does not use the central figure in the Geste illustration elsewhere until 1509, his most prolific year in terms of output, when it twice illustrates The fyftene joyes of maryage [STC 15259]. He may, though, have used it in the 1507 edition of the same work, which survives only as a fragment [STC 15257.5]. The latest he seems to have employed these figures is in the 1518 printing of Olyuer of Castylle [STC 18808] where the men from the Geste title page again appear together. De Worde continues to use factotums that can be traced directly to Vérard until his final years of printing. 322

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s The Lytell Geste is set in Textura 95 (Duff 8) type with a distinctive ‘s’ (s2) that de Worde used regularly between 1503 and 1518.18 The printer’s mark at the end of the text is the frequently used trisected device. The top third, with its central sun surrounded by stars, represents the shop at the sign of the sun in Fleet Street from where de Worde worked after 1500. The central section incorporates Caxton’s initials and mark in recognition of de Worde’s employment by him, and the bottom third consists of a banderol containing the name ‘wynkyn de worde’ surmounted by a dog and a centaur. De Worde used this device, and others, from 1503 to as late as 1534.19 Although uncertainties exist, it is probably more secure to place the publication of the Lytell Geste between 1506 and 1510. These dates and the composition of the image create a fascinating and largely overlooked conjunction. Robin Hood scholars have become so accustomed to pointing out that Maid Marian does not enter the literary tradition until the 1590s that this early sixteenth-century probable association of her with Robin Hood has been missed. For the left hand figure in the title page surely represents Marian and not the wife of Sir Richard at the Lee, the only woman, other than the mention of the prioress of Kirklees, to appear very briefly in the Geste. The woman in the woodcut wears a gown with a wide oval and collared neckline and a fitted bodice. On her head she wears a cap with a padded roll of fabric. From the crown sweeps a liripipe ribbon that increases in width as it falls over her right shoulder into the crook of her arm. Fashionable at the turn of the century, the costume would appear still contemporary at the time of Worde’s printing of the Geste. Incidentally, with the obvious exception of the crown, her attire is not so very different from that of the Marian in the Betley window.20 Her inclusion in the title page triumvirate strongly suggests that de Worde’s knowledge of the Robin Hood myth extended beyond literature and the Geste. He may have been aware that at the time he was printing, Marian was apparently consorting with Robin in the May games a few miles west down the River Thames at Kingston. The All Saints’ churchwardens’ accounts for 1508–9 record 3½d spent on ‘ij peyre of glovys for Robyn hode & mayde maryon’.21 Of course, it may be the gloves that bring them together in the account rather than their togetherness that pairs the gloves. In Kingston, Marian was, with a friar, a feature of the morris dance that formed part of a week-long entertainment that also included Robin Hood and Little John. At this time, similar alliances surely existed elsewhere, most now lost to the records.22 It was possibly de Worde’s intention to visually modernize what, by the time of printing, may have seemed an old text and flatter his readers’ advanced and local knowledge of the attachment between Robin and Marian. In any event, James Holt was probably wrong to suggest that Alexander Barclay was the first person to ‘juxtapose Robin Hood and Marian’ in 1513/14 when he wrote of ‘some merry fytte of Maid Marian or else of Robin Hood’.23 Albeit in image rather than verse, Wynkyn de Worde was some years ahead of him. The two male figures are no less problematic. Are they Robin Hood and 324

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Little John? If so, which is which? Convention may lead us to think that central placing equals central casting, but the figures were probably positioned according to the direction in which they are facing in order to create the impression of a coherent group rather than a collection of separate individuals. My inclination, on the basis of costume, is that Robin is indeed the man in the center. He wears a thigh-length skirted coat, or possibly shirt and sleeveless doublet, over hose. On his feet he has the round-toed shoes of the period and on his head a scarf covered by a broad beret or round cap, probably made of fur, which resembles the hat worn by the yeoman in Caxton’s 1483 edition of the Canterbury Tales. A sword with a round pommel is tucked into his belt and he carries over his left shoulder another sword with downward curved cross-guard and a broad blade of four-sided, flattened diamond section. The positions of the swords—right side and left shoulder—imply that this is a reverse cut and very likely a copy made from a print. The round pommel is typical of the kind of sword used at the time in conjunction with a buckler, although none is shown. The bearing of two blades in combination with the costume, suggests that the factotum is of a yeoman in service carrying his master’s sword. A contemporary woodcut from Higden’s Cronycle of Englonde, printed by Notary in 1504 [STC 9998], shows a yeoman of similar attire and stance attending a courtier. The costume of the central figure also bears a striking resemblance to that worn by Sir Richard Assheton’s archers

Plate 4 Window of the archers of Sir Richard Assheton at prayer c. 1513. South side of the chancel, St Leonard’s Church, Middleton, Lancashire. Photograph and © John Marshall reproduced by permission of the Church Wardens and Parochial Church Council of Middleton Parish Church.

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s in an early sixteenth-century window on the south side of the chancel of St. Leonard’s church in Middleton, Lancashire. The window is thought to commemorate the battle of Flodden in 1513, but may be earlier, and shows each archer kneeling in prayer with his bow over the left shoulder and a sheaf of arrows at his back. They all wear the same Assheton livery of blue, thigh-length, skirted tunic with white collar over a yellow shirt. Some have yellow and others white, full-­length, hose with round-toed shoes. All have shoulder-length hair. Such correlation in costume seems to confirm the status of the central figure in de Worde’s title page as a household yeoman. It places him in a social position close to that of John Paston’s man, ‘W Woode’, who played St. George and Robin Hood in the early 1470s. Wood not only had responsibility for the horses in the Paston household but as a competent archer helped, ultimately unsuccessfully, to defend Caister Castle in 1469 against the duke of Norfolk.24 A slight problem with this identification of status lies in the handwritten ‘my lord’ inserted in the banderol above the central figure. Although this postprinting addition may be intended to emphasize the relative importance of the figure in the middle, it is not clear to whom the possessive adjective belongs. It is possible that he could be the ‘lord’ of either flanking figure or that, as is not uncommon, the banderol acts as a kind of speech bubble and the ‘my’ is Robin’s and the ‘lord’ is his king. In the Geste, Robin is referred to throughout, by his men, as ‘maister’ while the knight is greeted by his lady as ‘my lorde’ (505), and the Sheriff is referred to in the same way by his steward (630). At the end of the seventh fytte, Robin recognizes the king disguised as an abbot and kneels before him as ‘My lorde the kynge of Englonde’ (1643). Although the handwriting must be later than the printing it probably postdates it by no more than a few years. It may anticipate the ennoblement of Robin Hood later in the century or, more likely, its meaning has no connection with the narrative of the Geste or the identity of the title page factotums. The figure on the right is probably Little John, though not simply through elimination. It could conceivably be the knight, but his costume indicates a subordinate role to that of the central figure. He is dressed in a striped, light and dark, doublet and hose with an open fronted jacket. Shoes are round toed and he appears to have a scarf or band tied around his head. He carries what looks like a staff, though it may actually be a halberd lopped by the block-cutter. Made fashionable by the nobility in the last quarter of the fifteenth century, the striped outfit was adopted as a uniform by foot soldiers and executioners, often outlaws reprieved for military service, by the end of the century. A henchman or military attendant to Caiaphas is depicted wearing an almost identical costume, complete with halberd, in Jörg Breu’s 1501 Aggsbach altar panel of Christ Brought to Caiaphas.25 Interestingly, Robin Hood’s band of ‘wyght yeman’ in the Geste wear striped mantles (917–18), and in Thomas Campion’s entertainment put on for Queen Anne of Denmark by 326

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Lord Knowles at Cawsome House in 1613, Robin Hood’s men were dressed in ‘sutes of greene striped with blacke’.26 If the right hand figure is supposed to represent Little John, it corresponds very closely to William Copland’s choice of a Vérard factotum to depict him as a foot soldier on the title page of his c. 1560 edition of the Geste, unless, of course, he was simply following de Worde’s example. Given the critical tendency to disregard the possibility of a thoughtful relationship between texts and factotums, it is worth looking at some of the other uses made of these three figures in sixteenth-century printing. What emerges is a far greater consistency of type than first appears. The woman/ Maid Marian predominantly represents strong, often noble, beautiful women; ‘Wife’ in The gospelles of dystaues (de Worde, 1510: STC 12091), ‘Clarice’ in The dystruccyon of Iherusalem (de Worde, 1510: STC 14518), Octavian’s daughter in Cronycle of Englonde (de Worde, 1515: STC 10000.5), ‘Beauty’ in Everyman (J. Skot, 1535: STC 10606.5), ‘Clerymonde’ in Valentyne and Orson (W. Copland, 1555: STC 24571.7), ‘Mother’ and ‘Ydain, duchess of Boulogne’ in The knight of the swanne (W. Copland, 1560: STC 7572), and ‘Dame Coye’ in Iacke Iugler (W. Copland, 1565: STC 14837a). The right hand figure/Little John appears mainly as a knight or foot soldier as well as a thief; possibly ‘Guenellet’ in King Ponthus (de Worde, 1511: STC 20108), ‘Robert’ in Robert the deuyll (de Worde, 1517: STC 21071), a thief in Olyuer of Castylle (de Worde, 1518: STC 18808), a knight in Valentyne and Orson (W. Copland, 1555: STC 24571.7), a representative of the people of Normandy and Picardy (top half of figure only) in Introduction of knowledge (W. Copland, 1555: STC 3383), an unnamed character, possibly ‘Envy’, in Impaciente pouerte (W. Copland, 1561: STC 14113), and to illustrate the ‘tree of vices and pains of hell’ in The Shepardes kalendar (T. Este, 1570: STC 22415). The central figure/ Robin Hood features less often than the other two but, fittingly, doubles as a yeoman and a thief; ‘yoman’ to a ‘good and playne’ man and to a ‘gentylmon’ in The fyftene joyes of maryage (de Worde, 1509: STC 15258)27 and as a thief in Olyuer of Castylle (de Worde, 1518: STC 18808). It may be no more than coincidence that the two thieves who stand on either side of Oliver are the Robin Hood and Little John figures from de Worde’s Geste. It is quite possible, though, that in de Worde’s workshop the connection was obvious and the choice deliberate. Less intentional, though still coincidental, was Copland’s use of the Vérard factotum representing Oliver to portray Little John forty years later. It would seem that in de Worde’s selection of factotums for Robin Hood and Little John, he sought to emphasize a pre-outlaw existence in household and military service rather than that of freeholders. The images chosen also invite questions about differences between early and modern perceptions of characters. For example, looking at the Geste and the early ballads without the hindsight of all that follows, it becomes apparent that Little John was not regarded as unusually large until a late seventeenth-century ballad elevated him to seven feet tall.28 Until then he 327

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s seems no bigger than anyone else. If extraordinary height had always been his most distinguishing feature, it seems odd that no one mentions it for over two hundred years. When the Sheriff first encounters him in the Geste it is not his stature that is impressive but his skill with the bow (587–88). And after John is injured in the knee, Much manages to carry him on his back for a mile, only putting him down to shoot at the Sheriff ’s men (1229–32). In fact, it may be the antonymic irony in the name ‘Little Much’, used throughout the Geste, which is eventually transferred to Little John. In de Worde’s title page, Little John is taller than Robin but the same size as Maid Marian. In Copland’s title page, Little John is considerably smaller than Robin Hood. In printing practice this is a consequence of combining factotums of different size but it does seem to confirm that Little John was not characterized by exceptional height in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The major role played by Little John in the Geste and the early ballads raises the possibility that he was the subject of a separate tradition that was eventually absorbed by that of Robin Hood. As has often been noted, the third fytte of the Geste is a Little John tale and the ballad Robin Hood and the Monk could just as easily have been given the title ‘Little John rescues Robin Hood’.29 Confirmation of a connected but independent existence can be found in a reference to both outlaws. Thomas Knell, clergyman and pamphleteer, responded to ‘a most hereticall, trayterous, and papisticall byll’ delivered in the streets of Northampton in 1570 with a Christian answer. In a vitriolic anti-Catholic tirade, he condemns popish pastimes: ‘Your fained fables false are found, your tales of little Iohn: / Your pagents played of Robin Hood, are knowne to euery one’.30 The allusion to Robin Hood ‘pagents’ implies performance. Although this need not necessarily take the form of a scripted and rehearsed drama it distinguishes the playing of Robin Hood from the spoken or read tales of Little John. Even allowing for the demands of rhyme, it seems that Knell was keen to acknowledge a generic distinction between the outlaws’ relative modes of presentation. Obviously, tales could accommodate Robin, and games and plays involved Little John. Nonetheless, it strongly suggests that Little John may have had a separate pre-Reformation oral or literary existence. Given de Worde’s and Copland’s choice of factotums to represent Little John, it is not impossible that this tradition positioned him as an outlawed soldier. He certainly fits the bill; brave, loyal, skilful in martial arts, a cold-blooded killer, and the adopter of an alias ‘Reynolde Grenelef’ (595), to protect his identity from the Sheriff. To portray Little John in the c. 1560 title page of A Mery Geste of Robyn Hoode (STC 13691), William Copland opted for one of the most frequently used Vérard factotums (see PLATE 5). Throughout the sixteenth century, this armored figure stood in for a variety of military personnel from leaders to jailers: ‘Dromo’ and others in Therence en francois (Antoine Vérard, 1500: BL G.9756); ‘St. Theodore’ in The lyf of Adam (Julian Notary, 1504: STC 24877); an unnamed character unrelated to text in Tabula (Notary, 1504: STC 328

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Plate 5 Title-page woodcut from the William Copland edition of the Mery Geste of Robyn Hoode. British Library, C.21.c.63. © British Library Board.

