D)J5t 
 
P 356 
 B65 
 opy 1 
 
 JLLETIN OF THE DEPARTMENTS OF HISTORY AND 
 POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC SCIENCE IN QUEEN'S 
 UNIVERSITY, KINGSTON, ONTARIO, CANADA, 
 
 NO. 35, APRIL, 1920 
 
 Elizabethan Society: A Sketch 
 
 BY 
 J. B. BLACK 
 
 The Jackson Press, Kingston 
 
 'MQUtti rai 
 
BULLETIN OF THE DEPARTMENTS OF HISTORY AND 
 
 POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC SCIENCE IN QUEEN'S 
 
 UNIVERSITY, KINGSTON, ONTARIO, CANADA. 
 
 No. 1, The Colonial Policy of Chatham, by W. L. Grant. 
 
 No. 2, Canada and the Most Favored Nation Treaties, by 
 O. D. Skelton. 
 
 No. 3. The Status of Women in New England and New France, 
 by James Douglas. 
 
 No. 4, Sir Charles Bagot: An Incident in Canadian Parlia- 
 mentary History, by J. L. Morison. 
 
 No. 5, Canadian Bank Inspection, by W. W. Swanson. 
 
 No. 6, Should Canadian Cities Adopt Commission Govern- 
 ment, by William Bennett Munro. 
 
 No. 7, An Early Canadian Impeachment, by D. A. McArthur. 
 
 No. 8, A Puritan at the Court of Louis XIV, by W. L. Grant 
 
 No. 9, British Supremacy and Canadian Autonomy: An Ex- 
 amination of Early Victorian Opinion Concerning 
 Canadian Self-government, by J. L. Morison. 
 
 No. 10, The Problem of Agricultural Credit in Canada, by 
 H. Michell. 
 
 No. 11, St. Alban in History and Legend: A Critical Examina- 
 tion; The King and His Councillors: Prolegomena to 
 a History of the House of Lords, by L. F. Rushbrook 
 Williams. 
 
 No. 12f Life of the Settler in Western Canada Before the War 
 of 1812, by Adam Shortt. 
 
 No. 13, The Grange in Canada, by H. Michell. 
 
 No. 14, The Financial Power of the Empire, by W.W. Swanson. 
 
 (Continued on inside back page J; 
 
 Gift 
 
 ^"EivorrJty 
 Ati 7 192Q 
 

 <& 
 
 ELIZABETHAN SOCIETY— A SKETCH. 
 
 ELIZABETHAN England is like a harvested field whose 
 crops have long since been garnered by armies of un- 
 pretentious, industrious, and well-equipped scholars. The 
 fruits of their labours lie in that superb granary of Elizabeth- 
 an gleanings — the New Shakespeare Text Society publications. 
 For the belated labourer little now remains but the dusty 
 footprints of his predecessors and an occasional derelict straw. 
 Even the task of summing up the research of a generation 
 has successfully been accomplished in the two splendid vol- 
 umes recently issued by the Clarendon Press.* Consequently 
 it is to be doubted if anything new can be said, either by way 
 of fresh discovery or by way of a synthesis of existing 
 materials. Nevertheless, there are features, aspects and 
 contrasts in the multi-coloured life of the time which will 
 bear restatement and possibly gain by it. To the historian, 
 who labours sombrely at the treadmill of political and con- 
 stitutional documents, and writes, so to speak, with an eye 
 on Magna Carta all the time, an escape into the popular 
 Forum of the London streets, where politics were at a dis- 
 count, is a bracing tonic and at the same^time a corrective to 
 overmuch abstraction. ^^ 
 
 Historically speaking, theneflitics of the masses are al- 
 most always simple and ujamvolved, bemuse as a rule, the 
 bulk of men accept thp^oeial andjadntical order prescribed 
 for them. In the stalled "spariprfsdays" of the 16th century 
 they were exceptionally simpJ^T The multitudes who thronged 
 the streets^?! Elizabethan London, or congregated in the 
 theatres, bear-garden^' and Paul's Walk, cannot by any pos- 
 sibility be terme^^ fiery breed of men who spent their days 
 in theological %nd political disputation. Indeed it is to be 
 doubted whether they had at any time more than a passing 
 and spectacujfrf r *mterest in the larger issues of Church and 
 State, an^rhe absorbing problems of government. Schisms 
 and plots might keep Burghley and Walsingham awake o' 
 nights, and occasionally drive the Queen into paroxysms of 
 
 ^Shakespeare's England, Oxford, 1916. 
 
