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- Herausgeber: DigiCat
- Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
- Sprache: Englisch
"Everyman," among a collection of interludes that includes eight miracle plays, stands as a paragon of medieval morality literature. Written in the late 15th century, this didactic piece employs allegorical characters to navigate the moral complexities of life, emphasizing themes of death, accountability, and the ephemeral nature of earthly pleasures. The simplicity of its dialogue, paired with poignant symbolism, allows for accessible yet profound reflections on the human condition. The interspersed miracle plays enliven this collection, showcasing the theatrical tradition of medieval Europe, where faith and morality intertwine seamlessly with entertainment. The authorship of "Everyman" is attributed to various anonymous contributors, typical of medieval literature which thrived in a collaborative artistic culture. This era, rich with burgeoning religious fervor and the burgeoning recognition of individualism, likely influenced the intent behind the work. The moral instruction offered in "Everyman" resonates with the societal shift towards personal accountability and introspection that characterized the late medieval period. For readers interested in the historical foundations of drama and morality, "Everyman" serves as a vital piece of literature that transcends its time. Its enduring relevancy and clarity render it a compelling read, offering insight into both the medieval psyche and universal human dilemmas.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
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"Everyman," with other interludes, including eight miracle plays
Table of Contents
INTRODUCTION
By craftsmen and mean men, these pageants are played, And to commons and countrymen accustomably before: If better men and finer heads now come, what can be said?
The pageants of the old English town-guilds, and the other mysteries and interludes that follow, have still an uncommon reality about them if we take them in the spirit in which they were originally acted. Their office as the begetters of the greater literary drama to come, and their value as early records, have, since Sharp wrote his Dissertation on the Coventry Mysteries in 1816, been fully illustrated. But they have hardly yet reached the outside reader who looks for life and not for literary origins and relations in what he reads. This is a pity, for these old plays hide under their archaic dress the human interest that all dramatic art, no matter how crude, can claim when it is touched with our real emotions and sensations. They are not only a primitive religious drama, born of the church and its feasts; they are the genuine expression of the town life of the English people when it was still lived with some exuberance of spirits and communal pleasure. As we read them, indeed, though it be in cold blood, we are carried out of our book, and set in the street or market-square by the side of the "commons and countrymen," as in the day when Whitsuntide, or Corpus Christi, brought round the annual pageantry to Chester, Coventry, York, and other towns.
Of the plays that follow, six come from the old town pageants, reflecting in their variety the range of subject and the contemporary effect of the cycles from which they are taken. They are all typical, and show us how the scenes and characters of the east were mingled with the real life of the English craftsmen and townsfolk who acted them, and for whose pleasure they were written. Yet they give us only a small notion of the whole interest and extent of these plays. We gain an idea of their popularity both from the number of them given in one town and the number of places at which regular cycles, or single pageants, were represented from year to year. The York plays alone that remain are forty-eight in all; the Chester, twenty-four or five; the Wakefield, thirty-two or three. Even these do not represent anything like the full list. Mr. E. K. Chambers, in an appendix to his Mediæval Stage, gives a list of eighty-nine different episodes treated in one set or another of the English and Cornish cycles. Then as to the gazette of the many scattered places where they had a traditional hold: Beverley had a cycle of thirty-six; Newcastle-on-Tyne and Norwich, each one of twelve; while the village and parochial plays were almost numberless. In Essex alone the list includes twenty-one towns and villages, though it is fair to add that this was a specially enterprising shire. At Lydd and New Romney, companies of players from fourteen neighbouring towns and villages can be traced in the local records that stretch from a year or so before, to eight years after, the fifteenth century.
Mrs. J. R. Green, in her history of Town Life in that century, shows us how the townspeople mixed their workday and holiday pursuits, their serious duties with an apparent "incessant round of gaieties." Hardly a town but had its own particular play, acted in the town hall or the parish churchyard, "the mayor and his brethren sitting in state." In 1411 there was a great play, From the Beginning of the World, played in London at the Skinner's Well. It lasted seven days continually, and there were the most part of the lords and gentles of England. No copy of this play exists, but of its character we have a pretty sensible idea from various other plays of the Creation handed down from the north-country cycles. In the best of them the predestined Adam is created after a fashion both to suggest his treatment by Giotto in the medallion at Florence, and his lineaments as an English mediæval prototype:--
"But now this man that I have made, With the ghost of life, I make him glad, Rise up, Adam, rise up rade,1 A man full of soul and life!"
