Interactive Dialogue Sequences in Middle English Drama (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Interactive Dialogue Sequences in Middle English Drama

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Editor

Associate Editor

Anita Fetzer

Andreas H. Jucker

University of Lüneburg

University of Zurich

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Sachiko Ide

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Thorstein Fretheim

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Yunxia Zhu

The University of Queensland

Volume 185 Interactive Dialogue Sequences in Middle English Drama by Gabriella Mazzon

Interactive Dialogue Sequences in Middle English Drama

Gabriella Mazzon University of Cagliari

John Benjamins Publishing Company Amsterdam / Philadelphia

8

TM

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences – Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ansi z39.48-1984.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Mazzon, Gabriella, 1962  Interactive dialogue sequences in Middle English drama / Gabriella Mazzon.        p. cm. (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series, issn 0922-842X ; v. 185) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1.  Pragmatics. 2.  Historical linguistics. 3.  English language--Middle English, 1100-1500--Semantics. 4.  English drama--To 1500--History and criticism.  I. Title. P99.4.P72M44    2009 427'.02--dc22 isbn 978 90 272 5430 6 (hb; alk. paper) isbn 978 90 272 8954 4 (eb)

2009003059

© 2009 – John Benjamins B.V. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, or any other means, without written permission from the publisher. John Benjamins Publishing Co. · P.O. Box 36224 · 1020 me Amsterdam · The Netherlands John Benjamins North America · P.O. Box 27519 · Philadelphia pa 19118-0519 · usa

Table of contents

Acknowledgements Abbreviations chapter 1 Introduction 1.1 Premises and aims  1 1.2 Text and context in medieval drama  5 1.2.1 The text: N.Town plays  9 1.3 Outline of the study  14 chapter 2 Address between characters 2.1 General remarks  19 2.2 Parameter: Distance vs. Intimacy  22 2.3 Parameter: Power vs. Solidarity  27 2.4 The addressing of ‘special entities’  30 2.5 Variables in address: Age, sex, class  35 2.6 Pronoun switching  43 2.7 Conclusions on pronouns and terms of address  48 chapter 3 Modality  3.1 Relevance of modality markers  51 3.2 Types of modality markers sampled  53 3.3 Modal verbs  56 3.4 Other modal forms  70 3.4.1 Nominal, verbal and attributive/predicative constructions  with modal value  71 3.4.2 Modal adverbs and other pragmatic markers  77 3.4.3 Interjections  81  3.5 Conclusions on modality and its reflex on the expression of illocution   87

vii ix 1

19

51

vi

Interactive Dialogue Sequences in Middle English Drama

chapter 4 Performatives and verba dicendi 4.1 The classification of ‘verbal action’ verbs in historical linguistics  91 4.2 Verbs of action in the N.Town plays  96 4.3 Metalinguistic verbs and verba dicendi  110 4.4 Speech acts and interaction ‘steering’  117 chapter 5 Pair structures 5.1 Pairs and beyond  119 5.2 Echoic structures and repetition  124 5.3 Imperatives  129 5.4 Questions  137 5.5 Formulae  144 5.6 ‘Peace and love’ vs. ‘struggle and strife’  153 5.7 Conclusions  160 chapter 6 Addressing and directing the audience 6.1 The ‘real recipients’  163 6.2 Forms of audience addressing  167 6.3 The modality of interaction with the audience  176 6.4 Acts of speech and audience ‘steering’  179 6.5 Language mixture in cycle plays  183

91

119

163

chapter 7 Conclusions

193

References Index Index of Names

201 221 225

Acknowledgements

The genesis of this book has been quite long, and I would like to thank all those people who contributed to its production. A pilot study was presented at a IAUPE conference in Bamberg, and I would like to thank all the participants who offered advice and encouragement, and who suggested that this approach could deserve book-length treatment. The subsequent expansion of the study required input from different branches of English linguistics; I would like to thank, for being so generous with their libraries, their time, their company and their suggestions, friends and colleagues from the universities of Edinburgh, Cagliari, and particularly Vienna, where I have repeatedly enjoyed prolonged hospitality and invaluable professional and personal support. Heartfelt thanks go also to the editors of the series, Andreas Jucker and Anita Fetzer, as well as to two anonymous reviewers who gave important suggestions. Thanks to Isja Conen and the others in the publisher’s team, for being professional and good-humoured at the same time. As usual, this book, with all its inevitable shortcomings, would only be the worse if it were not for the affection and support lavished upon me by close friends, whose patience has been tried by lengthy talks about medieval drama and its surprising intricacies.

Abbreviations

Frequent abbreviations employed: adj = adjective CA = Conversation Analysis CS = Code-switching CT = Canterbury Tales DA = Discourse Analysis FTA = face-threatening act ME = Middle English (E)ModE = (Early) Modern English n = noun OE = Old English PDE = Present-Day English ppl = past participle sg/pl = singular/plural V = verb

chapter 1

Introduction

1.1

Premises and aims

This book is a case study in historical pragmatics, one of the most recent subbranches in historical linguistics. The premise behind historical pragmatics is, by and large, the idea that it is possible to study older texts not dissimilarly from the way we look at modern texts and conversations, applying many of the same categories that we apply to the synchronic pragmatic analysis of linguistic exchanges seen as interaction. This procedure should allow us, on the one hand, to further our insight into the communicatively-grounded employment of specific language forms and into their changes and, on the other hand, to test the hypo- thesis that the categories and principles established for modern pragmatics can be extended to older stages of any given language. In a sense, this amounts to an . The first institutionalisation came, as an extension from contrastive pragmatics, with the publication of a seminal paper (Jucker 1994) and a collective volume (Jucker 1995) devoted to this field. Since then, several workshops and conferences have been organised, concentrating on issues pertaining to historical pragmatics, an authoritative journal founded (The Journal of Historical Pragmatics), several collective books published (see References). . Arnovick (1999: 2) programmatically states that the phenomena of interest to historical pragmatics include: “introduction of a speech event, death of a speech event, usage prescription, discursive ‘inflation’, increased epistemicity, subjectification, ‘discursization’, increased politeness, and pragmaticalization”. Brinton (2000: 361–364) clarifies the distinction between (1) Historical Pragmatics, which gives a historical dimension to pragmatics by studying conventions of language use and contextual factors for earlier stages of the language, often with a synchronic perspective within each period; (2) Pragmatic Historical Linguistics, which studies the influence of pragmatic factors in language change, e.g. in grammaticalization, and (3) Diachronic Pragmatics, which studies the development of pragmatic functions from one historical period to the next. The present study falls mainly within the former subfield. More recent advances concern the sub-branches of historical discourse analysis (Hiltunen and Skaffari 2006), pragmaphilology and sociopragmatics (see e.g. Turnbull 2003: 177ff.) – all of these branches are relevant to the present study, the main difference being that pragmaphilological studies do not take into account the context in which the text was produced to such an extent as sociopragmatics (Archer 2005: 8–9).



Interactive Dialogue Sequences in Middle English Drama

attempt at extending the value of the so-called Uniformitarian Principle (see e.g. the formulation in Labov 1994), which states that the forces and principles presiding over language uses and changes are the same at all times, to those issues that some linguists consider ‘external’ to language functioning proper. These are the issues related to linguistic acts as communicative, social, relational events, produced by individuals with the more or less conscious aim of establishing and maintaining social relations with other individuals in the community, and/or of producing reactions and altering the course of some events (for a discussion see Bergs 2005: 43–45). There is clearly some danger of circularity in such a view; are the categories in question lent validity by the fact that they are found in older texts, or are they found in such texts because we think they are valid? But this, which is to a certain extent a problem of all language analysis, is not the only problem with this approach. Besides the very general issue of evidence preservation and transmission (ranging from the accidental hole or tear in the manuscript to the unjustified and silent emendations that some early editors deemed right to operate), there are also the more specific question of text-type and communicative-act comparability, and the delicate issue of (social and communicative) background shaping. These problems are all well known in the literature, but let us just take one (constructed, yet plausible) example for clarification. Let us say we recover a token of a specific, clearly identifiable text-type that is also reasonably comparable with a modern text-type, say a recipe. This is a type of text that has clear modal functions and communicative orientation, rather simple and univocal, and also similar to its homolog in modern times. Let us assume that we are even more lucky, in that we are able to date the text precisely and to locate it almost as neatly (say, 1420–1430, Oxford), establishing that it is not a later copy of an older text or a translation (this, of course, to the extent that any medieval text that has reached us can be considered ‘an original’; see Bergner 1995: 47), that the ‘author’ can be identified with the scribe and that this person was originally from Oxfordshire and was not an ‘immigrant’ from some other region of Britain. Then, of course, the problem arises of whether the socio-pragmatic regulative principles of the (time of the) text can be held to be anything near to what we consider them today, and on which all our categorisations are based. No matter how much we know about the social context and the writing conventions of distant epochs, there are always serious doubts as to the perlocutionary effects, and the degree of felicity, of any communicative act when it was originally performed. Just consider, for instance, our difficulties in achieving full comprehension of medieval society, “a tightly constructed system of human dependencies, of corporative organisation, of hierarchies clearly defined and hard to break into, of super- and ­subordinations,



Chapter 1.  Introduction

and of rules officially sanctioned and for the most part also accepted” (Bergner 1992: 165). These issues are related to problems of interpretation that may well pertain not to individual texts, but to the medieval text in general. One problem is certainly the density of such texts, but a somehow contrary phenomenon is also relevant. For instance, Bergner (1995: 38–39) claims that openness, meant as the vagueness or ambiguity of a text, is typical of medieval texts, since the perception and categorisation of reality itself was more variable than in modern times, and there was a prominent spiritual level of meaning along with the everyday use of several linguistic signs. It is extremely difficult for modern observers to project themselves in a world of ‘open’ texts (and we may hypothesise that, for rather obvious reasons, theatrical texts were bound to be more ‘open’ than other types of text). This, in turn, is only one aspect of a wider problem that concerns the validity of the general concepts used in pragmatics. Power has been shown to be negotiable and changing during interaction, and the same has been maintained about the whole self-image and, therefore, ‘face’, as stressed by Kopytko (1993: 31): The idea of face as a self-image can hardly be represented as a generative, deterministic system; on the contrary, at this deep psychological level, the self-image is a constant source of indeterminacy, unpredictability, misunderstandings, and other psychologically motivated surprises in social interaction.

The following chapters will mention many other such doubts and challenges that have recently been addressed to ‘classical’ pragmatics, many of which actually question the idea that we should view language use in interaction as the product of rational choices based on pre-determined categories. In spite of these criticisms, and sometimes spurred by them, research in this line of study is slowly and tentatively progressing, as shown, for instance, by the attempts at drawing a history of dialogue forms (Fritz 1995; Jucker, Fritz and Lebsanft 1999; Culpeper and Kytö fc.), and by the wealth of contributions dealing with systems of address in earlier stages of English; the present volume hopes . As Bergner (1992: 166) aptly puts it: “Since for the medieval author and reader all existing things are in terms of cause and ontology equally and determinately connected to each other, medieval texts contain a multitude of references, concatenations, and correspondences; this is what makes these texts so characteristic, setting them apart in their own right”. . This development does not concern only English: for one similar example see De Ventura (2007), in which the dialogic elements in Dante’s Divine Comedy are analysed. . Scholarly work on address forms in early English dates as far back as the early 20th century, but such work has now been reinterpreted according to categories of modern pragmatics. See, for instance, the papers in a recent collection that also includes contributions regarding other





Interactive Dialogue Sequences in Middle English Drama

to be a contribution in that direction, with the aim not only to describe the use of some dialogic indicators (see below 1.3), but also to offer remarks on the combined use of several language forms to construct interactional stance in dialogue. The present study takes therefore as its object of investigation not only address, but several aspects of interaction in a collection of early English plays, i.e. those in the Cotton ms. Vespasian D.VIII, traditionally called Ludus Coventriæ or The Plaie Called Corpus Christi, and now better known as the N.Town plays (on the long historical and philological debate about the document see Section 1.2.1). This collection was chosen because it appears to present a marked contrast between “sermon-like formal speech, for solemn prayers, intellectual debate and the display of wisdom and erudition” (Bergner 1994: 43) on the one side, and a genuine attempt at making characters more ‘human’, and at introducing elements of real ‘acting’ rather than declamation on the other side, with the occasional intermission of farcical interludes to attract the audience, also in connection with the instructive value attributed to laughter (Kolve 1966: 124–134). These elements may be of special interest to us, since “some non-standard language is found [in cycle plays] and it tends to be associated increasingly with the comic elements which were introduced to provide some relief from the more serious matter of the cycles” (Blake 1981: 64). More specifically, though in less technical terms, according to Langenfelt (1933: 18, fn 1): a class distinction, though a purely stylistic one, is also to be observed in the Mystery Plays, where, generally, the upper classes (= the enemies of Christ) speak a most intricate alliterative language, Christ himself a natural speech with an imprint of worthiness, and the lower classes mix their language with base and obscene words.

More in general, the enactment of religious episodes seemed “intended to supply in three-dimensional, realistic, visual images an outward, theatrical figuration of an abstract concept. It exist[ed] to help us to see the events in the same circumstances and in the same emotional mood as they were first experienced” (Wickham 1981: 27). It may be useful to recall that this is a development which, in

languages (Taavitsainen and Jucker 2003), the references included in the abovementioned papers, and Walker (2007) on EModE. Also interesting is the study, in terms of conversational maxims and face-work, of some dialogic parts of the Beowulf (Shippey 1993). . See e.g. Woolf (1972: 113–119). This difference is recognised by most critics; some of them quote scenes from this cycle as representative of an attempt at ‘realism’, whatever this may mean at the time (e.g. Kahrl 1974: 75–83). It is natural to assume that this intention may have had consequences on the language employed in these plays, although this hypothesis is still to be verified. On the importance of ‘everyday’ detail in the cycle see Diller (1973: 137ff.).



Chapter 1.  Introduction

different degrees and at slightly different times, affected medieval drama all over Europe, and especially France, whose biblical drama influenced English cycles deeply, when it was not a direct source for translation (Langenfelt 1933: xv–xvi). The collection includes an unusual number of episodes from the Old Testament, too, and is particularly rich in the number and variety of scenes represented, although with the unifying thematic link of the availability to man of the grace of God, and the softening of his stern justice through loving concern for his creature; this thematic unity also creates an “unbroken formal manner”, a sort of unified voice (Mills 1983b: 197), in spite of how composite the document appears. It seems thus a good start for an attempt at capturing a glimpse of ‘conversational rules’ in Middle English, although with all the cautions mentioned above about the handling of such evidence, and with further caveats that will be mentioned below. In the terms introduced by Koch and Oesterreicher (1985) and adopted by Jucker (2000a: 20–27), these texts have been chosen because they are supposed to show higher Communicative Immediacy (as opposed to the Communicative Distance characterising most written styles), i.e. to come closer to face-to-face interaction, at least in some respects, while remaining instances of a specific texttype. Jucker and Taavitsainen (2003: 8–9) state that the reason why theatrical texts can be useful lies in the way dramatists attempted to depict interaction between characters, and not in their alleged ‘similarity’ to speech patterns. On the other hand, there are more ‘structured’ or ritualised activities associated with verbal sequences that might have been reproduced in a similar way in literature as they were codified in real interaction; a similar assumption about verbal duelling is stated in Bax (1981: 425).

1.2

Text and context in medieval drama

Medieval theatre is a case in point of the difficulty in handling textual evidence from our perspective. Meredith (1983: 13–14) emphasises that past criticism and editorial practice have often grown more and more distant from the actual manuscripts, thus neglecting to investigate such crucial questions as who actually wrote them, who wrote the stage directions and what meaning these really had in their original context; what differences there might have been between the register (complete copy held by the town), the original (copy deposited with the craft guild), and the parcels (copies handed to the single performers); what status and significance could the whole apparatus often indicated as ‘annotations by later hands’ have. A short review of some key studies on medieval drama might help us gain better insight into the way these texts were conceived, composed and used. After some fundamental early studies (notably Diller 1973), the 1980s and 1990s





Interactive Dialogue Sequences in Middle English Drama

have seen a renewed interest in such texts, including re-staging of some plays, and there is now a wider corpus of scholarly literature devoted to shedding light on cycle plays. For decades, it had been assumed that there was a clear continuity between liturgical drama in Latin and cycle plays, which presumably started to be staged around the 1370s and reached their maximum development at the end of the fifteenth century (Clopper 2001: 143); these were characterised by the choice of outdoor performance, due mainly to space reasons, and by the switch to the vernacular, due to a wish to appeal to the general public, but the tone and meaning of the performances was believed to be in keeping with liturgical plays. This common scholarly lore has now been pretty much discarded (Cawley 1983: 11–12; McDonald 1983: 94–95) in favour of hypotheses viewing the composition of the cycles as a form of Christianisation of earlier festivities, as a more direct strategy of evangelization closely connected with the new preaching style of religious orders which were then spreading, such as the Franciscan friars (Wickham 1959: 144– 145; 1981: 157–160), while the liturgical plays continued to be performed within the church, as they had always been. This was a new way to communicate with the laity, based on the belief that “vernacular simplicity, a sense of humour, and a recognition of secular concerns were likelier to command the imagination [towards religion] than mystical solemnities in a dead language” (Trussler 1994: 37), which was the reason for the near-contemporary switch to the vernacular in sermons. Reference to biblical and liturgical sources was still quite close, as testified by the high number of direct quotations from such sources, which the audience was expected to be familiar with (Wickham 1981: 124–125), and which are often reported in Latin to underline the solemnity or doctrinal salience of a particular point, although they are also frequently translated or paraphrased in the immediate cotext (more about the use of Latin and code-switching in the plays will be said in 6.5). However, one must not be led to think that the plays have been translated or directly derived from Latin. It must also be made clear that this ‘vivification’ of religious doctrine took place not only through the subtle use of verbal means, but also through the visual elements, with the most salient scenes (as reconstructed from stage directions and the occasional portraying of theatrical activity, e.g. in

. On the close connection between this kind of drama and special “occasion”, even deriving from the pagan calendar, see e.g. Wickham (1981: 3–20); for a partly different view, which does not agree with the establishment of a causal relation between festivities and ludi, see Clopper (2001: 105). On the idea that there is nevertheless some similarity between liturgical drama and early plays in the vernacular, which often appear to be reworkings of the former, see e.g. McDonald (1983). On the establishment of the Corpus Christi festival, particularly relevant to the staging of Passion scenes, and on its connection with cycle plays, see Higgins (1995: 9–12).



Chapter 1.  Introduction

illustrated manuscripts) clearly modelled on standard iconography. In any case, there is more stylization than interpretation, given also the fact that some aspects of dramatic illusion were impossible (Kolve 1966: 23–24). In spite of this close textual and visual relationship with an accepted body of doctrine, recent scholars warn us, we should not be led to think of these plays as an emanation of the church: in fact, quite the opposite seems to hold; cycle plays seem, also given their close association with town administration and craft guilds, a mainly secular enterprise, at least when they reached their fully-fledged form, produced with some contribution from secular clergy guilds and, of course, from learned ‘playmakers’ or at least ‘compilers’ (Wickham 1959: 123–128; 1981: 184– 185).10 There is, if anything, evidence to the effect that the church was actually trying to restrain lay festivities (and the associated ludi), and the rise of the vernacular cycles could be seen as an attempt to counter this (Clopper 2001: 138, 142),11 with the towns taking the religious education of the common people into their hands to some extent, while at the same time conveying other values: the . On the relationship between medieval drama and church depiction of biblical matters in Britain see Anderson (1963), who stresses the common liturgical basis of drama and imagery. Scenes that present a direct correspondence between the plays analysed here and church carvings and paintings include Play 7 (The Prophets), Play 20 (The Death of Herod), and Play 21 (Jesus and the Doctors). . There is quite some evidence on the factual aspects of the staging of these plays, which we will not go into in detail. It seems however that these particular plays were not performed on a movable stage, but rather on a fixed multiple scene, as is deducted from the various indications of the type “In the meantime…” that are to be found in directions (Cawley 1983: 22–23; Scherb 2001: 37–38, 46–49). Other directions in the cycle seem to indicate a circular stage ­(Higgins 1995: 36), but this is very controversial. The cycle under examination here is particularly rich in stage directions, which reveal several details, but not without incongruities (Meredith 1987a: 5–90). 10. This is not to exclude the possibility of a contribution from clerical writers to playmaking. In fact, McDonald (1983: 110) claims that it would have been difficult for any lay person of the time to acquire the mastery of religious sources apparent in the plays: ‘‘Anyone in the Middle Ages in the position to produce a play would have been thoroughly familiar with a store of liturgical materials, prayers, hymns, and passages from Scripture, memorized without much conscious effort through constant repetition’’. Wickham (2002: 38) even speaks of ‘active partnership’ between the Church and the town hall in the production of these didactic, yet entertaining, pieces. On the intertwining between lay and clerical aspects in the cycle see also Fewer (1998). 11. Although of course the word ludus itself came to be associated with cycle plays, including the former denomination of the collection under examination, to signify the ‘entertaining’ (and not just didactic) value of these plays. Fowler (1984: 26) relates these developments to the growth of other vernacular literary texts connected with liturgy, such as the lyric.





Interactive Dialogue Sequences in Middle English Drama

participation of craft guilds to such events “affirmed corporate identity; it manifested the complexity and ideal stability of urban society; it displayed the wealth on which the town’s existence and the influence of each company depended” (Mills 1983: 156) while, at the same time, the participation of the (secular) clergy and of devotional guild meant that “the town acknowledged the church as the guardian of the mythology which validated its existence and accepted the continuing centrality of established religious institutions in the new social structure” (Mills 1983b: 158). This is reflected in the particular attention devoted to ‘human’ and everyday aspects of life, which seems to indicate that they arose out of lay spiritual interests rather than of a ‘clerical agenda’ (Clopper 2001: 204–205); more about this will be said in Chapter 6 in our treatment of audience address, but it is important to keep this element in mind when looking at the plays and at their general layout – it is crucial that the plays were produced by people who had a social community in mind as an audience. An important part of this perspective is the use of mockery and humour,12 which is of course highly relevant linguistically, since it determines shifts to different language registers; moreover, farcical elements do not seem to belong to the previous tradition of Britain, and it has been hypothesised (Happé 2002) that in several cases these elements were later interpolations in the cycles. There is a tendency to concentrate humour effects in the same episodes through the cycles (e.g. Joseph’s reaction to Mary’s pregnancy), but this aspect is however dealt with more extensively in N.Town plays than in other cycles (Happé 2002: 38),13 to the extent that there are episodes unique to this collection, e.g. in the Woman taken in Adultery (Play 24), in which the flight of the half-dressed lover is represented prominently, unlike in other cycles. The presence in this cycle of many episodes from the Old Testament, whose protagonists were considered, for doctrinal reasons, ‘less holy’ and therefore more human, also contributes to making this collection more interesting in this respect. It must not be thought that the ‘humanising’ factor is only connected with humour: the element of suffering, culminating in the representation of Jesus on the cross, but anticipated, in the N.Town cycle, in some of the Old Testament episodes, is also important for its educational value of stressing the mercy of God (Enders 1999); for our purposes, it adds interesting linguistic material, especially of the ‘expressive’ kind (Ross 1997: 68, 78–81). This is typical, for instance, of dialogues between Abraham and 12. Another such aspect is anachronism, inserted precisely to create a closer link with the audience’s world (Fewer 1998: 117–118). 13. It must also be said that we cannot be absolutely sure about what was ‘comic’ for that time and that audience (Williams 1973). Diller (2002) provides useful and interesting remarks and examples on ‘medieval laughter’ and its implications.



Chapter 1.  Introduction

Isaac (Play 5), where the theme of sacrifice is anticipated, and which provides interesting examples of loving ‘familiar dialogue’ precisely because the protagonists (especially the father) are made more ‘human’ to increase audience participation (Braeger 1985). By contrast, some episodes in the collection under examination, e.g. the Death of Herod (Play 20), seem to show an attempt at literary construction (Fowler 1984: 45). In any case, these elements introduce thematic and linguistic variation that can be of interest for our purposes.

1.2.1 The text: N.Town plays Our source is itself even less of a straightforward piece of evidence than similar texts from the same time (Meredith 1983: 19–21). The ms. was produced some time after 1468 (the date appears on one of the folios), and it does not seem to be associated with a single place, guild (Cawley 1983: 60), or time of the year, which makes it peculiar (Mills 1983b: 202).14 For this reason, it seems superfluous in this case to talk about the various layers of production mentioned above for cycles in general; terms like register and original do not apply, since we are not talking about plays associated with a specific town, and the revision, attempting at making homogeneous an otherwise heterogeneous group of texts, is so deep that we cannot consider what we have as records of what was being performed, but “we have a scribe adapting, blending and revising to produce an all-inclusive play apparently adequate to anyone’s needs” (Meredith 1983: 21). By speaking about ‘a scribe’, Meredith refers to A, the main hand, who copied most of the ms. and seems to have revised it thoroughly; it is mainly because of this that critics talk about a ‘compiler’, in spite of the fact that a few plays are in other hands (the details are given in Spector 1991: xii–xiv) – the same convention is followed here. The possibility that it was a touring text seems confirmed by the reference to ‘N.Town’ in the Banns or Proclamation, apparently to be substituted by the name of the place where, in turn, the plays were performed. The manuscript is pretty composite, with plenty of interpolations and corrections, and whole sections, as mentioned, added by different hands (see e.g. Woolf 1972: 307–310). It seems that all parts date from the third quarter of the fifteenth century, although some 14. Some authors favour the association of these plays with a religious guild, also because the audience is referred to as “þes congregacioun’’ (Rose 1973: 221); Meredith (1987b: 86) disagrees, suggesting that the phrase simply means “this assembly of people”. Others suggest that, contrary to other cycles, this cycle was possibly performed by professionals, given the special consideration devoted to the economic aspects of the performance, among which the fact that only one actor was necessary to play the role of Christ (Trussler 1994: 40): this was of course impossible in pageant staging.



10

Interactive Dialogue Sequences in Middle English Drama

c­ orrections and re-phrasings look slightly later. It does not seem to be a copy of a previous manuscript, but rather a collage-like product that had several sources of inspiration,15 which appear to be quite intricately integrated with each other. Moreover, some plays or groups of plays may have been performed independently, or as part of independent collections, or they may never have been performed at all (Meredith 1983: 19; Stevens 1987: 14), and they occasionally look as if they have been later adapted to cycle form (Spector 1977); Meredith (1991: 109–110) re-examines the evidence provided by previous studies on the ms. and concludes that the collection is not necessarily to be considered as a finished product, but more probably as work in progress, stressing that it differs from other literary or theatrical works to a considerable extent. Fletcher (1994: 177–178) notes that there seems to be little forward planning, with the compilator rearranging his material without adding too much of his own, but taking liberties in expanding episodes and including further material, even at the expense of narrative coherence. This lack of unity and of clear indications about performance is also remarked upon by Sugano (1994), who claims that the ms. may have been produced as a devotional aid or ‘closet book’ rather than as a record of a performed cycle, although the later additions to the individual plays do seem to show that staging was kept in mind because, for instance, there are more detailed indications about the actors’ positions and about stage machinery. The cycle is quite wide-spanning, as mentioned above. Scholars have been debating the various phases of composition and the ‘layers’ forming this quite unique collection. One such analysis is based on the highly varied metrical forms (Schipper 1910: 108–109; Spector 1977); other contributions are by Meredith (1983; 1991). The Proclamation is written in a special form of thirteen-syllable line, which shows similarities to some contemporaneous metrical patterns but not to others, and Spector (1977: 65) hypothesised that the plays and portions of plays that employ a similar thirteener belong to the original cycle, while the other parts are interpolations. This is shown by several elements, for instance the fact that those parts that mainly use other metrical forms such as octaves and quatrains seem to follow more closely important sources such as the Legenda Aurea, while the ‘original’ parts do not. Moreover, the plays introduced by the character Contemplacio, who explains episodes and guides the audience, seem to be originally independent, and are in long-lined octaves, like most of the 15. Fletcher (1994: 164–165) assumes that the compiler of the text had access to four, possibly five dramatic sources, and to theological material for consultation. Clopper (2001: 186–187) also deems the collection to be a later compilation of earlier plays, and notices that the result is far from being seamless (more on this below). On the ‘patchwork’ quality of the collection, see also Stevens (1987: 182ff.).



Chapter 1.  Introduction

­ ontemplacio speeches themselves (Spector 1977: 69–70). There are indications C that these plays were incorporated while the ms. was being transcribed, which would also explain why the spacing of handwriting looks considerably different: the interpolated material was probably too long for the space that had been left, and had to be ‘squeezed in’; this ‘afterthought’ inclusion is also shown by the confusion in the numbering of some plays, especially with respect to the numbering in the Banns (Meredith 1991: 112). A different hypothesis has to be made for the Contemplacio speeches in Passion Play 1 and 2, which do not correspond to what is announced in the introductory Proclamation and are therefore also to be considered later additions, which stand apart from the rest of the cycle in various ways. These plays are composed in various types of quatrains, octaves and couplets, they mainly use the Northern Passion poem as prime source, and are written on different paper. It is an issue whether they were inserted in the cycle at the time of compilation or later: Spector (1977: 75) favours the latter hypothesis. There are of course also material signs of these various layers, e.g. the fact that parts of the ms. seem to have been separate ‘booklets’ originally, written on different paper, as revealed by the various watermarks present on different quires (Meredith 1991: 112–113), although it is also possible that a scribe ran out of a type of paper in mid-compilation and therefore used a different one. In fact, several types of evidence seem to point to the Mary Plays and the Passion Plays as the major additions to the original cycle (Clopper 2001: 190–191), but with complicated interweaving of sources, metrical forms, and interpolations (Meredith 1991: 114–124; on the Marian focus of these plays see Coletti 1977). The Mary Plays (Plays 9–13) seem to have been re-written from a different source and interpolated with other material (for a detailed analysis see Meredith 1987b), the Passion Play I (Plays 26–28) comes as an originally separate booklet with deep revision, while the Passion Play 2 (Plays 29–37) is also from a separate booklet, but without much revision (Meredith 1983: 20–21; Meredith 1990).16 There is a certain consistency among the cycles as concerns the choice of episodes, although this particular cycle is quite eccentric in some of these choices (Kolve 1966: 57–86), since some of the scenes included do not appear in other cycles, while some sequences show the surviving influence of liturgical elements (Fowler 1984: 21). The main stylistic markers of this heterogeneity, apart form metrics, are in the use of Latin vs. English stage directions (see 6.5), but also in

16. A detailed and helpful chart of all the ‘layers’ in the composition of this ms. is in Meredith (1991: 126–128).

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different lexical choices; the analysis that will be reported in Chapter 4 revealed clusters of verbs in various plays that are not used elsewhere in the collection. As concerns the provenance of the ms., the traditional and quite old association of the plays with Coventry has long been discarded; Eccles (1971), besides noting that the dialect in which the plays are written is pretty homogenous throughout the cycle, analyses linguistic evidence in favour of provenance from Lincoln or Norfolk, and concludes, after comparing the language of the collection with the language of other fifteenth-century plays, that the latter hypothesis is the most credible. Fletcher (1994: 165–166), conversely, quotes Bury St. Edmunds, Ely and Thetford as the most likely areas of production. Sugano (1994) favours the latter hypothesis, since Thetford was known as a centre for ‘game production’ while the other places mentioned were not, and because Thetford was associated with Cluny, which would explain some French influences that Sugano traces in the plays. As mentioned, its similarity to other town cycles is limited, while there is a heavier use of more learned religious prose as a source for some aspects of the content. This could suggest that the manuscript was made for a member of the clergy (Goodman 1991: 98–99; Fletcher 1994: 167), and that its chief redactor was “a man of considerable knowledge and theological sophistication, and with an eye for spectacular dramatic effects” (Tydeman 1986: 21–22). The very form of the text can also have an impact on the language used: let us recall that the plays are in verse, with precise patterns of beats, residues of alliteration, and rhyme (Schipper 1910: 108–109), and that apart from the use of Latin, the language register of some characters often involves employment of a Latinate style (Mills 1983: 2). By contrast, the abundance of ‘emotive language’, of interjections, of proverbs (Whiting 1969: 22–29), of rhetorical questions, etc., point to a rather lively and entertaining composition of the dialogues, though to a lesser extent than in other cycles.17 The topics dealt with, of course, impose constraints on the words and phrases to be used, and this constitutes one major drawback of analyzing this type of text. Another problem, stressed by Mills (1983a: 75) is our different perception of what may have been dialect and register differences: While a medieval audience could presumably distinguish a register, with its unusual but strongly connotative terms, from the local speech-forms which they 17. The harshest piece of criticism is possibly Bates (1893: 120–121, 126): “the three most striking features … are the sobriety of treatment, amounting to dullness, the pronounced Matriolatry, and the foreshadowing of the Moralities by the introduction of abstract characters. The versification is monotonous, and poetic magic almost altogether wanting … the dialogue is seldom allowed to break in upon the regular succession of complete stanzas”. Only Play 14 is singled out as “a rugged, vigorous description with coarse jests and sly, satiric touches, of an ecclesiastical court”.



Chapter 1.  Introduction

used in daily discourse, it is difficult for us to make that distinction… The local speech-form, like local topographical and contemporary allusions, is a major link between the drama and its community.

Then, of course, there are problems connected with transmission and editorial practices. The first edition of the ms. (Halliwell 1841) was not consulted for the present study; the Early English Text Society edition, published in 1922, takes corrections and interpolations into due account, but the editor admits having made some ‘amendments’ to the text (Block 1922: xlii), not always going into detail. The kinds of intervention he mentions could have some bearing, though probably not a significant one, on the present analysis. For instance, Block shows a certain amount of indifference towards the variation, in the text, between the different ways of representing the sounds nowadays spelt th-, and this could lead to some confusion about second person pronouns, which are of course part of our analysis of address forms. Also, the editor claims to have expanded all ‘usual contractions’, and that practice is also potentially damaging for linguistic analysis, since it contains an element of arbitrariness. A facsimile edition of the ms. was published about fifty years after Block’s work (Meredith and Kahrl 1977), and has contributed largely to the accuracy of the most recent edition, again in the Early English Text Society series (Spector 1991; the examples given in this work refer mainly to this edition, although Block’s was also consulted). Spector discusses the language of the text at length (1991: xxix–xli), and assigns the text to East Anglia, with dating hypotheses revolving around the last quarter of the fifteenth century; although the composition of most plays could be placed a little earlier, the presence of several words not attested before 1460, the handwriting and the watermarks are sufficient evidence for considering the inscribed date “1468” as pretty reliable, although work on the ms. presumably went on for some time after that, especially as concerns interpolations and the addition of elements such as headings and marginalia. The extent to which Spector intervenes on the text is not as large as with Block, and this is why Spector (1991) was used as a major reference for the present work. A number of articles and books were published, especially in the 1970s and 1980s, which not only contribute to the interpretation of the text, but also increase our knowledge of the context in which it was produced and of the meaning and significance of the text in relation to that context; many of these studies have been quoted here, and several others will be quoted in the following chapters: although their focus is mainly on criticism rather than on language (except for hypotheses about dating and geographical provenance), they were found to be useful to assess the possible value and strength of some stretches of dialogue.

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In spite of all its philological problems, given the length of the text and the kinds of item that are the object of analysis, it can be assumed that the corpus will yield at least some indication that can be considered valid. A further stage of the research might attempt the validation of these results through cross-checking with other, comparable works and with non-dramatic texts that may include features similar to those investigated here.18

1.3

Outline of the study

The core of the book deals with interaction ‘within the text’, mainly concerning relationships between characters, while Chapter 6 explores interaction ‘outside the text’ i.e. the relationship between the stage and the audience. The former kind of interaction will be studied according to the main categories of modern pragmatics (as previously done with later or different samples, cp. Mazzon 2000, 2003b) as concerns terms and pronouns of address, which are the object of Chapter 2. The study of address is an important indicator of the kinds of politeness strategies used in a language community,19 and also an indirect source of insight into the way social relations are perceived and encoded within that community. The use of second-person pronouns, terms of address, and combinations of the two systems, has been studied both in early narrative and documentary works and in early theatrical works (see Jucker and Taavitsainen 2003 for a general review), but no systematic account of address in works such as those examined here has so far been produced.20 In addition to this, other features have been analysed in this perspective: Chapter 3 looks at modal verbs and other modality markers, which signal the 18. For instance, the analysis of address forms in EModE, which started from Shakespearean and other literary samples, has later profited from contributions dealing with non-literary evidence, such as court trial records (Hope 1993, 1998). Such material is of course harder to come by when we concentrate on older stages of the language, as proved by the fact that even more recent work such as Walker (2007) is mainly focussed on EModE. 19. No really definite position is taken here as to following one version of politeness theory. The classic Brown-and-Levinson approach has been variously criticised and/or integrated, and it seems clear now that a more interactional approach is needed, as emphasised by Kopytko (1993) and more recently by Watts (2003). The idea that some aspects of dialogue are ‘strategic’ will not be questioned, however, and a number of studies that refer to this idea will be employed, in spite of the somewhat rigid rationality it postulates. 20. One attempt at a more comprehensive analysis of politeness strategies and address in drama and letters in the Renaissance, trying to overcome the gap between literary and non-literary evidence, is Magnusson (1999). See also Abdesslem (2001).



Chapter 1.  Introduction

speaker’s attitudes and the strength of the communicative act performed.21 Chapter 4 explores explicit markers of language acts such as performatives, including verba dicendi (the need for a diachronic study of performatives, also as indicators of speech acts, is emphasised by Kohnen (2000). Similar investigations were carried out, on different samples, in Mazzon (2002b)); Chapter 5 concentrates on specific communicative acts themselves (compare a similarly oriented study on speech acts in Shakespeare’s drama, Herman (1995: 208–218)) and on conversational ‘moves’, especially those in pair structures, i.e. question-answer or imperative-compliance sequences, but also formulaic sequences such as greetings,22 and examples of conflict talk (such as that attempted e.g. by Mullini (2005) on a comparable sample). Such sequences are possibly easier to study for older texts, as compared to other speech acts (Jucker 2000a: 29–30), because these texts are characterised by a high degree of textual cohesion and coherence, revealing a good deal of repetition and a densely-knit lexical texture. On the other hand, the problems related to the identification and segmentation of spoken ‘actions’, which are typical of conversation analysis (Rehbein 1984), are bound to be less relevant in the case of dramatic texts, albeit distant from us, since turns are more rigidly defined and the type of ‘action’ performed is usually made quite explicit. This may be partly due to the need to facilitate comprehension on the part of the audience (recall that performances were held in conditions in which communicative ‘noise’ was high, and this may have led to this constant reinforcement of the message). Some studies (e.g. Bell 1984) consider awareness of the addressee a very powerful element influencing stylistic choices (more like, or as a correlate of, ‘degree of attention’ as postulated in Labovian studies): this factor should be even more significant in drama, where the presence of the ‘arch-addressee’, the audience, is the very reason for the macro-communicative act, the play, to take place. In part, however, this high textual density may be due to an attempt to mimic the spoken language,23 especially where formulaic utterances such as greetings 21. By ‘speaker’ we mean here a character or a narrative voice. Modality markers, together with some of the verbs included in Chapter 4, deictics and other elements, can be considered relevant to the conveying of a ‘point of view’ or ‘stance’, which has been shown (e.g. by McIntyre 2004) to be crucial not only in narrative, but also in drama. 22. Many studies of dialogue actually take as basic unit a tripartite structure of the type ‘initiation – response – feedback’. While recognising the validity of the arguments in favour of such analyses (reviewed e.g. in Marková (1990: 130–131)), this tripartition is not always applicable to dramatic dialogue, since pair structures cannot be considered ‘incomplete’, although examples of three-turn structures are very frequent in conversation and are also present in our sample. 23. It is clear that these texts differ from ME ‘literature’ proper in that they show a rather high proportion of everyday language, right at the time when other genres started to show a

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are ­reproduced. Recall also that question-answer sequences are typical of various didactic genres (Di Martino 2000: 230), so that some comparisons will be drawn between such and other texts, and those studied here. These various elements are also intertwined in several ways: for instance, terms of address undoubtedly signal the type of relation that exists between interlocutors, but also have the function of selecting the next speaker that should take a turn (Schegloff 2007: 4), while the expression of speech acts can be interpreted in relation to the sequence within which it occurs, and be produced by the co-occurrence of performatives and modality markers. The unifying factor among these elements, and the reason why they were selected for this study, is that they are all to some degree ‘affective’ elements in the sense proposed by Caffi and Janney (1994: 331), i.e. elements occurring in “utterances signalling momentary evaluative stances or volitional states, which are performed by speakers to strategically guide partners’ attention and influence their behaviour”. Scales of Distance, Involvement, Evaluation, Solidarity, Interest etc. can be hypothesised on the basis of specific language markers employed, which may include not only modality markers (whose role in this kind of signalling is traditionally recognised) but also other elements;24 all these contribute to substantiate the individual’s stance and attitudes in interaction, and it is here assumed that at least part of this complex of features will be visible in our dialogic (though fictitious) sample. In a similar line, Chapter 6 concentrates on the way the ‘author’ tries to relate with the audience. Given the didactic intent of cycle plays, the involvement and guidance of the audience is crucial (Kolve 1966: 4–5; on the functions of audience address in pre-Shakespearian drama see Butler (2003)).25 The Proclamation

­cultivation of the obscure and complex word as part of an ‘aureate diction’ (Bergner 1995: 46). At the same time, it would be inappropriate to speak of ‘mimesis’ or ‘realism’ in the cycles (Normington 2004: 10). 24. For instance, Caffi and Janney (1994: 355) include terms of address and modal verbs, along with tense choice, deixis, and lexical choice, among emotive markers. In fact, the authors claim, following the claims by Bally and other European linguists, that hardly anything we utter does not convey some ‘affective’ aspects. Other pragmatically oriented approaches emphasise the importance of all these elements in the codification and perception of interaction and of interpersonal relations, for instance in terms of ‘facework’ (see the review and criticism in Kopytko 1993). 25. A much higher degree of ‘interactivity’ with the readership than in modern texts, signalled by ‘‘the manifold addresses of the audience, the frequently rambling style, the profuseness of tags and formulaic phrases, the syntactic insecurity and clumsiness, the numerous and repetitive usage of figures of speech and … the ever-dominant verse with its inculcatory and



Chapter 1.  Introduction

that opens the sequence, and the Contemplacio speeches that introduce some of the plays, appear indeed rich in language acts directed at the audience,26 and this is hardly surprising. The Proclamation needs to capture the audience’s attention, give a general ‘content table’ of what viewers are going to see, establish the quality of the show, etc.; the whole sample is characterised by dense texture and a high degree of repetition, but the Proclamation, because of its functions mentioned above, is particularly interesting especially as meta-interaction with the audience: if the analogy does not sound too blaspheme, it looks very much like the homepage or welcome page of a website or of a hypertext.27 The various passages spoken by Contemplacio (a special ‘character’ with this illustrative function – such symbolic or self-referent characters are typically introduced in medieval plays with this function, see Wickham (1981: 77); these passages are thought to have been assigned to Angels and Archangels in previous versions; Spector (1977: 70)), also include sequences which are directed from the scene to the audience, e.g. drawing attention to a particular situation, or aiming at capturing the audience’s benevolence, or explicitly trying to emphasise the didactic and religious implications of the biblical scenes represented.28 In such lines, we find again a high textual density, this time based more on the recurrence of modal verbs, address forms and meta-linguistic performatives. These sequences supply examples of meta-discoursive moves, although they are unidirectional while, in the case of dialogue between characters, we find bi-directional moves, with various types of actionresponse patterns exemplified. The final section of Chapter 6 addresses a specific strategy for indirectly influencing the audience, i.e. the use of Latin (or of perceptibly Latinate) words and phrases to signal the high level of authoritativeness of the ‘sender’ of the message. The study is both quantitative and qualitative in nature, since giving features and statistics cannot be the exclusive methodology in an analysis that tries to take contextual and interactional elements into account. The availability of computerised corpora has crated the opportunity for enormous progress in various ­ nemonic function’’ is postulated for all medieval texts by Bergner (1992: 174), and indicates m the fact that texts were read aloud rather than privately. 26. There are also some cases, though not exceedingly frequent, in which the audience is addressed by a character in the middle of a scene, with similar communicative intents (instructive, didactic ones) as the Proclamation. These were also included in this part of the analysis. 27. For a more orthodox analogy, i.e. of the Banns as a ‘content table’, see Scherb (2001: 33). 28. This appears to be quite a prominent feature, although Diller (1973: 199ff.) notices that it is rarer than in other cycles that the audience is explicitly included, especially in the relationship between characters and God.

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areas of (historical) linguistics, but it is mainly useful for large-scale surveys on individual forms – here, the focus is on how dialogue dynamics is conveyed in a compact and efficient way at the micro-level, and therefore, although the book does offer frequency counts of some items, its contribution, it is hoped, is on a different level of analysis.

chapter 2

Address between characters

2.1

General remarks

As mentioned in the Introduction, the literature is now quite rich in contributions dealing with direct address in dialogue, produced within sociolinguistic and pragmatic frameworks. Most of these contributions, however, deal with different text-types from those involved here, or with later historical stages, although a comparable analysis on a play is Hunt (2003) on an Anglo-Norman theatrical text. Jucker and Taavitsainen (2003: 8–9) include drama among the most useful sources for historical pragmatics (along with fictional writing, correspondence and trial records) “not because it is a fairly good representation of the speech itself, but because it depicts interactions between different speakers of different social classes and different role relationships towards each other”. To these we can add work done within politeness theory (Brown and Gilman 1960; Brown and Levinson 1987) and analyses carried out, within the same framework or proposing different theoretical orientations, on address in Shakespearean drama (e.g. Brown and Gilman 1989; Kopytko 1993). Recent works such as Walker (2007) and Culpeper and Kytö (fc.) integrate fictional and non-fictional evidence, but concentrate mainly on EModE. These contributions and many others have revealed that the issue of address is particularly interesting, because it stands at the interface between sociolinguistics and pragmatics. Looking at terms of address may tell us something about societal structures, and looking at the way they rose, spread and often disappeared can give us hints about changes in the perception . On the limitations of devising a ‘universal’ theory of politeness, much has been said within Intercultural Pragmatics, and later applied to Diachronic Pragmatics through emphasising the fact that the gap between a modern culture and its older counterpart can be considered similar to the gap between two different cultures. Studies employing a cognitive approach have been trying to overcome the ensuing relativism through the postulation of various categories, such as the notion of ‘frame’ introduced by Escandell-Vidal (1966), which would do without a ‘default politeness value’ and would also deal more efficiently with culture-specific ‘rules’. In our study, this notion cannot be applied easily to the sample, because too little about the context and the hearers’ specific knowledge is known.

20 Interactive Dialogue Sequences in Middle English Drama

of these structures and their reflections on relations, for instance by yielding information about deference and insult routines. Looking at pronouns of address can tell an even subtler story about past communicative events, and the fact that speakers manipulate address in different ways according to different micro-contextual specifications, which have more to do with the pragmatic dynamics of the exchange than with general sociolinguistic parameters. The strictly linguistic story of these pronouns is quite simple: we start with þu as the only second person singular pronoun in OE and we end with generalised you, formally the heir of the second person plural oblique case pronoun, at the end of EModE. In between there are stages in which ye/you starts to be used as singular form of respectful address, and gradually (from the twelfth century onwards) gains ground – possibly out of a negative politeness principle, i.e. “when in doubt as to the social standing of the interlocutor, use the more polite form”. So far the story resembles, at the start, that of other languages with a T/V distinction (e.g. French tu/vous, where the initials conventionally used for this phenomenon come from, but also Italian, Spanish, German and many others), but then it proceeds very quickly (as compared to that of other languages) towards a new situation, with T forms remaining alive but excluded from the standard language. The second person pronoun T/V option is a strong and widely exploited tool to indicate ‘where one stands’ in interaction, although languages like Japanese have developed even more subtle and complex systems of honorific forms of address; standard English has given up that option some time ago, and has in the meantime developed other means to indicate social identity and its acknowledgement in interaction (in the same way as it has developed new ways to overcome the potential ambiguity between singular and plural address, cp. the dialectal/ colloquial youse, y’all, you guys, used as ‘new plurals’, reviewed by Hickey (2003)). At the time when our text was produced, however, and for nearly two hundred years later, the option was still available, and it was exploited in several directions. This includes not only the choice of what is perceived to be the most appropriate pronoun for each interlocutor (a choice that can be analysed according to extra-linguistic variables such as sex, age, etc., and taking into account the socio-pragmatic scales of Power-Solidarity and Distance-Intimacy), but also the . As to the possibie motivations for the survival of this form rather than of nominative ye, motivations which seem to involve salience of vowel perception, see e.g. Lutz (1998). In a later sample than ours, Walker (2007: 268–270) notices that from a certain time onwards ye seems to be considered only the unstressed form of you. . These terms are not uncontroversial, and are not used univocally, as clarified by Spencer-Oatey (1996), who reviews several studies to bring out terminological and conceptual in-



Chapter 2.  Address between characters

possibility to ‘switch’ from V to T and vice versa with the same interlocutor, even within the same exchange. Recently, Relational Pragmatics (Kopytko 1993; 1998) and Interactional Sociolinguistics (as reviewed e.g. by Schiffrin (1994: 97–136); on its application to dramatic dialogue see Spitz (2005)) have shown that this option could be rather regulated by immediate, local rhetoric and pragmatic (i.e. perlocutionary) management needs and by the interlocutors’ interpretation of the context, showing that the pronoun choices are predictable only to a certain extent (Kopytko 1993: 47). Previous research on texts that can be assimilated to the present ones (e.g. the dialogic parts of the Canterbury Tales, henceforth CT, Mazzon (2000); see also Burnley (2003), Honegger (2003), Jucker (2006)) has shown that, at the end of the fourteenth century, there is already a quite frequent use of V as the pronoun of address for a single interlocutor, and there is thus variation between T and V, according to apparently complex and subtle sociolinguistic and pragmatic considerations. This is confirmed by evidence gathered from the sample used for the present chapter. As in other, similar analyses, ‘rules’ of address will take into consideration first the domain of interaction (Paulik Sampson 1979: 62) and the kind of relationship intervening between the characters involved in the exchange (family, peers, superordinate-subordinate), with special attention to cases in which there is a switch in pronominal use while addressing the same interlocutor; then, use in relation with social status, age and gender of the characters will be considered. Thirdly, the specific attitudes, illocutionary intentions and linguistic acts will be taken into account, including ‘face-work’ involved in any strategic speaking taking place, since more recent evidence shows that interactional features may override social categories and parameters (Jucker 2006; Walker 2007). consistencies. In this book, Intimacy is at one end of a horizontal scale and contrasted with Distance, with reference to the personal relationship between two characters; the other scale, Power vs. Solidarity, is ‘vertical’ and refers to considerations of status or their overriding due to temporary and generic ‘common feelings’, or perception that one is ‘on the same level’. ­Spencer-Oatey’s study makes it clear that different cultures (and thus different epochs) often have different scales, as well as different linguistic markers for the positioning of speakers on these scales; research in social psychology suggests that speakers may perceive these scales differently from what assumed. Moreover, the degree to which one speaker has Power over another has now been shown to vary during interaction on several occasions, as will be seen in the next section. . Not much has been discovered yet about the linguistic distribution of such forms; see e.g. Evans (1967) for ample use of singular V in the North-west Midlands in poems like Gawain and the green knight, as opposed to the usage recorded for poems from other regions. Walker (2007: 97–99, 169) maps different uses of T/V in depositions according to region, a task made relatively easier by the background information available for such texts.

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For ­instance, a correlation between pronoun switching and use of specific expressions, such as those of command, and of specific speech acts, such as requests, has been found in other texts (Paulik Sampson 1979: 67) and will be tested on our sample.

2.2 Parameter: Distance vs. Intimacy It is clear that the type of context established in the text, and the domain of religious style in general, should lead us to expect a considerably frequent use of T, which, even after it had become marginal in other styles, remained typical of declamatory styles, where Distance is high and considerations of personal closeness, or Intimacy, are put aside. It is therefore only the more significant that we should find several examples of ‘respectful’ V even within ‘horizontal’ relations, i.e. relations dominated by the personal, and not the social level, which maybe reflects the ‘non-literary’ origin of these texts. Also, it has to be kept in mind that all the parameters mentioned above can be overridden by these domain-determined considerations and other context-dependent elements. When speaking of status, for instance, we must distinguish between institutional rank and local or temporary dominance or power, which is based on context and can be challenged in face-threatening situations (Diamond 1996: 10). This can happen when there is no consensus about the power of a speaker in a conversation. As has been remarked, (Jaworski and Galasin’ki 2000: 37), not for the first time, … the choice of the unmarked variant (in a particular context) indicates the speaker’s intention to preserve the status quo as far as the speaker’s and addressee’s relative positions are concerned, while the choice of a marked form signals the desire to challenge the status quo.

This means that a ‘system’ of address choices must be postulated, and then violations interpreted as possible instances of strategic behaviour. In order to establish what can be considered the predominant way of signalling Distance or Intimacy . In his seminal treatment of this topic, Finkenstaedt (1963: 48–90), who, curiously, does not mention dramatic dialogue at all for ME, claims that an origin of plural address for the singular is quite likely to be found in the spoken language, and that ‘high’ uses such as court language and translations from French do not seem responsible for the innovation, but have possibly contributed to its spread. This hypothesis does not seem to be easy to prove or disprove, although the T/V opposition in Europe started in Vulgar Latin in the early Middle Ages, went on in Romance languages and then spread to some Germanic languages. For English, given the time of the initial appearance of the opposition, an influence from French cannot certainly be ruled out so drastically.



