Chapter II: Introduction (1)

Since a little story of mine called "The Peace Egg" appeared in _Aunt Judy's Magazine_, I have again and again been asked where the Mumming Play could be found which gave its name to my tale, and if real children could act it, as did the fancy children of my story.

As it stands, this old Christmas Mumming Play (which seems to have borrowed the name of an Easter Entertainment or Pasque Egg) is not fit for domestic performance; and though probably there are few nurseries in those parts of England where "mumming" and the sword-dance still linger, in which the children do not play some version of St. George's exploits, a little of the dialogue goes a long way, and the mummery (which must almost be seen to be imitated) is the chief matter.

In fact, the mummery _is_ the chief matter--which is what makes the play so attractive to children, and, it may be added, so suitable for their performance. In its rudeness, its simplicity, its fancy dressing, the rapid action of the plot, and last, but not least, its _bludginess_--that quality which made the history of Goliath so dear to the youngest of Helen's Babies!--it is adapted for nursery amusement, as the Drama of Punch and Judy is, and for similar reasons.

For some little time past I have purposed to try and blend the various versions of "Peace Egg" into one Mummery for the nursery, with as little change of the old rhymes as might be. I have been again urged to do so this Christmas, and though I have not been able to give so much time or research to it as I should have liked, I have thought it better to do it without further delay, even if somewhat imperfectly.

To shuffle the characters and vary the text is nothing new in the history of these "Mock Plays," as they were sometimes called.

They are probably of very ancient origin--"Pagan, I regret to say," as Mr. Pecksniff observed in reference to the sirens--and go back to "the heathen custom of going about on the Kalends of January in disguises, as wild beasts and cattle, the sexes changing apparel," (There is a relic of this last unseemly custom still in "The Old Tup" and "The Old Horse"; when these are performed by both girls and boys, the latter wear skirts and bonnets, the former hats and great-coats; this is also the case in Scotland where the boys and girls go round at Hogmanay.)

In the 12th century the clergy introduced miracle plays and Scripture histories to rival the performances of the strolling players, which had become very gross. They became as popular as beneficial, and London was famous for them. Different places, and even trade-guilds and schools, had their differing "mysteries."

Secular plays continued, and the two seem occasionally to have got mixed. Into one of the oldest of old plays, "St. George and the Dragon," the Crusaders and Pilgrims introduced the Eastern characters who still remain there. This is the foundation of "The Peace Egg." About the middle of the 15th century, plays, which, not quite religious, still witnessed to the effect of the religious plays in raising the standard of public taste, appeared under the name of "Morals," or "Moralities."

Christmas plays, masques, pageants, and the like were largely patronized by the Tudor sovereigns, and the fashion set by the Court was followed in the country. Queen Elizabeth was not only devoted to the drama, and herself performed, but she was very critical and exacting; and the high demand which she did so much to stimulate, was followed by such supply as was given by the surpassing dramatic genius of the Elizabethan age of literature. Later, Ben Jonson and Inigo Jones combined to produce the Court masks, one of which,--the well-known "Mask of Christmas," had for chief characters, Christmas and his children, Misrule, Carol, Mince Pie, Gambol, Post and Pair, New Year's Gift, Mumming, Wassel, Offering, and Baby's Cake. In the 17th century the Christmas Mummeries of the Inns of Court were conducted with great magnificence and at large cost.

All such entertainments were severely suppressed during the Commonwealth, at which time the words "Welcome, or not welcome, I am come," were introduced into Father Christmas's part.

At one time the Jester of the piece (he is sometimes called the Jester, and sometimes the Fool, or the Old Fool) used to wear a calf's hide. Robin Goodfellow says, "I'll go put on my devilish robes--I mean my Christmas calf's-skin suit--and then walk to the woods." "I'll put me on my great carnation nose, and wrap me in a rousing calf-skin suit, and come like some hobgoblin." And a character of the 18th century "clears the way" with--

"My name is Captain Calftail, Calftail--
And on my back it is plain to be seen,
Although I am simple and wear a fool's cap,
I am dearly beloved of a queen--"

which looks as if Titania had found her way into that mummery!

"The Hobby Horse's" costume was a horse's hide, real or imitated. I have no copy of a Christmas Play in which the Hobby Horse appears. In the north of England, "The Old Horse" and "The Old Tup" are the respective heroes of their own peculiar mummeries, generally performed by a younger, or perhaps a rougher, set of lads than those who play the more elegant mysteries of St. George. The boy who acts "Old Tup" has a ram's head impaled upon a short pole, which he grasps and uses as a sort of wooden leg in front of him. He needs some extra support, his back being bent as If for leap-frog, and covered with an old rug (in days when "meat" was cheaper it was probably a hide). The hollow sound of his peg-leg upon the "flags" of the stone passages and kitchen floor, and the yearly test of courage supplied by the rude familiarities of his gruesome head as he charged and dispersed maids and children, amid shrieks and laughter, are probably familiar memories of all Yorkshire, Lancashire, and Derbyshire childhoods. I do not know if the Old Horse and the Old Tup belong to other parts of the British Isles. It is a rude and somewhat vulgar performance, especially if undertaken by older revellers, when the men wear skirts and bonnets, and the women don great-coats and hats--the Fool, the Doctor, and a darker character with a besom, are often of the party, but the Knights of Christendom and the Eastern Potentates take no share in these proceedings, which are oftenest and most inoffensively performed by little boys not yet promoted to be "mummers." It is, however, essential that one of them should have a good voice, true and tuneful enough to sing a long ballad, and lead the chorus.

