The innocent pedant whose learning lies in the dead languages and who
has a contempt for the living world is a type not extinct; but what
shall we say of the Welsh curate of Windsor, Hugh Evans? In Windsor Park
Mrs. Ford whispers, "Where is Nan now and her troop of fairies, and that
Welsh devil Sir Hugh?"
That was her affectionate, though not respectful, way of referring to
her spiritual adviser. Curate Evans was certainly not an example of what
has been termed "the mild and temperate spirituality which has always
characterized the Church of England." The dignity of the cloth is not in
his mind as he cries, "Trib, fairies, trib, come and remember your
parts, pe pold, I pray you, ... when I give the watch'ords do as I pid
you."
Yet though he seemed not to put so much emphasis on character in
religion as we in these more serious days think fitting, this Welsh
devil of a parson had enough of the professional spirit to wish to point
a moral on all proper occasions. Not too obtrusive or moral, nor
carrying it to the sweating point, but a good, sound approbation of
right sentiment. When Master Slender declares his resolution, "After
this trick I'll ne'er be drunk while I live again but in honest, civil,
godly company. If I be drunk I'll be drunk with those who fear God," the
convivial curate responds, "So God judge me that shows a virtuous mind."
That Shakespeare intended any reflection on the Welsh clergy is not
probable; but so late as the eighteenth century a traveler in Wales
remarks that the ale house was usually kept by the parson. One wonders
whether with such manifest advantages the Welsh ministers' meetings were
given over to lugubrious essays on "Why we do not reach the masses."
Shakespeare uses the word Puritan once, but Malvolio was a prig rather
than a true Puritan. His objection to cakes and ale was rather because
revelry disturbed his slumbers than because it troubled his conscience.
But when we turn to Ben Jonson's Alchemist and come across Tribulation
Wholesome, from Amsterdam, we know that the battle between the stage and
the conventicle has begun. We know the solid virtues of these sectaries
from whom came some of the best things in England and New England. But
we must not expect to find this side of their character in the
literature of the next two or three centuries. Unfortunately the
non-conformist conscience was offended at those innocent pleasures in
which amiable writers and readers have always taken satisfaction.
Charles Lamb inclined to the opinion of his friend who held that "a man
cannot have a good conscience who refuses apple dumpling." The
gastronomic argument against Puritanism has always been a strong one
with the English mind. It was felt that a person must be a hypocrite who
could speak disrespectfully of the creature comforts. There was no
toleration for the miserable pretender who would "blaspheme custard
through the nose." Tribulation Wholesome was deserving only of the
pillory. There was no doubt but that the viands which were publicly
reprobated were privately enjoyed.
"You rail against plays to please the alderman
Whose daily custard you devour.
...You call yourselves
By names of Tribulation, Persecution,
Restraint, Long Patience and such-like, affected
Only for glory and to catch the ear
Of the disciple."
In "Bartholomew Fair" we meet Mr. Zeal of the Land Busy, an unlicensed
exhorter, who has attained the liberty of prophesying, and is the leader
of a little flock.
Did history keep on repeating itself, or did literary men keep on
repeating each other? At any rate Mr. Zeal of the Land Busy reappears
continually. He is in every particular the prototype of those painful
brethren who roused the wrath of honest Sam Weller. We recognize his
unctuous speech, his unfailing appetite, and even his offensive and
defensive alliance with the mother-in-law.
Mr. Little-Wit introduces him as "An old elder from Banbury who puts in
here at meal times to praise the painful brethren and to pray that the
sweet singers may be restored; and he says grace as long as his breath
lasts."
To which Mrs. Little-Wit responds, "Yes, indeed, we have such a tedious
time with him, what for his diet and his clothes too, he breaks his
buttons and cracks seams at every saying that he sobs out."
In answer to the anxious inquiry of his mother-in-law, Dame Pure-Craft,
Little-Wit announces that he has found the good man "with his teeth
fast in the cold turkey-pie in the cupboard, with a great white loaf on
his left hand, and a glass of malmsey on his right." In Dame Pure-Craft
he finds a stanch supporter. "Slander not the brethren, wicked one," she
cries.
Zeal of the Land Busy attempts to lead his flock through the perils of
Bartholomew Fair. "Walk in the middle of the way--turn neither to the
right nor to the left. Let not your eyes be drawn aside by vanity nor
your ears by noises." It was indeed a dangerous journey, for it was
nothing less than "a grove of hobby horses and trinkets; the wares are
the wares of devils, and the fair is the shop of Satan."
But, alas, though the eyes and ears were guarded, another avenue of
temptation had been forgotten. The delicious odor of roast pig came from
one of the booths. It was a delicate little pig, cooked with fire of
juniper and rosemary branches. Mrs. Little-Wit longed for it and her
husband encouraged her weakness. Dame Pure-Craft rebukes him and bids
him remember the wholesome admonition of their leader.
Zeal of the Land Busy is a casuist of no mean ability, and is equal to
the task of finding an exception to his own rule.
"It may offer itself by other means to the sense, as by way of steam,
which I think it doth in this place, huh! huh!--yes, it doth. And it
were a sin of obstinacy, high and horrible obstinacy, to resist the
titillation of the famelic sense which is smell. Therefore be bold,
follow the scent; enter the tents of the unclean for this once, and
satisfy your wife's frailty. Let your frail wife be satisfied; your
zealous mother and my suffering self will be satisfied also."
Zeal of the Land Busy was like a certain English statesman of whom it
was said, "His conscience, instead of being his monitor, became his
accomplice."
One characteristic of these unlicensed exhorters seems to be very
persistent,--their almost superhuman fluency. Despising preparation and
trusting to the inspiration of the moment, they are never left without
words. Preaching without notes is not particularly difficult if one has
something to say, but these exhorters attempt to preach without notes
and also without ideas. They require nothing but a word to begin with.
The speaker is like an army which, having broken away from its base of
supplies, lives on the country through which it is marching. The
hortatory guerrilla gets forage enough in one sentence to carry him on
through the next. This was the homiletical method which Zeal of the Land
used in his discourse at the fair. At a venture he cries out,--
"Down with Dagon!"