WINCHESTER PALACE WINCHESTER PALACE
Beside all these people Southwark contained the Show Folk of Bankside. When the Show Folk began to live in Bankside I know not: their settlement originally was in Westminster outside the King's Palace, where there was always a great demand for music, dancing, tumbling, mumming and such recreative performances; they were also, however, in great request in London by City Church, city company, and city tavern7. Now there was no place for them within the walls: they had no company: there was neither a Musicians'; nor a Dancers'; nor a Singers'; nor a Mummers';{207} nor a Tumblers' Company. There was no company which would admit them; there was no ward8 where they could get a street for themselves: they were gently but firmly pushed out. And not only were they a class apart but they were a class in contempt. It was always held contemptible9 to{208} provide amusement. No one, as yet, had made of music or of acting10 a fine art; no gentleman, as yet, and for a long time after, would take part in the buffoonery which the actor had then to exhibit: an atmosphere of disrepute attached to the calling, to those who followed the calling, and to the place where they lived: in the City, Aldermen had a way of connecting nocturnal disorders12 with these children of melody: where they resorted the taverns13 would carry on their revelries after curfew, even to midnight: if the street was alarmed by nocturnal ramblers it would prove to be after an evening with the dancers and the tumblers: the Church, especially the Church Puritanic, set her face against those who devised entertainments, on the ground that the devisers were an ungodly and dissolute crew. Therefore they crossed the river. On Bankside, in the Liberty of the Clink, where the City could not interfere15, they 'went as they pleased.' They were dissolute, if they chose—Heaven knows whether they did choose—without reproach: their taverns kept open house as long as they would stop to drink: there was singing every day without interference: there was merriment without the rebuke16 of the sour face: there was no fear of being haled before the Lord Mayor, for making people laugh: there was no terror of pillory17, and no man on their side of the river was 'put in stocks o' Monday, for kissing of his wife o' Sunday.' It was the Bishop18 of Winchester's Liberty, but he was content, on the whole, to leave the residents unmolested and in the possession of their guitars, their fiddles19, their songs and their plays.
THE GLOBE THEATRE THE GLOBE THEATRE
(From the Crace Collection)
When the Show Folk were wanted in the City it was easy for them to go across: they were ready at a moment's notice to arrange a pageant20, or to take part in one: they could provide the beauteous maidens21 in white with long fair tresses who stood on platforms in Chepe and scattered22 gold rose nobles made of paste on the heads of the crowd: they found hermits23, and constructed caves for those godly men in the{209} midst of Gracious Street: they found the music for the dragging of the traitor24 on a hurdle25: for the march of the rogue3 to the pillory: for the riding of the Lord Mayor: for the procession of the Company on its feast day. For a miracle play they presented the parish church with the Fall of Man: the Raising of Lazarus: the Pilgrims of Emmaus: David and Goliath: or any other episode from the Bible—how many excellent players there were among them whose names have long since been forgotten! They knew how to present a Masque—not, perhaps, with the same splendour as one by{210} Ben Jonson and Inigo Jones—who commanded the King's purse—but a neat and creditable affair, with dresses appropriate, full of surprises, and furnished with mythological26 characters, for the Hall of a City Company on the day of the Annual Feast. For young gentlemen of the more debauched kind they had another kind of entertainment, with singing, dancing girls, tumbling and posturing27; with rare jests—pity they were not rarer—and excellent fooling by their clowns. The modern art of acting did not begin at the Globe Theatre: there has never been any time when the actor was unknown: the only difference is that he was not formerly28 allowed to be anything but a buffoon11: that he had little but buffoonery in his répertoire: and now he is an artist and scorns the tricks of the buffoon. Nor is the art of entertainment of modern invention. The Company of Parish Clerks, for instance, were great promoters of sacred plays. Their poets—whose names are entirely29 lost—provided the words and arranged the scenes; the members of the company played the parts: the Show Folk 'mounted' the piece: they provided the monsters; the red flames for the mouth of Hell; the troops of angels or of devils, the stage business and the music. Many of the Parish Churches had their annual play on their Saint's Day. Thus the Parish Church of St. Margaret, which was taken down when St. Mary Overies' became St. Saviour's, had its play on St. Margaret's Day (July 20), and often another on the Day of St. Lucy (December 13) as well. We have already observed that the Londoner of old never made any difference in the matter of Play or Pageant whether the time was summer or winter. He was like the Scythian, face all over: he felt no cold: he held his Riding, or his Coronation Procession, quite as readily in December as in July.