2 
 
 hysteria: these commotions in the royal boudoir, or Council 
 Chamber, were looked upon as the inevitable afflictions of 
 crowned heads, and of the grave men to whom was committed 
 the task of piloting the ship of state into port: they seldom 
 influenced the mental environment of the street, or darkened 
 the path of the plain man. He was content to take his religion 
 and political beliefs on trust from his superiors ; and when he 
 attended a "hanging, drawing and quartering" at Tower 
 Hill, or stood by to hear the government proclamations at 
 Paul's Cross, he did so, much in the same spirit as when he 
 paid his ten doits to see a dead Indian, or gazed open-mouthed 
 after Shan O'Neill's motley bodyguard of wild Ulstermen: 
 that is — he marvelled at, and accepted it all, as part of the 
 diurnal process of Nature. That this is not an exaggerated 
 description of the mentality of the age, may be seen from 
 the following remarkable words of an observant Venetian, 
 then resident in London. The example and authority of the 
 Sovereign are everything," he writes, . . . "and they would 
 make themselves Jews or Mahometans according as the 
 prince would demand or adopt." In any case, however we 
 may account for it, the fact remains that in the crowded 
 thoroughfares and popular resorts of the capital, where all 
 classes met and jostled, the prevailing tone was essentially 
 objective, exuberant, sateguine, and uncritical. "Puritan" and 
 "papist" — terms that embody in themselves the whole firm- 
 ament of differences between Geneva and Rome, were after 
 all only relative, and both were suh^med up in the absolute 
 term "patriot." The typical Englishman of the period was 
 not a party man, but a Queen^s* man, a devoted supporter of 
 royalty and a passionate worshipper even of if's^aults. On 
 what other ground may we account for the obvious popularity 
 of that "artistic abortion" — the History Play — except that it 
 brought the panoplied kings and nobility of England on the 
 common stage to blare out the threadbare jingoism of the 
 day? Then, again, what event in the civic annals can be 
 compared in popularity with the royal "progress" from West- 
 minister to the Tower? The plain fact is, everyone had the 
 good of the nation at heart. From that acrid and boldest of 
 puritans, John Stubbs, who had his right hand chopped off 
 for inditing a pamphlet against the Queen's threatened 
 
French marriage, to the intrepid Jesuit martyr, Edmund 
 Campion, whose preaching was deemed to be destructive of 
 the State — all who suffered or died during the reign for 
 conscience sake or for so-called political crimes, did so with 
 a prayer for their country and a salutation to Elizabeth on 
 their lips. Clearly the immense personal popularity of the 
 Queen dwarfed everything else. She was "the most English 
 woman in England," the modern "Jephthah, judge and re- 
 storer of Israel", the pledge and security of national great- 
 ness. 
 
 Of course this cult of the Queen had other than purely 
 psychological and sentimental grounds. The test to which 
 any government in modern times is submitted, and by which 
 it stands or falls, is essentially a practical one. Does it secure 
 the necessary conditions for a full and free expansion of the 
 creative and productive energies of the nation? In other 
 words, internal peace, -freedom, and economic prosperity are 
 the criteria which the average man, as a rule, applies to 
 government policy, and in terms of which he applauds or 
 condemns. Popularity is a matter of opinion, not of principle. 
 Now, in Elizabeth's day these conditions, on the whole, were 
 amply fulfilled. Never before had the commercial and in- 
 dustrial classes enjoyed so prodigious a prosperity: never in 
 its history did the country feel so free from civil broils; and 
 never was the feeling of military superiority to other nations 
 so strongly marked. An old Armada couplet sums up the 
 widespread optimism: — 
 
 | "We'll not give up our Credo for pope, nor book, nor bell ; 
 
 "And if the Devil himself should come, we"ll hound him back to hell." — 
 
 To distil poetry out of economic prosperity must be a 
 surpassingly difficult task: nevertheless the apparent peace 
 and plenty of the times gave many a limping rhymester his 
 cue for tiresome adulations of the food supply. In one of 
 these crude compositions England is compared to "the kernel 
 of the nut", and surrounding nations to "the shell". The bard 
 proceeds : — 
 
 "Here things are cheap and easily had:" 
 "No soil the like can show:" 
 "No State nor Kingdom at this day" 
 "Doth in such plenty flow." 
 
4 
 
 The pope might launch his thunderbolts of anathema and 
 excommunication against the pretensa Angliae regina: he 
 could not interfere with the steady forward movement of 
 economic forces. Like foolish Balaam, to whom Bishop Jewel 
 ventured to compare him in 1570, he "cursed the people of 
 God," but his curses were turned to blessing; and "the more 
 he cursed, the more England prospered." "Thanks be to God," 
 wrote the worthy bishop, "never was it better in worldly 
 peace, in health of body, and in abundance of corn and vict- 
 uals." Or, as another anonymous poet put it: — 
 
 "God, for her, doth clothe ye ground with store 
 Of plenty and increase: 
 
 Our barns are full, and barks can bear no more, 
 And blessed are we with peace." 
 