In the scale of contributions to the numerous itinerant Christmas Boxes of Christmas week--such as the Ringers, the Waits, the Brass Band, the Hand-bells, the Mummers (Peace Egg), the Superior Mummers, who do more intricate sword-play (and in the North Riding are called Morris Dancers), &c. &c., the Old Tup stands low down on the list. I never heard the Rhymes of the Old Horse; they cannot be the same. These diversions are very strictly localized and handed on by word of mouth.

Of the best version of "Peace Egg" which I have seen performed, I have as yet quite vainly endeavoured to get any part transcribed. It is oral tradition. It is practised for some weeks beforehand, and the costumes, including wonderful head-dresses about the size of the plumed bonnet of a Highlander in full-dress, are carefully preserved from year to year. These paste-board erections are covered with flowers, feathers, bugles, and coloured streamers. The dresses are of coloured calico, with ribbons everywhere; "points" to the breeches and hose, shoulder-knots and sashes.

But, as a rough rule, it is one of the conveniences of mumming play, that the finery may be according to the taste and the resources of the company.

The swords are of steel, and those I have seen are short. In some places I believe rapiers are used. I am very sorry to be unable to give proper directions for the sword-play, which is so pretty. I have only one version in which such directions are given. I have copied the "Grand Sword Dance" in its proper place for the benefit of those who can interpret it. It is not easy to explain in writing even so much of it as I know. Each combat consists of the same number of cuts, to the best of my remembrance, and the "shoulder cuts" (which look very like two persons sharpening two knives as close as possible to each other's nose!) are in double time, twice as quick as the others. The stage directions are as follows:--

A. and B. fight

Cut I ... ... Crossing each other.
(They change places, striking as they pass.)

Cut 2 ... ... " " back.

Cut 3 ... ... " " other.

Cut 4 ... ... " " back.

Four shoulder cuts.

A. loses his sword and falls.

But I do not think the version from which this is an extract is at all an elaborate one. There ought to be a "Triumph," with an archway of swords, in the style of Sir Roger de Coverley. After the passing and repassing strokes, there is usually much more hand-to-hand fighting, then four shoulder cuts, and some are aimed high and some down among their ankles, in a way which would probably be quite clear to any one trained in broadsword exercise.

The following Christmas Mumming Play is compiled from five versions--the "Peace Egg," the "Wassail Cup," "Alexander the Great," "A Mock Play," and the "Silverton Mummer's Play" (Devon), which has been lent to me in manuscript.

The Mumming Chorus, "And a mumming we will go," &c., is not in any one of these versions, but I never saw mumming without it.

The Silverton version is an extreme example of the continuous development of these unwritten dramas. Generation after generation, the most incongruous characters have been added. In some cases this is a very striking testimony to the strength of rural sympathy with the great deeds and heroes of the time, as well as to native talent for dramatic composition.

Wellington and Wolfe almost eclipsed St. George in some parts of England, and the sea Heroes are naturally popular in Devonshire. The death of Nelson in the Silverton play has fine dramatic touches. Though he "has but one arm and a good one too," he essays to fight--whether Tippo Saib or St. George is not made clear. He falls, and St. George calls for the Doctor in the usual words. The Doctor ends his peculiar harangue with: "Britons! our Nelson is dead." To which a voice, which seems to play the part of Greek chorus, responds--"But he is not with the dead, but in the arms of the Living God!" Then, enter Collingwood--

"_Collingwood_--Here comes I, bold Collingwood,
Who fought the French and boldly stood;
And now the life of that bold Briton's gone,
I'll put the crown of victory on"--

with which--"he takes the crown off Nelson's head and puts it on his own."

I have, however, confined myself in "The Peace Egg" to those characters which have the warrant of considerable antiquity, and their number is not small. They can easily be reduced by cutting out one or two; or some of the minor characters could play more than one part, by making real exits and changing the dress, instead of the conventional exit into the background of the group.

Some of these minor characters are not the least charming. The fair Sabra (who is often a mute) should be the youngest and prettiest little maid that can toddle through her part, and no old family brocade can be too gorgeous for her. The Pretty Page is another part for a "very little one," and his velvets and laces should become him. They contrast delightfully with Dame Dolly and Little Man Jack, and might, if needful, be played by the same performers.

I have cut out everything that could possibly offend, except the line--"Take him and give him to the flies." It betrays an experience of Asiatic battlefields so terribly real, that I was unwilling to abolish this unconscious witness to the influence of Pilgrims and Crusaders on the Peace Egg. It is easily omitted.

I have dismissed the Lord of Flies, Beelzebub, and (with some reluctance) "Little Devil Doubt" and his besom. I had a mind to have retained him as "The Demon of Doubt," for he plays in far higher dramas. His besom also seems to come from the East, where a figure "sweeping everything out" with a broom is the first vision produced in the crystal or liquid in the palm of a medium by the magicians of Egypt.

Those who wish to do so can admit him at the very end, after the sword dance, very black, and with a besom, a money-box, and the following doggrel:

In come I, the Demon of Doubt,
If you don't give me money I'll sweep you all out;
Money I want and money I crave,
Money I want and money I'll have.

He is not a taking character--unless to the antiquary! I have substituted the last line for the less decorous original, "If you don't give me money, I'll sweep you all to the grave."

It is perhaps only the antiquary who will detect the connection between the Milk Pail and the Wassail Cup in the Fool's Song. But it seems at one time to have been made of milk. In a play of the 16th century it is described as--

"Wassayle, wassayle, out of the mylke payle;
Wassayle, wassayle, as white as my nayle,"

and Selden calls it "a slabby stuff," which sounds as if it had got mixed up with frumenty.

