The chief points in the internal arrangement of houses of the period have already been explained in the third chapter. The hall was the central feature, entered at one end; next to this end was the kitchen; next to the other, or daïs end, was the parlour. The kitchen and the parlour respectively were amplified according to the accommodation required, and in the larger houses the amplification entailed one or more courts, but the hall remained the centre of the system. The need for such great amplification as we find in the larger houses arose from the fact that large retinues accompanied great personages on their visits to each other, and that there was always the chance that the sovereign might have to be entertained upon one of the progresses which were undertaken three or four times every year. Both Elizabeth and James adopted this method of keeping in touch with their subjects, and they must have become tolerably familiar with their dominions, except, perhaps, the extreme outlying parts in the north and west; and so far as James was concerned, he made the acquaintance of a good many houses in the north, on his journey from Scotland when he came to take possession of the crown.
Royal Progresses.
When Queen Elizabeth made her progresses, she was frequently entertained with elaborate shows, which, presumably, must have pleased her, since they occurred so often, but which afford tedious reading to the modern inquirer. They were usually cast in an allegorical form, and had more or less dramatic action. They took place in the daytime and in the open air: it can hardly be said that they were performed, for the thread of the plot was so thin, and the stage of operations so large, that the whole effect must have appeared rather fortuitous, and wanting in cohesion. At night time and in one of the great halls, either of a city, a college, or a great house, there were other performances, in which the interest was more concentrated, and the characters more varied; these were called plays, of which a great number were performed, written by all sorts of people, and all affording (apparently) equal pleasure to the onlookers. The majority of these pieces have faded into oblivion, but a certain number have survived, and go to form much of what we know as the Elizabethan drama.
But it is with the entertainments provided in the daytime that we are more particularly concerned: they were of an ephemeral nature, and have not, like many of the plays, passed into the literature of the country: and our concern with them lies in the form in which they were cast and the spirit which animated them. When Elizabeth made her passage through the city of London to Westminster the day before her coronation—that is, on January 13th, 1558—the whole journey was interspersed with "pageants," as they were called.[16] These consisted of triumphal arches of various designs, upon which living allegorical figures were placed: one represented the Queen's immediate ancestors: another four virtues treading down four contrary vices; another the eight beatitudes; on another were Time and Truth his daughter; and so forth. Each of these personages, says the account, according to their proper names and properties, had not only their names in plain and perfect writing set upon their breasts easily to be read of all, but also each of them was aptly and properly apparelled, so that his apparel and name did agree to express the same person that in title he represented. As each pageant was reached, there stepped forth a "child" on to some prominent part of it, who recited a number of verses explanatory of the device, and a copy of these verses was affixed in a tablet upon the pageant, balanced by another bearing a Latin version of the same lines. Besides these, it says, every void place in the pageant was furnished with sentences touching the matter and ground of the said pageant. We have here, therefore, on a large scale, the same kind of treatment which was applied on a small scale to chimney-pieces—allegorical figures and various inscriptions more or less pithy. It is a matter for speculation whether either the Queen or the populace at large thoroughly grasped the full meaning of the several devices upon which so much ingenuity had been lavished; but certainly to the monarch, who stopped at every pageant, and received an explanation of it, the journey must have been extremely tiring, seeing how great were the number and ingenuity of the pageants. To preserve so much good work from oblivion, within the next ten days an account of the whole "passage" was printed, which towards its close gives much credit to the city, forasmuch as without any foreign person, of itself, it beautified itself. This casual reference to the foreign person, and to the city being able to manage without his help, shows that he was a recognized factor in the production of design.
[16]Nichols' Progresses of Queen Elizabeth.