 Surely an unanswerable argument to the prognosticators 
 of evil and an infallible support for the optimism of society! 
 High Heaven had written its approval like an apocalypse 
 across the face of the country. 
 
 Such, then, was the atmosphere in which the vocal classes 
 of Elizabethan England lived and moved and had their being. 
 But there are other factors to be considered, which modify 
 in detail this somewhat roseate picture. It was an age of 
 unlimited self-expression — "robustious," ostentatious, licen- 
 tious. Literature, social custom, dress, and mode of living, 
 were merely the glasses in which the egoism of all classes 
 reflected and admired itself. At the same time "covetous- 
 ness" and a mad scramble for wealth were fashionable vices 
 to which everyone was addicted. Each trade had its own 
 special way of "pilling and polling" the public, and even the 
 professions were no whit behind in the desire to grow rich 
 quickly. Under the strain of this unbridled greed, the tra- 
 ditional social restrictions — the old tripartite division of so- 
 ciety, of which medieval writers speak — broke down irremedi- 
 ably. Men were no longer categorised according to their call- 
 ing and function in the State, but according to their possession 
 or non-possession of wealth. A cash nexus and a proletariate 
 made their simultaneous appearance. The reign of Elizabeth 
 represents the transition period, when men had not yet ad- 
 justed themselves mentally to the new conditions, when the 
 government was still fumbling about for a solution of the 
 
5 
 
 new problem of pauperism, and when all who possessed the 
 wherewithal of enjoyment disowned responsibility to the poor. 
 Beneath his brilliant exterior, the Elizabethan Englishman 
 concealed very imperfectly a callous and cruel heart. 
 
 But let us first consider the brighter side of the social 
 drama. It is customary to regard the latter part of Eliza- 
 beth's reign as the most poetic period in the history of Eng- 
 land. "The quaint mystery of mounting conceit which sur- 
 passeth all the invention and elocution in the world," could 
 only express itself adequately in the winged words of poetry. 
 Thus Wm. Webb wrote that "among the innumerable sorts 
 of English books, and infinite fardels of printed pamphlets 
 wherewith this country is pestered, every shop stuffed and 
 every study furnished: the greatest part, I think, in any one 
 kind, are such as are mere (i.e. pure) poetical or which tend 
 in some respect (as either in matter or form) to poetry." 
 But prose overflowed into poetry in other directions than 
 literature. The "mounting conceit" of the artist in clothes 
 revolutionised the old sartorial proprieties of the middle ages ; 
 and, according to Camden, "this apish nation became mad 
 with a rage for apparell, displaying a certain deformity and 
 insolency of mind, jetting up and down in silks glittering 
 with gold and silver." London, which had by this time be- 
 come the metropolis and emporium of northern Europe, 
 where all nations and fashions rubbed shoulders, cast off its 
 medieval rags, donning the colours and gaiety of an Italian 
 city. -."Forty years ago," writes Stafford, "there were not 
 twelve haberdashers in London who sold fancy caps, glasses, 
 swords, daggers, girdles; and now from the Tower to West- 
 minster Abbey every street is full of them, and their shops 
 glitter and shine of glass as well drinking as looking: yea all 
 manner of vessels of the same stuff, painted cruses, gay dag- 
 gers, knives, swords and girdles, that it is able to make any 
 temperate man to gaze on them to long somewhat, though 
 it serve to no purpose necessary." The Thames, greatest of 
 Elizabethan commercial arteries, proved no less an endless 
 source of wonder to native and foreigner alike: its forest of 
 masts and bunting was symbolic of England's prosperity. 
 "C'est chose magnifique," wrote De Maisse (French ambassa- 
 dor) , "de voir la quantite de vaisseaux qui sont a l'ancre telle- 
 