Since the above went to press, I have received some extracts from the unwritten version of "Peace Egg" in the West Riding of Yorkshire to which I have alluded. They recall to me that the piece properly opens with a "mumming round," different to the one I have given, _that_ one belonging to the end. The first Mumming Song rehearses each character and his exploits. The hero of the verse which describes him singing (autobiographically!) his own doughty deeds in the third person. Thus St. George begins; I give it in the vernacular.

"The first to coom in is the Champion bould,
The Champion bould is he,
He never fought battle i' all his loife toim,
But he made his bould enemy flee, flee, flee,
He made his bould enemy flee."

The beauty of this song is the precision with which each character enters and joins the slowly increasing circle. But that is its only merit. It is wretched doggrel, and would make the play far too tedious. I was, however, interested by this verse:--

The next to come in is the Cat and Calftail,
The Cat and Calftail is he;
He'll beg and he'll borrow, and he'll steal all he can,
But he'll never pay back one penny, penny,
He'll never pay back one penny.

Whether "Cat and Calftail" is a corruption of Captain Calftail or (more likely) Captain Calftail was evolved from a Fool in Calf's hide and Cat's skins, it is hard to say. They are evidently one and the same shabby personage!

The song which I have placed at the head of the Peace Egg Play has other verses which also recite "the argument" of the piece, but not one is worth recording. A third song does not, I feel sure, belong to the classic versions, but to another "rude and vulgar" one, which I have not seen for some years, and which was played in a dialect dark, even to those who flattered themselves that they were to the manner born. In it St. George and the Old Fool wrangle, the O.F. accusing the Patron Saint of England of stealing clothes hung out to dry on the hedges. St. George, who has previously boasted--

I've travelled this world all round,
And hope to do it again,
I was once put out of my way
By a hundred and forty men--

--indignantly denies the theft, and adds that, on the contrary, he has always sent home money to his old mother. To which the Old Fool contemptuously responds--

All the relations thou had were few,
Thou had an Old Granny I knew,
She went a red-cabbage selling,
As a many old people do.

In either this, or another, rough version, the hero (presumably St. George) takes counsel with Man Jack on his love affairs. Man Jack is played by a small boy in a very tall beaver hat, and with his face blacked.

"My Man Jack, what can the matter be? That I should luv this lady, and she will not luv me."

ST. GEORGE and MAN JACK.

No, nor nayther will she walk {with me
{with thee.

No, nor nayther will she talk {with me
{with thee.

But the true "Peace Egg," if _bludgy_, is essentially a heroic play, and I think the readers of _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ will be content that I have omitted accretions which are not the less vulgar because they are old.

In refining and welding the piece together, I have introduced thirty lines of my own, in various places. The rest is genuine.

J. H. E.

THE PEACE EGG.

A CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY.

_Written expressly for all Mummers, to commemorate the Holy Wars, and the happy Festival of Christmas._

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

ST. GEORGE OF ENGLAND (_he must wear a rose_).

ST. ANDREW OF SCOTLAND(_he must wear a thistle_).

ST. PATRICK OF IRELAND(_he must wear the shamrock_).

ST. DAVID OF WALES(_he must wear a leek_).

SALADIN, A PAGAN GIANT OF PALESTINE(_a very tall grown-up actor would be effective_).

THE KING OF EGYPT(_in a turban and crown_).

THE PRINCE OF PARADINE, HIS SON(_face blacked, and it is_ "tradition" _to play this part in weeds, as if he were Hamlet_).

THE TURKISH KNIGHT(_Eastern costume_).

HECTOR.

THE VALIANT SLASHER (_old yeomanry coat, &c., is effective_).

THE DRAGON(_a paste-board head, with horrid jaws, if possible. A tail, and paws with claws_).

THE FOOL(_Motley: with a bauble long enough to put over his shoulder and be held by the one behind in the mumming circle_).

OLD FATHER CHRISTMAS(_white beard, &c., and a staff_).

THE DOCTOR(_wig, spectacles, hat and cane_).

THE LITTLE PAGE(_pretty little boy in velvet, &c_.).

LITTLE MAN JACK(_big mask head, if convenient, short cloak and club_).

PRINCESS SABRA(_pretty little girl, gorgeously dressed, a crown_).

DAME DOLLY(_a large mask head, if possible, and a very amazing cap. Dame Dolly should bob curtseys and dance about_).

No scenery is required. The actors, as a rule, all come in together. To "enter" means to stand forth, and "exit" that the actor retires into the background. But the following method will be found most effective. Let Fool enter alone, and the rest come in one by one when the Fool begins to sing. They must march in to the music, and join the circle with regularity. Each actor as he "brags," and gives his challenge, does so marching up and down, his drawn sword over his shoulder. All the characters take part in the "Mumming Round." The next to Fair Sabra might hold up her train, and if Dame Dolly had a Gamp umbrella to put over _her_ shoulder, it would not detract from her comic charms. The Trumpet Calls for the four Patron Knights should be appropriate to each. If a Trumpet is quite impossible, some one should play a national air as each champion enters.

_Enter_ FOOL.

FOOL. Good morrow, friends and neighbours dear,
We are right glad to meet you here,
Christmas comes but once a year,
But when it comes it brings good cheer,
And when it's gone it's no longer near.
May luck attend the milking-pail,
Yule logs and cakes in plenty be,
May each blow of the thrashing-flail
Produce good frumenty.
And let the Wassail Cup abound,
Whene'er the mummers' time comes round.

_Air, "Le Petit Tambour._"

_Sings._ Now all ye jolly mummers
Who mum in Christmas time,
Come join with me in chorus,
Come join with me in rhyme.