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s 9998); ‘Pilate’ in Nycodemus gospel (Notary, 1507: STC 18565); ‘Tytus’ son of Emperor ‘Vaspazian’ in The dystruccyon of Iherusalem (de Worde, 1510: STC 14518); ‘Gerarde’, knight to Emperor ‘Agias’ in Gesta romanorum (de Worde, 1510: STC 21286.3); ‘Perseverance’ in Hyckescorner (de Worde, 1515: STC 14039); a representative of the knightly estate in The kalender of shepardes (Notary, 1518: STC 22410); ‘Olyuer’ in Olyuer of Castylle (de Worde, 1518: STC 18808); a foot soldier adjacent to ‘assault against a snail’ in The kalender of shepeherdes (de Worde, 1528: STC 22411); ‘knight’ in Valentyne and Orson (W. Copland, 1555: STC 24571.7); ‘Jeyler’ in The knight of the swanne (W. Copland, 1560: STC 7572); ‘Adam Bel’ in Adambel (W. Copland, 1565: STC 1807) and ‘Lytel John’ in mery iest of Robin Hood (E. White, 1590: STC 13692). Although often recut over time, Little John wears what looks like parade armor of the late fifteenth century where metal is ornamented as though it were cloth to echo the full-skirted jerkin of an earlier period. On his head he wears a sallet with raised visor. He is armed with a halberd and a scimitar. His companion, who is presumably Robin Hood, is similar to but a notch up in status from the de Worde equivalent. He wears a thigh­length coat with paneled skirt, or jerkin, over hose, round-toed shoes, and a large, probably fur, hat with an ostrich feather. He holds a long bow in his left hand and, rather awkwardly, an arrow in his right. The shoulder sloped arrow is a possible clue to his original identity. This is not a factotum that can be traced directly back to Antoine Vérard. It is, as far as I know, used only to illustrate Robin Hood in the Geste printed by Copland, and later by White, and to depict an unnamed character, probably William of Cloudesley, in Copland’s Adambel. However, it bears a strong resemblance to one of the figures in the first of The Hunt of the Unicorn tapestries, ‘The Start of the Hunt’.31 Woven between 1495 and 1505 in the southern Netherlands, it is thought to have been designed in Paris by an unnamed artist, a disciple of Henri and Conrad Vulcop, who also outlined woodcuts for, amongst others, Antoine Vérard.32 Costume and stance are almost identical and the angle of the spear carried by the figure to the left of the tapestry corresponds so exactly to that of the arrow held by Robin as to infer copying or a common source. The dress and role taken by the figure in the tapestry would seem to indicate a gentleman hunter or, at the very least, a high-ranking household officer. The ostrich feathers he wears in his hat are a conspicuous sign of status. Revealingly, the Robin Hood of Kingston-upon-Thames also wore a hat adorned with ostrich feathers.33 The shift in head-covering from the hood of the Geste to the hats of illustration and game can be explained by the specific demands of the different media as well as changes in fashion. Whilst hoods conceal identity in reality and fiction they are a visual impediment to portrait and performance. It is also possible that by 1560 Copland was aware of a sartorial need to ennoble the outlaw’s wardrobe. He inherited many of de Worde’s woodcuts and yet chose not to reuse those of his predecessor for his own edition of the Geste. His choice of 330

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s image may have been prompted by an awareness of the late sixteenth-century move toward Robin’s gentrification. If this was the case, though, it is slightly odd that he represents Robin in clothing fashionable half a century earlier. If he had intended to keep Robin’s appearance contemporary, he should have dressed him in doublet and padded breeches rather than skirted tunic. It is doubtful that such considerations were paramount in the business of printing popular texts. The economy achieved by recycling factotums from the beginning of the sixteenth century is likely to have far outweighed any concerns for keeping images up-to­date. Significantly, in nearly a century of Geste printing, the costume of title page figures and the woodcuts themselves belong to the comparatively brief period of about 1490 to 1505. Although driven by cost effectiveness, the practice has unforeseen implications for the historicizing of the legend by the end of the century if, that is, readers of the Geste from 1560 onwards were aware of the incongruity. It would be interesting to know whether similar complications affected the costuming of Robin Hood in parish games and whether churchwardens or those responsible for what Robin wore were influenced in any way by his appearance in print. That costume was an important element in the Robin Hood games can be seen from the frequency with which it appears in the accounts and the considerable expense that it incurred (see TABLE 1). It would be unwise to draw hard and fast conclusions from such a list as accounting practices varied from parish to parish and were often inconsistent even within a single account. For the most part they record expenditure and therefore conceal what might have been given freely or outlasted the period of accounts that survive. Even so, it appears that Robin Hood was primarily signified in performance not by his hat or hood, nor even his weapons, but by his coat or tunic; terms of dress that are infuriatingly imprecise. That in so many instances the coat was custom-made raises interesting questions. Did it differ so much in style, color, and cloth from the everyday that it had to be specially made? It is probable that, unlike the factotums, which, out of the necessity of limited choice, depicted the pre-outlaw status of the two main characters, the costumes made for the Robin of the games emphasized his fugitive existence. Where detailed in the accounts, it is clear that the material of preference for Robin and his companions in games and plays was the Kendal green worn by outlaws rather than the finer and more expensive Lincoln favored by foresters and huntsmen referred to only in the early texts. In terms of color, material and design it seems that costume was intended to enable Robin and his men to stand out in the festive crowd and to signify their outlawry. Whereas the early printers relied upon the availability of factotums for an off-the-peg impression of Robin Hood and Little John, churchwardens were in a position, through costume, to create a bespoke image for the games. In addition to the importance of appearance, the costumes were exposed to a level of wear and tear that would discourage the wearing or loan of personal clothing; hats were lost and coats had to be mended, sponged, and 331

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Table 1  Selected Records of Costume for Robin Hood Games in England34 County

Place

Year

Devon Ashburton 1526–27 “ 1541–42 Braunton 1561–62 “ 1563–64 Chagford 1555–56 “ 1557–58 Chudleigh 1561 Woodbury 1540–41 “ 1581–82 Glastonbury 1500–1 Somerset Yeovil 1568–69 “ 1572–73 Bristol Bristol 1525–26 Shropshire Shrewsbury 1552–53 Kingston-upon- 1507–8 Surrey Thames “ 1508–9 “ 1509–10 “ 1510–11 1512–13 “ 1514–15 “ 1521–22 “ 1523–24 “ 1537–38

Garment RH tunic RH & followers’ tunics RH coat cloth LJ coat 2 coats Hood’s coat Hood’s coat cloth + silk, buttons and whiplace RH & LJ coats Sale of 2 green coats RH tunic RH hose LJ ribbon lace for horn Sheriff green silk ribbon RH & LJ hose Lining for hose RH coats & painting of RH coat (making) Friar coat LJ coat RH & LJ coat (Kendal) Friar coat (3 yards) MM huke (4 yards) RH & MM gloves RH coat (‘half’) Friar coat LJ coat RH coat (Kendal) RH/LJ/Friar coats RH 2 pair of gloves RH pair of shoes LJ pair of shoes RH 4 ostrich feathers RH & LJ shoes RH coats (6¼ yards of satin) RH coats (making) (?)RH coats (3 ells of buckram) RH coats

Cost 3s 10d 19s 11d 12s 6s 8d 4s 6s 8d 11s 3d 8s 8s (received) 14s 8d 2d 4d 6s 8d 59s 3½d 1s 4d 3s 8s 12s 10d 3s 3s 4d 3½ d 7s 6ds 3s 8s 4d 1s 3d 6d 6d 8d 8d 1s 8d 1s 9d 12s 6d 2s 1s 6d 7s

brushed in Kingston-upon-Thames.35 The costumes may have been specially made and effect may have been more important than quality but they were by no means shoddy; the costs incurred match closely the amounts spent on doublets, jackets, and gowns, as well as for hose and shoes, in late fifteenth-century households.36 Nor were the coats and tunics unrefined. In 332

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s the case of Chudleigh in Devon, at least, Robin’s coat was adorned with silk, buttons, and whip lace.37 Lined hose, shoes, and gloves were standard accessories. Whilst a well made coat of green, rather like Father Christmas’s red suit, was an instant means of recognition it was not alone in creating a sense of character. Those that took on the role of Robin Hood in parish games must have defined or reflected current notions of the outlaw persona. Where identifications are possible they tend to be young and presumably fit men drawn from the more manual trades and crafts, reinforcing the masculine and athletic paradigm that is Robin Hood. They were also well equipped to engage in the physically competitive nature of some of the games.38 In a literary tradition that refused to tie down absolutely his status, physical appearance, or wardrobe, it was left to printers and church or guild wardens in the sixteenth century to create, in their different ways, the Robin Hood look of an outlawed yeoman. They leave a visual legacy to the myth of Robin Hood as momentous, if less recognized, as their ballad counterparts who recorded his exploits in words, even if they do keep us guessing as to where he got that hat.

Notes  1 Stephen Knight, Robin Hood: A Mythic Biography (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2003).   2 For references to bycocket hats in a mercantile context see: Hilda Amphlett, Hats: A history Of Fashion in Headwear (Chalfont St. Giles: Richard Sadler, 1974), pp. 70–71 and, in a regal style, F. W. Fairholt, Costume in England: A History of Dress to the End of the Eighteenth Century, 4th edn, 2 vols (London: George Bell, 1896), II, pp. 106–7.   3 Line references to the Gest of Robyn Hode and quotations are from Robin Hood and Other Outlaw Tales, ed. by Stephen Knight and Thomas Ohlgren (Kalamazoo: Western Michigan University, 1997).   4 The verse is scribbled on fol. 100v of Lincoln Cathedral MS132, a thirteenth and fourteenth-centuries’ miscellany. See George E. Morris, ‘A Ryme of Robyn Hode’, Modern Language Review, 43 (1948), 507–8. Until recently Nottinghamshire had a website devoted to Robin Hood which gave proper recognition to this early reference to Robin Hood’s appearance. It also offered a modern English translation. Unfortunately, the auto spell checker transformed what is a reference to headwear into an emotion and had Robin ‘hooded and hated’.  5 Medieval Outlaws:Ten Tales in Modern English, ed. by Thomas H. Ohlgren (Stroud: Sutton Publishers, 1998), p. 20.   6 Ibid., pp. 118, 129.   7 Ibid., p. 258.   8 The Lettersnijder copy of the Geste is the eleventh item added to a collection of works printed by the Edinburgh printers Chepman and Myllar in about 1508, although the Geste may be earlier or, more likely, later than this date: National Library of Scotland: STC 13689.5. An excellent reproduction of Pynson’s knight’s yeoman from the copy of Canterbury Tales held in the Glasgow University Library (Sp. Coll. Hunterian Bv.2.12) can be found at http://www.lib.gla.ac.uk.

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s  9 For the relationship between the Pynson fragments and the Lettersnijder edition of the Geste see, Frank Isaac, English and Scottish Printing Types 1501–35, 1508–41, Biblio­graphical Society Facsimiles and Illustrations, 11 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1930), commentary preceding facsimiles 92 and 93; J. C. T. Oates, ‘The Little Geste of Robin Hood: A Note on the Pynson and Lettersnijder Editions’, Studies in Bibliography, 16 (Charlottesville: Bibliographical Society of the University of Virginia, 1963), pp. 3–8; Thomas H. Ohlgren, Robin Hood: The Early Poems, 1465–1560. Texts, Contexts and Ideology (Newark, DE: University of Delaware Press, 2007). I am extremely grateful to Thomas Ohlgren for his generosity in sharing with me his bibliographic analysis of the early printings of the Geste in chapter 3, ‘From Script to Print: Robin Hood and the Printers’. I am particularly indebted to his verification of Oates’s opinion that ‘Pynson’s text was the source-text or exemplar for the Lettersnijder edition of the Geste’ and that Pynson should be regarded as the ‘earliest surviving edition of the poem’. 10 Ohlgren makes similar observations in ‘Robin Hood and the Printers’. 11 See Amphlett, Hats, p p. 34–35. 12 Knight, Robin Hood: A Mythic Biography, p. 2. 13 Ibid., p. 29. 14 For reproductions of factotums used in the title pages of Tudor interludes see, Richard Southern, The Staging of Plays before Shakespeare (London: Faber and Faber, 1973). 15 For details of Vérard’s output and examples of his Therence factotums see, John Macfarlane, Antoine Vérard, Bibliographical Society (London: Chiswick Press, 1900 for 1899). For the complete text of Therence en francois with illustrations see http://gallica.bnf.fr/ [accessed 1 March 2019]. 16 Wynkyn de Worde, Richard Pynson, Julian Notary, John Skot, William Copland, William Middleton, and Edward White all made use of Vérard’s factotums or had copies made. 17 Jacobus de Voragine, The Golden Legend, trans. by William Granger Ryan, 2 vols (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993), II, 291. The factotum that illustrates St. Theodore was used by Vérard to depict, amongst others, ‘Dromo’, Simo’s slave driver, in Terence’s Andria. 18 Isaac, English and Scottish Printing Types: commentary between fig. 1 and fig. 2. 19 The printer’s mark is used in 1503 preceding the title page in Textus Alexandri cum sententiis & contstructionibus [STC 319] and in 1534 as the colophon to Accidentia ex Stanbrigiana editione nuper recognita [STC 23152]. For an analysis of de Worde’s title pages see Martha W. Driver, ‘Ideas of Order: Wynkyn de Worde and the Title Page’, in Texts and Their Contexts: Papers from the Early Book Society, ed. by John Scattergood and Julia Boffey (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1997), pp. 87–149. 20 The Betley window, although of the seventeenth century, is based on figures drawn from a late fifteenth-century ornamental frieze by Israhel van Meckenem. The window is frequently reproduced and can be seen particularly well by visiting the Victoria and Albert Museum Access to Images site at http://images.vam.ac.uk. The site has changed its URL since the first publication of this chapter and can now be reached by entering ‘Betley Window’ at https://www.vandaimages.com/ [accessed 1 March 2019]. 21 All Saints churchwardens’ accounts; Surrey Record Office KG2/2/1, 68–69. Extracts from these accounts are to be found in Jeffrey L. Singman, Robin Hood: The Shaping of the Legend (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1998), pp. 181–83. For an analysis of the games at Kingston see, Sally-Beth MacLean, ‘King Games and Robin Hood: Play and Profit at Kingston upon Thames’, Research Opportunities in Renaissance Drama, 29 (1986–87), 85–94.

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s 22 In 1531 the Cleeve Prior tenants of Prior More of Worcester entertained him at Crowle with their Robin Hood game that included Maid Marian: ‘In rewardes to the tenantes of clyve. pleying with Robyn Whot Mayde Marion & other vjs.viijd’: Records of Early English Drama: Herefordshire Worcestershire, ed. by David N. Klausner (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1990), p. 513. 23 J. C. Holt, Robin Hood, rev. edn (London: Thames and Hudson, 1989), p. 160. 24 For details of Wood’s employment in the Paston household and his involvement with Robin Hood see, John Marshall, ‘“goon in-to Bernysdale”: The Trail of the Paston Robin Hood Play’, Leeds Studies in English, 29 (1998), 185–217. [Reprinted in this volume as Chapter 14]. 25 For reference to the significance of striped clothing see Ruth Mellinkoff, Outcasts:Signs of Otherness in Northern European Art of the Late Middle Ages, 2 vols (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1993), I, pp. 24–26. For a reproduction of Christ Brought to Caiaphas see fig. 1. p. 66 in vol. II of the same work. 26 Thomas Campion, A relation of the late royall entertainment giuen by the Right Honorable the Lord Knowles, at Cawsome-House neere Redding: to our most gracious queene, Queene Anne, in her progress toward the Bath, vpon the, seuen and eight and twentie days of Aprill. 1613 (London: John Budge, 1613), STC 4545. 27 It is possible that the figure also appeared in the 1507 edition that only survives as a fragment with one illustration: STC 15257.5. 28 ‘Robin Hood and Little John’ in Knight and Ohlgren, Robin Hood and Other Outlaw Tales, pp. 476–85. 29 See Derek Pearsall, ‘Little John and the ballad of Robin Hood and the Monk’ in Robin Hood: Medieval and Post-Medieval, ed. by Helen Phillips (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2005), pp. 42–50. 30 Thomas Knell, An answer at large, to a most hereticall, trayterous, and papisticall byll in English verse which was cast abrode in the streetes of Northampton, and brought before the judges at the last assizes there, 1570 (London: John Awdelye, 1570). 31 As of 31/10/18 the image of the unicorn may now be seen at https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/467642 [accessed 1 March 2019]. The figure in the tapestry referred to here is reproduced in Adolfo Salvatore Cavallo, Medieval Tapestries in The Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1993) p. 299 plate 20a. 32 There is some question concerning the relationship between the first of the sequence of tapestries and those that follow. Nevertheless there is some consistency in the depiction of figures; see Cavallo, Medieval Tapestries in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, pp. 297–327. 33 Surrey Record Office KG2/2/l, 112; Singman, Robin Hood, p. 183. 34 The selection of Robin Hood game records is taken from all that have so far ap­ peared in Records of Early English Drama (REED) and those from Kingstonupon­Thames, the most prolific accounts in terms of reference to costume not yet published by REED. For an interpretation of the REED records to date see, John Marshall, ‘Gathering in the Name of the Outlaw: REED and Robin Hood’ in REED in Review: Essays in Celebration of the First Twenty-Five Years, ed. by Audrey Douglas and Sally-Beth MacLean (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006), pp. 65–84. [Rerpinted in this volume as Chapter 16]. 35 For the ‘hatt that was lost’, 1523, and 1530 for cleaning the coats see Surrey Record Office KG2 /2/l, 120 and 161; Singman, Robin Hood, p. 183. 36 See entries for 1483 in The Household Books of John Howard, Duke of Norfolk,1462–1471, 1481–1483, intro. by Anne Crawford (Stroud: Alan Sutton Publishing, 1992).