But to surprise the English mediæval smith or carpenter, cobbler or bowyer, when he turns playgoer at Whitsuntide, assisting at a play which expressed himself as well as its scriptural folk, we must go on to later episodes. The Deluge in the Chester pageant, that opens the present volume, has among its many Noah's Ark sensations, some of them difficult enough to mimic on the pageant-wagon, a typical recall of the shipwright and ark-builder. God says to Noah:--
A ship soon thou shalt make thee of trees, dry and light. Little chambers therein thou make, And binding pitch also thou take, Within and out, thou ne slake To anoint it thro' all thy might.
In the York Noah's Ark pageant, which seems to be the parent-play in England of all its kind, we have this craftsman's episode much enlarged. "Make it of boards," God says, "and wands between!"
Thus thriftily and not over thin, Look that thy seams be subtly seen And nailéd well, that they not twin: Thus I devised it should have been; Therefore do forth, and leave thy din
Then, after further instructions, Noah begins to work before the spectators, first rough-hewing a plank, then trying it with a line, and joining it with a gynn or gin. He says:--
More subtilely can no man sew;2 It shall be clinched each ilk and deal, With nails that are both noble and new, Thus shall I fix it to the keel: Take here a rivet, and there a screw, With there bow,3 there now, work I well, This work, I warrant both good and true.
To complete the pedigree of this scene we must turn to the old poem, the "Cursor Mundi," which, written in the fourteenth century, the time when the northern miracle-plays were taking decisive shape, appears to have served their writers as a stock-book. The following passage is own brother to that in the York miracle-play:--
A ship must thou needs dight, Myself shall be the master-wright. I shall thee tell how broad and long, Of what measure and how strong. When the timber is fastened well, Wind the sides ever each and deal. Bind it first with balk and band, And wind it then too with good wand. With pitch, look, it be not thin! Plaster it well without and in!
The likeness we see is startling: so near to the other indeed as to suggest almost a common authorship.
As for the pastoral plays in the same towns, we find the shepherds and countrymen were just as well furnished with rough cuts from the life. The most real and frankly illustrative, and by no means the least idyllic of them is perhaps the Chester play of the three shepherds. It was not played by countrymen but by townsmen, like the other plays in the town cycles, being in this case the "Paynters and Glasiors" play. The first shepherd who opens it talks of the "bower" or cote he would build, his "sheep to shield," his "seemly wethers to save:"--
From comely Conway unto Clyde Under tyldes4 them to hide A better shepherd on no side No earthly man may have For with walking weary I have methought Beside thee such my sheep I sought My long-tail'd tups are in my thought Them to save and heal
In the Death of Abel, another Chester play, Cain comes in with a plough, and says:--
A tiller I am, and so will I be, As my daddy hath taught it me I will fulfil his lore
In the subsequent incident of the corn that Cain is to offer for his sacrifice, we hear the plain echo of the English farmer's voice in the corn-market mixing with the scriptural verse: "This standing corn that was eaten by beasts," will do:
God, thou gettest no better of me, Be thou never so grim
So throughout the plays the folk-life of their day, their customs and customary speech, are for ever emerging from the biblical scene.
In trying to realise how the miracle-plays were mounted and acted, we shall find the best witness at Chester. This was a rather late one. Archdeacon Rogers, who saw them in 1594, when they had been going on for something like three centuries in all. From his account (in the Harleian Miscellany) it appears the Chester plays were given on Whit-Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.
"The manner of these plays were, every company had his pageant or part, a high scaffold with two rooms, a higher and a lower, upon four wheels. In the lower they apparelled themselves, and in the higher room they played, being all open on the top, that all beholders might hear and see them." They were played, he goes on to say, in every street:
"They began first at the abbey gates, and when the first pageant was played, it was wheeled to the high cross before the mayor, and so to every street. So every street had a pageant playing before it at one time, till all the pageants for the day appointed were played. When one pageant was near ended, word was brought from street to street, that so they might come in place thereof, exceeding orderly, and all the streets have their pageants before them, all at one time playing together, to see which plays was great resort and also scaffolds and stages made in the streets in those places where they determined to play their pageants."
The same writer explains elsewhere that these plays were divided into twenty-four pageants, according to the number of the city companies, and that each company brought out its own pageant.
At York, whose plays Miss L. Toulmin Smith edited in 1887, we can turn to Davies's two books5 and the local records, to complete the Chester description. Those who travel to York by rail to-day, and there dismount, as most of us have often done, to walk through the city to the cathedral, will be interested to find that the railway station now stands where once was Pageant Green. Near it was formerly another kind of station, where stood the houses hired to keep the pageants stored and put away from one year's show to another. The word "pageant," (pagina, or plank), we ought to recall, was used for the stage, or wheeled car of two stories, before it was used for the show set forth upon it. Davies helps us, as we perambulate York to-day, to mark where the old pageants were performed in 1399, at twelve stations, which were fixed and stated beforehand. The first station was at the gates of the Priory of the Holy Trinity in Mickle Gate, and the pageants were moved on them in turn to places at Skelder Gate end, North Street, Conyng Strete, Stane Gate and the gates of the Minster, so to the end of Girdler Gate; while the last of all was "upon the pavement." But the stations were subject to change, and there was much competition among wealthy householders (one of whom may have been the Robert Harpham mentioned in a 1417 list) to have the pageant played before their windows. The highest bidder gained the coveted right.