[_He has laid his bauble, over his shoulder, and it is taken by_ ST. GEORGE, _who is followed by all the other actors, each laying his sword over his right shoulder and his left hand on the sword-point in front of him, and all marking time with their feet till the circle is complete, when they march round singing the chorus over and over again._]

_Chorus._ And a mumming we will go, will go,
And a mumming we will go,
With a bright cockade in all our hats, we'll go with a gallant show.

[_Disperse, and stand aside._]

[_Enter_ FATHER CHRISTMAS.]

FATHER CHRISTMAS Here comes I, old Father Christmas; Welcome, or welcome not, I hope poor old Father Christmas Will never be forgot! My head is white, my back is bent, My knees are weak, my strength is spent. Eighteen hundred and eighty-three Is a very great age for me. And if I'd been growing all these years What a monster I should be! Now I have but a short time to stay, And if you don't believe what I say-- Come in, Dame Dolly, and clear the way.

[_Enter_ DAME DOLLY.]

DAME DOLLY. Here comes I, little Dame Dolly, Wearing smart caps in all my folly. If any gentleman takes my whim, I'll set my holiday cap at him. To laugh at my cap would be very rude; I wish you well, and I won't intrude. Gentlemen now at the door do stand, They will walk in with drawn swords in hand, And if you don't believe what I say-- Let one Fool and four knights from the British Isles come in and clear the way!

[_Enter_ FOOL_ and four Christian knights._]

FOOL[_shaking his bells at intervals_]. Room, room, brave gallants, give us room to sport, For to this room we wish now to resort: Resort, and to repeat to you our merry rhyme, For remember, good sirs, that this is Christmas time. The time to make mince-pies doth now appear, So we are come to act our merriment in here. At the sounding of the trumpet, and beating of the drum, Make room, brave gentlemen, and let our actors come. We are the merry actors that traverse the street, We are the merry actors that fight for our meat, We are the merry actors that show pleasant play. Stand forth, St. George, thou champion, and clear the way.

[_Trumpet sounds for_ ST. GEORGE.]

[ST. GEORGE _stands forth and walks up and down with sword on shoulder._]

ST. GEORGE. I am St. George, from good Old England sprung, My famous name throughout the world hath rung, Many bloody deeds and wonders have I shown, And made false tyrants tremble on their throne. I followed a fair lady to a giant's gate, Confined in dungeon deep to meet her fate. Then I resolved with true knight-errantry To burst the door, and set the captive free. Far have I roamed, oft have I fought, and little do I rest; All my delight is to defend the right, and succour the opprest. And now I'll slay the Dragon bold, my wonders to begin; A fell and fiery Dragon he, but I will clip his wing. I'll clip his wings, he shall not fly, I'll rid the land of him, or else I'll die.

[_Enter_ THE DRAGON, _with a sword over his shoulder._]

DRAGON. Who is it seeks the Dragon's blood, And calls so angry and so loud? That English dog who looks so proud-- If I could catch him in my claw-- With my long teeth and horrid jaw, Of such I'd break up half a score, To stay my appetite for more. Marrow from his bones I'd squeeze, And suck his blood up by degrees.

[ST. GEORGE _and_ THE DRAGON _fight_. THE DRAGON_ is killed_. _Exit_ DRAGON.]

ST. GEORGE. I am St. George, that worthy champion bold, And with my sword and spear I won three crowns of gold. I fought the fiery Dragon and brought him to the slaughter, By which behaviour I won the favour of the King of Egypt's daughter. Thus I have gained fair Sabra's hand, who long had won her heart. Stand forth, Egyptian Princess, and boldly act thy part!

[_Enter_ THE PRINCESS SABRA.]

SABRA. I am the Princess Sabra, and it is my delight, My chiefest pride, to be the bride of this gallant Christian knight.

[ST. GEORGE _kneels and kisses her hand_. FOOL _advances and holds up his hands over them._]

FOOL. Why here's a sight will do any honest man's heart good, To see the Dragon-slayer thus subdued!

[ST. GEORGE _rises_. _Exit_ SABRA.]

ST. GEORGE. Keep thy jests in thy pocket if thou would'st keep thy head on thy shoulders. I love a woman, and a woman loves me, And when I want a fool I'll send for thee. If there is any man but me Who noxious beasts can tame, Let him stand forth in this gracious company, And boldly tell his name.

[ST. GEORGE _stands aside_. _Trumpet sounds for_ ST. PATRICK.]

[ST. PATRICK _stands forth._]

ST. PATRICK. I am St. Patrick from the bogs, This truth I fain would learn ye, I banished serpents, toads, and frogs, From beautiful Hibernia. I flourished my shillelah And the reptiles all ran races, And they took their way into the sea, And they've never since shown their faces.

[_Enter_ THE PRINCE OF PARADINE.]

PRINCE. I am black Prince of Paradine, born of high renown, Soon will I fetch thy lofty courage down. Cry grace, thou Irish conqueror of toads and frogs, Give me thy sword, or else I'll give thy carcase to the dogs.

ST. PATRICK. Now, Prince of Paradine, where have you been? And what fine sights pray have you seen? Dost think that no man of thy age Dares such a black as thee engage? Stand off, thou black Morocco dog, or by my sword thou'lt die, I'll pierce thy body full of holes, and make thy buttons fly.

[_They fight._ THE PRINCE OF PARADINE _is slain._]

ST. PATRICK. Now Prince of Paradine is dead, And all his joys entirely fled, Take him and give him to the flies. That he may never more come near my eyes.

[_Enter_ KING OF EGYPT.]

KING. I am the King of Egypt, as plainly doth appear; I am come to seek my son, my only son and heir.