Another kind of Show Folk, but rougher and more brutal30, were the people who looked after the bears and the dogs. Bull baiting, bear baiting, sometimes horse baiting, together with badger31 baiting, duck hunting, cock throwing, dog{211} fighting and cock fighting, were the chosen and common sports of the people. Baiting of every kind there was wherever there were dogs and bulls and badgers32, but the centre and headquarters of the sport was South London, in the place called Paris Gardens. The popularity of the sport is shown by the simple facts that there was not only bull and bear baiting in Paris Gardens, but also two rings or amphitheatres for bull and bear baiting outside the gardens behind Bankside, and that in the High Street itself, nearly opposite St. George's Church, there was permanently34 established the bull ring to which an animal could be tied whenever one was found fit for the purpose of affording an hour's sport by the madness of his rage or the agonies of his death.
The present Blackfriars Bridge Road cuts through the site of Paris Gardens, leaving a portion on either side. They extended to the distance of about a quarter of a mile south of the river: sluggish35 streams and ditches ran across and round the gardens, which were so thickly planted with trees as to be dark in the summer. Both in summer and winter the place was noisome36 with exhalations from the marshy38 soil. These gardens were the chief home of the rough and cruel sports already mentioned: here were kept under the King's bearward the King's dogs; the Mayor's dogs; and the bears whom they baited. It does not appear that bulls were also kept here: for baiting purposes it was generally a young bull that was chosen, and he was baited to death. The bears were not killed, they were all known to the people by name, such as Harry39 Hunks and Sackerson, and were valued in proportion to the sport they afforded. The dogs, who with the bears were fed upon the offal and refuse brought over every day from the Shambles40 of Newgate, were incredibly fierce and savage41. In these days we hardly know what a savage dog is, even the bull dog has become peaceful: formerly, the best defender42 of the house was the dog who was unloosed at night: they fed him chiefly on meat: he was{212} trained to fly at the throat of a stranger: he was a terror to wayfarers—remember the dog in the second part of the 'Pilgrim's Progress:' he was always biting and rending43 some one: he had the ferocity of the wolf redeemed44 only by affection for his master: we have no such dogs in these days. Accompanied by one or two such fierce mastiffs or bull dogs who feared no one but their master, a man might journey from end to end of the country armed with nothing but a club. Such a dog would fight and would overcome a man. Kept in the kennels45, with insufficient47 exercise, with stimulating48 food, the creatures became fiercer than wolves and stronger than tigers. The bull they loved to bait: he had horns and hoofs49 to dodge50: but the bear afforded the best sport both for man and dog: he presented a nose and ears and a thick fur on which to spring, and to fasten the canine51 teeth upon. What joy to hang on to those ears, torn and bleeding, the whole dog quivering with rapture52 even though in the end one stroke of the bear's hind33 paw dragged out the inside of the dog, with the heart and the breath of life!
It was a Royal sport, a sport offered to ambassadors. In a contemporary Diary it is related that the French Ambassadors, on May 25, 1559, were entertained at Court with a dinner, and after dinner with a bull and bear baiting, the Queen herself looking on from a gallery: the next day they were taken down the river to see the bull and bear baiting at Paris Gardens. Forty years later James the First entertained the Spanish Ambassador after dinner with the bears fighting with greyhounds and with a bull baiting. About the same time the Duke of Wirtemberg paid a visit to London and saw the baiting at Paris Gardens:
'On the 1st of September his Highness was shown in London the English dogs, of which there were about 120, all kept in the same enclosure, but each in a separate kennel46.
'In order to gratify his Highness, and at his desire, two bears and a bull were baited; at such times you can perceive the breed and mettle53 of the dogs, for although they{213} receive serious injuries from the bears, are caught by the horns of the bull, and tossed into the air so as frequently to fall down again upon the horns, they do not give in, [but fasten on the bull so firmly] that one is obliged to pull them back by the tails, and force open their jaws54. Four dogs at once were set on the bull; they, however, could not gain any advantage over him, for he so artfully contrived55 to ward off their attacks that they could not well get at him; on the contrary, the bull served them very scurvily56 by striking and butting57 at them.'