Chapter 2.  Address between characters

we can start by examining the evidence pertaining to different kinds of relation portrayed between characters, and then offer a few remarks on deviant or ‘marked’ cases. As in other, similar studies, we can start from the family domain. V is indeed predominant in the address of wife to husband and of son/ daughter to father/mother, as it was found already in a study on the CT (Mazzon 2003b: 141–143). That investigation revealed that V predominated in fictional husband – wife interaction, and uses of T, although admittedly more numerous in the addressing of husbands to wives than vice versa, were mainly to be attributed to the ‘marked’ character of a specific moment in the exchange. Our present sample does not diverge from those results: husbands address wives with both T and V, while wives tend to use V to address their husbands more often, except in cases such as Pilate’s wife insulting her husband at 31.58ff. There is also apparently an age difference involved: Joachim and Anne, for instance, address each other with V regularly, but interaction between Noah’s sons and their wives, however scant, reveals an asymmetry: husbands tend to give T (1) and receive V (2), except in cases of conflict talk, such as those registered by Mullini (2005: 164–166) in other cycles. This is consistent with findings in other works of a similar kind (for similar results see Mazzon (2003b); on the general discrimination and downplaying of women in drama see below 2.5, and also Herman (1995: 245ff.)). As in the case of some of Shakespeare’s works, the ‘protagonist’ couple, in this case Joseph and Mary, offers more abundant relevant material, and is thus more interesting to observe: Mary is consistent in addressing Joseph with V, while Joseph employs more T, switching to V in the official wedding formula and in other cases; as was already noted in the case of Othello and Desdemona (Mazzon 1992; 2003b: 229), Mary and Joseph have thus different addressing behaviour: Mary uses V to her husband (3) regardless of the tone of the interaction and of the speech act performed (there are only a couple of T, both in well-wishing formulae, at 15.88 and at 34.136; on the tendency of specific pronouns to co-occur with specific formulae see Burnley (2003: 31)), but Joseph alternates T and V according to the situation, especially responding to emotional factors, switching his pronouns out of suspicion and spite when doubting about Mary’s pregnancy in . Forms of address in the examples are underlined. Indications in square brackets refer to numbers of plays and line/s according to Spector’s (1991) edition. The name of the character speaking is also indicated when useful, with Modern English versions of the name employed, for ease of reference (on the fact that characters’ names are mostly in Latin see 6.5), and a loose ‘translation’ into PDE is provided. . Consider that the relationship between Joseph and Mary is particularly ‘humanised’ in this cycle, with social and comic elements being highlighted especially in Play 14, The Trial of Joseph and Mary (Kahrl 1974: 75–76).

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Play 12 (4), out of worry and thoughtful affection in the Nativity Play, Play 15 (5), out of piety when mourning their dead son (Play 34). Terms of address vary accordingly, swete wyff/husbond being the most common affectionate term, with good spowse also frequent: but notice the challenging use of the first name in (4). There is also variation in the exchanges between Adam and Eve, since Eve switches to T after initial V with the formal term of address sere (6), in a context of persuasive discourse (while trying to convince him to eat the apple), and this is followed by reciprocal use of T in all other exchanges except the very last one in the play. (1) and also wyff þe weill a‑wyse / wykkyd werkys þat þou non brede [4.59–60; S = Sem] ‘and also, wife, be you/T very careful that you/T do not perform sinful deeds’ (2) I am Šour wyff and pray þe same [4.83; S = Japhet’s wife] ‘I am your/V wife, and I pray for the same thing’ (3) Goth husbond in oure lordys blyssynge / he mote Šow spede in all Šoure nede... [10.421–2; S = Mary] ‘go, husband, with our Lord’s blessing, may He favour you/V in all your/V needs’ (4) Sey me Mary þis childys fadyr ho is? / I pray þe telle me [12.36–7] ‘tell me, Mary, who is this child’s father, I pray you/T tell me’ (5) Now jentyll wyff be of good myrth / and if Še wyl owght haue telle me what Še think [15.106–7] ‘now, kind wife, be in high spirits, if you/V want something tell me what you/V desire’ (6) lysteneth to me sere I Šow pray / take his ffayr appyl all in Šour hond... þis appyl þou take out of myn hond / a bete þerof þou take [2.127–8, 137–8; S = Eve to Adam] ‘listen to me, sir, I beg you/V, take this nice apple in your/V hand… take you/T this apple from my hand, take you/T a bite of it’

As for parent – child exchanges, both Adam and Noah are addressed with V by their sons (with only one exception), and the interaction between Abraham and lsaac shows clear asymmetry in use, with fathers typically employing T and re. On the character of Eve, her particularly ‘human’ features, and her ‘persuasive speech’ in medieval drama, and even more so in English cycles than in French drama, see Fries (2002). The scholar maintains that the portrayal of Eve in the N.Town plays is however less original and lively than elsewhere.



Chapter 2.  Address between characters

ceiving V, as in (7a) and (7b) – but see 2.5 below for the exceptions to this, and for other comments on the age variable. The most developed relationship of this kind, that between Mary and Jesus, is very complex, continuously oscillating between a ‘normal’ family relation and that between a divine being and the ‘instrument’ of his humanisation: therefore, the kind of asymmetry typical of the interaction of a son with his mother, whose degree of Intimacy varies culture-specifically, is not the typical one here, since Jesus, even when he is a child, is at the same time the embodiment of a higher Power. At the end of the Doctors’ Play (Play 21), Mary scolds her child for making her worry about his prolonged absence, a very familiar scene indeed (8a). To this, Jesus replies by making appeal to his divine nature, saying that he has been doing his duty, i.e. taking care of his Father’s flock and spreading the Truth. Mary’s reply includes an immediate pronoun switch, in acknowledgement of the Distance between them: he will never be an ordinary child (8b). Jesus never fails to address his parents with V (for the one exception see below, 2.5): it can be concluded that respectful address towards parents has V as unmarked choice at the time of the plays, at least in this register. (7) a. b.

Now suete sone fayre fare þi fface / fful hertyly do I love the [5.21–2; S = Abraham] ‘now, sweet son, bless your/T fair face, I do love you/T from my heart’ At Šoure byddynge Šour mouthe I kys... [5.25; S = Isaac] ‘at your/V command I kiss your/V mouth’

(8) a. b.

A dere chylde dere chylde why hast þu þus done? For þe we have had grett sorwe and care [21.257–8] ‘ah, dear child, dear child, why did you/T do this? We were very worried for you/T’ Šoure faderys wyl must nedys be wrought… [21.265] ‘your/V father’s will must absolutely be executed’

As to ‘horizontal’ address between siblings, there are very few cases, which however seem to point to a gender difference, both in single-sex and in mixed exchanges (see also below 2.5): Cain and Abel exchange symmetrical T (9), but the context is that of tension and quarrel; Martha and Magdalene, with no conflict talk, show reciprocal V (10), although the relation is stressed by kinship terms of address, and Lazarus consistently receives V by both sisters (11). They are addressed jointly by Lazarus, so we have unfortunately no example of address from a brother to a sister. (9) Cain: Amongys all folys þat gon on grownd / I holde þat þu be on of þe most… Abel: Now, Caym, brother, þu dost ful ill… [3.92–3, 105]

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‘– Among all the fools that are on earth I think you/T are one of the greatest! – Now, Cain, brother, you/T do really badly’ (10) Martha: Sustyr Magdalyn, com out … / oure maystyr is com, as I Šow say… Magdalene: In hast I folwe Šow anon þe way [25.337–8, 343] ‘– Sister Magdalene, come out… our lord has arrived, as I tell you/V. – Hastily I follow you/V on the way’ (11) A brothir brothir lyfte up Šoure herte! [25.33; Martha to Lazarus] ‘Ah, brother, brother, lift your/V spirits’

Distant relatives (cousins, uncles, etc.), who figure quite prominently in other samples, have hardly any space here; we can notice the exchanges between Elizabeth and Mary, where V is mostly used, as in many dialogues between women (see below 2.5), but the Hail Mary pronounced by Elizabeth sees a switch to T that has probably to do both with the declamatory style and with the ‘holiness’ of the addressee: (12) Whom Še bere in Šoure body, þis verily I ken…// Blyssyd be þu amonge all women / and blyssyd be þe frute off þi wombe also [13.56–59] ‘whom you/V bear in your/V body, this I know truly… blessed be you/T among all women, and blessed be also the fruit of your/T womb’

As regards interaction between non-relatives, we find a rather fragmented picture, no doubt due to the interplay between the Distance parameter and Ranking or status: in dialogues between male characters, V is often used, although some switches are present (a few are analysed in 2.6). It is very difficult to comment on the degree of formality of each situation, given the general declamatory character of the text, and the high significance of some exchanges from the religious point of view (let us not forget that there is an echo of the Bible itself in several of these exchanges – the Latin text would have had T throughout). Notice however that there is partial evidence for asymmetric uses, e.g. the Bishop uses T to a Messenger (13), but the Shepherds use V with Joachim (14): in these cases, the variables of class and age can certainly play a role. This makes it very difficult to isolate any of the variables, and also to explain alternations in use. Joseph, for instance, is initially addressed with V by the Bishop (15a); this address is reciprocal, and cooccurs with the use of the term of address sere, which has been shown to be the increasingly common way to address strangers respectfully, although there is a switch to T shortly afterwards, when Joseph is acknowledged ‘sacred’ status (15b): if this is a criterion, it agrees with the pronoun use with Mary (12), so it can be possibly classified as ‘religious’ usage.



Chapter 2.  Address between characters

(13) herk masangere þou wend þi way [10.138; S = Bishop.] ‘listen, messenger, go you/T’ (14) how de Še mayster Še loke al hevyly [8.137; S = shepherd to Joachim] ‘how are you/V, sir, you/V look quite miserable’ (15) a. b.

Whath joseph why stande Še there by-hynde / i-wys sere Še be to blame [10.233–4] ‘well, Joseph, why do you/V stand there at the back? Really, sir, you/V are to blame’ A mercy mercy mercy lord we crye / þe blyssyd of god we se Art thu [10.257–8] ‘ah, mercy, mercy, lord, we cry, we realise that you/T are God’s chosen one’

Where maximum Distance occurs, in address between peer strangers, the default pronoun seems thus V and the term sere, as shown for instance by the exchanges between ‘knights’ at 34.214ff., by the interaction between Lazarus and the ‘comforters’ at 25.57ff., by the way Senescallus addresses a minstrel at 20.153. Uses of T among adult males always seem charged with marked value. But, as mentioned, parameters interact with each other, and the ‘normal’ relational rules can be overridden when, in spite of the kind of relationship in existence, a speaker wants to emphasise Power or Solidarity values with his/her interlocutors – this variable will be briefly explored in the next section.

2.3

Parameter: Power vs. Solidarity

The plays in our sample aptly represent hierarchies of various types; since they had precise social functions, along with religious functions, they put on stage the dynamics of worldly authority beside those of transcendental authority. As mentioned in the previous section, the parameter of Power or status can be taken into account both keeping in mind institutional rank and examining relative power in interaction, i.e. the kind of dominance that can be achieved in an exchange and that can override institutional rank, for instance in conflict talk. At the other end of the scale, we find the value of Solidarity, i.e. the recognition of a closeness on the ‘vertical’ axis of social or interactional levels, and not on the plane of personal relation, which determines Intimacy. In our sample, the highest form of Power is represented by God; the element of Solidarity can be traced where values of piety, compassion and charity are conveyed (or other kinds of nearness such as that induced by conspiracy), which bring the interactants to be closer to each other and to consider each other as equals.

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Since the issues related to the addressing of God and other supernatural beings are treated separately in the next section, here we will concentrate on the secular element, and show how address is used responding to this parameter between human characters. We will see whether acquiescence and/or rebellion are reflected in the use of pronouns and terms of address, taking into account the expression of what Watts (1989) defines as Volition and Discernment in address (see also below 2.6): the former represents uses which respect the socially agreedupon rules almost automatically, while the latter is a conscious choice to deviate from such rules for communicative purposes, which requires a detachment from “politic behaviour” (Watts 1989: 132–135). Dominance in conversation mainly emerges in conflict talk, i.e. confrontational exchanges or disagreement; but it can be also a feature of routines such as greetings, as well as of ‘second pair parts’, e.g. replies to commands. All these types of exchanges will be examined in detail in Chapter 5, when the face-work involved in conversational pairs will emerge, but we can mention a few factors here. The plays portray the political and clerical structures mentioned in the Gospels adapting them to the context, as was common in this kind of drama, which aimed at instructing and controlling the audience not only in the religious sphere, but also in the secular one. The most powerful characters depicted include Herod and Pilate on the secular hierarchy, Cayphas, Annas and high priests such as Isakar and the Bishop (Episcopus) on the clerical scale. They are endowed with various marks of their powers, including special costumes and elevated positions on stage, but they exercise this power mainly through dialogue. At the other end of the scale there are the shepherds, some servants, a gardener, and the thieves crucified with Jesus. But Ranking in terms of class and social status (that will be examined below at 2.5) interacts with local management of dialogue, and this is the topic of the present section. As mentioned, there is evidence that ‘affective’, ‘marked’ or ‘relevant’ contexts (the adjective chosen will largely depend on the different theoretical frameworks we can work within) have a strong influence on pronoun choice (Freedman 2007; Walker 2007: 292–293). Notice for instance the ‘polite’ exchanges between soldiers at the feet of the Cross (Play 34), where the asymmetry in pronoun use could be explained in terms of relative Power; the two military characters involved do not seem to differ in terms of status: Miles (literally ‘soldier’) is termed ‘knight’ in stage directions (and this is also used as a term of address), but Longinus, who is called by name because the sources have transmitted it, as he is the one who pierced Jesus’ body with a spear, is a centurion. The forms employed in issuing the ‘order’ are especially polite, not typical of a command given to an inferior at this time, yet the pronoun is T, and the obliging reply employs V (16). This choice can be interpreted as a function of the power dynamics, and a con-



Chapter 2.  Address between characters

scious example of polite behaviour (Volition), since at other places military characters are portrayed exchanging T regardless of rank (17), or show symmetrical use anyway, but in a situation similar to (16), V is again a marker of obedience and subservience after the issuing of a command (18). Thus, there does not seem to be one type of ‘marked’ use in connection with speech acts that highlight power dynamics; possibly, here there is interference from the still quite firmly established use of T in deferential address. (16) Soldier: Heyl, Sere Longeys, þu gentyl knyth / Þe I prey now ryth hertyly / Þat þu wyl wend with me ful wyth… Longeus: Sere, at Šoure comaundement with Šow wyl I wende / In what place Še wyl me haue [34.89–94] ‘– Hail, sir Longinus, o you/T noble knight, I pray you/T now from the heart that you/T will come with me – Sir, at your/V command with you/V I come, to the place where you/V want me to be’ (17) First Soldier: All heyl, Pilatt / in þin astat… Pilate: What what…/… why seyst þu þat? [35.265–6, 269–70] ‘– Hail Pilate, in your/T authority… – What? What? Why do you/T say that?’ (18) Syr, att Šoure prayour we wyl abyde [35.237; S = First Soldier to Pilate] ‘Sir, by your/V prayer we will abide’

Solidarity seems to be expressed in the regular exchange of T between the apostles (including Jesus, who is however sometimes acknowledged the status of ‘leader’ also through forms of address): their ‘brotherhood’ leads them to use friendly forms and pronouns (19). Allegiance can also lead to the use of solidarity markers, as in many of the exchanges between Pilate and Annas and Cayphas (20), where however the term of address is still often the formal sere. (19) For joye also I renne with the / my brothyr Johann, as I þe say [36.123–4; S = Peter] ‘For joy I also run with you/T, brother John, as I tell you/T’ (20) Sere we telle þe al togedyr / for his evyl werkys we browth hym hedyr [30.91– 2; S = Annas to Pilate] ‘Sir, we tell you/T all together, for his evil deeds we brought him here’

In fact, the ‘institutional’ and especially formal situations connected with exercising the law are among the scenes that most lend themselves to socio-pragmatic

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analysis. They will be analysed in further detail below (2.6) and in Chapter 5, but first let us turn to observations on ‘special’ forms of address.

2.4 The addressing of ‘special entities’ Studies on pronouns of address in Shakespeare (Mazzon 2002a, Busse 2002b, 2003) and Chaucer (Mazzon 2000: 138, Honegger 2003: 69–78) have shown that fictional dialogue in ME and EModE has specific conventions for some ‘special’ addressees, which very often occurs as (part of) rhetorical figures ‘of pathos’, traditionally defined apostrophe or exclamation already in classical rhetoric. The categories of special address found are: self-speech, addressing of God and other supernatural beings, addressing of external entities and beings (including appeal to the reader/audience, which however in the present work is dealt with in Chapter 6), addressing of inanimate objects (especially treated as animate, or ‘personified’), and addressing of absent characters. The latter case is particularly interesting, because it can show a flouting of the ‘normal’ conventions of address; first of all, this address in absentia includes several cases, i.e. it concerns not only cases in which the character is physically not present on stage, but also those in which the addressee is ‘socially absent’: asleep, dead, or mad (like Hamlet or Lear in some scenes of the relative tragedies, as illustrated in Mazzon (2002a)). In all these cases, the speaker feels under no obligation to abide by the rules of politeness and social conventions, and this is shown clearly in dramatic interaction: the terms and pronouns of address are very often different from those employed in scenes in which the characters interact face-to-face under ‘usual’ circumstances. The majority of the cases belonging to this group that were found in the sample concern the first category mentioned, i.e. the addressing of supernatural entities. This kind of address is often quoted as one of the few cases of survival of thou after the eighteenth century, in this case a highly marked use, a relic of ‘respectful’ T once given very frequently to highly superior interlocutors. Studies on socio-historical linguistics and pragmatics have, since then, shown that such uses vary according to the situation and are not fixed and formulaic, even in early ME (Walker 2007: 191–193). Thus, we first take into consideration God, Satan and Angels. The latter appear at various places to announce God’s will or to direct human behaviour, and thus interact with human characters, who react in different ways to their directives, ask questions, etc.; according to Jucker (2006: 65) “they . On the importance of the law as depicted in the plays, and made more alive by turning the relevant scenes into what could be a medieval English trial (with a local ‘jury’ in Play 14), see Squires (1978).



Chapter 2.  Address between characters

are free of worldly vanities and therefore the deferential pronoun … would be inappropriate”. The prediction, e.g. in Paulik Sampson (1979: 64), is that T will be used reciprocally in this kind of exchange. The plays examined here differ from previous samples in that some of these figures are on stage and speak, and thus they are not simply disembodied entities to be invoked, although the extent to which they actually engage in dialogue as opposed to simply ‘give speeches’, especially in the case of God, varies according to the individual collection (Seaton 1984: 203–205), responding to different dramatic strategies but also to different representations of power, i.e. predominantly metaphysical or predominantly social, portrayed by the difference between enunciation and dialogue. God is addressed with T in the majority of cases, as we would expect given that this use survived much longer after these texts, and yet there are several switches and quite a few cases of variation. Anna and Joachym, for instance, switch several times, even within the same stretch of discourse and with no visible change of attitude or illocutionary intention (declarations of subservience and requests for mercy, as in (21a)–(21b)–(21c)), so the actual reason for these switches is not clear at all. The allegorical character Mercy also employs V when addressing God as ‘father’ (identifying herself as ‘daughter’, 11.75ff.). Another character who switches pronouns in her addressing of God is Mary (which confirms the ‘eccentric’ value of this character ‑ or possibly of this group of plays): she uses V most of the times, but employs T at a number of places, again with little visible differences in tone or intention to account for this variation (21d). The other cases in which God is addressed with V are in Play 41 when His power is at its highest and the awe of the other characters must be shown fully. We would have expected T in such cases, in accordance with the declamatory style of the play. The only, very weak hypothesis that can be ventured is that, given the uncertainty arising from the introduction of a new pronoun form for respectful address, there is initial variation in all domains before they get polarised towards one or the other usage, as it then was for T used to address God; in any case, the trend is very visible: addresses of God are 62 T vs. 23 V. (21) a. b.

What art þou lord – What am I wrecche [8.152; S = Joachym] ‘What are you/T, lord? What am I, poor me?’ With prayorys prostrat – by-fore þi person I wepe / haue mende on oure a-vow – for Šour mech magnyficens / and my lovingest wyff Anne – lord for þi mercy kepe. [8.162–4; S = id] ‘With humble prayers before your/T person I weep. Keep our vow in mind to your/Y high magnificence – and my most beloved wife Anne, o lord, keep safe out of your/T mercy’

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c. d.

Lord sefne petycions I be-seche Šow of here / ffyrst þat I may kepe þi love and þi lawe [9.230-1; S = id] ‘Lord, seven petitions I ask you/V to hear: first, that I may keep your/T love and your/T laws’ Now good lord I pray the, graunt me þis boun / to have of þese cheries and it be Šoure wylle [15.40-1; S = Mary]10 ‘Now, good lord, I pray you/T, grant me this desire, to have some of these cherries, if it is your/V will’

As an addressor, God is unsurprisingly pretty consistent, using T for every other character: he is superior to all and father to all, both very good reasons to use T. There is only one exception: God uses V when addressing his son in the Parliament of Heaven [11.173–5], when they are debating ‘on equal foot’, so to speak, as to which element of the Trinity shall save mankind. The tone is formal, and allegorical characters such as Truth and Justice take part in the debate; the status of Jesus in this case is therefore pretty different from the one he enjoys in other exchanges (although he is explicitly addressed as son twice in the few lines mentioned) and this is probably the explanation for this use of V. It is remarkable that God is never portrayed addressing Jesus at any other place in the collection, nor does he ever address Mary, who is the character that most often invokes Him in the plays. Satan11 is addressed invariably with T by God and Angels alike [1.45, 1.66], and, when he appears as the tempting Snake, exchanges T with Eve [2.87ff., 2.109– 10]. The same holds for his address by other demons and especially by Jesus, in conflicting and insulting discourse. Likewise, Satan and other demoniac characters exchange T and address all others with T, both when luring and coaxing (22a) and when insulting and abusing (22b). (22) a. A A Judas derlyng myn / þu art þe best to me þat evyr was bore / þu xalt be crownyd … [27.466–8; S = Demon] 10. This switch from one line to the next can appear particularly unmotivated. However, it has been argued elsewhere (Mazzon 2003b: 234) that pray tends to correlate with T even at later times (the fixed form prithee appears in Shakespeare in contexts where ‘normal’ address is with Y; a study of this form in EModE is in Walker (2007: 271–276)); moreover, the second part of the utterance indicates obedience and compliance, which tend to trigger V as in (16) and (18). 11. This is quite a prominent character in all cycles, and his speeches show several interesting linguistic features. In this cycle, in particular, demoniac figures show elements also typical of the morality plays (Davenport 1982: 7), and Satan in particular is said to be symbolic of rebellion and of strife within feudal society (Cox 1994–5); his speech is therefore ‘unruly’ and cannot be expected to follow social conventions. He is also made the object of ridicule because of his pride and vanity, later punished in The Fall of Lucifer (Wickham 1981: 196–198).



Chapter 2.  Address between characters

b.

‘Ah ah Judas my dearest, to me you/T are the best that ever was born, you/T will be crowned…’ Satan: Goddys sone if þat þu be / make these stonys bred lett se… Jesus: Thi body doth loue materal brede / withoute þe wurde of god þi soule is but dede [23.88–9, 101–2] ‘– if you/T are the son of God, turn these stones into bread, let’s see! – Your/T body loves material bread, without God’s word your/T soul is but dead’

Angels are addressed with T by most characters (23a), but with V by Anne [8.229], who had been previously addressed with T [8.217ff.], and also often with V by Mary, and by Abraham (23b), who combines this address with the term sere, already mentioned above as a term that is used mostly of ‘distinguished strangers’: it is clear from the context however that Abraham is aware of who the Angel is, and is by no means confused by the sudden apparition. Angels always address all characters with T except Baby Mary (23c), who reciprocates (23d), and this makes this case even the more exceptional. The rest of the interaction between Mary and Angels, especially Gabriel (Play 11), is also rich in pronoun switches (23e) until the final part of the collection: in the Assumption play (Play 41), Mary is always addressed with V by both humans and angels (23f.). (23) a. b. c. d. e. f.

Qwhat art þou in goddys name – þat makyst me a-drad [8.173; S =Joachym] ‘What are you/T, in God’s name, that make me frightened?’ Al redy sere here I am / tell me Šour wyll what þat it be [5.75–6; S = Abraham] ‘Sir, I am here all ready tell me your/V will what it is’ In Šour name Maria – ffyve letterys we han [9.262; S = Angel to Mary 3 years old] ‘In your/V name, Mary, we have five letters’ Good swete Aungel why wole Še sey thus [9.271; S = Mary 3 to Angel] ‘Good sweet Angel, why wish you/V to say that?’ Heyl ful of grace God is with the / amonge all women blyssyd art thu… thow sorwe in Šow hath no place /Šett of joy, lady, Še nede more [11.217–18, 221–2; S = Gabriel ] ‘Hail, full of grace, God is with you/T, among all women blessed are you/ T… though sorrow has no place in you/V yet joy, lady, you/V need more’ Angel: What nedith you lady my name ben desyrand Mary: A yis gracyous aungyl I beseke you requirand [41.125–6]

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‘– What needs you/V, lady, to be wishing [to know] my name? – Ah, yes, gracious angel, I beseech you/V asking’

Other ‘external’ entities that are addressed in the plays are mainly personified abstractions such as Mercy, Veritas (truth), etc. These however behave like real characters, as in Morality plays, and therefore are not considered ‘special’ here (they mostly exchange formal V when they appear in Play 11). As opposed to e.g. Shakespeare’s plays, in which objects and body parts are often addresses of invocations (arm, heart, sword, frailty…), this is pretty rare in the present sample (but see (24a) and (24b), unsurprisingly with T like all such addresses before and after the time of our plays). Also rare is the address of characters that are not present on stage, or dead, with the exception, of course, of the addressing of God. Basically, the few relevant occurrences all concern addressing of Jesus when absent or after his death; these utterances, too, all employ T (again unsurprisingly, as in (25)), except in one case by Mary (26a) and (26b), whose addressing practice is, as we have seen and will further see in the next section, quite ‘eccentric’. (24) a. b.

Fly forth þu fayr dove ouyr þese watyrys wete… [4.248; S = Noah] ‘Fly forth, you/T fair dove, over these wet waters’ … Fals hert, why whylt þu not brest… [29.213; S = Peter, regretting his forsaking Jesus] ‘False heart, why will you/T not burst…?’

(25)

O good lord jesu þat deyst now here on rode… I wolde þe worchep [34.37–9; S = Joseph of Aramanthie] ‘O good lord Jesus, who now die [2nd pers. sg.] here on the cross… I want to worship you/T’

(26) a. b. c.

Alas my babe, my blys my blood / whedyr art þu þus gon fro me? [21. 225–6; S = Mary to absent child Jesus] ‘Alas, my baby, my bliss, my blood where are you/T thus gone from me?’ A Jesu Jesu Jesu Jesu / why xuld Še sofere þis trybulacyon [28.165–6; S = Mary to dead son]12 ‘Ah, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, why do you/V have to suffer such tor-  ture?’ Alas Alas what xal I do [37.18; S = Mary Magdalene] ‘Alas, Alas! What shall I do?’

12. Notice that the N.Town plays are unique in the portraying of Mary’s lamentation over her dead son; there are therefore no immediate parallels to compare this scene with (Scherb 1995– 1996: 485–486).



Chapter 2.  Address between characters

The N.Town cycle is rather peculiar also in that in the Passion plays it has a series of pageants with self-speech serving as a sort of pause between ‘action-packed’ scenes, some soliloquies indicate repentance (e.g. Mary Magdalene and Peter), but the Virgin’s monologue on Christ’s arrest is special because of her transcendent status. In this case, there is more freedom in treating standard motives, even going close to blasphemy, as when she accuses God of not keeping his promises, although this strong passage is followed by prompt re-alignment (Hillman 1997: 47–50). There are hardly any cases of self-address apart from (26c), which is however in the first person, and does not see the self as ‘real’ addressee.

2.5

Variables in address: Age, sex, class

Variation in the use of pronouns and terms of address is often immediately explained through recourse to established categories of sociolinguistics and pragmatics. However, there seem to be differences according to text-type, which sometimes override more established phenomena; for instance, non-literary texts do not seem to show the reciprocal use of T between non-gentry that emerges from the analysis of literary, especially theatrical, genres. The same differences about class-determined usage hold for gender differences, according to results reviewed by Walker (2000: 375–376). In her own research, she found that court records and theatrical texts (both from later times than our sample) show these differences in that T is used much more rarely and in more ‘marked’ circumstances. There seems to be less reciprocity and less predictability in such uses, and while the emphasising of strong emotions is marked by increased use of T, in different types of text (court records include such contexts as accusations and defamations, which show some display of emotions on the witnesses’ part), fictional dialogue tends to mark sociolinguistic roles through address much more consistently. T is used to mark low status, while ‘expressive’ T is more often used by women in drama, although other male-female differences of this kind do not seem so marked in some of the evidence from drama (Walker 2000: 377–382; 2007: 289–291). The variable ‘age’ is also significant, because of the higher respect due to older members of the community. It can be hypothesised that the unmarked choice for older interlocutors was at this time increasingly you, and variable, but also going in the direction of unmarked you, for young adults. For children, on the other hand, unmarked address was still with thou, and switch to you was the indicator of transition towards adulthood (see e.g. the exchanges between a Boy and the archer Lameth, 4.154ff.). This situation started earlier and continued till much later than the period examined here (see for instance Mazzon (2003b: 142–143); Stein (2003: 255–257)). Therefore, the exceptions found in our sample are even more ­significant; there are

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two cases worth discussing – the most striking concerns Mary, who is only three years old when she is presented at the Temple in Play 9. Most of the utterances addressed to her by her parents and the examining Bishop employ V as a pronoun of address, in spite of the fact that they talk to her in warm and affectionate tones, as appropriate towards a child. This is a very strong tendency, although there is not absolute consistency. This blatant deviation from a pragmatic ‘rule’ can only be explained through the exceptionality of the character – Mary is the most revered character in the plays, especially in this particular cycle, and therefore the only possible explanation for this use is that this form of respect is not abandoned even in this circumstance. It is to be noted that even the high priest Isakar, an Angel, and a Minister address Mary mostly with V (27a)–(27c), as if in acknowledgement of her high status in spite of her young age. On the other hand, in play 10, when Mary is thirteen, she tends to be addressed more frequently with T, both by her parents [10.383, 387] and by the Bishop [10.33 on]; it could be hypothesised that this is because, in this play, Mary states that she does not want to take a husband, and in this sense seems to be going against God’s projects about her (28a)–(28c). This possibly ‘humanises’ her in the eyes of her interlocutors, who have to ‘persuade’ her to marry Joseph, and this could bring the Bishop and her parents to take a position of higher dominance; this is perhaps too adventurous a motivation for this pronoun variation – as things stand, however, there is no other to offer. (27) a. b. c.

I-wys dowtere – it is wel seyd / Še answere – and Še were twenty Šere olde. [9.42–3; S = Joachym] ‘Really, daughter, this is well said – you/V answer as if you/V were twenty years old’ whith Šour speche mary I am wel payd / can Še go alone – lett se beth bolde [9.44–5; S = Anne] ‘I am quite happy, Mary, with your/V speech. Can you/V go on your own? Let see, be [2nd pers. pl.] bold’ Com swete mary com – Še haue a gracyous face [9.57; S = Isakar] ‘Come, sweet Mary, come – you/V have a pretty face’

(28) a. b. c.

now mary chylde to þe lawe þou leste / and chese þe a spowse to be þi ffere [10.33–4; S = Bishop] ‘Now, Mary, child, you/T be list to the law and choose yourself/T a spouse to be your/T mate’ Almyghty god he mote þe blysse / and my blyssynge þou haue also [10.383–4; S = Joachym] ‘Almighty God may bless you/T, and my blessing you/T have too’ Now god þe kepe from every mysse [10.387; S = Anne] ‘Now god keep you/T from every mistake’



Chapter 2.  Address between characters

The other obvious exception concerns Play 21, Christ and the Doctors, in which the adolescent Jesus confronts three doctors on doctrinal matters. Contrary to the addressing of Mary, which is consistently V in her childhood episode, that of Jesus varies: the doctors start by treating him in a demeaning tone, stressing his young age in a derisive way (29a) and only later in the play, when they are surprised and awed by his wisdom, they switch to V (29b). However, the age difference is consistently emphasised and later becomes the predominant factor again (29c). So, the status of Jesus is different from that of Mary, and although he gains respectful address during the play, this is not a consistent feature. (29) a. b. c.

Goo hom, lytyl babe, and sytt on þi moderys lappe [21.41; S = First Doctor] ‘Go home, little babe, and sit on your/T mother’s lap!’ Another questyon I aske Šow Šitt / Še seyd… [21.93–4: S = id.] ‘Another question I ask you/V still: you/V said…’ And þiselfe art but a chylde / as it semyth be þi visage [21.155–6; S = id.] ‘And yourself/T are but a child, as is apparent from your/T face’

This difference could be related to the variable of gender, which is also significant in these texts as in other, comparable samples. Various issues connected with the language and gender question have emerged in recent research, and have been dealt with from various theoretical perspectives within sociolinguistics and pragmatics. Naturally, not all of these perspectives are relevant to the present study, and some are not easy to apply because of the scarcity of pertinent occurrences. Tentative results seem to converge with those from other studies, but not necessarily for the same reasons, as text-types differ along several dimensions that can influence the treatment of gender, as will be seen in the observations below. Gender studies claim that fictional dialogue (and male-produced literary contexts in general, which are the overwhelming majority, especially in past ages) adopt deliberate strategies to produce demeaning and discriminatory images of women; these strategies range from failing to provide female characters with their own names and identities (e.g. defining them only as ‘wife of/daughter of ’, etc; this seems to hold also about ‘authentic’ address, as in letters, see Nevala (2003: 149)), to describing them only in very conventional terms, mainly connected to outward appearance (colour of hair, clothes, etc.), to letting them speak rarely and in subdued, acquiescent ways, or through stereotypes.13 The forms of address used 13. Of course, this is more true of periods and cultures in which mysogyny is at its highest, such as the Middle Ages. For similar remarks on Beowulf, see Singh (2005: 96–99), on Arthurian romances see Maggioni (2000), on Chaucer see Cox (1997). The alleged exceptions, such

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to them and by them are thus often abusive: we have already mentioned the tendency to asymmetric exchanges of T/V in couples, only partly compensated by formal, respectful address in more conventional setting, and there is no need to stress the fact that terms used to address (or to refer to) women tend to undergo semantic pejoration quite quickly and to deteriorate in their connotation much further than their male counterparts (Romaine 1999: 92–135).14 In our sample, we find the same frequency of address defined by reference to relationship with a male rather than by a name: in this case, the phenomenon can be due to the fact that these female figures are not mentioned by name in the sources, e.g. in the Bible, but certainly address through relation (þi wyff) or though generic term of address (woman, often with challenging overtones) is predominant even when names are known: this is the case of Eve (30) and, in only one occurrence, of Mary. The latter is the most outstanding case: Mary is always addressed very respectfully in these plays, and Jesus is often also affectionate; here probably the divergent address was meant to emphasise the distance that Jesus’ martyrdom is creating – even Mary cannot fully comprehend her son’s sacrifice (31). Otherwise, even in this collection, which is said to be the least misogynist of the cycles, very few women are gratified by being addressed by their names apart from Mary, with the exception of the professional midwives, who had a certain status in the Middle Ages.15

as the Wife of Bath and the freely-talking ladies in Dunbar’s The Tretis of Tua Mariit Wemen and the Wedo (Barisone 1989), can be easily shown to be only mocking caricatures or bitter invectives against women themselves. There are real exceptions, such as Shakespeare’s Juliet and Desdemona, real independent women who stand up and speak for themselves, and are portrayed as positive characters, but they are indeed exceptions. Of course, this predominantly negative view of women is attributed by feminist studies to the fact that literary production in ME and EModE is mostly by men, although some recent contributions indicate that the role of women in the organisation and production of medieval drama was stronger than hitherto assumed (Higgins 1995: 20; Normington 2001 and 2004). Non-literary evidence shows obviously a partly different picture, giving us portraits of women ‘in charge’, such as (to remain within the time-span of our sample) Margaret Paston, as she emerges from the widely studied family correspondence (Watt 1993: 133–134). In the kind of text analysed here, a misogynist attitude is often said to emerge, especially when men are warned against women, although many female characters also seem to be seen in a positive way, possibly because of the Marian orientation of the collection (Freier 1985: 154–158). 14. Reference to the notorious connotative asymmetries of bachelor-spinster, governor-governess, wizard-witch, master-mistress may suffice here (Graddol and Swann 1989: 113–117). 15. In cycle plays, these characters represent the superfluity of human intervention in the birth of Christ, and are therefore crucial to the Marian cult. Their value is that of witnesses, because they represent secular society, given their professional role (Ryan 2003).



Chapter 2.  Address between characters

(30) Womman þat arte þis mannys wyffe / Why hast þu … [2.211–2; S = God] ‘Woman, that are [2nd pers. sg.] this man’s wife, why have you/T…?’ (31) Mary: A my sovereyn Lord why whylt þu not speke… Jesus: A woman woman beheld þer þi sone [32.141, 145] ‘– Ah, my sovereign Lord, why will you/T not speak? – Ah, woman, woman, behold here your/T son’

In any case, terms of address are very frequently used for women and by women, and not all are terms of abuse: Mary is the only one addressed by lady, but terms of endearment are frequent (suster, wyff, etc.), although the range is restricted as compared to that of other samples, which also portray more ‘secular’ interaction through address (e.g. dame, goodwife, and other terms that separate evidence shows were used for socially ‘middle-range’ females; the former is used a couple of times in the plays, mainly intended as challenging and rude, as when it is used to Mary when she is suspected of illicit sexual behaviour in Play 14). As for pronoun use, studies, as mentioned, tend to stress asymmetries that are created by women using V to a higher extent, both in same-sex speech and in mixed interaction. Some scholars (e.g. Walker 2003: 312) maintain that this trend is consistent also when affective and pragmatic factors intervene, because women would tend to employ the ‘safer’ choice from the point of view of Politeness, to avoid face threatening. This would be consistent with the widespread claim that women tend to be less imposing and confrontational in interaction, a claim based on studies on different kinds of evidence, but contradicted by some very recent studies; for instance, Spitz (2005) found high levels of conflict talk in motherdaughter interaction in modern drama. Our sample partly confirms the claimed asymmetry, as mentioned already in the previous sections. V predominates in dialogue between women (32) and in addressing elderly women, such as Elizabeth (33) or Anna the Prophetess (34). The professional midwives are generally addressed with respectful V, which they reciprocate, and so are Lazarus’ sisters, while the ‘rebellious women’ (the Adulteress,16 Pilate’s wife, Veronica, and the Ancilla who denounces Peter’s betrayal – Noah’s wife, who is given a forceful role in other cycles, appears only marginally in this one) give T and they also receive it, when they challenge a male interlocutor, regardless of status difference and of Distance (35)–(36).

16. According to McMurray Gibson (1993–1994), it is even strange that this character should appear, as it is not present in the other cycles. It may be one more attempt at ‘humanising’ the plays, to show repentance from sin; it certainly is one of the non-misogynist elements in the collection, as it portrays the redemption of a woman while highlighting the hypocrisy of maledominated society (not least in the comic element of her lover fleeing the scene half-naked).

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(32) Now, suster, I beseke you, let vs do oure attendance… [41.348; S = First Virgin] ‘Now, sister, I beseech you/V, let us do our duty’ (33) A cosyn Elizabeth swete modyr what cher / Še grow grett… [13.49–50; S = Mary] ‘Ah, cousin Elizabeth, sweet mother, what cheer! You/V grow big’ (34) Anne prophetes and Še wyst whov… [19.64; S = Simon, reciprocal] ‘Anne prophetess, if you/V knew who…’ (35) Pylat, I charge þe þat þu take hede… [31.58; S = Pilate’s wife]17 ‘Pilate, I order you/T that you/T pay attention...’ (36) Ancilla: A good man mesemyth be þe / þat þu on of hese dyscyplys xulde be… Petrus: Woman þu seyst amys of me / I knowe hym not [29.195–6, 201–2] ‘– Ah, good man, it seems to me by you/T [your appearance] that you/T should be one of his disciples… – Woman, you/T say wrong about me: I do not know him’

The issue of language and gender is however closely linked to power scales, and it may be more a question of powerlessness and low status that determines how a female interlocutor is addressed; there are hardly any women of high social standing in the sample, therefore the factor of ‘class’ will be mostly analysed in relation to males. In this field, the use of pronouns and terms of address seems very similar to that found in Chaucer and in Shakespeare’s plays at a much later date, although of course the ‘classes’ or social levels are not exactly the same.18 We mentioned the characters that are at the extremes of the social scale in 2.3. It must be noted that the high religious ranking of some characters can earn them a more respectful address than they would normally receive, but it must also be recalled that there is an attempt at transporting part of the action to fifteenth-century England, and therefore some of the forms of address may be those expected for the addressee’s social standing. 17. Notice the placating reply with V: Gramercy myn wyf for evyr Še be trewe… [31.74. ‘forgive me, wife, you/V are forever true’]. It is specified in the stage directions that Pilate’s wife arrives on stage ‘like a mad woman’, whence her ‘unruly’ behaviour. She personifies rebellion against the patricarchal order of society, a function which is often entrusted to ‘common’ women in medieval drama (Normington 2004: 78, 120–140). 18. Paulik Sampson’s (1979: 64) classification into ‘‘5. Royal Class, 4. Knight Class, 3. Squire Class, 2. Mediocre Class, 1. Laboring Poor Class’’, based on the CT, can hold to a certain extent for our sample, which however also includes a strong presence of the religious element, both as address of clerical characters and as interaction with supernatural beings.



Chapter 2.  Address between characters

The highest class is of course royalty, and Herod is a worthy representative of it. Contrary to what happens in medieval drama from other European countries, Herod is not represented as a highly refined monarch but is seen as a brutal, arrogant tyrant who is not worthy of respect, but of scorn and even ridicule, possibly as part of the social ‘misrule’ embedded in the plays, or because secular power is seen negatively and associated with the Devil, as opposed to spiritual rule (Skey 1979–1980), and this might have influenced the way he is treated by other characters. Actually, this does not seem to be the case; there is a T that can be addressed to ‘high superiors’ and is often used to royalties, as happens in this collection too (37), but mostly Herod is addressed with V by all other characters except other kings, i.e. his social peers [18.151ff.]. The king himself mostly addresses characters collectively (soldiers, doctors, etc.), but in singular address uses T to inferiors. The other kings portrayed also use T; in addressing them, V is overall predominant, and the fact that it could be considered unmarked in this case is shown also by the ironic use in the address in the mocking words of a Jew (38).19 The addressing of Jesus during his trial and afterwards was not included in the present section, given the fact that it is highly ‘marked’ speech characterised by accusation and insult, leading to a wide predominance of reciprocal T: in terms of Bruti’s (2000) analysis, this would be a choice with ‘markedness reversal’, i.e. a deviation from usage impossible to interpret literally in terms of relevance. (37) Heyl herowde most excyllent kyng / we arn comawndyd to þin presens [30.153–4; S = First Doctor]20 ‘Hail, Herod, most excellent king, we are ordered to your/T presence’ (38) On lofte sere Hoberd now Še be sett / we wyl no lenger with Šow lett [32.206–7; S = Fourth Jew]21 ‘Aloft, Sir Hobard, now you/V are set, we will not longer stop with you/V’

Another character representing secular power and high ranking is Pilate; as an addressor, his behaviour is pretty polite (not politic, in Watts’ (1989) terms, i.e. with Volition predominating over Discernment): he is consistent in using T to inferiors and V to the high clergy (Cayphas and Annas), but he is in turn mostly addressed with T (see ex. (20)), although with titles of respect like Šoure worchep [34.56], and thus with some inconsistency. 19. Independent evidence going in this direction is given by Burnley (2003: 35), who quotes the V form as prescribed in formal letters addressed to the king in the late Middle Ages. 20. Doctors continue with this kind of address; the only switch to V is again in compliance to a command (30.462). 21. Sere Hobard is glossed in Spector’s edition as a ‘term of abuse used as a name’.

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The high clergy mostly exchange V but address Joseph, Mary and Jesus with T in trials. Evidence from court trial records shows that interrogations of accused people are moments in which address with T tends to re-emerge even during the seventeenth century, when it was on its way out from the standard, therefore it is not surprising that is should be so frequent in our texts, even when there is no blatant insult, but there is still the expression of anger or other affective elements (Walker 2003: 330–333; Walker 2007: 80–92). Pronoun alternation is also found in seventeenth-century correspondence (Nevala 2004: 2132) where strong emotions are vented; this may seem an irrelevant piece of evidence here, but letters were not such a private text-type at the time, since they were often read aloud to groups of people, and since address is very important socially and relationally in correspondence. At the lower end of the social scale we find some marginal characters that are mainly addressees and rarely addressors. Unsurprisingly, they are all addressed consistently with T: this holds for messengers, servants, a gardener, and the thieves sentenced to die with Jesus (39)–(40); the shepherds (Play 16) address each other with T but also salute Mary and Baby Jesus with ‘high’ T (41). It is interesting that Jews are often identified as such, rather than through different social terms, as they represent evil in cycle plays, their characters represent doubt and disbelief; in Chapter 5 we will see that many abusive utterances are attributed to them (on anti-semitism in cycle plays see Spector 1979, Enders 1992: 181–182). (39) Artyse, bring me watyr I pray þe [31.155; S = Pilate to servant] ‘Artise, bring me water I pray you/T’ (40) But jentyl gardener I pray to the / if þu hym took out of his graue… [37.33–4; S = Mary Magdalene] ‘But, kind gardner, I pray to you/T if you/T took him out of his grave’ (41) To lowe þe is my delyte / Heyl floure fayr and fre / Lyght from þe Trinité / Heyl blyssyd mote þu be [16.98–101; S = First Shepherd] ‘To love you/T is my delight, hail, fair and free flower, light from the Trinity, Hail! Blessed may you/T be!’

This necessarily fragmented and piecemeal analysis of forms of address has so far brought out, at best, some trends; it will be clear by now that there does not seem to be any single factor controlling the choice of forms of address over other factors. Yet, address does not seem ‘neutral’ at all, as proved also by the frequency of pronoun switching. This socio-pragmatic strategy was already mentioned several times in the previous sections; other studies have proved it to be a very interesting communicative phenomenon to explore, which often appears decisive as



Chapter 2.  Address between characters

c­ ompared to the influence of social categories, e.g. in Jucker (2006); therefore, it will be the object of more detailed analysis in the next section.

2.6 Pronoun switching One of the most interesting aspects of early English address rules is the so-called retractability of pronoun use; if the choice of which pronoun to use with each interlocutor in T/V systems is subject to social factors, the vacillation between T and V in the addressing of the same interlocutor is bound to situational, contextual factors that certainly presuppose a sociolinguistic background, but are directly related to pragmatic, interactional factors. Therefore, pronoun switching is not seen as neutral, and it must be part of a study such as the present one; moreover, it is a quite rare phenomenon among languages with a T/V system, which makes it all the more interesting. The possible meanings of the phenomenon have been explored in a number of studies (Burnley 2003; Mazzon 2003b; Stein 2003), mainly concentrating on literary dialogues, because not many samples from other text-types offer sufficient evidence, but some micro-analyses on more ‘authentic’ text-types, although from a later period, are in Walker (2007). The Distance – Intimacy and the Power – Solidarity scales can be manipulated to lend greater strength to a speech act, and analyses of dialogues from previous stages of English show that this manipulation was often conveyed through pronoun switching. Of course, other language indicators such as terms of address (terms of endearment, official titles, insulting terms) and modal expressions contribute to the conveying of different degrees of positive and negative Politeness, but switch from you to thou and vice versa also appears to carry considerable weight in signalling not only feelings and stance (affection, respect, contempt, coldness), but also relative dominance in interaction. This device can naturally only be effective if the starting point is a set of address rules that are shared within a community: deviation from these rules is then interpreted as communicatively significant precisely because it is a deviation. Instances of such deviation abound in our sample, and an interpretation could be attempted of some such cases, also in terms of the already-mentioned Discernment – Volition dichotomy (Watts 1989: 132–135).22 It is relatively rare that languages develop retractability, or momentary switch, of the pronoun, and therefore such cases cannot be considered casual, and fully deserve a micro-pragmatic study 22. “Any break in the conventions of pronominal address must be taken as a semanticallyloaded signal in every case; the breaking of a norm becomes extreme when the socially lower individual utilizes the linguistic instrument of marked address” (Stein 2003: 254).

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(Jucker and Taavitsainen (2003: 14–15); for a similar phenomenon in Middle High German see Simon (2003: 88–91)). Admittedly, there are some pronoun switches that are not easy to explain; but there do seem to be some trends and correlations between specific interactional contexts and pronoun choices. One, as mentioned, is a complying reply to a request or a command in (8b), (16), (18); a similar case is in Play 27, when the apostles gather for the Last Supper. As already remarked, Jesus is often addressed as one of them in a friendly way, but his status of leader is stressed through terms of address,23 and obedience and compliance can be signalled through pronoun switch.24 In fact, (42b) is an example of something that is not confirmed in other places: requestives are elsewhere accompanied by switch to V rather than the reverse, as in (42c): (42) a. b. c.

All redy Lord is oure ordenanwns / as I hope to Šow plesyng xal be [27.61–2; S = Peter] ‘All ready, Lord, is our ordinance, as I hope shall be pleasing to you/V’ My dere Lord I prey the þe trewth for to telle [27.213; S = id.] ‘My dear Lord, I pray you/T to tell the truth’ All oure hool love how in þe doth growe / O sovereyn lord of most excellens / Helpe vs of Šoure grace whan that… [25.143–5] ‘All our whole love how does it grow in you/T, O sovereign Lord of great est excellence, help us out of your/V grace when that…’

We have already mentioned that accusation leads to use of ‘demeaning’ T, intended to be offensive; there can be a switch to V when the addressee regains consideration and respect (43) but it can be temporary, since there can be a switch back to T to mark the recovering of a more intimate relationship (44), or paying homage. The examples both revolve around Mary’s allegedly ‘illicit’ pregnancy and her subsequent acquittal from the charge. (43) a. Alas Mary what hast þu wrought / I am aschamyd evyn for þi sake [14.202–3; S = Bishop] ‘Alas, Mary, what have you/T done? I am ashamed of you/T’ 23. This phenomenon has been noted about the addressing of God in the CT by Honegger (2003: 70): “it is usually the nominal forms of address that are used to keep up the basic tone of an interaction… while the pronominal forms serve to modify the relationship”. This applies to our sample in cases in which sere is used in confrontational talk and insults, in correspondence with a switch to T, which is not the unmarked pronoun choice with this address term. 24. Notice that both positive and negative politeness can be involved here: the former implies the maximisation of commissive and expressive acts, the latter implies the minimisation of directive acts (Kopytko 1993: 21–22). Forms of address, modality, hedging, etc. all concur to the enactment of these strategies.



Chapter 2.  Address between characters

b.

Now blyssyd virgyne we thank Šow alle / of Šowre good hert and gret pacyens [14.378–9; S = id., after Mary is proved innocent by the ordeal] ‘Now, blessed virgin, we all thank you/V of your/V good heart and great pacience’

(44) a. b. c.

Iwys wyff þu dedyst me wronge / alas I taryed from þe to longe [12.123–4; S = Joseph] ‘Indeed, wife, you/T do me wrong, alas! I was away from you/T for too long’ Mercy I haue seyd al amys / all þat I haue seyd here I forsake / Šoure swete fete now lete me kys [12.183–4; S = id., after the angel’s intervention] ‘Mercy! I have said everything wrong. I here forsake all I have said, your/ V sweet feet let me now kiss’ A mary mary wel þu be / and blyssyd be þe frewte in þe [12.193–4; S = id.] ‘Ah, Mary, Mary, be you/T well, and blessed be the fruit (that is now) in you/T’

This gaining (or re-gaining) respect is shown also by other switches, e.g. in the dialogue between Peter and the Prince; the intervening event is the healing and conversion of the latter – notice the change in terms of address, and notice also that (45b) shows compliance to a piece of instruction, a function in which V is preferred: (45) a. b.

O Peter now pray thy god for me here…[41.426] ‘Oh Peter, pray now your/T God for me’ Gromercy holy fader peter / I schal do as Še me teche her [41.445–6] ‘Gramercy holy father Peter, I shall do as you/V instruct me here’

The same happens when Lucas and Cleophas meet the resurrected Jesus in Play 38; they do not recognise him, but they go from resentful disbelief of his good tidings to approval and agreement, and this is accompanied by a marked switch in address: (46) a. b.