Before the actual day came, a town-crier was sent round the city to proclaim the "banes" or banns.6 Arms were forbidden: "We command that no man go armed in this city with swords ne with carlill-axes, in disturbance of the king's peace and the play, or hindering of the procession of Corpus Christi, and that they leave their harness in their inns, saving knights and squires of worship that ought to have swords borne after them!" The plays began betimes. We read that at York the players were to be ready "at the mid-hour betwixt the IVth and Vth of the clock in the morning." Finally, for the players themselves, care was taken to secure good ones for the several parts. Sometimes a player doubled or trebled the characters in a particular play.
All through the XIVth and XVth centuries miracle-plays went on being performed regularly, or irregularly, in most of the English towns and larger villages. One of the smaller cycles was that of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, played at Corpus Christi, from 1426 onwards. The Three Kings of Cologne is mentioned in 1536, which the goldsmiths, plumbers, glaziers, and others were to play. Here the pageants were not movable ones, but were given at fixed points. No doubt some of the spots associated with the Whitsuntide "shuggy-shows" (as I remember them in my time) were originally show-grounds of the town pageants too. Only one play of the Newcastle series has survived, and that fitly enough, having regard to the Tyneside shipbuilding, is a shipwrights' play. Unluckily it has been so modernised that not a vestige of the local colour or Tyneside dialect remains.
We come now to the date and origin of these town pageants. Of the three chief cycles earliest mention is to be found at Chester, and it carries us doubtfully back to 1268. Sir John Arnway was mayor in that year, according to one account: but the name recurs pretty positively in 1327-8, and about that time Randall Higgenet, a monk of Chester Abbey, wrote the plays. But in the text handed down they are of a much later style of diction, and no doubt later in date than the Towneley or York series.
About the real origin of these plays there can be no question. They began in the churches as liturgy plays, which were given at the Christmas, Easter, and other festivals, illustrating in chief the birth, life, death and passion of Christ. We owe to Professor Skeat the recovery of some fragments of liturgical plays in Latin, which have been reprinted by Professor Manly, in his Specimens of the Pre-Shaksperean Drama. The earliest example there is may be dated as early as 967, an important landmark for us, as it is often assumed that we have no dramatic record of any kind in these islands earlier than the Norman Conquest. Another generation or two of research, such as the pioneer work of Dr. Furnivall and the Early English Text Society has made possible, and we shall distinguish clearly the two lines of growth, French and Norman, English and Saxon, by which the town-pageants and folk-plays of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries came to a head. Then the grafting of the English pastoral on the church-play, after it had been carried out into the open town or market-place, may become clear. Then, too, one will know how charged with potential dramatic life was the mind of him who wrote that interlude in four lines of the "Three Queens and the Three Dead Men," which contains in it the essence of a thousand moralities.
1st Queen. I am afeard.
2nd Queen. Lo, what I see?
3rd Queen. Me thinketh it be devils three!
1st Dead Body. I was well fair
2nd Dead Body. Such shall thou be.
3rd Dead Body. For Godes love, be-ware by me!
These breathe, not a Norman, but an Anglo-Saxon fantasy, and they speak for themselves. But many tell-tale documents exist to mark the concurrent Norman and English development that went on in the English mediæval literature, and was seen and felt in the church and guild plays, just as it went on in the towns themselves. It finds at last its typical expression in an interlude like the Coventry Nativity-play, reprinted in this volume. Long before the miracle-play was written in the form it finally took, and about the time when William of Rouen, after much trouble with his son Robert culminating at the battle of Gerberoi, was about to return to England, the new opening in the church in this country became one to tempt poor foreign students of some parts and some ambition. Among these was a graduate of the University of Paris, one Geoffrey, known to us now as Geoffrey of St. Albans. He had been offered the post of master of the abbey school at that place, but when he arrived after some delay--due perhaps to his going to see a mystery play at Paris--he found the post filled up. He then made his way to Dunstable, and while there proved his spirit by getting up a miracle-play of "Sancta Katarina." He borrowed copes from St. Albans in which to dress the actors; unluckily a fire took place, and the costumes were burnt. Thereupon he seems to have rendered himself up as it were in pious pledge for their loss, for he became a monk. In 1119 he was elected abbot, and if we give him about twenty-one years in which to rise to that dignity, we can date the St. Katharine play at 1098 or 9. This passage in a life of that time is a clue to the further history of the religious play in England. Geoffrey's attempt to present one at Dunstable, no doubt a reproduction of one he had seen in France, is an instance of the naturalisation process that slowly went on.