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s 37 Records of Early English Drama: Devon, ed. by John M. Wasson (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1986), p. 57. 38 At Chagford in Devon the games were entrusted to the ‘yongemen off the parysche’: Wasson, REED: Devon, p. 54. At Croscombe in Somerset those playing Robin Hood seem to have been in their early to mid-twenties and at least two of them were fullers: see, John Marshall, “Comyth in Robyn Hode’: Paying and Playing the Outlaw at Croscombe’, Leeds Studies in English, 32 (2001), 345–68. [Reprinted in this volume as Chapter 15]. If, as the Kingston accounts seem to suggest, John Gaddysbe was Robin Hood in 1519 (Surrey Record Office KG2 /2/ l, 91) he may have been the ‘Gadsby’ who was a carpenter’s laborer or apprentice recorded in Kingston-upon-Thames Bridgewardens’ Accounts 1526–1567, ed. by N. J. Williams, Surrey Record Society, 22 (1955), p. 2.

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19 REVISITING AND REVISING ROBIN HOOD IN SIXTEENTH-CENTURY LONDON From: Robin Hood in Outlaw/ed Spaces (2017)

The news that in addition to ‘ known knowns’, things we know we know, and ‘known unknowns’, things we know we don’t know, there are ‘unknown unknowns’, things we do not know we don’t know, came as less of a revelation to Robin Hood scholars than it apparently did to politicians and journalists.1 Finding possible ‘knowns’ in fields of previously ‘unknowns’ and making ‘unknowns’ ‘known’ is what makes the study of Robin Hood and its associated conferences so enthralling. There is, though, another category of disputable ‘knowns’, unacknowledged in the Rumsfeld taxonomy, that is more worrying for the cultural historian and critic. These are the ‘knowns’ that turn out to be false ‘knowns’ because the evidence for them has either been misinterpreted or under interpreted, relegating them to the division of ‘unknowns’ on their journey to becoming revised ‘ knowns’. As an outcome of an ongoing research project into the role, reputation, and reception of Robin Hood in sixteenth-century London and its environs, it became clear that some of the ‘known knowns’ in that period and location were not necessarily the ‘knowns’ they were thought to be. The three suspect ‘knowns’ under discussion here are all well-known: the felon, in 1502, likened to Robin Hood in three London chronicles; the royal May festival celebrating Robin Hood at Greenwich and Shooters Hill in 1515; and Henry Machyn’s record of Robin Hood in a May game, in 1559, that paraded through the streets of London. Each event is ‘known’ through the evidence of contemporary chronicles and features frequently, with varying emphases, in works on the history of Robin Hood. In all cases, though, familiarity with these reports has led, if not exactly to contempt, to a somewhat insouciant regard for the original documents in which the occasions are recorded.

‘Greneleef’ and the London chronicles Most critical attention to Robin Hood as a historical figure has been directed toward the three Scottish chronicles of Andrew of Wyntoun, Walter Bower, 337

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s and John Mair, and, more recently, to the Latin insertion, regarding Robin Hood, in an English manuscript of Higden’s Polychronicon.2 Interestingly, these references to a ‘real’ Robin Hood, variously placed in the reigns of Edward I, Henry III, and Richard I, and located in Inglewood, Barnsdale, and Sherwood, are all monastic in origin with a possible vested interest in actualizing and lightly reproving one of their severest opponents. The pro-Scottish tone of three of the chronicles might also have encouraged the stress on the authenticity of a dissident Englishman. The chroniclers reserved particular criticism for the foolishness of those who celebrate Robin Hood in tragedies, comedies, and ballads, as well as propagating favorable opinion about him. Strangely, in spite of the popularity of Robin Hood play-games in southern England, especially along the Thames valley, none of the strictly fifteenth-century London chronicles mention Robin Hood. This could be because, as far as is known, the generally anonymous authors were lay citizens of London with a particular regard for events in the capital.3 The existence or otherwise of a northern-based outlaw hardly impinged on the concerns of Londoners, other than through the fictional media of the time. London chronicles were rather like the popular middlebrow press of today. Uppermost on the list of subjects meriting inclusion were royalty, pageantry and processions, battles, omens, the weather, prices, and, not least, crime.4 It is in the context of the alarm raised by the latter that Robin Hood finds a place in the early sixteenth-century extensions to three of the fifteenth­ century chronicles. The authorship, provenance, and textual relationships of the London chronicles are far too complex and contested to be discussed here.5 As it is, although fascinating, these issues have little bearing on the matter in hand. The three versions of the same event in 1502 are contemporary and ordered here simply to facilitate discussion. No priority is assumed and it is possible that all derive from a source that no longer survives: 1. Guildhall Library: MS Guildhall 3313, The Great Chronicle of London: 1189–1512 1502–03 for mayoral year 1501–02 (fol. 49):

This yere alsoo was quyk & comon talkyng of a man which excercysid many pagentis aftir the comon ffame of the people, of Robyn hood, But among he Robbid & dyd sundry ffelonyes to the grete hurt of Sundry of the kyngis subgectis, The which soo contynuyng lastly abowth midsomyr he was takyn & hys company scalid, This was namyd Greneleef, but what becam of hym the certaynte was not opynly knowyn, albe It that sundry talys were told of hym which as uncertain I ovyr passe.6

2

Fabyans cronycle newly prynted (London: Wyllyam Rastell, 1533): to 1509 1501–02 (leaf ccxxxiiv):

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s

Also thys yere about mydsomer was taken a felowe whych hadde renewed many of Robi hodes pagentes, which named him selfe Greneleef.

3

British Library: MS Cotton Vitellius A. XVI: 1216–1509 + 1516 1501–02 (fol. 203)



Aboute Midsomer folowyng was taken a land Rover, or theff, the which named hym silff Greneleff: the which, as it was Reported, had many Thevis at his Retynew, and Robbed moch people aboute London; of the which was Reported dedes and doynges after Robyn hode.7

There are sufficient similarities in words and phrases to suggest shared dependence on a common source or copying from one to another. All three chronicles note that a felon ‘named Greneleef’ ‘was taken’ ‘about mid-summer’. It is possible that the level of congruity was a result of information taken from a legal indictment. Less likely to appear in an official document registering the arrest of a thief, is the use of the word ‘pageants’ that occurs in both The Great Chronicle of London and Fabyans cronycle. The word has many meanings other than the most common definitions of ‘a play in a medieval mystery cycle’ or the later, more general, ‘a show or play’.8 And yet these closely related meanings are exclusively and unquestioningly applied by Robin Hood scholars. Dobson and Taylor mention the reference to ‘pagentes’ but concentrate instead on the possibility that ‘Grenelef’ assumed the name through knowledge of the Gest of Robyn Hode in which it occurs. Stephen Knight, similarly, emphasizes the likelihood of the name being a self-conscious outlaw pseudonym. David Wiles interprets ‘pageants’ as ‘plays mounted on stage’; a position Jeffrey L. Singman takes further in assuming an allusion to ‘professional or semi-professional drama’. Unlike all of these who draw on the entry in Fabyans cronycle, A. J. Pollard quotes from the more extensive version in The Great Chronicle of London. He, though, takes the description to another level by imagining the event to be evidence for a ‘performer and his company, from the Thames valley, who transgressed from play to actual robbery during the season of May Games’.9 This represents an enormous leap in speculative interpretation from the shaky basis of two allied meanings of a single word. The use of ‘pageants’, in the context of a robber sufficiently active and notorious in London to justify inclusion in three chronicles, is more likely to denote the combined archaic meanings of adopting a recognizable role in life to trick or deceive than it is to indicate performing in a play.10 In other words, the ‘comon talking’ referred to in The Great Chronicle of London was kindled by someone behaving as though he were Robin Hood. This is borne out by the different but more direct wording of MS Cotton Vitellius A. XVI in which the robbing of people in London was reported as ‘dedes and doynges after Robyn hode’. This manuscript, not previously consulted by Robin Hood historians in print, makes quite clear that the actions of ‘Greneleff ’ were viewed 339

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s as simulation rather than representation. Moreover, the implication of the adjective ‘renewed’ in qualifying ‘Robi hodes pagentes’, in Fabyans cronycle, is that ‘Greneleff ’ was ‘reviving’ and emulating the infamous actions of a man celebrated in verse and game.11 ‘Greneleff ’ was not playing, he was for real. His felonies alone may not have warranted a chronicle entry. What elevated his status to one worthy of record was the ‘comon talking’ and the ‘sundry talys’ told about him that compared his deeds with those of Robin Hood. There is also some doubt about the certainty of the name ‘Greneleef’ being used here as a criminal nom de guerre. As is very well-known, in A Gest of Robyn Hode, Little John tells the sheriff that his name is ‘Reynolde Grenelef’ to avoid association with Robin Hood.12 In The Great Chronicle of London, it is baldly reported that the thief ‘was named Greneleef’, whereas the other two chronicles provide the variation, in identical fashion, that he ‘named him selfe Greneleef’. This need not imply that he was giving a false name to elude detection, or, at the same time, ally himself with Robin Hood. It could simply be that, unrecognized by his captors, he had to give a name, true or false, when charged. London during the sixteenth century furnished a fertile environment for organized crime. The combination of abundant wealth, anonymity, and a ready market for stolen goods attracted criminal gangs, like ‘Greenleef’s’, into the capital.13 Whether, at the point of arrest, it would have been wise to adopt a name that was very uncommon in London is impossible to assess.14 The choosing of a name linked with Robin Hood, in probably the most popular outlaw poem of the early sixteenth century, might have been equally injudicious. There is a possibility that ‘Greneleef’ was his actual or long-term adopted name. On the morning of St. Martin’s Day (November 11, 1500) proceedings against John Grenelefe for murder were delivered into the County Court of Middlesex by the Justices of Gaol Delivery. The outcome of the proceedings is not known. If he is the same ‘Greneleef’ arrested for robbery less than two years later, he was either acquitted or escaped. Given the relative unusualness of the name, the chances of there being two criminals called ‘Greneleef’ active in the same area over eighteen months seems remote: unless, of course, ‘Greneleef’ had become the underworld alias of choice or an early example of rhyming slang.15 The Great Chronicle of London description of the arrest, and the wider picture, now becomes much clearer. In 1502, there was considerable gossip circulating about an indicted murderer and thief called ‘Greneleef’. Rumor had it that he behaved like Robin Hood, stealing from many of the king’s subjects, presumably the wealthy and powerful. His felonies continued for some time without respite until he was arrested around midsummer and his company of thieves dispersed (‘scalid’).16 What became of him was uncertain, even though many tales were told about him. The chronicler chose not to repeat the stories. He, likely, thought it would be imprudent, in terms of his readership, to add insult to the injury of those who had been victims, and a threat to his civic standing to participate publicly in the glamorization of criminal activity. In spite of his reluctance to align himself with the 340

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s telling of tales of violence and transgression he, unlike his two counterparts, transformed the standard record of an event into a literary narrative and, by so doing, provides an insight into the process of myth making.

Accounts of the royal May festival held at Greenwich and Shooters Hill in 1515 attended by King Henry VIII and Queen Katherine The May festival in which Robin Hood and his company entertained King Henry VIII and Queen Katherine deservedly takes its place as a significant event in the cultural history of Robin Hood. If it were not for this occasion, and the king’s previous impromptu disguising with his closest courtiers as Robin Hood’s men in the queen’s chamber on the morning of January 18, 1510, the pleasingly broad social appeal of Robin Hood in the sixteenth century would have been severely compromised.17 Accordingly, the event deserves far closer scrutiny than it has hitherto enjoyed. Especially so in the knowledge that but for a hiccup in Tudor court protocol, it would never have taken place. Almost every recent history of Robin Hood mentions the May festival and refers, solely, to the description in Hall’s Chronicle. Undeniably a necessary source, it is by no means entirely accurate or sufficient on its own. Indeed, exclusive reliance upon it has had the effect of obscuring important details about the preparation and casting of the Robin Hood encounter. By March 19, 1515, preparations overseen by Richard Gibson, Yeoman of the Revels and Yeoman of the Tents, were under way for a major court entertainment to take place at Greenwich in May of that year.18 Details of the enterprise, including materials, costings, and the names of craftsmen, were recorded in the Revels’ accounts by Gibson himself. The pageant, representing a palace, measuring 36 feet x 28 feet x 10 feet, was made up of four sections bolted together. The construction was designed to take only an hour to erect or dismantle. Ten towers with various architectural adornments were created by a team of joiners, carpenters, and carvers. The pageant was built with a structural solidity that could support an armed king, duke, marquis, and earl, all upon armored tournament horses, with their servants. The pageant was to be covered in rich cloths of gold and silk supplied by two of the many Italian merchants of fine cloth operating in England at the time.19 With considerable effort and money expended, and before the arrangements were complete, the king abandoned the project and, at very short notice, redirected Gibson to produce the Robin Hood festival. The cause of the king’s abrupt change of mind has not previously been explained.20 A major clue lies in the title given to the original pageant from the outset: the ‘Pallys of Marchallyn’. Even allowing for Gibson’s ‘execrable orthography’ this undoubtedly refers to the Palace of Mechelen.21 The palace, built in 1507, was one of the first renaissance buildings in Flanders and was the official residence of Margaret of Austria, duchess of Savoy (1480–1530), and 341