ment que deux lieux durant vous ne voyez autre chose que 
 vaisseaux . . ." But the psychology of the nation was the 
 most startling feature in the situation. The craving for 
 luxuries in every shape and form had become a disease. It 
 did not matter that all the "glitter and shine" was paid for 
 dearly in good coin of the realm, or by the export of valuable 
 raw materials. "Fools," wrote the stern economist, "by 
 means of this rage for foreign trash drain England annually 
 of £100,000 !" Nor could the puritan satirist, who castigated 
 the garish tastes of society with the fury of a Juvenal, arrest 
 the headlong desire to spend. The rage for new things was 
 insatiable. "Nothing is so constant," wrote Harrison, "as 
 inconstancy in attire." "They be desirous of new-fangles," 
 wrote Stubbs, "praising things past, condemning things pre- 
 sent, and coveting things to come." Fynes Moryson, who had 
 travelled more extensively than most men of the time, 
 thought his own countrymen more sumptuous than the Per- 
 sians — "because they affect all extremes." It was not the 
 rich merchant and professional classes alone who flaunted 
 their finery, their "silks, velvets and chains of gold," before 
 the public eye. All who could scrape together the necessary 
 money, followed suit — farmer, peasant, and artisan — even 
 although it often drove them into beggary to do so. Many 
 were the satirical comments on the vanity and presump- 
 tion of the lower strata of society: the "dunghill drudges" 
 and "presumptuous asses," as Green calls them, who did not 
 scruple to "wear on their feet what Kings have worn on 
 their heads," and "drowned themselves in the mercer's book" 
 for the sake of being "clapped in a velvet pantoufle." Lodge, 
 in "Wit's Miserie" gives a pretty picture of the ravages of 
 fashion in the country. "The ploughman," he writes, "that 
 in times past, was content in his russet, must nowadays have 
 his doublet of the fashion with wide cuts, his garters of fine 
 silk of Granada, to meet his Sis on Sunday. The farmer that 
 was contented in times past with his russet frock and mock- 
 ado sleeves, now sells a cow against Easter to buy new silken 
 gear for his credit." To become a "court noil" and an "ac- 
 complished gentleman" was a most expensive business. Ben 
 Jonson satirically counsels all who aim at such to give over 
 living in the country and hie themselves to the city, "where 
 
on your first appearance 'twere good you turned four or five 
 hundred acres of your best land into two or three trunks of 
 apparell !" 
 
 Naturally a "Babylonian confusion" of classes ensued: 
 the social world turned itself topsy-turvy. Bankrupts, play- 
 ers, and cut-purses strutted about in gentleman's attire, and 
 it was impossible to say from the "mingle-mangle" of dress 
 who was noble, worshipful, gentle or even a yeoman. "To 
 such outrage is it grown nowadays," writes the indignant 
 Stubbs, "every butcher, shoemaker, tailer, cobbler, husband- 
 man, and others : yea every tinker, pedlar, and swineherd, and 
 every artificer and other gregarii ordinis of the vilest sort of 
 men must be called by the vain name of masters at every 
 turn." 
 
 Contemporary writers are never tired of expatiating on 
 the highly artificial and bizarre nature of Elizabethan cos- 
 tume, the multiplicity of dresses, and the whimsical character 
 of public taste. In the "Seven Deadly Sins of London," 
 Dekker picturesquely assembles (or distributes) the male 
 costume thus: "The Englishman's dress is like a traitor's 
 body, that hath been hanged, drawn, and quartered, and is 
 set up in various places: his cod-piece is in Denmark, the 
 collar of his doublet and the belly in France: the wing and 
 narrow sleeve in Italy: the short waist hangs over a Dutch 
 butcher's stall in Utrecht: his huge stops speak Spanishly . . . 
 And thus we that mock every nation for keeping of one 
 fashion yet steal patches from every one of them to piece out 
 our pride." The Book of Homilies, issued in 1562 for the use 
 of the pulpit, is perhaps a more reliable source of information 
 than any other; but here too the same note of wild extrava- 
 gance is struck. In one of the sermons, entitled "Excess of 
 Apparell," we read that it was customary for men to keep 
 a rich variety of gowns (cloaks) — one for the day and one 
 for the night, one for summer and one for winter, one through- 
 furred and one only faced, one for the working day and one 
 for the holy day, one of cloth and another of silk or damask, 
 one for dinner and another after, one of Spanish fashion and 
 another of Turkish, etc. "Therefore," continues the homilist, 
 "a certain man that would picture every countryman in his 
 accustomed apparel, when he painted other nations, he pictur- 
 
8 
 
 ed the Englishman all naked and gave him cloth under his 
 arm and bade him make it himself as he knew best, for he 
 changed his fashion so often that he knew not how to make 
 it." An old wood-cut is actually extant, representing this 
 naked, whimsical Englishman. With a pair of tailor's shears 
 in his hand and a roll of cloth under his arm, he gives utter- 
 ance to the following doggerel : 
 
 "I am an Englishman, and naked I stand here, 
 "Musing in my mind what raiment I shall wear; 
 "For now I will wear this and now I will wear that; 
 "Now I will wear I cannot tell what." 
 