ST. PATRICK. He's slain! That's the worst of it.

KING. Who did him slay, who did him kill, And on the ground his precious blood did spill?

ST. PATRICK. I did him slay, I did him kill, And on the ground his precious blood did spill. Please you, my liege, my honour to maintain, As I have done, so would I do again.

KING. Cursed Christian! What is this thou hast done? Thou hast ruined me, slaying my only son.

ST. PATRICK. He gave me the challenge. Why should I him deny? How low he lies who held himself so high!

KING. Oh! Hector! Hector! help me with speed, For in my life I ne'er stood more in need.

[_Enter_ HECTOR.]

KING. Stand not there, Hector, with sword in hand, But fight and kill at my command.

HECTOR. Yes, yes, my liege, I will obey, And by my sword I hope to win the day. If that be he who doth stand there That slew my master's son and heir, Though he be sprung from royal blood I'll make it run like ocean flood.

[_They fight._ HECTOR _is wounded._]

I am a valiant hero, and Hector is my name, Many bloody battles have I fought, and always won the same, But from St. Patrick I received this deadly wound.

[_Trumpet sounds for_ ST. ANDREW.]

Hark, hark, I hear the silver trumpet sound, It summons me from off this bloody ground. Down yonder is the way (_pointing_); Farewell, farewell, I can no longer stay.

[_Exit_ HECTOR.]

[_Enter_ ST. ANDREW.]

KING. Is there never a doctor to be found Can cure my son of his deep and deadly wound?

[_Enter_ DOCTOR.]

DOCTOR. Yes, yes, there is a doctor to be found Can cure your son of his deep and deadly wound.

KING. What's your fee?

DOCTOR. Five pounds and a yule cake to thee. I have a little bottle of Elacampane, It goes by the name of virtue and fame, That will make this worthy champion to rise and fight again.

[_To_ PRINCE.] Here, sir, take a little of my flip-flop,

Pour it on thy tip-top.

[_To audience, bowing._]

Ladies and Gentlemen can have my advice gratis.

[_Exeunt_ KING OF EGYPT, PRINCE OF PARADINE, _and_ DOCTOR.]

[ST. ANDREW _stands forth._]

ST. ANDREW. I am St. Andrew from the North, Men from that part are men of worth; To travel south we're nothing loth, And treat you fairly, by my troth. Here comes a man looks ready for a fray. Come in, come in, bold soldier, and bravely clear the way.

[_Enter_ SLASHER.]

SLASHER. I am a valiant soldier, and Slasher is my name, With sword and buckler by my side, I hope to win more fame; And for to fight with me I see thou art not able, So with my trusty broadsword I soon will thee disable.

ST. ANDREW. Disable, disable? It lies not in thy power, For with a broader sword than thine I soon will thee devour. Stand off, Slasher, let no more be said, For if I draw my broadsword, I'm sure to break thy head.

SLASHER. How canst thou break my head? Since my head is made of iron; My body made of steel; My hands and feet of knuckle-bone. I challenge thee to feel.

[_They fight, and_ SLASHER _is wounded._]

[FOOL _advances to_ SLASHER.]

FOOL. Alas, alas, my chiefest son is slain! What must I do to raise him up again? Here he lies before you all, I'll presently for a doctor call. A doctor! A doctor! I'll go and fetch a doctor.

DOCTOR. Here am I.

FOOL. Are you the doctor?

DOCTOR. That thou may plainly see, by my art and activity.

FOOL. What's your fee to cure this poor man?

DOCTOR. Five pounds is my fee; but, Jack, as thou art a fool, I'll
only take ten from thee.

FOOL. You'll be a clever doctor if you get any.

[_Aside._]

Well, how far have you travelled in doctorship?

DOCTOR. From the front door to the cupboard, Cupboard to fireplace, fireplace up-stairs and into bed.

FOOL. So far, and no farther?

DOCTOR. Yes, yes, much farther.

FOOL. How far?

DOCTOR. Through England, Ireland, Scotland, Flanders, France, and Spain, And now am returned to cure the diseases of Old England again.

FOOL. What can you cure?

DOCTOR. All complaints within and without, From a cold in your head to a touch of the gout. If any lady's figure is awry I'll make her very fitting to pass by. I'll give a coward a heart if he be willing, Will make him stand without fear of killing. Ribs, legs, or arms, whate'er you break, be sure Of one or all I'll make a perfect cure. Nay, more than this by far, I will maintain, If you should lose your head or heart, I'll give it you again. Then here's a doctor rare, who travels much at home, So take my pills, I'll cure all ills, past, present, or to come. I in my time many thousands have directed, And likewise have as many more dissected, And I never met a gravedigger who to me objected. If a man gets nineteen bees in his bonnet, I'll cast twenty of 'em out. I've got in my pocket crutches for lame ducks, spectacles for blind bumble-bees, pack-saddles and panniers for grasshoppers, and many other needful things. Surely I can cure this poor man. Here, Slasher, take a little out of my bottle, and let it run down thy throttle; and if thou beest not quite slain, rise, man, and fight again.

[SLASHER _rises._]

SLASHER. Oh, my back!

FOOL. What's amiss with thy back?

SLASHER. My back is wounded, And my heart is confounded; To be struck out of seven senses into fourscore, The like was never seen in Old England before.

[_Trumpet sounds for_ ST. DAVID.]

Oh, hark! I hear the silver trumpet sound! It summons me from off this bloody ground. Down yonder is the way (_points_); Farewell, farewell, I can no longer stay.

[_Exit_ SLASHER.]

FOOL. Yes, Slasher, thou hadst better go, Else the next time he'll pierce thee through.