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s regent of the Habsburg Netherlands between 1507–15 and 1519–30. She was the daughter of Maximilian of Austria and Mary of Burgundy, and named after her step-grandmother, Margaret of York. Margaret of Austria had been widowed twice, the second time in 1504, and is said to have abjured the idea of re-marriage. This did not seem to devalue her eligibility. Charles Brandon, Lord Lisle at the time, a particular favorite of Henry, is said to have flirted with her and, according to Hall’s Chronicle, the ‘noyse’ at Tournai, where they both were in October 1513, was that he ‘made request of mariage to the lady Margarete’.22 Brandon’s creation as duke of Suffolk on February 1, 1514, surprised and shocked many of his contemporaries, giving rise to the insinuation that the hasty preferment was intended to prepare for the marriage. Rumors of an impending union spread quickly through Europe. In spite of Hall’s conviction that Margaret ‘favored him highly’, she seems to have been upset by the gossip and requested that Henry quash the rumors and cancel Brandon’s intended visit to raise troops for forthcoming campaigns. Henry agreed.23 What happened next depends on timing. The duke accompanying the king in the ‘Pallys of Marchallyn’, as we shall see, was clearly intended to be Suffolk and the pageant an elaborate display anticipating and promoting his role in the union with the Netherlands. The preparations began a year after Brandon’s elevation to the ducality, although the initial idea may have occurred at the time of his promotion. If Hall can be believed, Margaret must have been aware of Brandon’s interest and, possibly, Henry’s matchmaking by 1513. When the rumors about a forthcoming marriage reached the level of common knowledge and belief, Margaret was forced to make her concerns known to Henry. Realizing that there were no prospects of the marriage taking place, he complied with her wishes and substituted the proposed prenuptial pageant with a politically less sensitive Robin Hood game that celebrated May and the loyalty of his subjects. There is another possible explanation for the cancellation of the pageant that replaces Henry’s sensitivity toward Margaret with his exasperation toward Brandon. Early in 1515, the duke of Suffolk was sent to France to escort Mary, the king’s sister, back to England following the death of her husband Louis XII. Although Brandon carried out this official duty, Henry set in motion the pageant that was designed to promote the marriage of his friend to Margaret of Austria. Unbeknown to Henry, and without his permission, Mary and Suffolk married in Paris in mid-February.24 Henry was initially furious, not least because Brandon had reneged on a promise to the king never to contemplate such a thing. The majority of the king’s councillors called for Brandon’s imprisonment or execution. Whatever the king’s early thoughts on resolving the matter, he must have known that his thinking behind the planned pageant for May had been rendered irrelevant. On May 3, 1515, Henry met Mary and Charles at Birling in Kent. Sweetened by a considerable share of Mary’s French dower income, he pardoned them and attended their public marriage before the court at Greenwich on May 13, 342

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s 1515. 25 This is a less likely scenario than the king’s response to Margaret of Austria in that the Revel’s list of costumes for the joust that concluded the Robin Hood entertainment specifies apparel for Suffolk. This would seem to imply that the preparations for this replacement pageant were made before Brandon’s marital transgression. Relying solely on Hall’s Chronicle for the royal events of 1515 trails more problems than exclusivity. In that year, Edward Hall was in his first year at King’s College, Cambridge, where he graduated in 1518. He was neither an eyewitness to the Robin Hood festival nor, it seems, had he embarked on his Chronicle. As with many later royal matters, Hall depended on a variety of sources for his entries, including other chronicles and financial accounts.26 A rather more direct relationship with the occasion can be found in the letter sent to the nobleman Alvise Foscari by Nicola Sagudino, secretary to the Venetian ambassador to England, Sebastian Giustinian.27 Sagudino reports that the ambassadors were escorted to Greenwich by two English lords to celebrate Mayday. From there, they accompanied, on horseback, the queen and many of the chief nobles of the kingdom into the country (Shooters Hill) where they met the king. The richly attired queen and her twenty-five damsels attended by footmen attract particular Venetian interest and admiration. In fact, costume seems to have impressed Sagudino particularly. The king’s guard clad in a livery of green with bows in their hands is appreciatively recorded, but there is no mention of Robin Hood and his retinue. The bowers in the wood with sweet singing birds; musicians playing an organ, lute, and flutes; and the requisite banquet are all noted with delight. The journey back to Greenwich with its pageantry, including tall pasteboard giants and music, is followed by an estimated crowd in excess of 25,000. Sagudino goes on to report the king attending mass, dinner in the palace, and a music recital in which he was persuaded to participate. The letter concludes with high praise for the joust and, especially, for the king’s tourneying prowess.28 Hall’s Chronicle account is not so very different from that of Sagudino. He, or his source, was less consumed with appearance than his Venetian counterpart, and more securely embedded culturally. Among the 200 tall yeomen of the guard, ‘clothed all in grene with grene whodes and bowes and arrows’, he singles out ‘one ... whiche called hym selfe Robyn hood’ (note the similar phrasing to that used in the ‘Greneleef’ reference, suggesting that ‘called hym selfe’ describes self-declaration). Robin solicits the king to watch his men shoot. The men let loose their arrows on a starting whistle from Robin. The arrows, by ‘crafte of the head’ return the sound of whistling, greatly pleasing the king and queen. Robin invites the royal couple to enter the ‘grene wood’ and see how the outlaws live. Essentially a ruse to breakfast on venison and wine, the setting is both mythical and theatrical. The arbor made of boughs has a hall, a great chamber, and an inner chamber, all of which are covered with flowers and sweet herbs. For the Venetians, the overriding sensation 343

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s was audiovisual, not surprising given that Sagudino was a proficient musician, for the English, the appeal was savory-olfactory. After feasting, the royal entourage leaves the Greenwood to return to Greenwich, encountering on the way pageants centered on Lady May with ‘richely apparelled’ ladies singing ‘goodly songes’. Finally, Hall describes, approvingly, the evening joust.29 Unlike the impressionistic accounts of Sagudino and Hall, the Revels’ accounts for the May festival make no aesthetic judgments but furnish precise details of the material requirements and cost of staging the festival.30 Much of the account is taken up with the appearance of the king, queen, lords, and attendants as well as the pageant of Lady May. The listing of participants reveals that at least three of the nobles present also took part in the earlier Robin Hood disguising led by the king to entertain the queen in her chamber at Westminster in January 1510. Henry’s particular interest in exposing Katherine to at least two encounters with Robin Hood may derive from the fact that, as well as the more familiar pomegranate, her other badge or emblem was a sheaf of arrows. The Revels’ accounts also divulge more about the presentation in the Greenwood than either of the other sources. For example, Hall overestimated the number of ‘tall yomen’ by some margin. This is slightly odd in that there is evidence that Hall may have had access to Gibson’s accounts, or to a source that had, when compiling his entry for this occasion. His descriptions of clothing, especially, follow Gibson’s wording quite closely. His claim that there were 200 archers may derive from an inaccurate source or, more likely, are based on the average number of yeomen employed by Henry VII, the founder of the Yeomen of the Guard.31 Gibson is more specific. He accounts for 558½ yards of ‘Kendal’ for 123 hooded jackets for the king’s yeomen costing £27 18s 6d (i.e., 4½ yards for each jacket costing 4s 6d).32 To be precise, there were 121 unnamed yeomen as two of the jackets were destined for ‘Yay’ (also spelled ‘Ghay’) and ‘Vawen’ (also spelled ‘Wawen’) who, it turns out, played Robin Hood and Little John. This is the only extant reference in descriptions of this festival that refers to Little John and, to my knowledge, has not been picked up in the Robin Hood literature. Regrettably, the inclusion of Maid Marian and Friar Tuck in this revel has also gone unnoticed. Maid Marian, played by a man or possibly a boy, ‘Thomas Phelers’ (also spelled ‘Vellers’), wore a red cloth kirtle (gown), a green huke (hooded cloak), and a neckerchief, head kerchief, and a black velvet frontlet (a band worn around the forehead).33 Friar Tuck wore a green habit with hood and scapulary (short cloak covering the shoulders ).34 Because the Revels’ account for this entertainment has not been scrutinized in the context of Robin Hood studies it has escaped notice that this is the earliest evidence of a coming together of Robin Hood, Little John, Maid Marian, and Friar Tuck. All four characters also appear at Kingston-uponThames in the early sixteenth century, but there the friar is named ‘tok’ only once and other meanings of the word than a descriptive name are possible.35 If the word was intended to identify a specific friar, it maybe more than 344

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s coincidence that it was adopted only weeks after its use at Shooters Hill. Tuck also makes an appearance in the Paston Robin Hood play-game of the early 1470s without Maid Marian. Clearly, this has implications for the development of the legend and raises the possibility that the royal court played a part in introducing Friar Tuck and Maid Marian to Robin Hood and Little John. One of the advantages of the Revels’ accounts over the personal impressions is that Gibson’s record includes the names of those participating as players in addition to the nobles attending. Something of the curtailed time­ frame for preparation of the Robin Hood festival, caused by the cancellation of the original pageant, can be seen in the modest scenic requirements and the enlisting of the Yeomen of the Guard as core performers. At the end of his account, Gibson lists the ‘nombyr of personagys’ appearing in the ‘may’ and gives the complement of yeomen as 125.36 Earlier, in his accounting for the yeomen’s jackets, he included those for Robin Hood and Little John in the total that numbered 123. The final figure of 125 suggests that the men playing Maid Marian and Friar Tuck, although their costumes were different and recorded separately, were also drawn from the Yeomen of the Guard. Confirmation can be found in two places: Gibson does not list them independently as a group or individuals in his final assessment of participants, and the names of the four players all have connections with members of the Guard. Although not all the names of those who served as Yeomen of the Guard during the reigns of Henry VII and Henry VIII are known, that in many instances sons followed fathers in the role assists in speculative identification. One of the first to be enrolled as a member of the newly founded Guard, in 1485, was Robert Jay. He had previously been in service to the king overseas and had fought at the battle of Bosworth. He was appointed constable of Laugharne castle in Carmarthen.37 Roger Jay might be considered too old to have been the ‘Jay’ who played Robin Hood in 1515, but it could have been a relative, possibly his son. ‘Thomas Jaye’ is granted the position of head carpenter at Calais by Henry VIII on January 24, 1523.38 The Eltham ordinances, dealing with matters of the royal household, drafted by Thomas Wolsey, and discussed at the palace from which the document took its name in 1526, required all members of the Guard to attend their royal duties in person instead of the current practice of sending a substitute, when they were otherwise employed. This restriction severely impaired a yeoman’s capacity to combine outside business activity with the job of protecting the king.39 Until that time, it was not uncommon for Yeomen of the Guard to manage both. ‘Thomas Jaye’ may have earned his promotion to head carpenter through loyal service to the king, and, just maybe, by playing Robin Hood. Identifying the man who played Little John is not helped by Gibson’s handwriting. He writes the surname as ‘Wawen’ and as ‘Vawen’. Wawen exists as a surname but is very rare. It is part of the place name Wooton Wawen, near Stratford-upon-Avon, where it is pronounced something like ‘worn’ with a drawn out emphasis on the middle ‘oar’ sound. It is possible that the name is 345

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s actually Vaughan, given the relatively high number of guards that came from Wales.40 ‘William Waghan’ (possibly Vaughan) was one of five Yeomen of the Guard who were present at the christening of Prince Arthur in Winchester cathedral in 1486.41 ‘Thomas Wawen’, who played Little John, may have been a relative of William. In the Revels’ accounts for May 1527, Holland cloth was bought from ‘Wawen’ in Friday Street.42 If, and it is a major ‘if,’ he was the man who, as a Yeoman of the Guard, played Little John, he was also a linen draper. Only one person named Wawen appears in the records of the Drapers’ Company as living in 1413 but a ‘Thomas Vaughan’ was made free, by gift or purchase, in 1513 and was still living in 1517.43 The dates are a reasonable fit, although the nature of his freedom raises a possible doubt that he was a draper by trade unless he was buying in to the London livery having acquired the requisite status elsewhere. There is another candidate for the player of Little John whose skills extended beyond drapery. In the Drapers’ Company accounts for the Midsummer Show in 1534, ‘Thomas Warren’, on both evenings of the show, processes before the Morris dance as a two-handed sword player.44 He repeated this feat on, at least, two further occasions in 1536 and 1541.45 Although somewhat tenuous, there are a number of reasons why he might have played Little John as well. The name, when spoken, can sound similar to the pronunciation of ‘Wawen’. Gibson’s writing of medial ‘w’, whilst reasonably distinct, could be confused with his use of ‘rr’. Circumstantially, Warren meets the physical and skill requirements of a Yeoman of the Guard and a dexterous sword-player. In addition to personal recommendation, men recruited to the Guard had to be physically fit, valiant, and accomplished archers and swordsmen.46 A more immediately visible characteristic was their height. The Venetian ambassador to England on a visit to Richmond Palace in 1515, the same year he witnessed the Robin Hood festival, was stunned by the appearance of the guards as ‘big as giants’.47 An equivalent height advantage was sought by the Drapers for their sword players. In 1525, they employed three, unnamed, ‘tall men’ to play with two-handed swords.48 ‘Thomas Warren’ seems like a good fit for Little John. Much less information attaches to ‘Thomas Phelers’ (‘Villers’), who played Maid Marian. Gibson describes him as ‘Mr’, a title he uses indiscriminately but usually reserves for men of status. It is not assigned to those who played Robin Hood, Little John, or Friar Tuck. In the case of ‘Phelers’, it may be used as an indication of his youth.49 Geoffrey Villers of Brooksby in Leicestershire was, very probably, a Yeoman of the Guard and may have some familial connection with Thomas.50 More is known about ‘William Wynnesbury’ who played Friar Tuck. Not only was he, without doubt, a Yeoman of the Guard, receiving a livery of black cloth to attend Henry VII’s funeral in 1509, he was also the longest serving of Henry VIII’s Lords of Misrule. He occupied the position, almost certainly, from 1508–09 (the last year of Henry VII’s reign) to 1514–15, and again in 1519–20, longer than any other incumbent between 1489 and 1553.51 346