 No less noteworthy than the decorative treatment of 
 dress was the minute attention paid to the hair, beard and 
 moustache. The London coiffeur indeed rivalled the tailor in 
 the new and startling "cuts" he purveyed, and the wealth of 
 his perfumes, unguents and powders. Thus in the same way 
 as the old-fashioned simple garb of the Middle Ages vanished 
 before the onslaught of the new sartorial fashions, the "rank" 
 medieval "Christ's Cut" which gave the head the appearance 
 of "a Holland cheese" — as if it had been "cut round by a dish," 
 fell out of use before the more pretentious and picturesque 
 styles of Italy, France and Spain. Apparently many men 
 affected the Italian manner, "short and round and frounced 
 with curling irons so as to look like a half moon in a mist": 
 others aped the Spaniard's predilection for wearing the hair 
 "long at the ears and curled"; but not a few were cap- 
 tivated with the French love-lock, drooping on the shoulders, 
 "where you may wear your mistress' favour." Of course the 
 beard and moustache received the same delicate and careful 
 attention, "almost changing the accidents into the substance." 
 The former might be "short and sharp amiable like an ina- 
 morato" or "broad pendant like a spade to be terrible like a 
 warrior and a soldado," while the latter was, as a rule, "fost- 
 ered about the ears like the branches of a vine," or "cut down 
 to the lip in the Italian fashion." But the barber was es- 
 sentially an artist at his trade, capable of suiting his tech- 
 nique to the physiognomy of his client. "And therefore," 
 wrote Harrison, "if a man have a lean and straight face, a 
 Marquess Otto's cut will make it broad and large: if it be 
 platter-like, a long slender beard will make it seem narrower: 
 
if he be weasel-beaked, then much hair left on the cheeks will 
 make its owner look big like a bowdled hen, and as grim as a 
 goose, if Cornells of Chelmsford say true." 
 
 It should not be imagined, however, that all this apparent 
 effeminacy involved any real softening of the fibre of the race. 
 It was not merely a richly dressed and highly perfumed but 
 a "militant civility" that paraded the London streets. Every 
 man from the age of eighteen bore some kind of lethal wea- 
 pon — a sword, rapier, or dagger, possibly both rapier and 
 dagger. "Desperate cutters," says Harrison, carried two 
 daggers or two rapiers, "wherewith in drunken fray they are 
 known to work much mischief." Even the labouring man in 
 the country had his sword, buckler and bow by his side, ex- 
 cept when actually working in the fields, when he laid them 
 clown in a convenient corner. Apprentices, too, had their 
 knives, parsons their "hangers" or daggers, and ladies their 
 bodkins. It appears to have been the tendency of the arme 
 blanche to grow steadily longer, for in 1580 the government 
 was compelled to issue a proclamation restricting the length 
 of swords to three feet, and daggers to twelve inches, in- 
 clusive of the handle! Obviously street fighting must have 
 been a common occurrence and a serious menace to public 
 order. The Elizabethan swashbuckler was prepared to throw 
 away his life for a comparatively small matter. In Ascham's 
 words, he had "a factious heart, a discoursing head and a mind 
 to meddle in all men's affairs." Mercutio's taunt to Benvolio 
 shows him in action: "Thou wilt quarrel with a man for 
 cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast 
 hazel eyes . . . thou hast quarrelled with a man for cough- 
 ing in the street because he hath wakened thy dog that hath 
 been asleep in the sun." 
 
 "Secular" and "mundane" are the words one would natur- 
 ally apply to Elizabethan society; and on the whole the attri- 
 butes are just. It is only necessary to consider the places of 
 fashionable resort, where all classes ventilated their opinions 
 and sunned themselves, in order to be convinced of this fact. 
 St. Pauls, the theatre, and the bear-garden each represent a 
 facet of the variegated life of the period, and in all three 
 cases the atmosphere was essentially the same — of the earth, 
 earthy. St. Pauls, intimately associated with all the epoch- 
 
10 
 
 making pronouncements of the Reformation since the days 
 of the Henrician Settlement, suffered in Elizabeth's reign 
 from the general desecration of church buildings. In vain the 
 Homilies enjoined the preservation of sobriety and decorum 
 within the sacred precincts: the Cathedral had become, like 
 other famous churches, "a house of talking, of walking, of 
 brawling, of minstrelsy, of hawks and of dogs." From being 
 a house of prayer, it was now, in the expressive phrase of 
 the Homilist, "a den of thieves." The middle aisle, commonly 
 known as 'Duke Humphrey's walk,' or 'Paul's Walk,' was the 
 daily scene of a veritable pandemonium. A place of business, 
 it was also a convenient rendez-vous for the gallants, wits, 
 and the riff-raff of the streets. Here too gathered the idle 
 gentlewomen of the Capital. "After dinner," says Stubbs, 
 "their bodies being satisfied and their heads prettily mizzled 
 with wine, they walk abroad for a time, or else confer with 
 their familiars ... or they sit at their doors to show their 
 beauty and behold passers-by. Weary of this they take a 
 walk into town," etc. In one corner of the Cathedral stood 
 the lawyers "at the pillars," to receive their clients: while in 
 another, hawkers exposed their wares, and indulged freely 
 in their various street cries. Even the tombs and font were 
 utilised as counters for the payment and receipt of accounts. 
 "Lordless men" paraded the nave, offering their services for 
 hire. And to increase the general confusion, horses and 
 mules were led through the Cathedral as a short cut, profan- 
 ing the place with filth. Outside, in the churchyard, was the 
 book market of London. As many as twenty book-stalls, 
 representing the leading publishing houses, clustered close up 
 against the walls. Often the vaults of the sacred buildings 
 were used to store the superfluous literature. Here, under 
 the very eye of the clerical authorities, the 'merry' books of 
 Italy were sold; and here also Shakespeare probably bought 
 the Italian Romances that form the basis of so many of his 
 plays. 
 