Sey nott so man it may not be /thow thyn ensaumple be sumdele good [38.121–2; S = Cleophas] ‘Say not so, man, it cannot be, although your/T example is somewhat good’ Now trewly sere Šoure wurdys ben good / I haue in Šou ryght grett delight [38.153–4; S = id.] ‘Now truly, sir, your/V words are good, I am very pleased with you/V’

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46 Interactive Dialogue Sequences in Middle English Drama

The latter examples show cases of switching taking place at a certain distance, with intervening action and dialogue modifying the interaction. Cases like (21b) show that pronoun switch can occur within the same utterance; further examples can help explain that in these cases, too, although the utterances can be taken to perform one act of speech, there is a slight difference in orientation that can motivate the switch. In Play 11, Mercy is making a request to God and appealing to Him: in the first part of the utterance the character stresses the ‘father-daughter’ relationship and thus uses V as a marker of respect, while the subsequent appeal to high authority includes a switch to T (47); in the same way a soldier (Miles) replies to King Herod’s command with V, the predominant form of address, here again indicating compliance, but then he emphasises the willingness to comply to such a powerful king’s order, even if it is only to sit down: a strongly marked polite reply that requires ‘high’ T (48). (47) O fadyr of Mercy and God of comforte … // … lete Šoure dowtere Mercy to Šow resorte…And þu seyst endlessly þat mercy þu hast kept for man / Than, mercyable lorde, kepe us bothe to [11.73–5, 83–4; S = Mercy, same turn] ‘Oh Father of Mercy and God of consolation … let your/V doughter Mercy resort to you/V… If you/T say that you/T have kept infinite mercy for man, Then, merciful lord, keep us both’ (48) Lord at Šowre byddynge we take oure sete / with herty wyl obey we the / ther is no lorde of myght so grett [20.159–61; S = First soldier] ‘Lord, at your/V command we take our seats, with heartfelt will we obey you/ T – there is no lord of such great power’

Other reasons that may trigger a switch are the acknowledgement of divine status as in (47), which we see also in (49) (although, as mentioned, the addressing of divine entities alternates, and therefore the professing of religious belief could not be sufficient reason for a switch), or more strictly ‘sociolinguistic’ reasons: in a couple of cases, there seems to be accommodation to the interlocutor’s form of address, as in a re-assessment of the relationship: (49) A gracyous lord had Še ben here / my brother Lazare þis time had lyved…. Šitt now I knowe wythowtyn drede / what thynge of God þat þu do craue / þu xalt spede of þe hyŠ Godhede / whatso þu aske þu xalt it haue [25.289–90, 293–6; S = Martha, same turn] ‘Ah, gracious Lord, had you/V been here, / My brother Lazarus at this time would be alive …Yet now I know, without dread, / What thing of God that you/T do crave, / you/T shall speed of the high Godhead / whatever you/T ask, you/T shall have it’



Chapter 2.  Address between characters

(50) Pilate: Sere Joseph of Baramanthie I graunt þe / with Jesuis body do þin intent [34.57–8] Jos. Ara.: Gramercy Pylat of Šoure jentylnesse / þat Še han grawntyd me my lyst… [34.73–4] Pilate: Sere all Šoure lest Še xal haue / with jesuis body do Šoure intent [34.77– 8] ‘Sir Joseph of Aramanthie, I grant you/T That with Jesus’ body you/T fulfil your/T intent… Gramercy, Pilate, of your/V kindness that you/V have granted me my desire… Sir, all your/V desire you/V shall have, with Jesus’ body fulfill your/V intent’.

The case of (50) is particularly striking: Pilate starts by being condescending, then Joseph’s respectful reply seems to trigger a different choice on Politeness grounds,25 which is emphasised by the fact that lines 34.58 and 34.78 are basically the same, and differ only by the pronoun of address. It is as if Pilate had, so to speak, ‘reconsidered’ the way he addresses Joseph and decided that he deserves a more formal address. Of course this could be mere speculation, yet this occurrence is particularly impressive because of the high degree of repetition between the two utterances and of the fact that, although it is not within the same turn, the switch takes place in the span of a few lines. The idea that this could be ‘casual’, or a mistake or discontinuity on the part of the scribe,26 looks even more farfetched than our hypothesis. In conclusion, although the use of pronouns of address does not seem to be manipulated in such subtle and refined ways as it was shown to be in Shakespeare’s works, there seem to be tendencies and consistencies in the exploiting of the retractability of pronoun use, and the analysis of switching confirms itself as a useful tool in the exploration of the dynamics of fictional dialogue.

25. This claim means, of course, rejecting the idea that address rules are fixed and cannot account for switches, as maintained in Brown and Gilman (1989). As in other studies (Mazzon 1992, 2000, 2003b), I claim their assumption is unsustainable and presupposes a rigidly rational view of pragmatic competence that seems disconfirmed by evidence. 26. It is clear that plays written by different scribes or at different times may show such discontinuity in this and other aspects, especially given the particularly composite and intricate composition of the collection. Therefore, switches in address spanning over different plays, i.e. from one play to another, were not included in the analysis.

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2.7 Conclusions on pronouns and terms of address Our texts, like most medieval and Renaissance dramatic texts, show very careful choices in their use of pronouns, and are very rich in terms of address, including terms of endearment and of contempt (cp. Koskenniemi 1962: 90), although there are not many examples of the latter. Later plays show a wider variety of nominal terms of address, especially in connection with humour and comedy, exploiting many resources such as allusions to human physical or mental deficiencies, vices such as drunkenness or avarice, prejudice against foreigners, women or members of some trades. This holds to a lesser extent for older plays, where the social range of characters is not so wide, and the element of humour, though present, is not allotted such a large place – therefore, these texts are not so interesting as others for the study of insults, for instance, or of courting language. Terms of address are also interesting because they can reveal something about the perception of social roles and scales in the period the text comes from. This holds for honorifics as well as for ‘professional’ terms of address, which have been extensively studied for EModE but less for ME (Salmon 1965; Busse 2003: 201–211). Deeper insight can be gained through the analysis of the co- occurrence between pronouns and terms of address, in order to draw hypotheses about the modulations of indicators of Power – Solidarity and Distance – Intimacy in a given period, and some such comments were offered in the previous pages (for such a study on a later sample see e.g. Busse 2003, while for systematic observations on address in Chaucer see Honegger 2003). Of course, genre and text-type, as well as regional provenance and the training of individual scribes, can play a role in the choice of forms of address, as in all other aspects of language use; the hybrid nature of these texts, based on religious sources and values but immersed in the secular life of the town and of lay people, may have created some of the inconsistencies that were noted, and the richness in alternation. V was becoming more and more widespread, but the religious milieus seem to have been resisting this development in favour of the maintenance of T (Burnley 2003: 36). Possibly for the same reason, we find a frequency of kinship terms of address (fadyr, modyr, suster, brothyr) that is unparalleled in other kinds of source, and since these terms are not always used literally, we may think that they tend to stress the closeness or solidarity between characters in the same way as the vocative Lord(e) tends to stress power, be it secular or religious. The idea of a ‘universal brotherhood’ is thus certainly conveyed, although it must be kept in mind that it is customary in many societies to use kinship terms in this extended way. It must be recalled that the N.Town cycle is one in which the secular aspect is treated most ‘realistically’ (the scare quotes are a must when using this term for



Chapter 2.  Address between characters

medieval texts in general), and the developments in address are reflected sometimes at the margin of pieces of dialogue (one example could be the frequency of the then spreading sere, which as mentioned already tends to co-occur with V consistently). As I hope to have shown, there are indeed scenes in which some effort seems to have been put into portraying plausible dialogue, but the literary refinements of Chaucer and Shakespeare do not surface in these texts. There is no way to hypothesise, as has been done for seventeenth-century theatregoers, how these dialogues would have sounded to a fifteenth-century audience. Probably some uses of V in exchanges between socially unequal characters would have sounded very plausible, and appropriate, but the use of ‘religious T’ and of ‘declamatory T’ would probably not have jarred to their ears either. This is an important factor, as the ultimate aim of the plays was certainly not that of portraying relations between characters and exploring the depths of human feelings,27 as it will be for Shakespeare’s plays, and even the entertainment of the audience was only a secondary goal as compared to the didactic aims; the really important relation portrayed is that between God and man, and although this can be represented through means that could be understood by all viewers, and through well-known ‘stories’, it is communication with the audience concerning a religious message that is the most important aspect. This leads to the creation of separate ‘narrating’ characters and to the staging of long monologues directly addressing the audience in various ways, which will be explored in Chapter 6. Forms of address are, however, only one of the elements (admittedly, one of the most visible and easily analysable, given the amount of previous research available) in the study of the dynamics of dialogue; in the next chapters we will be examining other, possibly less immediately apparent means of modifying interaction.

27. As observed by Diller (1973: 289ff.), the expression of the individual’s feelings does occur in the cycles to a wider extent than, e.g., in liturgical drama, but it often takes the shape of lamentation or prayer, and is only rarely ‘dialogic’ as it will become in later drama.

49

chapter 3

Modality

3.1

Relevance of modality markers

Modality markers are another feature of particular relevance to the study of dialogue, since they are used as reflections of pragmatic stance; their use permits speakers and hearers to go beyond the propositional meaning of an utterance, adding illocutionary and performative elements. Given their centrality to all levels of language use and in all text-types, the presence of modality markers in our ‘fictional dialogue’ sample will also be analysed as a significant indicator of ‘interactivity’. It is obvious, even at a first reading, that modality is a key features of our texts. The main semantico-pragmatic nuclei that can be indicated as macroacts here are: truth claims, which are employed to lend authority to what is said, and deontic forms, which emphasise the binding value of God’s commandments and the absolute obligation for man to conform to God’s will. Both these nuclei are of course vital in any didactic text dealing with religious topics, but it might be interesting to draw a comparison between these texts and religious treatises, for example, which are communicative acts that have similar aims but are carried out in totally different contexts, such as private reading, and have quite a different ‘audience’. This is hardly the appropriate place for a thorough review of studies on the notion of modality and of the various forms that the notion can take in the English language both past and present. Quite apart from scholarly work concerning the evolution of modal verbs and other forms, research has concentrated on the semantic and pragmatic values of modality when employed in different contexts. Some of this work is on contemporary English, and will be quoted in what follows for comparison, but there is increasing interest in the diachronic development of . As will be seen, this means including in the category much more than is considered ‘modal’ by many scholars; we refer here to a wider concept of modality that sees it as a fundamental characteristics of interaction and an essential component of the relations encoded through verbal means. Cp. for instance Douay (2003), although the model developed there is not used in the present work.

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such forms and in trying to formulate hypotheses about the value they had in past stages of the language. This of course holds not only for modal verbs but also for other markers (for an overview of the forms in question see below 3.2), and it has been in fact a recent result of analyses comparable to the present one (e.g. Mazzon 2003a) that the inventory and range of the forms conveying modality in Middle English is impressively wide. The inclusion of all these forms within modality markers is not uncontroversial, but a wider view is preferred here, as mentioned in 3.2 below. This requires, in turn, more comprehensive accounts of the notion of modality and of what it involves within texts, and in dialogue in particular. As emphasised by Papafragou (1998b), the traditional analysis of English modals is fraught with problems and fails to capture some important aspects of modality: an approach that does not take pragmatic elements into account, alongside the seemingly inherent polysemy of modals, fails to capture the context-based interpretation which often appears inescapable. In Papafragou’s definition (1998b: 249; for a contrary view see Traugott (2003)), “modal verbs are context-dependent expressions, in that their linguistic content radically under-determines the overall meaning communicated by their uses”. The same, to a certain extent, can be said about the other modal forms taken into consideration in the present work. There is of course the possibility of considering such uses within Speech Act theory, and this perspective will turn out to be useful, also in the next chapter. Modal verbs encode different degrees of illocutionary strength, according to this model, and can in turn modify the strength of performatives and of speech acts in general. But it is not only modal verbs proper that can be considered within this approach: speech-act theorists have variously considered within their range many types of non-truth-conditional expressions, including “mood indicators” and “various types of illocutionary or attitudinal adverbials” (Wharton 2003: 52). These can indicate stance, and orient the hearer in decoding speech acts felicitously (Holmes 1984) and in increasing our understanding of the whole communicative situation through the property of indexicality, i.e. the ability to indicate elements of time and space as well as social identity, social act, activity, affective or epistemic stance. This allows the development of an understanding that goes beyond interpretation of the utterances themselves, which exploits the property of reflexivity, i.e. the ability of language to talk about itself, to comment on interaction in order to better orientate hearers (Aijmer and Simon-Vandenbergen 2004: 1783–1784); for this reason, an approach to modality markers that takes into account their ‘rhetorical’ value and their dialogic functions is increasingly called for (Simon-Vandenbergen and Aijmer 2007: 4)).

. On modal forms as a not univocally defined set see Turnbull and Saxton (1997).



3.2

Chapter 3.  Modality

Types of modality markers sampled

As mentioned, the texts analysed are very dense in modality marking, and are very rich in central modals as well as in peripheral modal verbal expressions and in non-verbal modal lexical elements. The analysis of this area was carried out following the framework outlined for the nation-wide research project on modality in ME and EModE carried out by several research units in Italian universities over the past years, which concentrated on the outlining of semanticpragmatic nuclei of meaning expressed by modal forms and of the changes these nuclei underwent over time. The items selected were classified according to Gotti and Dossena (2001), and keeping in mind a previous study carried out within the Italian research project (Mazzon 2003a), without neglecting, of course, the obvious differences: the sample in that study covered a wider time span, although its latter part overlaps with the time of production of the N.Town plays, and the types of text and the language involved are quite different. In spite of this, the basic classification and some of the observations in that work can be useful for the present chapter. Again, and maybe less surprisingly than for the ‘bureaucratic’ texts examined in the previously mentioned study, it must be noted that the range of different forms used to express modality is very high, and variation in their use quite frequent. Some items are used rather rarely, or their occurrences tend to cluster in some specific parts of the collection, which indicates further the inequality of style of the sample. There are, however, some visible trends: shall (mostly in the form xal) is by far the most frequent among the forms that we now call ‘central modals’, but the others (will, can, must, would, should, may and might) are also present – more detailed figures are given in Section 3.3 below, which also deals with the ‘marginal modals’, let, dare, mow, mot, need; these indicate deontic modality, with the exception of expressions like me thynkith (e.g. at 3.116), and besides those mentioned include durste, is lefful, be bounde, impersonal owe, be due, and others; they express various degrees of obligation, permission, necessity. There are also some expressions of volition such as wole (as a main verb) and haue levyr (‘prefer’). Very rare are ought, lyst, behovith and other semi-modal forms, but periphrastic modal forms like be to, be able to, haue nede, haue bettyr, etc., are also occasionally employed. More abundant are other modal forms (analysed in 3.4.1 and 3.4.2) that employ nouns, adjectives, adverbs, and longer expressions, mainly non-verbal, . Throughout this chapter, modern forms are given in capitals when reference is made to a modal form in general – actual spellings and individual forms found in the sample are given in low case italics.

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which include truth-binding lexemes and constructions like sekyrly, sole, sothly, i-wis, sertayn, maybe, semith me, for sothe, and the pair trewe – fals (or wychid), mostly used with reference to degrees of adherence or non-adherence to religious dictates, the expressions of volition wil (n.), hertily, me lyketh, wold ffain, be loth, and the deontic nedful, compellyd and the imperative form loke (that) þou F ‘make sure you do X, do X absolutely’. Further, structurally more complex expressions include those in (1a)–(1e).

(1) a. it were well bettyr euer to be unborn / than ffor to forfetyn evyr more in

b. c. d. e.

þat synne. [4.236–7] ‘it were much better never to be born, than to suffer ever more in that in’ Wyff it is fful necessary þis Še knowe [10.409] ‘Wife, it is very necessary for you to know this’ they haue gret doute þe trewth to telle / of cryst jhesu whath he xulde be [0.271–2] ‘They are in great doubt, to tell the truth, about Jesus Christ, what he might be’ A thef þei saue with herty wylle / þat Callid is barrabas [0.384–5] ‘A thief they save with enthusiasm, who is called Barabbas’ þe soule goth þan to þe graue – and by ryth gret vertu [0.427] ‘The soul then goes to the grave, and by right great virtue’

These will be mentioned again in this chapter and in the next, given their importance in signalling stance. In fact, studies on EModE (e.g. Biber 2004) emphasise that the so-called ‘peripheral modals’, as well as these modal expressions, have been acquiring increasing frequency and importance over time, even at the expense of the central modals. Furthermore, other studies (e.g. Pelyvás 2001) emphasise the similarity in the development of epistemicity and grounding motivation between the central modals and verbs like allow, appear or adverbs like possibly. For all these reasons, the inventory of the forms included is quite large. Finally, it was decided to include interjections in this chapter (3.4.3), since these often have communicative functions that overlap with those of modal forms, and contribute to the interactive and dialogic density of the text. Some of the expressions found enter the same kinds of constructions in which they are found in PDE, while some have partly changed their morpho-syntactic outlook. More importantly, we should ascertain whether it is possible to reconstruct their semantic-pragmatic values and to compare them with those they acquire at later times. Also, it is interesting to notice how modal forms collocate between themselves and with other elements that could modifiy their strength, or whose strength they could in turn modify. In this respect, the topic of this chapter borders on that of the next, in that modality often expresses the ­illocutionary force



Chapter 3.  Modality

of a speech act, and this force can be modified (i.e. strengthened or mitigated, boosted or attenuated) by the occurrence of modal and other items, sometimes with quite important consequences on the act itself. This is clearly expressed, in PDE, by the use of the conditional mood in requests, which corresponds to a degree of illocutionary strength more compatible with politeness rules and minimisation of face-threatening potential in directive acts, since it is associated with indirectness. On modification of illocutionary force in PDE, see e.g. Holmes (1984); some of the ‘boosters’ and ‘attentuating devices’ mentioned in that contribution are already found in our sample, and it will be interesting to verify, in this chapter and in the next, whether they seem to have the same value as today. Notice that the effects on face-work of the use of a modal form appear to be partly dependent on the act performed, e.g. the contrast, in politeness terms, between I certainly agree and I certainly disagree shows that the adverb has different consequences on the interlocutor’s face (Turnbull and Saxton 1997: 153). This contributes to making the analysis quite difficult. One well-studied example of an issue that bridges over the two chapters is the hedging of performatives, which refers to a form of mitigation of overt speech act markers. The seminal contribution on this topic is Fraser (1975), where the combination between modal forms and performative verbs gives rise to a distinction between strongly performative utterances (in which the kind of act performed is not subject to doubt) and weakly performative utterances (in which the status of the performative is dubious, and sometimes even the grammaticality of the utterance can be questioned); compare, for instance, (2a) with (2b). (2) a. I can promise you that we will be there on time. b. I have to promise you that we will be there on time.

In both cases, it is the co-occurrence of the performative verb with the modal verb that determines the different statuses of the performativity (Fraser 1975: 188). Notice that the strategies used for strengthening and for mitigation are similar, although mitigation seems more frequent in actual conversation, as shown by the fact that there are many more strategies to convey mitigation linguistically (Caffi 1999). This is not necessarily the case in our sample, where reinforcement is very common. The close relationship between modal forms and speech acts has brought some scholars to hypothesise a ‘speech act modality’ quite separated from the traditional categories. Papafragou (2000b) discusses these hypotheses, noticing the meta-discoursive value that modal forms can take on, a value that is interpreted within conversation dynamics and not with reference to general categories, i.e. within the conversational universe (with some degree of idiomaticity) and not

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with reference to the world in general. The problem is not to be discounted within the present research, because it is often difficult to establish a fixed value for any form, as will be seen below, and ‘uncertain’ cases abound: elements that are interpreted conversationally are bound to elude the modern observer. The positing of a ‘speech-act modality’, which according to its proponents (Sweetser 1990) reduces the ambiguity and polysemy generated by the proliferating of root and epistemic meanings of most modal verbs, also creates the impossibility to assign values to modal elements – especially when combined with performatives, and especially when the researcher does not belong to the same speech community. According to Papafragou (2000b: 535) one could limit oneself to speaking of interpretive/ metalinguistic uses of modality, without necessarily questioning the basic typology of the modals, and this line will be followed here. The status of modal constructions other than verbs is often ambiguous, except for those that have come to be used as suppletive forms for central modals. As pointed out by Tucker (2001: 183), “[d]espite the recognition of secondary ‘modal’ resources, such as modal adjectives and adverbs, there has been relatively little discussion on the full extent of their contribution to the expression of modal meaning in general”. Adjectives and adverbs used in modal constructions, moreover, do not have the same ‘weight’, do not enter the same syntactic patterns, and do not show the same properties. For instance, there are differences concerning the focalization of modality, in that e.g. epistemic adverbs do not seem to allow negation (a focalization device) to the same extent as corresponding adjectives do, and this asymmetry holds for contrastive constructions and questions as well (Nuyts 2000: 107, 109–110).

3.3

Modal verbs

The texts in our sample are, as mentioned, quite rich in occurrences of the socalled central modals; since the use of these verbs has changed over the centuries, the aim of this section is to look at the forms and functions found and to assess them against what we know about their historical development. It is well known that PDE modals developed from old preterite-present verbs (with the exception of will), although there is some disagreement as to when and how their present meanings and uses came into being. The controversy was started prominently by Lightfoot (1979), who argued for an abrupt reanalysis (around the beginning of the sixteenth century) of the former full verbs into ­auxiliaries,

. Compare e.g. It is improbable that John is here with *John is improbably here.



Chapter 3.  Modality

within a generative framework. This view has been criticised in various ways by authors belonging to different schools (e.g. Warner 1993), as it seems to be contradicted by other evidence. It is a fact that, when these verbs became auxiliaries, they did not immediately lose all the shades of meaning they formerly possessed, but the acquisition of their grammatical functions has been an object of debate for decades (some of the early arguments are summed up in Goossens (1987); see also Fischer (1992: 262ff.; 2003)). Beside the most obvious issues concerning the precise timing and the processes involved in such a transition, there are also complicating elements, such as the fact that the grammaticalization process seems to have affected the various forms involved at different paces and in different ways; these differences also concern those forms that are etymologically related and were forms of the same verb, but have later developed diverging grammatical roles, such as shall – should (Goossens 1987: 132–136), which incidentally also seem the first to have undergone grammaticalisation. The same asymmetry is found between can and could, which started in ME, more or less at the same time when the primary meaning ‘know’ became secondary, and the meaning ‘to be able to’ became more important. Still in ME, could started to develop a ‘hypothetical’ meaning, while it is only in EModE that the epistemic meaning of can indicating ‘possibility’, now predominant, started to develop (Andrews 1993). Most studies agree on the progressive ‘subjectification’ of the semantics and pragmatics of these forms; therefore, with root modal uses (including deontic, dynamic or, as they are sometimes called with an over-arching term, agent-oriented forms) seem to precede in time both epistemic uses and those indicating stance, or speaker-oriented forms. The uses found in our sample are briefly reviewed below, in order to see whether these texts, produced right before the period indicated by Lightfoot as critical for the establishment of the modern situation, give us any indication as to these developments, keeping in mind that the verbal actions portrayed in drama are different from those prominent in correspondence or in other text-types that are the object of recent research. The occurrences sampled should thus represent a sort of intermediate stage, which is already rather close to the modern situation but shows other uses that have declined since then (cp. the chronology of related phenomena reported by Plank (1984)). First of all, a look at raw frequency figures (Table 1) tells us about a situation rather different form today’s: the frequency of shall is by far higher than that of any other item in this group, while the same does not hold for ­Modern . Partly disagreeing with Traugott (1989) is Ziegeler (2003). . A study on such forms in German is Gamon (1993).

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English, where shall has a reduced range of uses and a much lower frequency (Hoye 1997: 120). can is much less frequent than may, which also shows a much larger range of shades of meaning than can. The past tense forms of both appear quite rarely, but this is not surprising given the interactive and ‘immediate’ nature of the texts. should and would also occur quite frequently, but not all their uses overlap with the present ones, while must is not uncommon, but only in its deontic uses, not in the contemporary epistemic meanings. Table 1.  Raw numbers of occurrences of ‘central’ modals in the N.Town plays. will would shall should mot must

  334  122 1163  199    42  127

may might can could

348   50 106  11

The modal shall is already found mainly as a marker of future tense; it very often has a shade of obligation (3)–(5) with different degrees of strength. Notice that the function is often that of a predictive future, and this makes it difficult to separate ‘simple’ futurity from obligation, since in many cases this projection into the future indicates what will happen according to God’s will. It is a kind of ‘prophetic’ future (6) that gives the idea of inevitability and necessity even in cases where there are no other indicators of these values (Gotti 2005: 209); the intermingling of these concepts with that of futurity was traced also in much earlier documents closely connected to religious themes (Küppers 1996: 78–83).

. Scholars claiming that the early frequency of shall is mainly due to the influence of biblical language, which can certainly be a factor here, also claim that will became more common, to indicate futurity, in everyday language, and thus in dramatic dialogue (e.g. Fridén (1948) quoted in Gotti (2003: 113)): clearly this is not, or not yet, the case in our sample. Other studies (e.g. Nurmi 2003) suggest gender differences in the choice of will/shall, but this kind of analysis could not be carried out on our texts. . The most common spelling is xal (xall, xalle), which is one of the marks of the East Anglian origin of the texts (Spector 1991: xxxvi), but schall is also found, especially in Play 41, written by Scribe D. Xul is only used for the plural, but in some cases of plural the form xaln (or just xal) is employed. . This predictive function was shortly afterwards taken up by will in common language, while the prophetic one, given the frequent reference to the language of the Bible, retained shall somewhat longer (Gotti 2003: 157, 161; 2005: 196–197).



Chapter 3.  Modality

(3) Še must delve and I xal spynne [2.333; S = Eve to Adam] ‘You must dig and I will have to spin’ (4) God xal þat ordeyn, þat sytt in heuyne [5.129; S = Abraham] ‘God shall command that, who sits in heaven’ (5) Systerys, Še may go do what Še xall [9b.227; S = Mary] ‘Sisters, you may go and do what you have to’ (6) Here body xal be so fulfylt with blys… [11.211; S = Holy Spirit, about Mary’s ascension] ‘Her body will be so filled with bliss…’

On the other hand, shall can also indicate intention, a value that was later totally entrusted to will (but notice that shall was used in promises still in EModE, possibly because of its ‘binding’ overtone; Gotti (2003: 159); see also Alonso-Almeida and Cabrera-Abreu (2002)), and is also found in proposals and in questions of the type ‘What shall we do?’, one of the uses it still retains today (7). Regarding the expression of intention (8), notice that this can also be authorial, directed at the audience (9); it must also be remarked that this is the only modal that occurs in stage directions (10), where it mostly has a ‘prescriptive’ value concerning the actions that are to take place on stage. Beside different degrees of speaker binding and obligation, we notice a handful of ‘polite’ uses in complying with requests and commands (11), and a few indicating permission (12). (7) Now alas whedyr xal I gone [12.118; S = Joseph] ‘Now, alas, where shall I go?’ (8) and of his appyl I xal a-say / to make hym to Ete … [2.123–4; S = Eve] ‘And (some) of this apple I will try to make him eat’ (9) we xal Šow shewe / as þat we kan / how þat his werd ffyrst be-gan... [0.10–13] ‘We will show you as much as we are able to, how this world first began…’ (10) And Þe Herowdys scafald xal vnclose shewyng Herowdys in astat, all þe Jewys kenlyng… [30.152a; the reference is to the line immediately preceding; directions are in italics as in editions] ‘And Herod’s scaffold will disclose, showing Herod in his majesty, all the Jews kneeling down…’ (11) at þi byddyng I xal here calle [25.321] ‘At your command I shall call her’

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(12) And I Mercy fro þis counsel wole not fle / tyl Wysdam hath seyd I xal ses [11.133–4] ‘And I, Mercy, do not wish to go away from this council until wisdom says I must stop’

Judging from these uses, and also from structural factors such as occurrence with ellipsis of the main V as in (5),10 we can agree with Gotti (2005) that shall shows an advanced degree of grammaticalisation at this time. will,11 conversely, does not appear so advanced as shall, mainly because it can still occur as a main V (see below 3.4), but also because the majority of occurrences indicate volition or intention, or resolution, as indicated by the frequent occurrence of now to indicate this projection towards immediacy and futurity (13)–(16) (see Fischer 1992: 264); this is very explicit when the form refers to God’s will or in fixed formulae, as in Joseph and Mary’s wedding. Volition seems expressed also when the verb is in the negative, or as an overtone in ‘polite’ uses, e.g. to indicate an offer (equivalent to modern would like), as in (17)–(18). (13) I cam not there ful many a day / þerfore thedyr now wyl I gon [25.215–6; S = Jesus] ‘I did not go there for many, many days; therefore now I will go there’ (14) I wyll obey ful hertyly / to allthyng þat Še bydde me [5.111–2; S = Isaac to Abraham] ‘I will obey very willingly to anything that you demand from me’ (15) þerfore a newe masangere I wyll forth now sende [4.247; S = Noah] ‘Therefore now I will send forth another messenger’ (16) Now wole I begynne my werke to make [1.29; S = God] ‘Now I intend to begin my work’ (17) Gold or sylvyr I wyl not forsake… [14.160] ‘I do not wish to forsake gold or silver…’ (18) if þu wylt knele down to þe grownde [23.179; S = Sathan] ‘If you will kneel down on the ground’

Anyway there are also cases in which the function of will seems mainly that of conveying a simple future of the predictive type that will later become prominent for this form (19a–b): 10. On the importance of VP ellipsis in the diagnostics of auxiliarisation in ME see e.g. Gergel (2004). 11. Mainly in the forms wyl, wyll, wol, wolle. Wyllen/wollen are cumulated together, as was done in Mazzon (2003a), because they show the same uses, structures and meanings.



Chapter 3.  Modality

(19) a. b.

of sacerdotale lynage, …/ flessch and blood to take God wyll be born [7.13–4; S = Isaiah] ‘From sacerdotal lineage, … God will be born to take on flesch and blood’ … þat God wyll of a maydyn be born [7.66; S = Asa] ‘… that God will be born of a virgin’

It is no coincidence that some of these examples come from the speech of prophets; thus, a meaning that will later prevail is still rare in our texts, and uses which retain conspicuous traces of the former meaning of the verb are still the most common, and will be for some time; to some extent, in EModE the use of will to indicate volition and intention is still common (Gotti 2003: 157–159)). It must be noted however that these changes also seem to proceed at different rates according to whether the auxiliary is used in the first, second or third person – today, contrary to what happens in previous stages, the strongest dynamic modality is expressed in the third person (Hoye 1997: 117). This factor, which of course also involves shall, was not counted in the present work, but remarks on a wider corpus of ME are in Arnovick (1990); that work also highlights the predominance of deontic modality over epistemic modality in the expression of futurity (Arnovick 1990: 169), a statement that can be subscribed in spite of the value of ‘simple’ future that can be assigned to many occurrences of shall. The second item in order of frequency is may; the main meanings are those of possibility (20), ability (21), and permission (22a)–(22b); recall that, in the case of this verb, the epistemic reading seems to precede the deontic one, which however starts to develop quite early (Papafragou 2000a: 148). Therefore, may appears in a position not very different from today’s, in that it is used to express different types of modality. With epistemic possibility and permission as the most frequent values (Hoye 1997: 94). This includes special uses like those in rhetorical questions (23), those in wishing and ‘polite’ formulae (24a)–(24b), and the reinforced type may well (25), although only in very few cases, and not so obviously specialised with a concessive value yet. (20) It is not trewe, it may nevyr be. [15.242] ‘It is not true, it could never be’ (21) From me no whyht may hym hyde [20.251] ‘From me, no man can hide him(self)’ (22) a. My mowthe Še may kys… [12.187] ‘You may kiss my mouth’

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b.

to save vs from myschyff God I here besech / onto his joyis þat we may rech [18.232–3] ‘To save ourselves from mischief, God I here pray, that we may have access to his joys’

(23) so feythffull a frend were mayst þu fynde? [38.341] ‘Where could you find such a faithful friend?’ (24) a. b.

þat Šoure good fame may leste longe [10.349] ‘May your good fame last long!’ here myschevys amende may þi mech might [11.28] ‘May your high power amend her evil deeds’

(25) Be my trewth al may wel be [14.90] ‘Honestly, this might well be the case’

The occurrences of can are distributed consistently with the findings of Andrews (1993): about 80 cases concern (in)ability or (in)capacity (26), and about (25) involve possibility (27a)–(27b), the meaning that emerges later.12 (26) Fadyr, fyre and wood here is plenté / But I kan se no sacrifice [5.125–6] ‘Father, there is plenty of fire and wood here, but I can see no offerings (i.e. animals to sacrifice)’ (27) a. b.

Comforte of hym we kan non gete [25.54] ‘From him we can get no comfort’ Deth to no wyht can be a frende [25.277] ‘Death can be a friend of no person’

As to the strength of modality in these cases, it must be pointed out again that it does by no means appear clear and straightforward from a modern perspective. The comparison with modern utterances does not always help, nor can much more be gleaned by the apparently helpful cases in which these two modals are juxtaposed in the text: (28) with all þe mekenesse þat I kan or may / this lombe xal I offer [3.67–8; S = Abel] ‘with all the meekness I am capable of / with all the possible meekness I will offer this lamb’ (29) with all þe lowlyness we may or kan / to þe we pray [39.84–5] ‘With all the humbleness that we are capable of / with all the possible humbleness we pray to you’ 12. Notice the ‘polite’ use sere I kan þe thank [26.277; ‘sir, I can thank you’], which however was only traceable in a couple of occurrences.



Chapter 3.  Modality

The two modals appear to express ability or capability in (28), and the same can be said of (29); this would then be an emphatic reduplication, but it seems risky to exclude ‘possibility’ altogether, and this is why both alternatives where given in the modernised paraphrases. What can be stated is that may is used, though rarely, with deontic modality (‘permission’), while today can also shares that meaning, that dynamic modality (‘ability’) is predominant, but that the epistemic value of indicating ‘possibility’ has already emerged for both forms – it must be noticed that even today can does not occur mainly with epistemic value, especially when in combination with adverbs, as contrasted with the ‘inherently epistemic’ may (Hoye 1997: 85–86). It is also interesting that, according to at least one study, the meanings of the two forms only rarely overlap in PDE (Hoye 1997: 95).13 There is another form which partly shares the field of these uses, i.e. mot. This form originally refers to ‘having the power, having the opportunity to’ (Fischer 2003) but its connection with deontic meanings, especially in relation with ‘permission’, in turn derived from ‘ability’ (Traugott and Dasher 2002: 123–124), developed mainly in the past tense must; the beginning of its decline can be seen in the fact that this is the only form in the text where the original past tense is more frequent, and has completely lost its tense reference. Moreover, only one fifth of the occurrences of mot can be said to signal obligation, while the other uses overlap with may (30)–(31), especially in expressing a wish, whence its occasional use to express futurity in ME (Fischer 1992: 264; Küppers 1996: 36–40). (30) God mote Šow kepe in Šoure journay [5.52] ‘May God protect you on your journey!’ (31) Now blissid mot she be [41.24] ‘Now may she be blessed’

The development of the past tense forms of the modals has generally gone in the direction of present-tense and counterfactual uses and away from past tense reference proper (Bybee 1995). This development starts in ME, and we find it in our sample; of the 122 occurrences of would (wold, woldyst, wolde etc.), only about 20 have time past reference (32) (note that in the particular example reported there could even be a shade of habitual meaning, of the kind that can be conveyed by modern would), while the others indicate volition and wish, often reinforced by adverbial fayn and by now indicating a resolution or a turning point, as for

13. It is also true that the epistemic reading seems to have developed through an initial restriction of ‘ability’ to ‘such ability as allowed by the circumstances’ and thence to ‘possibility’, first an objective one and then in relation to the speaker’s judgement, as argued for the German counterpart of may by Gamon (1993: 128).

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will (33a)–(33b), and the beginning of its modern use for conditionals can also be traced (34a), as well as hypothetical uses (34b). (32) AŠens vice alwey he wrought, / Synfull dede wold he neuyr do [38.38] ‘Against vice always he strived, he would never perform sinful deeds’ (33) a. b.

Now wolde God I were at hom in my cote [10.201] ‘Now if only God wanted me to be at home in my bed!’ Now my cosyn Elyzabeth fayn wold I se [11.310] ‘Now I would really like to see my cousin Elizabeth’

(34) a. b.

He louyd Lazare right woundyrly sore. / he wolde not ellys for hym þus wepe so/ But if þat his loue on hym were þe more [25.374–6] ‘He loved Lazarus really extremely, otherwise he would not weep so much for him, except if his love for him were even more’ Whan þu wore there they wolde þe a slayn [25.218]14 ‘If you had been there they would have slain you’

The situation of should (xuld, xulde) is more complex. Only in four occurrences can this form be interpreted as the past tense of ‘must’; hypothetical uses are predominant quantitatively, also referring to the future and framed in questions of the type ‘What should I do?’ (on the use of should in rhetorical questions in ME see Arnovick (1990: 56–57)), where the deontic meaning is anyway quite perceptible (35a)–(35b). The modern use ‘it would be better if ’ is already present in many cases, but there are also numerous occurrences where the form seems to indicate just hypothesis15 or future reference (36a), especially in reported speech (36b).16 In slightly over a dozen cases, should seems to take on an epistemic meaning, indicating a hypothesis based on inference or deduction (37), a meaning it often has today along with must.

14. Whan has clearly the value of if here, while a can represent a contraction of have; in the construction of a hypothetical sentence of the irrealis type, the use of the perfect infinitive after the modal verb is attested, also in these contracted forms, from rather early on (today it seems to go towards morphologisation in woulda; Boyland 1998). The number of such constructions in our sample is rather scanty. 15. On the equivalence of some occurrences of should with the old subjunctive (to convey irrealis modality) in prose texts of the same period see Del Lungo (1992: 72). On both the directive and the judgemental uses of deontic should see Forrester (1998: 430) 16. Del Lungo (1992: 69–70) also notices that should in its predictive value or in the modern sense is often found in me depending on verbs of saying, promising, reporting. On should in reported speech with moderate deontic value see Dossena (2003: 207–208).



Chapter 3.  Modality

(35) a. b.

And purpose me, be goddys might, / nevyr such a dede for to don / þat xuld agreve God in sight [4.67–9; S = Cham] ‘And (I will) have the aim, through God’s might, to do never such an action that would grieve God to see’ How xuld I have wytt a shypp for to make? [4.126; S = Noah] ‘How should I have the skill to build a ship?’

(36) a. b.

Now syn it is þe wyl of my fadyr, it xuld þus be [32.153; S = Jesus] ‘Now, since it is my father’s will, then it should be so’ Tyl Ysaie putt me in blame / and seyd a mayde xulde bere Messye [7.107–8] ‘Until Isaiah put me in the wrong, and said a virgin was to bear the Messiah’

(37) Than they suppose þat sum Angell / Goddys masangere þat it xuld be [0.163–4] ‘Then they thought that he must be an angel, a messenger from God’

Thus, in accordance with Bybee’s findings (1992: 509–511), should seems to occur frequently in a past tense context (e.g. in reported speech), but to have nearly lost a past tense reference proper. Similarly to the present tense, the past tense of can, could (k/coude, k/cowde), also mainly refers to (past) ability, and only three cases indicate a hypotethical meaning (38). might also shows some uses referring to a past tense of permission and ability, but they are just a dozen, among which (39)–(40). The rest of the occurrences found are conditional, but in this case the modality conveyed is also that of possibility (41); in a couple of cases the idea of ‘wishing’ is expressed, and only in one occurrence there is reinforcement through well. This form shows thus a double transition, away from a past tense reference and towards epistemic values. (38) A fals qwarel if we cowde feyne… [24.57; S = Pharisee] ‘If we could pretend a fake quarrel…’ (39) of all frutys þei myth þer take / Saff frute of cunnyng þei xulde for-sake [0.37–8] ‘There they might take from all fruits, except that the fruit of wisdom they should not touch’ (40) whyl I had syht þer myth nevyr man fynde / my pere of archerye in all þis werd … [4.146–7] ‘While I still could see, no man could find my peer in archery all over the world’

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(41) Remembryng to be clene and pure for in mysrewle we myth lythly fall [3.7–8] ‘Remembering to be clean and pure, because we might easily fall into ­misrule’

must expresses mainly obligation, very often with reference to the obligatoriness of carrying out God’s will. This is reinforced by the fact that the main V accompanying must is often in the passive, thus increasing the impression of absolute obligation. Another form of reinforcement (in 18 cases) is the adverb nedys, which precedes or follows the verb.17 There are however other cases (not exceeding 20) in which the value of must seems weaker, indicating a recommendation rather than absolute obligation, as in (42). (42) We must take good councel in þis case [26.221; S = Cayphas] ‘We must/should consider well about this case’

The area covered by mot is partly shared with the rarer mow (5 exx.) and mon (2 exx.); the former is generally quoted as referring to ability, while for the latter, mainly ‘owing’ is referred to. In our texts, mow seems to indicate ‘impossibility’ in at least one case: (43) appears to make reference to a general law, thus possibly indicating alethic modality. Another case could be paraphrased with can of ability (44), while obligation seems to be conveyed in the remaining instances (45) (a review of the uses of mouen in previous ME texts, when it was more frequent, is in Küppers (1996: 50–67)). The even rarer mon seems to refer more to ability or possibility rather than obligation (46)–(47): with such a low number of occurrences, many explanations are possible, but certainly at this time such forms were on their way to disappearing from the language altogether, and therefore some confusion on their precise value, especially due to contiguity with may, can be expected. (43) Twey contraryes mow not togedyr dwelle [11.64] ‘Two contraries cannot exist together’ (44) What, lousy begchis, mow ye not se…? [41.28] ‘What, lousy bitches, can you not see…?’

17. Notice that this adverb indicating necessity was previously more often used with shall, and only in late me collocates only with must, when shall gets bleached (Küppers 1996: 41; Molencki 2003: 72–73). Papafragou (2000a: 145) remarks that this collocation seems to have given rise to the epistemic uses of must, which seem to appear around 1300 (Traugott and Dasher 2002: 121), but there is no trace of this in our texts, while the deontic and the epistemic meanings are reported to appear with nearly equal frequency in modern samples (Hoye 1997:  101).



Chapter 3.  Modality

(45) All hefen and herthe wurchepp Šow mow / þat are trone and tabernakyl of þe hyŠ trinité [13.137–8; S = Elizabeth to Mary] ‘All heaven and earth may worship you, who are throne and tabernacle of the high trinity’ (46) A, and now wole I a newe game begynne / þat we mon pley at all þat arn hereinne [29.188–9] ‘Ah, and now I wish to start a new game, that we can play, all that are in here’ (47) Go we now… as faste as we mon [41.484] ‘Let us go now… as fast as we can’

The forms we examine next belong to category (ii) of our classification, that of marginal modals or semi-modals. Most of these concern the deontic scale of meanings, but some forms show different uses. The most frequent by far is leten (165 occurrences), which appears most often in the modern exhortative use of let’s, as in (48) (although the pronominal form can be omitted,18 as (49) shows), and thus to express a proposal for a common action, in the imperative. The second most frequent meaning is ‘allow’, which shows the deontic overtones of the form (50), and in these cases it is often accompanied by verbs of mental activity or illocution, as in (53a). Older and more lexically ‘full’ meanings are anyway also present, such as ‘leave’ (51) and hence ‘stop’ (52), and the causative meaning (53) typical of oe lætan. In these uses let, which normally accompanies another verb, can appear as a main verb, as in (52). The older meanings emerge also in first-person uses; today, ‘let me’ is interpreted as an indirect imperative or as selfexhortation, but at the beginning of the spread of this construction, i.e. slightly earlier than our texts, the meaning seems that of asking for permission, or that of a causative (53b), in accordance with findings by Kohnen (2004). (48) In oure weys wisely late us forth wende [15.54] ‘Let us proceed wisely in our ways’ (49) And lete se how we fowre may all abyde [11.126] ‘And let [us] see how the four of us can all abide’ (50) … it were ryth / to lete jesus now go qwyte [31.100–1] ‘… it was right to let Jesus go free now’ (51) They let hym stondyn amonge his for / and renne away for drede [0.332.3] ‘They let him stand among his foes and ran away in terror’ 18. Cp. the modern morphologisation into lets, extended to other persons (Hopper and Traugott 1993: 10–13). In our occurrences, the dropping of the pronoun could be an indicator of the incipient introduction of this construction.

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(52) I xal not lete / to kepe the fete [34.294–5] ‘I shall not leave to hold the feet’ (53) a. b.

Putt bothe Šoure sentens in oure Lorde / and in his hyŠ wysdam lete hym deme [11.123–4] ‘Both of you leave the verdict to our Lord, and let him decide in his high wisdom’ Awey, serys, lete me com nere [14.150] ‘Away, sirs, let me go near’

Next in frequency comes dare (dar/dur, durste, 26 + 3 occurrences), which seems to be in a situation quite close to the present one (54), especially since it often occurs with verbs of saying (seyen, sweren) and reinforced by wel: the locution I dar wel sey(en) is used as a parenthetical to lend credibility and emphasis to a statement (55a)–(55b), cp. Molencki (2005: 150–151), and see below 4.3. It does not seem to occur as a main V. (54) We dare not entre þis logge in fay [15.162] ‘We dare not enter these lodgings, in faith!’ (55) a. b.

And I com nevyr her I dare wel say / Šitt so nyh þi boure [12.45–6] ‘And I came never here, I dare well say, ever so near your chamber’ And I Ozyas…/ … dare well sey this [7.89–90] ‘And I, Ozyas, … dare well say this:… ‘

There is no trace of the obligation value that dare could also have in ME especially as a result of the confusion of this verb with oe þearfan ‘to be necessary’, which was then lost and its values cumulated on need (Molencki 2005). The old V does not appear in our sample, but neden does appear (in nine cases) in competition with the modal idioms haue nede and be nede, which however also appear in a very limited number of occurrences (see below). need has today the property of behaving either as an auxiliary or as a main V, with roughly ‘being under a necessity’ and ‘having a necessity’ as its main semantic nuclei, and further differentiations in the negative forms (Lima 1993). Contrary to the other modern semi-modal dare, need does occur also as a main V in our sample (56); it is no longer frequently employed in impersonal constructions like previously (57), and it prefers to-infinitive rather than the bare one (58). However, it can also be followed by the -ing form (59), while nominal complements are preceded by of; in the negative it expresses freedom from obligation, like today’s needn’t (57). (56) Thow sorwe in Šow hath no place / Šett of joy, lady, Še nede more [11.221–2] ‘Although sorrow has no place in you, yet, lady, you need more joy’



Chapter 3.  Modality

(57) Wherefore it nedyd not to bene [19.113] ‘Wherefore it needed not have been’ (58) What nedyth hym to wepe? [25.377] ‘What use is weeping to him?’ (59) Šett who hath grace, he nedyth kepyng more [11.225] ‘Yet whoever has grace, he needs more cultivating’

Thus, there was uncertainty as to the use of this verb (or of these two different verbs, as some put it), as there is still today (Lima 1993; Krug 2000: 199ff.), and this is perhaps why it is so rare in the text, and is often substituted by periphrases. owe is also very rare, and its status not overly clear: even today, although it is often classified as a semi-modal, its behaviour is more often that of a main V, and it is not so frequent as its near-equivalent should (Hoye 1997: 109; Krug 2000: 205–206). The meaning can be that of ‘be due’ (60) but also the extended ‘be obliged to’ (61), ‘be proper’ (62)–(63). (60) And myche more owe I youre moder be alye / Syn ye wern born God… [41.104–5] ‘And much more ought I, your mother, to be desirous, since you were born God’ (61) Now blyssid mot sche be, we owe to be seyand [41.24] ‘Now blessed may she be, we ought to be saying’ (62) To þe fadyr evyr most comly / It ovyth þe childe evyr buxom to be [5.110] ‘To a father ever most comely, it ought the child ever lovely to be’ (63) ... and to perform his wyl I bow þerto / For allthynge owyght to ben at his wyl [10.308–9] ‘… and to perform his will I bow, for everything ought to be according to his will’

These meanings are not always easy to distinguish, but this form is anyway much less frequent than it is in normative texts of the same time (Mazzon 2003a: 178– 180). The idea of ‘be proper, be fitting’ is also conveyed by impersonal (it) behovith (5 cases, e.g. (64)), which was not found in the normative texts and did not survive much longer in the language, since it was actually already obsolete in late ME (Molencki 2003: 77). (64) Go to þi dyner, for þat behovyth the best! [21.45] ‘Go to your dinner, because that’s what pertains to you best’

The last group of forms in this section is that of modal idioms (category iii). They are grouped here because they are expressions that are fixed and can substitute a

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modal verb; these periphrastic forms and those in the next section are now fully established, and can even seem to take over the central modals, especially since they are employed in tenses and constructions where suppletism of a modal verb is needed. In our text, on the contrary, these forms are pretty rare, while in normative texts they abound. We have already mentioned haue nede (8 occurrences) and be nede (2 occurrences); the others are also root oriented: haue levyr (5 cases) and haue ­bettyr (1 case). We could include here one mention of it usyth, now often classified as semi-modal in its fixed past tense form, and here reinforced by custommably. Within this group, deontic be to can also be included, although classified differently in Mazzon (2003a). Eight instances were found, three of which in the hypothetical form were to. A few examples for this group may suffice: (65) þu haddyst levyr be betyn lame / þan þi defawte for to telle [30.248–9]19 ‘You would prefer to be beaten lame, than to confess your guilt’ (66) if þu haue any nede of oure wyse counselle / telle us now þi qwestyon [23.7–8] ‘If you have any need of our wise advice, tell us now your problem’ (67) þe emperourys comaundement I must holde with / And ellys I were to blame [15.8–9] ‘I must follow the emperor’s command, or else I would be to blame’

It can be seen that there is a rich array of forms conveying various modal meanings that have been discussed in this section; but, as mentioned, this is only part of the story. The next section briefly reviews some other ways of conveying modality.

3.4 Other modal forms The expressions in this section cover a wide range of forms, but they are centred around four types of items: verbs and adjectives, adverbs and interjections. Many of these are used as pragmatic markers, a notoriously heterogeneous category (Blakemore 2006), and this will be commented on.

19. The context is all in the present tense, so haddyst seems to be not a past tense but a conditional as in modern had rather.



Chapter 3.  Modality

3.4.1 Nominal, verbal and attributive/predicative constructions with modal value These forms were considered here in a more restrictive way than in the previous study (Mazzon 2003a), since a number of verbs with modal shades of meaning, which were included in that study, have been grouped with performative verbs here. A decision has been made to deal with these verbs in the next chapter, while limiting observations within the present section only to some expressions. It is very difficult to establish a boundary between lexical choices of performative verbs with modal overtones and the items dealt with in this section, and to some extent this decision is based on organisational grounds; the close connection between this and the next chapter has been emphasised already and should always be kept in mind. First of all, category (iv) refers to non-verb-derived expressions, normally with be + Adj, which convey different kinds of modality; in the case of be able (three occurrences), this has brought later to the establishment of a suppletive periphrasis. Deontic modality is represented by be lefful (‘lawful, legitimate’, 2 cases), be bettyr (5 cases), be necessary (only once), be nedful (three cases). Epistemic modality shows be sewre/sure (5 occurrences), be sekyr (7 cases), be trewe (with animate Subject, 3 cases), and be lyke (‘likely’, 3 occurrences). The expression be lo(a)th, conveying dislike, can be included here (six cases), as well as be fayn, expressing wish or at least positive disposition towards something (68)–(69), and also be afraid/afferd (mostly present in the last part of the collection), which in some of its 16 occurrences already seems to show the modern meaning conveying stance (70), as shown by the different structures it enters, i.e. as a parenthetical (as in (70a), although some studies place this development later on, e.g. Akimoto (2002)), or followed by that-clause (70b) or of + N. Most of these expressions can also be modified and reinforced by ful used as an intensifier, while be afraid is modified by sore, like other expressions indicating negative emotions; both these intensifiers, like ryght, are in adverbial function and position in spite of their grammatical forms. (68) We be full lothe þat pytt to sen [25.149] ‘We are very reluctant to see that grave’ (69) Of Šoure abydyng we be ful fayn / no man more welkom … [38.191–2] ‘We are very glad of your staying, nobody more welcome’ (70) a. That semyth evil I am afrayd / þi wombe to hyŠe doth stonde… [12.25–6; S = Joseph to Mary on her evident pregnancy, no ‘fear’ involved] ‘That seems bad, I am afraid, your belly is so big…’

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b. I am afferde þat I xal deye [24.234; literal meaning] ‘I am afraid that I am going die’

Category (v) in our classification includes adjectives and participles related to the expression of states and acts. Among the deontic ones, the most frequent are due/ dewe (10 cases) and bownd (6 cases), but we also found compellyd, ryghtful, meke (as ‘obedient’). due is interesting because, like owe/ought, it is a form that has shifted, over time, from an ‘external’ meaning connected with business and debt to an ‘internal’ meaning of what is morally necessary, proper, and even natural, inevitable, as in (71) and (72): (71) Be of good comforte… / For deth is dew to every man [25.129–30] ‘Comfort yourself.. for death is due to everyone’ (72) Wyth dew obeyschyauns I make you gratulacyon [41.97] ‘With due obedience I congratulate you’

On the epistemic scale, we find that the most frequent in this group are s/certayn and trewe; the latter, like its opposite fals, and wychyd/wykkyd, is very frequent because it can refer to articles of faith, and thus distinguish between what is good (authentic, honest, adhering to religious precepts) and bad (its contrary). Therefore, these meanings should not be counted as epistemic proper, since they refer to an evaluation of people and behaviour as compared to a set of regulatory principles, and not to the degree of certainty of the speaker as to a state of affairs. To the same field belong sekyr and stedfast ‘certain’, able ‘valid’ and veray ‘authentic’. Other adjs. relating to this area are those pointing to the evidence of truth; these are used to create or reinforce consensus on the interpretation of reality. The most frequent is pleyn (21 occurrences), especially referring to words and speech, but also frequent is opyn, which most often collocates in the expression in opyn syght. The remaining items in this group are: dowteful-undowteful, credyble, reasonable-unresonable, possible-impossible, untrewe; to the ‘certainty’ of belief refer, with evaluative overtones, apart from stedfast, also wo(u)rthy, trusty, vertuysful and feythful. The most common adjective expressing positive attitude is glad; reinforcement of all these is again often expressed by ful. Let us look at a few examples: (73) Swere none othis be noon fals fabyll [6.85; S = Moses, giving the ten commandments] ‘Swear no oaths by any false fable’ (74) With opyn speche I xal me shryve / and telle to hem with wurdys pleyn… [37.82-3] ‘With open speech I will confess and tell them in plain words…’



Chapter 3.  Modality

(75) Ryght onpossyble þat is to me / that on is three I kannot thynke [21.77–8] ‘That is quite impossible to me: I cannot imagine that one is three’ (76) Eche man in me þat feythful is… [25.305; S = Jesus] ‘Each man that has faith in me…’ (77) If I be wurthy to suffyr blame… [14.280] ‘If I am worthy to be blamed…’

As for nouns expressing modality, all the five subcategories in our classification (vii.1–5) are present, i.e. nouns referring to deontic/epistemic acts and states, and to dynamic states. Deontic acts are represented by unright (78), verdyth, justyse, comaundement, ordenauns, jewgement, etc. (as can be seen, most of these are ‘technical’ terms from the legal register, and are also French loanwords: they were thus rather ‘new’ words at that time), all referring to individual actions, while ry(g)ht refers more to a deontic state, as well as vertu, nede (79) (in the expressions tyme of nede, grett nede, for/at nede), and the highly frequent powere (‘to do something’) and my(g)ht. On the epistemic side, acts are represented by nouns like counsel and the rarer wytt ‘advice, opinion’ (80), while for states the most common are entent, herte and thought; these can indicate ‘state of mind’ but also ‘intention’. More strictly epistemic are the very common trewth and dowte, which are of course central to the discourse of the plays, and whose frequency can also be attributed to the number of collocations and expressions they can enter: stand in dowte, wythouwten dowte, for dowte (with causative for), out of dout, with trewth, be (my) trewth (also used as an interjection, see below; on the commissive value of phrases including this noun see Pakkala-Weckström (2008: 195)), þe trewth to telle/say, haue grett dowte, etc. Notice that these are mostly in the singular and appear to be uncountable, and that they are used, so to speak, ‘absolutely’, but there are a couple of exceptions: one dowte [21.107], dowtys ([21.195, 199]; Play 21 is ‘Jesus and the Doctors’, so the problem of doubting is particularly salient there), þe trewth of trewthis [26.466; S = Jesus at the last supper, referring to his ‘trial’, and to the revelations that will follow]. In this group we can include soth/sote, which partly overlaps with trewth, also in its pragmatics: for soth is a frequent reinforcing interjection, and þe sote to sey is present in a handful of cases. Confydens, reson and beleve are rare in the text, but also belong to this group. Of the dynamic nouns, extended to include those indicating speaker orientation, and apart from the ‘bridge’ group entent-herte-thought mentioned above, the most frequent is undoubtedly wyl-wylle, which can refer to God but also to characters’ attitudes (82), as in the expressions good wyl or with herty wylle, both indicating a positive orientation; also positive is desire (5 occurrences only), while e.g. in response to, or in mitigation of, a command, plesyng-plesaunce often enter politeness formulae (83).