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s It is likely, given the length of his service, that he not only possessed the organizational skills to oversee Christmas revels but something of the lawless entertainer himself to secure the role of Friar Tuck. In the coming together of man and part, ‘Wynnesbury’ unites the dramatic figure of Friar Tuck, who later acquires notoriety for his combative licentiousness, a Yeoman of the Guard with martial skills, the role of Lord of Misrule, with a clerical heritage in the Feast of Fools, and the Morris dance, with its courtly calendar association with winter revelry. There is ample evidence to indicate that the Morris dance, in its Moorish guise, entered England via the royal court. John Forrest produces seriation graphs of venue, financial support, and official actions that are mapped geographically. These show that the preponderance of Morris dancing in England in the period 1480–1510 was under royal auspices. The pattern of diffusion followed the direction of royal court → urban guild → church yard → village green → private house. The centre of gravity of the coordinates he plots show a clustering of Morris dancing in London between 1481 and 1540, with a noticeable shift from the court to the London guilds between 1530 and 1560, which then moves west and north from 1541–1630 to country parishes and private households, after which it concentrates on a small area in the South Midlands. By far the most recorded patronage in the period 1494–1522 resided with Henry VII and Henry VIII.52 The early courtly Morris dance imitated the modes of movement and assumed the appearance of the Moors. The coincidence between Moorish and Franciscan dress at the time is sufficiently striking to assume that the similarity was widely recognized. A near contemporary woodcut shows something of the resemblance. Cesare Vecellio published in 1590 his remarkable guide to the costume and customs of the peoples of Europe, Asia, and Africa. The entry for ‘Black Moors of Africa’ describes the clothing as ‘an undergarment belted with a scimitar, with mid-length sleeves’. Lower legs are bare and on top of his undergarment ‘he wears a cloak of coarse wool or cotton, with a large hood that he pulls over his head’.53 In the context of a costumed performance, it is not impossible that the coincidence of dress merged the fighting moor with the lecherous friar. One might say that the Turk became the friar or that the friar became Turk. According to Forrest, various elements such as leaping, rhythmic stepping, beating time with implements, dancing bells, and choreographed fighting within a circle composed the components from which dances were constructed.54 With a cast that invariably included a female figure, identified by the London Drapers in their midsummer pageants of 1521 as a ‘woman morian’, and a basic theme centered on competitive combat and a symbolic wooing, it is possible to see how this, initially, courtly dance creation of the mid- to late fifteenth century provided fertile ground for amalgamating, in their various guises, Robin Hood, Little John, Friar Tuck, and Maid Marian.55 A monastic or clerical figurative association with the Lord of Misrule has 347

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s some history. As already pointed out, it may descend fairly directly from the ‘Feast of Fools’ in which a lowly cleric adopted the role of abbot to oversee a day of scatological disorder and religious inversion. This might also explain why the office was occasionally referred to as the ‘Abbot of Misrule’ or ‘Unreason’ and, in Scotland, the ‘Abbot of Bonaccord’. Sir Thomas More makes clear the connection in the first book of The Confutation of Tyndale’s Answer published in 1532. He likens the behavior of Luther and Tyndale to ‘a sorte of freres folowynge an abbote of mis­rule in a Christemas game that were prykked [‘prinked’: dressed up] in blankettes’. ‘Frere Frappe’, as Lord of Misrule, stands on a stool, gapes idiotically at his audience, blesses them ineptly, assumes a holy presence, and delivers a sermon encouraging lechery punctuated with scriptural texts recited in gibberish.56 This sounds remarkably like some of the descriptions of continental Feasts of Fools.57 Here, embryonically at least, in a dancing, fighting, lecherous friar drawn from the Morris dance and Christmas revels are the character traits soon to be distinctively inhabited by Friar Tuck. They may have been on show at Shooters Hill. He is, by some margin, the outlaw embodiment of carnivalesque disorder and misrule as, indeed, he was played by Jeff Nuttall in John Irvin’s 1991 film Robin Hood.58 In the early material, Robin Hood may seek to disrupt and challenge prevailing maladministration in an effort to restore fair rule but there is nothing of the carnival in him. Something of Friar Tuck’s lascivious reputation is inferred in book five of More’s Confutation where Tyndale’s conviction that religious of both sexes should be free to marry is ironically mocked by More’s complaint that it is a ‘greate fawte that frere tukke maye not mary madde Maryon’.59 This relationship is also hinted at some years later in the dance at the end of the Copland May game play, Robin Hood and the Friar, although the ‘lady free’ is not named.60 Disappointingly, perhaps, the romantic sensibilities of later generations demanded that Maid Marian be wooed in an altogether more refined manner. Out went rumbustious Tuck and in came gallant Robin. The rest, as they say, is legend. This identification of a cast list with essential skills to portray the leading characters of the Greenwood inevitably relies on a degree of conjecture. Nevertheless, as Yeomen of the Guard, they were equipped to handle bows and swords. Maid Marian may have had youth on ‘her’ side, Robin Hood was possibly a young man with the authority, confidence, and dexterity to procure a royal appointment in Calais, Little John possessed physical presence and expertise with a two-handed sword, and Friar Tuck had years of experience as a jolly fellow. Before leaving the royal encounter with Robin Hood, the date on which it took place needs clarifying. Sagudino, writing on May 3, 1515, is clear that it was ‘the first day of May’.61 Hall does not give a specific date but describes the festival as a ‘Maiyng’. He confuses the timing by claiming that there was a joust at which ‘the duke of Suffolke, the Marques dorset, and the erle of 348

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Essex’ took part.62 This is the same elite group who were to have been the main players, with the king, in the aborted ‘Pallys of Marchallyn’ pageant. The ‘Maiyng’ did, indeed, conclude with a joust but, if it took place on the first of May, it could not have involved the duke of Suffolk as he was either still in France or on his way to England. He and Mary arrived at Birling in Kent, from Calais, on May 3, 1515, where they were met by the king. They probably chose Birling as it was possible to navigate the Medway, disembark at Snodland, and lodge at Birling Place, the home of Sir George Neville the third Baron Bergavenny. In the circumstances, this provided some much-needed privacy away from London, and the possibility of an element of intercession on their behalf by George Neville, a royal councillor, and, at the time, a close friend of the king.63 Hall, or his original source, misinterpreted the Revels’ account made on May 9, 1515, in which Gibson lists the base coats and horse trappings made for the duke of Suffolk and the others.64 The costumes were made in anticipation of the joust and Suffolk’s attendance. Hall, although following Gibson’s wording, incorrectly inferred that all those named and costumed were present. The event, without the duke of Suffolk, took place on May 1, 1515.65

Henry Machyn and Robin Hood Henry Machyn merits more recognition in Robin Hood studies than as a footnote to a May game in 1559. He was born in either 1496 or 1498 (in the diary that bears his name he gives both dates) and died in London, probably of the plague, in 1563. Two marriages are recorded and at least six children, only two of whom survived him. He was not London born and probably came to the city sometime in the second decade of the six­teenth century. He was admitted to the Company of Merchant Tailors in 1530.66 He is, of course, best known and much quoted for keeping a record of events in London, and occasionally elsewhere, between 1550 and 1563.67 His account was misleadingly described as a ‘diary’ by John Gough Nichols in his Camden Society edition published in 1848.68 Machyn, in his will, called it a ‘cronacle’; a far more accurate description of content and style.69 It is true that the chronicle begins with a series of entries listing the costume and heraldic trappings of funerals in which he had a personal interest: much of his work as a merchant tailor entailed the making of hearse-cloths, escutcheons, and other funerary accoutrements.70 As the chronicle progresses, Machyn broadens the scope of his entries to align them with other London chronicles and include the exercise and actions of the monarchy, notorious felonies and hangings, rebellions, and, especially, public spectacle. In a number of instances, his reporting of events infers that he may have been witness to them. Delighting in visual splendor and the extraordinary, he routinely provides details that speak of his professional interest in costume and pageantry. The chronicle entry most familiar to those interested in Robin Hood is 349

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s dated June 24, 1559 (Midsummer’s Day), and describes a May game at St John Zachary’s church that comprised: a gyantt & drumes & gunes & the ix wordes with spechys & a goodly pagant with a quen & diuers odur with spechys & then sant gorges & the dragon the mores dansse & aft- robyn hode & lytyll john & maid marion & frere tuke & thay had spechys rond a bowt london.71 Machyn was either being disingenuous or politically astute in describing the occasion as a ‘may game’. The date (Midsummer) and the substance of the event (mythical and classical figures) vividly evoke the pageantry of the Midsummer Watch or Show that ceased annual presentation in the mid1540s. Its demise or covert suppression was the result of a combination of political, religious, and financial concerns. The desire of the London companies for public display was transferred to the newly installed Lord Mayor’s Show. The popular appeal of the theatrical element of the Midsummer Watch appears to have been absorbed by the parishes in extending the ambit of what constituted a ‘May game’.72 Machyn makes clear that the involvement of the Greenwood quartet extended beyond procession. They made speeches. Whether this was some form of play-game such as Robin Hood and the Friar published by Copland a year later or the kind of pageant speeches for Robin Hood and a friar that Anthony Munday wrote for the Drapers’ Company Lord Mayor’s Show in 1615 is impossible to tell.73 Similarly, there is no way of knowing whether the dearth of references to Robin Hood in London play-games is due to indifference or scarcity. Machyn thought the 1559 example worth recording without signaling its rarity. His matter-of-fact reporting may be a measure of his familiarity with what was on offer. It is worth noting, though, that Machyn also records May games, before 1559, that included drums, guns, giants, hobbyhorses, the nine worthies, and Morris dancers but no reference to Robin Hood and company. Familiar acquaintance with Robin Hood games is a possibly more likely explanation of Machyn’s omission than lack of curiosity. Evidence shows that he may have had a very particular and vested interest in Robin Hood displays. In addition to his roles as merchant tailor and London chronicler, Machyn was parish clerk to the small church of Holy Trinity the Less to the south west of Knightrider Street in Queenhithe Ward just north of the Thames.74 As parish clerk, he was responsible for maintaining records and singing at funerals and other religious occasions. His religious conservatism was sufficiently tested by Edward VI’s commission to demand churchwardens to list all church artifacts and vestments sold between 1548 and 1552, as well as record what remained, that he noted the injunction in his chronicle.75 Particularly noteworthy here is the Holy Trinity churchwardens’ inclusion, in their inventory of goods remaining, of ‘xv Robyne Hoodes Cottes’; coincidentally, close to the number bought at Kingston in 1519.76 It seems quite possible that Machyn, 350

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s the merchant tailor, parish clerk, and enthusiastic chronicler of spectacle on London streets, made these costumes as he undoubtedly did the hearse-cloths, banners, and streamers also itemized. The apparently unique London parish reference to Robin Hood at Holy Trinity needs some explanation. I have argued before that Robin Hood tends to be called upon to headline a May game when the customary means of funding church maintenance and improvements fall short.77 Holy Trinity the Less was a small and comparatively poor parish. In the chantry certificate returns of 1548, Holy Trinity the Less recorded only 170 communicants, placing it in the bottom 10 % for members in London as a whole.78 The church building was also in some disrepair: John Stow at the end of the century reports that the church was very old and in danger of falling down.79 Collections were inadequate and the building leant on props or stilts: exactly the kind of circumstances in which Robin Hood’s help might be called upon. It seems highly probable that before the changes to the Midsummer Watch that led to its demise in the 1540s, May games were the province of individual parishes that sometimes, according to Stow, joined with their neighbors.80 As parochial concerns, their activities did not attract the wider interest of London citizens to merit inclusion in a chronicle. May games in London were sparsely recorded but not unknown. Even so, only in the case of Holy Trinity the Less is there unequivocal evidence of Robin Hood’s engagement before Machyn’s reference to the May game in 1559.81 This could be because London benefited from both a different political structure, than that imposed on villages and small towns, and considerable wealth at individual and institutional levels. London, in the sixteenth century, was ruled, largely, by freemen and merchants elected to office, rather than the landed gentry and officers of the king. The veneer of democracy was enhanced by loyalties that were interwoven, creating communities that extended beyond the inclusive village parish. Most Londoners in the sixteenth century were members of several communities that encompassed neighborhoods, parishes, wards, livery companies, and the city itself.82 Not only were Londoners, with institutional channels for hearing grievances, less likely to feel the need to express political dissent, symbolically, through Robin Hood, they were also part of complex community of giving to good causes. How, then did the idea for fund-raising with the help of Robin Hood reach a fairly insignificant parish with a ruinous church in London? The example of the Thames valley was a few miles west with Robin Hood playing at Kingston-upon-Thames from the early sixteenth century. Henry VIII, as has been shown, was clearly aware of the association of Robin Hood and May festivity during the early years of his reign. And, at the turn of the century, Londoners were sufficiently familiar with the tales of Robin Hood that they likened them to the felonies of ‘Greneleef’. This range of activities may have been enough to inspire the impecunious parish of Holy Trinity the Less to engage Robin Hood. Alternatively, the rural migrant, Machyn may have been 351

ro b i n h o o d ga m e s the spark that ignited, in one small part of London, an appreciation of what Robin Hood in a May game could do for parish finances. Henry Machyn must have arrived in London by 1530.83 His origins, though, are a matter of some dispute. Linguists, using late middle-English data, claim that his language (in terms of spelling, it is wildly inconsistent) locates him in west Yorkshire, possibly southwest of Wakefield.84 However, significant family connections, involving his brother Christopher and niece Kyneburga, suggest that the small village of Hoby in north Leicestershire was where he lived before coming to London, and was where he may have been born.85 Hoby is approximately five miles west of Melton Mowbray. No records survive from the village that could have indicated Robin Hood activity there. In the town of Melton Mowbray, though, where the extant Townwardens’ accounts begin in 1554–56, Robin Hood’s ‘playe money’ was collected for the years 1554–55, 1555–56, 1562, and, possibly, for 1563.86 Clearly, this activity postdates the years of Henry Machyn’s probable upbringing in Hoby, but the accounts are some of the earliest that exist for the town. Robin Hood games, otherwise rare in Leicestershire, probably preceded extant record of them. As the dates also correspond very closely to the years Robin Hood costumes were listed in the Holy Trinity inventory and the man himself appeared in the London May game, it is conceivable that Machyn had visited the home of his youth and witnessed a Robin Hood gathering in the market town within walking distance. Might Henry Machyn have brought knowledge and experience of Robin Hood games to a small, needy parish in London, applied his tailoring skills to costuming, and, toward the end of his life, implanted an occasional and momentous memory in the footnotes of ‘known’ Robin Hood history in London?

Notes   1 The ‘known unknowns’ quotation is taken from US Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld at a news briefing on February 12, 2002.   2 For the three Scottish chronicles, the most accessible extracts in translation appear in Robin Hood and Other Outlaw Tales, ed. by Stephen Knight and Thomas Ohlgren (Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 1997), pp. 21–27. For the insertion about Robin Hood in the manuscript Eton College MS 213 (Higdon’s Polychronicon), see Julian M. Luxford, ‘An English Chronicle Entry on Robin Hood’, Journal of Medieval History, 35 (2009), 70– 76.  3 Mary-Rose McLaren, The London Chronicles of the Fifteenth Century: A Revolution in English Writing (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2002), pp.15–39.   4 Ibid., p. 264.   5 The chronicles are examined in detail by McLaren.  6 The Great Chronicle of London, ed. by A. H. Thomas and I. D. Thornley (London: George W. Jones for the City of London, 1938; repr. Gloucester: Alan Sutton, 1983), p. 319.  7 Chronicles of London, ed. by Charles Lethbridge Kingsford (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1905), p. 257.