 In the Theatre, the same secular and mundane spirit 
 prevailed. The Elizabethan was nothing if not spectacular. 
 Just as he loved pomp and show in his dress, loud colours and 
 bizarre effects; so in the Theatre he delighted in the appeal 
 to the senses, strong contrasts, and declamation. The at- 
 
11 
 
 traction of Marlowe's "mighty line" was irresistible. It 
 would be wrong, of course, to say that he failed to discrimin- 
 ate the higher artistic values represented in a Shakespearean 
 tragedy; but it should be remembered that Shakespearean 
 plays were the culmination rather than the habitual level of 
 the dramatic art of the time. The average taste of the 
 theatre audience was on a lower plane; for the Elizabethan 
 play often staged scenes that would revolt the modern public 
 — scenes portraying madness, drunkenness, vice, and brutali- 
 ty, that appear to us to be no fit subject for Art at all. Yet 
 this must have been a considerable attraction to the bulk of the 
 apprentices, mechanics, and artisan class, who patronised the 
 theatre. The obvious fact is that the popularity of the stage 
 lay in its direct appeal to the senses. Just as it was the 
 'rough and tumble' at Paris Garden that delighted the mob — 
 the 'clawing', 'roaring', 'tugging', 'tossing', and 'tumbling', of 
 the bears, and the 'nimbleness' of the dogs ; so too it was the 
 vehemence of the action, the license of expression and senti- 
 ment, the brilliant declamation, and the fine dresses of the 
 actors, that charmed the playgoers. Stubbs for all his bitter- 
 ness, was not very wide of the mark when he wrote the follow- 
 ing malicious passage: "The argument of tragedies is anger, 
 wrath, cruelty, incest, murder; the persons and actors are 
 gods, goddesses, furies, fiends, hags, kings, queens and po- 
 tentates. Of comedies, the matter and ground is love, 
 bawdry, cosinage, flattery, whoredom, adultery; the persons 
 or agents, whores, queans, bawds, scullions, knaves, courte- 
 sans, lecherous old men, amorous young men." 
 
 On a public holiday like Shrovetide, when a horde of ap- 
 prentices and artisans was let loose on the city, and flocked 
 to the Theatre, the disorder must have been great. The fact 
 that the theatre areas were outside the direct control of the 
 city fathers — at Finsbury, Newington Butts, Southwark — 
 made the playhouse a kind of safety-valve for all the pent-up 
 humours of society. "Hell is broke loose," wrote Haslewood, 
 "and it is good to draw all the devils into one place, so that 
 we may know what the people do and find them if need be." 
 Indecency among the audience was quite a common occur- 
 rence, owing, probably, to the free mingling of the sexes in 
 the pit, and the fact that there was no proper control of the 
 
12 
 
 crowd. On the stage it was not uncommon, and had to be 
 guarded against by the female part of the audience, by the 
 use of masks : there being no other protection. Yet it would 
 give an utterly false impression of the drama of this period 
 if we did not make allowance for the difficulties under which 
 the play-house laboured. It was an outcast and pariah, banned 
 from the city to the no-man's land beyond the walls, — and 
 identified by the puritan with all the vices and disorders of 
 the age. Nevertheless in spite of obloquy it was the truest 
 mirror of public taste and opinion of its day, and its amor- 
 phous audiences could rise to the dizzy heights of appreciation 
 demanded by a Shakespearean tragedy ! 
 