[ST. DAVID _stands forth._]

ST. DAVID. Of Taffy's Land I'm Patron Saint. Oh yes, indeed, I'll you acquaint, Of Ancient Britons I've a race Dare meet a foeman face to face. For Welshmen (hear it once again;) Were born before all other men. I'll fear no man in fight or freaks, Whilst Wales produces cheese and leeks.

[_Enter_ TURKISH KNIGHT.]

TURKISH KNIGHT. Here comes I, the Turkish Knight, Come from the Turkish land to fight. I'll take St. David for my foe, And make him yield before I go; He brags to such a high degree, He thinks there was never a Knight but he. So draw thy sword, St. David, thou man of courage bold, If thy Welsh blood is hot, soon will I fetch it cold.

ST. DAVID. Where is the Turk that will before me stand? I'll cut him down with my courageous hand.

TURKISH KNIGHT. Draw out thy sword and slay, Pull out thy purse and pay, For satisfaction I will have, before I go away.

[_They fight_. THE TURKISH KNIGHT _is wounded, and falls on one knee._]

Quarter! quarter! good Christian, grace of thee I crave, Oh, pardon me this night, and I will be thy slave.

ST. DAVID. I keep no slaves, thou Turkish Knight. So rise thee up again, and try thy might.

[_They fight again_. THE TURKISH KNIGHT _is slain._]

[_Exit_ TURKISH KNIGHT.]

[_Enter_ ST. GEORGE.]

ST. GEORGE. I am the chief of all these valiant knights, We'll spill our heart's blood for Old England's rights. Old England's honour we will still maintain, We'll fight for Old England once and again.

[_Flourishes his sword above his head and then lays it over his right shoulder._]

I challenge all my country's foes.

ST. PATRICK [_dealing with his sword in like manner, and then taking the point of_ ST. GEORGE'S _sword with his left hand_].

And I'll assist with mighty blows.

ST. ANDREW [_acting like the other_].

And you shall find me ready too.

ST. DAVID [_the same_].

And who but I so well as you.

FOOL [_imitates the Knights, and they close the circle and go round_].

While we are joined in heart and hand, A gallant and courageous band, If e'er a foe dares look awry, We'll one and all poke out his eye.

[_Enter_ SALADIN.]

SALADIN. Don't vaunt thus, my courageous knights, For I, as you, have seen some sights In Palestine, in days of yore. 'Gainst prowess strong I bravely bore The sway, when all the world in arms Shook Holy Land with war's alarms. I for the crescent, you the cross, Each mighty host oft won and lost. I many a thousand men did slay, And ate two hundred twice a day, And now I come, a giant great, Just waiting for another meat.

ST. GEORGE. Oh! Saladin! Art thou come with sword in hand, Against St. George and Christendom so rashly to withstand?

SALADIN. Yes, yes, St. George, with thee I mean to fight, And with one blow, I'll let thee know I am not the Turkish Knight.

ST. GEORGE. Ah, Saladin, St. George is in this very room, Thou'rt come this unlucky hour to seek thy fatal doom.

[_Enter_ LITTLE PAGE.]

LITTLE PAGE. Hold, hold, St. George, I pray thee stand by, I'll conquer him, or else I'll die; Long with that Pagan champion will I engage, Although I am but the Little Page.

ST. GEORGE. Fight on, my little page, and conquer!
And don't thee be perplext,
For if thou discourage in the field,
Fight him will I next.

[_They fight._ THE LITTLE PAGE _falls._]

SALADIN. Though but a little man, they were great words he said.

ST. GEORGE. Ah! cruel monster. What havoc hast thou made? See where the lovely stripling all on the floor is laid. A doctor! A doctor! Ten pounds for a doctor!

[DAME DOLLY _dances forward, bobbing as before._]

DAME DOLLY. Here comes I, little Dame Dorothy, Flap front, and good-morrow to ye; My head is big, my body is small, I'm the prettiest little jade of you all. Call not the Doctor for to make him worse, But give the boy into my hand to nurse.

[_To_ LITTLE PAGE.] Rise up, my pretty page, and come with me, And by kindness and kitchen physic, I'll cure thee without fee.

[PAGE _rises. Exeunt_ PAGE _and_ DAME DOLLY.]

[ST. GEORGE _and_ SALADIN _fight_. Saladin _is slain._]

[_Enter_ FATHER CHRISTMAS.]

ST. GEORGE. Carry away the dead, Father.

FATHER CHRISTMAS. Let's see whether he's dead or no, first, Georgy. Yes; I think he's dead enough, Georgy.

ST. GEORGE. Carry him away then, Father.

FATHER CHRISTMAS [_vainly tries to move the_ GIANT'S _body_].

Thou killed him; thou carry him away.

ST. GEORGE. If you can't carry him, call for help.

FATHER CHRISTMAS [_to audience_]. Three or four of you great logger-headed fellows, Come and carry him away.

[DOCTOR _and_ FOOL _raise the_ GIANT _by his arms. Exit_ GIANT.]

[_Enter_ LITTLE MAN JACK.]

LITTLE MAN JACK. Here comes I, Little Man Jack, The Master of Giants; If I could but conquer thee, St. George, I'd bid the world defiance.

ST. GEORGE. And if thou beest Little Man Jack, the Master of all Giants, I'll take thee up on my back, and carry thee without violence.

[_Lifts him over his shoulder._]

FOOL. Now brave St. George, he rules the roast; Britons triumphant be the toast; Let cheerful song and dance abound, Whene'er the Mummers' time comes round.

[_All sing._]

Rule, Britannia; Britannia rules the waves, Britons never, never, never will be slaves.

GRAND SWORD DANCE.