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(78) Frendys take hede. Še don vnryth / so unkendely… to bynd me [28.133–4] ‘Friends, be careful, you are doing wrong in tying me… so unkindly’ (79) He mote Šow spede in all Šoure nede [10.422] ‘May he speed you in all your needs’ (80) þe best wytt þat I kan say / hym to tempte, forsoth, it is [23.40–1] ‘The best advice that I can give, indeed, is to tempt him’ (81) Now as a wrecch for fals beleve / þat I shewyd in temptynge þis mayde… [15.274–5] ‘Now as a wretch for the false belief that I showed, in tempting this virgin,… (82) Fadyr þi wil fulfyllyd xal be [28.65; S = Jesus] ‘Father, your will shall be performed’ (83) O gracyous God at þi plesauns / Of my dysese now comforte me [24.5–6] ‘Oh, gracious God, if it please you, relieve me now of my suffering’

As for verbs, as mentioned these will be dealt with rather briefly here, since most of the verbs indicating deontic and epistemic shades will be examined in the next chapter. Here we will examine some uses of verbs that have directly to do with modality, especially epistemic and dynamic. One form that could be considered to have deontic overtones is loke used in the imperative (followed by a clause, which only in a minority of cases is introduced by þat) to express recommendation, much as ‘mind/make sure’ are used in PDE. This verb is quite frequent in the text (about 50 occurrences), always with this function of accompanying a command or strong suggestion, or a warning; although this use appears pretty established here, it was not successful enough to grammaticalise and spread in PDE. Modern uses of look differ syntactically, in that we find the form detached from the sentence, much like sentence adverbs, and in different functions, e.g. apology, pleading, or ‘appeal to reason’, as in Look, I have done my best but… or Look, I am really sorry… or Look, I really have no time now, ok? Our examples are quite different: (84) With goddys hyŠ myght loke þu not jape! [14.314; the utterance is a threat] ‘Be careful, and don’t trifle with God’s high power!’ (85) loke þat þu leve in honeste [24.279; S = Jesus; a strong recommendation, instructing on a principle of moral conduct] ‘See to it that you live honestly’

Epistemic meanings are exemplified by several verbs, such as supposen (which had not developed its modern overtones yet), dowten, certyfien, trosten, all of which appear in a handful of occurrences, and the slightly more frequent beleven. What is relevant is that trosten starts to appear, like gessen, feren and dreden, in structures



Chapter 3.  Modality

that will later develop into parentheticals. These are structures whose pragmatic function has been developing over time; again, they can compare to sentential adverbs in that they undergo subjectification and do not represent their original epistemic meanings but the speaker’s stance or attitude towards his/her own utterance (we have already mentioned the comparable development of I am afraid). These forms are very frequent, and fulfil the functions that will be later entrusted to ‘modal particles’ and other means to convey stance (Fitzmaurice 2004). (86) þe stynke of his careyn myght hurte us I drede [25.396] ‘The stink from this carcass might hurt us, I am afraid’ (87) a. b.

For I trost Še be my frend [34.95] ‘For I trust you are my friend’ I may nevyr schape þis grett seknes / my deth is com now I gesse [25.13] ‘I can never escape this great sickness, my death has arrived now, I think’

In (86) we see the beginning of this use, (87) can be representative of structures that have opened the way for its inception, although this is still debated (Fischer 2007). In other cases these verbs appear structure-internally. More examples of this kind can be found with trowen and gessen, which were used as parentheticals already in Chaucer (Akimoto 2002: 2). guess is still one of the most frequent verbs used in this function, and another is think, which was not found used in this way in our sample, but is nevertheless very interesting: apart from personal uses as in (75) and (88), which refer to thinking as ‘mental representation’, think shows impersonal construction in me thynkith (89), a relatively frequent form (23 occurrences, of which two in the past tense me thought, and one with inverted elements). This form has been studied in its later lexicalised version methinks, which was then gradually lost, in spite of its apparent diffusion and stability, in EModE. The variation in form in our sample shows that, in spite of its frequency, it was not fixed or frozen yet, although this should be its peak moment (López Couso 1996: 157). It is intereresting to notice how frequent impersonals still are in this area of use; we have mentioned some cases in the preceding section, and here we must add me semith (beside personal uses of the verb semen, see ex. (70)), and some dynamic forms later used for politeness marking (90)–(91). (88) Thinke Še not Johan /how my child eternal /seyd us [41.199–200] ‘Don’t think, John, of what my eternal child told us’ (89) And Šit, as methynkyth, no man xuld… [3.160] ‘And yet, as it seems to me, no one should…’

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(90) Vs semith this ryth is [41.504] ‘It seems to us that this is right’ (91) ... I fere Šow to kary / For mesemyth it were wrkys wylde [15.18–19] ‘…I fear to carry you, for it seems to me it would be very hard work’

Notice that (89) shows ‘relative’ construction of the type that Fischer (2007) hypothesises as the other possible source (apart form the zero-complement type in (87)) for epistemic/attitudinal parentheticals. (89) and (91) show amalgamated spelling, but this is not a regular feature. The two forms appear pretty equivalent as they are used in the text, but before long their histories diverged; in spite of the stronger position it acquired through increased fixity and specialization, methinks disappeared with the other impersonal uses of the verb, while the other form survives in the expression it seems to me, but with no lexicalisation, and possibly encouraged by the increasing obligatoriness of dummy subject it, which is already rather frequent with these verbs in our text, and which, together with the fixing of word-order, seems directly responsible for the demise of these uses (Fischer 1992: 238–239). In any case, the subjectification of these verbs used as evidentials went on in the other uses of the verbs, a function which they now share with appear, look, and feel (Gisborn and Holmes 2007). The verbs that appear in our text in impersonal constructions within the dynamic/attitudinal group are (dis)plesen,20 liken and lyst (originally ‘to cause pleasure or desire’), occurring in fewer than ten occurrences each, with politeness formulae often involved as in (94) and (95); the last verb is the only one that survives in this construction in the next century (López Couso 1996: 156), although it is probably the oldest (notice however that in some cases the V is accompanied by a nominative pronoun form). (92) And as it plesyth þat hyŠ magesté / Allthynge xal leste [21.71–2] ‘If it pleases that high majesty, everything shall last’ (93) Yif it displese not god… [41.259] ‘If it does not displease God…’ (94) Plesyth it Šow þis conclusion [11.152] ‘That this conclusion may please you’ (95) Ryht worchepful sovereynes, liketh yow to here / of the Assumpcion of the glorious Modyr [41.1–2] ‘Worshipful lords, will you please hear about the assumption of the glorious Mother’

20. But notice to be plesyd which also occurs often, in competition with this form.



Chapter 3.  Modality

(96) Go do what Še lyst [8.142] ‘Go and do what you please’ (97) Lengere than hym lyst nothynge may last [25.280] ‘Nothing may last longer than it pleases him’

Positive attitude and intention are also conveyed by the verbs hopen, desyren, whysshen, and especially by wyllan used as a main V; both this form and wold(e) appear in this role about twenty times each in the text. Reference is often to God’s will (99)–(100), but not always (98); wold(e) is conditional (101)–(102) ‘of politeness’ or ‘of wish’, and so it is similar to would like.   (98) Telle us Šoure herand; wyl Še ought? [12.4] ‘Tell us your errand, do you want anything?’   (99) God wyl þat þu a wyff haue [10.273] ‘God wants that you have a wife’ ( 100) Now lete be it as God wole, þer is no more [8.74] ‘Now let it be as God wants, there is no more’ (101) þerfore we wolde þat Še xuld wryte þus… [32.179] ‘Therefore we would like you to write thus…’ (102) So wolde god my brether were here me by [41.186] ‘I wish it were God’s will that my brothers were here with me’

Delaying until the next chapter the discussion of other verbs with modal overtones such as comawnden, granten, demen etc., let us now turn to another lexically quite rich field of modal expression: adverbs and adverbials.

3.4.2 Modal adverbs and other pragmatic markers One interesting thing about adverbs is that they can be assigned several syntactic positions, and they can modify other elements, as in e.g. a possibly difficult decision, but can in other cases be modified themselves, e.g. quite possibly (Tucker 2001: 188). Beside grammatical adverbs, other forms of adverbials are included in this section, and also, due to functional similarity, other forms, e.g. parenthetical structures, whose evidential function is comparable to that of sentential adverbs on the epistemic scale (Hopper and Traugott 1993: 201–203). These are much more abundant, in our texts, than deontic adverbs (both belong to category (vi) in our reference classification). If we recall what was mentioned in 3.2, about the ever-increasing importance of these forms (Biber 2004), alongside with contributions signalling the need, over time, to increase the language material indicating

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illocution (as well as signalling attitude) to counteract bleaching and weakening (Arnovick 1994), these forms become even more relevant to the present aims. Studies on PDE distinguish between sentence adverbs and verb-phrase adverbs. The former are normally external to the structure proper and therefore stand in absolute initial or final position, separated from the structure by a ­comma. They are often used as pragmatic markers and they refer to the whole structure, thus they are also called ‘commentary’ pragmatic markers (Fraser 1997), and can be classified into several types: logical, evidential, distancing and performative, i.e. perlocutionary (Swan 1998: 41–56), according to the kind of attitude they convey. Verb-phrase adverbs, conversely, are positioned structure-internally and their semantic-pragmatic scope extends only to part of the structure (Hoye 1997: 146). They have very high frequency in discourse, in spite of their being considered ‘peripheral’ in language systems. As concerns single-word expressions, i.e. adverbs proper, the vast majority are formations with the suffix -ly, which is the most common for adverbs of manner; there are however a few cases in which the adjectival form is used adverbially, as shown above (pleyn/opyn/sertyn along with pleynly/opynly/serteynly-sertys), a few cases of adverbial dowteles and the loanword verament ‘truly’. As can be seen, the epistemic area predominates largely, with higher numbers of different forms and of occurrences of each form. In most cases these adverbs appear structureinternally, they are not sentence adverbs. There are however examples that are uncertain, e.g. (103), where the Vexillator issuing the Proclamation seems to be giving personal assurance (at least this is the interpretation of the editor, who has inserted commas). The ‘commentary’ value is clearer in (104), where it is made explicit. In (105) there is also such explicitness, but syntactically different because it is conveyed by a separate clause (on the association between adverbs and verbs of saying see 4.3 below). In some cases, initial position can be a signal of the adverb’s status as in (106)–(107): this position signals that the adverb has sentence scope and thus serves “for identifying speaker presence and authority, and for reinforcing the subjective quality” of the utterance (Hoye 1997: 179), a function that can often override that of conveying a degree of certainty about knowledge (Simon-Vandenbergen and Aijmer 2007: 42–43). (103) Than folwyth next, sekyrly, / Of Wyttsunday… [0.490–1] ‘Then, next follows, surely, about Whit Sunday…’ (104) Sonys, Še arn, to spekyn naturally, / þe first frute… [3.32] ‘Sons, you are, to speak naturally, the first fruit…’ (105) I am not worthy to ben clepyd apostle, sothly I say yow… [41.240] ‘I am not worthy to be called an apostle, really I tell you…’



Chapter 3.  Modality

(106) for dowteles þis matere is diffuse and obscure [10.103] ‘For no doubt this matter is wide and obscure’ (107) Trewly Šoure counsel is ryght good… [10.108] ‘Truly, your advice is very good…’

To a deontic shade we can associate duly and mekely ‘obediently’, while wilfully and hertily refer to volition. The richer epistemic area includes the most frequent trew(e)ly (34 occurrences) and veryly (18 occurrences) apart from sekyrly, sothly, falsly, surely, stedfastly, feithfully and the forms already quoted above, among which, again as with the corresponding adjectives, pleyn(ly) tends to modify acts of saying (112), opyn(ly) tends to refer to acts of seeing (111), and both have an element of ‘witnessing’. The area of certainty as expressed by adverbs is discussed thoroughly, for PDE, by Simon-Vandenbergen and Aijmer (2007), who notice that certainly is today the most common form after of course, which does not appear in our sample, and which seems to be the prototypical certainty adverb, often employed to signal agreement. surely is also used in the same way when employed as a discourse marker. Of the other adverbs studied, the manner adverbs (or phrase adverbs) clearly and plainly are also included in the study of contemporary English, with similar functions as those found in our sample, while others, such as obviously and arguably, do not appear in the N.Town plays. (108) From Jerusalem loke Še nott go awey/ But mekely abydyth my fadyres promiscyon [38.20–1] ‘Make sure you don’t leave Jerusalem, but meekly abide by my father’s promise’ (109) And loke Še take good hede þerto / þat Jesu suerly ded be [34.64] ‘And mind you make really sure that Jesus is dead for sure’ (110) þe blysse of hefne withoutyn ende / I knowe veryly þat Še xal se [34.157–8] ‘I know for sure that you will see the bliss of heaven without end’ (111) Here opynly I fele and se / a fayr chylde of a maydon is born [15.228] ‘Here clearly I feel and see (that) a fair child was born of a virgin’ (112) And I am a prophete callyd Mycheas. / I telle Šow pleynly þat þus it is [7.53–4] ‘And I am a prophet called Myhceas, and I tell you clearly that it is so’

Therefore, although there are cases in which adverbs are used as commentary pragmatic markers, this function (mostly related to the intention of increasing the reliability of a statement) seems more often entrusted to parentheticals or to longer expressions such as sothe to say, etc.

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Other elements that are highly frequent and that often concur to this function are intensifiers, which can modify pragmatic strength, as in I’m almost sure > I’m quite sure > I’m absolutely sure. We have already mentioned, in the course of the chapter, the most common of these, and the kinds of collocation they tend to prefer. One of the most interesting among the very frequent ones, along with ful, wel and sore, is ry(g)ht. There are traces of its use as a focuser as in PDE right now, with the meaning ‘precisely’ that arose in ME but is now restricted to spatial and temporal expressions, but the most frequent use in the text is that of adverbial or negative modifier (113)–(114), a use that has later disappeared, at least from the standard language (Méndez Naya 2006; 2007). (113) Peyne nere grevynge fele I ryght non [15.223] ‘Sorrow or grieving, I feel absolutely none’ (114) I hold it ryght weyl done [10.26] ‘I consider it done quite well’

Rarer reinforcers of this kind are hyŠly and rather (one occurrence each). Another kind of ‘reinforcement’ is conveyed by phrases with adverbial value. Some were mentioned when discussing modal nouns, e.g. out of dowte or in trewthe. These are used as pragmatic markers, often, again, to increase credibility or reliability of a statement, or to emphasise speaker orientation (more through boosting than through attenuating, cp. Holmes (1984); on the value of such expressions today see Simon-Vandenbergen and Aijmer (2007: 121)). Apart from those already mentioned, we could quote in s/certeyn, with-owtyn lak ‘certainly’, it is said (only at 0.135, used to distance the speaker form a proposition, like today; see also 4.3), god to witness [14.211] to lend credibility, wyth all myn herte to indicate sincerity and participation. Very rare are expressions which were later to acquire diffusion, as be-ware for warning, maybe for uncertainty, and in dede, which is already used to signal high ranking on the scale of speaker belief and is no longer the original manner adverbial (Traugott 1997; Schwenter and Traugott 2000: 16). This expression initially signalled contrast between ‘in fact, in reality’ and ‘in words, in thought’, and only later acquires sentential scope and becomes emphatic or adversative, as in PDE where it can signal both confirmation of something and its opposite; the fifteenth century marks the beginning of this development (Traugott and Dasher 2002: 159–162; Simon-Vandenbergen and Aijmer 2007: 104–105). (115) It is trewe mayster þat Še seyn indede [4.154] ‘It is true, master, what you say, indeed’

The last group does not exhaust the topic of this chapter; there is still one category that we decided to include, and this is dealt with next.



Chapter 3.  Modality

3.4.3 Interjections This subsection addresses the analysis of interjections; this is not an obvious inclusion since interjections are very disparate, and some of them are not even considered part of the language proper, but rather paralinguistic devices of a nonrepresentational, expressive type.21 Following recent research (e.g. ­Taavitsainen 1995), we consider interjections, which “encode speaker attitude and are context-bound”, as modal markers, too. This seems to go along with the tripartition proposed by Ameka (1992a: 107, 113–114) into the following functional categories: “(1) Focus on the speaker’s mind: (a) emotive (b) cognitive; (2) Conative: directed at an auditor, demanding an action or response; (3) Phatic, for contact”. So, interjections can have conative or phatic functions, or a volitive element, or they can focus on the speaker’s mind, either at the emotive/expressive (“I feel something”) or at the cognitive level (“I know something”), although there are serious doubts that they can encode concepts (Wharton 2003: 49).22 These functions tend to be expressed by interjections in written texts mainly where there is an attempt at imitating the spoken language, and therefore these markers are relatively more important in dramatic texts, where they tend to show specific textual functions (as written-language analogs of the phatic functions mentioned above, which pertain eminently to the spoken language), such as signalling turntaking (Taavitsainen 1995: 441–442), or showing the above-mentioned conative or phatic functions (Ameka 1992b; Karl 2004). In other words, interjections may include presuppositions about their “discourse placedness conditions” and/or specifications about the circumstances in which they can be uttered, or “social placedness conditions” (Evans 1992). Of course, the works on drama quoted here employ a later sample, and this could be significant, as the development of drama was much more advanced in EModE; nevertheless, it might be useful to look at the interjections found in our sample, to see whether they are charged with similar functions.

21. For a review of contrasting opinions on this issue, and for an original view collocating interjections between the linguistic and the natural, i.e. between ‘showing’ and ‘saying’, as a kind of ‘vocal gestures’, see Wharton (2003); for an interpretation of interjections as part of deixis see Wilkins (1992); also useful is Karl (2004). Recently, Norrick (2008) has discussed the similarities between pragmatic markers and interjections, for instance their initial, extra-structural positioning, but has concluded that the category of interjections should be kept separate, although they often function as discourse markers. 22. But cp. Wilkins (1992: 129), who considers interjections as utterances, although of a special type, i.e. one whose Arguments are traceable in the extralinguistic context.

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The so-called primary interjections are those based on natural, and therefore more iconic, utterances, which have no other use except as interjections, and are non-productive in spite of being coded (Wharton 2003: 41, 81). These are also called ‘semi-words’ (Wharton 2003: 84), such as ah!, and they have been noted to be quite frequent in English drama of all periods, and to be quite varied in form, too.23 The range of these forms in our sample is quite limited. Among secondary interjections (exclamatory words or phrases originally belonging to other parts of speech), Koskenniemi (1962: 73–75) lists types derived from the contraction of longer phrases or derived from phrases connected to specific characters (e.g. ‘professional’ cries). Many of these only emerge in the Renaissance, while more common interjections, such as Alas and Lo, date back to OE or ME (on the continuity of use of some interjections over time see Taavitsainen (1995: 440ff.)). Even more common, Koskenniemi notes (1962: 76–89), are “oaths, imprecations and affirmative phrases”, which we know to have been current in medieval England in various types of speech and of text. Very often, these mainly have the function of emphasising an assertion or a declaration (as in the case of a solemn oath by something sacred, whether it be God or a saint or a religious object or ceremony, or one of God’s attributes). The interjections found in our texts can be classified according to Ameka’s typology. As mentioned, primary interjections are mainly forms of A and O,24 as well as OY, OW, EY. The most frequent are A (83 examples) and O (42)25 in their simple form; in some cases we find orthographic variants or duplicated forms, which probably indicate a higher level of emphasis. The range of functions of these items is quite large:26 the phatic function (Ameka’s no. 3) is common, and it is to be noticed that all the occurrences of O, and most of those of A, are accompanied by a vocative form of address, and are very often placed at the beginning of 23. Koskenniemi (1962:  67–69) records over fifty different forms. Many of these only start to appear in Renaissance drama but, as the author remarks, they were most probably already in use in the spoken language, and were only given space in written texts at a later time. 24. It is not clear to what extent HA, OO, AA can be considered separate interjections, as other studies consider them. They were grouped together with the basic forms here, and capital letters are employed to indicate that the form refers to a variety of spellings. 25. Notice that the frequency of these two items is inverted as compared to today’s (Aijmer 1987) and also as compared to that in EModE texts (Taavitsainen 1995: 453). 26. On the range of possibile functions of a/ah and o/oh see Karl (2004: 97–102), mainly on later plays. Specifically on turn-taking signalling and deictic functions of these forms in a late ME sample is Sikorska (2000), who also points out the direct influence on this aspect of the dialogic structure of the N.Town plays. On modern Ah and its multiple functions in topic-management and interaction in general see e.g. Aston (1986).



Chapter 3.  Modality

an utterance. Functions of type no. 1 range from the expression of despair to that of wonder, to that of rejoicing or anger. The examples below show awe (116), joy at the bliss of faith (117), anger in the context of insult (118). (116) Ha. Ha. Mercy mercy we crye and crave [42.66; S = Souls of the damned] ‘Ah! Ah! Mercy, mercy! We cry and entreat’ (117) A endless worchepe be to yow, Jhesu… [41.515; S = Mary] ‘Ah, endless worship be to you, Jesus…’ (118) A sere ye ben bolde inow! Art thou ferd of a wenche? [41.66; S = Bishop] ‘Ah, sir, you are rather bold! Are you afraid of a girl?’

Conative functions are also very frequent, from greeting (119), to exhortation (120), to request for help (121), to reproach (122). This kind of function is very visible where there is a shift from self-directed speech to direct address of the interlocutor (123). (119) A how do Še – how do Še – ffadyr zacharye [13.139; S = Joseph] ‘Ah, how are you, how are you, father Zachary?’ (120) A tary not gracyous lord [11.23; S = Contemplacio] ‘Ah, do not tarry, gracious lord!’ (121) O gracious lord help þi servaunt [14.255; S = Joseph] ‘Oh, gracious lord, help your servant!’ (122) O ffadyr of hefne wher ben al þi be-hestys [28.177; S = Mary] ‘Oh, father of heaven, where are all your promises?’ (123) Allas my body is ful of peyne… o peter now prey thy god for me here  [41.423–6; S= First Prince] ‘Alas, my body is full of pain… Oh, Peter, now pray your God for me here’

Secondary interjections are not half as varied as those examined by Koskienniemi (1962) and Karl (2004) for later plays. This is due partly to the fact that the range of characters and the types of actions portrayed are not the same, and partly to the fact that interjections based on God’s attributes and other religious concepts would certainly be out of place in our texts. The few items that can be included in the category of secondary interjections show a certain continuity, in that many of them are still used in ensuing times, at least in EModE. This is certainly the case of Šis and nay (the former also in the most frequent form Ša), alas, mercy, lo, fy(e), what,27 why, woe, in feyth, for-soth, 27. On the functions of this as pragmatic marker see Brinton (1996: 271); here it mainly indicates surprise or anger.

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i-wys. Some of these forms clearly spread as a consequence of contact with French, as also in the case of gramercy (from graund mercy ‘many thanks’) and Harrow! (used in Norman French as a cry of distress).28 Another interjection of distress, often used in combination with alas, i.e. weylaway, is apparently from OE, but was modified in its form by a Scandinavian influx. All of these interjections appear mostly in initial or final position, and only rarely integrated in utterances’ structures. They are accompanied by vocatives less regularly than primary ­interjections, and when this happens, it is mainly when they occur with phatic and/or conative functions (Taavitsainen 1997: 579). Many of these secondary interjections show several functions in our texts: again, they can be used to express the different functions in Ameka’s (1992a) typology; Ša and nay are very often used consistently for affirmative and negative replies, and for confirmation or contradiction of previous statements respectively. They can occur repeated to lend further emphasis to the agreement or disagreement expressed, and are rarely further reinforced by a preceding A or a following i-wys. Nay can indicate refusal or denial, but can also correct an assumption (124), while Ša (which is much more common, with about 50 instances as against about 15 of nay) shows a wider range: it can be concessive (125), or can indicate a turning point in interaction (126), and can even occur when ironic disagreement is expressed (127).29 (124) [why speke ye not, sere? I trowe Še are not wroth] – Nay, wys fadyr Joseph, þerto he were ful loth [13.143; S = Elizabeth] ‘[Why do you not speak, sir? I hope you are not angry] – No, wise father Joseph, he would really not like to do that’ (125) [it xal be don, and þat in short spas] – Ša, but loke yf he be bownd… [30.39; S = 2nd Jew] ‘[It will be done, and in a short time too] – yes, but make sure that he is tied…’ (126) [..be what menys we xal hym take] – Ša, þer be many þat hym nevyr sawe [27.638; S = Rewfin] ‘[… by what means we shall take him] – yes, there are many (people) who never saw him’

28. Benedicite is a Latin form (originally an imperative) but it appears, in these and other plays, with an accented final e, which could point to a French transmission. 29. On the comparable functions of modern yeah and no as textual continuity adjuncts, also to signal contrastive continuity or challenge of a previous statement, see Eggins and Slade (1997:  96–98).



Chapter 3.  Modality

(127) [but Šit I sey, Mery, whoos childe is this? – Goddys and Šoure, I sey, i-wys] – Ša, Ša, all olde men to me take tent / and weddyth no wyff… [12.49–50; S = Joseph] ‘[–But yet, I say, Mary, whose child is this? – God’s and yours, I say, indeed] – yes, yes, all old men know about me and marry no wife…’

Mercy ranges from expressing apology to awe to regret and despair (128) but occasionally it is used to ask for forgiveness (especially with A) (129), while gramercy is more consistent in expressing thankfulness (130). (128) A mercy mercy myn owyn son so dere / þi blody face now I must kysse [34.126–7; S = Mary to Jesus on the cross] ‘Ah, mercy, mercy, my own son so dear, I must now kiss your blood-stained face’ (129) A mercy mercy my jentyl make / mercy I haue seyd al amys [12.182–3; S = Joseph apologising to Mary] ‘Ah, mercy, mercy, my kind spouse, mercy! I have said everything wrong’ (130) Gramercy fadyr for Šoure good doctrine [3.45; S = Abel] ‘Thank you, father, for your good teaching! ‘

Another interjection that has pretty consistent use is lo, which mainly functions as a focusser and is used to attract attention and point to something.30 Of the ca. 30 occurrences, many are accompanied by a vocative, and other peculiarities are that this interjection, unlike others, is rarely used by female characters, can occur medially in an utterance or in a line, and is occasionally used in addressing the audience; its conative function (Ameka’s type no. 2), that is to say, can be expressed extra-diegetically (131). (131) Lo, sofreynes, here Še have seyn / in the temple of oure Ladyes presentacyon [9.294; S = Contemplacio] ‘Look, lords, here you have seen our Lady’s presentation in the temple’

Also rather consistent in their pragmatic functions are the interjections aiming at reinforcing the truth of a statement and the commitment of the speaker to statements and courses of action, i.e. i-wys, in trewth, for soth, and be my trewth. Of

30. According to Taavitsainen (1995: 452–453) this interjection has two different sources, and can be used with two different values; in our text, only the ‘deictic’ use translating Lat. ecce was found. Another element which has a similar ‘pointing’ value, related to conversation management (Aijmer 1996: 200–211) is the very frequent discourse marker now: over half of the ca. 670 uses of this word in the sample occur in initial position, and many of these have the abovementioned function.

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these, i-wys and for soth are the most frequent with 17 and 14 occurrences, the others are less frequent and are often inserted within structures, therefore they can be considered as modal markers beside being used as interjections. Partly exceptional are the ‘challenging’ uses within this group, expressing reproach (132) or irony (133). (132) I-wys, sere, Še be to blame [10.234; S = Bishop] ‘Indeed, sir, you are to blame’ (133) In feyth, I suppose þat þis woman slepte / withowtyn all coverte whyll þat it dede snowe [14.306–7; S = First Detractor, accusing Mary of illicit pregnancy] ‘Honestly, I suppose that this woman slept without any blanket while it snowed’

Quite rarely we find interjections like fy (expressing scorn, insult), what (for surprise or anger), why, and greeting expressions of generally phatic value like well come, fare (õe) well, benedicité,31 here here! However, the most frequent interjection of the secondary type is alas; like harrow, out out, and weyl-away, it is mostly used to express sorrow, complaint, lamentation, regret and despair (134). Occasionally it conveys terror, wonder, dismay or disbelief, and it is often repeated or combined with the other interjections in this group (135)–(136) (for similar remarks on its use in other ME texts cp. Taavitsainen (1997: 581–583)). It is often uttered by female characters,32 and can be accompanied by a term of address within an invocation (137). (134) Alas in woo now am I wounde /acursyd of God… [3.174; S = Cain] ‘Alas, now I am deep in sorrow, cursed by God…’ (135) Alas alas I am aschamyd [24.233; S = Pharisee] ‘Alas, alas, shame is on me!’ (136) Alas alas and weleway /Now be we tweyn bothe brotherles [25.113–4; S = Martha] ‘Alas, alas, and wellaway! Now both of us are brotherless’

31. The latter can also express surprise (rather like a superstitious blessing in front of the unexpected), as in later plays, due to the general process of subjectification that many modal forms undergo, cp. Taavitsainen (1995: 448; 1997: 596). 32. The observation of the gender distribution of modal elements was not as systematic as that concerning address; nevertheless, the feature mentioned here appears to be statistically significant and would be consistent with remarks on what is still today considered more typical of ‘female speech’, on which see e.g. Romaine (1999: 154–163).



Chapter 3.  Modality

(137) Allas jesus. Allas jesus wo is me/ þat þu art þus despoylid, allas [32.1–2; S = First Woman] ‘Alas, Jesus! Alas, Jesus! Woe is me that you are so ravaged, alas!’

Given the topics and functions of these plays, it is not surprising that there should be a rich array of forms expressing emotions and of a phatic and conative type, both because of the mimicry of ‘interactive’ language typical of drama and because the participation and inclusion of the audience in the strong emotions portrayed was very important for the didactic aims of the play.

3.5

Conclusions on modality and its reflex on the expression of illocution

The conclusion of the previous section can be extended to the whole range of forms examined in this chapter. Modal expressions are highly important in conveying stance and in modifying speech acts, as mentioned in 3.2. In these texts, clarification of the speaker’s position and emphasis on the illocutionary value is paramount for the effectiveness of the message; therefore, the heavy modalisation encountered is ultimately for the audience’s benefit: it reinforces the emotional and ‘subjective’33 tones that are bound to trigger identification, and stresses power structures by laying a deontic shade over most interactions. At the same time, the majority of these uses were found to be consistent with the results from other studies on medieval texts, and we can therefore hypothesise that they are not especially detached from the language conventions of the time, as far as the semantic-pragmatic nuclei of these forms are concerned. This emphasis on convention should never be omitted: constructed dialogue often shows ‘Intention to Interact’ rather than recording interaction proper (Lebsanft 1999: 272), and it has been observed that this kind of dialogue tends to create a more ‘involved’ style: studies on EModE dialogues (e.g. Culpeper and Kytö 1999) show that constructed dialogue has more hedges (often expressed through modality markers) than contemporary reported dialogue, precisely because the conventionality of the former tends to highlight, rather than downtone, certain pragmatically significant features. In spite of a number of ambiguous cases (ambiguity seems a feature of contemporary modal forms as well, but see Papafragou (1998a: 2ff.)), most ­occurrences could indeed be classified; more difficult is to interpret the kind of metalinguistic uses mentioned in 3.2, as for instance the combination may well, which was not 33. The term is used in this case in its common meaning, and does not refer exclusively to the difference between objective and subjective modality as used e.g. by Verstraete (2001).

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found in the concessive and contrastive value it has today (e.g. –John is a famous writer. –He may well be the most famous writer on earth, but he has no social skills). In the same way, the collocation of the same adverb with dare, of nedys with must, and of fayn with would can be interpreted as a way to reinforce modality and to clarify it better, given that this is still a moment of transition in the establishment of these forms. According to Hoye (1997: 269–270) these collocations of modal verb + adverb can be put on a “cline of idiomaticity” with varying degrees of fixity in PDE: our sample shows that some of them are already well established on this cline at the end of the fifteenth century. Notice also that it is the rapid birth and bleaching of modal value, which has been compared by Fischer (2003) to a ‘cycle’ similar to that of negation (selection of a value > ­establishment of the same > bleaching/weakening > need for reinforcement > eventual cliticisation or loss/substitution), that creates the need for these combinations, and then the rise of new modals such as have to and be to, which in turn become grammaticalised and then reduced into forms like hafta, gotta (Krug 2000). Of the old pre-modals, only will and would are still found in non-auxiliary function, which were more commonly found one century earlier (Fischer 1992: 264). Therefore, the process of auxiliarisation is well advanced; the forms are not invariable yet (cp. 2nd person sg. xalt, woldyst, etc.) but they already occur with a main verb in the infinitive or, rarely, with the perfect infinitive or as proverbs (cp. xal in (5)). On the contrary, the main modals never occur combined in these texts, as they could in other ME texts (Ogura 1993; de la Cruz 1994), and still can in some forms of English (the so-called double modals); we have no way of saying that these combinations (xal mowen, wil cunnen etc.) were not allowed in the language of these scribes, as they simply do not occur in the collection. While most contexts of modal uses are structurally familiar, they are not necessarily familiar in their communicative function, and this is not only because of the obsolescence of some forms. The interactive value of signalling hedging or politeness, which can appear clearly in later texts (Dossena 2003), is still quite dubious in ours. We mentioned some of these uses that appear pretty certain (xal in (11), wyl in (18), to quote just two), but others are much more difficult to ascertain, and this is no surprise; if, along with Papafragou (1998a: 11ff.), we assume that the proposition a modal utterance is related to (the ‘restrictor’) must not necessarily be linguistically present but can be pragmatically inferred, then it is clear that we are often simply in no position to draw the correct inferences. The scholar (Papafragou 1998a: 27) goes as far as to claim that classic modal categories such as ‘deontic’ or (basic) ‘root/dynamic’ are not welldefined and clear-cut, but can be traced along a continuum depending on specific contextual assumptions about the social relations between the interlocutors.



Chapter 3.  Modality

From our standpoint, those assumptions are over 500 years away. As stated at the beginning of the chapter, the relevance of these forms to the present study is in the construction of stance with the double aim of lending a more ‘true’ ring to the dialogue, and of stressing the main ideological strands of the plays in the minds of the audience: the agent-oriented strand (what is obligatory, what is prohibited, the necessity of fulfilling God’s will, the limits of man’s ability and the infinity of God’s power) but also the more ‘subjective’ strand (the polarisation of faith and doubt, belief and disbelief, certainty and uncertainty, and the overcoming of ‘impossibility’ through divine intervention). Thus, although deontic modality prevails quantitatively,34 there are also many indicators of epistemic modality, which, in Papafragou’s (1998a) account, should have meta-representative value. Some of the difficulties with this approach were already mentioned, especially the fact that this kind of modality does not refer to the factual world or to a regulatory view, but to a set of beliefs within the speaker’s mind. Even more apparent is the pervasive quality of modality, which permeates, in one form or another, a large part of the ‘utterances’ assigned to characters in these plays. Its presence is not limited to the forms analysed in this chapter: further insight can be gleaned by looking at the influence of modal markers on other elements in the interaction that will be examined in the following chapters, i.e. speech act verbs and performatives, and interactive structures such as adjacency pairs.

34. We should also not forget that mood and modality are often quoted as one of the main linguistic means to establish and maintain power structures in interaction (Eggins and Slade 1997:  67; Hart 2004), and power structures are indeed a paramount concern in the plays, both at the religious and at the secular level, which certainly contributes to explain this high frequency.

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chapter 4

Performatives and verba dicendi

4.1

The classification of ‘verbal action’ verbs in historical linguistics

This chapter is dedicated to the analysis of the expressions that are overt signals of words and verbal action in our plays, i.e. performatives and verba dicendi. This topic is not only relevant in itself, for instance to help discover the textual, discursive structure of the texts, but can also be of help to other studies, for instance to a history of speech acts (Schlieben-Lange 1976: 117). According to one hypothesis, speech acts can be identified for a given language at a given time only when they can be also identified as such by contemporaries, and in particular when the relative performatives are in use (Schlieben-Lange and Weydt 1979: 67). It is however also often the case that existing performatives acquire new functions, while it is not always the case that new performatives are created for the new uses. On the other hand, it can also happen that speech acts that have always existed have only recently acquired a denomination through a specific verb (Schlieben-Lange and Weydt 1979: 75). One problem with any synchronic classification is then the fact that there is no one-to-one correspondence between speech acts and verbs referring to them; a verb can refer to a set of specific acts, or two verbs indicating the same illocutionary force may not be synonyms. Also, some verbs indicating a type of act have no performative value but just name the act, e.g. insinuate, while other verbs have several uses, and others yet are systematically ambiguous. Furthermore, some verbs refer to acts that can occur privately (e.g. blame), while others require a public pronunciation, and often even a collective consensus about the performance of the act, e.g. denounce (Vanderveken 1990: 167–169).

. One must of course remain aware of the problematic nature of the classification of speech acts themselves, which involves a discussion of peculiar cases and overlappings that is exemplified, e.g., by Sbisà (1984), who recalls the fact that these problems were already foregrounded by Austin himself, the first proponent of a speech act theory. These issues will be kept in mind when discussing the sample.

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To some extent, the gap between acts and verbs is conventionalised, even allowing for the relative indirectness of ‘mentioning’ the act: because of [the] systematic difference between the content of the speech act and the content of the utterance, the illocutionary act that is performed and named by an explicit performative is always indirect… [b]ut once it is established what act is directly performed, the indirect act can be inferred without any need to bring in, as an extra premise, the assumption that the speaker has respected the conversational maxims. (Recanati 1998: 514, 516; italics in the original)

Acceptability experiments carried out to test speakers’ perception of the performing of a direct vs. indirect speech act, and their assessment of felicity conditions, have yielded results that are not incompatible with the classical speech-act taxonomies and with ‘maxims’, thus seeming to support a kind of ‘psychological validity’ of such categories (Holtgraves 2005; Culpeper and Archer 2008: 53), although the configuration of such knowledge for indirect acts is less certain. The traditional taxonomies are nevertheless useful for organisational purposes, and may be assumed to have some validity in actual performance, especially if we adopt a version of a ‘prototype approach’ to speech acts, as suggested by Taavitsainen and Jucker (2008: 6). Another key issue is whether a classification of speech acts can actually exist for past evidence or not. Given the gap between proposition and illocution, i.e. between sentence meaning and speaker meaning, which exists even within individual cultures at any point in time, and which sometimes produces infelicitousness or communicative breakdowns, how can we expect to draw the correct inferences when we are so distant in time and cultural background? To this question, posed among others by Bertuccelli Papi (2000), there are several possible answers, which various new contributions, e.g. those in Jucker and Taavitsainen (2008), try to explore. One involves looking at insider (or ‘hearer’) response, and this is why we will be looking at interaction sequences in the next chapter. Another involves looking at co-textual and, where present, contextual evidence (in our case, for instance, stage directions) and drawing inferences from there. Take for example the verb cursen in its performative use and the kind of speech act it is likely to stand for; it is obvious that the cultural gap between our time and the Middle Ages, or even the seventeenth century, when religious feelings were quite different and witchcraft was taken seriously, may obscure the pragmatic strength that the use of this verb could imply. This gap is the main reason why attempts at diachronic speech act analysis often take as their inspiration work done within intercultural pragmatics (e.g. Blum-Kulka, House and Kasper 1989; Wierzbicka 1991). On the other hand, since this cultural background is not unknown to us, we can try and draw inferences about the greater strength this verb possessed in earlier texts



Chapter 4.  Performatives and verba dicendi

(Culpeper and Semino 2000). Another perspective is of course given by the fact that the expression of certain speech acts can change over time, especially as concerns the reinforcement that is needed when formulaic expressions get bleached and therefore become less communicatively effective (for an example of such a diachronic analysis, based on the act of promising, see Arnovick (1994)). The ensuing question is of a more general kind: is it possible to apply speech act theory to conversation, and therefore to dialogue? This question, which of course has a bearing not only on the topic of this chapter but also on that of the following one, has been recently asked about modern conversation analysis, but some arguments may be relevant in the context of the present work, too. It is an immdiately intuitive notion that speech acts occur typically embedded in conversation, and the role of the context in defining the value of a speech act has been clear from the beginning. However, the notion of context itself has been variously questioned (e.g. by Sbisà (2002)), and Interactional Sociolinguistics has claimed that context is constructed during interaction, and each utterance can change the set of felicity conditions and the information packages that hearers use to decode speech acts. There are other possible objections, which mainly have to do with the various possible illocutionary values of questions and replies. Questions often encode requests but of various kinds, eliciting several possible types of speech act in reply; therefore, the notion of answer as a discursive category is certainly functional, but it is “certainly not the semantic definition of a speech act type” (Moeschler 2002: 241). This is typical of all conversation, and the main problem in transferring categories from speech act theory to discourse analysis is that the latter construes sequences on the basis of functional, not structural, constraints, with exchanges thus being “maximal projections” of an act, in a functional sense. This means that a semantics, and a theory, of discourse interpretation would be needed to deal with it, in that moves will be interpreted not in isolation but dialogically (Moeschler 2002: 244–248). This is even the more true given the possibility to perform several speech acts through linguistic means that convey either a predominant speaker orientation or a predominant hearer orientation; such choices may be highly functional: “asserting and negotiating rights and obligations would seem to be a good way of producing dynamic dramatic dialogue, and of providing information to the audience about the social constraints that compel, vex or appease characters” (Culpeper and Archer 2008: 73). Is then the interpretation of conversation dependent on pragmatic theory or is it not? So far, no definite answer to this question can be provided, and no theory that accounts for the dynamics of conversation doing away with any notion of ‘talkas-action’ has been able to acquire wide consensus, especially since the frequency and the relevance of meta-communication in conversation continue to provide motivations for keeping the ‘performative’ element central to our discussions.

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There comes next the issue of the classification of speech acts, and therefore also of the verbs indicating them. The first classifications were of course put forth by the initial proponents of speech act theory, John Austin and later John Searle, but other, more articulated models followed. For example, Fraser (1975), but also Vanderveken (1990), classify as ‘assertives’ verbs that we classify here partly as representatives and partly as metalinguistic verbs or verbs of saying. Fraser also calls ‘ceremonial performatives’ some of our declaratives. Verbs that express evaluation or speaker’s attitude are here mostly included in the category of expressives; in practice, the only categories on which there seems to be some wider agreement are commissives and directives, i.e. those more closely linked to ‘action’ proper on the world, although some work on speech acts not so much as ‘actions’, but rather as conducive to different kinds of changes in hearers’ beliefs and as variously affecting their mental attitudes has also been carried out, e.g. Herzig and Longin (2000). Verschueren (1985: 184–185) points out how difficult it can be to place precise boundaries between some performative uses, with e.g. directive meaning ‘spilling over’ representatives and commissives, and with the differences created by contextual factors. The same problems and ambiguities arise, even more pronounced, in historical performative studies, and more on this will be said below about individual cases, after this general review of methodological problems. Much more complicated are of course those cases in which there is no explicit performative. Even in modern language, this can make recognition and classification of speech acts more difficult (Holtgraves 2005), and particularly so when acts are performed indirectly. It is possible that some acts are conveyed by implicature, especially by conventional implicatures of the type triggered, e.g. by connectives (e.g. but, moreover, even), which in fact have been claimed to hide ‘tacit performatives’ of the ‘suggest’ type (Rieber 1997). Of course, it should be checked whether this possibility of implying the performative only holds for so-called non-central speech acts, such as adding, contrasting, explaining, all of which presuppose a previous act of stating (Rieber 1997: 59–60). These are also acts that are non-truth conditional, or require the hearer to believe what the speaker is saying;

. Recall that, at the very beginning of this section, the hypothesis was mentioned that for any given stage in the history of a language only those speech acts can be identified for which there is a corresponding verb (Schlieben-Lange and Weydt 1979: 67); this hypothesis does not seem to have found favour with later speech act analysts, and is not embraced here either, although the existence of specific verbs is significant, especially in drama and in metarepresentational language in general. Therefore, the chapter does not aim at classifying speech acts occurring in the sample, but only verbs that indicate some such acts, with no claim of being exhaustive.



Chapter 4.  Performatives and verba dicendi

very often they just tend to point something out to the hearer, who may accept it or not (Rieber 1997: 62). Many performative verbs do not correspond to a specific illocutionary force but rather to a kind of communicative act, such as forbidding; they are self reflective, in that they ‘point’ to the act they also perform (self-deictics) and can show different degrees of subjectivity (Traugott and Dasher 2002: 191); moreover, as repeatedly mentioned, there is no direct correspondence between verbs and acts, although some verbs that refer to similar acts are often not completely synonymous, in that their conversational features can differ, e.g. state and assert; on the contrary, we should recall that some acts do not correspond necessarily to a performative, while others do not refer to speech acts proper although they are performatives, e.g. allow (Vanderveken 1990: 166–169). In the latter category we can place some ‘attitudinal verbs’ or expressions that in other ways indicate stance and/or evaluation, as Biber (2004: 133–136) does for the PDE counterparts: trosten, suffiren, ben disposed / disposen [oneself] to, defenden. Others have more ambiguous status and were included in the group of expressives. Speech act verbs have been variously classified both synchronically and diachronically, and diachronic studies show interesting semantico-pragmatic features; these verbs seem to undergo developments from non-epistemic to epistemic meanings, not dissimilarly from modal verbs (Traugott (1991: 387); for examples of changes in some verbs over time see e.g. Owen (1983: 109–113)). Verbs of mental activity, in particular, are often quoted as good examples of semantic change in the direction of increased subjectivity, since they often go from describing a physical activity to denoting a mental one, e.g. see (Traugott and Dasher 2002: 94–95). The etymology of many of these verbs shows that they are derived mostly from verbs indicating uttering, mental states, vision, or spatial expressions, although some other verbs have idiosyncratic origins; this holds both for native and for borrowed verbs, especially those from French, some of which are already established in the language at the time of our texts. Traugott (1991: 397–401) argues that representative verbs of saying have much in common with epistemic modals, while verbs with directive and commissive value share some features with root modals; thus, in the same way as root modals tend to . At the basis of all this, of course, there lies the issue of whether speech acts are based on conventions, which would in turn raise the further issue of (dis)continuity of such conventions in a community over time. On this very wide and basic issue see e.g. Kasher (1984), Leonardi (1984). . The most complete work is still Wierzbicka (1987), while a detailed semantic-oriented study is Vanderveken (1990); for a detailed study of the structures in which some of these verbs appear in ME and EModE see Warner (1982).

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develop epistemic meanings over time, so verbs indicating speech acts should develop representative meanings. In what follows, I will keep in mind both the traditional pragmatic classification into types of speech act verbs, and typologies such as Wierzbicka’s, where the attention is concentrated on the act of saying proper and its shades. This position of course considers also verbs indicating metacommunication and extracommunication, i.e. those used to talk about current or previous interaction; this involves an endorsement of Lenz (1997), who includes these aspects in interaction and discourse along with speech act verbs (and performatives) proper.

4.2 Verbs of action in the N.Town plays This section takes as its starting point previous work carried out on the Canterbury Tales, in which verbs of saying and performatives, especially those referring to the representation of verbal activities, were analysed (Mazzon 2002b). That work revealed an astonishing variety of such verbs, which were partly classified according to the traditional pragmatic categorisation of speech act types proposed by Austin and by Searle. The classification adopted for the above-mentioned work was adopted here, too (though with the caveat mentioned at the end of the previous section), and some examples are reported below, along with the quantitative data about the performative expressions found in the text examined (‘expressions’ and not just ‘verbs’ because some nominals such as blyssyng, bydding and testificacion were also included, under the same category as the corresponding verb). However, dealing with frequencies is only the beginning – the real problem lays in commenting on the semantic and pragmatic values of these expressions. The pragmatic strength of an utterance or of a performative is not univocally defined even within a speech community; moreover, the force or binding value of some elements can change over time. In the same way as the ‘wear and tear’ of language forms over time leads to reinterpretation or reanalysis of categorisations and functions, pragmatically oriented elements also change their strength over time, and tend to be ‘reinforced’ or replaced. This was shown e.g. by Arnovick (1994) in her paper on diachronic pragmatics concerning promises, which was already mentioned in the previous section, as it remains an emblematic study. So, it is not enough to give a list of performatives and notice how many of these are still in use; we should also go a little further in the attempt to define the pragmatic value of each. Some are to be considered more ‘basic’ linguistic action verbs, according to the classification in Verschueren (1985: 226–228), who lists several of the heirs of the verbs found in our sample, but does not sub-classify them according to the traditional categories. The classification given in the pres-



Chapter 4.  Performatives and verba dicendi

ent work follows the traditional typologies, but also takes into account more recent investigations on modern English and on previous stages in the history of English (e.g. Wierzbicka 1987; Verschueren 1990; Traugott 1991; Kohnen 2000, and the contributions in Jucker and Taavitsainen 2008). In spite of the existence of these and other contributions, this kind of study is still not fully developed: the mapping of speech acts and of expressions referring to their performing in the history of English is still incomplete. As regards the formal properties of the verbs (and of the corresponding nouns and expressions), many of them appear in the same constructions they show in PDE; for instance, directive verbs tend to appear with a first-person (singular or plural) Subject, and the addressees can be mentioned as Objects or as part of the ensuing dependent clause (e.g. I order you to do X vs. I order that you do X (Kohnen 2000: 179); on the limited acceptability of such clauses in PDE see Mazzon (2003a: 181)). What can really be uncertain, as mentioned, is the correspondence (or lack thereof) in the pragmatic strength of the verb; the possible inferences we can draw about this are linked to the context, to the presence of modal elements modifying the performative, and to studies on similar corpora. One hint is the raw frequency of some verbs in corpora, although these are of course biased as to the kinds of speech acts they encode. For instance, Kohnen (2000: 182–184, 2008) found a very limited number of directive speech act verbs in some oe texts, and hardly any of the ‘suggest/advise’ subtype, which may depend on the fact that oe texts tend to represent socially asymmetric communicative situations – on the other hand, Kohnen’s analysis is based on the oe section of the Helsinki Corpus, which includes only selections from documents and not whole texts, therefore we cannot be sure about the frequency or the absence of specific verbs. Kohnen found no direct continuity between oe directive verbs and PDE ones, so ME is apparently the time during which most of them were substituted; this should make the analysis of ME performatives all the more welcome. The rarest type is 1. GESTURAL verbs related to performatives, only three expressions were found in this group, with very few tokens: give benisoun, blyssen, and maken signe; it must be noted that the first two indicate acts that can also be performed verbally, while the third is often accompanied by verbal formulae, since it refers to the sign of the cross.

. On later developments in the use of ‘gestural language’ to refer to gestures as communicative acts see Hübler (2000).

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Category 2. ONOMATOPOETIC/SOUND-ICONIC performatives, is also rather underrepresented: it includes only about thirty tokens of syngen, gronen, waylen; it is to be kept in mind that there are verbs and expressions such as blaberen that could be considered ambiguous between this category and that of Expressives – they were included in the latter category wherever the ‘content’ element referred to was considered predominant over the ‘sound’ element. Category 3. PERFORMATIVES proper, is subdivided into five subcategories; as mentioned, it was decided to stick to the more traditional distinction into Representatives, Directives, Commissives, Expressives and Declarations, in which those expressions were included, which import a change in state of affairs. The abovementioned category of ‘assertives’, which was adopted by several scholars, was not employed here because it shows too many ambiguities; e.g., Vanderveken himself (1990: 174) notices the ambiguity of warn between assertive and directive, and the fact that many other verbs, e.g. criticise or praise, include an attitudinal or evaluative element. Of course, ambiguities are not missing from our classification either; in some cases, it is a question of different meanings of the same verb, as e.g. callen ‘to name’ vs. callen ‘to summon’: these were counted separately in the respective categories, and the same was done for other ambivalent verbs. In some other cases, however, the ambiguity seems to be solved by the context, by the kind of ‘company’ the verb keeps: speech-act-related expressions seem to occur in clusters, reinforcing, specifying or mitigating each other’s meaning. The first subcategory is 3A. REPRESENTATIVES, i.e. those verbs and expressions (listed below) that mainly express a position or attitude of the speaker as to the truth value of the proposition; as mentioned, some scholars identify this category with that of assertives because they often represent acts of assertion. Nearly 80 such types were found in the sample, with a corresponding figure of about 420 tokens altogether.

