The Growth of English Drama — Themes and Context
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There was one play, however, which broke loose from most of these limitations, a play of _St. Nicholas_, written by one Hilarius early in the twelfth century. The same author composed a Mystery of _Lazarus_, and an elaborate representation of _Daniel_, which must have made large demands on the Church's supply of 'stage properties'. But his _St. Nicholas_ is the only one that interests us here. To begin with, the title informs us that the subject is not drawn from the Bible. The words, therefore, are at the discretion of the author. Further, though the medium is mostly Latin, the native language of the spectators has been slipped in, to render a few recurrent phrases or refrains. The story is quite simple, and humorous, and is as follows:
The image of St. Nicholas stands in a Christian church. Into the church comes a pagan barbarian; he is about to go on a long journey, and desires to leave his treasure in a safe place. Having heard of the reputation of St. Nicholas as the patron of property, he lays his riches at the foot of the statue, and in four Latin verses of song commits them to the saint's safe-keeping. No sooner is he gone, however, than thieves steal in silently and remove the booty. Presently the barbarian returns, discovers his loss, charges the image with faithlessness, and, snatching up a whip, threatens it with a thrashing if the treasure is not brought back. He withdraws, presumably, after this, to give St. Nicholas an opportunity to amend matters. Whereupon one representing the real celestial St. Nicholas suddenly appears, perhaps from behind a curtain at the rear of the image, and seeks out the thieves. He threatens them with exposure and torment unless they restore their plunder; they give in; and St. Nicholas goes back to his concealment. When the barbarian returns, his delight is naturally very great at perceiving so complete an atonement for the saint's initial oversight. Indeed his appreciation is so genuine that it only needs a few words from the reappearing Saint to persuade him to accept Christianity.--Monologue and dialogue are throughout in song. The following is one of the three verses in which the barbarian proclaims his loss; the last two lines in the vernacular are the same for all.
Gravis sors et dura! Hic reliqui plura, Sed sub mala cura. Des! quel dommage! Qui pert la sue chose purque n'enrage.
A play of this sort, dealing with the wonder-working of a Saint, became known as a Miracle Play, to differentiate it from the Mystery Plays based on Bible stories.
_St. Nicholas_ would be performed in a church. But there is a probably contemporaneous Norman Mystery Play, _Adam_, of unknown authorship, which shows that the move from the church to the open air was already being made. This play was performed just outside the church door, and though the staging remains a matter of conjecture, it may be reasonably assumed that the church represented Heaven, and that the three parts of a projecting stage served respectively as Paradise (Eden), Earth, and Hell (covered in, with side doors). The manuscript of the play (found at Tours) supplies careful directions for staging and acting, as follows:
A Paradise is to be made in a raised spot, with curtains and cloths of silk hung round it at such a height that persons in the Paradise may be visible from the shoulders upwards. Fragrant flowers and leaves are to be set round about, and divers trees put therein with hanging fruit, so as to give the likeness of a most delicate spot. Then must come the Saviour, clothed in a dalmatic, and Adam and Eve be brought before him. Adam is to wear a red tunic and Eve a woman's robe of white, with a white silk cloak; and they are both to stand before the Figure (_God_), Adam the nearer with composed countenance, while Eve appears somewhat more modest. And the Adam must be well trained when to reply and to be neither too quick nor too slow in his replies. And not only he, but all the personages must be trained to speak composedly, and to fit convenient gesture to the matter of their speech. Nor must they foist in a syllable or clip one of the verse, but must enounce firmly and repeat what is set down for them in due order. Whosoever names Paradise is to look and point towards it.[1]
Arnold Wynne's preface immediately signals a practical gap in early drama criticism: students could find abundant analysis but few concrete plot summaries or verse examples. He aims to supply both, treating plays like Hick Scorner and Gammer Gurton's Needle as more than footnotes. The book's structure moves chronologically from continental church drama through miracle plays, moralities, and interludes, then into comedy and tragedy, with separate chapters on Lyly, Greene, Peele, Nash, Lodge, Kyd, and Marlowe. Wynne's method is to present evidence alongside judgment, inviting readers to form independent opinions.
Wynne's Method: Plot and Verse as Evidence
Wynne distinguishes his approach from predecessors like Ward and Symonds by offering sustained attention to individual plays. In the chapter on Greene, for instance, he devotes several paragraphs to Looking Glass for London and England, detailing the drunken blacksmith Adam, the vainglorious Rasni, and the incestuous Ramilia. He quotes Adam's prose at length—the blacksmith's complaint about fasting, his hidden food in his slops, and his comic confrontation with searchers. Wynne uses such excerpts not merely as illustration but as proof of Greene's skill with low characters. The reader can see the verbal play: Adam's pun on 'slop' as both garment and castle, his mock-legal protest that searching his hose is 'burglary.' This method recurs throughout: Wynne lets the text speak before he comments.
Voice and Register in Greene's Prose
The excerpt from Looking Glass shows Wynne's interest in how Greene shifts register between high and low characters. Adam's prose is colloquial, full of physical comedy: he calls himself 'a lean rib of roast beef' and prefers 'a short hanging than a long fasting.' The searchers speak in a more formal, moralizing tone—'How devoutly he sits at his orisons!'—which Adam undercuts by hiding food in his clothing. Wynne notes that Adam is 'perhaps the most amusing of all Greene's clowns,' but he also traces the character's arc to the gallows, where he dies 'with a stout heart and a full stomach.' This attention to voice and fate typifies Wynne's criticism: he treats comic characters as seriously as tragic ones, analyzing their language for clues to Greene's dramatic craft.
Pace and Structure in the Early Drama Survey
Wynne's book moves at a deliberate pace, often pausing to summarize plots in detail. The chapter on miracle plays, for example, covers the continental background before turning to English cycles. In the Greene chapter, he shifts from plot summary to character analysis to quoted dialogue, then back to judgment. This rhythm gives the reader time to absorb the material. Wynne also varies his sentence length: short assertions ('No better example is needed') alternate with longer descriptive passages. The effect is a scholarly but readable tone, one that avoids the 'superabundant literature of exposition' he criticizes in his preface. By focusing on specific plays and their language, Wynne keeps the narrative grounded in evidence rather than abstraction.
Wynne's book rewards readers who want to see the raw material of Elizabethan drama—the plots, characters, and verse that critics often summarize but rarely quote. His method of presenting evidence before judgment makes the volume useful both as a reference and as a guide to forming one's own assessments. The careful attention to lesser-known plays, from moralities to University Wit comedies, fills a gap that earlier studies left open. Readers approaching this text should expect detailed summaries and generous excerpts, not sweeping theories of dramatic development.
I keep thinking about how Wynne’s old book made me feel those early plays breathing—rough, alive, unfinished. That quiet ache for forgotten voices stayed with me. Five Little Plays — Story, Setting & Ideas has a similar warmth, like finding a letter you’d forgotten you wrote. There’s comfort in pieces that don’t try to be perfect, just true.
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