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s  8 OED pageant, n. and adj. A. n. l. a., and 2.b.  9 R. B. Dobson and J. Taylor, Rymes of Robyn Hood: An Introduction to the English Outlaw, rev. edn. (Stroud: Sutton, 1997), p. 4; Stephen Knight, Robin Hood: A Complete Study of the English Outlaw (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994), p. 268; David Wiles, The Early Plays of Robin Hood (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1981), p. 32; Jeffrey L. Singman, Robin Hood: The Shaping of the Legend (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1998), p. 66; A. J. Pollard, Imagining Robin Hood: The Late-Medieval Stories in Historical Context (London: Routledge, 2004), pp. 175– 76. 10 OED pageant, n and adj. A. n. lb, ‘A part played by someone in a situation; the role which a person takes in life, in society, etc.’; or, lc. ‘A performance intended to deceive; a trick. To play (a person) a pageant: to trick, deceive, or take advantage of (a person)’. 11 OED renewed, adj. 2. ‘That has been renewed; restored, revived; fresh’. 12 Knight and Ohlgren, Robin Hood and Other Outlaw Tales, p.109 line 595. 13 Ian W. Archer, The Pursuit of Stability: Social Relations in Elizabethan London (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 206. 14 A random search through period documents and genealogical sites provides very few with the name. Robert Grenelefe (a cobbler) is listed in an inquisition made for the regulations of the Cordwainers and Cobblers of London in 1409: Memorials of London and London Life in the 13th, 14th and 15th Centuries, ed. by H. T. Riley (London: Longmans, 1868 ), pp. 570–76; Robert Grenelefe alias Baker of Dorchester leaves a ‘bason with ewer and best brass pot’ to the Franciscan Friars of Dorchester in 1420: The Victoria History of the County of Dorset, ed. by William Page, 2 vols (London: Archibald Constable, 1908), II, pp. 93–95; Henry Grenelefe, bailiff of Henley-on-Thames witnessed a grant of tenement deed in 1492: A Descriptive Catalogue of Ancient Deeds in the Public Record Office, ed. by H. C. Maxwell Lyte, 6 vols. (London: HMSO, 1915 ), VI, pp. 431–43: burial of Johnes Grynliffe is recorded at Norwich February 26, 1541. The Family Search web site [accessed 2 October 2018] has more but most births postdate 1600. 15 Coroner’s Inquests delivered into Court by the Justices of Gaol Delivery in the several Circuits or otherwise brought into Court, Michaelmas Term, 16 Henry VII. Pouch III, Bundle I, Membrane 37: Brought in ‘Morrow of St. Martin’ (i.e., November 11, 1500) in the County of Middlesex proceedings against John Grenelefe for murder. Third Report of the Deputy Keeper of the Public Records: Appendix II (London: HMSO, 1842), p. 221. 16 OED skail, v. II.5 ‘To break up (an assembly, school, etc.) by dismissal; to disband (an army)’. 17 Edward Hall, The union of the two noble and illustre families of Lancastre and Yorke (London: Rychard Grafton, 1550), fol. viv: STC (2nd ed.)/ 12723a. Extracted in Janette Dillon, Performance and Spectacle in Hall’s Chronicle (London: The Society for Theatre Research, 2002), p. 31. 18 See, W. R. Streitberger, Court Revels, 1485–1559 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1994) for details of Gibson’s career as a ‘deputy’ Master of Revels. 19 For Gibson’s accounts for the aborted pageant see NA: E36/217, fols 227–46. The accounts are abstracted in Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic, of the Reign of Henry VIII, Preserved in the Public Record Office, the British Museum, and Elsewhere, ed. by John Sherren Brewer and others, 21 vols. (London: Longman, Green, Longman, and Roberts, 1864–1920), II, ii (1864), pp. 1503–4. Streitberger in his Court Revels gives a brief narrative account, p. 78. On the role of the Italian merchants supplying the court with cloth see, The Great Wardrobe Accounts

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s of Henry VII and Henry VIII, ed. by Maria Hayward, London Record Society Publications, 47 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2012), pp. xxxviii–li. 20 Marie Axton, ‘The Tudor Mask and Elizabethan Court Drama’, in English Drama: Forms and Development, ed. by Marie Axton and Raymond Williams (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), pp. 24–47 (p. 28), offers an impossible explanation, ‘Suddenly Henry pardoned Brandon, scrapped his previously planned entertainments and celebrated his friend’s triumph in the most elaborate maying of the reign’. Henry pardoned Brandon and Mary on May 3, 1515, two days after the ‘maying’. The significance of these dates is discussed later in this chapter. 21 E. K. Chambers, Notes on the History of the Revels Office Under the Tudors (London: A. H. Bullen, 1906), p. 6, comments on Gibson’s ‘careful accounts, compiled in an execrable orthography’; Ian Lancashire, Dramatic Texts and Records of Britain: A Chronological Topography to 1558 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1984), p. 192, proposes the rather improbable, ‘Palace of Marshalling’. 22 S. J. Gunn, ‘Brandon, Charles, the First Duke of Suffolk (ca. 1484–1545)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004): ODNB (2009) [accessed 1 March 2019]; Dillon, Hall’s Chronicle, p. 50. 23 S. J. Gunn, ‘Brandon’; Dillon, Hall’s Chronicle, p. 50. 24 David Loades, ‘Mary (1496–1533)’, ODNB (2004), [accessed 1 March 2019]. 25 Ibid. 26 Dillon, Hall’s Chronicle, 1–5; Peter C. Herman, ‘Hall, Edward (1497–1547)’, ODNB (2004), [accessed 1March 2019]. 27 A translation of the letter sent by Sagudino can be found in Four Years at the Court of Henry VIII: Selection of Despatches written by the Venetian Ambassador, Sebastian Giustinian, and Addressed to the Signory of Venice, January 12th 1515, to July 26th 1519, trans. by Rawdon Brown, 2 vols. (London: Smith, Elder and Co., 1854), I, pp. 79–81; Marin Sanuto’s, Diary (1509–15), vol 20: NA: 31/14/130 covers the same event taken from the Sagudino letter. Marin Sanuto (1466–1536) was a Venetian historian and diarist. His diaries cover the period 1496–1533 in 58 volumes. Abstracted and translated in Calendar of State Papers Relating to English Affairs in the Archives of Venice, ed. Rawdon Brown, 38 vols. (London: Longman, Green, 1864–1947), II, for years 1509–1519 (1867), no. 624, pp. 246–51. 28 Four Years at the Court of Henry VIII, I, p. 81; Calendar of State Papers Relating to English Affairs in the Archives of Venice (1867), II, no. 624, pp. 248–49. 29 Edward Hall, The union of the two noble and illustre families of Lancastre and Yorke, fols lviv–lviir. Extracted in Dillon, Hall’s Chronicle, pp. 56–57. 30 Accounts for the May 1515 Robin Hood festival at NA E36/229, fols 66–72. The accounts are abstracted in Letters and Papers (1864), II, ii, 1504–5. 31 Anita Hewerdine, The Yeomen of the Guard and the Early Tudors: The Formation of a Royal Bodyguard (London: I. B. Tauris, 2012), p. 31. 32 NA: E36/229, fol. 69. Letters and Papers, II, ii, 1504. 33 NA: E36/229, fols 68–70. Letters and Papers, II, ii, 1504. 34 NA: E36/229, fols 70–71. Letters and Papers, II, ii, 1504. 35 In the Kingston-upon-Thames account for 1514–15 (Kingston Borough Archives: KG2/2/1, page 84), it is possible that the ‘tok’ that follows ‘ffreer’ may mean ‘took’ as in ‘took the fee’. In the same account appears a payment to ‘yong men that tok apon them to pleye the mores davns’, I should like to thank Sally­Beth MacLean, Associate Director and Executive Editor of Records of Early English Drama (REED) for generously allowing me sight of her transcription of the Kingston records.

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s 36 NA: E36/229, fol. 72. Letters and Papers, II, ii, 1505. 37 Hewerdine, The Yeomen of the Guard, pp.10–11. 38 Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic, of the Reign of Henry VIII, Preserved in the Public Record Office, the British Museum, and Elsewhere, ed. by John Sherren Brewer and others, 21 vols (London: Longman, Green, Longman, and Roberts, 1864–1920), III (1867), 1181. 39 Hewerdine, The Yeomen of the Guard, p. 38. 40 Ibid., pp. 235–4. 41 Ibid., p. 12. This means that ‘Waghan’ was a member of the Guard at the same time as Roger Jay. 42 Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic, of the Reign of Henry VIII, IV (1875), 1391. Tradesmen who were also Yeomen of the Guard were frequently patronized by the court: Hewerdine, The Yeomen of the Guard, p. 118. 43 Percival Boyd, Roll of the Drapers’ Company of London: Collected from the Company’s Records and other Sources (Croydon: Andress Press, 1934): for ‘Wawen’, see p. 195, and for ‘Vaughan’, p. 189. 44 Collections 3: A Calendar of Dramatic Records in the Books of the Livery Companies of London 1485–1640, ed. by Jean Robertson and D. J. Gordon, Malone Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1954), p. 24. 45 Ibid., pp. 29, 34. 46 Hewerdine, The Yeomen of the Guard, pp. 8, 14. 47 Ibid., pp. 61–62. 48 Robertson and Gordon, Calendar of Dramatic Records, p. 17. 49 OED, master, n1 and adj, 22. 50 Hewerdine, The Yeomen of the Guard, p. 231. 51 For Wynnesbury’s attendance at the funeral of Henry VII, see Hewerdine, The Yeomen of the Guard, p. 224. For acting as Lord of Misrule, see Streitberger, Court Revels, pp. 253–5, 259–60, 429. 52 John Forrest, The History of Morris Dancing, 1458–1750 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1999), pp. 28–46. 53 Margaret F. Rosenthal and Ann Rosalind Jones, Cesare Vecellio’s Habiti Antichiet Moderni, The Clothing of the Renaissance World (London: Thames and Hudson, 2008), p. 488. 54 Forrest, History of Morris Dancing, p. 74. 55 Robertson and Gordon, Calendar of Dramatic Records, p. 6. 56 The Complete Works of St. Thomas More, ed. by Louis A. Schuster, Richard C. Marius, James P. Lusardi, and Richard J. Schoeck, 15 vols (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1963–1997), VIII, ii (1973), p. 42. 57 The Medieval European Stage 500–1550, ed. by William Tydeman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), p. 568. 58 Robin Hood (1991), 20th Century Fox, dir. by John Irvin. 59 Schuster, Complete Works of St. Thomas More, VIII, ii, p. 586. 60 For the text of the play published by William Copland in the early 1560s, see Knight and Ohlgren, Robin Hood and Other Outlaw Tales, pp. 286–90. 61 Brown, Four Years at the Court of Henry VIII, I, p. 79; Brown, Calendar of State Papers (1867), II, p. 248. 62 Dillon, Hall’s Chronicles, p. 37. 63 On Birling, see Edward Hasted, The History and Topographical Survey of the County of Kent, 12 vols (Canterbury: W Bristow, 1797–1801), IV (1798), pp. 474– 88. For Neville, see Alasdair Hawkyard, ‘Neville, George, third Baron Bergavenny (ca.1469–1535)’, ODNB(2004). [accessed 1 March 2019].

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s 64 NA:E36/229, fol. 71; Letters and Papers, II, ii, 1504–5 65 It is worth noting that the first of May was a paid holiday. Not for any seasonal or pagan reasons, but because it was the feast day of St. Philip and St. James. See the Craftsman’s calendar of holidays for 1337 in John Harvey, Medieval Craftsmen (London: Batsford, 1975), p. 196. This might explain the 25,000 followers at the festival. 66 Ian Mortimer, ‘Machyn, Henry (1496/1498–1563)’, ODNB, (2004). [accessed 1 March 2019]. 67 BL: MS Cotton Vitellius F V. For an online facsimile and transcript of the manuscript go to the University of Michigan site, A London Provisioner’s Chronicle, 1550–1563, by Henry Machyn, at [accessed 1 March 2019]. 68 The Diary of Henry Machyn, Citizen and Merchant-Taylor of London, From A.D. 1550 to A.D. 1563, ed. by John Gough Nichols, Camden Society, 42 (London: Printed for The Camden Society, 1848). 69 Ian Mortimer, ‘Tudor Chronicler or Sixteenth-Century Diarist? Henry Machyn and the Nature of his Manuscript’, Sixteenth Century Journal, 33.4 (2002), 981–98, (p. 986). 70 A hearse-cloth dated between 1520 and 1540 hangs in the Hall of the Merchant Taylors’ Company to this day, and is illustrated in Matthew Davies and Ann Saunders, The History of the Merchant Taylors’ Company (Leeds: Maney, 2004), Plate II B. It is not known whether it was commissioned by the company or donated by a member, pp. 30–31. It is a fine example of the type of work that Machyn might have undertaken during the same period. 71 The quotation is taken from The London Provisioner’s Chronicle site (see n. 67), fol. 106, p. 1176. This transcript is more accurate than Nichols, p. 201. 72 Anne Lancashire, London Civic Theatre: City Drama and Pageantry from Roman Times to 1558 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), pp.158– 70. 73 For the Copland play see n. 60, and the Munday ‘Robin Hood’ Lord Mayor’s Show, titled Metropolis Coronata, the Trivmphes of Ancient Drapery: see also Pageants and Entertainments of Anthony Munday: A Critical Edition, ed. by David M. Bergeron (New York: Garland Publishing, 1985), pp. 93–96. 74 The church no longer exists. See Gordon Huelin, Vanished Churches of the City of London (London: Guildhall Library Publications, 1996), p. 4. 75 Edward VI’s commission is recorded by Machyn as an entry for 17 April 1553: London Provisioner’s Chronicle, fol. 17v, p. 179; John Gough Nichols, The Diary of Henry Machyn p. 34. 76 NA: E117/4/67, fols lr–5v, fol 5v. For a transcript of the inventory, see H. B. Walters, London Churches at the Reformation: With an Account of Their Contents (London: SPCK, 1939), pp. 125– 29. At Kingston, the number of participants, as indicated by the purchase of costumes, varies from year to year. In 1519, fourteen coats were made, in addition to one for the friar, whereas sixteen hats were hired from London, Kingston Borough Archives KG2/2/1, p. 97. 77 John Marshall, ‘Gathering in the Name of the Outlaw: REED and Robin Hood’, in REED in Review: Essays in Celebration of the First Twenty-Five Years, ed. by Audrey Douglas and Sally-Beth Maclean (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006), pp. 65–84. [Reprinted in this volume as Chapter 16]. 78 London and Middlesex Chantry Certificate 1548, ed. by C. J. Kitching, London Record Society, 16 (1980), p. 43. 79 John Stow, A Survey of London, ed. by Charles Lethbridge Kingsford, 2 vols (London: Oxford University Press, 1908; rev. edn.1971), II, 2. 80 Ibid., I, p. 98.