When King James made his "memorable Passage from the Tower to Whitehall," on the 15th March, 1603-4, there were seven triumphal arches erected, of such importance that they were considered worthy of being engraved and published. They were designed by an Englishman, Stephen Harrison, "Joyner and Architect," and their architectural treatment followed the lines of the more pronounced Anglo-Italian work of the time, in which classic feeling has superseded Gothic. They are interesting as showing how completely the English craftsman had familiarized himself with the foreign methods of design. They were published by Harrison in 1604, the engravings being by William Kip.[17] They were built in a substantial manner, nearly six months being spent upon their erection. Two of them were called respectively "The Italians' Pegme" and "The Pegme of the Dutchmen," residents of these two nationalities being responsible for their erection; but it is curious to see that the Dutchmen's arch is not more Dutch in treatment than the Italians'. It evidently did not occur to Harrison to emphasize the character of his designs to suit the two nations, even if he were aware of the points in which their architecture differed.
[17]The title of the book, which is well worth inspection, is "The Archs of Triumph, erected in honor of the High and Mighty Prince James, the First of that Name King of England, and the Sixt of Scotland, at his Maiestie's Entrance and Passage through his Honorable Citty and Chamber of London, upon the 15th day of March, 1603. Invented and published by Stephen Harrison, Joyner and Architect; and graven by William Kip."
It was perhaps natural in those days that when Queen Elizabeth visited the great seats of learning she should be greeted with a shower of Latin verses and orations. Pages after pages of these have been preserved, but it seems extremely doubtful whether the recipient of them could have found time to master their contents. The orations she listened to and understood, for the expression of her face is said to have changed with the subject-matter of the speeches, and some of them she answered in the same tongue. But it was by no means to Eton or to Oxford and Cambridge that Latin verses and orations were confined: obscure parsons in small towns seized their opportunities, and were often handsomely praised by the Queen for their skill. As to verses, when she visited Sandwich in 1573, "upon every post and corner, from her first entry to her lodging, were fixed certain verses, and against the court gate all these verses put into a table (i.e., a frame) and there hanged up."
The Queen's visit to Kenilworth Castle in July, 1575, is one of the best known episodes of her Progresses, and the "Princely Pleasures at Kenilworth Castle," recorded (and largely devised) by George Gascoigne, consisted of the same kind of entertainments as greeted her at her coronation. They are too long to quote extensively, but a few of the principal efforts will serve to show the kind of spirit that was abroad at the time.
As the Queen approached the castle, Sybilla met her and prophesied prosperity in a number of verses. On entering the gate Hercules, who acted as porter, seemed inclined to dispute her entry, but being overcome by the "rare beauty and princely countenance" of her Majesty, he gave up his keys, and burst into poetry. In the base-court there came a lady, attended by two nymphs, and the lady welcomed her Majesty in another set of verses. A few steps further on came an actor clad like a poet, who pronounced a number of Latin verses, which were also fixed over the gate in a frame. After leaving the poet, she was received into the inner court with sweet music, and then escaped to her own "lodgings." A day or two after her arrival there met her in the forest, as she came from hunting, one clad like a Savage man, all in ivy, who was so much overcome with wonder at the Queen's presence that he fell to quarrelling with Jupiter, and called upon Echo to explain who the resplendent personage might be, incidentally contriving to lavish a number of compliments in the course of the inquiry. Then Triton came, and the Lady of the Lake, and Proteus sitting on a dolphin's back, who all delivered themselves of further compliments in lengthy verses. It is just conceivable that her Majesty grew a little weary of these pedantic interludes, for one long show was prepared by Master Gascoigne, in which Diana and her nymphs, Mercury, Iris, and others were to have acted; but in spite of every actor being ready in his garment for two or three days together, it never came to execution, being prevented (its author thought) by lack of opportunity and seasonable weather. At the Queen's departure, being commanded by the Earl of Leicester to devise some worthy farewell entertainment, Master Gascoigne clothed himself as Sylvanus, the god of the woods, and meeting the Queen as she went hunting, broke out into a long extempore oration, which her Majesty at length interrupted by proceeding on her way. Sylvanus, however, kept pace with her, and continued his speech running at her side, until in very pity for his breathless condition, the Queen stopped her horse. At Sylvanus's humble request, however, she continued her ride, and he continued the ceaseless stream of his oration, until coming to an arbour, a second actor in the tedious drama, by name Deep Desire, took up his part, spake some verses, and sang a song. A few more lines from Sylvanus released the Queen from this very diverting farewell show.