BEAR GARDEN BEAR GARDEN
And another contemporary account of a bear baiting is furnished by Hentzner in 1598:
'There is still another place, built in the form of a Theatre, which serves for the baiting of bears and bulls: they are fastened behind, and then worried by those great English dogs (quos lingua vernacula "Docken" appellant), and mastiffs, but not without great risks to the dogs from the teeth of the one and the horns of the other, and it sometimes happens they are killed on the spot: fresh ones are immediately{214} supplied in the places of those that are wounded or tired. To this entertainment there often follows that of whipping a blinded bear, which is performed by five or six men, standing58 in a circle with whips, which they exercise upon him without any mercy; although he cannot escape from them because of his chain, he nevertheless defends himself vigorously, throwing down all who come within his reach and are not active enough to get out of it, tearing the whips out of their hands and breaking them. At these spectacles, and everywhere else, the English are constantly smoking the Nicotian weed, which in America is called Tobaca—others call it P?tum—[i.e. Petun, the Brazilian name for Tobacco, from which the allied59 beautiful plant 'Petunia60' derives61 its appellation,] and generally in this manner: they have pipes on purpose made of clay, into the farther end of which they put the herb, so dry that it may be rubbed into powder, and lighting62 it, they draw the smoke into their mouths, which they puff63 out again through their nostrils64 like funnels65, along with it plenty of phlegm and defluxion from the head. In these Theatres, fruits, such as apples, pears and nuts, according to the season, are carried about to be sold, as well as wine and ale.'
Bear baiting was so popular that fellows roamed about the country leading a bear which they offered to be baited for so much an hour at the inns which they passed. The master of the 'King's Game' had power to seize upon any mastiff dogs, bears, or bulls for the King's service and to bait in any place within his dominions66. Henslow and Alleyn, both actors, were also masters of the King's Game: they had licence to apprehend68 all vagrants69 travelling with bears and bulls.
There was another place where the refining influence of the bear baiting might be enjoyed. Its site is still preserved in the lane called Bear Garden Alley67. In Agas's map of 1560 an amphitheatre is shown called the 'Bear Baiting:' a little to the west another amphitheatre is seen called the 'Bull{215} Baiting.' Whether these places were the only buildings erected70 for this amusement or whether they were put up in addition to the place in Paris Gardens is a point for the antiquary. It is learnedly discussed by Mr. Ordish ('Early London Theatres'). The Spanish Ambassador in 1544 describes a bear baiting—but he does not say exactly where he saw it. 'On the other side of the town' is vague. I think, however, that he must mean Paris Gardens:
'On the other side of the town we have seen seven bears, some of them very large; they are driven into a circus, where they are confined by a long rope, while large and courageous71 dogs are let loose upon them as if to be devoured72, and a fight takes place. It is not bad sport to witness the conflict. The large bears contend with three or four dogs, and sometimes one is victorious73 and sometimes the other; the bears are ferocious74 and of great strength, and not only defend themselves with their teeth, but hug the dogs so closely with their forelegs, that, if they were not rescued by their masters, they would be suffocated75. At the same place a pony76 is baited, with a monkey on its back, defending itself against the dogs by kicking them; and the shrieks77 of the monkey, when he sees the dogs hanging from the ears and neck of the pony, render the scene very laughable.'
In the year 1550 Crowley, the author of certain 'Epigrams' against abuses, mentions Paris Gardens (see Stow and Strype, 1758, vol. ii. p. 8).
Every Sunday they will spend One penny or two, the bearward's living to mend. At Paris Gardens each Sunday, a man shall not fail To find two or three hundred for the bearward's vale.
Later on there was certainly an amphitheatre in Paris Gardens, because an accident happened there.
'The same 13th day of Januarie, being Sunday about foure of the clock in the afternoon, the old and under-propped scaffolds round about the Beare Garden, commonly called{216} Paris Garden, on the south side of the great river Thames over against the citie of London, over-deluged with people, fell suddenly downe, whereby to number of eight persons, men and women, were slaine and many others sore hurt and bruised78 to the shortening of their lives. A friendly warning to all that delight themselves in the cruelties of beastes than in the workes of mercy, the fruits of a true, professed79 faith, which ought to be the Sabbath dayes exercise.' (Stow's 'Annals,' continued by Hawes.)
The amphitheatre would hold a thousand people.
The sport had other dangers: the bear, for instance, might get loose. Once the blind bear got loose: it was on December 9, 1554, and on the Bankside, probably at the amphitheatre outside Paris Gardens. He caught a serving man by the leg 'and bytt a grate pesse away, and after by the hokyll bone, that within iii days after he ded' (Machyn).
Wherever such sports were carried on there must needs spring up a rabble80 rout81 who made their living by them: the bearward, the serving man who kept the kennels, fed the dogs, exercised the dogs, fed the bears, looked after the amphitheatre, took the money, and above all provided the drink. In the little lane now called the Bear Garden, there is a small square place which I take to be the survival of an open court in front of the circus. There is here a small tavern: the house itself is not ancient, but I believe that it stands on the site of the house which provided wine and beer for the spectators of the bear baiting. These sports, with others such as wrestling and fighting: these great crowds of people gathering82 together: the music which accompanied everything: caused the creation of taverns and drinking-places. Another attraction to the place may be only hinted at in these pages. Suffice it to say that all the profligate83, all the debauched, all the rowdy, all the lovers of sport among the citizens of London crossed over to Bankside every evening in the summer and every Sunday in the winter, and{217} there they frolicked, drank, sang, quarrelled, fought, and tortured animals to their hearts' content.