Cut 1 and cross.

Cut 2 and cross partner (which is R. and L.).

Same back again.

The two Knights at opposite corners R. H. Cut 1 and cross, and Cut 2 with opposite Knights.

Same back (which is Ladies' Chain).

Four sword-points up in the centre.

All go round--all Cut 6--and come to bridle-arm protect, and round to places.

Repeat the first figure.

[_All go round, and then out, singing._]

_Allegro_,

And a mumming we will go, will go, and a mumming we will go, With a

bright cock-ade in all our hats, We'll go with a gal-lant show.

[_Exeunt omnes._]

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.

HINTS FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS.

HINTS FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS.--I.

IN A LETTER FROM BURNT CORK TO ROUGE POT.

MY DEAR ROUGE POT,--You say that you all want to have "theatricals" these holidays, and beg me to give you some useful rules and hints to study before the Christmas Play comes out in the December Number of _Aunt Judy_.

I will do my best. But--to begin with--_do_ you "all" want them? At least, do you all want them enough to keep in the same mind for ten days or a fortnight, to take a good deal of trouble, whether it is pleasant or not, and to give up some time and some of your own way, in order that the theatricals may be successful?

If you say Yes, we will proceed at once to the first--and perhaps the most important--point, on which you will have to display two of an actor's greatest virtues--self-denial and good temper:--

THE STAGE-MANAGER.

If your numbers are limited, you may have to choose the one who knows most about theatricals, and he or she may have to act a leading part as well. But by rights _the stage-manager ought not to act_; especially as in juvenile theatricals he will probably be prompter, property-man, and scene-shifter into the bargain.

If your "company" consists of very young performers, an elder sister is probably the best stage-manager you could have. But _when once your stage-manager is chosen, all the actors must make up their minds to obey him implicitly_. They must take the parts he gives them, and about any point in dispute the stage-manager's decision must be final. It is quite likely that now and then he may be wrong. The leading gentleman may be more in the right, the leading lady may have another plan quite as good, or better; but as there would be "no end to it" if everybody's ideas had to be listened to and discussed, it is absolutely necessary that there should be one head, and one plan loyally supported by the rest.

Truism as it is, my dear Rouge Pot, I am bound to beg you never to forget that _everybody can't have everything_ in this world, and that _everybody can't be everything_ on the stage. What you (and I, and every other actor!) would really like, would be to choose the play, to act the best part, to wear the nicest dress, to pick the people you want to act with, to have the rehearsal on those days, and that part of the day, when you do not happen to want to go out, or do something else, to have the power of making all the others do as you tell them, without the bother of hearing any grumbles, and to be well clapped and complimented at the conclusion of the performance. But as this very leading part could only be played by one person at the expense of all the rest, private theatricals--like so many other affairs of this life--must for everybody concerned be a compromise of pains and pleasures, of making strict rules and large allowances, of giving and taking, bearing and forbearing, learning to find one's own happiness in seeing other people happy, aiming at perfection with all one's might, and making the best of imperfection in the end.

At this point, I foresee that you will very naturally exclaim that you asked me for stage-directions, and that I am sending you a sermon. I am very sorry; but the truth really is, that as the best of plays and the cleverest of actors will not ensure success, if the actors quarrel about the parts, and are unwilling to suppress themselves for the common good, one is obliged to set out with a good stock of philosophy as well as of "properties."

Now, in case it should strike you as "unfair" that any one of your party should have so much of his own way as I have given to the stage-manager, you must let me say that no one has more need of philosophy than that all-powerful person.

_The stage-manager will have his own way, but he will have nothing else._

He will certainly have "no peace" from the first cry of "Let us have some private theatricals" till the day when the performance ceases to be discussed. If there are ten actors, it is quite possible that ten different plays will be warmly recommended to him, and that, whichever he selects, he will choose it against the gloomy forebodings of nine members of his company. Nine actors will feel a natural disappointment at not having the best part, and as it is obviously impossible to fix rehearsals so as to be equally convenient for everybody, the stage-manager, whose duty it is to fix them, will be very fortunate if he suits the convenience of the majority. You will easily believe that it is his painful duty to insist upon regular attendance, and even to enforce it by fines or by expulsion from the part, if such stringent laws have been agreed to by the company beforehand. But at the end he will have to bear in mind that private theatricals are an amusement, not a business; that it is said to be a pity to "make a toil of a pleasure"; that "boys will be boys"; that "Christmas comes but once a year," and holidays not much oftener--and in a general way to console himself for the absence of defaulters, with the proverbial philosophy of everyday life, and the more reliable panacea of resolute good temper.

He must (without a thought of self) do his best to give the right parts to the right people, and he must try to combine a proper "cast" with pleasing everybody--so far as that impossible task is possible!

He must not only be ready to meet his own difficulties with each separate actor, but he must be prepared to be confidant, if not umpire, in all the squabbles which the actors and actresses may have among themselves.

If the performance is a great success, the actors will have the credit of it, and will probably be receiving compliments amongst the audience whilst the stage-manager is blowing out the guttering footlights, or showing the youngest performer how to get the paint off his cheeks, without taking the skin off into the bargain. And if the performance is a failure, nine of the performers will have nine separate sets of proofs that it was due to the stage-manager's unfortunate selection of the piece, or mistaken judgment as to the characters.

He will, however, have the satisfaction (and when one has a head to plan and a heart in one's work, it _is_ a satisfaction) of carrying through the thing in his own way, and sooner or later, and here and there, he will find some people who know the difficulties of his position, and will give him ample credit and _kudos_ if he keeps his company in good humour, and carries out his plans without a breakdown.