 The prevailing moral and intellectual tone of this pic- 
 turesque and vivacious society was (as we should expect,, 
 singularly free and unrestrained. No heed was paid to the 
 accepted standards of the past, nor was there any regard 
 shewn for the admonitions of moralist or homilist. Not only 
 was the pulpit studiously ignored in its efforts to stem the 
 tide of blasphemy, immorality and public vice of every des- 
 cription; even lay critics like Stubbs were pilloried by the 
 wits as vain fools. "They speak," writes Nash, "as though 
 they had been brought up all the days of their life with 
 bread and water ... as though they had been eunuchs from 
 their cradle, or blind from the hour of their cor seption." Of 
 course, the events of the previous generation, the vast doc- 
 trinal changes, the extensive secularisation of Church pro- 
 perty, the growing discredit of religion, contributed greatly 
 to the atmosphere of atheism and epicurism in which the 
 Elizabethan lived, and moved, and had his being. The un- 
 settlement of belief, combined with the unprincipled struggle 
 for wealth, prepared the soil for the seeds of materialism and 
 a frankly hedonist view of life. But the scape goat of the 
 times, the 'whipping boy' of society, on whom all the sins of 
 the nation were visited, was the Italianate Englishman. "The 
 devil incarnate" in Italy, he was regarded as the corrupter of 
 morals at home. "Thou comest," wrote Green, "not alone, but 
 accompanied with a multitude of abominable vices hanging 
 on thy bombast, nothing but infectious abuses, and vainglory, 
 self-love, sodomy, and strange poisonings, wherewith thou 
 hast infected this glorious isle." Ascham terms the whole 
 
13 
 
 class "Knights of Circe," "Epicures in living," "Atheists in 
 doctrine." They were the patrons and advocates of the 
 Italian novel, and the other questionable books of the period. 
 Every critic, clerical and lay, complained bitterly of the in- 
 creasing vogue of these 'merry' tales. "We have heresy and 
 blasphemy and paganism and bawdry committed to the press," 
 cried Deringe, a Court preacher; "there is no Italian tale so 
 scurrilous, or fable so odious, or action so abominable, but 
 some have ventured to defend the same." Bevis of Hampton, 
 Guy of Warwick, and the other medieval heroes fell into dis- 
 repute before the triumphant popularity of the new 'Courts 
 of Venus' and 'Castles of Love' introduced by the enterprising 
 booksellers from abroad. "Yet," says Ascham, "ten Morte 
 Arthures do not the tenth part so much harm as one of these 
 books made in Italy and translated in England." No wonder 
 the pulpit complained of the decay of true religion — of "godly 
 preaching heard without remorse," of "fastings kept without 
 affliction," of- "almsgiving without compassion," and of "lent 
 holden without discipline." "It were better to be a piper or 
 a filthy minstrel," said one ecclesiastic, "than a divine; for 
 the one is heard for his ribaldry, the other hated for his gravi- 
 ty, wisdom and sobriety." 
 
 We turn now to a consideration of the reverse side of the 
 shield. Balancing the brilliant display of Elizabethan Society, 
 there was a growing slough of unemployment, poverty and 
 misery among the lower classes. All writers of the time refer 
 to it. Of course the causes were numerous and varied: a pro- 
 letariate is not born in a day. A general 'dearth' or rise in 
 prices, traced by Stafford to the debasement of the coinage 
 of Henry VIII, and to the influx of American silver, placed 
 the necessaries of life almost beyond the reach of the very 
 poor. The turning of arable land into pasture — a favourite 
 plan of the land-owner who found wool more valuable than 
 corn from the point of view of commerce — and the consequent 
 decay of agriculture, which it brought about, both cut down 
 the supply of corn and turned many country labourers adrift. 
 It was calculated on this head alone that, as early as 1550, 
 some 50,000 ploughs were idle in England, and 300,000 per- 
 sons dependent on them were thrown out of employment. 
 "When gentlemen became sheep-mongers and graziers," 
 
14 
 
 writes one critic, "neither cloth nor victuals could be had at a 
 reasonable price." Enclosures of the common lands, moors, 
 heaths, etc., where the poor were wont to pasture their cattle 
 and grow the corn on which they depended as the staff of life, 
 also counted for a considerable amount of the hardship of 
 the time. Sometimes the encloser would argue that the older 
 form of agriculture was wasteful and unprofitable. A few of 
 them went as far as to say that "a superfluous augmentation 
 of mankind" was not to be encouraged, because it led to the 
 increase of beggars ! But the immediate result of their policy 
 was not to lessen the problem of pauperism : rather to increase 
 it. Stubbs was inclined to think that early and improvident 
 marriages were also largely responsible for the creation of a 
 pauper class. "They build up a cottage," he writes, "though 
 but of elder poles in every lane end, where they live as beg- 
 gars all their life. This filleth the land with such store of 
 poor people that in short time (except some caution be pro- 
 vided to prevent the same) it is like to grow to great poverty 
 and scarceness." No doubt, too, another source of the pro- 
 blem was the destruction of the monasteries, because the 
 monastic institutions, whatever their spiritual condition may 
 have been, were at least indulgent landlords, and helped to 
 keep the country-side contented. At all events Nash', Green, 
 and other writers hark back to the happier days, "when abbeys 
 stood and twenty eggs could be had for a penny." The new 
 owners who had supplanted the abbots, writes another critic, 
 "abhor the names of monks, friars, canons, nuns, but their 
 goods they greedily gripe." Undoubtedly also the prevalence 
 of usury contributed to the misery, because "the shittle-witted 
 fools," who lusted after the fashionable dresses of London, 
 often mortgaged their estates and failed to redeem them, 
 sometimes ending their days in prison, where they lay, "gyved 
 and shackled" until their limbs rotted from their bodies." 
 Other causes were rent-racking by covetous landlords; ex- 
 cessive charges by lawyers, who apparently were "troubled 
 by a heat of the liver, which makes their palms so hot, that 
 to cold them they must be rubbed with the oil of angels," and 
 finally, "forestalling and regrating" by merchants, who "inter- 
 cept everything before it comes to market." 
 