It is pleasant to think of Bankside and the fields beyond it—the pleasure garden of London. It was easy to get into the open country on every side of the City walls, but there was no place so pleasant as the Lambeth Marsh37 and the Bankside: none that offered so many and such various attractions. The flag flying over the Theatre proclaimed that a play was forward: the number of those who loved the play more than the baiting increased daily: there was never a time when the citizens did not love the green fields and the woods: and these lay behind Paris Gardens and the Bank, beyond the barking of the dogs and the roar of the crowd and the blare of the music and the stink84 of the kennels. Every summer evening the river was crowded with the boats taking the people across to the stairs upon the Bank between St. Mary Overies and Old Barge85 House Stairs: innumerable were the boats. As for the watermen, John Taylor, the water poet, says that there were 40,000 of them plying86 between Windsor and Gravesend, while the number of people who were carried over every day to the plays on Bankside was three or four thousand. Forty thousand seems an enormous number, but we must remember that there were no docks: that ships were laden87 and unladen in mid14 stream by barges88 and boats: that the Thames was the highway between London and all riverside places; between London and Westminster; between London and Southwark, because even if one lived close to the bridge it was easier and quicker to be taken across by a boat than to walk over the bridge. The conveyance89 of three or four thousand people across the river every day would not want more than a thousand boats or two thousand watermen: at the same time the loss of their custom, which happened when the people went to Blackfriars instead of the Bank for their play, would be felt by the whole fraternity of watermen.
We have arrived at the time when the bear baiting{218} attracted less than the play acting: when the amphitheatres were turned into theatres: and when Bankside became the residence of the poets and the players. They came; unfortunately the other people did not go away. There remained the tribe of them who made the music and found the dancers and the tumblers, the mummers and the conjurers: there remained the men—a rough and brutal lot—who looked after the bears and the dogs: the men who wielded90 quarterstaff and showed sword play, a swaggering and bullying91 company: there remained the young bloods who came over from their peaceful shops and warehouses92 to enjoy the sport and the conversation and talk of the place: there remained the ribald crew of men and women who naturally belong to such gatherings93. There was another population at Westminster outside the King's House like unto this at Southwark: these, too, existed for the amusement of the King's courtiers and men-at-arms. The Southwark folk existed for the amusements of not the highest class of London City. The poets came, therefore, to this place in order to be near these theatres: they brought no improvement in example, in morals, or in manners: they lived among the people, and their lives were mostly as disorderly and their morals as loose as the company among whom they walked and talked.
Southwark in the early sixteenth century, it may be noted94, consisted of two parts, the one wholly distinct from the other. The first part was the High Street with its four churches of St. George's, St. Margaret's, St. Olave's, and St. Mary Overies: in the High Street were the two Debtors95' Prisons: in the High Street was the ancient hospital: there also was the long succession of inns, stately, ample, frequented by merchants and capable of stabling an immense number of packhorses, and of receiving as many waggons96 as could fill the courtyard. The Palaces were mostly gone, turned into inns or tenements97. The whole place was a great House of{219} Call. It had no industries, it had no crafts: it had no civic98 or corporate99 existence. But it was respectable.
The other part lay on the west of the High Street, stretching along the river nearly as far as Lambeth. This was the disreputable quarter, the place of amusement: the people who lived there, one and all, made the providing of amusement, pleasure and excitement their means of livelihood100. It was like a never-ending fair where nothing was sold, and there were no booths except those of Ursula, with roast sucking pig, black puddings, custards, and gingerbread. From every tavern all day long came the tinkling101 of the guitar and the trolling of some lusty voice and the silvery notes of a girl who sang like the wood pigeon because nature taught her. Here marched along the bear rolling his head from side to side, a monkey chattering102 on his back, the tabor and pipe going before him. After him came the dogs straining at the chain which held them, barking madly in anticipation103 of the fight. Or it was a young bull who was led by two men to the ring where he would defend his life as long as the dogs allowed; or it was the arrival at Falcon104 Stairs of boats by the dozen, each turning out its complement105 of citizens and their wives, who made for the theatre where the flag was flying. On the open bank were placed tables for those who drank: the balladmonger sang his songs and sold them afterwards: the posturer106 spread his carpet and went through his performance: the boys cried nuts and apples: the drawer ran about and filled his cans. In no other part of London was there a scene of greater animation107 and cheerfulness than on Bankside, on an afternoon or evening in the summer. And then to go home again across the broad and peaceful river at full tide, when the sun was set, and the river, like the sky, was aglow108, and the people sang softly in the boats, and still from Bankside came the dying snatches of music, the soft breath of the cornet, and the tingling109 touch of the harp,{220} and the voices of those who sang, and the baying of the hounds from Paris Gardens.