. On the presence and stylistic role of echoisms, or sound-reproducing expressions in English drama (though concentrating on a later date), see Koskenniemi (1962: 59–66). . It must be noted that not all possible verbs were sampled, especially if their performative value is uncertain in the text. For instance, the verb see has a cognitive meaning, but its value as an independent marker is uncertain. It certainly does not appear yet as a discourse marker similar to modern I see / you see (cp. the analysis of the various functions in Pesola and ­Bertuccelli Papi (2005)).



Chapter 4.  Performatives and verba dicendi

3A. REPRESENTATIVES affirmen (1), asoilen (= solve, answer a question, 1), avyse/avysement (n., = opinion, 9), avysen (= be of opinion, 10), acorden (= agree, 5), be acordyd (id., 1), beren witnesse (5), bethenken (= imagine, 3), bringen testymonie (1), certifien (4), clarifien (3), conceyven (1), confermen (3), consideren (3), counterfeyten (= simulate, 4), controversy (n., 1), countryven (4), demen (= deem, 15), discussen (1), dyspreven (= disprove, 2), enformen (= instruct/inform, 9), examinen (1), exceden [one’s] intelligens (1), expownen (= explain, 2), expressen (6),10 falsen [wurdys] (= falsify speech, 1), fyguren (= imagine, 2), gessen (3), hauen/Šeuen informacyon (8), hauen/Šeuen intelligens (= receive/give information, 3), hauen knowynge (6), hauen (in) mende (9), hauen tydynges (= have news, 3), holden (= believe, deem, 15), interpretacyon (n., 1), jewgen (= deem, 2), Ševen credens ( = consider credible, 2), kepen cownsell (2), knowen (93), knowlechen (= acknowledge, 6), lyen (3), maken comparacyon (2), maken massage (= give a message, report, 2), maken rekenynge (1), mysdede (n., 2), mysdemynge (n., 1), mysthought (ppl., 1), myswrought (ppl., 2), noten (1), oblocucyon (= bad locution, n., 1), observen (1), opynyon (n., 1), pronunciacion (= stamentent, n., 1), presumen (5), preven (19), pretenden (4), report (n., 1), remembren (6), supposen (6), taken cownsell (4), taken exaumple (3), taken/turnen thought (= adopt/change opinion, 2), testifien (2), testificacion (n, 2), testimonien (1), thenken on (= imagine, 7), trowen (= state, 15), undyrstonden (10), verifien (1), wenen (= think, believe, 6), weten (= know, 39), wytnesse [shewen/ben/bringen] (6), wytnessen (5), wytnessynge (n., 1), wonderen (2). First of all we notice the presence of several verbs that are no longer in use and that come all the way from oe, e.g. weten and trowen, while others are used in different ways from their modern counterparts. It will be seen that some of these verbs are related to verbal action (as in categories 4 and 5 below), while some have also modal elements in their meaning, e.g. certifien, which was quoted in 3.3. Some of these refer to epistemic states, or to higher or lower degrees of certainty, or indicate acts that increase that level of certainty, in one’s mind (e.g. verifien) or in others’

. In the lists of items in this chapter, numbers of tokens for each type are given in brackets after the relevant form, along with indication of part of speech when necessary (verbs are given in the infinitive with the most common ending, -en) and with explanation of meaning or modern counterpart when not immediately obvious; the spelling adopted for each form is the predominant or most common one in the text. . The examples have more assertive than commissive value (illustrated by Vanderveken (1990: 176) for PDE) – the modal overtone of this verb was already mentioned in 3.3. 10. This verb is often used, also in PDE, in constructions of an expressive nature (as in I hereby express my gratitude), but it is essentially declarative in itself (Vanderveken 1990: 213).

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(e.g. preven). Others have deontic shades, or can be used deontically in other meanings, e.g. avysen, jewgen, trowen, demen, either as directives or as commissives. On the whole, this is the sub-category that shows the second-highest number of types after expressives, a fact that reveals the importance of the semantic-pragmatic area of ‘mental activity’ in the collection. Of course, there are some sub-areas that emerge as more important than others; the most common verbs in this group refer to the mental state of ‘knowing’11 – there is a small but significant group indicating error, and generally quite some emphasis is put on the logic and rhetoric aspects of thought and speech. This is of course connected to the fact that many plays are centred on the issue of believing vs. doubting, as already pointed out in Chapter 3. This factor, and also the incidence of legal and pseudo-legal settings (with the various ‘trials’, questionings, accusations, etc.), are responsible for the numerous expressions concerning ‘evidence’: testimonien, beren wytnesse, etc. We limit the quotation of examples to the most important verbs, with special regard to know, which has the highest number of tokens by far. Knowen and similar verbs often appear in the passive, impersonal form, to indicate general knowledge of a fact or of the identity of a character (1)–(2), or appear modified by marked constructions or modal elements, for instance wel/full wel, to convey the certainty of such knowledge (3)–(4); when the verbs refer not to the state, but to the process of acquiring knowledge, they are often accompanied by markers of necessity such as must (5). (1) The iijde kynge of þe jentyll jesse / my name is knowe, kyng Roboas [7.49–50] ‘The third king of the gentle Jesse, My name is known, King Roboas.’ (2) Than beware dame for this is wel iknowe [14.310; S = 2nd Detractor, to Mary] ‘Then beware, dame, because this is well known’ (3) He xal send þe Sprytt to his discyplis / and I Joel knowe full trewe þat is [7.92–3] ‘He shall send the Holy Ghost to his disciples, and I, Joel, know that this is true indeed’ (4) Why haue Še sought me with evy fare? / Wete Še not wele þat I muste be / amonge hem..? [21.261–3; S = Jesus] ‘Why have you looked for me with heavy cheer? Do you not know well that I must have been with them?’ 11. The epistemically weaker thynken was not included here because its uses, also as a parenthetical, were mentioned in 3.3; the same holds for gessen, which appears here only in its occurrences apart from epistemic (as) I gesse.



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(5) But he þat xal deye, Še must knawe / þat in hym may ben non iniquité [11.145–6; S = The Son] ‘But he that will die, you must know that in him there may be no wickedness’

The ‘witnessing’ group often indicates the invocation of God or of the sacred texts (6), but in some cases it is the character speaking that takes responsibility for the ‘evidence’ (7), with the invocation of some authority (8). (6) … most sovereyn creature / that evyr was born be natural conseyvyng / and hyest of prophetys, as wytnessyth Scrypture [28b.40; S = 2nd Doctor] ‘Most superior creature, that ever was born by natural conceiving, and highest among prophets, as the Scriptures testify’ (7) Off þat byrthe wyttnes bere I / a prophete, Osyas men me calle [7.109–10] ‘Of that birth I, a prophet, people call me Ozyas, can give testimony’ (8) I come with hym as testymonyall / for to conferme and fortefye his sentens [26.420–1; S = John Baptist] ‘I come with him as a witness to confirm and make his sentence stronger’

These uses verge on the commissive side when looked at within their context; before we deal with commissives proper, our next subcategory will be Directives, i.e. expressions representing acts that aim at binding the hearer to future behaviour. This group also yields interesting results, starting with the quantitative aspect: there are 54 types, but as many as ca. 665 tokens. 3B. DIRECTIVES asken jugement (1), assignen (4), attenden (= pay attention to sth, 4), autorysen (1; this can also be a declarative, depending on who utters it), besechen (33), bydden (53), byddyng (n., 39), bynden (= oblige, 15), c/kallen (= summon, 31), callen to cownsell (2), callyng (n., 1), chargen (= order, 23), charging (n., 1), comaunden (17), comaundment (n., 28), constreynen (1), cownsellen (9), cryen to (= summon, 20), deliberacyon (n., 1), demawnde (= request, n., 2), determinen (1), don oppressyon (1), exhorten (4), forbeden (4), governen (1), herken (= listen, pay attention to used as imperative, 18), inquiren (1), instawns (= request, n., 3), jurediccion (n., 2), Šeuen assignation (1), Šeuen cownsell (29), Šeuen leve (1), Šeuen rede (= advise, 6), Šeuen warnyng (1), ordenaunce (n., 9), ordeynen (23), ordyr (n., 1), peticyon (n., 2), prayen (166), prayour (n., 14), precepte (n. and ppl., 2), recommenden (7), reden (= advise, 13), request (n., 5), requiren (2), rewlen (= rule, 5), senden for (6), senden on errand/massage (3), senden word/message (2), somownen (= summon, 2), taken hede (41), warnen (6).

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This is the category that has the highest type-token ratio, due to the strong presence of normativity in the text, which is also responsible for the fact that this group shows the second-highest number of tokens, after verba dicendi (see below 4.3). Notice however also that this is largely due to the high frequency of prayen, whose uses are partly formulaic, and linked to politeness formulae or quasi-formulae like I pray you (at this stage, the expression seems to be used as a parenthetical already, although it is not yet a pragmatic marker, as it was to become in EModE, see also Chapter 2 n. 9 (Traugott and Dasher 2002: 252), and for this reason it was not considered a support move, as in Culpeper and Archer (2008: 74). Here, too, the presence of ‘legal’ overtones has quite an incidence, as well as the fact that powerful characters are portrayed, who are in a position to comawnden, ordeynen, rewlen, and callen to cownsell, among others. The fields of ‘advising’ and ‘warning’ are obviously quite prominent, given the didactic and admonitory tones of large parts of the collection (conversely, there seem to be very few performatives of this type in oe (Kohnen 2008: 31), see also below); warn is ambiguous between assertive and directive, it is usually an assertion “with the directive purpose of suggesting” that the hearer do something about the content of the assertion (Vanderveken 1990: 174). Among the verbs and expressions indicating acts of requesting, as well as among those of ordering, it is not very easy to establish a scale of pragmatic strength (Culpeper and Archer 2008: 47). This was attempted for some official documents spanning over a stretch of time that overlaps with the time of the composition of cycle plays (Mazzon 2003a); as remarked in that contribution, it is always rather risky to establish scales of illocutionary force on the basis of limited contexts and vague background knowledge, although of course supplicacyon can be quite safely assumed to be associated to weaker speakers than comaundement, or at least can be assumed to imply a different power balance. The same holds of course for the next category 3C: the binding value of a commissive speech act depends on who performs it, besides the context in which it is uttered, the ­addressee, etc.; the modal elements present in the immediate co-text are also important in the analysis of these categories. One co-textual element that was singled out as significant in contemporary texts is reinforcement through the use of ‘doublets’, i.e. pairs of near-synonymical performatives to make the expression of the act stronger, e.g. chargen and comaunden, willen and disposen, etc. This feature was hypothesised to be linked to legal and bureaucratic registers in the texts in that sample (Mazzon 2003a: 185–187), and is actually nearly absent from the N.Town plays, in spite of the legal overtones of some portions and of the representation of secular power, including kings, in others (but see (9), with legal reference). An interesting observation is that while the performatives related to commanding derive increased strength from the authority of the speaker (e.g. as



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opposed to conveying this illocution through modality, see Kohnen (2008: 30)), those related to requesting such as the ubiquitous prayen and the more strongly marked beseken do not derive their force from the same factor, but from “a higher intensity of desire expressed, and from the more humble manner in which the speaker places himself vis-à-vis the hearer” (Vanderveken 1990: 192). Notice the inclusion of herken and especially taken hede, which are grouped here because they are mainly used to exhort characters (and audience) to pay attention, another important function in this context; the frequencies of comaunden, chargen and ordeynen are pretty similar, although their strength does not precisely overlap (Vanderveken 1990: 194): as its modern counterpart, ordeynen is much stronger, and is often proffered (or reported) by speakers with high authority (10), and this is emphasised by frequent recourse to the passive, impersonal form (11), often with modal reinforcement. The other verbs are also strong (12), but they can be uttered by lower authorities (13), and, in the case of chargen, also by peers in case of low politeness directives; the latter verb is also used as a ‘reinforcement’ of a directive, to emphasise it, in structures (14) that appear similar to those employed with verbs of saying to reinforce a statement, like (41) or (44) below. (9) And as in þe olde lawe it was comawndyd and precepte / to ete þis lomb… [27.385–6; S = Jesus] ‘And as in the old law it was ordered and prescribed to eat this lamb...’ (10) In whose sted must nedys ordeyned be / another… [39.74–5; S = Peter] ‘...instead of whom another one must necessarily be ordered... ‘ (11) God xal þat ordeyn, þat sytt in hevynne [5.129; S = Abraham] ‘God will order that, who sits in heaven’ (12) I Annas be my powere xal comawnde dowteles [26.167] ‘I, Annas, by my power shall no doubt command’ (13) I charge Šow sese of Šowre fals cry [14.112; S = Bishop to Detractors] ‘I order that you stop your vicious clamour’ (14) Loke þat þu leve in honesté / and wyl no more to synne, I þe charge [24.279–80; S = Jesus to Adulteress] ‘Make sure you live in honesty, and do not wish to sin anymore, I order you’

In this group we should not forget bidden a much older verb than PRAY, which was borrowed in the early fourteenth century and took on several of its functions (Traugott and Dasher 2002: 253), which often expresses very high strength and is on the whole more comparable with ‘order’ than with the idea of ‘requesting’ (15)–(16); the high strength is also shown by the fact that a byddyng can be trespassed or broken, like the law (17); also, its frequency is very high as compared

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to the verbs mentioned above; it is also syntactically very variable, in that it can appear followed by a finite or infinite clause, and is often followed by a pronoun. Notice also the very frequent expression at þi/Šour byddyng, which enters politeness formulae expressing obedient compliance, very much like ‘at your command’ would today (on modification of directives in the history of English see also ­Culpeper and Archer (2008: 50)). (15) For Moyses doth bydde in oure lawe / that every adowterere we xuld qwelle [24.106–7; S = Scribe] ‘For Moses prescribes in our law that we should kill every adulteress’ (16) I am ful redy, as god doth me bydde / a shypp for to make [4.134–5; S = Noah] ‘I am totally ready, as God asks of me, to build a ship’ (17) Womman, þu sowtyst þis synnyng / and bad hym breke my byddyng [2.251–2; S = God to Eve] ‘Woman, you began this sinning, and demanded that he break my rule’

The next group we take into account is Commissives, i.e. the forms expressing those acts that bind the speaker to future behaviour, often indicating compliance to a previous directive – therefore, the previous group and the next are closely linked. Within the five subcategories of Performatives, this is the group with the lowest number of tokens (377), although the number of types is not very low (65); this may look odd, in that it seems as if commitment, which should be a large part of the faithful’s ‘pact’ with God, is not given very high prominence in the text, especially as compared to directive elements, which are by far more frequent, as we saw. 3C. COMMISSIVES abyden (= accept, 20), accepten (2), accusen (9), acorden sentence (3), apposen (= interrogate accusingly, 2), askusen (= excuse, 7), assent (n., 8, referring to the granting of something from an authoritative character and not so much to a simple act of agreeing, an assertive (Vanderveken 1990: 177)), avowen (= vow, 4), behest (= promise, n. 1), ben obedyent (1), consenten (4), consentynge (n., 1), don [one’s] devyr (= do one’s duty, 6), don [one’s] dylygens (id., 3), defien (1), ensuren (2), excuse (n., 1), ffolwen [entent/lawe] (2), fulfyllen [wyll/entent etc.] (30), graunten (33), hauen cure (1), (be)heeten (= promise, 3), herken (= listen, i.e. follow advice or command, 8), hest (= promise, n., 1), inclinen (2), intencyon (n., 4), intenden (2), Šelden (= yield, not however in a declarative sense of surrender but rather as ‘give’, 1), Šeuen audyens (1), leyen (= wager, 3), maken amendys (3), maken/ kepen avow (15), maken covenaunt (1), maken promissyon (4), manace (= threat, n., 2), obedyence (n., 6), obeyen (11), offeren (e.g. a sacrifice, 34), offrynge (n., 14),



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[trowth] plythen (15), presenten (= offer, 7), promisen (1), purpose (n., 6), purposen (= make resolution, 12), refusen (= reject, 3), releven (= assist, 1), sacren (= consecrate, 2), sauen (= save, referred to religion, 20), serven (3), sweren (7), taken care (1), taken charge (3), taken upon one[self] (3), taken repentaunce (3), thenken to (= have the intention of, 6), threte (n., 2), threten (1), thythen (= offer, 6), trowen (= swear, 9), undyrtaken (2), vouchesauf (= promise, 8). The aspect of ‘promising’ (of which the commissive uses of swear are a strong version, but still weaker than the declarative uses of the same verb, counted separately below), along with that of ‘offering’ (a sacrifice, or even oneself, to God) and of ‘obedience’, are the most prominent, along with the notion of ‘intention’12 and, when power structures are involved, that of ‘granting’. The fact that graunten is the most frequent verb in this group reveals that the commissive side of this text is closely linked to the directive one, to the ideas of requesting, praying, etc., whose preferred response is precisely ‘granting, conceding’. In this sense, occurrences of this verb that are ‘only’ commissive were kept apart from the cases in which the verb is a declarative, that is when it is pronounced in the first person by a character with authority and has an immediate effect on the world (see below). It is important to establish the degree of commitment that speech acts involve, especially when interaction is with God or his emissaries. The high number of expressions in groups 3B and 3C also confirms the dense modal texture of these plays, since they tend to convey various forms of volition, obligation, etc. This is also connected to politeness strategies; such a high number of items is not casual, but linked to levels of interactivity, especially as concerns performatives related to command: “directives in English, in [previous] times as in ours, are so lexicalised as to provide gradations of illocutionary force” (Magnusson 1999: 26). The continuity with PDE is rather high in the forms, and there are also survivals of previous stages, e.g. in the rare occurrence of vouchesauf (18), very frequent in older texts, and of plyth (19) and heeten (20), which have then disappeared. It is very difficult to comment on the pragmatic strength of these forms but, recalling Arnovick (1994) on promises, we can presume that they had a stronger value than today, especially when related to their religious context, and especially since, at a time when literacy was still rare, speech acts could be considered even more important and binding (Pakkala-Weckström 2008: 138). The same holds for avowen and maken avow (21), which from other evidence we know to represent a strong commitment. It must be noted that although the act of promising is well represented, its contrary, threatening, is nearly absent – this is possibly due to the fact 12. In several cases this refers also to authorial intention; especially through the verb purposen, it is often announced to the audience what the next play or scene will represent; see also 6.4.

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that in drama threats are performed through other verbal and non-verbal action and their strength and value are only inferred. Of course, in this category too, the degree of pragmatic strength is related to the position of the speaker – for instance, assenting, consenting and threatening can have different consequences depending on the authority of the person who performs them. Graunten itself is of course more obviously connected to authoritative positions, as revealed by the fact that the most frequent collocations are with Objects like mercy (23) and grace (when referred to God), or powere (when associated with secular authority) (24). (18) Now, jentyl serys, wele Še vouchesaffe / to go with me…? [34.230–1] ‘Now, kind sirs, will you make a commitment to come with me…?’ (19) To my paleys wyl I passe full prest I Šow plyth [18.14; S = Herod] ‘To my palace I intend to go quite fast, I promise you’ (20) Ther hestyd I as myn hert thought / to serve my God… [10.68–9; S = Mary] ‘There I promised, as my heart felt to do, to serve my God…’ (21) … We þat were barreyn God hath sent a childe / to offre here to Goddys service we mad oure avow [9.51–2; S = Joachym] ‘… to us, that were sterile, God has sent a child; we avowed to offer her to God’s service’ (22) … with þese wurdys God dyd us threte / þat we xuld dye… [2. 179–80; S = Eve] ‘… with these words God threatened us that we would die…’ (23) Praynge þat Lord of oure synne remyssyon / at þat dredful day he us graunt mercye [7.131–2; S = King Ammon] ‘Praying that Lord for remission of our sins, that he grant us mercy on that dreadful day’ (24) Whether Še bery hym in pytte or grave / þe powere I grawnt Šow here present [34.79–80; S = Pilate] ‘Whether you bury him in a pit or in a grave, I grant you, here present, the power (to do so)’

It is very clear that the last example borders on the declarative value: the granting of power, from some authoritative source, has an immediate perlocutionary effect, and in fact other similar expressions were classified among declaratives. Before we look at them, however, we will examine the most ‘emotional’ type of expressions, i.e. at the subcategory of Expressives, those indicating acts that express the speaker’s attitude towards the propositional content; this is the group



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that has the highest number of types (102),13 although not the highest number of tokens (538), and this can be easily explained, since the expressions included here denote a wide range of feelings and their verbal expressions, some of which are anyway not confined to communicating a state of mind, but have themselves an effect on the world. Some of these verbs are classified as assertives by Vanderveken (1990:  78–81), but in the context of these dialogues the expression of feelings seems to override the assertion of a propositional content. 3D. EXPRESSIVES [a]greven (= aggravate, 15), backbyten (1), ben aschamyd (4), ben blis to [someone] (1), ben comendable (1), ben contrite (1), ben to blame (4), ben repentaunt (2), ben wondyr [to someone] (5), blaberen (2), blasfemen (= swear against God, 1), blasfemyng (n., 1), blamen (10), bostynge (n., 1), carpen (= talk, chatter, 1), carpyng (n., 1), chastisen (3), chateren (2), cheren (= cheer up somebody, 6), chyden (= reproach, 3), comendacyon (n., 1), comenden (= praise, 4), comfortacyon (n., 2), comforten (36), compleynen (1), compleynt (n., 2), contrycyon (n., 2), cursen (13),14 dampnacyon (n., 4), dampnen (9), defamacyon (n., 2), defamen (6), detraccyon (n., 1), displesen (7), don blame (7), don grevaunce (4), don reuerence (4), dysmayen (5), dyspysen (5), dyspyte (n., 2), faren well (3), glorifien (1), greten (7), gretynge (n., 2), gruggen (= complain, 1), hailen (= greet formally, 1), hauen delectacyon (1), hauen pity (1), hauen/maken sorwe (2), honouren (16), indignacyon (n., 1), japen (= mock, jeer, 3), Šelden thankynges (1), Šeuen/geten comfort (21), Šeuen rebuke (1), lamentacyon (n., 1), maken bost (3), maken doloure (= express sorrow, 1), maken gratulacyon (1), maken merry (1), maken mone (= utter moan, 1), maken morning (12), maken myrth (5), maken protestacyon (1),15 merveylen (6), mornen (2), myssen (2), offenden (10), offens (n., 4), peynen (= pine, 3), plesen (8), pleynen (1), preysen (5), preysyng (n., 2), putten in blame (4), putten to repreff (3), putten to schame (1), raven (4), repenten (9), repreven (6), revylen (3), salutacyon (n., 3), sclaunderen (= slander, 1), senden grace (1), shrewen (= curse, 1), shrevyn (= make confession, 5), skorne (n., 1), skornen (3), suffyren blame (1), suffyren schame (1),

13. The fact that this category is represented by a high number of types and tokens in our sample is the contrary of what seems to happen in modern English (Verschueren 1985: 230). 14. This verb was included in this category because it seems already used to express anger mostly, and to be more subjective than the original use of the verb (see 4.1 above), which previously marked heavily deontic declaratives closely related to the religious meaning (Arnovick 1999: 73–89). 15. This expression is used frequently, in me, in the sense of ‘protesting one’s innocence’, and is typical of defenses against accusations (Peikola 2003: 121).

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swemen (= grieve, 2), taken [one’s] leve (11), thanken (58), welcomen (5), wepen (24), wepyng (n., 9), werken/don schame (3), worchyp (n., 12), worchypen (54). The main semantic areas represented include: the expression of ‘worshipping’ (25), that of ‘thanking’ (26), and expressions related to suffering (weep, mourn, etc., (27)–(28)). Some indicate acts that have to do with everyday interaction, including greeting (29),16 while a small but significant group refers to the acts of ‘slandering, defaming’ (30), a very serious offence in the Middle Ages (Moore 2003), which is prominent especially in Play 14, The Trial of Joseph and Mary, and will be dealt with in its interactional aspects in 5.4 below. (25) Šitt loke þu wurchep hym nyght and day [6.48] ‘Yet make sure you worship him night and day’ (26) Now I thank God of his mercy [41.287] ‘Now I thank God of his mercy’ (27) Joseph Joseph þu wepyst shyrle [12.147; S = Angel] ‘Joseph, Joseph, you weep in a shrill voice’ (28) Why makyst þu man suche mornyng? [15.138] ‘Why are you so mournful?’ (29) Heyl God grettest I grete þe on grownde [16.94] ‘Hail, greatest God, I greet you on the ground’ (30) If I be sclaundryd opynly / to all my frendys it xul be shame [24.173–4; S = Woman (the Adulteress)] ‘If I am slandered openly, it would be a shame to all my friends’

These examples were chosen from the ‘core’ of this semantic and pragmatic area, but as mentioned the area is very rich, allowing for the representation of all the shades of emotions – this is connected to the desire to heighten the pathos of the scene, responding to a precise rhetorical strategy of medieval Christianity. The representation of suffering (and consequently its verbal expression) is crucial for the catharsis that was the desired effect of these plays,17 as crucial as the depiction of infinite joy and bliss that comes from the Resurrection, which is contrasted with the vain blabbering and foul mirth-making of negative characters like Herod and Satan. The latter, in particular, is guilty of ‘boasting’, another quite serious 16. Notice that expressions like welcome and farewell were included in interjections (3.4) when used as formulae; the tokens reported here are the uses of the corresponding verbs. 17. On the rhetoric of violence and on the representation of suffering in medieval drama, in connection with the idea that pain can solicit memory, and therefore be a constant reminder to the faithful, see Enders (1999).



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‘sin of the tongue’; the use of these forms highlights the fact that the Devil is not a comic character here, as it becomes in other cycles, but embodies a critical view of power, like Herod himself (Skey 1979–1980; Cox 1994–1995). The last group in category 3 is made up of those verbs whose uttering determines a change in the outside world in a more direct way than others, i.e. Declarative performatives proper, a group made up of 68 types and about 473 tokens. 3E. DECLARATIONS amenden (9), aquiten (4), baptizen (12), begylen (3), ben redempt (1), betrayen (10), blissen (87), blissyng (n., 14), breken lawe (1), callen (= name, 15), clepen (= name/give name, 25), condempnen (1), confermen (4), confessen (2), confessyon (n., 2), conjowren (= evoke [spirits], 3), conuerten (2), correcten (1, not in the assertive sense of correcting a proposition, but in the sense of amending a situation), crystenen (1), deceyven (1), declaren (2), delyveren (= save, 11), denyen (10),18 devoyden (= make null and void, 2), don correxion (1, in the same sense as correcten), don penaunce (8), dysmyssen (1), exceden lawe (= trespass, 2), forfetten (2), forgon (1), forŠeuen (14), forsaken (46), graunten (22), hauen reward (1), highten (= be called/named, 6), jewgen (1), Šeuen baptism (3), Šeuen/hauen jugement (20), Šeuen/hauen lysens (2), Šeuen mede (= give reward, 4), Šeuen name (2), Šeuen/ hauen powere (2), Šeuen sentens (3), maken [someone] patriark (1), maken/ben redempcyon (3), mynystracyon (n., 4), mynystren (1), namen (7), nempnen (1), oth (n., 2), pardonen (1), performen (2), profferen lawe (1), qwethen (= bequeath, 1), redemen (2), reformen (1), refusen (= reject, 1), remyssyon (n., 2), restoren (5), rewarden (3), shenden/ben shent (= disgrace, ruin/be disgraced, 25), spyllyn (id., 12), sweren (= take an oath, 5), treson (n., 17), wedden (2). As expected, in this subcategory there is quite some continuity over time: the group is formed by expressions that change to some extent the state of things when uttered, and many of them are part of a tradition or are pronounced in highly conventionalised contexts; thus, it is to be expected that they should be conservative in their forms. Unsurprisingly, most of these are acts that have to do with religion: the imparting of blessings19 and sacraments such as baptism or marriage (32)–(33), or salvation (or lack thereof) which, for believers, represents 18. In PDE, this verb is “systematically both assertive and declarative” (Vanderveken 1990: 170). It was inserted in this category here because in the plays it mostly occurs in a legal context, to reject accusations, and is thus stronger than the negating of a claim. 19. Not all these acts of blessing are strictly declarative, in the sense that it is certainly not always members of the clergy who utter this performative, i.e. the only speakers that can do so felicitously today. Nevertheless, the verb was included here because the connection with the strictly religious, and thus declarative, meaning seems stronger than in its counterpart cursen.

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a real change in one’s destiny: redemption and reward vs. being shent and spyllyn, ruined forever. The other significant semantic areas have once again to do with the law (aquiten, condempnen, jugement, etc., as in (34)), and with the assignation of names (35), another important element in the Bible (starting with Adam), and also the area in which there has been the most ‘decay’ over time: clepen, nempnen, highten, are all forms that were used in oe, in the CT, and in other late ME works besides our plays, but have not survived EModE. Also important is the area of betrayal, deception, and forsaking (31), whose meaningfulness is highlighted by the religious context. As expected, these verbs often occur in the first person singular, but passive voice is also found with many of them, signalling the fact that the effect of the performative can be undergone by characters endowed with less power. (31) Goddys myth we forsake / and for more worthy we þe take [1.62–3; S = Rebel Angels to Lucifer] ‘We forsake God’s might, and take you as worthier [leader].’ (32) Sere with þis Rynge I wedde here Ryff [10.320; S = Joseph] ‘Sir, with this ring I marry her readily.’ (33) I me obey with gladsum chere / and baptyze the with watyr clere / ever halwyd be þi name [22.90–92; S = John Baptist] ‘I myself obey with happy countenance, and baptize you with clear water; may your name be forever holy.’ (34) … we xal in hast /jewge hym to deth with gret dyspyth [27.107–8; S = Gamalyel] we will quickly sentence him to death with great despite. (35) This place I name with good entent / þe hill of godys vesytacion [5.205–6; S = Abraham] ‘I name this place with good cheer “the hill of God’s visitation”.’

4.3 Metalinguistic verbs and verba dicendi This section is specifically devoted to verbs of saying, which, in the kind of text under examination, often have ‘straddling’ uses, i.e. they can represent verbal activity within dramatic dialogue, as the other types described above, but also, metarepresentationally, the verbal activity of the performers and the responses expected from the audience. In conversation, these forms are often found associated with the act of quoting, where they can reflect several features of reported acts, such as indirectness and degree of conventionalisation of the pragmatic force



Chapter 4.  Performatives and verba dicendi

expressed (Yamanashi 2002); dramatic texts can be considered, in this sense, one large quoting act. The reporting strategies of ModE prose are analysed, e.g., by Semino and Short (2004), who however refer cumulatively to all acts of uttering and do not distinguish between classes of performatives, but between different strategies of reporting in narrative, a kind of analysis that does not apply so effectively to dramatic texts. A distinction into various types with relation to illocutionary force is conversely drawn by Archer (2005: 339), dealing with verbs used in courtroom interaction in EModE. These items, which are quite substantially represented in the sample, are further subdivided into Metalinguistic Expressions and Verba Dicendi proper, but their communicative functions overlap to some extent. The former group yielded 267 tokens pertaining to 42 different types, but by far the most numerous category is that of verbs of saying proper, which includes 31 types but yielded over 890 tokens, mainly because of the massive presence of seyen and tellen, which will be dealt with in greater detail below. The type-token ratio in these categories is quite different, again because there are few verbs showing up in many tokens. 4. METALINGUISTIC EXPRESSIONS abyden (= stay [of audience], listen; the verb also appears in other contexts, with the commissive value of ‘abiding by’, i.e. accepting (Vanderveken 1990: 185), 15), adden (2), argument (n., 1), beren record (2), beren tydynges (= bring news, 1), bryngen tydynges (id., 4), conclusioun (n., 9), conversacyon (n., 2), declaren [a matere] (= tell, narrate, and thus with assertive, rather than properly declarative, value (Vanderveken 1990: 171), 4), declaracyon (= utterance/narration, same value as the verb, 4), delayen [word] (1), devysen (= describe/narrate, 7), diffinicyon (n., 1), dwellen (= stay, cp. abide, 3), dyscryven (2), endyten (= narrate, tell, 1), ffolwen [a matere] (= proceed in telling, 4), gynnen (= start to relate/play, 8), geynseyn (1), glosen (1), heren (referred to the act of listening of characters and audience, not as directive, 34), holden [one’s] pes (= be silent, 1), Ševen attencyon ([to speech], 1), leren (= teach, 8), lernen (12), lystenen (9), maken pawsacyon (1), maken relacyon (2), menen (23), passen (= say no more about, 2), playen (= act, 7), proceden (8), psalmodyen (1), rownen (= tell, 7), sesen (= stop talking, 9), senden tydynges (1), seyen tydynges (1), shewen (= represent, expound, talk about, 52), swagen (= stop talking, 1), sygnifien (2), taken record (1), tellen a tale/tydynges (11). Most of these refer to the organisation of the act of uttering, or to its import, for characters or for the audience (see 6.4); some are the same that were found in the CT (Mazzon 2002b: 265), but of course there are differences, due to the need to connect one play to the next or to the previous one, especially in speeches by Contemplacio and in other addressing of the audience. The group referring to

111

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‘relating news’ is particularly well represented (in terms of types, if not of tokens), no doubt due to the importance of ‘spreading the good news’ in the Gospel. The ‘meaningful’ aspects of communication are shown by the frequency of menen, etc., and also the importance of ‘listening’ to the message that is encoded in the plays and uttered. The most frequent verb in this group is however shewen, already singled out by Kolve (1966: 13) as the most significant ‘straddling’ verbal act: showing, i.e. revealing, illustrating through dramatic action is fundamental here, as made clear by the fact that the highest frequency of the verb is in Play 14 (The Trial of Joseph and Mary), Play 23 (The Temptation), Play 27 (The Last Supper); ‘show’ in these plays often refers to verbal action, not necessarily to ‘demonstrate’ but to ‘expound, tell about’ (36), as it did already in the CT; however, it can also, as a non-verbal action verb, mean ‘make see’ or ‘prove, demonstrate’, as in ModE (37)–(38); in authorial use, there can be some ambiguity between these values (39), although the context often makes it clear whether it is verbal or not (40).20 (36) Þerfore shewe now sum good counselle [23.38, S = Sathan] ‘Therefore say now some good advice’ (37) We xal lerne Šow þe liberary of oure Lordys lawe light / for my sawys in Šow shewyth sygnes of shame [9.252–3; S = Angel] ‘We shall teach you the library of our Lord’s law light, for my words show signs of shame in you’ (38) Lord I pray þe specyaly / þat þu wilt shewe to hem þi mercy [10.449–51; S = Mary] ‘Lord, I pray you especially that you choose to show them your mercy’ (39) In [þe] xxijti pagent we purpose vs / to shewe indeed þe declaracyon [0.297–8; S = 2nd Herald] ‘In the third pageant we propose ourselves to show in fact the declaration’ (40) As I haue prechyd in placys abowth / and shewyd experience to man and wyf [26.462–3; S = Jesus] ‘As I have preached around in places, and made see experience to man and woman’

As becomes clear by comparing the lists with today’s verbs, there are cases in which it is difficult to distinguish clearly between these expressions and those that 20. There are other verbs in this group, such as menen, that could also refer to mental activities, and in fact it has been remarked by Shinzato (2004) that mental verbs and verbs of saying have a lot in common, since they both refer to a ‘mental reality’ that is made public in the latter case, because it presupposes a ‘you’.



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indicate more strictly the acts of saying. In the latter category we included those expressions which indicate physical uttering, mode (spoken or written), mood (asking or stating), and a few others that refer more to the verbal act itself than to the content; these choices are not unquestionable, e.g. prechen (see ex. (40)) could be considered metalinguistic, but it was seen more as a verb indicating a speech act in itself rather than a (meta-linguistic) comment on one. The degree of assertiveness of these verbs often varies on the basis of the authority of the characters uttering them, e.g. prophesyen can only be used by or of authoritative speakers (Vanderveken 1990: 173). This point is further developed in 4.4 below. 5. EXPRESSIONS OF SAYING acounten (1), answere (n., 9), answeren (11), asken (22), betechen (1), chalangen (= say/utter, 1), langage (n., 1), prechen (21), prechyng (n., 11), prophesye (n., 1), prophesyen (9), quod (past tense, 1), reden (= read, 8), rehersen (3), replien (2), responcyon (n., 1), rowsen (= declare/say, 2), seyen (397), speche (n., 5), speken (69), spekyng (n., 1), spelle (n., 1), spellen (= say/describe, 4), syngen (= introducing song or words, 1), specyfien (2), talken (3), talkying (n., 6), techen (51), techyng (n., 2), tellen (228), wreten (19). The continuity with ModE is even more striking in this category, but also some discontinuities, both with the present and with the previous times: there is, for instance, very little overlapping between the uses in this text and those in Margery Kempe (Del Lungo Camiciotti 2000: 148), in spite of the fact that this work is closely related to the N.Town plays in various respects – on the other hand, it is not a dramatic work, and therefore the fact that it should differ in the indication of exquisitely dialogic acts may not be so surprising. The form quod, which was highly frequent in the CT as an introducer of direct speech, has only one occurrence in our sample, since this function is here entrusted to seyen (see below; on the forms and functions of quotatives and speech introducers in the history of English, though mostly in other text-types, see Herlyn (1999)); talken is very rare, as compared to today, either as indicating the action of uttering (e.g. That parrot cannot talk), or as indicating the act of conversation (e.g. I enjoy talking to my friends). Speken does occur a number of times, but its frequency cannot be compared to that of seyen and tellen, which occur not only in a high number of cases, but also in various different constructions and expressions. These ‘core’ verbs of saying were also studied, for oe, by Goossens (1985), in terms of syntactic patterning and semantic specifications, and compared with ModE data; although based on structural, not pragmatic, premises, this work is useful for a comparison of uses over time. It must also be remarked that, for these main verbs of speaking,

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there is considerable consistency of results as compared with the results concerning the CT (Mazzon 2002b: 261–263). Cweþan, from which quod derives, appears in oe in most functions covered today by say, while secgan approximated the functions covered today by tell. Sp[r]ecan was used to refer to the physical act of uttering, as it partly does today, but in oe the now widespread talk had not entered the language yet, so there was no competition against speak from that direction (Goossens 1985: 157–158). Some instances of speken in the sample occur in constructions that look unusual today, as in cases in which there is a Direct Object (41); this was also possible in oe, as today (Goossens 1985: 151), but there is a clear difference in frequency, as for other similar constructions. The rare instances of talken also look different from modern uses (42)–(43) but, as mentioned, the number of occurrences for these two verbs is too low to allow any claims to be made about their behaviour; many other constructions quoted by Goossens as typical of their modern counterparts are just not present in the sample. (41) Alas, þat evyr þat speche was spokyn / þat þe fals aungel seyd onto me [2.260–1; S = Eve] ‘Alas, that ever that speech was spoken that the false angel pronounced to me’ (42) … and þerwith a conclusyon / in fewe wordys talkyd, þat it xulde nat be tedyous [8.13–14; S = Contemplacio, illustrating the organisation of the play] ‘… and therewith a conclusion, spoken in few words, so that it is not tedious’ (43) … all nyght with vs abide and dwelle / more goodly langage to talkyn vs tylle [38.174–5; S = Cleophas] ‘… all night with us to stay and stop, to give us more good talking to us’

For seyen, 27 different patterns were found, which shows the high number of uses for which this verb was relied on; as mentioned above, the most frequent function is that of introducing direct speech (as it is in many cases in ModE – see Semino and Short (2004: 96)); for this reason, a large part of the over 90 such cases were found in stage directions, in forms like ‘X [name of character] seyth (thus):…’; this function appears important in ModE too, for say as compared to tell. On the contrary, the most frequent pattern within the 16 different structures in which tellen was found is in the imperative, in exhortations to reveal something; the same function can be fulfilled by seyen too, though: against the 53 occurrences of tellen, all but one including a pronoun (i.e. in the form tell me X), seyen appears 30 times, out of which twelve also include the pronoun (i.e. sey me X).



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There are of course other structural and semantic differences: seyen more frequently shows a clausal complement, while tellen more often has a phrasal Object. One of the main differences from today is the possibility of a pronominal Indirect Object without preposition for seyen; quite frequently, to precedes the pronoun, and the construction is not so common as for tellen, but still, the option was viable: I tell you is frequent, but I say you was also possible, which is significant if we consider that such an Object is considered ‘nuclear’, i.e. part of the core construction, only for tell by Goossens (1985: 50). Goossens classifies possible Direct Objects, and we saw that the combinatory rules were partly different; seyen could, as mentioned, take various types of clausal Objects, or the pro-forms þus/þis/so, a property its antecedent cweþan did not show significantly (Goossens 1985: 164) the latter is used in the sample especially to lend authority to the utterance, as in (44), where ryght lends further reinforcement (the functions of this intensifier were already highlighted in 3.4.2). It must be noted that the directive use of tellen (as in He told me to buy some flowers) is not significantly present in the sample, but only the two other functions of informing or narrating. The clausal complements are thus finite clauses introduced by þat (or by nothing, since the linker is often omitted; this can create ambiguity on whether it is actually a case of direct or indirect speech – the same was found by Warner (1982: 162, 168ff.) for a different ME sample), or are wh-clauses, for both verbs, as in (45). Notice that how in particular is used (with or without þat) to introduce a ‘summary’ or an introduction of a narrative or topic (Warner 1982: 184–185). (44) With þis fyre bryght þu must be brent / an aungelle seyd to me ryght so [5.141; S = Abraham to Isaac] ‘With this bright fire you must be burnt, an angel told me precisely so’ (45) … þat we xulde telle / how Cryst is resyn… [36.100–101] ‘… that we should narrate how Christ has arisen…’

Among noun-phrase Objects, notice that we have already classified separately combinations referring to content, such as seyen/tellen tydynges (= news): for ModE, only the latter is possible, but not so in our sample, since seyen prevails, and the only other type found with this kind of Object is tellen [one’s] heart/entent, which however only appears in four cases; other combinations occur when the Object refers to what Goossens (1985) calls a ‘pronounceable/recitable/narratable entity’: tellen a tale (in this, our sample differs from the CT, in which you can both say and tell a tale (Mazzon 2002b: 262)) but seyen a speche/dir[i]ge/prayour, with no overlapping between the two verbs. An interesting case is that of the Object as ‘qualitative evaluation’, which in ModE concerns all the ‘core verbs’; in our sample we found speken wronge [of someone] and seyen wel/amys, but especially seyen þe

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trewth (8 cases) and tellen þe trewth (23 cases): again, both are possible, but the divergence in frequency clearly shows which is the favourite collocation. Both verbs are often accompanied by modals, mainly expressing ability/ inability to express something (I cannot say, 4 exx.; the best I can say, 1 ex.; I cannot tell, 7 exx.; I can you/þe tell, 11 exx.), but also obligation, in a concessive sense of the type X must be said (3 exx., none with tell). say also collocates with dare (well), and in these cases the use is similar to that of ModE. Speaker distancing from a reported content is conveyed by expressions like I heard say (6 exx.) / tell (1 ex.), or by impersonal forms: it is told (2 exx.) / said [by so.] (11 exx.). Among the expressions for pragmatic marking that employ these two verbs, the most common are those used to reinforce a statement, to emphasise speaker stance with a strong assertive (Vanderveken 1990: 171) in order to facilitate a persuasive effect, and are often reinforced in turn by modal adverbs. These are extrastructural I say (19 exx.), as I you/þe say (26 exx.) / tell (27 exx.), and the less common I tell you (9 exx.), (46)–(49), all of which are still widespread today, and are often employed with the same function (Fitzmaurice 2004; Norrick 2008: 21–22), although to different extents. (46) I am not worthy to ben clepyd apostle, sothly I sey yow [41.240; S = Paul] ‘I am not worthy to be called an apostle, really I tell you’ (47) In me Noe þe Secunde Age / Indede begynnyth, as I Šow sey [4.14–5; S = Noah] ‘In me, Noah, the Second Age begins indeed, as I tell you’ (48) It was þe werk of god, as I Šow telle [12.223; S = Mary] ‘It was God’s working, as I tell you’ (49) In pes þu myth a be for me / þis I telle þe pleyn [31.125–6; S = Pilate] ‘In peace you might have been as far as I am concerned, I tell you this openly’

The only other use of tellen is with the meaning of ‘reveal, spread the news’ (50), while seyen shows a number of other uses. Like today, say is used in expressions like seyen Ša / nay: in the eleven cases found in the sample, four concern use of litote, i.e. indirect affirmation through double ‘logical’ negation, as in (51). This verb is also used to ask for the interlocutor’s opinion or to elicit speech (13 occurrences of the type what sey Še?), or as concessive in argumentations (13 occurrences with variation in the pattern as Še sey, as in (52)). There is further evidence of the fact that say is used to refer to the very act of speaking in those occurrences in which there is anaphoric reference to previous utterances, of the types as I have said, or: What have I said? (the latter expressing regret, as in PDE), or participial said preceding a name (53), meaning ‘above-mentioned’ and often reinforced by



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a deictic element. A similar use is X is to say, employed to explain a previous utterance or, as in (54), the meaning of a word. (50) Lett us go tellyn with on assent / He is resyn… [35.227–8; S = First Soldier] ‘Let us go tell with one agreement: he is arisen…!’ (51) Welcom, ser in Goddys name / of good felachep we say not nay [38.47–8; S = Lucas] ‘Welcome, sir, in God’s name, we say not no to good company’ (52) It is as Še sey husband indede [9.26; S = Anne] ‘It is as you say, husband, indeed’ (53) This seyd Judas was amongys us [39.70] ‘This foresaid Judas was among us’ (54) Joachym is to say He þat to God is redy [8.47] ‘Joachim means He who is ready for God’

4.4 Speech acts and interaction ‘steering’ Although the analysis carried out in the previous sections was very tentative, a few elements emerged. First of all, the verbs and expressions sampled show variation in conveying acts of speech, and also some continuity both with previous documents (such as the CT) and with PDE. In spite of the influence of some Latinate expressions, especially those directly pertaining to religious meanings, the large spate of Latin loanwords, which will be recorded for this and for other semantic fields in the Renaissance (Diller 2001), has not appeared yet. This placement at an intermediate stage determines the richness of lexical choices, and other reasons for this richness are the wide range of ‘actions’ portrayed, the double communicative level (between characters and with the audience), and the employment of technical terms pertaining to religion (e.g. baptize) and to the law (e.g. jurisdiction). The performing of verbal acts is crucial to all the levels of representation, but particularly to the meta-level, with the aim of instructing the audience – this leads to the frequent explicitation of performative elements, contrary to what happens in normal conversation; research on contemporary English has shown that performative elements are often left implicit in ‘normal interaction’, and this does not prevent members of a speech community from interpreting utterances as speech acts, including their pragmatic strength and felicity conditions, in a way that is more or less consistent with the classifications of classical pragmatics (Holtgraves 2005); research on colloquial English shows the emergence of new elements, e.g. to introduce

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­ uotations and direct speech, which do without verbs of saying altogether (conq sider the emergence of be like in And then she’s like: ‘I can’t stand that anymore’, see e.g. Romaine and Lange (1991)). This should mean that the pragmatic strength of performatives is perceived as higher in some types of dialogue in particular, since the unmarked option is to leave them implicit. This certainly does not hold for literary and dramatic dialogue, where the presence of these elements functions also as a ‘steering device’ for the readers or the audience, and is often a form of authorial comment on what is represented; therefore, this area will be mentioned again in 6.4. Furthermore, certain types of verbs tend to be uttered by some characters only; according to Traugott and Dasher (2002: 200–201), this is because ‘high’ characters tend to have a ‘vertical’ style, which leads them to use more monologic acts, such as preach and inform (the example given by the authors is the character of Jesus in the York plays, i.e. in a sample comparable to the present one), while ‘lower’ characters have a ‘horizontal’ style in which they tend to use expressives, verbs of agreement, etc. A systematic correlation between types of verbs and individual characters was not attempted in this book and could be an interesting suggestion for further work. Any possible generalisation is prevented here by the composite nature of the collection and by the uncertainties surrounding the origins and sources of the individual plays: a look at the number of forms which were found in only one or two occurrences will make clear that, in spite of attempts at coherence on the part of the compiler, many lexical choices appear peculiar. This is revealed by the number of items that occur only once or twice; some of these expressions are employed in only one or a specific group of plays, and not all such inequalities can be explained with differences in the speech acts portrayed, since some of the items seem to be synonymous with others that appear in other plays. A systematic analysis of such differences is not within the scope of this book, and therefore will not be attempted here, but even impressionistically the inequalities appear interesting as a possible further line of study of such a complex manuscript, and could lead to the conclusion that the different scribes identified (or their various sources) make different selections among the vast range of forms available for the expression of ‘verbal action’.

chapter 5

Pair structures

5.1

Pairs and beyond

In the analyses carried out in the foregoing chapters, some of the categories of modern pragmatics have come up, and seem to have been of help. We have concentrated on some individual items, and have tried to interpret them according to such heuristic tools as the Power-Solidarity or Distance-Intimacy scales, or as speech act theory. For the present chapter, we will have to widen our perspective through the use of frameworks from Discourse Analysis (DA) and Conversation Analysis (CA). The hypothesis that conversations are no more than ordered sequences of speech acts, and that therefore conversation theory and speech act theory can be identified to an extent, has been ventured over the past decades, but a number of objections have been raised, some of which are directly relevant to the present work (recall our discussion in 4.1). In 5.2 below, for instance, some cases of question-answer sequences will be analysed; although questions often have clear illocutionary content, an ‘answer’ is not necessarily a specific type of speech act, since responses can be indirect, and an answer can be a representative, directive or other speech act (Schegloff 1999: 413–415; Moeschler 2002: 240–241). The deepest difference lies in the fact that the constraints on speech acts are structural, while those on conversation sequences are functional. In this sense, however, we cannot say that there are no connections between the two, since an exchange in discourse is a projection of an act on the functional plane (id.: 242); the assignment of an interpretation is based on semantic rules, while there can be no conventional procedure for the interpretation of conversation sequences, also given the fact that coherence is much more complex and difficult to define for dialogue than for monologue (Asher and Lascarides 1998). Studies on the construction of meaning and stance during interaction abound, and it seems increasingly the case that speakers work on sets of assumptions that are constantly reworked and modified during dialogue, e.g. on the information available to the addressee, also in terms of relative conversational power (see e.g. Schober and Brennan 2003).

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We certainly cannot ignore the fact that CA is primarily formulated for application to direct observation of spoken language; it seems even trivial to observe that, in spite of some amount of ‘border-crossing’ in certain text-types, most of the differences between spoken and written language remain impossible to reconcile. Other recent analyses have tried to establish the extent to which dialogue reported in writing can be investigated searching for traces of ‘real’ orality, to be distinguished from the ‘literacy’ layer imposed by the transcription (Wårvik 2003); Suhr (2002) investigates various EModE texts written to be spoken aloud or otherwise publicly communicated to people who were not expected to be literate, through indexes such as Involvement (e.g., frequency of first- and second-person pronouns), Situation-Dependent reference (e.g., frequency of relative clauses) and Non-abstract Information (e.g., frequency of passives). Also significant is the concept of communicative Distance vs. Immediacy, which refers to the above items and others, concurring to create ‘dialogic’ patterns with indirect reference to the Cooperative Principle, or anyway to the idea that communication, especially dialogic one, is a cooperative form of behaviour. The analysis yields interesting results, which can be useful for our study, too. Of course, ‘orality’ markers abound in our texts (pronouns, deictics, rhetorical questions, discourse markers) but there are also markers that refer to literacy, such as the use of Latin words and phrases (dealt with in 6.5), and also passives, which in this case are due to the frequency of deontic modality and of appeal to high authority, a prominent feature that partly explains also references and quotations (mentioned by Suhr among the ‘literacy’ features). It is a moot point, of course, to which extent dramatic dialogue can be used as linguistic evidence for conversational features at all, given its fictive character (see e.g. Herman 1991). Some consideration should certainly be given to the fact that the medieval theatrical texts available to us are certainly not ‘edited’ or, indeed, ‘literary’, in the sense we currently give to such terms. There is no denying that our texts appear influenced by their ultimate source, i.e. the Bible, as well as by other texts, but there is nevertheless a certain richness in ‘dialogic’ structures; as already mentioned, this feature is especially typical of the N.Town plays as compared to other cycles. To what extent can ‘conversations’ on the scene be considered similar to real conversation exchanges? Early scholars seem quite convinced that this is feasible: [t]he Middle English dramas, … acted by craftsmen and artisans…, reval so much vigour and vivacity that they must be relied on as specimens of colloquial

. For an ample discussion on the reliance on similar frames an assumptions between spontaneous and constructed speech in the past and in modern times see Fludernik (1993: 382–418).



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language; they cannot, and must not, be overlooked, even though they are translations and adaptations from the French. That the translators, most probably friars and monks, strove to preserve a more colloquial style in many scenes – for instance, in the episodes of Cain and Abel; of Noah; of the Pharisees, Jesus and the Whore; etc. – and at the same time aimed at a thoroughly English home atmosphere, is easily perceived.  (Langenfelt 1933: xv–xvi)

A more recent view that is immune from all scepticism is expressed by Mao (1992:  61): [f]ictional conversation is no less liable to pragmatic principles and constraints, and all participants in fictional conversation are just as rational and cooperative in honouring Gricean conversational maxims either by observing or flouting them to generate ‘standard’ or conversational implicatures. Furthermore, fictional conversation functions in a well-structured, hierarchical manner. It contains a series of local speech acts, which constitutes part and parcel of verbal interaction among fictional characters. It also features some global speech acts that, on a higher, more abstract level, organise and structure associated local speech acts.