The distinct break in the history of the miracle-play that made it from a church into a town pageant occurred about the close of the thirteenth century. From a performance within the church building it went on then into the church-yard, or the adjoining close or street, and so into the town at large. The clerics still kept a hand in its purveyance; but the rise of the town guilds gave it a new character, a new relation to the current life, and a larger equipment. The friendly rivalry between the guilds, and the craftsmen's pride in not being outdone by other crafts, helped to stimulate the town play, till at length the elaborate cycle was formed that began with sunrise on a June morning, and lasted until the torch-bearers were called out at dusk to stand at the foot of the pageant.
The earliest miracle-plays that we can trace in the town cycles date back to the early years of Edward III. The last to be performed in London, according to Prynne, was Christ's Passion, which was given in James I.'s reign. It was produced "at Ely House, Holborn, when Gundomar lay there on Good Friday at night, at which there were thousands present." This was a late survivor, however, called to life by a last flicker of court sunshine on the occasion of the state visit of a Spanish ambassador. Here is an extreme range of over three centuries; and the old religious drama was still being performed in a more and more uncertain and intermittent fashion all through the dramatic reign of Shakspeare.
The ten plays that follow in this volume represent in brief the late remnant of this early drama, rescued at the point where it was ending its primitive growth, soon to give way to plays written with a consciously artistic sense of the stage. They are headed by the great and simple tragic masterpiece, in which they say their last word: the morality of Everyman, the noblest interlude of death the religious imagination of the middle ages has given to the stage. The two following Old Testament plays, The Deluge and the Sacrifice of Isaac, are the third and fourth pageants in the Chester series; played respectively by the Water-Leaders and Drawers of the river Dee, and by the Barbers and Wax-Chandlers. The next is from Coventry, a Nativity play, played by the Shearmen and Tailors. From the Wakefield series, preserved in the Towneley collection, we have three plays, the famous second shepherds' play, with the Crucifixion and the Harrowing of Hell, or extraction of souls from Hell (Extractio Animarum ab Inferno). Two Cornish mysteries of the Resurrection are included: The Three Maries at the Tomb, and Mary Magdalen bringing the News to the Apostles. Then follows Bishop Bale's oracular play of God's Promises, which is in effect a series of seven interludes strung on one thread, united by one leading idea, and one protagonist, the Pater Cœlestis.
In these religious and moral interludes, the dramatic colouring, however crude, is real and sincere. The humours of a broad folk-comedy break through the scriptural web continually in the guild plays like those in which Noah the shipbuilder, or the proverbial three shepherds, appear in the pageant. Noah's unwilling wife in the Chester Deluge, and Mak's canny wife in the Wakefield shepherd's play, where the sheep-stealing scenes reveal a born Yorkshire humorist, offer a pair of gossips not easy to match for rude comedy. Mak's wife, like the shepherd's in the same pastoral, utters proverbs with every other breath: "A woman's avyse helpys at the last!" "So long goys the pott to the water, at last comys it home broken!"
Now in hot, now in cold, Full woeful is the household, That wants a woman!
And her play upon the old north-country asseveration, "I'll eat my bairn,"--
If ever I you beguiled, That I eat this child That lies in this cradle,
(the child being the stolen sheep), must have caused towns-folk and country-folk outrageous laughter. Mak's wife is indeed memorable in her way as the Wife of Bath, Dame Quickly, or Mrs. Gamp.
There is nothing so boldly drawn in the Coventry Nativity. But there you have a startlingly realistic treatment joined to an emotional lyricism of the simplest charm:
Neither in halls, nor yet in bowers, Born would he not be Neither in castles, nor yet in towers That seemly were to see.
and--
As I outrode this enderes night Of three jolly shepherds, I saw a sight; And all about their fold a star shone bright, They sang "Terli, terlow!" So merrily the shepherds their pipes can blow.
In this Coventry play we have nearly all the ingredients--foreign, liturgical, or homely English--of the composite miracle play brought together. It bears traces of many hands; and betrays in the dialogue of the formal characters the rubricated lines of the church play on which it was based. The chief characters live, move and act their recognised parts with the certainty of the folk in a nursery tale. Herod out-Herods himself with a Blunderbore extravagance:--
I am the cause of this great light and thunder; It is through my fury that they such noise do make. My fearful countenance, the clouds so doth incumber That oftentimes for dread thereof, the very earth doth quake.
"Fee, fi, fo, fum!" might be the refrain of this giant's litany. The other types are as plainly stamped. The shepherd's are from the life, and contrast well with the stilted and rather tiresome prophets. The scenes at the babe's crib when the offerings are made of the shepherds' pipe, old hat, and mittens, are both droll and tender.