The early history of the playhouses on the Bank involves many questions, and may be safely left to the antiquarian historian. The reader will find most of these questions raised and settled in a book, already quoted here, by Mr. T. Fairman Ordish ('Early London Theatres'). It appears, however, that there were players, if not playhouses, here as early as 1547. After the death of Henry VIII. Gardiner proposed to have a solemn dirge110 in memory of the King, but, he complained to the Council, the players of Southwark say that they also will have a 'solemn playe to trye who shall have most resorts, they in game, or I in earnest.'
Whether these players had a regular theatre, or whether they acted in the courtyard of an inn, or whether they had a moveable stage, I do not know. It is, however, quite certain that before the end of the sixteenth century there were four theatres in Bankside—the Rose, whose site was somewhere in Rose Alley: the Hope in Bear Garden Lane: the Swan in Paris Gardens—that is, on the west side of the Blackfriars Road, not far from the Bridge: and the Globe. The site of the Globe is generally allowed to have been at a spot 150 feet south of Park Street, close to the Southwark Bridge Road, and on the east of it. For twenty years, more or less, the stream of playgoers was turned steadily111 and continuously to the Theatres in Bankside, and poet and player lived beside the theatre, and the place was the pleasure resort of the people, and the haunt of sporting men, and the school of the citizens, in history at least: and the pride and glory of London for its dramatists, if the people knew: and the sink and shame of London for the iniquities112 and villanies practised there: the debauchery and the shamelessness of those who lived upon the Bank.
The Plague, not only of 1603 and of 1625, but those{221} milder attacks which threatened from time to time were a deadly enemy to the players, for then the theatre must be closed and the Bear Garden too, for in crowds there was infection. Think what it meant to close these places of resort. The Elizabethan theatres maintained almost as many persons as our own: there were the players proper—the Company: there were the servants 'in the front' and the servants behind, the 'supers,' the money takers, the boys who went round selling nuts and cakes, wine and ale, new books and tobacco: there were the watermen required to carry the audience to and fro. Why, the shutting of the Theatres must have thrown out of employ many hundreds of men, and, if we consider their wives and families, many thousands of people. Can we wonder if the players, one and all, were Cavaliers, and were ready to fight for the side which allowed them their daily bread?
The Bear Garden and Hope Theatre 1616 The Bear Garden and Hope Theatre, 1616
But Fortune was against them. The Puritanic spirit prevailed. When the Parliament conquered, the theatres were doomed113. And in 1655, by command of Thomas Pride, High Sheriff of Surrey, the seven bears of Paris{222} Gardens were shot by a company of soldiers. In the same year it is mentioned that the Hope Theatre had been destroyed to make room for tenements.
The profession of actor in a time when the Puritanic spirit was rapidly growing stronger could not possibly be held in good repute. There was dancing in it: music: mockery: merriment: satire114: low comedy: all these things the misguided flock enjoyed and the shepherd deplored115. The Mayor, long before the Theatres were suppressed, would never allow a theatre to be set up within his jurisdiction116: had that jurisdiction extended beyond the various Bars: had there not, fortunately, happened to exist certain illogical and absurd Liberties and Precincts, in which the Mayor had no authority, there would have been no theatres in the neighbourhood of London, and therefore no Elizabethan drama, no Shakespeare, no Ben Jonson, no Massinger, no Fletcher. As things happened, we have to note the very remarkable117 fact that while the popular love for the theatre increased year by year; while the theatre became the teacher of history, the satirist118 of manners, the home of music and of poetry; the ministers and preachers thundered perpetually against it, yet prevailed not at all, until the Civil War broke out, and the power fell into the hands of the Puritans. For instance, one John Field, the father of one of the most famous players, Nathan Field, wrote to the Earl of Leicester as early as 1585 reviling119 him for having interfered120 'on the behalf of evil men as of late you did for players, to the great griefe of all the godly,' and adjuring121 him not to encourage their wickedness, and 'the abuses that are wont122 to be nourished by those impure123 interludes and plays.' And the same divine, two years later, wrote an attack upon the theatre in consequence of the accident at Paris Gardens which has been already mentioned. The theatre was forcibly suppressed in the Civil War, but it was never forgotten, and the moment that the Restoration allowed it was opened again. But to our day the old Puritanism{223} continues, in a now feeble and impotent way, to consider the Theatre as the chosen home of the Devil.