Another relevant source is Arnovick (2006: 11): “The cooperative principle of conversation extends to literary discourse: assuming that meaning is intended, readers will try to decode a text according to their competence with the language.” Herman (1995: 6) contains similar statements, while other contributions highlight the importance of the presence of the audience as ‘real addressees’ in the construction of dramatic dialogue; some of them are mentioned below and in the next chapter. An even more daring view is expressed by Burton (1980), who sees dramatic dialogues “as condensed forms of ethnographic observations of naturally occurring talk, and literary authors should be regarded as also being fellow researchers into the basic structures of verbal interaction”. The study of dialogue could thus help in “generating theoretical hypotheses concerning fundamental rules of interaction and [in] developing analytic concepts for the analysis of the overall structure of conversation” (quoted in Hess-Lüttich (1985: 202–203)). This has also to do with the fact that many events in conversation are ritualised, with specific phrases taking on discourse functions; dramatic and fictional dialogue exploits the knowledge speakers have of discursive frames and the associated formal routines (Aijmer 1996: 11, 27), as revealed by the fact that sequences are often not completed, especially formulae, see 5.5 below. It is however necessary to take into account at least the obvious differences between the two types of dialogue; the lack of hesitations, false starts, slips, overlappings in constructed dialogue, just to mention one difference. Paralinguistic elements will also probably differ: both prosody and gestures will not be ‘natural’ – both these elements contribute quite a lot to our everyday exchanges.

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Some pragmatic ‘rules’ will also be flouted, since interaction between characters is certainly, on one level, aimed at the progression of the action, but it is also, on another level, directed at an audience, and functional to other communicative needs. One obvious side of this is the fact that, especially in older drama, a number of temporal and spatial pieces of information were conveyed within the dialogue, so that the contextualisation of the action is given verbally rather than visually, and effectively incorporated within character speech, to an extent that it would not in ordinary conversation where participants share a context and some background knowledge. On the first of the levels mentioned, we can agree with Mao that ‘conversations’ between characters are similar to ‘real’ conversations; on the second level, though, the information structures and the presuppositions and implicatures involved in such ‘conversations’ are tailored on the audience’s, and not only on the characters’, knowledge and assumptions. For instance, characters’ introductions, explanations of the ‘flashback’ type, and other devices are used to fill the audience in and allow better comprehension; the convention of the ‘aside’ has similar aims, and it often disrupts the mimesis of dialogue by suspending the ‘natural’ rhythm of conversation; repetition and echoic utterances, which will be analysed in 5.2, are often meta-discursive and, especially at a time when the situational context in which the performance took place was totally different from now, can be used to make sure a distracted audience could better follow the action. Keeping all this in mind, let us turn to the analysis of some recognisable conversation structures in our plays. The portions we are going to deal with are spe-

. One famous example of this effectiveness is in Macbeth (III.iii.4): “The west still glimmers with some streaks of day…” is of course a line functional to the aim of informing the audience that the scene is taking place when it is almost dark, but has undeniable literary qualities. The same of course holds for King Lear (III.ii.1) “Blow winds, and crack your cheeks. Rage, blow” where the contextual element of the stormy weather is equally masterly introduced, and for countless other examples. Observations and examples from Widdowson (2000: 230–232, 239). . See also Herman (1995: 62–75, 91–99, 108–110) for some examples of dramatic manipulations of turn-taking rules. Bublitz (1988: 1–4) notices that early studies have wrongly assumed, precisely on the basis of studies on dramatic dialogue, that conversation has an essentially dialectic structure, while negotiation now appears less important, and cooperation more so. This kind of cooperation is generally absent from dramatic dialogue. We cannot, on the other hand, agree with Diller (1973: 223) that dramatic dialogue does not show the interpersonal function of language, since this chapter presents examples of exactly this type. Furthermore, there is the distance in time to consider, and also in style; studies on modern drama show more refined attempts to mimic conversation in some of its ‘messier’ aspects: interruptions, overlapping, etc. (e.g. Stucky 1994). Older drama, and especially religious drama, has of course a more solemn style, and its verse structure takes away much of its possible ‘naturalness’.



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cifically interactive, such as question-answer sequences and imperative-reaction (i.e. compliance or refusal), or formulaic routines such as greetings, because it can be hypothesised that one reason why these exchanges are inserted in the text is because of their high level of recognisability and fixity. The forms and functions of these pairs can be imagined to be closer to their equivalent in ‘real’ language, just because their functions within the text is that of contributing towards the ‘humanisation’ of the plays’ characters and situations, which we have noted to be particularly important in the N.Town cycle. If this hypothesis is correct, we should expect to find a high level of consistency, and a correspondingly low level of variation, in these phrases, since structural fixity or near-fixity seems to be a fundamental feature of conversational routines (Aijmer 1996: 18–23). These routines presuppose a stereotypic knowledge of a situation or a communicative frame on the part of the hearer, and have therefore sometimes been analyzed in terms of Relevance Theory (Sperber and Wilson 1986; Wilson and Sperber 2006), since constraints on action and interpretation on a hearer’s part are based on relevance consideration about the previous utterance (Schegloff 2007: 21). Within the limits of the kind of analysis attempted, it is also possible to outline a correlation between different types of formulae and ‘sociolinguistic’ elements, as in the analysis, based on a Shakespearean sample, presented in Salmon (1965), or in the conversational analysis based on the dynamics of power and politeness strategies carried out by Fischer (2002). It must also be said that what we call a pair structure is not necessarily a sequence of two adjacent turns, although the ‘adjacency pair’ is at the basis of many descriptions (Schegloff 2007: 13ff.); such structures can be more articulated, and/or there can be short intervening turns of a descriptive-illustrative nature (on possible intervening moves cp. e.g. Roulet (1984: 33)). It is clear that, to some extent, pairs are self-defining and self-contained, though often inserted within larger scripts or schemas. They are however not always so strictly mutually determined as adjacency pairs, though some aspects are shared. It is for instance possible to extend to pairs in general the following statement concerning the necessary precondition of the creation of a ‘common goal’: “The first pair part of any adjacency pair counts as an attempt to establish a jointly held belief/want which occurs through a speech act performed by the hearer (the preferred second pair part)” (Jacobs and Jackson 1983: 60; italics in the original). The next lines of the quotation illustrate interesting premises about the structures we will be looking at: . Notice that monologues can also be included in this analysis, since they seem to be articulated in similar ways, although the ‘dialogic’ element is fictitious, and the immediate constituents are illocutionary rather than interactive (Roulet 1984). In the present analysis, dialogic exchanges are however preferred.

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[t]hus greetings have as their conventional perlocutionary effect the creation of a mutual focus, a state established by another greeting. Questions have as their conventional perlocutionary effect the obtaining of information, a state established by an answer. Requests and offers have as intermediate conventional perlocutionary effects the establishment of a social contact to perform some action, a state established by a grant and an acceptance.  (Jacobs and Jackson 1983: 60)

So in spite of the many differences, there are also some elements in common among these types of pairs, e.g. the fact that the first element poses constraints on the second, and that they can mark transition points in turn-taking. This latter element is specifically quoted in connection with adjacency pairs (Goodwin 1981: 22–23), but this notion can be used in the present analysis as well. Also, as will be seen below, some sequences can actually be made up of more than two turns, as is the case in arguments. Conflict talk is of special interest to us (as to pragmatics in general), although its markers will be examined in different sections of the chapter. It is in this type of interaction that the importance of context and of the negotiation of power is clearer, and the limitations of classical analyses, with pre-set categories, are more apparent than in other types of dialogue, as remarked e.g. by Gruber (2001) and by many contributions within Relevance Theory (e.g. Wilson 2005). It is often maintained, for instance, that adjacency pairs are often not really ‘pairs’ at all, but are rather organised preferentially into three turns (Tsui 1991); this will be taken into account and will be verified in our sample.

5.2

Echoic structures and repetition

The first type we take into consideration is echoic structures that are used to express agreement or contradiction (in all the examples in this chapter, echoes and references to previous utterances are underlined, while elements denoting modality or reinforcing emphasis are in italics). First of all, I must remark that very few of the structures analysed here are ‘real’ echoes in the sense of wordfor-word repetition of (parts of) a previous utterance, of the type analysed e.g. by

. Here and elsewhere in this work, the term ‘turn’ is employed rather loosely; this work does not go into detail about turn-taking, because the whole corpus of theories and evidence connected with this notion is hardly relevant for the kind of text examined here. Moreover, the notion itself has been the object of criticism, and traditional views about it have been questioned, e.g. by Cowley (1998). For one thing, the whole issue of Transition Relevant Points (quite a moot issue in CA because not always easy to define) is irrelevant here, and so is Next-Speaker Selection (Selting 2000).



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Svennevig (2004). According to intonation patterns and to the kind of turn that follows, Svennevig distinguishes between echoes that function as receipts of information (especially if unexpected) or as markers of stance (e.g. surprise or disbelief, in some cases also as repair (Shimojima et al. 1998)), and both allow limited variation in forms, such as ellipsis or pronominalisation of non-focussed constituents in the previous utterance; we only have two obvious examples in our text, and they both signal agreement: (1) is a partial echo of a focussed constituent and (2) is a pro-echo (i.e. employing ellipsis and pro-forms such as auxiliaries). (1) Cleophas: Še wold haue thought on hym many a day. Lucas: Many a day Ša Ša iwys … [38.200–1] ‘– You would have thought about him many a day – Many a day, yes, yes, indeed’ (2) Peter: A brother Johan we may syhyn and care… Paul: Forsothe so we may Peter hevyin euyrmare [41.258, 260] ‘– Ah, brother John, we can sigh and worry… – Indeed so we can, Peter, forever and ever...’

Most of the other cases that will be included in this section have to do with reelaboration of previous utterances in which a remarkable portion of linguistic material is re-used, mostly indicating agreement or opposition. We do not include here non-ostensive, ‘accidental’ repetitions of the type that occurs with exchanges of greetings, cheers, etc. The repetitions we are dealing with here are ostensive, i.e. implicitly or explicitly ‘quotative’ of previous utterances. Perrin, Deshaies and Paradis (2003) call this type of repetition ‘diaphonic’. Such structures are, according to Bublitz’s ‘cooperative’ model (1988: 197), typical of a secondary speaker, and the same applies to some of the turns following an imperative, which are the object of the next section. Repetitions can also be employed to reinforce the message, i.e. as an opportunity to overcome the ‘noise’ of the material circumstances of the performance. In this sense, dramatic dialogue often appears ‘redundant’, although in some cases it is precisely this redundancy that makes silence even more prominent; we will see cases in which there is no verbal reply to a question or to an imperative, which are considerably rare, or the even rarer cases in which a character refuses pointedly to speak (e.g. Jesus at his trial; on the functions of silence and pauses in drama as real, and significant, ‘turns’, see Stucky (1994), and see also n. 11 below), but it is clear that repetition and ‘reinforcement’ is the normal form of second-part pair turn in these texts. . ‘‘If… a second pair part is produced next, it is heard as responsive to the first pair part,… if such a second pair part is not produced next, its non-occurrence is as much an event as its occurrence would have been” (Schegloff 2007: 20; italics in the original).

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In a study of twentieth-century dramatic dialogue (Diani 2000) it is shown that agreeing can be signalled through (1) repetition, (2) use of the particle yes or similar, (3) production of a re-elaborative response. These strategies can be collocated on a scale, since the first can be also used for mild agreement or even disagreement, and it is only the re-elaboration that signals the strongest form of agreement (by re-elaboration we intend a reformulation, often conveyed by more strongly evaluative items, as in the type : A: She’s an intelligent girl B. Very bright indeed); in Diani’s (2000: 370) words: [i]n the context of agreement, the re-elaborative response is much more cooperative than repetition as it functions as an evaluative re-analysis of the content-signatum of the first speaker’s act. It represents a powerful feedback for the progression of the communicative interaction.

In our sample, these three kinds of response are represented by (3), (4) and (5) respectively; it can be noticed however that there can be partly different propositional content, so that some re-elaboration is by far more common; (6) brings us to noticing that the same strategies are used for contradiction. Opposition and conflict can be expressed through reactive moves involving: (1) irrelevance claims (e.g. so what?, suggesting that the interlocutor is straying from the topic), (2) challenges (either in the form of question or through markers of disbelief), (3) contradictions (explicitly denying a previous proposition, as in (6)–(8)) or (4) counterclaims (using mitigations, pauses, etc., i.e. in a more negotiating, less directly contradicting way (Muntigl and Turnbull 1998: 229ff.)); cp. the difference between the first and the second response in (9), the former employing (2) (“it was not so”) and the latter (4) (“it seemed to me it was…”) – the examples show that these responses, too, employ echoic structures abundantly. (3) Cain: it is to me gret wonder i-wys / I trow þis is now a straunge syght. Abel: Goddys wyll fforsothe it is [3.133–5] ‘– It is a great wonder to me, really, I claim this is now a strange sight. – God’s will, it really is’ (4) Lameth: Record of my boy wytnes þis he xal / What merk þat were set me – to deth it xuld blede. Boy: It is trewe mayster – þat Še seyn in dede [4.152–4] ‘– Record of my boy, he shall be witness to this: whatever mark is set to me, it would bleed to death. – It is true, master, what you say, indeed’ (5) Mary: That lord to worchepe with hert plesaunt / we bothe be bownd ryght on þis place / which oure purgacyon us dyde graunt / and prevyd us pure by hieŠ grace



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Joseph: Ffor sothe good spowse I thank hym hyŠly / Of his good grace for oure purgacion /oure clennesse is knowyn ful opynly / be vertu of his grett consolacion [14.398–405] ‘– We are both obliged to worship right in this place, with happy heart, that Lord who granted us our purification, and proved us pure by high grace. – Indeed, good spouse, I thank him greatly, of his good grace for our purification. Our cleanliness is known quite openly by virtue of his high comfort’ (6) Angels: A gretter lord may nevyr non be / than he þat made us alle,… Lucifer: A wurthyer lord forsothe am I / and worthyer than he – euyr wyl 1 be [1.51–4] ‘– A greater lord there may never be than he who made us all – A worthier lord, indeed, am I, and I will always be worthier than him’ (7) Abel: Šit methynkyth my wyt is good… Cain: Šitt methynketh þi wytt is wood [3.118–122] ‘– Yet it seems to me my opinion is good… – Yet it seems to me your opinion is crazy’ (8) Joseph : … Now telle me Šoure lust of mete and drynk… Mary: For mete and drynk lust I ryght nowth / allmyghty God my fode xal be [15.109–11] ‘– Now tell me your wish for food and drink… – For food and drink I have quite no wish, almighty God shall be my feed’ (9) 1st Shepherd: Ey – Ey- þis was a wondir note / þat was now songyn above þe sky / I haue þat voys fful wele I wote / þei songe gle glo glory. 2nd Shepherd: Nay so moty the so was it nowth / I haue þat songe fful wele i-nvm / In my wytt wyl it is wrought. / It was gle glo glas glum. 3rd Shepherd: The songe me thought it was glory / and aftyr-warde he seyd ... [16.62–71] ‘– Ehi, ehi, this was a wonderful tune that was now sung from the sky above, I have the tune quite well I think, they sang gle-glo-glory – No, you are wrong, it was not so, I have taken in that song quite well in my mind, when it was sung: it was gle-glo-glas-glum. – The song seemed to me to be ‘glory’ and afterwards he said…’

It can be seen that the pattern of repetition and variation of forms is quite complex (as is often the case in drama, according to Herman (1995: 152–157)), especially in the last examples, which show contradiction. Notice the intricate pattern of lexical recurrence and even of syntactic parallelism, reinforcing the general coherence and topical focus of the exchanges. Repetition in a wide sense, i.e. with structural variation of various kinds, has been considered to express agreement

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because of its function of solidarity, but it can be seen from the examples that it has an equally important function in contradiction (Bublitz (1998: 228); on the cognitive role of repetition in conversation see also Ponterotto (2002)). Repetition is actually used not only for agreement, it can also be aggressive or challenging (Diani 2000: 358–362). Sometimes a form of elaboration seems necessary in dialogue – for a response to be interpreted as cooperative, it must contain some upgrading, as in (3), and this does not apply only to agreement. (8) shows an echoic structure used for the rejection of an offer; the context does not suggest hostility, as conversely the mocking repetition of pattern in (7) does, but it can be noticed that Mary, in particular, is quite straightforward in her refusals; although she does use deference and positive politeness to a certain extent (as moderns studies suggest women do tend to do, e.g. Baxter (1984)), she does not appear as hesitant or tentative as many other medieval female characters (see 2.5 and particularly n. 12): contrast examples (29) and (30)–(31) with (33) and (45) below. (10) King Herod: Serys, takyth Jesus at Šoure owyn wyl / and lede hym to Pylat hom ageyn / grete hym weyl and telle hym serteyn / All my good frenchep xal he haue. / I gyf hym powere of Jesus, þus Še hym seyn… 1st Doctor: Sere at Šoure request it xal be do / We xal lede Jesus at Šoure demawde / and delyver hym Pylat onto / And telle hym all as Še comawnde. [30.252–261] ‘– Sirs, take Jesus at your own will, and lead him back to Pilate, greet him well, and tell him that certainly he will have all my friendship. I give him power over Jesus, tell him that… – Sir, at your request it shall be done, we shall lead Jesus at your demand and deliver him onto Pilate, and tell him all as you order’ (11)

God: Why hast þu put dethis pryk / in Adam and his wyff?... Devil: I xal þe sey wherefore and why / I dede hem all þis velony [2.229–30, 235–6] ‘– Why have you put death’s spear into Adam and his wife?... – I will tell you what for and why and did this mischief to them’

. According to Watts (1989: 141) “speakers use repetition in order to display common ground with the co-interactant whose speech has been used as a ready-made, and it is therefore a major component in politic linguistic behaviour, i.e. in linguistic behaviour geared to maintaining the fabric of interpersonal relationships.” . Cf. Bazzanella (1996: viii–ix): “R[epetition] can be used to express both agreement and disagreement […] The co-conversationalist may repeat in order to align her/himself with the partner’s preceding utterance, or to make the partner correct it […] By contrast, if we paraphrase[…] we can only show agreement”.



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(12) Christ’s Soul: Fals devil, I here þe bynde / in endless sorwe I þe wynde / þerin evyrmore to dwelle / Now þu art bownde þu mayst not fle / For þin envious cruelté / in endless dampnacyon xalt þu be / and nevyr comyn out of helle Belial: Alas Herrow Now I am bownde / in helle gonge to ly on grounde / in hendles sorwe now am I wounde / in care evyrmore to dwelle / In helle logge I ly alone / Now is my joye awey al gone / For all fendys xul be my fone / I xal nevyr com from helle [35.50–64] ‘– False devil, I here bind you! I entangled you in endless pain, to dwell there forever. Now you are bound, you cannot flee! For your envious cruelty you will be in endless damnation, and never come out of hell again! – Alas! Harrow! Now I am bound, in hell’s pit to lie on the ground, in endless pain now I am plunged, in sorrow evermore to dwell! In hell’s lodge I lie alone, now my joy is all gone away, for all devils will be by foes, I will never come out of hell! ‘

Repetition can also occur within the other patterns that will be analysed in the next sections, i.e. compliance to an imperative (or refusal) as in (8) and also (10), reply to a question (11) or formulae, such as greetings, which are of course highly repetitive, since they are often used reciprocally in the same forms, but also in examples like (12), which show a declarative act and the subsequent, echoically formulated acknowledgement of the same. Referring back to Perrin, Deshaies and Paradis (2003: 1849–54), to recap the functions of diaphonic repetition in these utterances, we could say that (1) and (12) are used to ‘take into account’, i.e. to acknowledge what the speaker has said, while (2), (3) or (10) are examples of ‘positive reply’, in which the speaker takes responsibility for the content of what the previous speaker has said and signals that he shares it, and (7)–(9) are examples of ‘negative reply’, in which part of the previous utterance is repeated only to reject it.

5.3

Imperatives

Sequences involving imperatives were chosen for this section since imperatives (and their adjacent responses; about 150 such occurrences were sampled) are typically ‘interactive’ utterances, like questions, and also because they are often directly connected to specific speech acts: even more directly than questions, that is, they tend to convey specific illocutionary intentions and aim at achieving specific perlocutionary effects. One communication-based classification of imperatives that may be useful in the present study is that by Davies (1986), who claims that imperatives, though often falling within the general ‘directive act’ category, present more shades of

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meaning than it is usually thought. They can thus be impositive or non-impositive imperatives, according to whether an appeal to a higher authority is present or not: in the case of our texts, we can apply this distinction by making reference to cases in which there is an appeal to divine authority, cases that are of course by no means rare, e.g. (13) vs. (14). A second distinction is that between requestives (involving the speaker’s desire for some action to be carried out by the hearer, as in (15)) and requirements, in which the speaker believes that the utterance itself will be sufficient motivation for the hearer to comply, as in (16) or in the case of warning utterances like (17) (Davies 1986: 34–37). Further uses of imperatives, which are presentatives illustrating potential propositions rather than assertives of real ones, include giving or denying permission, signalling possibility (as in many advertising slogans) or offering (18), and even clarifying the speaker’s indifference, as in Do as you please (Davies 1986: 44–48). In the following examples, both imperative forms and recurring elements in imperative utterances and replies are underlined. (13) Isaac: Šitt werk Goddys wyll fadyr I Šow pray / and sle me here anoon forthright. Abraham: Alas dere chylde I may not chese / I must nedys my swete sone kylle. [5.165–6, 169–70] ‘– Yet do God’s will, father, I pray you, and kill me here now immediately. – Alas, dear child, I may not choose, I must necessarily kill my sweet son!’ (14) Bishop: Holde here þe botel and take a large draught / and abowth the awtere go þi processyon [14.330–1] ‘Hold here the bottle and take a large draught, and go in procession around the altar’ (15) Abraham: Com to þi fadyr, my chylde so fre / for we must wende togedyr… Isaac: All redy fadyr evyn at Šoure wyll…/... I am Šow by [5.103–106] ‘– Come to your father, my fair child, because we must go together… – Quite ready, father, at your will… I stand even by you’ (16) Bishop: Love Fadyr, Sone, and Holy Gost… [9.178] ‘Love Father, Son and Holy Ghost…’ (17) Noah: I warne Šow, chylderyn, on and all / drede oure Lord God … [4.49–50] ‘I warn you, children, one and all, fear our Lord God …’ . In the same way, individual acts such as requests can be formulated either as questions or as imperatives, and can receive different responses accordingly. It was preferred here to concentrate the analysis on formal differences, and sections are arranged consequently, but many comments will apply equally to acts realised through different means.



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(18) Herod: Com forth knyghtys sytt down and ete / and be as mery as Še can be. Knights: Lord at Šowre byddynge we take oure sete /with herty wyl obey we ... [20.157–60] ‘– Come forth, knights! Sit down and eat, and be as merry as you can be. – Lord, at your request we take our seats, with good will we obey…’

Responses to imperatives, as mentioned in the previous sections, can be of compliance, implicit or explicit (i.e. gestural (19) and illustrated by stage directions, or verbal, and in the latter case with or without overt mention of the intention to comply), and the latter again direct or indirect, and with or without further elaboration. The same holds for the refusal to comply with an imperative, which can open the way to conflict. Thus, the pair imperative – compliance/refusal can show several repeated elements or anyway signs of textual coherence, whether formulated directly or indirectly. The case of a direct reply without an overt signal is rarer (20); it is much more often the case that compliance is openly signalled, frequently with repetition of the performative and with the insertion of modal elements or other reinforcers, which are italicised in the examples (especially (21)–(26)); the importance of this kind of turn is confirmed by the fact that, when an imperative is addressed to more than one interlocutor, complying responses with a commissive value are uttered separately by all the addressees, as in the case of Noah’s warning to his sons and their wives (17), which receives separate replies at lines 4.53ff., 62ff., 66ff., 70ff., 79ff., 83ff. The same happens in Play 10.355–62, when three ladies are asked to accompany Mary, and each offers a two-line complying reply. (19) Jesus: Takyth þese chalys of þe newe testament… Than xal þe dysciplys com and take þe blod [27.486, 489A] ‘Take this chalice of the new testament… Then the disciples shall come and take the blood’ (20) Lameth: Aspy some marke, boy, my bowe xal I bende wyght…. Boy: Vndyr Šon grett busche, maystyr, a best do I se. [4.162, 166] ‘– Find some trace, boy, my bow I shall bend tight – Under that large bush, master, I see an animal’ (21) Lucifer: now wurchyp me ffor most mythy / and for Šour lord honowre Šow me Angels: Godys myth we for-sake / and for more wurthy we þe take / þe to wurchep honowre we make / and ffalle down at þi ffete. [1.59–65]10

10. The acquiescence of the Angels, and the positive terms employed here, suggest the already mentioned ‘serious’ tone of the Devil’s rebellion in these plays as opposed to other cycles (Cox 1994–1995).

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– Now worship me as the mightiest, and as your lord honour me – God’s might we forsake, and as worthier we take you. We honour you and worship you and fall down at your feet’ (22) Adam: Ffyrst I Šow counseyll most syngulerly / God ffor to loue and drede... Abel: Gramercy ffadyr ffor Šour good doctrine / ffor as Še vs techyn so xal we do... Cain: And þow me be loth I wyl now also / on to Šour counselI ffadyr me inclyne [3.39–40, 45–6, 49–50] ‘– First, I advise you most specially to love and fear God… – Thank you, father, for your good teaching, for as you instruct us, so we will do… – And although it be unpleasant to me, I will also now bow to your advice, father’ (23) Abraham: My swete chylde com kysse now me. Isaac: At Šoure byddynge Šour mouthe I kys [5.24–5] ‘– My sweet child, come and kiss me now! – At your command I kiss your mouth. ‘ (24) Angel: þerfore thank god in word and dede / both þou þi self and ysaac þi sone. Abraham: A my lord god to wurchep on kne now I fall / I thank þe lord of þi mercy [5.231-4] ‘– Therefore, thank God in word and action, both you yourself and your son Isaac! – Ah, I now fall on my knees to worship my lord God! I thank you, lord, of your mercy!’ (25) Summoner: I charge Šow bothe Še tary nought / but to þe buschop com forth with me. Joseph: To þe buschop with Šow we wende / of oure purgacion hawe we no dowth. [14.176–179] – I order you both not to tarry, but to come immediately to the bishop with me. – To the bishop we go with you, we have no doubt on our purification’ (26) Bishop: than þis drynke in hast þou holde / and on processyon anon þe dresse Joseph: This drynk I take with meke entent… [14.248–50] ‘– Then, take quickly this drink, and go now in procession – This drink I take with meek intention…’

This latter group of examples mainly shows bare imperatives, or directive verbs such as cowncellen and chargen, which are pretty straightforward. Today, the English bare imperative is felt as rather imposing and not polite (Busse 2002a: 17–20); of course, there are many cases in the text in which the bare imperative is not used in a face-threatening way, as in (23), and also in cases in which joint action is proposed, often using the semi-modal let, while the form loke (see Chapter 3) is



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more typical of recommendations and can be more impositive and face-threatening. In any case, most of the examples have some form of (even if perfunctory) softening, such as the use of the verbs please, pray, beseech, lyst, desire and will (as auxiliary or main verb), i.e. there is a certain use of politeness formulae and hedging, which will be mentioned again in Section 5.6. Of course, any consideration of the ‘weightiness’ of polite behaviour or of FTAs must be extremely cautious: not even for contemporary language is there any certainty about whether politeness formulae are always uttered with the intention of being polite (Jary 1998). Some examples are particularly interesting: (27) exemplifies echoic or semiechoic structures referring to a gestural act which probably takes place in front of the audience, thus the repetition (even though with some lexical variation) does not find any justification from the informative point of view, but is totally rhetorical. As for the sequence in (28), first there is refusal to comply by negating the validity of the request and then, after the appeal to God’s will, there is compliance. It is interesting to notice that initially the modality is oriented more towards volition than obligation, subsequently obligation is reinforced, and it is clear from the last reply that compliance is performed only because this deontic aspect is foregrounded. Consider also that this secular aspect of the characterisation of Joseph is made more prominent through the expression of the very human, almost commonplace worry about taking a wife much younger than himself. The didactic aim is stressed through sequences such as this one, where the ordinary desires and worries of the man-in-the-street are shown as subordinate to God’s will (impositive imperative). These elements are also stressed in (29), with the discussion between husband and wife about cherries and how difficult it is to pluck them; notice the rather elaborate politeness of this exchange, where nevertheless there is a refusal to comply to a request on the grounds of impending necessity (on various refusal strategies see Turnbull and Saxton (1997: 159ff.)), so that Mary will eventually appeal directly to God to fulfill her wish, and in the following lines we will get to know that God has indeed complied, by making the branches of the tree bow to Mary’s request. (27)

God: Thu take þi schon anon ful rownde / of þi fete in hast lete se... Moses: Barfoot now I do me make / and pull of my schon fro my fete [6.29–33] ‘– Take your shoes fully off your feet now quickly, let’s see... – I make myself barefoot no, and pull off my shoes from my feet’

(28) Bishop: Joseph wole Še haue his maydon to Šour wyff / and here honour and kepe as Še howe to do. Joseph: Nay sere so mote I thryff / I haue ryght no nede þer-to Bishop: Joseph it is goddys wyl it xuld be so / sey aftyr me as it is skyl

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Joseph: Sere and to performe his wyl I bow her-to / Ffor all thynge owyght to ben at his wyl. [10.302–9] ‘– Joseph, will you have this maiden as your wife, and here honour her and keep her as it is proper that you do? – No, sir, so may I thrive! I have quite no need of that! – Joseph, it is God’s will that is should be so, repeat after me as it is right. – Sir, to perform his will I bow to, for everything ought to be according to his will’ (29) Mary: Turne A-geyn husbond and beholde Šon tre / how þat it blomyght now so swetly. Joseph: Cum on Mary þat we worn At Šon Cyte / or ellys we may be blamyd I telle Šow lythly. Mary: Now my spowse I pray Šow to be-hold / How þe cheryes growyn vpon on tre / Ffor to haue þer-of ryght ffayn I wold / and it plesyd Šow to labore so mech for me. Joseph: Šour desyre to ffulfylle I xal Assay sekyrly / Ow – to plucke Šow of these cheries – it is a wrk wylde / ffor þe tre is so hyŠ /... Mary: Now good lord I prey þe – graunt me þis boun / to haue of þese cheries and it be Šour wylle... [15.28–41] ‘– Turn around, husband, and look at that tree, how it blooms now so sweetly. – Come on, Mary, let’s go to that city, or else we could be blamed, I tell you clearly. – Now, my spouse, I pray you to observe how the cherries grow on that tree! I would really like to have some of them, if it pleased you to work so hard for me... – I will certainly try to fulfill your wish. Ouch! To pick you some of these cherries is hard work, for the tree is so high... – Now, good Lord, I pray you: grant me this favour, to have some of these cherries if it is your will... ‘

I have put in a different category those imperatives that tend to elicit speech from the interlocutor, considering them to be really ‘pointers’ to relevant information that is to come. It must be noticed that several of these, too, include some direct act of complying, i.e. not only provide an answer to the ‘question’, but also emphasise the fact that the speaker is providing an answer only because there was an injunction to that effect. (30) Gabriel: Gyff me myn answere now lady dere / to all these creaturys comfortacion Mary: With all mekenes I clyne to þis a-corde / bowynge down my face with all benygnyte [11.283–6] ‘– Give me my answer, now, dear lady, to the comfort of all these creatures. – In all meekness I assent to this advice, bowing down my face with plenty of benevolence.’



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(31) Joseph: and þerfore telle me and nothynge whonde / the holy matere of Šour concepcion. Mary: At Šoure owyn wyll as Še bydde me / ther cam An Aunge hyght Gabryell... [12.211–14] ‘– And therefore tell me and do not hide at all the holy issue of your conception. – At your own will as you demand of me: there came an angel called Gabriel…’ (32) 1st Detractor: but Šitt good brother I Šow pray / telle all þese pepyl what is Šour name.... 2nd Detractor: I am bakbytere þat spyllyth all game / bothe kyd and knowyn in many a place. [14.58–62]. ‘– But yet, dear brother, I pray you: tell all these people what is your name… – I am Backbiter, that destroys all game, both talked about and known in many places.’

Refusals can also take several forms, but are mostly explicit, and therefore, as mentioned, they can be often considered cases of ‘conflict talk’. In some cases the refusal to comply is temporary, as in (29). It is rare in the text that an imperative goes unheeded, as in the case of the mocking imperatives from the doctors to Jesus in the Temple (“Goo hom, lytyl babe…”, 21.41), which he ignores. The contradiction is mainly verbal, although it can be softened in various ways; in the following examples we see refusals with varying degrees of strength. (33) Bishop: Now Mary chylde to þe lawe þu leste / and chese þe a spowse to be þi fere / þat lawe þu must fulfylle. Mary: AŠens þe lawe wyl I nevyr be / but manys felachep xal nevyr folwe me [10.33–37] ‘– Now Mary, child, abide by the law, and choose yourself a husband to be your mate: you must act according to that law. – Against the law I do not want ever to be, but a man’s company will never suit me’

As can be seen in (33), the imperative is of the impositive kind, since it contains an appeal to the law. The reply is a refusal, and though it includes mitigation elements, it is very firm – the wedding that Mary rejects will take place only in the following play. Notice that here mitigation is entrusted to the use of different modal elements: in the first part Mary uses negative WILL to indicate that her rebellion is not due to an intention of going against the law (on modulation of refusals through modal elements see Turnbull and Saxton (1997: 175–177)). Similarly, the pleas for mercy expressed by the adulteress in Play 24 are rejected using an impersonal form:

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(34) Woman: A mercy mercy serys I Šow pray! / for goddys loue haue mercy on me… Accuser: Aske us no mercy, it xal not be [24.153–4, 157] ‘– Ah, mercy, sirs, I pray you! For God’s love have mercy on me… – Don’t ask us for mercy, it shall not be’

On the contrary, the exhortations addressed by the Doctors to Pilate in Play 31 are defused by the addressee through inserting questions, thereby avoiding to reply directly and, at the same time, trying to shift the focus of the interaction: this is a strategy often employed to delay overt disagreement and to lead the interlocutor to contradiction and inconsequentiality (Georgakopoulou 2001: 1893–1895). (35)

1st Doctor: Deliver us þe þeff Barabas / þat for mansclawth presonde was! Pilate: What xal I þan with Jesu do? / Whethyr xal he abyde or go? 2nd Doctor: Jesus xal on þe cros be don / Crucifigatur, we crye echon! Pilate: Serys, what hath Jesus don amys? [31.106–112] ‘– Deliver the thief Barabbas to us, that was imprisoned for manslaughter! – What shall I do with Jesus, then? Shall he go free or stay? – Jesus shall be put on the cross, we all cry Let him be crucified! – Sirs, what has Jesus done wrong?’

In at least one case there is a motivation for the refusal to comply, which is however not accepted – there is however, as an afterthought, an apology as a selfinitiated repair move (cp. on similar moves in modern drama Piazza (1999)), in contrast with the definite rejection at the beginning of the turn;11 the reiteration of the imperative with insulting address later produces polite comply: (36) 1st Jew: therefore we prey all the / þu take þe crosse of the man; / Bere it with vs to Kalvarye / and ryth gret thank þu xalt han. Symon: Serys I may not in no degree / I haue gret errandys for to do / þerfore I pray Šow excuse me… [32.24–31] ‘– Therefore we all pray you that you take the cross off the man, bear it with us to the Calvary, and you shall receive great thanks. – Sirs, I cannot absolutely; I have great errands to do, therefore I pray you to excuse me…’

11. The strength of the rejection, operated through the strategy of Negated Ability (Turnbull and Saxton 1997: 160) is shown by the reinforcement of the negator with in no degree, similar to at all and containing Negative Concord, which at this time, and in this text, is quite exceptional and emphatic, as this phenomenon is already peripheral in 15th-century written English (Mazzon 2004); the effect is also reinforced by the amplification “great errands”, which boosts the relevance of the reason for rejection (“I have more important things to do”), which in turn makes giving the reason for refusal (normally a politeness strategy) even more face-threatening.



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It was decided to give a number of details on examples to highlight the frequency of this pattern, also when contradiction is involved, although compliance is by far more frequent in the text. It has been maintained (Herman 1995: 137) that conflict situations have highly dramatic value since they are productive of tension and generate suspense and involvement of the audience in outcomes. Yet, each has its own specific mode of achievement, since context-bound variables… can give a segment specificity.

The conversational structure and various elements of politeness involved in ‘arguing’ have been variously studied, and one main premise is that such ‘conflict talk’ contains a minimum of three moves, so that an exchange will contain three turns (Muntigl and Turnbull 1998: 227). In the case of our sample, by contrast, potential conflict or even open confllict such as that shown by refusal to comply seems to be resolved in two moves quite often, at least when performed in a direct way, similarly to what was noted for echoic contradictions in 5.2 and will be noted for question – answer sequences in 5.4 below. Our mention of some typical structures of conflict talk in 5.2 did not include any analysis of the politeness features involved and of face-work in particular, e.g. the fact that irrelevance claims are the most face-threatening reactive moves, with challenges following as the next most faceaggravating type; as mentioned above, counterclaims are the most mitigated type (Muntigl and Turnbull 1998: 243ff.; on mitigation in general see Fraser (1980)). Some instances of prolonged conflict dialogue will be provided in 5.6 below; for the moment, let us turn to another pattern that can reveal either cooperation or conflict: question – answer pairs proper.

5.4 Questions As for question – answer pairs proper, a highly varied typology was found again in the ca. 80 instances sampled, but here too, the degree of textual cohesion and coherence12 appears remarkable, and the modality structure is also rather dense. Questions in fact raise a set of epistemic alternatives and possible inferences, connected to the related implicatures, whether deontic or epistemic (Carlson 1983: 92–103). In more strictly pragmatic terms, and recalling our discussion in Chapter 4, it is to be kept in mind that questions can perform various illocutionary functions, and so can answers, not counting the fact that answers can 12. Notice that, albeit these two structural properties of texts have often been considered to go hand in hand, coherence has been shown not to depend on cohesion in conversation, especially as concerns topical structure (Bublitz 1988: 28–29).

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show different degrees of indirectness in the way they are performed (Moeschler 2002: 240–241; Schegloff 2007: 78–80). In order to analyse this kind of sequences, it is best to consider them in terms of initiative and reactive moves and assess their co-textual and contextual appropriateness (Moeschler 2002: 244–247). Questions often realise requests or commands, either to supply information, or to elicit a specific perlocution, in the same way as imperatives (Kiefer 1983: 2). In today’s English, a request conveyed through a question, especially if accompanied by hedging modality, is felt as more indirect and therefore more polite (Busse 2002a: 20–21); it remains to be shown whether this holds for the past as well. In turn, answers can express different degrees of speaker commitment through the employment of epistemic markers (Doherty 1983). Notice that questions are also often not initial, but reactive moves: in ‘conflict talk’, a common reaction to a FTA, and itself a mildly face-threatening one, is the so-called ‘opposing question’ (Gruber 2001: 1816), a constructed example of which could be, as a response to the accusation But you haven’t told him!, the opposing question Why didn’t you remind me? would be a reactive move. This is a partly different case from the ‘defusing questions’ in (35), and no examples were found in the text except (86) below. Various classifications of question types have been proposed. What is interesting is that they all to some extent stress the fact that although question – answer may seem the most intuitive type of adjacency pair, it is far from obvious that ‘questions’ are in any way a homogeneous category, and this applies even more so to answers. It has been contended that questions can have informational content or expressive significance regardless of their receiving a response; in this sense, this pair may be even less of a pair than other recognised pairs (Freed 1994: 640–641). On the other hand, the two do seem to form a functional unit, to the point that the lack of an answer needs justification (Schrott 1999: 332; see also below n. 11 and example (59)). Freed’s classification revolves around the kind of information requested, whether new (public, social/private, invitation, deictic, i.e. about the immediate environment, or clarifying previous interaction) or known (asking for repetition, confirmation, focussing, recalling shared information; on the use of questions to elicit known, not new information see also Archer (2005: 160, 289–290)). Furthermore, questions can invite confirmation of interaction (phatic) or elaboration, and finally there are ‘expressive’ types of questions conveying a didactic or rhetorical function, or humour, or reported speech, or they can be self-directed. It is interesting to note that there is no direct mapping of these functions on the syntactic form of questions (i.e. yes-no, wh-type, tags, etc.), although there are recognisable trends: wh-questions, which often rely on ‘heavier’ presuppositions, tend to show higher control on the questioned and to pose higher constraints on the answers (Archer 2005: 78, 140–141). The presence or absence of answers can,



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still according to Freed (1994), help classify the function of the question, but this presence is not vital in order to classify an utterance as a question. This classification has the advantage of detaching the category ‘question’ from the traditional classification of speech acts, while still recognising as central both the speaker’s purpose or intention and the type of (interactional) action s/he wants to perform. Responses can be direct or indirect, and they can also correct presuppositions, contained in the questions, that are deemed to be false (Joshi 1983: 231–235). Two kinds of older English texts, apart from drama, have been widely investigated in connection with question – answer sequences: language textbooks and courtroom proceedings. Many textbooks were published in the Renaissance, mainly meant as a guide for French refugees in England, and they are very often based on what a modern language teacher would call ‘situational dialogues’. These dialogues are of course constructed, yet they do show an effort to reproduce some current structures, e.g. they show different formulations of questions and answers according to situation and, to some extent, to degrees of politeness, through the use of conversational formulae (Di Martino 1993, 2000; Watts 1999); these features, though further developed in the Renaissance, were present to some extent already in Ælfric’s Colloquy. Dialogue forms are present, to a more limited extent, in scientific textbooks as well; in many cases these dialogues are visibly artificial and stilted, but from the sixteenth century onwards they appear more lively, with more prominent ‘interactive’ features and also some formulaic language, e.g. in exchanges between doctors and patients (Taavitsainen 1999). The structure of interrogation in courtroom discourse also reveals patterns that, although real, are to some extent contrived and represent some conventions, but can also be seen as examples of strategic behaviour. Courtroom discourse was investigated e.g. by Rock (2000), by Archer (2005), and by Walker (2007) for the EModE period, the first period for which this kind of dialogue is substantially documented, and the contextual data on the speech acts performed more abundantly available. One advantage of studying this kind of text is that in several portions, e.g. in depositions, turns of talking are reported verbatim; this, along with the fact that verbal routines seem less fixed in this kind of record than in modern courtroom, is promising for our study. Recall that our text contains several examples of legal or pseudo-legal language, or anyway of stretches of dialogue that can be assimilated to interrogations. Examples will be analysed later on, and compared to ‘real’ interrogations. One investigation of dramatic texts is Wikberg (1975), where various aspects of questions in Shakespearean works are examined, especially with regards to yesno questions. The scholar remarks on the high frequency of questions and on their use for stylistic purposes (whence the frequency of rhetorical questions), and on the importance of the recurrence of some formal elements, which is ­responsible for

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the fact that answers are very often a ‘transformation’ of the preceding questions. Wikberg further emphasises that the importance of question – answer sequences in drama finds antecedents in sermons and homilies, which also, like didactic dialogues, had an instructive aim; Enders (1999) goes further and interprets such ‘interrogations’ in medieval texts as directly allusive to Inquisition procedures. In any case, we certainly cannot compare these forms of exchange, according to Wikberg, with the ‘realistic’ dialogue of later drama. Among the main functions of yes-no questions in drama, apart from asking for information, Wikberg (1975: 16–17) quotes: truth-value questions, confirmation-seeking questions, asking for opinion, asking for attention, asking for advice, and asking for permission, although asking for information is more frequent. Most of these were found in our sample, but whquestions were found to be much more numerous, and corresponding to similar types of content. Some examples are the following: (37) Peter: Sey me, systeryn, with wordys blythe / May I troste to þat Še say? Is Cryst resyn ageyn to lyve…? Maria Salome: Ša trostyth us truly it is no nay! / He is aresyn, it is no les [36.111–3, 115–16] ‘– Tell me, sisters, with joyous words: can I trust what you are saying? Is Christ arisen again to live? – Yes, trust us truly, there is no denying! He is arisen, no less than that’ (38) Anne: Wole Še go se þat Lord Šoure husband xal ben / and lerne for to love hym and lede with hym Šoure lyff... Mary: Fadyr and modyr, if it plesynge to Šow be / Še han made Šoure avow, so ssothly wole I [9.30–31, 34–5] ‘– Do you want that God is your husband, and learn to love him and lead your life with him? – Father and mother, if that pleases you, you have made your vow, and so indeed will I’ (39) Bishop: Herke, sere princys, what noyse is all this? / The erthe and the eyer is ful of melodye [41.371–2] ‘Listen, sir princes, what noise is all this? The earth and the air are full of melody’ (40) Scribe: Of Šoure conscience telle us þe pleyn / with þis woman what xal be wrought? / Shall we lete here go qwyle again / or to hire deth xal she be brought? Jesus nihil respondit, sed semper scrybyt in terra [24.205–9A]13

13. This is one of the very few cases in which there is no verbal reply but a ‘loaded’ silence (on silence in drama see Stucky (1994)). The story of course follows the biblical record, and is no dramatic invention – this lack of reply is well known to the audience, and expected. On inter-



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‘Of your conscience tell us plainly: what shall be done with this woman? Shall we let her go free again, or shall she be brought to her death?’ Jesus makes no reply, but continues writing on the earth.

Among the information-seeking question types, a number of interesting cases were found: in (41) there is a request and assurance about the truth of the reply and also the fronting of the new, thematic element in the reply. In (42) there is a reply on the existential construction but then a contradiction on the elaboration, while in (43) there is mainly lexical recurrence (in this case by contrast) to lend force to the answer. (44) and (45) are examples of reject – in both cases there is refusal to supply an answer, or indeed there is a rejection of the presupposition of the question. (41) Lameth: Herke boy cum telle me þe trewth in certeyn / what man is he þat – þis cry doth þus make. Boy: Caym þou hast kyllyd I telle þe ful pleyn... [4.178–181] ‘– Listen, boy, come and tell me the certain truth: what man is he that cries in this way? – Cain you have killed, I tell you plainly’ (42) Joachym: Qwhat art þou in goddys name – þat makyst me a-drad. / It is as lyth a-bowt me as al þe werd were fere. Angel: 1 am an Aungel of god – com to make þe glad [8.173–5] ‘– What are you, in God’s name, that make me so afraid? There is so much light around me as if all the world were on fire. – I am an angel of God, come to make you happy’ (43) 1st generation of David: what chere Joseph what ys the case / that ye lye here on this ground Joseph: age and febylnesse doth me embrace / that I may nother well go ne stound [10.159–162] ‘– What cheer, Joseph, what is the matter, that you are lying here on the ground? – Old age and weakness assail me, so that I can neither walk nor stand well’ (44) Angelus: Joseph Joseph þou wepyst shyrle / ffro þi wyff why comyst þou owte. Joseph: Good sere let me wepe my ffylle / go forthe þi wey and lett me… [12.147–150] ‘– Joseph, Joseph, you weep in a shrill voice! Why did you go away from your wife? – Good sir, let me weep as much as I want, go your way and leave me…’ pretation of silence in ordinary conversation in politeness/impoliteness terms see also ­Bousfield (2007: 2195–2197).

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(45) Bishop: What mystyr man dede þe mys-vse / Why hast þou synned ageyn þin husbonde. Mary: I trespacyd nevyr with erthely wyght / þer of I hope þurowe goddys sonde / here to be purgyd be-fore Šour syght [4.288–292] ‘– What strange man abused you? Why did you sin against your husband? – I never sinned with any living man, of that I hope through God’s ordeal to be purified, here before your eyes.’

In all these cases, there are strong elements of interactivity, and there seems to be an effort to reproduce actual conversational patterns: this cannot be attributed entirely to genre, though, since it must be remembered that the ultimate sources, i.e. the Old Testament, and then the Gospels, are themselves strongly dialogic in form at some points, and not merely descriptive and narrative. Of course, there are also rhetorical questions, as well as ‘expressive’ questions only indicating polite interaction or the venting of feelings: (46) 1st Comforter: Dame Martha and Magdalene / How faryth Šoure brothire.. [25.41–2] ‘Dame Martha, and Magdalene, how does your brother feel?’ (47) Martha: Alas, qwy doth deth us not fett / vs for to brynge to þis same plight [25.171–2; mourning over Lazarus] ‘Alas, why did death not fetch us, rather than bring us to this very situation?’

There are also a couple of cases of metarepresentational,14 ironic questions addressed to Jesus by the mocking Jews around the cross after they have served him with vinegar: (48) 3rd Jew: … What! Methynkyth a mowe Še make / Is not þis good drynk /To crye for drynke Še had gret hast / and now it semith it is but wast / Is not þis drink of good tast [32.200–204]15 ‘… What! It seems to me that you are making a grimace! Is not this a good drink? You were keen to ask for a drink and now it seems to be a waste. Does this drink not taste good?’

14. On metarepresentation or staged communicative acts, see e.g. Gibbs (2000); irony is based on the ostensible overthrowing of shared knowledge, and also communicates an attitude. In this case, this is also to the benefit of the audience, who is aware of the situation depicted in the Gospel and can therefore correctly interpret these utterances. 15. Recall the fact that characters called generically ‘Jews’ are often entrusted the most cruel dialogue sections, as an expression of general anti-semitism in the plays (Spector 1979). This emerges in other examples, too.



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Particularly relevant cases are in Play 14 and of course in Play 21, which re-enacts the questioning of Jesus in the Temple; the Doctors here take on a role similar to the role of the questioner in a trial. The questioning in this play, along with that in the Trial of Joseph and Mary (Play 14), can be compared with the analysis by Rock (2000) and especially by Archer (2005) on courtroom material, or with Walton’s (2003) analysis of modern interrogation; on questioning and torture in medieval drama as a display of power and as a way to provoke a cathartic effect see Enders (1999). This is a special type of information-seeking dialogue, characterised by the fact that one party is in a much more powerful position and that, contrary to other types of dialogue, cooperation cannot be assumed. This involves working on presupposition, and, as to form, choices of the imperative along with questions proper: (49) Bishop: Alas Mary what hast þu wrought / I am aschamyd evyn for þi sake / How hast þu chaungyd þin holy thought / Dude old Joseph with strenght þe take/ Or hast þu chosyn another make / By whome þu art þus brought in schame / Telle me who hath wrought þis wrake / How hast þu lost þin holy name [14.202–9] ‘Alas, Mary, what have you done? I am ashamed of you! How have you changed your pious thought? Did old Joseph take you by force? Or have you chosen another mate, by whom you are thus brought to shame? Tell me who has done this mischief. How have you lost your holy name?’

The various hypotheses put forth by the Bishop are framed in the form of questions that presuppose guilt (i.e. loaded questions, containing presuppositions not ratified by the interlocutors (Schrott 1999: 343–344)), but there are also injunctions to reveal the truth in the form of imperatives, which are met by counterclaims and appeals to God: (50) Bishop: … Iff þu be gylty, telle us, lete se… // If þu presume and gylty be / God þu dost greve many a folde. Joseph: I am not gylty as I first tolde / Allmyghty God I take wytnes [14.242–7] ‘– If you are guilty, tell us, let’s see... If you pretend, and are guilty, you displease God as many times. – I am not guilty, as I said the first time: I take Almighty God as witness’ (51) Bishop: Yf þu be gylty þu mayst not schape / Beware evyr of God þat ryghtful justyce! If God with vengeauns set on þe his syse / not only þu but all þi kin is schamyd / Bettyr it is to telle þe trewth devyse / than God for to greve and of hym be gramyd [14.316–21] ‘If you are guilty you may not escape! Always beware of the rightful justice of God! If God with vengeance sets against you his court, not only you, but all

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your kin are disgraced. It is better to tell the truth than to aggravate God and be blamed by him’

Threats and insults are also employed, as often in the case of interrogations which typically use some form of coercion (Walton 2003: 1778–1788). The exchanges between young Jesus and the Doctors are characterised initially by the derision and diminutio addressed to Jesus that was already highlighted in Chapter 2 at (29a)–(29c); contrary to the interrogation in Play 14, this is characterised by wide use of meta-talk (for a typology see Rock (2000: 60–61)), and of elements of argumentation. There is no coercion apart from the attitudes of doubt and disbelief that the Doctors express initially, and the level of politeness, as mentioned in Chapter 2, increases with the increasing respect that Jesus manages to earn from his interlocutors through his argumentation; the ‘persuasive’ element thus consists in eliciting more wisdom from the young interlocutor through increased politeness: (52) a. b. c.

1st Doctor: … That on is thre I kannot thynke / If þu canst preve it, anon lett se / for in oure hertys it may nevyr synke [21.78–80] ‘... That one is three I cannot conceive. If you can prove it, let us see now, because in our hearts it can never penetrate’ 2nd Doctor: But Šitt fayr babe oo thynge we pray Šow / what do all þo thre personys hyght / Vs to enforme Še sey to me now [21.86–88] ‘But yet, fair child, of one thing we pray you: what are those three persons called? Tell me now in order to inform us’ 2nd Doctor: But blyssyd babe of oo dowte Šitt / we pray Šow enforme us for charité / which toke flesch of þe personys thre / ageyn þe fende to holde such batayle [21.107–110] ‘But, blessed child, about one doubt yet we pray to inform us charitably: which one of the three persons took on flesh to fight such a battle against the devil?’