The tragic counterparts of these scenes are those where the Three Executioners work their pitiless task to an end at the Crucifixion, or where the Three Maries go to the grave afterwards in the Cornish mystery, or where Isaac bids his father bind his eyes that he shall not see the sword. It was for long the fashion to say, as Sir Walter Scott did, that these plays had little poetic life, or human interest in them. But they are, at their best, truly touched with essential emotions, with humour, terror, sorrow, pity, as the case may be. Dramatically they are far more alive at this moment, than the English drama of the mid-nineteenth century.
In the Cornish mysteries we lose much by having to use a translation. But something of the spirit and life survive in spite of it, and one detached passage from another of the plays, that of the Crucifixion, is printed in the appendix, which loses nothing by being compared with the treatment in other miracle-plays. Also in the Appendix will be found an interesting note from Norris's Ancient Cornish Drama, on the mode in which the Cornish mysteries were played; and a brief account by Mr. Jenner of the trilogy contained in that work.
There remains John Bayle's play of God's Promises. Its author was born at the sea-doomed city of Dunwich in Suffolk, in 1495. Destined for the church, he showed his obstinacy early by marrying in defiance of his cloth. He was lucky and unlucky in being a protégé of Thomas Cromwell, and had to fly the country on that dangerous agent's death. He returned when the new order was established, and became Bishop of Ossory, had to suffer and turn exile for his tenets again in Mary's reign; but found safe harbourage for his latter years at Canterbury, where he died. He wrote, on his own evidence, more than twenty plays, of which God's Promises, the Life of John the Baptist, and King John, a history play of interest as a pioneer, are best known. He himself called God's Promises a tragedy, but unless the sense of Sodom hanging in the balance, while Abraham works down to its lowest point the diminishing ratio of the just to be found there, or of David's appearing before the Pater Cœlestis as the great judge, of dramatic or tragic emotion there is little indeed. But Bayle's rhetoric easily ran to the edge of suspense, as in the opening of his seventh act, where he puts the dramatic question in the last line:--
I have with fearcenesse mankynde oft tymes corrected, And agayne I have allured hym by swete promes. I have sent sore plages, when he hath me neglected, And then by and by, most confortable swetnes. To wynne hym to grace, bothe mercye and ryghteousnes I have exercysed, yet wyll he not amende. Shall I now lose hym, or shall I hym defende?
And what could be finer than the setting he gives to the antiphon, O Oriens Splendor, at the end of the second act?
To turn from Bayle's play to the heart-breaking realities of Everyman is like turning from a volume of all too edifying sermons to the last chapters of one of the gospels. Into the full history of this play, opening a difficult question about the early relations between Dutch and English writers and printers, there is no room here to go. The Dutch Everyman--Elckerlijk--was in all probability the original of the English, and it was certainly printed a few years earlier. Richard Pynson, who first imprinted the English play at the Sign of the George in Fleet Street, was printing at his press there from the early years of the sixteenth century. The play itself may have been written, and first performed, in English, as in Dutch, a generation or more before.
It was written, no doubt, like most of the plays in this volume, by a churchman; and he must have been a man of profound imagination, and of the tenderest human soul conceivable. His ecclesiastical habit becomes clear enough before the end of the play, where he bids Everyman go and confess his sins. Like many of the more poignant scenes and passages in the miracle-plays that follow it, this morality too leaves one exclaiming on how good a thing was the plain English of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.
The relation of the several miracle-plays here printed to the town-cycles from which they come will be seen at a glance on reference to the tables of pageants that appear in the Appendix. We may take it that all these town and country plays represent continually used and frequently tinkered texts, that must in some cases have passed through many piecemeal changes. In making them easy to the average reader of to-day, who takes the place of the mediæval playgoer at a Corpus Christi festival, their latest copyists have but followed in the wake of a series of Tudor scribes who renewed the prompt-books from time to time. In this process, apart from the change of spelling, the smallest possible alteration has been made consistent with the bringing of the text to a fair modern level of intelligibility. Old words that have been familiarised in Malory or Shakespeare, or the Bible, or in the Border Ballads and north-country books, or in Walter Scott, or the modern dialect of Yorkshire, are usually allowed to stand, and words needed to keep the rhyme, are left intact. But really hard words, likely to delay the reader, are glossed. One Towneley play, the Extractio Animarum, another and a most spirited example of the "Harrowing of Hell," mysteries that thrilled the people long ago, is given in the original spelling, as some test of the change effected in the others. Further, in the Appendix will be found a late example of a St. George and the Dragon doggerel Christmas play, which comes from Cornwall, and which in a slightly varying form has been played in many shires, from Wessex to Tyneside, within living memory. This shows us the last state of the traditional mystery, and the English folk-play as it became when it was left to the village wits and playwrights to produce it, without any co-operation from the trained eye and hand of a parson or a learned clerk. Of some other forms of our earlier drama, not omitting the Welsh interludes of Twm o'r Nant, it may be possible to give illustrations in a later book, companion to this. Only so much is given here as may interest the reader, who is a playgoer first of all, and asks for entertainment and a light in these darker passages of the old British drama.