INTERIOR OF THE OLD SWAN THEATRE INTERIOR OF THE OLD SWAN THEATRE
Nathan Field, though the son of such a father, was ready to meet all comers in defence of the stage. In 1616 one Sutton, Preacher at St. Mary Overies, denounced the Theatre and all connected with it. Field answered him manfully, telling him plainly that he, the preacher, is disloyal, in preaching from his pulpit against people who are licensed124 and{224} patronised by the King. The players were at all times equal to the task of covering the preacher with derision; but derision seldom convinces or converts.
The general opinion of players remains125 that they have at all times been a penniless tribe, eating the 'corn in the green;' borrowing; spending their money in riotous126 living. This opinion is not by any means always true. The musician, the mummer, the dancer, and the tumbler were all regarded much in the same light; they were despised; they did not fight like the soldier; they did not produce like the craftsman127; they did not, like the priest, say mass and forgive sins; they did not heal the sick; they knew no law; their only function in the world was to amuse; to make men laugh. It is very remarkable that directly the players ceased to be dependent on noble lords, as soon as they appealed to the public and received money from those who came to see them perform, they became prudent128 men of business. They may have been a cheerful tribe; they were, however, well to do, and, so far as can be learned, a thrifty129 tribe. They made money, not by writing plays, nor by acting them, but by being shareholders130 in the company with which they played. Burbage, Alleyn, Heminge, Sly, Field, Schanke, not to speak of Shakespeare, all appear to have lived in comfort, and to have died possessed131 of moderate fortunes.
The poets, certainly, continued, as poets have always been, penniless and in debt. By the end of the sixteenth century the earliest of the dramatic poets, Marlowe, Peele, Nash, Greene—that turbulent roystering profligate band whom everybody loved while everybody reproved—had passed away. The early extravagance vanished. The later poets, Ben Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Massinger, led more godly lives. Yet they were often harassed132 for want of money. Three of them, Massinger, Field and Daborne, write to Henslow asking for an advance of 5l. on the security of a play which is worth ten pounds in addition to what they have had. All those, in{225} fact, were poor, and remained poor, who attempted to live by poetic133 literature alone.
The poets have had enough attention paid to them: let us consider the Company of Actors who played at the Globe and the Rose, the Hope and the Lion, and lived on and near the Bankside. The books of St. Saviour's (see Rendle's 'Southwark,' App. p. 26) are full of references to the actors who died and were buried here, whose children were baptised here or buried here. The name of William Shakespeare, unfortunately, does not occur. Among the actors, and first and chief, was Richard Burbage—like Shakespeare, a Warwickshire man. In person he was under the middle stature134, and grew fat and scant135 of breath. But no actor of the time had so great a power over his audience. It was his father who built the very first permanent theatre—called The Theatre at Shoreditch. In consequence of a dispute with the landlord, he pulled down the house, carried the timbers across the river to Bankside, and set up the Globe.
There was Kempe, the low comedian136, who succeeded Tarlton in that line. He was a great dancer: on one occasion he danced all the way from Norwich to London, taking nine days for the work: he was accompanied by one Thomas Sly, who played the tabor and the pipe for him. As he passed through the villages the girls came running out to dance with him along the road till he tired them out. He was a fellow of infinite drollery137, with jokes and acting such as pleased the 'groundlings' well. There was a kind of entertainment popular at the time called a jig138. It was a monologue139 for the most part, but might be played by two or more, in which the words were interrupted by songs and dances: the jig was like the farce140 which used to be played after the tragedy. This worthy141 lived in Bankside, but I believe there is no record of his death.
Another excellent player was John Lowin or Lewin. He also lived in the Liberty of the Clink. But he lived too long.{226} He survived the suppression of Theatres, and in his old age had no craft or art or mastery by which to earn his bread save that which was proscribed142. He wrote for assistance to a patron, and he quoted the lover's words applied143 to the beggar:
Silence in love betrays more woe144 Than words, though ne'er so witty145; The beggar that is dumb, you know, Deserves a double pity.
Among the low comedians146 Robert Armin must not be forgotten. He attracted Tarlton's attention when a mere147 boy. The veteran comedian adopted him and taught him. I know not whether he, or Kempe, was the true successor to that unrivalled buffoon. He is described by some rhymester as—
Honest gamesome Robert Armin, That tickles148 the spleen like a harmless vermin.
