A History of English Prose Fiction

by Bayard Tuckerman

Of the stories relating to the yeomanry the most important was the "Pleasant Historic of Thomas of Reading; or, The Sixe Worthie Yeomen of the West," by Thomas Deloney, a famous ballad-maker of the 16th century. It is the narrative of the life and fortunes of a worthy clothier of Henry the First's time, telling how he rose to wealth and prosperity, and was finally murdered by an innkeeper. There is interwoven a relation of the unhappy loves of the "faire Margaret," daughter of the exiled Earl of Shrewsbury, and of Duke Robert, the King's brother, which ends in the Duke losing his eyes, and the fair Margaret being immured in a convent. The story illustrates some curious old customs, and is written in an unaffected and easy style, which makes it still very readable. A passage describing the churching feast of the wife of one of the "Sixe worthie yeomen," makes a natural and humorous picture of contemporary manners.

Sutton's wife of Salisbury, which had lately bin deliuered of a sonne, against her going to church, prepared great cheare; at what time Simon's wife of Southhampton came thither, and so did diuers others of the clothiers' wiues, onely to make merry at this churching feast: and whilest these dames sate at the table, Crab, Weasell and Wren waited on the board, and as the old Prouerbe speaketh, Many women, many words, so tell it out at that time; for there was such prattling that it passed: some talkt of their husbands' frowardnes, some shewed their maids' sluttishnes, othersome deciphered the costlines of their garments, some told many tales of their neighbours: and to be briefe there was none of them but would have talke for a whole day.

But when Crab, Weazell and Wren saw this, they concluded betwixt themselves, that as oft as any of the women had a good bit of meate on their trenchers, they offering a cleane one should catch that commodity, and so they did; but the women being busie in talke, marked it not, till at the last one found leisure to misse her meate * * * The women seeing their men so merry, said it was a sign there was good ale in the house.[31]

As the decline of disorder and of martial tastes had given men the opportunity to lead other than military lives, so the decline of the theological spirit enabled them to attain that diffusion of knowledge without which there could be no civilization. The Roman clergy, during many centuries, partly from conscientious motives, and partly to maintain their own power, had suppressed intellectual and material advancement, and had kept men in a state of gross ignorance and superstition. In England the church gradually lost her old influence by her internal rottenness: she was unable to resist the new growth of learning which sprung up in the first half of the sixteenth century; and her power for evil was destroyed by the Reformation. The superstitions, however, which she had nourished, lingered long after her power had passed away, and these have given birth to some curious specimens of fiction. The natural tendency of an ignorant and superstitious people was to ascribe superior mental ability to intercourse with Satan, and to imagine that any unusual learning must be connected with the occult sciences. These ideas are illustrated by the stories relating to Friar Bacon and to Virgil which were printed during the sixteenth century, and which embodied the legends regarding these great men which had passed current for two hundred years. The same ignorant indifference to useful learning which made Roger Bacon, the great philosopher of the thirteenth century, "unheard, forgotten, buried," represented him after his death as a conjurer doing tricks for the amusement of a king. "The Famous Historie of Frier Bacon," is written in a clear and simple style, very similar to that of "Thomas of Reading," and recounts: "How Fryer Bacon made a Brazen Head to speake, by the which hee would have walled England about with Brasse"; "how Fryer Bacon by his arte took a towne, when the king had lyen before it three months, without doing to it any hurt"; with much more of the same sort. This story would be without interest, were it not for the introduction of the Friar's servant, one Miles, whose futile attempts at seconding his master's efforts, and sometimes at imitating them, occasion some very amusing scenes. Friar Bungay, the famous conjurer of Edward the Fourth's time, appears as Bacon's assistant.

Virgil was treated in the same way. The age which turned Hercules into a knight-errant, very consistently represented the poet and philosopher as a magician. All through the Middle Ages the name of Virgil had been connected with necromancy. "The authors," says Naudeus,[32] "who have made mention of the magic of Virgil are so many that they cannot be examined one after another, without loss of much time." On the title page of the "Lyfe of Virgilius," we learn that: "This boke treateth of the lyfe of Virgilius, and of his deth, and many mervayles that he dyd in hys lyfe tyme by whychcrafte and nygramancye thorowgh the helpe of the devyls of Hell." Some of the "mervayles" being: "Howe Virgilius made a lampe that at all tymes brenned"; "howe Virgilius put out all the fyer of Rome"; "howe Virgilius made in Rome a metall serpente." In this story of Virgil occurs a curious instance of the appearance of the same incident in very different works of fiction. The poet being enamoured of a certain Roman lady, persuaded her to lower a basket from her window, in which he should enter and be drawn up to her chamber. The lady assented, but when the basket had ascended half way, she left her lover to hang there, exposed the next morning to the ridicule of the populace, for which treachery Virgil takes terrible revenge. This story of the basket became very popular; it was introduced into a well known French fabliau[33]; and Bulwer worked it, with slight changes, into his novel of "Pelham," where Monsieur Margot experiences the same sad reflections concerning the deceitfulness of woman, which had long before passed through the mind of Virgil.