Finally the amplest acknowledgments are due to those who have worked upon these present plays, including Mrs. C. Richardson, M.A., Mr. O'Brien, Mr. Roberts, Miss Hawkins, G. R., and Mr. Ezra Pound; and to the various editors of the "Early English Text Society," who have made this book possible. Especially should tribute be paid to Dr. Furnivall for his permission to make use of the Society's texts, and his interest in this uncertain attempt to capture the outer public too, and attract it to that ever-living literature to which he has devoted so many days of his young old-age.
E. R.
Everyman: a moral play otherwise called: A Treatyse how the hye fader of heven sendeth dethe to somon every creature to come and gyve a counte of theyr lyves in this worlde], translated from the Dutch play, Elckerlijk, 1520 (?); published in Dodsley's Select Collection of Old English Plays, etc., vol. I., 1874; reprint of one of Skot's editions, collated with his other edition and those of Pynson, Ed. H. Logeman, 1892; with an introduction by F. Sidgwick, 1902; reprinted by W. W. Greg from the Edition by John Skot preserved at Britwell Court, 1904; set to music by H. Walford Davies, etc. (with historical and analytical notes), 1904; J. S. Farmer, Six Anonymous Plays (Early English Dramatists), 1905; with designs by Ambrose Dudley, 1906; in Broadway Booklets, 1906; with introduction, note-book, and word list, J. S. Farmer (Museum Dramatists), 1906.
Miracle Plays: Towneley Mysteries, ed. by Surtees Society, 1836; Pollard, Early English Text Society, 1897. York Mysteries, ed. Lucy Toulmin Smith, 1885. Chester Mysteries, ed. Th. Wright, Shakespeare Society, 1843-47; Deimling, Early English Text Society, 1893, etc.; T. H. Markland (two plays), Roxburghe Club, 1818. Coventry Mysteries, ed. Halliwell, Shakespeare Society, 1841. See also Sharp, Dissertation on the Coventry Mysteries. For other Mysteries see Davidson, Modern Language Notes, vii.; E. Norris, Ancient Cornish Drama, 1859.
Selections, or Separate Plays: Harrowing of Hell, ed. Halliwell, 1840; Collier, Five Miracle Plays, 1867; Dr. E. Mall, 1871; A. W. Pollard, English Miracle Plays, 1895; Specimens of the Pre-Shakespearean Drama, 1897, 2 vols. (a third vol. to come), Prof. Manly. See J. H. Kirkham (Enquiry into Sources, etc.), 1885. Abraham and Isaac, ed. L. Toulmin Smith (Brome Hall MS.), 1886; R. Brotanek (Dublin MS.), Anglia, xxi.
General Literature: Ward, History of English Dramatic Literature, 1875-6; Payne Collier, The History of English Dramatic Poetry, 1879; K. Hase, Miracle Plays, trans. A. W. Jackson, 1880; C. Davidson, Studies in English Mystery Plays, 1892; A. W. Pollard, English Miracle Plays, Moralities, and Interludes, Specimens of pre-Elizabethan Drama, etc., 1895; K. Chambers, The Mediæval Stage, 1903; A full bibliography is given in F. H. Stoddard, References for Students of Miracle Plays and Mysteries, 1887.
CHARACTERS
EVERYMAN
HERE BEGINNETH A TREATISE HOW THE HIGH FATHER OF HEAVEN SENDETH DEATH TO SUMMON EVERY CREATURE TO COME AND GIVE ACCOUNT OF THEIR LIVES IN THIS WORLD AND IS IN MANNER OF A MORAL PLAY.
Messenger. I pray you all give your audience, And hear this matter with reverence, By figure a moral play-- The Summoning of Everyman called it is, That of our lives and ending shows How transitory we be all day. This matter is wondrous precious, But the intent of it is more gracious, And sweet to bear away. The story saith,--Man, in the beginning, Look well, and take good heed to the ending, Be you never so gay! Ye think sin in the beginning full sweet, Which in the end causeth thy soul to weep, When the body lieth in clay. Here shall you see how Fellowship and Jollity, Both Strength, Pleasure, and Beauty, Will fade from thee as flower in May. For ye shall hear, how our heaven king Calleth Everyman to a general reckoning: Give audience, and hear what he doth say.
