Fig. 19.—Carving at Corbeil.
What the popular christian devil had become in all the Northern nations is sufficiently shown in the figure he presented in most of the old miracle-plays and ‘Moralities.’ ‘The Devill in his fethers all ragged and rent,’[6] had horns, wide mouth, long (sometimes up-turned) nose, red beard, cloven foot, and tail. He was attended by a buffoon called Vice. ‘And,’ says Harsenet, ‘it was a pretty part in the old Church playes when the nimble Vice would skip up nimbly like a Jackanapes into the Devil’s necke, and ride the Devil a course, and belabour him with a wooden dagger, till he made him roar, whereat the people would laugh to see the Devil so Vice-haunted.’[7] The two must have nearly resembled the clown and his unhappy victim Pantaloon in our pantomimes, as to their antics. It would seem that sometimes holy personages were caricatured in the make-up of the stage-devil. Thus in ‘Gammer Gurton’s Needle’ we have this conversation:—
Gammer. But, Hodge, had he no horns to push?
Hodge. As long as your two armes. Saw ye never fryer Rushe
Painted on cloth, with a side long cowe’s tayle
And crooked cloven feet, and many a hooked nayle?
For all the world (if I should judge) should reckon him his brother;
Loke, even what face fryer Rushe had, the devil had such another.
In the scene of Christ’s delivering souls from purgatory, the Devil is represented as blowing lustily a horn to alarm his comrades, and crying, ‘Out, out, aronzt!’ to the invader. He fights with a three-pronged fork. He and his victims are painted black,[8] in contrast with the souls of the saved, which are white. The hair was considered very important.[9] When he went to battle, even his fiery nature was sometimes represented in a way that must have been more ludicrous than impressive.[10]
The insignificance to which the priests had reduced the devil in the plays, where they were usually the actors, reflected their own petty routine of life. They could conceive of nothing more terrible than their own mean mishaps and local obstructions. One great office of the Devil was to tempt some friar to sleep when he should be at prayer,[11] make another drink too much, or a third cast warm glances at a village beauty. The Revelations of the Abbot Richalmus, written seven hundred years ago, shows the Devil already far gone in his process of diminution. The Devil here concentrates the energies which once made the earth tremble on causing nausea to the Abbot, and making the choir cough while he is preaching. ‘When I sit down to holy studies,’ he says, ‘the devils make me heavy with sleep. Then I stretch my hands beyond my cuffs to give them a chill. Forthwith the spirits prick me under my clothes like so many fleas, which causes me to put my hands on them; and so they get warm again, and my reading grows careless.’ ‘Come, just look at my lip; for twenty years has an imp clung to it just to make it hang down.’ It is ludicrous to find that ancient characteristic of the gods of Death already adverted to—their hatred of salt, the agent of preservation—descended from being the sign of Job’s constancy to Jehovah into a mere item of the Abbot’s appetite. ‘When I am at dinner, and the devil has taken away my appetite, as soon as I have tasted a little salt it comes back to me; and if, shortly afterwards, I lose it again, I take some more salt, and am once more an hungered.’[12]