Ensuing questions, aimed at discovering Jesus’ name and origins, are also accompanied by polite I pray Šow and similar formulae, to mark the shift in status of the interlocutor; and it is in fact about formulaic interaction that more will be said in the next section.

5.5

Formulae

Among the formulaic utterances and exchanges that will be exemplified in this section we include greetings, blessings, polite requests of the ‘How are you?’



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type, and insults, trying to distinguish between ‘personalised’ types and more ritualised types, since the latter present stronger structural constraints and may be included in traditions that can be transmitted over the centuries.16 Notice that this category of our analysis would include, in Watts’ (2003: 168–169) terms, both ‘formulaic’ and ‘semi-formulaic’ utterances, since the former “have been reduced from fully grammatical structures to the status of extra-sentential markers of politic behaviour”, while the latter “may also be used, in certain circumstances, as propositional structures in their own right”. Over time, these routines become structurally fixed,17 but can vary in the illocutionary strength they express, and can of course also vary in the world-view they reflect, as when the originally blessing God be with you becomes the greeting Good-bye, which gradually spreads, in the EModE period, at the expense of the older, secular greeting form Farewell (Arnovick 1999: 102–105). Notice that, although they are often expressed as oneword utterances, formulae can be distinguished from interjections in that they not only have an illocutionary purpose, but do not show propositional content (Ameka 1992b). This can be considered a main reason why routine formulae are considered of interest within an analysis of ‘affective’ speech. It has been emphasises (Coulmas 1979: 251) that formulae do not simply have a phatic role, but can fulfil several roles in interaction. Among formulae we thus include greetings, small talk, blessings, apologies, thanks, etc. Apologies and thanks, in particular, tend to occur in routinized pairs in such a fixed way that the responses are often not considered separately but as part of the same speech act (Verschueren 1981: 152). In the examples below, again, main interactive portions or echoes are underlined The first examples ­ concern greetings, which can be particularly polite (53), according to the rather general “tendency to surpass the partner in politeness” (Beetz 1999: 144), shown here by

16. See for instance studies of OE insults, investigated recently in a pragmatic framework, as reviewed in Arnovick (1999: 21–35). Similarly, curses seem to go from strong deontic to expressive (id., 73–89). For an analysis of verbal duelling in older drama in different European contexts see Bax (1999). 17. This is of course not to mean that they do not change in form. Quite the opposite obtains, in fact: “politeness formulae, in so far as they are non-referential in meaning and important for their presence or absence on the appropriate occasion… are subject to the special weakenings (aphesis, contraction, erosion) which expressions of that type such as titles, asseverative particles and the like undergo” (Ferguson 1981: 31). On the other hand, such expressions are part of a culture and therefore they tend to spread across language communities (see e.g. the present diffusion of Ital. Ciao), and tend to retain archaic forms and constructions, often persisting in communities, beyond changes in language or religion (Ferguson 1981: 32).

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the modulation of glad in the third turn, or they can be overly elaborate (54),18 or include enquiries about one’s health and family (55, note that the reply is the customary complaint), while leave-taking (56) can be accompanied by a request of intercession and remembrance in one’s prayers, or by thanks, as in (57)–(58). (59) is an enquiry about health which gets an indirect reply since the addressee is unable to speak; notice that the initial failure of the addressee to reply immediately generates the suspicion that he may be angry, so that his wife has to step in and repair the apparent lapse in politeness;19 the use of kinship terms for polite address emerge here in the use of father. (53) 1st Detractor: Welcom dere brother my trowth I plyght / Šowre jentyl mowth let me now kys. 2nd Detractor: Gramercy brother so haue I blys / I am ful glad we met þis day. 1st Detractor: Ryght so am I brother i-wys / mech gladdere than I kan say. [14.52–57] ‘– Welcome dear brother, I swear! Let me now kiss your gentle mouth. – Thank you, brother, I have such joy, I am so glad we met today! – Quite so am I, brother, indeed, much gladder than I can say’ (54) 1st Angel: Heyl, excellent princes Mary most pure / Heyl, radyant sterre, the sunne not so bryth / Heyl, Moder of Mercy and mayde most mure / The blessyng that God yaf Jacob vpon you now lyth [41.117–120] ‘Hail, excellent princess, most pure Mary! Hail, radiant star, the sun (is) not so bright! Hail, Mother of Mercy and highly modest virgin! The blessing that God gave Jacob is now upon you’ (55) Shepherd: how de Še mayster Še loke al hevyly / how doth oure dame at hom sytt she and sowyth. Joachym: to here þe speke of here it sleyth myn hert veryly / how I and sche doth god hym self knowyth [8.137–140]

18. Or at least, so they appear to be; on the difficulty of assessing politeness in salutations, interesting remarks appear already in Replogle (1973); the reverential salutation with Heil appears from 1200 onwards (Grzega 2008: 169). 19. This is a particularly realistic touch, which alerts us as to the importance of these exchanges and of the interaction schemata behind them, and confirms, if need be, the conviction that “casual conversation is anything but trivial, and in fact it even constructs social reality” (Eggins and Slade 1997: 17).



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‘– How are you, master? You look very bad… How does our lady, is she sitting at home sowing? – To hear you speak of her really kills my heart! How she and I are God himself knows’20 (56) Mary: Cosyn be Šour leve – and Šour lycens / for homward now we must travayl.... Elizabeth: Now cosynes bothe god Šow spede / and wete Šow wele with-owtyn mo / Šour presence comfortyth me in dede [13.155–6, 159–160] ‘– Cousin, by your leave and your permission, because we have to travel homewards now… – Now, cousins both, God speed you, and you know well that your presence comforts me absolutely indeed’ (57)

Joachym: Now fare wel myn shepherdys – governe Šow now wysly. 1st Shepherd: Haue Še good tydyngys mayster – þan be we glad. Joachym: Prayse god for me – for I am not wourthy. 2nd Shepherd: In feyth sere so we xal – with all oure sowlys sad. [8.204–8] ‘– Now farewell, my shepherds, rule yourselves now wisely! – Have you got good news, master? Then we are glad. – Praise God for me, for I am not worthy. – In faith, sir, so we shall, with all our serious intentions.’

(58) Gabriel: Ffare weyl turtyl – goddys dowtere dere. / Ffare wel goddys modyr – I þe honowre / Ffare wel goddys sustyr – and his pleynge fere / Ffare wel goddys chawmere and his bowre. Mary: Ffare wel Gabryel specyalye / Ffare wel goddys masangere expresse / I thank Šow for our traveyl hye / Gramercy of Šour grett goodnes. [11.313–20] ‘– Farewell, turtledove, dear daughter of God! Farewell, mother of God! I honour you! Farewell, sister of God, and his playmate! Farewell, God’s chamber and mansion – Farewell, Gabriel, specially! Farewell, clear messenger of God! I thank you for your great journey! Thank you for your great goodness’ (59) Joseph: A how do Še . how do Še – ffadyr zacahrye / we ffalle ffast in Age withowte oth / why shake Še so Šour hed – haue Še þe palsye / Why speke Še not sere I trow Še are not wroth. Elizabeth: Nay wys ffadyr joseph – þer to he were ful loth / it is the vesytacion of god – he may not speke veryly / lete us thank god – þerffor both / he xal remedy it – whan it plesyth his mercy. [13.139–46] ‘– Ah, how are you, how are you, father Zachary? We are advancing quickly in age, without doubt! Why do you shake your head? Have you the palsy? Why

20. Grzega (2008: 172–174) claims that this form of greeting only appears later, and disappears quickly, substituted by How do you do?, but it seems quite established in this text (see ex. (59)). Another, similar form, What chere?, i.e. ‘what face/mood’, is claimed to be attested from around the time of our text, and it does appear here in a couple of cases, e.g. (43).

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do you not speak, sir? I am sure you are not angry? – No, no really, father Joseph, he really would not like to do that. It is a visit from God: he really cannot speak. Let us therefore thank God, both of us, he shall recover when it pleases His mercy’

There are of course other formulae too: (60) is a request for forgiveness and blessing, and the reply, uttered by the father, is a reassurance, (61) is an apology with ready and explicit acceptance. The strategy here would be of the implicit type (selfreproach) according to Aijmer’s (1996: 83) classification, but the tone is emotional, so this would be a mixture of Aijmer’s H and J types. (62) is also a sort of apology, of Aijmer’s K type ‘acknowledging responsibility’, and refers to the stereotype whereby sterility is a ‘fault’, while (63) is a wedding ceremony, i.e. an example of highly formulaic language, and it is not difficult indeed to find traces of today’s wording in it, including the repetition of the Bishop’s words. These last examples show a kind of language that is rather colloquial and ‘personal’, with an emphasis on the emotional side of the exchanges. Even the wedding ritual, which should be more fixed, contains some personal elements in Mary’s reply and in the last utterance by the Bishop. Therefore, so far at least, our hypothesis that formulae would present a rather fixed and stereotyped picture does not seem to be borne out. (60) Mary: here is my fadyr and my modyr bothe / most mekely I beseche I may Šow kys / now for-Ševe me yf evyr I made Šow wrothe…. Joachym: Nay dowtere Še offendyd nevyr god nor man / lovyd be þat lord – Šow so doth kepe. [9.57–71] ‘– Here is both my father and my mother: most meekly I beseech to kiss you, now forgive me if ever I made you angry… – No, daughter, you never offended God or human, loved be that Lord, may he keep you as you are!’ (61) Joseph: A mercy mercy my jentyl make / mercy I haue seyd al Amys / all þat I haue seyd here I forsake / Šour swete fete now lete me kys. Mary: Nay lett be my fete not þo Še take / my mowthe Še may kys i-wys / and welcom on to me. [12.183–88]21

21. Notice that here Joseph performs a self-FTA, a common strategy for repair; on self-politeness and its strategies see Chen (2001). In terms of conversational moves, this is the culmination of a long remedial turn by Joseph, in which there is Acceptance of the opportunity to correct the previous misconduct. This is preceded by Challenge (þu dost ryght ylle – ‘you are very wrong’), and offering of the choice for repair (go chere þi wyff… amende þi thought – ‘go and comfort your wife… change your opinion’), performed by an Angel, and is followed by Thanks, performed by Joseph after Mary forgives him. This is a structure typical of remedial language behaviour (Goffman 1967; Owen 1983: 15).



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‘– Ah, mercy, mercy, my gentle mate! Mercy, I have said all wrong! I hereby forsake all that I said! Now let me kiss your sweet feet – No, let go of my feet, do not do that, indeed you may kiss my mouth, and welcome to me’ (62) Joachym: But blyssyd wyff anne sore I drede / in þe temple þis tyme to make sacryfice / be-cawse þat no frute of vs doth procede ... Anne: Šour swemful wurdys make terys trekyl down be my face / i-wys swete husbond þe fawte is in me. [8.58–60, 66–7] ‘– But, blessed wife Anne, I am terribly afraid to make sacrifice at the temple at this time, because no offspring comes from us… – your grieving words make tears trickle down my face! Indeed, sweet husband, the fault is in me…’ (63) Bishop: Mary wole Še haue þis man / and hym to kepyn as Šour lyff. Mary: In þe tenderest wyse fadyr as I kan / and with all my wyttys ffyff. Bishop: Joseph with þis ryng now wedde þi wyff / and be here hand now þou here take. Joseph: Sere with þis Rynge I wedde here Ryff / and take here now here ffor my make. Bishop: Mary mayd with-outyn more stryff / on to þi spowse þou hast hym take. [10.314–323] ‘– Mary, will you have this man, and keep him as your mate? – In as tender a way as I can, father, and with all my five senses. – Joseph, with this ring marry now your wife, and now take her by the hand. – Sir, with this ring I wed her openly, and take her now for my mate. – Mary, virgin, without any more strife, go to your spouse quickly now’

Greetings are special in this group since they are formulae that can also be addressed to the audience, as will be recalled in Chapter 6: (64) 1st Detractor: A A serys, god saue Šow all [14.34] ‘Ah, ah, sirs, God save you all!’

 

(65) Moses: Farewell gode frendys for hens wyll I wende [6.193] ‘Farewell, good friends, for I will go away from here’

Other kinds of formulae include excusing oneself, to soften a request (66), or for the hedging of negative judgement (67) – notice that the former, giving reasons, is considered a positive politeness strategy, while hedging uses negative politeness (Craig, Tracy and Spisak 1986). (66) Magdalene: Myn hed doth ake as it xulde brest / I pray Šow therefore whil Še ben here / a lytil whyle þat I may rest [25.282–4] ‘My head aches as if it were going to burst! I pray you therefore, while you are here, that I may rest a little while’

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(67) 1st Detractor: Myn lord, plesyth Šow to pardon me for to say / þe blame in Šow is, as we find… [26.225–6; to Caiphas] ‘My lord, it pleases you to forgive me for saying it: the blame (fault) is on you, as we think…’

Thanks can also vary in strength of expression: (68) 3rd Comforter: Mary Mawdelyn be of good herte / and wel bethynke Šow in Šoure mynde… Magdalene: I thanke Šow frendys for Šoure good chere [25.273–4, 281] ‘– Mary Magdalene, be in high spirits, and imagine positively in your mind… – I thank you, friends, for your good cheer’ (69) Messenger: My lord, and it plese Šou to haue intelligens… Annas: Sere I kan þe thank of þi diligens… [26.273, 277] ‘My lord, if it pleases you to have information… – Sir, I can thank you of your diligence…’

Insults are also included here, although of course this use prominently involves terms of address. Insults are highly formulaic, and very interactive; they can even contribute to characterisation, and aid in the liberating function of dramatic representation if taken as examples of ‘transgressive language’ directed at powerful characters who would normally not be addressed in this way (Forest-Hill 2000: 27–36). Studies in diachronic pragmatics concerning insults are mainly due to Jucker (2000b) and Jucker and Taavitsainen (2000), who have investigated the evolution of insults, also as concerns the forms used (whose central content has shifted, over the centuries, from religious to sexual to scatologic; on swearing and profanity in the history of English the main authority is Hughes (1993, 2006)). Although Jucker (2000b: 376–377) acknowledges that insults are a fuzzy category from the communicative point of view, he tries to classify them, and finds no less than ten types in the CT; the main distinction remains that between ritual and personal insults, which of course make recourse to different linguistic materials. The CT represent a different range of styles and registers as compared to our sample (besides being earlier by over a century), but some of the types found there can be of use here, although no ‘verbal duelling’, of the type found even in some OE works, was found in our sample. The main insulting strategy found was that of demeaning, in this case often the demeaning of Jesus (‘little babe’), and that of slandering, mentioned in greater detail below: both are personal, not ritual, insults. We have already mentioned the value of pronouns and terms of address in insults (2.6, also observed by Jucker and Taavitsainen (2000: 81)), but here we look at whole utterances meant to perform an insult, or to offend, within sequences.



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At times, the insulting reaction (i.e. the insulting utterance realised as second turn) is triggered by disbelief, and the utterer of unpleasant news is charged with responsibility for the content of the first utterance, but also accused of being a liar, a rather serious accusation, especially on religious matters; in most of these cases, however, it is the non-believer who is to blame, and the angry reaction is part of his being depicted as the ‘negative’ character. This concerns e.g. the reaction by Pilate to the news, brought by a soldier, of Christ’s resurrection (70), but also Thomas’s proverbial incredulity to the same piece of news (71), which however is mostly expressed through argumentation: only the beginning of the debate shows an angry mood. Notice that the strategies are partly different, but there are common elements: diminishing the other’s speech by assessing it as false, trying to silence him, and express doubt with rhetorical questions of the type How…?, nearly with the same words. It is apparent that doubt is associated with anger and verbal intemperance – the disturbing news trigger violent reactions. (70) Pilate: What What.What What /Out upon the Why seyst þu þat / Fy vpon the harlat / How darst þu so say / þu dost myn herte ryght grett greff / þu lyest vpon hym fals theff / How xulde he rysyn ageyn to lyff / þat lay deed in clay [35.169–176] ‘What? What? What? What? Away with you! Why do you say that? Shame on you, rascal! How dare you say so? You give great grief to my heart! You lie about him, false thief! How could he rise again to life, he that lies dead in the ground?’ (71) Peter: A, brother Thomas we might be ryght glad / of these gode novell þat we now haue // oure lord is resyn his se[r]uantys to saue. Thomas: Be in pes Petyr þu gynnygst to rave / Thy wurdys be wantowne and ryght vnwyse / How xulde a deed man þat deed lay in grave / with qwyk flesche and blood to lyve ageyn ryse [38.297–304] ‘– Ah, brother Thomas, we can be really glad of these good news that we have now! Our lord is arisen, to save his servants! – Be quiet, Peter, you start to rave! Your words are vain and really foolish! How should a dead man that lies dead in a grave rise to life again with live flesh and blood?’

Specific attention must be devoted to slandering, which was not only insulting but criminal behaviour in the Middle Ages, both religiously and secularly speaking; at the same time, on a conversational plane, it can be assimilated to gossip, based as it is on (real or projected) “shared normative judgements about culturally significant behavioural domains” (Eggins and Slade 1997: 273). Recall that several ‘sins of the tongue’ are explicitly mentioned through their performatives (besides sclaunderen, also defamen, lyen, maken bost, etc.; see 4.2).

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The speeches by the Detractors (Backbiter and Reysesclaundyr) in Play 14, where discourse is ‘straddled’ by trying to elicit consensus from the audience (for this ‘jump into contemporaneity’ see 6.1), were studied by Hunt (1994) and by Hayes (2000), and compared with those by similar characters in romances and morality plays: the classical schema of rhetorical argumentation is followed, with the difference that here these characters, although they are there to stress the negative power that the word can have, also offer the opportunity to ‘good’ characters to clear their name, also through appeal to God. The rhetorical strategies employed include flattering of the audience (72a) and of the judges (72b),22 and insulting of the accused, including carefully chosen epithets (73a)–(73b) and insinuating (74). Notice the use that is made of figurative language, associated with non-literal speech acts and deception (Gibbs (2003: 357–358); on figurative language in conversation management see also Drew and Holt (1998)): in (75) the Detractors play on the audience’s efficient decoding of irony, a process in which consideration of what the speaker is pragmatically saying/doing overrides literal interpretation (Gibbs 2003: 370–377); this represents the culmination of their accusation. (72) a. b.

1st Detractor: Here is a fayr pepyl, in good fay / good serys,… [14.35–6] ‘Here is a fair crowd, in good faith! good sirs…’ 1st Detractor: Sere for Šoure sake I xal kepe cowncelle / Šow for to greve I am ryght loth [14.118–9] ‘Sir, for your sake I will keep council; I really do not wish to grieve you’

(73) a. b.

1st Detractor: Sche semyd so holy… [14.76; referred to Mary] ‘She looked to saintly…’ 2nd Detractor: … þat old shrewe joseph… that olde cokolde …  [14.82, 98] ‘… That old rascal Joseph, … that old cuckold…’

(74) 2nd Detractor: Now sere evyl thedom com to þi snowte! / What heylyght þi leggys now to be lame? / þu dedyst hem put ryght freschly owte / whan þu dedyst pley with Šon Šonge dame! [14.261–5] ‘Now, sir, bad luck may come to your snout! What ails your legs that you are limping? You put them out quite vigorously when you played around with this young lady!’ (75) 1st Detractor: In feyth, I suppose þat þis woman slepte Withowtyn all coverte whyll þat it dede snowe 22. Notice that this can include both positive and negative politeness strategies, i.e. compliments (72a) and apologies (72b), according to the classification reported by Craig, Tracy and Spisak (1986) and derived from Brown and Levinson’s model.



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And a flake þerof into hyre mowthe crepte And þerof þe chylde in hyre wombe doth growe 2nd Detractor: Than beware, dame, for this is wel iknowe Whan it is born yf þat þe sunne shyne It wyl turne to watyr ageyn as I trowe For snow onto watyr doth evyrmore reclyne [14.306–13] ‘– In faith, I suppose that this woman slept without a blanket while it snowed, and a snowflake crept into her mouth, and it is from there that the child grows in her womb. – Then beware, dame, for this is well known: when it is born, if the sun shines it will turn into water again, I claim, because snow always goes back to water’

These are just a few of the routine formulae included in the collection; their analysis shows that the writer made recourse to convention, but did try to insert some variation and some ‘liveliness’; interesting data is yielded particularly by the expression of agreement and disagreement, which are further explored in the next section.

5.6 ‘Peace and love’ vs. ‘struggle and strife’ Although some of the exchanges quoted in the previous sections do extend over more than two turns, it might be interesting, as a round-up to this chapter, to see the same mechanisms operating over longer stretches of dialogue; this could help to highlight the dynamics of larger-scale stretches of ‘conversation’, and to look at other cases of cooperation and support vs. conflict, which do not necessarily occur in any of the ‘pairs’ dealt with above. Responsive behaviour or ‘second’ turns can be termed ‘supportive’ or ‘confrontational’, according to Eggins and Slade (1997: 169, 203–209), with non-complying responses (including termination, i.e. failure to reply or to carry out a command) at the confrontational end and as dispreferred seconds. ‘Third’ turns can be closings of the sequence, bringing to either a resolution or a termination or walk-out, or they can be further expansions of the sequence, introducing new turns (Schegloff 2007). For instance, agreement and the employment of echoic structures can be seen in an excerpt illustrating the progress of ‘cooperative action’ punctuated by dialogue – in Play 32, the four Jews make an efficient and companionable business of nailing Jesus to the cross, with abundant swearing but overall cooperative attitude with a distinct shared focus, as often typical of ‘polylogue’ (Kerbrat-Orecchioni 2004); while spontaneous dialogue is often ‘looser’ in cohesion, here we find a high degree of repetition in lexical and syntactic structures. Of course, there is

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also some implicitness, typical of cooperative dialogue based on shared knowledge (Poncin and Rieser 2006: 719), visible in the use of deictic expressions like ‘down here’ and ‘his arm’. (76)

1st Jew: Come on, now here we xal asay Yf þe cros for þe be mete Cast hym down here, in þe devil way How long xal he standyn on his fete 2nd Jew: Pul hym down, evyl mote he the And gyf me his arm in hast And anon we xal se Hese good days, þei xul be past 3rd Jew: Gef hese other arm to me Another take hed to hes feet… 2nd Jew: Fast on a rop and pulle hym long And I xal drawe þe ageyn… 3rd Jew: Dryve in þe nayl anon lete se And loke and þe flesch and senues well last… 2nd Jew: Here is a nayl for both, good and greet I xal dryve it thorwe I make avow [32.49–76] ‘– Come on, now here we shall try if the cross be right for you. Put him down here, in the devil’s way; how long shall he be standing on his feet? – Pull him down, woe to you! And give me his arm quickly, and soon we shall see that his good days will be past. – Give his other arm to me, another take care of his feet… – Fasten a rope and pull him on it, and I shall draw against you… – Drive the nail in now, let’s see, and look that the flesh and sinews do not tear… – Here is a nail for both, a good and large one. I shall drive it through, I swear!’

Reciprocal directives, offers for help, proposals and approvals intermingle with a very high degree of lexical and structural repetition, which is apparent in (76), although the dialogue is not reported in its entirety; as it appears from the stage directions immediately preceding and following, the action is performed on the stage, and the stretch of dialogue thus provides the audience with a ‘live commentary’ that is so dispassionate and business-like as to reinforce the cruelty of the action. A similar example, which has as its focus the highlighting of the ‘good news’ of Christ’s resurrection, is at 36.115–166 (reported, although not entirely, as (77)) when the apostles comment on the absence of their lord from the grave and then collectively rejoice – the high degree of repetition, signalling ‘cooperation’, is apparent, and the chain of echoic elements is also very visible, giving high cohesion to the sequence:



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(77)

Mary Salome: Ša, trostyth us truly, it is no nay! He is aresyn, it is no les. And so an aungel us tolde þis day With opyn voys and speche expres. John: Ša, þese be tydynges of ryght gret blys Þat oure maystyr resyn xulde be I wyl go renne in hast iwys And loke my Lord yf I may se. Peter: For joye also I renne with the My brothyr Johan, as I þe say In hast anon evyn forth go we To his grave we renne oure way… John: The same shete here I se Þat Crystys body was in wounde… Peter: In þis cornere þe shete is fownde And here we fynde þe sudary In þe which his hed was wounde… John: The same sudary and þe same shete Here with my syth I se both tweyn… [36.115–136] ‘– Yes, trust us, there is no denying! He is arisen, no less than that! And so an angel told us today, with clear voice and open speech. – Yes, these are news of very great joy, that our lord should have arisen! I will go and run quickly, indeed, and look if I can see my Lord. – Out of joy I also run with you, my brother John, as I tell you! Quickly now let us go, let us run towards his grave… – The same sheet here I see in which Christ’s body was wound… – In this corner there is the sheet, and here we find the sudary in which his head was wrapped… – The same sudary and the same sheet, here with my eyes I see them both…’

The supportive element in conversation can further be seen e.g. in concurrence with topic progression and topic shift (Bublitz 1988), but also in the degree of indirectness that can be considered typical of ‘politeness’ or face-work; the softening of commands is not infrequent in the text, as we have seen (recall the discussions in Chapters 2 and 3): observe for instance the subservience shown by Mary in the following request, which leads to success shown by Joseph’s complying move: (78)

Mary: Bvtt husbond of oo thynge I pray Šow most mekely I haue knowing þat oure cosyn Elyzabeth with childe is Þat it plese Šow to go to here hastily If owught we myth comforte here it wore to me blys Joseph: A Godys sake is she with childe Sche… I wole with a good wyl blyssyd wyff Mary

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Now go we forthe than in Goddys name [13.1–12]23 ‘But, husband, of one thing I pray you most meekly: I know that our cousin Elizabeth is pregnant; that it pleases you to go there quickly: if we may comfort her in anything it would be bliss to me. – Ah, for God’s sake! Is she pregnant? She?... I would like (to go) with good will, blessed wife Mary! Now let us go forth, then, in God’s name!’

Also quite elaborate is Joseph’s addressing of a citizen of Bethlehem when he is looking for a place to sleep in the Nativity Play: (79)

Joseph: Heyl wurchepful sere and good day A ceteceyn of þis cyte . Še seme to be of herborwe ffor spowse and me I Šow pray ffor trewly þis woman is ful were And fayn at reste sere wold she be We wolde ffulffylle þe byddynge of oure emperour ffor to pay trybute as ryght is oure and to kepe oure self ffrom dolowre We are come to þis cyte. Citizen: Sere ostage in þis town know I non þin wyff and þou in for to slepe [15.57–67] ‘– Hail, worshipful sir, and good day! You seem to be a citizen of this town: I pray you of haven for my spouse and me, for truly this woman is very tired, and she would like to rest, sir. We wanted to fulfil the command of our emperor, to pay tribute as it is right for us, and to keep ourselves away from disgrace we have come to this city. – Sir, haven in this town I know none, for you and your wife to sleep in.’

Every care is taken to avoid conveying rudeness and intrusion: formal greeting with honorific address (l. 57), motivation for addressing with hedging (l. 58), request with motivation (ll. 59–61), appeal to authority as further motivation (ll. 62–65). All this display of politeness does not achieve success: the reply is not very courteous (Joseph is addressed with sere but þu, and later man), and a motivation is given for the lack of compliance (ll. 68–71), but no real support is provided – only the later appeal by Joseph to Mary’s condition and recommenda-

23. In this example we find the two most frequent politeness markers: (and) it plese Šow and I pray Šow/þe. The former has please still employed in impersonal constructions, the single use of the word will only appear in the late seventeenth century, and will gradually become today’s ubiquitous please; the latter is the most widespread in the sample (cp. 4.2) and it does not appear to be formulaic yet, as later prithee will be (Busse 2002: 21–29; Traugott and Dasher 2002:  53–58).



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tion to God seem to move the citizen to overcome indifference and suspicion and to offer advice to solve the problem (ll. 82–85). Conflict talk and arguments can also have different progressions, with or without a resolution, with intervention from a third party or with a simple walkout (Dersley and Wootton 2001); portions of these exchanges can also include, as we have seen, imperative structures and questions, especially within complaints. On the whole, although conflict is often represented in the N.Town cycle, this aspect is not exploited to the extent to which it is used in other cycles, e.g. through the quarrels between Noah and his wife or between the Shepherds, which do not appear here. The development of such sequences as there are, however, tells us something about the power dynamics and the construction of social identity of the characters, which are both elements that very often are the cause itself of the conflict and competition element in dialogue (Diamond 1996; on the analysis of disagreement in sociopragmatics see Turnbull 2003: 184ff.). In (80) a request is deflected by contradicting the presupposition it is based on, which becomes the topical focus for the response, while the focus of the request (“who did this”) is abandoned: (80) Bishop: Telle me who hath wrought þis wrake / how hast thou lost þin holy name Mary: My name I hope is saff and sownde / god to wyttnes I am a mayd / of ffleshly lust and gostly wownde / in dede – nere thought – I nevyr a-sayd [14.208–13] ‘– Tell me who has operated this mischief! How have you lost your holy name? – My name, I hope, is safe and sound! I take God as witness, I am a virgin! I never felt lust of the flesh or blemish of the spirit, in act or thought’

It has been claimed that ‘impoliteness’,24 FTAs and verbal violence are considered more typical of twentieth-century drama (Culpeper (1998); for a discussion of the main impoliteness strategies see Culpeper, Bousfield and Wichmann (2003)); it is clear that some control on such expressions was exercised in types of drama rather closely linked to religion, but the violence and imposition of some verbal actions can hardly be denied: cases of conflict talk are certainly present in the sample, because violence, although kept under control, is an important element

24. Definable as “the issuing of intentionally gratuitous and conflictive verbal face-threatening acts which are purposefully performed”. It can occur as a reaction to an ‘offending event’ or in other contexts, and can be silent, defensive (of one’s face) or offensive (of the other’s face). The interpretation of a verbal behaviour or of silence as impolite, however, depends very much on the context besides from possible general ‘rules’, very much like the interpretation of utterances as polite (Bousfield 2007: 2186ff.).

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in the plays (Enders 1999). For instance, a proposal is rejected and rebutted leading to its withdrawal in the ‘third move’ through a sequence of counter moves in Play 41: the first sub-move is an anti-performative, with self-demeaning intent (Johansson 2003: 670–672), while the second part of Paul’s turn displays positive politeness through highlighting Peter’s ‘merits’. (81)

Peter: … now swete brother Powle wyl ye take this upon yow Preye to God for vs all we may haue relacion Paul: Good brother Peter, how schuld I here pray now That am lest and most unworthy of this congregacyn … The keys to hevene Peter God hath you beteke And also ye ben peler of lith and prynce of vs all It is most sittyng to you this preyere to make… Peter: I take this upon me Paule for youre sake [41.236–9, 244–6, 248] ‘– Now, sweet brother Paul, will you undertake this? Pray to God so we can all relate to. – Good brother Peter, how could I pray here now, that am the least worthy of the group? … Peter, God has given the keys to heaven to you, and also you are a pillar of light and prince of us all, it is most fitting that you say this prayer… – I undertake this, Paul, for your sake’

Conflict is also revealed in contradictions, as in the already quoted expressions of disbelief and incredulity, such as the debate between Peter and Thomas in Play 38, which extends over about fifty lines until Thomas finally gives in and declares he believes. The same holds for criticism, such as that levelled by Judas against Jesus for letting Magdalene use some ointment on him as opposed to choosing to sell this luxury item to buy food for the poor: (82) Judas: Lord methynkyth þu dost ryght ylle / to lete þis oynement so spylle / to selle it yt were more skylle / and bye mete to poer men [27.193–6; to Jesus] ‘Lord, it seems to me you do quite wrong in allowing this ointment to be wasted thus: it would be more clever to sell it and buy food for the poor’

As for compliance and agreement, or ‘support’, some examples were given in the preceding sections, and some instances of cooperative talk at the beginning of this one; in Chapter 2 we mentioned some cases of terms of endearment, and in Chapter 3 polite hedging and the expression of approval were briefly examined. In Eggins and Slade’s terms (1997: 124ff.), these would be cases of Appraisal, i.e. all cases of conveyance of group allegiance and attitudes through evaluative or affective language; in this case, Appraisal elements (which include Amplification, Mitigation, and other devices found here) represent directing of attitudes both intra- and extra-narrative, i.e. aimed at the audience. Here we will just look at a few more examples of agreement and ‘harmonic talk’, to be contrasted with the ‘conflict



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talk’ examined above; besides stressing the importance of repetition in agreement again, we must also observe that expansion of a turn can also signal conversational cooperation: in spite of the flouting of the Quantity Maxim, the lengthiness of some replies shows extra politeness and is employed to strengthen the relationship between interlocutors. One example is in the Parliament of Heaven: (83)

Peace: … therefore mesemyth best Še thus acorde Than hefne and erthe Še xul qweme Putt bothe Šoure sentens in oure Lorde And in his hyŠ wysdam lete hym deme This is most syttynge me xulde seme… Truth: In trowthe hereto I consente I wole prey oure Lorde it may so be. Justice: I ryghtwysnes am wele contente For in hym is very equité Mercy: And I Mercy for þis counsel wole not fle [11.121–5, 129–33] ‘– … therefore it seems best to me that you agree thus, than if you should satisfy heaven and earth: both of you, put the decree in our Lord, and let Him judge in His high wisdom; this to me seems to be the most proper… – In truth, I consent to that, I want to pray the Lord that it may be so. – I, Justice, am well contented, since in Him there is real equity. – And I, Mercy, do not wish to withdraw from this advice’

Similar is the dialogue between Cleophas and Lucas at 38.8–40, in which they show sympathy/empathy about Christ’s death; see also the various declarations of obedience, such as that by young Christ to his mother (84), which also represent expansions as compared to simple compliance to an imperative: (84) Mary: Šitt on Šoure modyr haue Še sum thought / and be nevyrmore so longe fro me… Jesus: Now for to plese my modyr mylde / I xal Šow folwe with obedyence / I am Šoure sone and subjecte childe / and owe to do Šow hyŠ reverence… [21.267–8, 273–6] ‘Yet of your mother be thoughtful, and be nevermore so long away from me…. – Now to please my gentle mother I shall follow you with obedience. I am your son, and subject child, and owe high respect to you’

It must always be remembered that recent formulations on politeness (e.g. Watts 2003: 203–218) underline the fact that the ‘pragmatic meaning’ of an utterance is not fixed and given, but is re-negotiated in conversation, in the same way as power relationships and dominance are. Therefore, the examples in this section are only tentatively interpreted as more or less cooperative or more or less polite,

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in the same way as the hypotheses on the pragmatic value of the other examples in this book are tentative.

5.7

Conclusions

We have seen that our sample of dramatic dialogue covers many cases of wellknown conversational structures, and represents a wide typology of exchanges. Some of them correspond to what has been shown about spontaneous conversation, in spite of the time distance involved, while other exchanges deviate more obviously from the expected patterns. Some of the latter cases can be attributed to the nature of the text; for instance, greetings are normally considered among the strongest examples of adjacency pairs, where the occurrence of the first part leads to the near-obligatory choice of one specific type of second-pair part (Schegloff 2007: 16); in our text, however, as very often in drama, greetings are not necessarily reciprocated: the second pair part is implicit. This is one of the most obvious cases in which dramatic dialogue reveals its artificial quality, and its being based on the audience’s knowledge, presuppositions and possible implicatures rather than on those of other characters; of course, there are other similar cases: the number of questions is much lower than it would probably be in ‘real’ conversation, as a certain amount of information is taken for granted, while some statements would be redundant in conversation but are inserted in dramatic dialogue to ‘fill in’ the audience with background information. For instance, there are several cases of insertion of further material within pair-based sequences, of the types identified in CA (Schegloff 2007). Pre-sequences are represented by greetings and other formulae, as well as by statements and other utterances tending to capture the hearer’s attention (pre-announcements or pre-summons); these are very often actually addressed to the audience, i.e. self-introductions or turns only aimed at providing background information.25 On the other hand, some very common types of insertion, such as hedging prerequests, are nearly absent, due to the abovementioned conventions. One example of the insertion of an expansion is (85), where reactions to the news come first, and compliance to the imperative is delayed until Maria Salome’s turn, while (86) is an instance of post-expansion: a request is refused, and then motivation for the rejection is provided. 25. One of the ways in which dramatic dialogue tries to mimic real dialogue is through manipulation of shared knowledge, to the point of treating known information (to the other characters) as news, and vice versa; this however happens in a limited number of cases – mostly, the strategies mentioned in the first paragraphs of this section prevail.



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(85) Angel: Wendyth forth, Še women thre Into þe street of Galylé  Šoure Savyour þer xul Še se Walkynge in þe waye… Now goth forth fast all thre To his dyscyplys fayr and fre And to Petyr þe trewth telle Še… Mary Madgalene: A myrthe and joye in herte we haue For now is resyn out of his graue… Mary of Jacob: In hert I was ryght sore dysmayd The aungel to us whan þat he sayd That Cryst is resyn; I was affrayd… Mary Salome: Now lete us all thre fulfylle The angelys wurde and Goddys wylle Lett us sey […] He is aresyn [36.63–6, 71–3, 79–80, 835, 87–9, 93] ‘– Go forth, ye three women, in the streets of Galilee! There you should see your saviour walking in the path. Now go forth quickly, all three, to the disciples, fair and free, and to Peter tell the truth – Ah, mirth and joy we have in our hearts, for now he is arisen out of his grave… – In my heart I was really afflicted, When the angel said to us he is arisen, I was afraid… – Now let the three of us go and fulfil the word of the angel, and the will of God: let us say… He is arisen!! ‘ (86)

Mary Magdalene: …graunte me, Lord, and þu vowchesave thyn holy fete þat I may kys. Jesus: Towche me not as Šett Mary for to my fadyr I haue not ascende. [37.40–43] ‘… Grant me, Lord, if you consent, that I may kiss your holy feet – Do not touch me yet, Mary, because I have not ascended to my father’

Many other mechanisms explored in CA are clearly present, for instance what Itakura (2001) describes as ‘sequential dominance’, i.e. “a tendency for one speaker to control the direction of an interaction” (Itakura 2001: 1864). This can be traced in all cases of interrogations, in all directives eliciting specific acts of speech or courses of action, and especially in cases of “insisting”, as in the exchanges between Jesus, Cleophas and Lucas in Play 38 (87), in which the first strategy is an opposing question followed by the stronger imperative in the second countering move; even more explicit is the imposition of silence, which uses a strong performative verb, in Play 28 (88) – silencing the interlocutor is one of the strongest forms of dominance.

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(87)

Jesus: … Turne Šoure thought and change Šoure wytte And truste wele þat Cryst doth leve ageyne Lucas: Leve ageyn Man, be in pes How xulde a ded man evyr aryse I cowncell þe such wurdys to ses… Jesus: Trewth dyd nevyr his maystyr shame Why xulde I ses than trewth to say? Be Jonas þe prophete I preve þe same… To lyff resyn aŠen now is he. Cleophas. Sey nott so, man! It may not be… [38.103–7, 113–5, 120–1] ‘– Turn your thought and change your reasoning, and trust well that Christ lives again. – Live again? Man, be quiet! How could a dead man ever rise? I advise you to stop this talk… – Truth never gave shame to its master, why should I stop to tell the truth, By Jonas the prophet I prove the same, Now he is arisen to life again’

(88) Gamalyel: Serys, I charge Šow, not o word more þis nyth… [28.145] ‘Sirs, I order you, not one word more tonight…’

It is clear that the exchanges reported cannot be assimilated to tokens of real face-to-face interaction, yet we must not forget that the performances of the time aimed at attracting the general public’s attention, and to appeal to the taste of ‘everyman’. These texts therefore, even though they do not come close to transcriptions or recordings of actual conversations, look closer to plausible language use than ‘literary works’ proper. They not only represent attempts to reproduce dialogic structures, and to interact with a ‘live’ audience, but they also try to convey religious doctrine with an effort to include secular elements, and to appeal to the common feelings of man to further the knowledge of God.

chapter 6

Addressing and directing the audience

6.1

The ‘real recipients’

So far, we have looked at linguistic phenomena in our texts nearly as if they were tokens of authentic language use. From now on, we will try and look at what kind of communicative events these texts really are, including in our discussion some considerations on performers-audience relationship, on the wider communicative context and goals of the texts. The issue of audience addressing goes of course beyond the obviously recognizable: fictional texts and drama often contain interactions between the fictional characters. The speech acts that are used by these characters are primarily directed at other fictional characters and only secondarily, with a different force, at the read(Jucker 2000a: 29) ers of the fictional text or the theatregoer.

This is not limited to fictional dialogue, though; studies like Ladegaard (1995) show that ‘auditors’, i.e. people who are present during a dialogue but are not participants, are very important in interaction because they can influence its power dynamics by granting or denying support to speakers. The whole idea of ‘audience design’ in CA may represent a case of reversed influence from the study of fictional text to that of actual conversation, i.e. the idea that people who are ‘spectators’ (as opposed to ‘overhearers’ and ‘eavesdroppers’, who are not ‘officially’ present in terms of face wants and on-record speech acts; but see Bubel (2008) for a classification of cinema audience as ‘overhearers’ – as in many other subfields in linguistics, terminology varies) should be taken into account. The same obtains in some experiments in which speakers’ presuppositions in introducing new referents in a dialogue seemed more based on the presence of the researcher as ‘informed audience’ than on that the uninformed fellow-subjects (on this pragmaticallybased version of the observer’s paradox effect see Smith et al. (2005: 1888–1889)). Studies on modern drama confirm that a narrator’s or a character’s point of view can be conveyed in this text-type as well as in fiction, through using many of the linguistic means analysed here and others, such as deixis (McIntyre 2004), and banking on internalised communication schemata available to speakers, both

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character-addressees and audience-addressees (Tannen and Lakoff 1994: 139). An in-depth study of this kind of address (called there ‘direct address’) in older English drama is Butler (2003), where the emergence of various types of audience address, and of their multiple functions, is illustrated. Therefore, those loci were examined where the audience is addressed explicitly, as well as the ways in which text reception is directed towards the intended goals, and also to partly re-interpret the evidence presented in the previous chapters in the light of these communicative intentions. It is interesting to notice that this addressing of the audience is absent from liturgical drama, and only starts with drama in the vernacular (Diller 1973: 109), which makes the phenomenon even more interesting from several points of view. The contrast between a ‘monologic’ form of drama (in which communication is only from the stage to the audience) and a ‘dialogic’ one (in which the audience is more active) is particularly brought to light in this kind of plays, and in our sample in particular (Fitzhenry 2003: 22–23). In order to make any statement about such issues, we will have to look again at some studies on medieval drama and on its value in medieval society. Recall our discussion in Chapter 1 on the staging of such dramatic pieces, which could involve different degrees of audience participation and reaction (Forest-Hill 2000: 1, 63ff.). In a wider context, it must be kept in mind that the medieval text constructs its audience every time it is ‘performed’, especially since the use of texts was often connected to public readings, a way in which illiterate people became participants in the literate culture. This is why prologues are important parts in most medieval texts belonging to different genres, to establish the relationship with audiences who vary from time to time and who “do not pre-exist the texts that are addressed to them but are called into being by them” (Wogan-Browne et al. 1999: 109–110); this holds also for drama, but medieval drama is, on the other hand, based on a foundation of previous knowledge and a presumption of common background, and therefore often seems to presuppose a relationship with the audience rather than to create it ex nihilo (Butler 2003: 148–149). Involvement of the audience can take place in different ways; one interesting model is presented by Diller (1989), and we will briefly review it here. Before the modern convention of theatrical ‘make-believe’ came into being (the drawing of a curtain, lights going out, etc.), there were different ways of creating a connection between the ‘dramatic world’ (Wd) on stage and the ‘ordinary world’ (Wo) of the audience, in order to help the audience understand the situation and to keep them interested. The so-called ‘straddling’ way to address the audience (situated between the two worlds, with the audience often treated as if they were part of Wd) is the oldest, but quite old is also the ‘framing’ address, in which an actor that does not necessarily represent a character within the Wd story clarifies some aspect of the same of introduces it (this type is rare in cycle plays except in the



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N.Town, where it is represented by Contemplacio), often with solemn and didactic overtones. The third, ‘homiletic’ type of address is usually referential, not phatic, so there are no address formulae, and is performed by a ‘character’ that also belongs to the Wo world, for instance God. In our sample, the addressing of the audience is mainly (but not exclusively) of the second type, especially since the ‘stories’ were already known, but there are also cases of homiletic address; one interesting aspect is that sometimes there is a shift between these two types within the same stretch of speech. We do not include stage directions here; they will be mentioned in 6.5 below for other reasons, but there is no evidence that they may be considered similar to modern stage directions, which presuppose the fact that they might be read by the public, and not only by performers; this is not affected by the fact that this particular manuscript seems intended for reading rather than as a basis for performance. In many modern plays, however, stage directions do include some of the devices for ‘audience addressing’ considered here: empathetic devices such as inclusive we, modality, hedging (Feng and Shen 2001). These are not present yet in our sample, except for uses of shall (see 3.3, example (10)). Besides the obvious religious element, whereby these plays tended to reinforce faith and awe, there is a social element that is not to be overlooked. By means of theatrical representation, society tended to control potentially subversive feelings and to provide entertainment that could reinforce control over social structures. This is why the addressing of the audience by ‘bad’ characters often emphasises the ridicule through their boasting, and is occasionally characterised by untruth, which is otherwise conventionally absent from audience address (Butler 2003: 25, 179). Forest-Hill (2000) deals with this topic in depth, analysing the ways in which ‘transgressive language’ serves precisely this social function, and is not just a device that contributes to characterisation, particularly when such language subversion comes from low-status characters. There are, in other words, specific linguistic and stylistic structures that are used strategically to reinforce order and stability within the community, in some cases through ‘channelled subversion’, i.e. through the mocking and abusing of ‘important people’ such as kings and other high-status characters, much as some kinds of mild and complacent modern political satire do. This is the form of comic effect that, in Diller’s (2002) words, is intended to elicit “Schadenfreude, even triumphant derision” against the Church’s enemies, such as Herod and Satan; this form . On the centrality of this element see e.g. Gauvin (1973: 317): “Une culture – le christianisme – et un but – le salut des âmes – communs aux spectateurs et aux personnages du théâtre font que les spectateurs ne sauraient observer le jeu théâtral comme un déroulement extérieur ne les concernant pas directement. Mais ils sont encore invités à cette participation par un certain charactère de la technique dramatique proprement dite.”

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of laughter is tolerated and even encouraged, and has little to do, according to Diller, with the laughter of misrule and subversion, which the Church abhors. Forest-Hill (2000: 51, 57) casts however some doubts over the successfulness of this strategy to provide some relief to social unrest, since the performance of religious drama ended up being an occasion for the airing of grievances, which could often take the form of riots. Thus, the potential responses to misconduct and injustice put on scene, and interpreted through transgressive language, could be manifold. This could explain the numerous conscious anachronisms and references to contemporaries (Kolve 1966: 101–104). The challenges to authority typical of the festive ‘inversion of hierarchy’ could trigger subversive reactions that went well beyond the ludic relief of tension that presented no danger to social and religious authorities. The N.Town plays, like several other cycle plays but with higher rhetoric refinement, are rather rich in transgressive language, which serves precisely the abovementioned aims, taking the audience as witnesses while at the same time reminding them of the main principles of religious doctrine (Forest-Hill 2000:  6– 80). Since the religious and didactic aims are paramount, the communicative strategies activated by the “authorial voice” and directed at the audience are very important, since it was considered necessary to guide the audience through every devotional and instructive step (Kolve 1966: 4–5). However ‘realistic’ the exchange put on scene may look, we cannot forget that “the face-to-face interac-

. Humphrey (2001) has investigated the issue of misrule connected to festivities in medieval Britain, and criticizes the idea of misrule as a ‘safety valve’, relating it to the strife between the Church and citizens. To go into detail about such issues would however go beyond the scope of this book. More relevant are the comments made by Fitzhenry (2003: 26) about the politics of N.Town: “… while the N.Town plays are politically engaged, they avoid political commitments, preferring to weave the orthodox and the heterodox together in an effort to encourage their audience to contemplate larger questions concerning the origins and nature of authority, both dramatic and cultural.” On the social and political aspects of the cycle see also Fewer (1998), who specifically connects the N.Town plays with the concept of East Anglian Lay Piety and concludes: “wherever the N.Town plays were produced… it is clear that – at least around the time of their compilation in the mid-fifteenth century – they were being produced primarily for a wealthy and urbanized lay audience” (1998: 120). . According to Diller (1973: 110–113) the “edificational” type of audience addres is typical of the Chester and N.Town cycles, while a “hystrionic” type of address, more closely connected to the rise of the comic element, is typical of the York and Towneley plays. See also Diller (2002). . As mentioned, this is not to exclude a more active role of the audience, revealed by the ‘self-reflexive’ character of these plays, which stage the contrast between the concrete and the abstract much more than other comparable texts (Fitzhenry 2003: 23–24).



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tions that inform the dialogic scene are always responsible to the audience presence [...] and to the necessities of presentation” (Herman 1995: 10). Of course, there are loci in the plays where address is more direct and functional to drawing attention at points of doctrinal and/or social interest. One such case is the beginning of Play 14 where members of the audience are summoned by name to take part in the trial of Joseph and Mary (ex. (25) below). This is one of the main points of contact between ‘drama’ and ‘real world’ in the cycle (epitomised by the use of English medieval names, probably corresponding to real citizens, within a text that latinises all names (see also below 6.5; this is the most obvious case of ‘straddling’), but several speeches by other characters, and especially by Contemplacio, also have this function (Kahrl 1974: 76–77). We will see the way in which the audience is addressed by this and other characters in the next section.

6.2 Forms of audience addressing Our plays stand out among their contemporaries for various reasons; one peculiarity that concerns us here is the presence of the special ‘character’ called Contemplacio, which appears in some of the interpolated plays and is used to direct episodes, introduce new actions and make doctrinal comments on them: the function of such a character “is to enclose the action, whether natural or mythic, in a frame of commentary which puts the playing unmistakeably at a distance from reality” (Kolve 1966: 27). As mentioned, it is often the case that some utterances by ‘ordinary’ characters are either explicitly or implicitly directed at the audience (the aside, ­introduced

. Or, more widely speaking, we should keep in mind what aptly stated by Fritz (1995: 472): “Representations of dialogue are themselves products of intentional action and as such always embody a certain view of their subject, so we may have to perform difficult hermeneutical operations in order to provide a reconstruction of what the actual communicative practice may have been like that forms the background of a particular representation.” . In fact, most of Play 14 is in one way or other addressed at the audience, possibly because it touches on such delicate matters of social and religious relevance as virginity and ‘irregular’ pregnancy (Kahrl 1974: 78). This is also due to the fact that slander and backbiting were socially and theologically condemned; they were considered sins, made more serious by the very presence of witnesses, i.e. an audience (Forest-Hill 2000: 1–16, 71ff.), and therefore it is the more important that the audience be a witness of purification (Davenport 1982: 57–60). . Cp. also Fitzhenry (2003: 27): “narrators such as Contemplacio and Demon preemptively interpret the sacred stories on stage in order to safely insulate the plays against audience misapprehension”. So they are not only ‘bridge’ characters but also custodians of orthodoxy.

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only later, is a classic case, but also self-introductions, which are pretty common in medieval plays (Herman 1991: 99)), but the case of Contemplacio is quite different. The interesting thing about Contemplacio is that the function of illustrating the religious and doctrinal aspects is sometimes in the background, while the main apparent functions are 1) introducing the plays; 2) summing up events not shown explicitly by the plays; 3) saying prayers, which is an important function, although it is not exclusive of this ‘character’, because prayers are addressed to God, and in this case the audience is not so much addressed as represented by Contemplacio, who acts here as ‘spokesperson’, and as a bridge between the represented world (Wd) and the world of the audience (Wo): this, too, sets it apart from other characters (Gauvin 1973: 253). The strongest doctrinal points are, somewhat paradoxically, entrusted to the Devil, whose speeches have more didactic value than in other cycles, while the comical and farcical element is downplayed, in this character as well as in Herod, in comparison with the York and Towneley collections (Diller 1973: 208–209). Moreover, the addressing of the audience occurs mainly in interpolations, and often there are no round-up or words of conclusion that include the audience, and thus the joining of Wd and Wo is not extensive (Diller 1973: 200–206). This kind of, respectively, ‘framing’ and ‘homiletic’ address has some forerunners in liturgical performances, but with the non-indifferent novelty that here the address is to ‘real people’; the characters show deference towards them, and the style is elevated. This is not just a congregation performing their religious duty, as shown by the amount of ‘positive politeness’ in the address, also in aspects that will be dealt with in Sections 6.3 and 6.4 below. For the moment we will analyse the specific forms of address used to the audience, starting with hinting at the problem of ‘who’ performs the address. As a deictic system ingrained in discourse, the system of pronouns is directly connected to the specific instances of discourse in which the pronoun tokens occur, and it is also networked, in the sense that there can be no you without there being an I, and the identities of the referents of both forms, changing with the discourse situation, are directly related to each other (Paulik Sampson 1979: 61–62). We have seen the relevance of this aspect in Chapter 2, when discussing direct address between characters; it is the more relevant when we deal with address to the audience, which ranges from the phatic to the instructive, from the captatio benevolentiæ to the prophetic warning to humankind. If an identification of the addressee is less problematic (actual audience or ideal ‘everyman’), it may some. The N.Town cycle, in making use of such allegorised figures as Contemplacio, is in this respect unique among the cycles; this feature makes it more similar to morality plays (Davenport 1982: 9).