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s 81 See references to May games in Records of Early English Drama: Ecclesiastical London, ed. by Mary C. Erler (Toronto and London: University of Toronto Press and The British Library, 2008). 82 Archer, The Pursuit of Stability, pp. 60–63 (p. 64), claims that within the wealthier inner city, one in three householders held some kind of office in any one year. 83 Mortimer, ‘Tudor Chronicler’, p. 990. 84 Derek Britton, ‘Henry Machyn, Axel Wijk and the Case of the Wrong Riding: The South-West Yorkshire Character of the Language of Machyn’s Diary’, Neuphilologische Mitteilingen, 101 (2000), 571–95. More recently, Britton has responded to Mortimer’s argument for placing Machyn in Hoby, Leicestershire. Although remaining unconvinced on linguistic grounds, he concedes that ‘there is little of any substance to indicate definitely that Machyn’s language could not be of Leicestershire provenance’; Derek Britton, ‘The dialectal origins of the language of Henry Machyn’, in Managing Chaos: Strategies for Identifying Change in English, Studies in the History of the English Language, ed. by Christpher M. Cain and Geoffrey Russom, 3 (Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter), pp. 251–65, (p. 262). 85 Mortimer, ‘Tudor Chronicler’, pp. 988–91. 86 The relevant Melton Mowbray records are LRO: DG36/285, LRO: DG36/288/2, and LRO: DG36/284/7. I am extremely grateful for the help provided by Sally-Beth MacLean in respect of these accounts. Brief and not always accurate transcripts of records relating to Robin Hood in Melton Mowbray are provided by William Kelly, Notices Illustrative of the Drama, and Other Popular Amusements (London: John Russell Smith, 1865), pp. 63–67.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY OF PUBLICATIONS AND PRODUCTIONS

Books Peter Meredith, The Practicalities of Early English Performance: Manuscripts, Records, and Staging, Shifting Paradigms in Early English Drama Studies, Variorum Collected Studies, ed. by John Marshall (London and New York: Routledge, 2018)

Articles ‘The Chester Coopers’ Pageant: Selles and Cathedra’, Leeds Studies in English, 8 (1975), 120–28 ‘The Chester Whitsun Plays: Dating of Post-Reformation Performances from the Smiths’ Accounts’, Leeds Studies in English, 9 (1977), 51–61 ‘Players of the Coopers’ Pageant from the Chester Plays in 1572 and 1575’, Theatre Notebook, 33 (1979), 18–23 ‘The Chester Pageant Carriage: How Right was Rogers?’, Medieval English Theatre, 1.2 (1979), 49–55 ‘The Medieval English Stage: A Graffito of a Hell-Mouth Scaffold?’, Theatre Notebook, 34 (1980), 99–103 ‘The Wheeled Dragon in the Luttrell Psalter’, with Peter Meredith, Medieval English Theatre, 2 (1980), 70–73 ‘Marginal Staging Marks in the Macro Manuscript of Wisdom’, Medieval English Theatre, 7.2 (1985), 77–82 ‘Nailing the Six-Wheeled Waggon: A Sideview’, Medieval English Theatre, 12.2 (1990), 96–100 ‘“The Crowning with Thorns and the Mocking of Christ”: A Fifteenth-Century Performance Analogue’, Theatre Notebook, 45 (1991), 114–21 “‘Her virgynes, as many as a man wylle”: Dance and Provenance in Three Late Medieval Plays; Wisdom/The Killing of the Children/The Conversion of St Paul’, Leeds Studies in English, 25 (1994), 111–48 ‘A Scene from the Life of St Edmund: Dramatic Representation in an English Medieval Alabaster’, Theatre Notebook, 48 (1994), 85–102 “‘Fortune in worldys worschyppe”: The Satirising of the Suffolks in Wisdom’, Medieval English Theatre, 14 (1994 for 1992), 37–66 “‘O ȝe souerens þat sytt and ȝe brothern þat stonde ryght wppe”: Addressing the

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Audience of Mankind’, in European Medieval Drama 1(1997), ed. by Sydney Higgins (Turnhout: Brepols,), 189–202 “‘goon in-to Bernysdale”: The Trail of the Paston Robin Hood Play’, Essays in Honour of Peter Meredith, ed. by Catherine Batt, Leeds Studies in English, 29 (1998), 185–217 “‘Comyth in Robyn Hode”: Paying and Playing the Outlaw at Croscombe’, Porci ante Margaritam: Essays in Honour of Meg Twycross, ed. by Sarah Carpenter, Pamela King and Peter Meredith, Leeds Studies in English, 32 (2001), 345–68 “‘Walking in the air”: The Chester shepherds on stilts’, According to the Ancient Custom: Essays presented to David Mills, ed. by Philip Butterworth, Pamela M. King and Meg Twycross, Medieval English Theatre, 29 (2009 for 2007), 27–41 ‘A “gladnes” of Robin Hood’s men: Henry VIII entertains Queen Katherine’, Medieval English Theatre, 40 (2019), 98–121

Chapters in books ‘Playing in the Street’, in Drama in Education 1: The Annual Survey, ed. by John Hodgson and Martin Banham (London: Pitman, 1972), pp. 163–69 “‘The Manner of these Playes”: The Chester Pageant Carriages and the Places Where They Played’, in Staging the Chester Cycle, ed. by David Mills (Leeds: Leeds Texts and Monographs, 1985), pp. 17–48 ‘Drama’, in The Student Book, ed. by Klaus Boehm and Jenny Lees-Spalding (London: Macmillan, 1988 and subsequent years), page numbers differ each year ‘Modern Productions of Medieval English Plays’, in The Cambridge Companion to Medieval English Theatre, ed. by Richard Beadle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp. 290–311 ‘Playing the Game: Reconstructing Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham’ in Robin Hood in Popular Culture: Violence, Transgression, and Justice, ed. by Thomas Hahn (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2000), pp.161–74. ‘Riding with Robin Hood: English pageantry and the making of a legend’, in The Making of the Middle Ages: Liverpool Essays, ed. by Marios Costambeys, Andrew Hamer and Martin Heale (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2007), pp. 93–117 ‘Picturing Robin Hood in early print and performance: 1500–1590’, in Images of Robin Hood: Medieval to Modern, ed. by Lois Potter and Joshua Calhoun (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2008), pp. 60–81 ‘Revisiting and revising Robin Hood in sixteenth-century London’, in Robin Hood in Outlaw/ed Spaces, ed. by Lesley Coote and Valerie B. Johnson (London and New York: Routledge, 2017), pp. 111–31 ‘Show or Tell: Priority and interplay in the early Robin Hood play/games and poems’, in Telling Tales and Crafting Books: Essays in Honor of Thomas H. Ohlgren, ed. by Alexander l. Kaufman, Shaun F. D. Hughes, and Dorsey Armstrong (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 2016), pp. 177–202 ‘Robin Hood plays and combat games’ in The Routledge Research Companion to Early Drama and Performance, ed. by Pamela M. King (London and New York: Routledge, 2017), pp. 170–84

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ro b i n h o o d ga m e s Online publication ‘Robin Hood: An annotated bibliography’ at http://www.oxfordbibliographies.com (requires subscription) search ‘Medieval Studies’ and ‘Hood, Robin’ (New York: Oxford UP, 2012 and 2016)

Theatre productions directed for public performance The Farm (David Storey): John Stripe Theatre, King Alfred’s College, Winchester (1977) The Nativity: a sequence of pageants from The Chester Cycle: The Chapel, King Alfred’s College, Winchester (1977) Waiting for Godot (Samuel Beckett): John Stripe Theatre, King Alfred’s College, Winchester (1979) Demonstrations Magical (Devised): Arts Centre, King Alfred’s College, Winchester (1980) Wisdom (c.1464): Winchester Cathedral: first recorded full performance with dances since the fifteenth century (1981) Raffy and Sean (Devised): John Stripe Theatre, King Alfred’s College, Winchester (1981) The Arbor (Andrea Dunbar): John Stripe Theatre, King Alfred’s College, Winchester (1981) The Conversion of St Paul (c. 1480): Winchester Cathedral (1982) The Killing of the Children and Candlemas Day (c. 1500): Winchester Cathedral (1983) Megrim (Maureen Duffy): Arts Centre, King Alfred’s College, Winchester: world premiere; formerly under consideration by RSC (1983) Stand by Britain (Devised): Arts Centre, King Alfred’s College, Winchester (1984) The Castle of Perseverance (c. 1425): Wickham Theatre, University of Bristol (1986) Fulgens and Lucres (c. 1495): Wickham Theatre, University of Bristol (1989) The Magpie on the Gallows (Devised): Wickham Theatre, University of Bristol (1990) The Mary Play from the N-Town Manuscript (c. 1468): Wickham Theatre, University of Bristol (1990) The Mink Under the Sink (Devised): Wickham Theatre, University of Bristol (1993) From Creation to Nativity (The Towneley Cycle): Wickham Theatre and outdoor sites in the university precinct, University of Bristol (1993) Mankind (c. 1470): VAR Studio, University of Bristol, in conjunction with the conference, ‘Look, Listen and Learn: Medieval Culture and its Audiences’ (1995) Everyman (c. 1510): Wickham Theatre, University of Bristol (1995) The Coming of Antichrist from the Chester Cycle: Van Dyck Gallery, University of Bristol (1996) Mary Magdalene (c. 1500): Wickham Theatre, University of Bristol (1997) The Sad Shepherd (Ben Jonson): Royal Fort Gardens, University of Bristol (1998) Everyman (c. 1510) VAR Studio, University of Bristol (1998)

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INDEX

Benett, Thomas 48 Berry Tower Building Fund 283 Beverley Cycle list 96 Bevington, David 89, 116 Blomefylde, Myles 117 Blower, Thomas (churchwarden) 258 The boke of the tales of Canterburie 317 Bolle, Edward 260 Bower, Walter 337 Boy Bishop ceremony 104, 105 Branch, William 257, 260 Brandon, Charles 342 Breu, Jörg 326 Britannia 69, 70 Browne, E. Martin 195 Bryden, Bill 197 Bulwer, Thomas 233 Bury St Edmunds 91, 102, 103, 105, 106, 109, 117, 138, 144, 148, 154

Abbaye gates 31, 46 The Abbey Gate, Chester 32 Abbey gates 33, 46, 48 Abbo of Fleury 151 Abbot of Marham game 274 actor–audience relationship 206 actors 177 Adambel 330 ad hoc groups 205 Ailmer, Thomas 137 Alderman mounforts 19 Allington of Bottisham 152 alter ego 237 Andrew of Wyntoun 337 animal symbolism 120 Anna Prophetissa et (virgynes) tripident 98 annunciation 183 Antoine, Bastard of Burgundy 234 Antwerp printer 319 Arundel Castle 222 Assheton, Sir Richard 325 Assumption of Our Lady pageant 211 As You Like It 310, 311 Augustin Dawtrey of Nottingham 306 Baker, Donald 89 Baldassare Cossa 37 Barker, Howard 196 Barker, Richard 16, 17 Barnes, Sir Randle 15 Barnes, Thomas 15 Bartholomew Fair 126 Bartholomew Master 171, 172, 174 basic pageant carriage, reconstruction 45 battle of Agincourt 319 battle of Tewkesbury 125 Benedictine Rule to Sherborne 300

Cailleau, Hubert 163, 164 Caister Castle 226, 227 Cambridge, Trinity College, MS R.2 .64 238–9 The Cambridge Companion to Medieval English Theatre (1994) 194–215 Camden, William 69 Campion, Thomas 326 Candlemas Day 84, 95, 105, 211 Candlemas guild 104, 144 Canterbury Tales 319, 325 Carpenter, Richard 272 Carpenter, Sarah 199 cart clouts 36 Carter, John 257 Carter, William 260, 261 The Castle of Perseverance 84, 161, 164, 165, 198, 199, 204, 209–10

361

index A Catalogue of Misericords in Great Britain 135 Catholicon Anglicum 137 Ceres 181, 184–5, 189; renaissance history of 186 Chambers, E. K. 272 Chapel of St George 257, 258, 265 Chaucer, Alice 126, 138 Chaucer, Thomas 120 Chester City Record Office 16 Chester cycle 200 Chester Freeman Rolls 24 Chester glaziers 66, 72 Chester Midsummer Show 63 Chester Mysteries 32 Chester pageant carriages 30–57, 59, 59, 60 Chester plays, in 1572 and 1575 23–9 Chester Record Office 31 Chester Smiths’ Purification pageant 99 Chester Whitsun plays 3, 13–22, 30, 62 Christ: ‘The Crowning with Thorns’ 168–75; mocking of 168–75 Christ Brought to Caiaphas 326 Christian worship 101 Christ’s Trial and Crucifixion 33 The Church House 265 churchwardens’ accounts 252 civic happiness 296 Clopper, Lawrence M. 13, 18, 19, 26, 57, 62, 145 The Cobblers Prophesie 185 Common Hall Lane 53 communal identity 224 communalism 249 Comyth in Robyn Hode 248–70 The Confutation of Tyndale’s Answer 348 contemporary dramatization 188 The Conversion of St Paul 83–115, 207, 208, 210 Coogan, Sister Mary Philippa 152 Coopers: expenditure in 1572 38; pageant, players of 23–9 Copland, William 322, 327, 328 Cordwainers 187 Corporation Calendar 300 Corpus Christi: cycles 27, 96, 107, 168, 196; day 16; pageants 94; plays 102, 179, 196, 237, 281; processions 39 Costner, Kevin 271 costume, Robin Hood Games 332 Coventry Leet Book 25

Craig, Hardin 145 Cronycle of Englonde 325 Croscombe: Hogglers 252; Parish income 253–6; paying and playing outlaw 248–70; records 249 Croulay, John 35 dance and provenance 83–115 Daniel, Samuel 185 Davidson, Clifford 70, 176 Davis 232 Dawtrey, Augustin 313 Daye, Saint Georges 31 ‘Deceit’ misericord, Norwich Cathedral 134 Decius, Emperor 172 de la Pole, John 121 de la Pole, William 117, 121, 125, 126, 128, 131, 132, 138 Denny, Neville 145 ‘Deullys dance’ 85 de Worde, Wynkyn 322, 324, 326, 330 Digby manuscripts 79, 81, 84, 96, 107, 117 Dissertation on the Pageants or Dramatic Mysteries anciently performed at Coventry, A 33 divine mystery 101 Dobe, Edward 64, 66 Dobe, Moses 64 Dobe, Richard 64 Dobson, R. B. 238 Doomsday (1985) 197 Dorrell, Margaret 26 The Downfall of Robert Earl of Huntington 296 Dramatic Texts and Records of Britain 93 dramatizations 190 Drayton, Michael 67 Drunken Swallyguttes 63 Dublin plays 186 Dura-Stilts 66 Dusse guild 105 Earl of Northumberland 93 The Early Plays of Robin Hood 240, 249, 272 early Tudor period 225 East Anglian provenance 116 Eccles, Mark 87, 91, 93, 120, 130 Edgar, David 196 Edmundson, William 153