I have already mentioned Nathan Field the player: he was also Nathan Field the dramatist. He brought into the latter profession the carelessness about money that belonged to the former. There are indications—only indications, it is true—that there was in him something of the temperament149 of a Micawber, or a Harold Skimpole, a constitutional inability to understand the meaning of addition and subtraction150 or the translation of money into its equivalent in eating and drinking. He took a wife when he was no longer quite young, and he became jealous. Hence the epigram, 'De Agello et Othello:'
Field is, in sooth, an actor: all men know it; And is the true Othello of the poet: I wonder if 'tis true, as people tell us, That like the character he is most jealous. If it be so, and many living sweare it, It takes not little from the actor's merit, Since, as the Moor151 is jealous of his wife, Field can display the passion to the life. {227}
Who remembers John Schanke? He, like Kempe and Armin, carried on the traditions of low comedy. He was great in the invention of 'jigs152.' A notable 'jig' was that called 'Schanke's Ordinary,' in which several performers took part. There is an odd story told by Collier of a 'Schanke, a player.' It was in the year 1642. There came galloping153 to London three of the Lord General's officers with the news that there had been a great battle in which the London Companies had been cut to pieces, and 20,000 men had fallen on both sides. They spread their news as they rode through the villages: they spread it abroad in the city. It was ascertained154 on inquiry155 that there had not been any battle at all, but that those three men—Captain Wilson, Lieutenant156 Whitney, and one Schanke, a player—were simply runaways157. Therefore they were all clapped in the Gatehouse, and brought to undergo punishment according to martial158 law 'for their base cowardliness.'
One remarks that the race of comic actors or low comedians never becomes extinct. That power of always seizing on the comic side in everything, of always being able to make an audience laugh throughout a whole piece, is never, happily, taken away from a world which would be too sad without it. Great poets do not occur more than once in a century: great novelists not more than twice: but the low comedian, the comic man, whose face, whose voice, whose carriage, are as humorous as his words, never fails us. Tarlton is followed by Kempe, Kempe by Armin, Armin by Schanke. So Robson follows Liston, and Toole follows Robson, with lesser159 lights besides.
There are many other actors. The painstaking160 Collier finds out what parts they played and where they lived. Alas161! He tells us no more. Perhaps there is no more to tell. The rank and file of the theatrical162 company are never a very interesting collection. Underwood, Toovey, Eccleston, Cowley, Cooke, Sly, Argan—they are shadows that have long since{228} passed out, made an exit, and so an end. They were forgotten by the audience the day after they were dead. Why seek to revive their memory when there is not a single solitary163 fact to go upon? A bone would be something: out of the skull164 of Yorick we might perhaps reconstruct his life, with all the adventures, love-making, disappointments, distresses165 and triumphs.
We know the place where they all lived; the place of a continual Fair without any booths, yet everything offered for sale: the music to cheer your heart—you could command it had you money in purse; the wine to raise your courage—you could call for it; the dancing to charm your eye—any girl would dance for you if you paid her; the new play to fill you with lofty thoughts—but you must pay for your seat; the jig to bring you back to the level of earth—or perhaps a little lower—you could buy it; the eyes of Dalilah at the sign of the Swan in the Hoope were directed to your purse; the ruffians belonging to the kennels and the bear garden; the drawers of the taverns and the sack and the tobacco, the boats and the boatmen, were all at your service. The players lived in this riot and racket, themselves a part: we catch glimpses of them, we can discern them amid the crowd: sometimes one of their women is ducked for a shrew; one of them is clapped in the Clink Prison: some are haled before the Bishop for acting in Lent—these unreasonable166 people really object to starving in Lent! And the place and the people and their manners and customs are deplorable but delightful167; they are picturesque168 to the highest degree, but they are equally reprehensible169. I wish we could go back four hundred years and see and listen for ourselves: but with all our admiration170 for the Elizabethan drama, I do not think that I should like to be one of the Show Folk or to live with them in that jovial171 colony on the Bankside in the days of the Globe and the Rose, the Hope and the Swan.