God. I perceive here in my majesty, How that all creatures be to me unkind, Living without dread in worldly prosperity: Of ghostly sight the people be so blind, Drowned in sin, they know me not for their God; In worldly riches is all their mind, They fear not my rightwiseness, the sharp rod; My law that I shewed, when I for them died, They forget clean, and shedding of my blood red; I hanged between two, it cannot be denied; To get them life I suffered to be dead; I healed their feet, with thorns hurt was my head: I could do no more than I did truly, And now I see the people do clean forsake me. They use the seven deadly sins damnable; As pride, covetise, wrath, and lechery, Now in the world be made commendable; And thus they leave of angels the heavenly company; Everyman liveth so after his own pleasure, And yet of their life they be nothing sure: I see the more that I them forbear The worse they be from year to year; All that liveth appaireth7 fast, Therefore I will in all the haste Have a reckoning of Everyman's person For and I leave the people thus alone In their life and wicked tempests, Verily they will become much worse than beasts; For now one would by envy another up eat; Charity they all do clean forget. I hoped well that Everyman In my glory should make his mansion, And thereto I had them all elect; But now I see, like traitors deject, They thank me not for the pleasure that I to them meant, Nor yet for their being that I them have lent; I proffered the people great multitude of mercy, And few there be that asketh it heartily; They be so cumbered with worldly riches, That needs on them I must do justice, On Everyman living without fear. Where art thou, Death, thou mighty messenger?
Death. Almighty God, I am here at your will, Your commandment to fulfil.
God. Go thou to Everyman, And show him in my name A pilgrimage he must on him take, Which he in no wise may escape; And that he bring with him a sure reckoning Without delay or any tarrying.
Death. Lord, I will in the world go run over all, And cruelly outsearch both great and small; Every man will I beset that liveth beastly Out of God's laws, and dreadeth not folly: He that loveth riches I will strike with my dart, His sight to blind, and from heaven to depart, Except that alms be his good friend, In hell for to dwell, world without end. Lo, yonder I see Everyman walking; Full little he thinketh on my coming; His mind is on fleshly lusts and his treasure, And great pain it shall cause him to endure Before the Lord Heaven King.Everyman, stand still; whither art thou going Thus gaily? Hast thou thy Maker forget?
Everyman. Why askst thou? Wouldest thou wete?8
Death. Yea, sir, I will show you; In great haste I am sent to thee From God out of his majesty.
Everyman. What, sent to me?
Death. Yea, certainly. Though thou have forget him here, He thinketh on thee in the heavenly sphere, As, or we depart, thou shalt know.
Everyman. What desireth God of me?
Death. That shall I show thee; A reckoning he will needs have Without any longer respite.
Everyman. To give a reckoning longer leisure I crave; This blind matter troubleth my wit.
Death. On thee thou must take a long journey: Therefore thy book of count with thee thou bring; For turn again thou can not by no way, And look thou be sure of thy reckoning: For before God thou shalt answer, and show Thy many bad deeds and good but a few; How thou hast spent thy life, and in what wise, Before the chief lord of paradise. Have ado that we were in that way, For, wete thou well, thou shalt make none attournay.9
Everyman. Full unready I am such reckoning to give. I know thee not: what messenger art thou?
Death. I am Death, that no man dreadeth. For every man I rest and no man spareth; For it is God's commandment That all to me should be obedient.
Everyman. O Death, thou comest when I had thee least in mind; In thy power it lieth me to save, Yet of my good will I give thee, if ye will be kind, Yea, a thousand pound shalt thou have, And defer this matter till another day.
Death.Everyman, it may not be by no way; I set not by gold, silver, nor riches, Ne by pope, emperor, king, duke, ne princes. For and I would receive gifts great, All the world I might get; But my custom is clean contrary. I give thee no respite: come hence, and not tarry.
Everyman. Alas, shall I have no longer respite? I may say Death giveth no warning: To think on thee, it maketh my heart sick, For all unready is my book of reckoning. But twelve year and I might have abiding, My counting book I would make so clear, That my reckoning I should not need to fear. Wherefore, Death, I pray thee, for God's mercy, Spare me till I be provided of remedy.
Death. Thee availeth not to cry, weep, and pray: But haste thee lightly that you were gone the journey, And prove thy friends if thou can. For, wete thou well, the tide abideth no man, And in the world each living creature For Adam's sin must die of nature.
Everyman.Death, if I should this pilgrimage take, And my reckoning surely make, Show me, for saint charity, Should I not come again shortly?
Death. No, Everyman; and thou be once there, Thou mayst never more come here, Trust me verily.
Everyman. O gracious God, in the high seat celestial, Have mercy on me in this most need; Shall I have no company from this vale terrestrial Of mine acquaintance that way me to lead?