 Whatever the direct and immediate cause in particular 
 
15 
 
 cases may have been, the dimensions of the pauper class soon 
 assumed appalling proportions, and no one was prepared to 
 shoulder responsibility. State action was in embryo, while 
 the old medieval view that charity was an individual duty, 
 based on love to God and pity to man, had lost its savour. 
 Social critics, who saw the condition of the country at close 
 quarters, say very little about the possibility of alleviation 
 by the Government, but protest volubly against the callous 
 indifference of the wealthy and well-to-do. "A poor man," 
 says Green, "shall as soon break his neck as his fast at a rich 
 man's door." So numerous were the poor of London that 
 they slept in porches, stalls, doorways, sheep-cotes, haylofts, 
 and died like dogs. "They lie in the streets," writes Stubbs, 
 "upon pallets of straw, and well if they have that, or else in 
 the dirt as commonly it is seen, having neither house to put 
 their heads in, covering to keep them from the cold, nor to 
 hide their shame withal . . . but are permitted to die in the 
 streets like dogs or beasts without any mercy or compassion 
 showed to them at all." The hospitals, lazar-houses and 
 spittals, according to another critic, could not cope with one- 
 hundredth part of the infirm and diseased— "and many lay 
 dead without the walls for want of succour."* 
 
 It is well to take these facts into account when we peror- 
 ate on the "spacious days," and rhapsodise on the imaginative 
 brilliance of Elizabethan genius. The Englishman of the 16th 
 Century cannot be credited with a soft heart towards his un- 
 fortunates. For all his intellectual greatness, his moral sym- 
 pathies were no further advanced than those of a savage. 
 Materialism, greed, the unprincipled scramble for wealth, 
 blinded him to everything resembling social duty. The poor 
 were a nuisance and poverty a disease, for which, in the in- 
 scrutable providence of God, he was not responsible. 
 
 J. B. BLACK. 
 
 History Department, 
 
 Queen's University. 
 
 *Note: As we are dealing in this paper entirely with the mental atti- 
 tude of Elizabethan society, and not with government policy, I have in- 
 tentionally omitted to consider the governmental measures devised to cope 
 with the problem of pauperism. 
 
No. 15, Modern British Foreign Policy, by J. L. Morison. 
 
 No. 16, Federal Finance, by O. D. Skelton. 
 
 No. 17, Craft-Gilds of the Thirteenth Century in Paris, by F, 
 B. Millett. 
 
 No. 18, The Co-operative Store in Canada, by H. Michell. 
 
 No. 19, The Chronicles of Thomas Sprott, by Walter Sage. 
 
 No. 20, The Country Elevator in the Canadian West, by W. C. 
 Clark. 
 
 No. 21, The Ontario Grammar Schools, by W. E. Macpherson. 
 
 No. 22, The Royal Disallowance in Massachusetts, by A. G. 
 Borland. 
 
 No. 23, The Language Issue in Canada; Notes on the Language 
 Issue Abroad, by 0. D. Skelton. 
 
 No. 24, The Neutralization of States, by F. W. Baumgartner. 
 No. 25, The Neutralization of States, by F. W. Baumgartner. 
 
 No. 26, Profit-Sharing and Producers' Co-operation in Canada, 
 by H. Michell. 
 
 No. 27, Should Maximum Prices Prevail? by W. C. Clark. 
 
 No. 28, Sir George Arthur and His Administration of Upper 
 Canada, by Walter Sage. 
 
 No. 29, Canadian Federal Finance— II, by O. D. Skelton. 
 
 No. 30, English Courtesy Literature Before 1557, by Fred. B. 
 Millett. 
 
 No. 31, Economics, Prices and the War, by W. A. Mackintosh. 
 No. 32, The Employment Service of Canada, by Bryce M. 
 Stewart. 
 
 No. 33, Allenby's First Attempt on Jerusalem: A Chapter in 
 Scottish Military History, by J. L. Morison. 
 
 No. 34, John Morley: a Study in Victorianism, by J. L. Mori- 
 son. 
 No. 35, Elizabethan Society— A Sketch, by J. B. Black. 
 
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