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1
ecclesiastics
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| n.神职者，教会，牧师( ecclesiastic的名词复数 ) | |
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orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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buffoon
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| n.演出时的丑角 | |
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disorders
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| n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 )；凌乱；骚乱；（身心、机能）失调 | |
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taverns
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| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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mid
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| adj.中央的，中间的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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pillory
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| n.嘲弄；v.使受公众嘲笑；将…示众 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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fiddles
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| n.小提琴( fiddle的名词复数 )；欺诈；（需要运用手指功夫的）细巧活动；当第二把手v.伪造( fiddle的第三人称单数 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
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pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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hermits
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| （尤指早期基督教的）隐居修道士，隐士，遁世者( hermit的名词复数 ) | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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hurdle
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| n.跳栏，栏架；障碍，困难；vi.进行跨栏赛 | |
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mythological
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| adj.神话的 | |
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posturing
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| 做出某种姿势( posture的现在分词 ) | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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badgers
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| n.獾( badger的名词复数 )；獾皮；（大写）獾州人（美国威斯康星州人的别称）；毛鼻袋熊 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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noisome
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| adj.有害的，可厌的 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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38
marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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40
shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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41
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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42
defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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43
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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44
redeemed
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| adj. 可赎回的，可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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45
kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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46
kennel
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| n.狗舍，狗窝 | |
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47
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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48
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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49
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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50
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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51
canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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52
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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53
mettle
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| n.勇气，精神 | |
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54
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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55
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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56
scurvily
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| 下流地，粗鄙地，无礼地 | |
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57
butting
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| 用头撞人（犯规动作） | |
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58
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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59
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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60
petunia
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| n.矮牵牛花 | |
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61
derives
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| v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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62
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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63
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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64
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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funnels
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| 漏斗( funnel的名词复数 )； （轮船，火车等的）烟囱 | |
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dominions
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| 统治权( dominion的名词复数 )； 领土； 疆土； 版图 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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68
apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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vagrants
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| 流浪者( vagrant的名词复数 )； 无业游民； 乞丐； 无赖 | |
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70
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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71
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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72
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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74
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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75
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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76
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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77
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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78
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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79
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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80
rabble
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| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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81
rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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82
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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83
profligate
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| adj.行为不检的；n.放荡的人，浪子，肆意挥霍者 | |
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84
stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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85
barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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86
plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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barges
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| 驳船( barge的名词复数 ) | |
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89
conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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90
wielded
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的过去式和过去分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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91
bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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93
gatherings
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| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
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94
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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debtors
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| n.债务人，借方( debtor的名词复数 ) | |
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96
waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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tenements
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| n.房屋，住户，租房子( tenement的名词复数 ) | |
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civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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corporate
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| adj.共同的，全体的；公司的，企业的 | |
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100
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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101
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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102
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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103
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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104
falcon
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| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
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105
complement
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| n.补足物，船上的定员；补语；vt.补充，补足 | |
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106
posturer
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| 摆出某种姿态的人，装腔作势的人，杂技演员 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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108
aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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109
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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110
dirge
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| n.哀乐，挽歌，庄重悲哀的乐曲 | |
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111
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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112
iniquities
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| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
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113
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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114
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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115
deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
jurisdiction
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| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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117
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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118
satirist
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| n.讽刺诗作者，讽刺家，爱挖苦别人的人 | |
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119
reviling
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| v.辱骂，痛斥( revile的现在分词 ) | |
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120
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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121
adjuring
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| v.（以起誓或诅咒等形式）命令要求( adjure的现在分词 )；祈求；恳求 | |
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122
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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123
impure
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| adj.不纯净的，不洁的；不道德的，下流的 | |
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124
licensed
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| adj.得到许可的v.许可，颁发执照(license的过去式和过去分词) | |
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125
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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126
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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127
craftsman
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| n.技工，精于一门工艺的匠人 | |
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128
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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129
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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130
shareholders
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| n.股东( shareholder的名词复数 ) | |
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131
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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135
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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136
comedian
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| n.喜剧演员；滑稽演员 | |
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137
drollery
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| n.开玩笑，说笑话；滑稽可笑的图画（或故事、小戏等） | |
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138
jig
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| n.快步舞（曲）；v.上下晃动；用夹具辅助加工；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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139
monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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140
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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141
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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142
proscribed
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| v.正式宣布（某事物）有危险或被禁止( proscribe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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143
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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144
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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146
comedians
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| n.喜剧演员，丑角( comedian的名词复数 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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148
tickles
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| （使）发痒( tickle的第三人称单数 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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149
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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150
subtraction
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| n.减法，减去 | |
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151
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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152
jigs
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| n.快步舞（曲）极快地( jig的名词复数 )；夹具v.（使）上下急动( jig的第三人称单数 ) | |
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153
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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154
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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156
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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157
runaways
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| （轻而易举的）胜利( runaway的名词复数 ) | |
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158
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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159
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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160
painstaking
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| adj.苦干的；艰苦的，费力的，刻苦的 | |
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161
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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162
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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163
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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164
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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165
distresses
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| n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 )；痛苦；贫困；危险 | |
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166
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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167
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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168
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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169
reprehensible
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| adj.该受责备的 | |
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170
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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171
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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