Death. Yea, if any be so hardy, That would go with thee and bear thee company. Hie thee that you were gone to God's magnificence, Thy reckoning to give before his presence. What, weenest thou thy life is given thee, And thy worldly goods also?
Everyman. I had wend so, verily.
Death. Nay, nay; it was but lent thee; For as soon as thou art go, Another awhile shall have it, and then go therefro Even as thou hast done.Everyman, thou art mad; thou hast thy wits five, And here on earth will not amend thy life, For suddenly I do come.
Everyman. O wretched caitiff, whither shall I flee, That I might scape this endless sorrow! Now, gentle Death, spare me till to-morrow, That I may amend me With good advisement.
Death. Nay, thereto I will not consent, Nor no man will I respite, But to the heart suddenly I shall smite Without any advisement. And now out of thy sight I will me hie; See thou make thee ready shortly, For thou mayst say this is the day That no man living may scape away.
Everyman. Alas, I may well weep with sighs deep; Now have I no manner of company To help me in my journey, and me to keep; And also my writing is full unready. How shall I do now for to excuse me? I would to God I had never be gete!10 To my soul a full great profit it had be; For now I fear pains huge and great. The time passeth; Lord, help that all wrought; For though I mourn it availeth nought. The day passeth, and is almost a-go; I wot not well what for to do. To whom were I best my complaint to make? What, and I to Fellowship thereof spake, And showed him of this sudden chance? For in him is all mine affiance; We have in the world so many a day Be on good friends in sport and play. I see him yonder, certainly; I trust that he will bear me company; Therefore to him will I speak to ease my sorrow. Well met, good Fellowship, and good morrow!
Fellowship speaketh.Everyman, good morrow by this day. Sir, why lookest thou so piteously? If any thing be amiss, I pray thee, me say, That I may help to remedy.
Everyman. Yea, good Fellowship, yea, I am in great jeopardy.
Fellowship. My true friend, show to me your mind; I will not forsake thee, unto my life's end, In the way of good company.
Everyman. That was well spoken, and lovingly.
Fellowship. Sir, I must needs know your heaviness; I have pity to see you in any distress; If any have you wronged ye shall revenged be, Though I on the ground be slain for thee,-- Though that I know before that I should die.
Everyman. Verily, Fellowship, gramercy.
Fellowship. Tush! by thy thanks I set not a straw. Show me your grief, and say no more.
Everyman. If I my heart should to you break, And then you to turn your mind from me, And would not me comfort, when you hear me speak, Then should I ten times sorrier be.
Fellowship. Sir, I say as I will do in deed.
Everyman. Then be you a good friend at need: I have found you true here before.
Fellowship. And so ye shall evermore; For, in faith, and thou go to Hell, I will not forsake thee by the way!
Everyman. Ye speak like a good friend; I believe you well; I shall deserve it, and I may.
Fellowship. I speak of no deserving, by this day. For he that will say and nothing do Is not worthy with good company to go; Therefore show me the grief of your mind, As to your friend most loving and kind.
Everyman. I shall show you how it is; Commanded I am to go a journey, A long way, hard and dangerous, And give a strait count without delay Before the high judge Adonai.11 Wherefore I pray you, bear me company, As ye have promised, in this journey.
Fellowship. That is matter indeed! Promise is duty, But, and I should take such a voyage on me, I know it well, it should be to my pain: Also it make me afeard, certain. But let us take counsel here as well as we can, For your words would fear a strong man.
Everyman. Why, ye said, If I had need, Ye would me never forsake, quick nor dead, Though it were to hell truly.
Fellowship. So I said, certainly, But such pleasures be set aside, thee sooth to say: And also, if we took such a journey, When should we come again?
Everyman. Nay, never again till the day of doom.
Fellowship. In faith, then will not I come there! Who hath you these tidings brought?
Everyman. Indeed, Death was with me here.
Fellowship. Now, by God that all hath bought, If Death were the messenger, For no man that is living to-day I will not go that loath journey-- Not for the father that begat me!
Everyman. Ye promised other wise, pardie.
Fellowship. I wot well I say so truly; And yet if thou wilt eat, and drink, and make good cheer, Or haunt to women, the lusty company, I would not forsake you, while the day is clear, Trust me verily!
Everyman. Yea, thereto ye would be ready; To go to mirth, solace, and play, Your mind will sooner apply Than to bear me company in my long journey.
Fellowship. Now, in good faith, I will not that way. But and thou wilt murder, or any man kill, In that I will help thee with a good will!
Everyman. O that is a simple advice indeed! Gentle fellow, help me in my necessity; We have loved long, and now I need, And now, gentle Fellowship, remember me.
Fellowship. Whether ye have loved me or no, By Saint John, I will not with thee go.