362

index Eliot, T. S. 195 employment 78 English medieval alabaster: dramatic representation in 176–93 English Medieval Graffiti 161 English medieval theatre 177 Essays in Honour of Peter Meredith, Leeds Studies in English (1998) 219–47 European Medieval Drama 1 (1997) 144–55 Everyman 188, 194 Exeter Receivers’ Account Roll 285 Exient 79, 89 Fabyans cronycle 339 Fens and Marshlands 67 Ferris, D’Arcy 300, 301, 303, 306, 309, 311, 313; pageant philosophy 307 The Festival of ye Summer Queen 306 fifteenth-century performance analogue 168–75 First International Conference of Robin Hood Studies, University of Rochester 249 fitz Ailwin, Henry 296 fitz Waryn, Foulke 317 Fitzwater, Robert 296 Fleming, Richard 222 Forrest, John 347 Fortune in Worldys Worschyppe 116–43 Foscari, Alvise 343 Fouquet, Jean 163, 164, 168, 174 fraternity 224 Frazer, James 272 Frere, George 222 Frere, William 222 From Theatre Notebook (1991) 168–75 Fulgens and Lucres 88, 93 funeral replica, John de la Pole’s tournament 133 Furnivall, F. J. 207 The fyftene joyes of maryage 322 gallants 86, 89 Gatch, Milton 116 Genson, Io 99 Genson, John 99 geo hedmaker 14 Geste of Robin Hood 316 Gest of Robyn Hode 294, 317, 339 Gibson, Gail McMurray 91, 102, 105 Gibson, Richard 341

Gion Matsuri 37 Glastonbury 249 Godly Queen Hester 188 Golden Legend 99–101, 181 goon in-to Bernysdale 219–47 The Great Chronicle of London 338–40 Green Lord of the Wildwood 271, 293 Greenwood hospitality 262 Grey Friar Lane 45 Gyllam, Hugh 24, 26, 27 Halse, John (churchwarden) 259, 261 Hancoke, Robert 14 Handlyng Synne 123 Harling, Anne 155 Harrison, Tony 197 Hatton, John Liptrot 310 Hauteyn, John 138 Hedge, John 103 Hedge, Robert 103 hell-mouth scaffold, graffito of 161–7 Henry VI 118 Henry VIII 297, 341–9 Heydon, John 136, 137 Higden 325, 338 Hildburgh, W. L. 6, 179 Hille, John (churchwarden) 258, 261 HMS Pinafore 305 Hocktide 252 Hoggen Green 186 Holland, John 136 Holme, Randle 13, 16, 18, 60 Holt, James 324 Holy Innocents’ Day 105 Holy Trinity 350, 351 Honythorne, John (churchwarden) 260 Horestes 188 The Hours of Etienne Chevalier 172, 174 The Hours of Reynalt von Homoet 168 Howes, Thomas 226 Huntington, William 17 The Hunt of the Unicorn tapestries 330 Hyngham, monk 117 Hyngham, Richard 148 Hyngham, Thomas 148 Illustrations of the Stage and Acting in England to 1580 (1991) 176 Images of Robin Hood: Medieval to Modern (2008) 316–36 Ireland, George 51 Isle of Man Midsummer Fair 63

363

index Jay, Roger 345 Jee Pageant vehicle 34 Jellicoe, Ann 196 Joculatores Lancastrienses 205 Johnston, Alexandra 83, 145, 249 Jolles, Sir John 295 judicial hypocrisy 132 The Kalendar of Shepherds 321, 322 Kalle, Richard 25–7 The Killing of the Children 83–115, 210, 211 King’s Bench 132 Knell, Thomas 328 Knight, Stephen 241, 271, 316, 319, 321, 339 Knights of the Garter 123 The Knight’s Yeoman, Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales 320 Knowles, Gilbert 14 Lancashire, Ian 93 Landes shepherds 67, 69 Lansdown Castle 305 Last Supper 207 Le Costume Historique 67, 69 Leeds production 206 Leeds Studies in English (1994) 83–115 Ley, John 47, 48 Lichfield ‘Greenhill Bower’ 299 ‘Life of Robin Hood’ 294 Life of St Edmund 151 Linson, George 14 Little Gest of Robin Hood 284, 289 Locker, William 14 London Midsummer Day May game of 1559 297 Lord Mayor’s Show 298, 299 Lord of Clarence 119 lordship of Croscombe 250 Louvain ommegang 40 Lucifer 80 Luttrell, Sir Geoffrey 178 Luttrell Psalter 178, 180 Lyceum Theatre 197 Lydgate, John 184 The lyf of Adam 322 Lyhert, Walter 129 Lytell Geste of Robyn Hode 322, 323 Machyn, Henry 8, 349–52 Maclean, Sally-Beth 249

Macro manuscripts 77–82, 84, 120, 161 The Macro Plays 93, 145 Madam Regent 124–6, 128, 139 Magna Britannia 32 Maid Marian 294 The Making of the Middle Ages (2007) 293–315 Mankind 84, 144–50, 152–4, 207, 285 manner of these playes, Chester pageant carriages 30–56 Margaret of Anjou 118, 125, 126, 135 Margaret of Austria 343 marginal staging marks: in Wisdom, Macro manuscript 77–82 Mark 172 Markland, J. H. 4, 32 Marquis of Suffolk 118 Marser, Thomas 25–7 Marshal, Earl 228 Martin, Thomas 219, 222 The Martyrdom of Saint Apollonia 163 The Martyrdom of St Apollonia 168, 173 The Martyrdom of St James the Major 174 Mary Magdalen 84, 164, 165, 210 matrons 89 Matthew 172 Matthews, John 240 ‘Mayde Playne’ 306 Mayor’s Show pageants 60 McGrath, John 196 medieval artists 40 medieval English plays: modern productions of 194–215 medieval English stage 161–7 Medieval English Theatre 248 Medieval English Theatre, 12 (1990) 57–61 Medieval English Theatre 14, (1992) 116–43 Medieval Players 205 Meg Twycross 203, 211, 248 Mendip Hills 250 Meredith, Peter 65 A Mery Geste of Robyn Hoode 322, 328 Meryll, Nicholas 153, 155 METh meeting 248 Metropolis Coronata; the Triumph of Ancient Drapery 295 Middlesex 130, 131 Millenary Festival Committee 302, 307

364

index Mills, David 62, 77, 104, 199 Mind 81, 85, 87, 88, 90, 117, 120, 124, 128 Moko Jumbies 65 Molloy 123 Monck, Nugent 194 Montacute, Thomas 118 More, Thomas 348 More, William 280, 281 Morris, Roger 257, 259–61 Mortimeriados 67 Mowbray, John 226 Mowbray, Melton 352 MS R. 2. 64 222, 224, 232 Mumming at Eltham 184 Munday, Anthony 295, 296, 350 Mundum Book 108 The Mysteries 197, 211 National Theatre 6, 197, 211 The Nativity (1980) 197 Nativity pageant vehicle 40 Nelson, Alan H. 36, 57, 205 Nelson, Philip 181 Neville, George 349 Nichols, John Gough 349 Noah 32 Noah’s Flood 72 Notary, Julian 322 N.town manuscript 96, 171 Nunc dimittis 99, 100, 105 Ohlgren, Thomas 241 Olyuer of Castylle 322, 327 Oscar Wilde 306 pageant carriage 24 Pallys of Marchallyn 341, 342, 349 Pampyng, John 227 Parfrey, John 102–6 Parker, Louis N. 299 Parker, Martin 306 The Passion (1977) 27, 197 Passio Sancti Eadmundi 181 Paston, John 7, 128, 222, 223, 225–30, 234–8 Paston, Margaret 126, 127, 138 Paston, William 138, 219, 223 The Paston Letters 118 Paston Robin Hood Play 219–47 Peacock, Thomas Love 294 Percy Folio, manuscript 236

Percyvall, John 15 performance sites, corroboration 46 ‘perjury, yowr fownder’ 86, 88 Peterborough Abbey 70 Peterborough Psalter 70 Philip, Sir John 118 Piers Plowman 293 Poculi Ludique Societas 205 Poel, William 194 Pokett, Pope 153 Pollard, A. J. 339 Pollard, A.W. 125 Polychronicon 338 Poly-Olbion 67 Pomeroy, Richard 250 Porci ante Margaritam: Essays in Honour of Meg Twycross, Leeds Studies in English (2001) 248–70 post-reformation performances 13–22, 25 pottyng stang 37 Praetorium 170 Prentis, William 127 pre-reformation English church dedications 190 The Pride of Life 154 Prince of Thieves 271 Pritchard, Violet 161 prototype game 252 Psalter, Luttrell 68 public feeling 125 Purification 211 Purification: Christ and the Doctors pageant 23, 40 Pykrell, Thomas 189 Pynson, Richard 317, 322 Queen Elizabeth 184, 185, 297, 298 Queen Katherine 341–9 Queen Margaret 126 Racinet, Albert 67, 69 Raleigh, Walter 300 Rec of Tho Towers 17 Records of Early Drama 273 Records of Early English Drama (REED) 7, 62, 65, 83, 108, 249 REED in Review (2006) 271–92 religious guilds 95 renaissance 293 Renaissance and Modern Studies 240 The Resurrection 42

365

index Reydon, John 127 Reynes, Robert 146 Richard, Duke of York 118 Ripon Chronicle 303 Ripon Millenary Committee 313 Ripon Millenary Festival 300, 302; Ticket 305 Ritson, Joseph 294 River Skell and Fountains Abbey 304 Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne 231, 233, 235, 241 Robin Hood and Other Outlaw Tales 241 Robin Hood and the Curtail Fryer 310 Robin Hood and the Curtal Friar 285, 309 Robin Hood and the Friar 348 Robin Hood and the Monk 231, 328 Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham 230, 233–4, 239–40 Robin Hood and ye Curtall Fryer 312 Robin Hood gatherings 275–9, 282, 285 Robin Hood in Outlaw/ed Spaces (2017) 337–57 Robin Hood manuscript 222, 224 Robin Hood studies: early print and performance, 1500–1590 316–36; ‘Greneleef’ and London chronicles 337–41; Henry Machyn and 349–52; royal May festival, Greenwich and Shooters Hill 341–9; in sixteenthcentury London 337–57 Robin of Sherwood 272 Robinson, Anne 66 Robinson, Frederick 66 Robinson, John Henry 32 Rogers, David 4, 30, 57–60 Rogers, Robert 30, 35, 57–9, 61 Roman deities 184 Roman public building 170 romanticism 294 Romeo and Juliet 303 Rumsfeld, Donald 8 Rumsfeld taxonomy 337 Ryder, Urian 14 Rymes of Robyn Hood: An Introduction to the English Outlaw 240 Sagudino, Nicola 343 Salter, F. M. 65 Sandler, Lucy Freeman 70 Saracen’s head crest 122 Scola Cantus 105 Sharp, Thomas 4, 33

The Shepardes kalendar 327 Shepherd on stilts 71 The Shepherds 42 Sherborne Pageant of 1905 300 shoemakers 39, 42, 187 Short Title Catalogue (STC) 322 Shrewsbury 274 Simeon’s final speech 97 Simon Founder 15 Singman, Jeffrey L. 248, 339 ‘Sire Thomas Bolewere’ 233 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight 235 Sir Thomas More 295 six-wheeled waggon: nailing 57–61 Slaughter of the Innocents 32, 33, 48 Smart, W. K. 120 Smith, John 25 Smiths’ play accounts 13–22 Snede, William 48 social dimension 258 soul 128 Southern, Richard 188 Specimens of the Pre-Shaksperean (sic) Drama 240 Staging the Chester Cycle (1985) 30–56 Stanbury, John 129 St Anne’s Day 211 St Dunstan 181 St Edmund 179–81; guild 5, 150–2, 154, 155; legends of 184; life of, scene 176–93 Sterndalle, John 224, 226, 227, 230 Stetchworth graffito 162, 163 Stevyn, John (aka Sadeler) (churchwarden) 260–1 St John the Baptist 94, 189 St Mary Abbey 316 St Mary the Virgin, Croscombe 264 Stocken, Hugh 16 Stokes, James 249 Stonor, Thomas 135 Stow, John 351 Streitberger, W. R. 248 Stukeley, William 222, 223, 294 St Werburgh’s Abbey 99 Stynson, John 24, 26, 27 Suffolk pedigree 128 Suffolks In Wisdom: satirizing of 116–43 sword dance ceremony 85 Taylor, J. 238 The Tempest 185

366

index Theatre Notebook (1979) 23–9 Theatre Notebook (1980) 161 Theatre Notebook (1994) 176–93 Therence en francois 321 Tintinhull 249 title-page woodcut, William Copland 329 Towers, Thomas 17 The Treasury and Vestry 266 Tree of Jesse carriage 40, 43 The Trial and Flagellation 23, 24, 26, 27, 42 Trinidadian Carnival 65 Triumph of Isabella 40 Tuddenham, Thomas 127, 136, 137 Tudor patronage 89 Tudor plays 197 Tynwald Day celebrations 63 Ulveston, John 127 Understanding 81, 86–8, 90, 117, 128–9, 132 urian rither 14 Uwins, Thomas 32 Vacat ab hin 109 Van Alsloot, Denis 40, 41, 60 Van Evan, Edward 40, 44 Vecellio, Cesare 347 Vérard, Antoine 321, 330 verisimilitude 177 Villar, Mary del 207 The Vision of the Twelve Goddesses 185 Von Bylant, Sophia 168 Wallace, William 317 Wasson, John 248, 249, 273 Waytt, Robert 63, 64, 66 Webster, Anne 50, 51 Wells 249 Welsh shepherds 70, 71 Westfall, Suzanne 89, 91, 92 Westonzoyland 249

Whitmore, John 50, 51 Whitsun play 65, 66, 72; expenses 15, 16 Whitsuntide procession 299 Whittington, Dick 298 Whyte, Robert 99 Wickham, Glynne 207 Wiles, David 248–9, 271, 272 Will 81, 87, 88, 117, 128, 136 Willes, Richard (churchwarden) 259, 261 William, Duke of Suffolk 117, 131 William Pool of Hull 128 Will’s boast 80 Wilson, Robert 185 Winchester Cathedral 108 Windsor, William 261 Windsor Castle 125 Wingfield Church, pulpit 121 Wisdom 77, 78, 82, 83–115, 117–20, 123, 125, 129–31, 136–8, 144, 203, 208, 209, 210, 211 Wits exit stage direction 90 Woodcut of ‘Robin Hood’ 318 Wood of Fulbourn 152 Worcester Cathedral Priory 280 Worth, John 222 Wright, W. Aldis 219, 222 Wymondham, John 127 Wyndylsor, Wyllyam (churchwarden) 259 Wynnesbury, William 346 Wytway, Richard 224, 226–8, 230 Yelverton, William 226 Yeovil 249 York Crucifixion wagon production 201 York cycle 200, 205 York Festival, Joculatores Lancastrienses’ Resurrection waggon 202 York Festival, Last Judgement waggon 202 Yorkshireman 312 Young, M. James 206

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