By this time, my dear Rouge Pot, you will see that the stage-manager, like all rulers, pays dearly for his power; but it is to be hoped that the difficulties inseparable from his office will not be wilfully increased by

THE ACTORS.

They are a touchy race at any time. Amateur actors are said to have--one and all--a belief that each and every one can play any part of any kind. Shakespeare found that some of them thought they could play _every_ part also! But besides this general error, each actor has his own peculiarities, which the stage-manager ought to acquaint himself with as soon as possible.

It is a painful fact that there are some people who "come forward" readily, do not seem at all nervous, are willing to play anything, and are either well provided with anecdotes of previous successes, or quite amazingly ready for leading parts, though they "never tried acting," and are only "quite sure they shall like it"--but who, when the time comes, fail completely. I fear that there is absolutely nothing to be done with such actors, but to avoid them for the future. On the other hand, there are many people who are nervous and awkward at first, and even more or less so through every rehearsal, but who _do not fail at the pinch_. Once fairly in their clothes, and pledged to their parts, they forget themselves in the sense of what they have undertaken, and their courage is stimulated by the crisis. Their knees may shake, but their minds see no alternative but to do their best, and the best, with characters of this conscientious type, is seldom bad.

It is quite true, also, that some actors are never at their best till they are dressed, and that some others can put off learning their parts till the last moment, and then "study" them at a push, and acquit themselves creditably in the play. _But these peculiarities are no excuse for neglecting rehearsals, or for not learning parts, or for rehearsing in a slovenly manner._

_Actors should never forget that rehearsals are not only for the benefit of each actor individually, but also of all the characters of the piece as a whole._

A. and B. may be able to learn their parts in a day, and to act fairly under the inspiration of the moment, but if they neglect rehearsals on this account, they deal very selfishly by C. and D., who have not the same facility, and who rehearse at great disadvantage if the other parts are not properly represented too.

And now a word or two to the actors of the small parts. It _is_ a disappointment to find yourself "cast" for a footman, with no more to do than to announce and usher in the principal personages of the piece, when you feel a strong (and perhaps well-grounded) conviction that you would have "made a hit" as the Prince in blank verse and blue velvet. Well! one must fall back on one's principles. Be loyal to the stage-manager. Help the piece through, whether it is or is not a pleasure and a triumph for you yourself. Set an example of willingness and good-humour. If to these first principles you add the amiable quality of finding pleasure in the happiness of others, you will be partly consoled for not playing the Prince yourself by sympathizing with Jack's unfeigned pride in his part and his finery, and if Jack has a heart under his velvet doublet, he will not forget your generosity. It may also be laid down as an axiom that _a good actor will take a pride in making the most of a small part_. There are many plays in which small parts have been raised to the rank of principal ones by the spirit put into them by a good actor, who "made" his part instead of grumbling at it. And the credit gained by a triumph of this kind is very often even beyond the actor's deserts. _From those who play the principal parts much is expected, and it is difficult to satisfy ones audience, but if any secondary character is made pathetic or amusing, the audience (having expected nothing) are willing to believe that if the actor can surprise them with a small part, he would take the house by storm with a big one._

I will conclude my letter with a few general rules for young actors.

_Say nothing whatever on the stage but your part._ This is a rule for rehearsals, and if it could be attended to, every rehearsal would have more than double its usual effect. People chatter from nervousness, explain or apologize for their mistakes, and waste quite three-fourths of the time in words which are not in the piece.

_Speak very slowly and very clearly._ All young actors speak too fast, and do not allow the audience time to digest each sentence. _Speak louder than usual, but clearness of enunciation is even more important. Do not be slovenly with the muscles of the lips, or talk from behind shut teeth._

_Keep your face to the audience as a rule._

If two people talking together have to cross each other so as to change their places on the stage, _the one who has just spoken should cross before the one who is going to speak_.

_Learn to stand still._

As a rule, _do not speak when you are crossing the stage_, but cross first and then speak.

_Let the last speaker get his sentence well out before you begin yours._

If you are a comic actor, _don't run away with the piece by over-doing your fun. Never spoil another actor's points by trying to make the audience laugh whilst he is speaking._ It is inexcusably bad stage-manners.

If the audience applauds, _wait till the noise of the clapping is over to finish your speech_.

_Rehearse without your book in the last rehearsals_, so as to get into the way of hearing the prompter, and catching the word from him when your memory fails you.

_Practise your part before a looking-glass, and say it out aloud._ A part may be pat in your head, and very stiff on your tongue.

The Green-room is generally a scene of great confusion in private theatricals. Besides getting everything belonging to your dress together _yourself_ and in _good time_, I advise you to have _a little hand-basket_, such as you may have used at the seaside or in the garden, and into this to put _pins_, _hair-pins_, _a burnt cork_, _needles and thread_, _a pair of scissors_, _a pencil_, _your part_, _and any small things you may require_. It is easy to drop them into the basket again. Small things get mislaid under bigger ones when one is dressing in a hurry; and a hero who is flustered by his moustache having fallen under the washstand well out of sight is apt to forget his part when he has found the moustache.

Remember that _Right and Left in stage directions mean the right and left hand of the actor as he faces the audience_.

I will not burden you with any further advice for yourself, and I will reserve a few hints as to rough and ready scenery, properties, &c., for another letter.

Meanwhile--whatever else you omit--get your parts well by rote; and if you cannot find or spare a stage-manager, you must find good-humour and common agreement in proportion; prompt by turns, and each look strictly after his own "properties."

Yours, &c.,

BURNT CORK.

HINTS FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS.--II.

MY DEAR ROUGE POT,--I promised to say a few words about _rough and ready properties_.