The devil himself, or more properly, one of the many devils who abounded in the sixteenth century, is the hero of the "Historie of Frier Rush."

The imagination of the peasantry had peopled the woods and dells with gay and harmless spirits, fairies and imps. These were sometimes mischievous, but might always be propitiated, and excited in the rural mind curiosity and amusement rather than fear. But the clergy, who shared in the popular superstitions, and gave as ready a belief as the peasantry to the existence of these supernatural beings, were unable from the nature of their creed to admit the possibility that these spirits were harmless. To the monks all supernatural creatures were either angels or devils, and under their influence the imps and fairies whom the peasants believed to be dancing and playing pranks about them were turned into demons bent on the destruction of human souls.[34] Friar Rush was probably at one time a good natured imp like Robin Good Fellow, but under the influence, of Christian superstition he became the typical emissary from Satan, who played tricks among men calculated to set them by the ears, and who sought by various devices, always amusing, to fit them for residence in his master's dominions.

In the history before us, which is probably only one of many which circulated concerning the mischievous friar, he obtains admission into a convent for the purpose of debauching its inmates. Having received employment as under-cook, he soon finds means to throw his master into a cauldron of boiling water, and pretending that the cook's death resulted from an accident, he obtains the chief position in the kitchen himself. He then provides the convent with such delicious food that the monks give themselves up entirely to material enjoyment, and finally reach a condition of degeneracy from which recovery is almost impossible. Rush, however, is exposed in time to prevent absolute ruin, and sets out to make up for this failure by good service elsewhere. The story is described on the title-page as "being full of pleasant mirth and delight for young people."

The tales of the yeomanry were very popular during the sixteenth century, and were sold as penny chapbooks for many years. They form an interesting link in the history of English prose fiction, representing as they do the first appearance of a popular demand for prose stories, and the first appearance, except in Chaucer, of other than military or clerical heroes. They possess an element of reality which separates the chivalric ideal of the Middle Ages from the pastoral-chivalric ideal of Elizabeth's time, the latter typified by Sidney's "Arcadia." The tales relating to the conjurers are quite mediæval in character. They are of interest only so far as they serve to illustrate the effect of popular superstition upon the literature of the time.

The New Learning, growing up in the place of war and theology, meant the dawn of material prosperity, of the rule of law, and of a new intelligence diffused through the opinions and industries of men. Of this there is no better exposition than Sir Thomas More's "Utopia." More was a devout Catholic. He wore a hair shirt next his skin; he flogged himself; he gave his life for a theological principle. But he was also a Christian in a wider sense. He appreciated the importance to men of peace and happiness, as well as of orthodoxy. He sought to promote, what the clergy sought to destroy, the benefits of intellectual and material advancement. More was a lawyer, seeing clearly into the temper of his time, and discerning the new tendencies which were forming the opinions and influencing the actions of his countrymen. It was as a lawyer, too, that he was able to do this. As a soldier, or as the inmate of that Carthusian cell his youth had longed for, he would have shared the prevailing blindness. For many centuries all intellectual activity had been occupied with theological disputes,—how barren it is needless to say; all physical activity had been occupied in destroying or in protecting life. "There were indeed," says Buckle,[35] "many priests and many warriors, many sermons and many battles. But, on the other hand, there was neither trade, nor commerce, nor manufactures; there was no science, no literature; the useful arts were entirely unknown; and even the highest ranks of society were unacquainted, not only with the most ordinary comforts, but with the commonest decencies of civilized life." But the New Learning dealt with secular subjects, and aimed at material welfare. At Antwerp, says More:

"Vpon a certayne daye, when I hadde herde the diuine seruice in our Ladies Churche, which is the fayrest, the most gorgeous and curious churche of buyldyng in all the Citie, and also the most frequented of people, and the seruice beynge doone, was readye to go home to my lodgynge, I chaunced to espye this foresayde Peter talkynge with a certayne Straunger, a man well stricken in age, with a blacke sonneburned face, a longe bearde, and a cloke cast homly about his shoulders, whome, by his fauoure and apparell furthwith I iudged to bee a mariner."[36]