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times be more difficult to identify precisely the voice, the I uttering the stretch of discourse. At least two levels can be clearly distiguished: (1) cases in which the audience is addressed by the performers, with phatic utterances stressing the relationship entertained by the two sides of the ‘interaction’, trying to capture the audience’s benevolence or attention, etc. (2) cases in which characters address the audience, usually to impart some didactic instruction or to emphasise the moral teaching and the religious attitudes drawn from the biblical episodes represented. While cases of type 1 usually include address in the plural, cases of type 2 often involve singular address forms, to stress the fact that the teaching imparted is addressed to man in general. This indicates that type 1 is directed at actual audiences, while type 2 is directed at a ‘virtual’, universal audience, since the communicative intention is to instruct and gain authority, and so the address is on a different level, that transcends the actual communicative situation. A closer look at some examples will be useful to verify the connection between these two levels of collective address and the different forms used. Extra-narrative address, or address directed at the audience, is typical of the Proclamation: since this strategy touches on the relationship between ‘author’ (or characters representing the author’s ‘voice’) and audience, there is clearly a stronger need to establish or reinforce this relationship at the beginning and at the end of the Proclamation (or of other extra-narrative sections, e.g. the Contemplacio speeches at the beginning of some of the plays), and we do find a concentration of such forms in such places.10 The majority of forms of address are in the plural and tend to establish a bond between performers and audience: “we will now show you XX if you are so patient as to listen, etc.”. There are however some special cases: in some instances, impersonal forms are employed to announce what will happen on stage or to lend authority (with modal value) to what is stated, as in (1)–(2). (1) what þenge was wrought her xal be sene [0.30] ‘What was done here shall be seen’ (2) he knelyd to god as it is sayde [0.135] ‘He knelt to God, as it is said’ . Cp. the difference in address according to different domains of discourse in the CT (Paulik Sampson 1979: 62–63). Also typical, as mentioned above, is the address and captatio in similar prologues of non-dramatic works, but somehow meant to be read aloud, even from much earlier times: “Lordynges, that be now here, if ye wille listene and lere…” (R. Mannyng, Chronicle Prologue, 3–4; see Sullens (1996)). 10. Address of the audience at the end of a sequence is rarer, as observed by Diller (1989: 158): “Normally the audience is addressed immediately at the beginning of the play or scene or speech, so that everybody can be clear in his mind as to what the situation is. The mystery playwrights apparently wanted clarity with respect to the ontological status of their stagings.”

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Moreover, the ‘authorial voice’ is sometimes in the singular, and it is not clear whether this is a consequence of the fact that the Proclamation is actually voiced by individual characters, three in number on the scene, each called a Vexillator, or ‘harald, banner bearer’, and that these could often be speaking more personally, so to say, while in other cases there is the use of the pronoun we to represent the collective voice of the ‘performers’ as authorial voice. The problem is whether this alternation is somehow significant; in many cases the plural pronoun is employed inclusively, i.e. refers to both ‘authors’ and audience, as in (3)–(4). This may indicate that the singular is used when referred to the actual utterances of a single Vexillator, or when he invokes his personal beliefs, commitment, or relationship with the audience, while the plural is used to illustrate the general organisation of the performance and the collective relationship (also in terms of commitment, or request for attention) with the audience. Notice that this pattern is reproduced in cases where an individual character addresses the audience in the following plays, contrary to what happens with Contemplacio, which regularly represents ‘authorial voice’, as in (5)–(6) vs. (7). (3) as in prophecye we redyn and sen [0.108] ‘as in prophecies we read and see’ (4) in bybyl as we rede [0.52] ‘…in the Bible, as we read…’ (5) in dede begynnyth as I Šow say [4.15; S = Noah] ‘… in fact begins, as I tell you’ (6) Of Sacerdotale lynage þe trewth I Šow tell [7.13; S = Isaiah] ‘… of sacerdotal lineage, I tell you the truth’ (7) How our lady was consevyd … / We passe ovyr þat... [9.3–4; S = Contemplacio] ‘How Our Lady was conceived… we do not mention that…’

The terms employed can be only indirectly addressed at the specific audience, as when humankind in general is addressed (8); the example takes the real audience only as representative of a wider category, and this is typical of authoritative and didactic speech, e.g. where admonition or regulatory speech is involved (for similar address in Mankind see Scherb 2001: 113–114). For these reasons, this kind of address is mostly uttered by characters performing ‘homiletic’ address, characters that have the authority to instruct and admonish, like God and Jesus, but also the apostles (9), who are perceived as authoritative enough and also ‘real’, i.e. belonging, during the addressing speech, both to Wd and to Wo.



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(8) Now all mankende exaunple take / by these grete werkys þat þu dost se [23.196–7; S = Jesus] ‘Now all mankind take example from this great events that you/T see’ (9) Clothe the in clennes, with vertu be indute / And god with his grace he wyl þe sone inspyre / to amendynge of þi mys [22.164–6; S = John Baptist] ‘Cover your(self)/T with cleanliness, be clothed in virtue, and God with His grace will soon inspire you to amend your sins’

The latter example is one of the many cases of switch from the plural address to the singular for rhetorical purposes, like in dialogic scenes: in his Prologue to Play 26, Satan performs a lengthy and boastful self-introduction, rich in ‘advice’ about courses of behaviour; the initial and final parts seem to be addressed to the whole community (which the audience represents) and therefore are in the plural, though with no terms of address, as in (10) and (12), but the middle part, made up of detailed instructions and illustrations about his sumptuous clothing and how to imitate it,11 includes a long stretch in which there is a switch to T that is comparable to other switches in contexts of persuasive, coaxing speech (11). So, we could assume that it was normal to first address the audience in the plural and then make the address more general and resonant, and at the same time less distant, by switching to the singular (similar cases are reported by Butler (2003: 100–101)). (10) I am Šoure lord, Lucifer, þat out of helle cam [26.1] ‘I am your lord Lucifer, who came out of hell’ (11) A gowne of þre Šerdys (loke þu make comparison unto all degrees dayly þat passe þin astat)…. [26.81–2] ‘A gown of three yards (make sure you make comparisons daily with all degrees that are above your/T station)…’ (12) I haue browth Šow newe namys, and wyl Še se why? / For synne is so plesaunt to ech mannys intent [26.109–10] ‘I have brought you new names, do you wish to see why? Because sin is so pleasant to the intent of every man’

The direct addressing of the audience by other characters, or while action is in progress, is much rarer, with the exceptions of places characterised by strongly didactic and moralistic tone, in which there is again alternation, this time between T of address to man in general, to humankind, and V of address to the 11. In the commentary to his edition, Spector emphasises that this insistence on detail is due to the fact that indulging in luxurious clothing was particularly felt as representing corruption and evil.

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actual audience, in the plural, (13)–(14) vs. (15)–(16). Terms of address vary accordingly, man vs. ffrendys in this case. Notice that all examples are from the same speech, and that the switch in address can be quite abrupt, as in (16); of course, this is one of the crucial moments for the didactic aims of the plays, as there are few things more important to print in the audience’s minds than the ten commandments. It is important to give a solemn and ‘universal’ tone to the precept and recommendation, but it is also important to keep the ‘interaction’ with the audience going, also through phatic parts (all these functions are stresses also by Butler (2003: 104–113), although no role is attributed there to the pronoun switches). (13) the comaundement of þi lord good man loke þou kepe [6.49; S = Moses, introducing commandments] ‘Good man, mind you/T follow your/T lord’s command’ (14) herk now well man what I xal seyn / and prent þise lawys well in þi mende [6.65–6; S = id., before actually listing the commandments] ‘Listen now well, man, to what I shall say, and print these laws well in your/ T mind’ (15) In goddys hous Še xulde be-dene / honoure Šour god both mayden and wyff [6.113–4; S = id., address is not to all humankind but restricted] ‘In God’s house you/PL should pray, honour your/PL God, both virgins and married women!’ (16)

Ffrendys þese be þe lawys þat Še must kepe Therfore every man sett well in mende Wethyr þat þu do wake or slepe These lawys to lerne þu herke ful hynde And godys grace xal be þi frende. He socowre and saue Šow in welth fro woo Fareweel gode frendys, for hens wyll I wend My tale I haue taught Šow, my wey now I goo. [6.186–94; S = id., closing this speech and the play; this is one of the rare instances of address in the final section, see below and n. 10] ‘Friends, these are the laws that you/PL must keep. Therefore every man put well in mind, whether you/T are awake or sleep, mind you/T learn these laws quite well, and God’s grace will be your/T friend. He rescues and saves you in wealth from woe, Farewell, good friends, for I want to go away from here. I have taught you/PL my tale, now I go my way’

This kind of alternation has been shown to be employed, and exploited for rhetorical aims, in other ME religious works of a non-dramatic genre, e.g. the Ancrene



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Wisse (Pantaleo 2000). As mentioned in the previous section, there are cases in which the address is more formal and includes some positive and negative politeness strategies; the latter are often conveyed by means of modal markers (see below 6.3), but the range of forms of address is also exploited to this end. This is in fact not the only case in which this singular-plural alternation in addressing the audience seems to respond to different communicative aims; we have already seen some examples, but in most cases terms of address are more formal than in (16). This is often the case in self-introductions (17) with the very common serys and lordynges or other respectful terms (18)–(19). (17) Noe serys my name is knowe [4.10] ‘Noah, sirs, my name is known’ (18) Sovereynes, Še han sen shewyd Šow before… [9.1.; S = Contemplacio] ‘Lords, you have seen shown to you before…’ (19) Listenyth lordyngys both hye and lowe [10.1; S = Bishop] ‘Listen, lords both high and low!’

In some cases there is no vocative but still there a calling into question of the audience, in a couple of cases with this very term (20a–b)–(21): (20) a. b.

Affermynge pleynly beforn þis audyens… [7.36; S = Jeremiah] ‘… affirming openly before this audience…’ Preyng you of audience now ses and tak hede [41.26] ‘praying you of the audience now to be quiet and listen’

(21) Cryst conserve þis congregacyon [8.1; S = Contemplacio] ‘May Christ preserve this assembly’

The examples given so far also illustrate the fact that phatic address mostly occurs at the beginning of plays, as emphasised by Diller (see n. 10), but there are other cases in which the ‘framing’ character, Contemplacio, gives a concluding speech (22), or is used to create a link between two plays (23), or even illustrates the action in mid-play (24), a quite exceptional case indeed. (22) Lystenyth sovereynys here is a conclusion / How the Aue was mad here is lerned us [13.150–1A] ‘Listen, lords, here is a conclusion: how the Ave was composed here is taught us’ (23) Lo sofreynes here Še haue seyn / in þe temple of oure Ladyes presentacyon … Now xal we procede to here disponsacyon [9.294–5, 302; same turn] ‘Look, lords, here you have seen about the presentation of our Lady in the temple… now we shall proceed about her wedding’

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(24) a. b.

sovereynes undystondyth þat kynge Davyd here / ordained foure and twenty prestys… And of here tweyners metyng here gynnyth þe pro- cess / Now God be oure begynninge and of my tonge I wole ses [13.23–4, 39–42; same turn] ‘Lords, understand that king David here ordered twenty-four priests… and here starts the process of these two meeting: Now let God be our beginning, and I want to stop speaking’ Thus was sche ocupyed I rede / and meche sche was in temple preyand / Now blyssyd mot sche be, we owe to be seyand [41.22–4] ‘Thus was she occupied, I say, and much she was in the temple, praying; blessed may she be, we ought to be saying’

Notice in (24b) the ‘background-filling’ function, and the use of the first person plural for authorial intention but with inclusive meaning, but also the switch to first person singular when Contemplacio makes reference to his own bodily identity as a character on stage. A similar switch but in reverse order occurs in a speech by a Doctor at 41.1–26. The most obvious case of ‘straddling’, as mentioned at the opening of the chapter, is in Play 14, The Trial of Joseph and Mary, and particularly in the Summoner’s prologue. There are several aspects that make this part of the text special: firstly, this episode is not represented in any of the other cycles; furthermore, the prologue was added after the rest of the play had already been copied, on a leaf that had been left blank, probably for different reasons. It is not easy to imagine who may have decided to make this addition and why; certainly, it seems to go in the opposite direction from that of other interventions by the compiler: it does not go towards the ‘intellectualisation’ of the collection, nor does it add doctrinal elements or sophisticated directions (see below 6.5). We can only hypothesise that it was integrated with the help of another playbook, to add a performancerelated element. What is undisputed is that this is the only case in the collection in which the audience is ordered about and involved in the action, with a blurring of the distinction between Wo and Wd; the names of ‘people’ summoned for the court hearing are plausible English names, often with ‘significant’ surnames or nicknames, or with an indication of the profession. Being addressed to ‘real people’, the speech is all in the plural, and quite brisk in tone; it is certainly a major locus of increased proximity between the two worlds and, beside adding liveliness to the performance, it can be taken as representing the fact that ‘ordinary people’ should be involved in witnessing the innocence of Joseph and Mary. The whole idea of adultery, and the stigma attached to it, are quite prominent in the cycle, so it is here that the religious and the social sides of the performance are at their closest:



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(25)

I warne Šow here all abowte Þat I somown Šow all þe rowte Loke Še fayl for no dowte At þe court to pere Both Johan Jurdon and Geffrey Gyle Malkyn Mylkedoke and fayr Mabyle12 Stevyn Sturdy and Jak-at-þe Style… [14.5–11] ‘I warn you here all about, that I am summoning you, all the crowd. Mind you do not fail, for no doubt, to appear at the court: both John Jurdon and Geoffrey Gyle, Malkyn Mylkedoke and fair Mabelle, Stephen Sturdy and Jackat-the Style…’

Of course, there are also cases in which self-introductions and other ‘extra-narrative’ utterances are not explicitly addressed to the audience with vocatives or pronouns of address. One such example is the boastful self-introduction by King Herod at the beginning of Play 18, another is the speech given by Mors (Death) in Play 20 before seizing King Herod himself; another case of ‘straddling’ is by Herod Antipas in Play 29, when he arrogantly imposes silence and then orders the audience to denounce any ‘Christian traitors’ they know of: (26)

Now sees of Šowre talking and gevyth lordly audience Not o word, I charge Šow þat ben here present … Now I charge Šow, my lordys þat ben here If any crystyn doggys here doth apere Bring þo tretorys to my hey powere And þei xal haue sone jewgement [29.21–2, 46–9; same turn]13 ‘Now stop with your talk and pay lordly attention: not one word, you that are present here! ... Now I order you, my lords that are here, if any Christian dog appears here, bring these traitors to my high power, and they shall soon have their verdict’

12. Recall what was said in 2.5 concerning the addressing of women: here we find again the tendency to refer to women through adjectives, not through a surname or independent identity marker of other kinds, as it is for male addressees. The rest of the speech is mixed, there is a ‘fayr Jane’ but there are also a couple of female addressees with surnames (among them a ‘Betrix Belle’…) or ‘professional surnames’. 13. It is true that the last part of Herod’s command is echoed in the ‘response’ by Primus Miles a few lines later, but the fact that Herod’s turn is directed at the audience is confirmed by the fact that he obviously speaks to a number of people, not just two, and that he shortly afterwards calls the two soldiers serys, as elsewhere, not the respectful lordys.

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As we have seen in this section, the addressing of the audience can be as complex, in the choice of forms, as that between characters. In the next sections we examine the other elements considered in this book as they appear in the portions of text where the audience is addressed, starting with modality.

6.3 The modality of interaction with the audience As we will see in the next section, the majority of speech acts addressed at the audience are of a directive type, and very often they are unsoftened, especially when the tone is more didactic and admonitory, and therefore sterner. Most cases of use of modality in addressing the audience are of two types: either the modal elements stress the deontic aspects, in order to carry the didactic and instructive intentions further, or they are softeners of imperatives or parts of courtesy formulae, when there is appeal to the audience’s patience, cooperation and benevolence. These two types of modality therefore tend to be correlated to the two main types of address we outlined above: the ‘framing’ address, directed at the ‘real audience’, and emphasising the fictionality of the performed situation, and the ‘homiletic’ address, in which the transmission of a message (i.e. that people should behave according to religious precepts) is paramount. And again we must draw a distinction, consequently, between ‘authorial’ address and ‘character’ address, since as we saw there is a certain distinction in function (though by no means a watertight one) between the two. A case of overlapping is (16), when Moses stresses the importance of abiding by God’s commandments through use of must.14 In ‘authorial’ address, the most common modal elements are the verbs xal and wyl: as mentioned in 6.1 above, one main function of this kind of address, especially in the Proclamation, is to anticipate what will be shown on stage, with frequent shades of intentionality and even with commissive overtones (27)–(28). The speech of characters that anticipates what is going to happen (both on stage and in the ‘story’ in general) tends to use ‘predictive’ or ‘prophetic’ xal (29), e.g. in the speech of the Prophets (Play 7) and in that of Satan (Play 27), where it can also express a threat (30) (even though it is already known to the audience that Satan’s plans will come to nought), while warning is expressed by loke, as in other stretches of dialogue (31)–(32). As we saw in Chapter 3, xal could also express promise, or some degree of commitment in any case, in the same way as it expresses threat (33).

14. It may be useful to refer back to Chapter 3 for general remarks on the main semantic-pragmatic values of modal forms in the entire text.



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(27) And of here grett grace now xal Še here [9.11; S = Contemplacio] ‘And of her great grace now you shall hear’ (28) And in short spas / The Parlement of Hefne sone xal Še se / and how Goddys sone com man xal he [9.306–8; S = id.] ‘And in a short time you shall hear about the Parliament of Heaven, and how God’s son became a man’ (29) Oure lyf for to saue he xal suffyr deth [7.11; S = Isaiah] ‘He shall go through death in order to save our life’ (30) But whan þe xal neyth of his persecucyon / I xal arere new engines of malycyous conspiracy [26.49–50; S = Demon] ‘But when he shall be near his persecution, I shall set up new devices of malicious conspiracy’ (31) Šit loke Še drede me nyth and day [20.274; S = Death] ‘Yet make sure you are in fear of me night and day’ (32) loke Še forsake all wrecchidnesse [22.4; S = John Baptist] ‘Make sure you forsake all wickedness’ (33) if þat Še forsak synne / Hevyn blysse xall Še wyne [22.10–11; S = id.] ‘If you forsake sin, you will earn heaven’s bliss’

When the expression of futurity refers to God’s will and to its direct consequences, whether connected to a pre-condition or not (34)–(35), or to other volition or promise depending on volition (36), wyl is also used. (34) God wyl be vengyd on man þat is both dum and mute / þat wyl nevyr be shrevyn, but evyrmore doth delyre [22.162–3; S = John Baptist] ‘God will take revenge on a man that is deaf and dumb, that will never make confession, but is always sinful’ (35) Ageyn hym wrath if þu accende / þe same in happ wyll falle on the [24.31–2; S = Jesus] ‘If you provoke wrath against him, the same destiny will befall you’ (36) Gyff me Šoure love, grawnt me myn affecyon / and I wyl vnclose þe tresour of lovys alyawns [26.61–2; S = Demon] ‘Give me your love, grant me your affection, and I will disclose the treasure of love’s alliance’

As mentioned, other uses of modality concern politeness formulae, which often involve wyl in the sense of ‘would like to’, or other forms related to dynamic modality:

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(37) We xal Šow shewe… If þat Še wyl abyde [0.10, 13; same turn] ‘We will show you… if you are willing to stay’ (38) … if Še wyl dwelle [0.58, also 275] ‘… if you want to stay’ (39) Ryht worchepful souereynes liketh yow to here / of þe Assumpcion of the glorious Moder Mary [41.1–2; S = Doctor] ‘Very honourable lords, if it pleases you to hear about the Assumption of the glorious Mother Mary…’

There are also cases of deontic may, as in Peter’s speech [26.386ff.], a strong tirade about the necessity to amend and to abandon sin in order to gain access to God’s grace (40). There can be a doubt as to the value of kan in (41), but since the performers’ ability to deal with the matter at hand is never doubted anywhere else in the plays, not even in polite self-demeaning, this could be more in line with an interpretation like ‘if you allow us’, which would be coherent with the other courteous appeals in the Proclamation (though recall that in 3.3 it was illustrated that deontic kan hardly seems to occur at all), and with a similar occurrence that employs may (42), which however could also refer to degree of possibility. (40) … Šoure Dedys Mortal, but þerin don perdure / of þe wych but Še haue contrycyon and Šow confesse / Še may not inheryte hevyn, þis I Šow ensure [26.411–13] ‘… but persist in your mortal deeds, of which except if you now have contrition and make confession, you are not allowed to inherit heaven, I assure you of that’ (41) we xal Šou shewe – as þat we kan / how þat þis werd ffyrsst be-gan [0.10–11] ‘We will show you, as much as we can, how this world first started’ (42) A Sunday next, if þat we may / at vj of þe belle we gynne oure play [0.525–6] ‘Next Sunday, if we can, we will start our play at the sixth toll of the bell’

This leads us to occurrences of epistemic modality markers, which do occur in the portions of text directed at the audience mainly to assure viewers of the truth and certainty of what is represented and of the facts referred to. For this reason, these kinds of marker figure quite prominently in the Proclamation (43)–(45) and in the speech of the Prophets (6), (20), (46). (43) þer xal come aungell tweyn / and comfforte hem þis is certeyn [0.487] ‘There will come two angels and comfort them, this is certain’ (44) In þe xxti pagent all þe develys of helle / They gadere a parlement as Še xal se / they haue gret doute þe trewth to telle / Of Cryst Jesu whath he xulde be [0.269–72]



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‘In the twentieth pageant, all the devils of hell gather in parliament, as you will see: they are in great doubt, to tell the truth, about what Jesus Christ should be’ (45) In þe xvi pagent as wroth as wynde / is kyng Herownde þe soth to say [0.217–8] ‘In the sixteenth pageant, angry as the wind is King Herod, to tell the truth’ (46) A vision of þis, ful veryly / I Ezechiel haue had also / of a gate þat sperd was trewly / and no man but a prince myght þerin go [7.45–48] ‘I, Ezechiel, also have had a vision about this, quite truly: about a gate that was really shut, and no one except a prince could go through it’

Protestations of truth and commands are thus the most frequent speech acts directed at the audience – we will look at a fuller range in the next section.

6.4 Acts of speech and audience ‘steering’ In this section we analyse in fuller detail the kinds of speech act and the relative verbs used when addressing the audience. Although some acts are more frequent in ‘authorial’ address, and some in ‘character’ address, there is some degree of overlapping. Meta-discursive address often contains directive acts, through which the audience is ‘steered’ for a better understanding of the representation, and therefore they are concentrated in the Proclamation and in Contemplacio’s speeches, with their exhortations to be quiet and follow the action, usually courteous ones (47). (47) And we beseche Šou of Šoure pacyens [9.298; S = Contemplacio] ‘And we beseech you to be patient’

These portions of text also contain very numerous commissive speech acts, referring to authorial intention but also to the truth-value of statements endorsed by ‘authoritative’ witnesses. These are the kinds of act that most often employ verbs of saying or of cognitive activities, very frequently in the form of parentheticals. There is also a fairly frequent correlation, in ‘authorial’ address, between the subject pronouns used and specific verbs: the different first-person pronoun forms, sg. and pl., tend to co-occur with different meta-discoursive performatives, often with modal meaning. The plural occurs with purposen, shewen, thenken, devysen (describe), gynnen (a tale), prayen (48)–(50), the singular with wenen, plythen, tellen, and seyen (51)–(53). It looks as if the intention is represented collectively (i.e. of the performers or of whoever could be perceived as ‘authors’, certainly not a single identifiable author), as well as the ‘showing’, the organisative side, while

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the actual uttering is entrusted to the single actor/character, who tends to take individual responsibility. (48) In xxiiti pagent we purpose vs / to shewe in dede þe declaracyon [0.297–8] ‘In the twenty-second pageant we have the intention to show in actual fact the declaration…’ (49) All þis we thenke to play. [0.359] ‘All of this we think of acting’ (50) and last was man made as I wene [0.32] ‘And as last was man created, as I claim’ (51) Of mannys o ryb as I Šow plyth was woman wrougth... [0.33–4] ‘From one man’s rib, as I promise you, woman was created…’ (52) In þe xij pagent as I Šow telle / Joseph comith... [0.170–1] ‘In the twelfth pageant, as I tell you, Joseph comes…’ (53) whan þei þer comyn as I Šow say... [0.447] ‘When they arrive there, as I tell you…’

As concerns other meta-linguistic verbs and uses of verbs, these are more frequent in ‘authorial’ address, but are not exclusive of these portions of text, as was mentioned in Chapter 4. The former type, beside the usual captatio and good wishes as in (21) and (54), includes many utterances recapitulating episodes, announcing future action, and leading the audience through their reception of the plays; apart from exx. (7), (18), (23), (27), (28), notice also cases like (55)–(57): (54) Sofreynes and frendys, Še mut alle be gret with gode / Grace love and charyte evyr be Šou among [29.1–2; S = Contemplacio] ‘Lords and friends, may you all be filled with God; grace, love and charity may always be with you’ (55) This matere here mad is of þe modyr of Mercy / How be Joachym and Anne was here concepcyon / sythe offred into þe temple, compiled breffly [8.9–11; S = id.] ‘The topic is now about the Mother of Mercy, of how her conception happened, by Joachym and Anne, and (how she was) then offered at the temple, (a topic) developed briefly’ (56) Be þe leue and soferauns of allmythty God / we intendyn to procede þe matere þat we left þe last Šere [29.5–6]15 15. Of course, plays had their preferred time of representation, co-occurring frequently with specific holidays and celebrations (see Chapter 1); we do not know how literally this indication would be taken, but it is certainly not implausible, and would also explain the need for the



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‘With Almighty God’s permission and indulgence, we intend to go on with the topic that we left last year’ (57) How oure Lady was conseyvid and how she was bore / we passe ovyr þat, breffness of tyme considerynge [9.3–4] ‘How our Lady was conceived, and how she was born, we overlook that, considering the shortness of time (available)’

Occasionally, characters addressing their speech to the audience also make metastatements about what they say, either anaphorically or, more often, cataphorically, to create anticipation (58). It can also happen that characters qualify their speech as particularly authoritative in ‘genre’, i.e. as ‘preaching’ (59) or ‘teaching’ (16), (60). (58) As Še xal here whan I haue tolde [26.140; S = John Baptist] ‘As you shall hear when I have said’ (59) I am þe voys of wyldirnese / þat her spekyth and prechy[t]h yow to [22.2–3; S = id.] ‘I am the voice of wilderness, that here speaks and preaches to you’ (60) Now haue I tawght Šow good penauns [22.180; S = id.] ‘Now I have taught you good penance’

The utterances addressed to the audience also include other commissive acts; apart from promises, threats and warnings, which were already illustrated e.g. in (25), there are very numerous emphasisers of statements of the type as I Šow say/ telle (see 4.3 for the frequency of these cases in the whole text), as e.g. (52)–(53) or, as mentioned in the previous section, claims tending to increase the truth-value and reliability of a statement as in (61)–(63). (61) þe trewth I Šow tell [7.13; S = Isaiah] ‘I tell you the truth’ (62) I telle Šow pleynly þat þus it is [7.45; S = Micheas] ‘I tell you openly that this is so’ (63) as I telle Šow ryght [19.14; S = Simeon The Just] ‘as I tell you exactly’

In some cases this reinforcement emphasises the fact that the statement is a prophecy (exx. from Play 7 and (64)), or there is an appeal to a higher authority, frequent summing up of the ‘plot’: the plays were not represented all together or in succession, and thus reminders were needed. The compiler of the collection did not deem it fit to remove these hints, luckily for us.

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normally to the highest source of the plays, i.e. the Bible, but also to the immediate source, i.e. the Legenda Aurea (3), (4) and (65)–(67). (64) I, Johan Baptyst, to Šow þus prophesye… [26.125] ‘I, John Baptist, make this prophecy to you’ (65) þe Gospel seith þus [0.301; S = Second Herald] ‘The gospel says so’ (66) as seyth Scryptour [22.33; S = John Baptist] ‘… as the Scriptures say’ (67) as Scripture dothe specifye / Legenda Sanctorum authorysyth this treuely [41.12–13; S = Doctor] ‘… as the Scriptures specify, the Saints’ Legend confirms this [is the authority on it] truly’

Let us go back briefly to directive acts, to add further detail; apart from explicit orders signalled by verbs like chargen (26), there are quite a lot of bare imperatives without explicit performatives, many of which invite to pay attention: (14), (19), but also (68) and (69), which point to specific language acts, and the already quoted ‘focusser’ loke often has this function of pointing, admonishing, warning, see (11), (13), (31), (32). Specific verbs are sometimes used for the act of advising or recommending, usually with reference to a course of action like repentance, confession, etc., as in (70)–(71). (68) Take good heed what he doth preche / and folwyth þe lawys þat he doth teche [22.102–3; S = God] ‘Take heed well to what he preaches, and follow the laws that he instructs on’ (69) (70)

behold what I mene [26.150; S = John Baptist] ‘Observe what I mean’ Of all Šoure venym synne I rede þat Še Šow shrive [22.148; S = John] ‘I advise you to make confession of all your poisonous sins’

(71) Baptyme I cowncell yow for to take / and do penauns for your synnys sake [22.23; S = id.] ‘I advise you to take baptism, and to do penance for your sins’

Thus, the audience is guided in every step not only through the performance, but also through their path towards becoming good and obedient Christians. The authority of the text is emphasised in every possible way, and in the next section we analyse a more indirect, but still powerful strategy to influence the playwatchers.



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6.5 Language mixture in cycle plays16 Cycle plays make a rather subtle use of the vernacular, but the sociolinguistically significant element of language mixture cannot be ignored when dealing with the relationship between the ‘writer’/performers and the audience. This is in fact a crucial element in all ME writing; many studies have been conducted on other text-types than drama, especially highlighting the extent of the penetration of French within ME, but Latin was also still widely used, especially in some registers, and the different degrees of language mixture tend to ‘set the tone’ of the text and to create a series of signals for the readers/audience.17 Therefore, the presence of Latin words and phrases in this collection, although it may look marginal in quantity, can in fact be viewed as an integral part of the textual orientation of the plays, because it represents a direct connection between the plays themselves and their biblical and liturgical sources: one example was already given in (67). The collection includes over 230 cases of use of Latin, which can be divided up to form a variegated typology of instances of ‘code-switching’ (henceforth CS), which can be assigned different functions, mostly in association with the religious topic and the instructional intent.18 Very few of these uses of Latin could be considered cases of ‘real’ CS;19 the term is employed here as a shorthand term to refer to any insertion of Latin words or phrases in the texts. One may wonder about the communicative functions of these insertions (loosely considering such choices ‘marked’ uses as according to the model presented e.g. 16. A more detailed discussion of the topic of this section is developed in a separate contribution (Mazzon 2007). 17. This is certainly no place for a review of studies on bilingualism, and indeed trilingualism, in medieval Britain (see e.g. Crespo (2000); Machan (2003)). Being the N.Town plays a collection in which there are no stretches in French (contrary to what happens, though rarely, in the Chester plays, for instance), this language will be left out, although there are numerous loanwords, some of them presumably belonging to the learned vocabulary. 18. A very apt illustration of this rhetorical effect is given by Chaucer in the Pardoner’s Prologue (I.344–46): And in Latyn I speke a wordes fewe to saffron [season, embellish] with my predicacioun, and for to stire hem to devocioun. 19. For ways of applying traditional definitions of CS to the study of older mixed-language texts, see e.g. Schendl (2002). It must be noted that the kind of Latin insertions found in dramatic texts is qualitatively, and not only quantitatively, different from the kind of language mixing found in several other text-types and reported by the specialized literature. The basic reference for CS in ME drama is Diller (1997–1998). For a study of ‘real’ CS in modern drama see e.g. Gross (2000).

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in Myers-Scotton and Bolonyai (2001)), and about the extent to which they reflect the actual knowledge that the average playwatcher was assumed to have of other religious text-types that still employed Latin as their main code. It is obvious that a knowledge of Latin could only be accessed by an élite, but the main elements of liturgy and religious language (prayers, commandments, and some often-repeated formulae from the gospels) were familiar to most churchgoers, if not with an understanding of the literal meaning, at least as a form of ‘mental echo’ with a rough equivalent in English. Some preaching was also held in Latin, or in a mixture of Latin and English (Schendl 2002: 59),20 and some of this found an echo in drama: [i]n English vernacular drama [Latin] is a ready-made register, a shorthand way of suggesting the ecclesiastical milieu, particularly when allied to liturgical hymn or chant, or delivered in the incantatory tones of a clerical reader [...] The majority of the audience [...] is not assumed to understand the Latin [...] but they would surely recognize the religious and learned connotations of an authorized Latin text.  (Mills 1983a: 70–71)

The sociolinguistic value of Latin was mainly, but not exclusively, associated with religion, since it also represented the scientific and academic knowledge of clerkes (Machan 2003: 90), besides being used in administration (Wright 1999, 2000), the law (Brand 2000) and literature (Schendl 2001). It was therefore comparable to a ‘high’ language in a situation of diglossia, but this status was shared with French, which was employed in some of these domains, and was even predominant in others (Schendl 2002: 53). Dillon (1998: 31–34) argues that some language mixture was to be expected in drama, since these plays were an expression of both civic and religious identities, and recourse to Latin was as much an integral feature of the latter identities as the use of the vernacular was of the former ones. Many Latin insertions are marks of intertextuality, thus we should also be asking by whom and for whom several of these insertions are, especially since they are often clearly marked in the text, and quite frequently they also seem to be later additions to the manuscript. Some of them are in a different hand from that of the main scribe, and a detailed study 20. As summarised by Archan (2000: 8–9), various studies point to the idea that not even many among the clergy, especially in the lower ranks, were proficient in Latin by the latter part of the fifteenth century, although several within the ‘top ranks’ tried to preserve its role and prestige. There was also the idea that preaching in the vernacular could be potentially subversive, a threat to orthodoxy, and this was a factor in this maintenance of Latin (Fitzhenry 2003: 24–25). On the role of the vernacular in medieval religious literature in general see the essays in Blumenfeld-Kosinki, Robertson and Warren (2002) and Wogan-Browne et al. (1999).



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of deletions and re-writings of individual words shows some uncertainty in the Latin morphology (see e.g. the textual notes in Meredith (1987b)), which may indicate an imperfect mastery of the language. This is another way in which our collection is exceptional, since the Towneley and York cycles, for instance, have some directions in Latin, but nothing comparable to the amount found in our sample.21 According to Dillon (1998: xi), this corresponds to a different social value and provenance of the texts: “N.Town, possibly monastic in origin, is reverent towards Latin, constructing it as the language of ‘holy speakers’, while in Wakefield plain English is the language of the virtuous with Latin and other foreign languages the signs of corruption”. As mentioned, many uses of Latin are stage directions, but this category has to be further subdivided, since the very idea of stage directions as we think of it today may be quite different from what it was at the time. Moreover, Latin stage directions, though predominant throughout the cycle,22 are not present in all plays: for instance, the Passion Plays (which appear to be later) have by far more English and more detailed directions; the Mary Plays, which are also interpolated, have more Latin, but these Latin directions all appear to be squeezed in the margin and not centred in the page, which could mean that they are later additions (Meredith (1987b: 28); on the uncertainty about which directions, if any, were added later see Fletcher (1994: 178–179)). There is no Latin at all in the Proclamation, where the cycle is announced and illustrated to the public, and which is probably also the portion that more closely mirrors the shape of the text actually performed. A possible key for better assessment of the value of this mixture may be gained by looking at the various types of direction; we can exclude the Incipit/Explicit/ Finis type of notes, as well as the Introit/Exit type: these are often later additions in different hands, especially headings (the original plays seem to have had no titles), and may be just clarifications of the segmentation of the sequence, of the identity of the addressee, or of the different characters’ presence on the scene. Moreover, such terms remained in use in English drama for much longer than the cycles were in performance, and may be considered part of a theatrical jargon.

21. In some Chester plays, directions in Latin appear along with an English version, while some of the so-called ‘Coventry Plays’ contain several instances of CS in characters’ speech. The similarity in the scenes represented explains the recurrence of similar words and expressions in Latin directions. On the presence of Latin directions in similar plays in Germany see Simon (2000). 22. Three plays have no directions at all; twenty have directions only in Latin, just four have directions only in English. The rest show varying degrees of mixture, alternating Latin and English directions in different proportions.

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More relevant is perhaps the fact that many directions written in Latin introduce explicitly speech, and this seems to happen particularly when devotionally relevant turns of dialogue start (72)–(75). Although there might be descriptions of actions or events taking place on the stage, often also of a symbolic and religious value, Latin directions seem more frequently employed to mark points of highly relevant speech (note however that directions of this kind also occur in English). Some of these are even written in a different script and/or colour, and on the margin rather than in line with the text (something that holds also for other types of Latin insertions), thus marking off the oncoming dialogue as particularly salient. The conscious use of such directions for this function is further revealed by the frequency of hic ‘here/now’ (unparalleled in other cycles, where the word occurs very rarely, if at all), to mark the point further, acting as a sort of cataphoric ‘focusser’. The same can be said about the introducer of direct speech sic ‘so/thus’, which is also important to mark the precise words that should be uttered in a well-known or particularly relevant piece of dialogue. (72) Hic Eua reueniet Ade viro suo et dicet ei: … [2.125A] ‘Here Eve comes back to her husband and tells him: … ‘ (73) Adam dicit sic: … [2.164A] ‘Adam says thus: …’ (74) Joachym flectendo ad Deum sic dicens: … [9.57A] ‘Joachym bowing to God (and) saying thus: …’ (75) Spiritus Sanctus hic descendit super ipsum, et Deus, Pater Celestis, dicet in celo: … [22.92A] ‘The Holy Ghost now descends on him and God, the Celestial Father, says from the sky: …’

It is however even more frequent for directions in Latin to introduce a moment of collective speech or shouting (clamare) or singing (cantare): this usually marks a highly ritual action, often connected to liturgy, and takes place at points that are particularly salient from the didactic point of view, i.e. points that are important to the play as the re-enactment of miraculous events with the aim of instructing the layman.23 It must be noted that this association between Latin directions and religious singing or chanting is all the more relevant in that it is observable in other cycles as well, particularly in the York plays, as also noted by Diller (1997–1998: 519–520). Titles of hymns or religious songs are also in Latin

23. On the importance of music in these plays, and particularly in this cycle, as a symbol of “the joyful knowledge of salvation”, see Jack (1989: 38–47) and Rastall (1983: 1–12).



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(76)–(77)–(78), while collective ‘exclamations’ can be in English, but the relevant directions are still in Latin, as in (79)–(80). (76) Ministro cantando: / Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Domini…  [8.109A–110] ‘With the minister singing: our help is in the name of the Lord…’ (77) ‘Gloria in Excelsis Deo’ cantent [16.61A] “Gloria in Excelsis Deo” they shall sing (78) Tunc pastores cantabunt ‘Stella celi extirpauit’, quo facto ibunt ad querendum Christum [16.89A] ‘Then the shepherds will sing “Stella celi extirpauit”, and in doing so will go looking for Christ’ (79) Populus clamabit: / Crucifigatur, we sey atonys. [31.112A–113] ‘The mob will shout: ‘‘Crucify him, we say together’’.’ (80) Et clamabunt ‘Ša! Ša! Ša!’... [31.160A] ‘And they will shout “yes, yes, yes!”…’

There are slightly under 150 Latin items that qualify as directions, including headings, and these are late insertions in different hands. Names of characters are also often in Latin: this is common in most cycle plays, and probably reflects direct influence from the Latin sources. This represents an interesting convention that would deserve further investigation, since these Latin names often seem to be later additions and are rarely used as vocatives, but are only used for the labelling of characters, to mark turns of speech. So, they are not directed at the audience (Deus, Angeli, Diabolus, Rex would be familiar names, but would Vexillator, Adolescens and indeed Contemplacio be equally familiar?), but at the ‘readers’ of the written text, whoever those were (actors, guildmen, ‘producers’, actual readers?). Diller (1997–1998: 507) hypothesises that most stage directions would not be for the actors, probably unable to understand them, but for the ‘director’. Among other ‘extra-narrative’ uses of Latin there are marginal annotations and pieces of information which seem to act as reminders:24 this is the case of the genealogies written on the margin at the end of Play 7, as well as other titles, versicles, expressions like et cetera, ut supra, and so on. These cases are not numerous and mainly give further evidence of later interpolation by some ‘learned’ hand, and of the possible ‘private’ uses of the manuscript. The occurrences of Latin that come closer to the actual idea of CS are those within characters’ speech. In spite of the necessary caution in the application of 24. These uses of Latin marginalia and comments, based on the Bible with some occasional re-working, are also common in other dramatic texts (Parry 1987: 51).

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modern frameworks and even of terminology such as ‘code-switching’ or ‘codemixing’ to data like our present sample, studies of language mixing in medieval texts have been progressing significantly over the past ten years, and the sociolinguistic significance of the insertion of terms and phrases in other languages as a means of establishing group membership has been determined for various texttypes (Davidson 2003: 473–474), as implying a sensitivity to the phenomenon on the part of the audience; given that “the acquired languages of Latin and French linguistically signal minority, ingroup membership in professional, courtly, ecclesiastical and clerical groups”, the integration of some Latin or French words within English sentences “allows outgroup speakers to associate themselves momentarily with literate groups and co-opt their authority by adopting their modes of communication” (id., 475).25 This is the kind of strategy represented in the quotation reported in n. 18, and in that case operated by the clergy. Both inter- and intrasentential CS are present in our sample.26 As in other ME religious texts, several of these cases are biblical and religious quotations,27 which are however often reported with some deviation from the original phrasing. These represent the majority of intersentential CS, since it is usually whole clauses or sentences, corresponding to lines or couples of lines, that are reported in Latin. This type includes songs, commandments, sententiae, and formulae (81). As mentioned, the closest source for several quotations is not the Bible but a secondary source such as the Legenda Aurea; many of these cases correspond however quite closely to the Gospel, and the value of their being uttered (instructional, ceremonial, doctrinal; e.g. see the appeal to authority in Latin used as an opening by Jesus in the temple (Fletcher 1994: 181)) is emphasised quite often by explicit introductions such as the use of verba dicendi or by the equivalents of inverted commas, e.g. a different script (especially Textura instead of Anglicana (Spector 1991: xxiii)), colour or special punctuation, such as two sets of double lines ... introducing quotations, or points in mid-height · to divide English from Latin (Spector 1991: xxvii).

25. This is shown by M. C. Davidson (2003: 477–478) through examples of CS by characters that are not part of these elites, exactly to prove these attempts at achieving a higher status through this ‘borrowed’ cultural marker. 26. For a linguistic typology of inter- and intrasentential CS in various ME text-types see Schendl (2000a: 86–91; 2001). 27. For a discussion of such cases in the Piers Plowman, for instance, see Schendl (2002: 57–58). In the same paper, Schendl offers interesting comments about the role of CS in medieval sermons, and about the fact that marking quotations is a prominent function of CS in several medieval genres and text-types.



Chapter 6.  Addressing and directing the audience 189

(81)

Mary: [...] Now, good fadyr, with þat fadyr Še me blysse Joachym: In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Mary: Amen. Now Še good modyr Anne: In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Mary: Amen. [9.69–73] ‘– … Now, good father, with that Father give me a blessing. – In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. – Amen. Now you, good mother! – In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. – Amen’

Intrasentential CS is represented mainly by single terms. They are religious oneword formulae such as Amen and Benedicite, and a few ‘technical terms’, which could also be treated as cases of borrowing.28 As concerns the former type of item, these texts seem to represent an exception as compared to other medieval texts, where ‘expressive’ code-switching with exclamations or tags is quite rare. This could be due to text-type differences, and to the specific pragmatic value of such Latin formulae in these texts, which are much more dialogic than others (Schendl 2000b: 77–79). (82) þei were clepyd summi sacerdotes for here mynistracyon [13.26; S = Contemplacio; italics in edition] ‘They were called high priests for their ministering’ (83) Wherfore now here beside / To sancta sanctorum wyl I go / To pray god to be my gyde [19.17–20; S = Symeon the Just] ‘Therefore, now beside here, to the holiest of holy (places) will I go, to pray God to be my guide’

Only a couple of cases reproduce something similar to intrasentential CS at midline, so typical of ME poetry, if we consider that cases like (84) are actually the beginning of quotations. (85) is conditioned by rhyme (for similar examples in other types of poetical ME texts, see Schendl (2001: 320)), but is certainly closer to conversational CS than other examples, since switching is at the complement level. Even closer is (86), where no rhyme motivation holds. As mentioned, however, these cases are very rare in all cycles. Several of these uses correspond to what Diller (1997–1998: 509–510) classifies as ‘mention’ of a word, as opposed to its ‘use’: the Latin item is only inserted in virtue of its reference to the Bible, so that the speaker may appeal to its authority.

28. On the difficulty of distinguishing between borrowing and language mixing in these cases see the useful review by Schendl (2002: 67–68). Consider that these instances exclusively concern nouns or noun phrases, cp. (90) and (91). When the NP is within a prepositional phrase, as in (83), the rest of the structure is not affected (Schendl 2000b).

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(84) Wherefore I seye quod virgo concipiet / et pariet filium nomen Emanuel [7.9–10; S = Isaiah] ‘Therefore I say that a virgin will conceive and bear a child, called Emmanuel’ (85) Penitenciam nunc agite / Appropinquabit regnum celorum / For your trespas penaunce do Še / And Še xall wyn hevyn Dei Deorum. / In hevyn blyse ye xall wyn to be / Among þe blyssyd company omnium supernorum / þeras is all merth joye and glee / Inter agmina angelorum [22.14–21; S = John Babptist] ‘Now do penance / The kingdom of heavens approaches / For your trespass now do penance / And you shall go to heaven to the God of Gods / To heaven’s bliss you shall go to be / Among the blessed company of those higher than all. / There is all mirth, joy and happiness / Among the armies of the angels’ (86) Venite benedicti myn bretheryn all / Patris mei Še childeryn dere [42.40–1; S = God] Come, [you] blessed, my brothers all / Of my father o you dear children!’

The characters who pronounce Latin words or sentences are mostly ‘high’ characters (God, Satan, the prophets, Mary, Joseph, Jesus, the Apostles), or ‘professional’ Latin speakers, i.e. members of the clergy or ‘doctors’. Exceptions are represented by Contemplacio,29 by Mercy, another symbolic character, and by a couple of choral responses attributed generically to Populus in a context that is directly associated with liturgical sources and with the Gospel (80). The only utterance in Latin pronounced by a ‘common’ character is found in (87), but it is however also directly connected with its source in the Gospel, and is preceded and followed by paraphrases in English. (87) In trewth, now I knowe with ful opyn syght / That Goddys dere sone is naylid on tre. / These wundyrful tokenys aprevyn ful ryght / Quod vere Filius Dei erat iste. [34.1–4; S = Centurion] ‘In truth, now I know with my eyes wide open, that God’s dear son is nailed to the tree. These exceptional signs prove absolutely that indeed this was God’s son’

In connection with the controlled ‘transgression’ that these plays allowed, quotations can represent a form of mimicry of holy discourse, comparable to the ex-

29. “Contemplacio functions as an intermediary between the Latin world of the holy mysteries and the English everyday world of the audience. It is not surprising, therefore, to find him not only quoting and explaining Latin, but himself using a register that amalgamates the two languages” (Dillon 1998: 39).



Chapter 6.  Addressing and directing the audience 191

aggeration in ‘Latinising’ of the doctors and of Satan.30 Only in one case actual humour is built on Latin and on its ‘alienness’: in Play 16, fun is made of the fact that the shepherds do not understand the Angel’s singing “Gloria in excelsis deo” and mispronounce the words while trying to recall the song. Of course, “the brief permission of laughter at the sound of the sacred Word […] allows the shock of vernacular misunderstanding to frame the Latin momentarily, but it does not question the status of Latin as expressive of holy truth” (Dillon 1998: 42). A final comment concerns the presence or absence of an English translation or paraphrase immediately adjacent to the Latin words; an element that distinguishes between cases in which audience comprehension is either assumed (because of high familiarity of the item) or considered irrelevant (i.e. when Latin words are only ‘mentioned’, see above), and cases in which such comprehension is ensured through the ‘support’ of English (term used by Diller (1997–1998: 510)). The same scholar notes (1997–1998: 522) that the N.Town plays appear less rich in translations than other cycles. This is possibly a further indication of the fact that the compilation was intended for circulation within a more ‘clerical’ environment, where familiarity with Latin words and formulae could be assumed to be greater. Examples of the former type are mostly formulae, blessings or well-known quotations, such as that in (88). Examples of the ‘supported’ type are e.g. the Commandments in Play 6 (89), with the Latin version positioned extra-linearly and clearly marked on the ms. through rubrication (which, incidentally, makes it uncertain whether it was actually uttered during performance, and by whom), and English not only translating but expanding on the meaning of the commandment over two stanzas. The same holds for Mary’s Magnificat [13.82ff.], with Elizabeth translating every section and explaining a religious ceremonial without any breaks in formal consistency (Mills 1983b: 199–200). Explanation, if not direct translation, of ‘technical terms’ is not rare. Compare (90) and (91), uttered by the same character within the same stretch of discourse, in which the importance

30. Note that an interpretation of CS as a marked choice, as proposed by Gross (2000), could be typical of cases of ‘lower-status’ characters using the high code to elevate their status and to take control of the interaction. The ‘switches’ involved here are at the register level, since most of such occurrences are superficially in the English language, and it is only the proportion of learned, Latinate lexical items that varies. Therefore, these stretches are not analysed here, but it is still worth it to at least draw attention to the phenomenon. In the same way, ‘high’ characters tend to have a number of loanwords from French in their speech, as revealed by the spelling (e.g. endings in -é): this is another mark of ‘powerful talk’, which we cannot explore in detail here. We might compare this with the role of different registers, with the ‘Latinate’ one being the most positively regarded, in Mankind (Diller 2002).

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of priesthood office is emphasised; this sense of grandeur is boosted by the use of Latin terms, with or without English glosses (Meredith 1987b: 15–16). (88) Whan þis prophesye he dede begynne / Seyng ‘Ecce Agnus Dey’ [27.391–2; S = Jesus] ‘When he begun this prophecy, saying: Here is God’s Lamb. ‘ (89) And prent þise lawys well in þi mende. / Ius. Primum mandatum: non habebis deos alienos. / The fyrst commaundment of God as I Šow sey /…/ þu xalt haue neythyr nyght nore day / Noon other God but þe Kying of Blysse. [6.66–70; S = Moses; italics in edition] ‘And print these laws well in your mind: 1st. First commandment: you will not have other Gods. The first commandment from God, as I tell you, …you shall have, neither night or day, any other God except the King of Bliss’ (90) This we clepe Festum Encenniorum / þe newe fest of which iij in þe Šere we exercise. [8.33–35; S = Ysakar]31 ‘This we call the feast of embers, the new festival, of which we perform three in the year’ (91) We be regal sacerdocium it perteyneth vs to be wysse / Be fasting be prayng be almes and at du tyme to wake. [8.40–41 S = id.] ‘We are royal priesthood, it is appropriate for us to be judicious: by fasting, by prayers, by alms, and to do vigils at the due times’

Thus, the use of Latin in N.Town plays, although abundant, appears limited to a restricted number of cases from the structural point of view, is often accompanied and supported by an English translation, and is reserved to a certain range of characters, except for rare and very dramatic moments of a highly ritualised kind and deeply embedded in the congregation’s shared knowledge of the episode, where its function is to increase the awe and religious feelings in the audience by recourse to a highly authoritative source (see also the comments on the sociolinguistic functions of Latin insertions in Suhr (2002)). It is one of the elements that concurs to the ultimate aims of the plays, and definitely functional in the addressing of the audience – this is why it was thought to be the right conclusion for this chapter.

31. This celebration appears with various names in the sources, and seems associated with ‘Ember days’ or ‘the new dedication of the temple’, whence the emphasis on novelty in Isakar’s English gloss (Meredith 1987b: 87).

chapter 7

Conclusions

This book has focussed on a manuscript in late Middle English which, in spite of its being a composite and probably multi-authored product, is endowed with sufficient thematic coherence and formal, as well as functional, unity to make it possibile to analyse it as a homogeneous whole. In fact, the heterogeneous nature of the manuscript could also be an advantage in this context, because it makes it possible to find common features that constitute further evidence in tracing established conventions for the representation of dialogue. The N.Town plays have been analysed here as if they were a photograph: the study is essentially synchronic, although projections backwards and forward have been made in all chapters, and comparisons and contrasts with OE, EModE and PDE have not been infrequent. To carry the simile further, we could say that the text has been treated as if it were a puzzle, by taking up one piece at a time and looking at its shape, and occasionally at its borders, to make hypotheses about neighbouring pieces and about the complete picture. In this brief concluding chapter, we will try to put the pieces together to complete the picture, and taking a step back to look at the photograph and try to interpret it. Of course, when one speaks of a ‘complete picture’ in this context, this expression is to be understood as limited to the scope of the book. Hardly any study on the language represented in a given text can be said to be complete, partly because it is nearly impossible to take into account all the aspects of language action at the same time, and partly because so much, especially as concerns interactive aspects of language, relies on elements of context and on background knowledge, and therefore escapes the distant observer. The simile may grow rather thin at this point, but let us say the picture is old, battered and creased, the colours have yielded to the yellowish patina of time, and the background has grown indistinct; the faces have become blurred, and a handful of pieces from the puzzle have been accidentally thrown away. Still, a general idea can be gleaned from what is left. Let us start by recapping the formal evidence yielded by the text; the forms found are consistent with the time and provenance of the sample, and correspond to a point of transition in many developments that will proceed further, and be completed, in EModE. Sentence structures are very often close to what they are today, and the vocabulary shows the increasing influence of French, although some items from OE, which have later become obsolete, are still present. This was

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shown particularly by the analysis of ‘performative’ elements in Chapter 4, which may however be slightly biased by the heavy presence of vocabulary from the religious and legal registers; these are language domains which were both influenced from Latin directly, beside being also subject to earlier and deeper influence from French than other domains, because of their belonging to the sphere of formal, public language. The analysis of pronoun uses showed a stage in the long transition from universal T to universal V; the proportion of uses of T decreases slowly but steadily between the fourteenth and the seventeenth centuries – here, at the end of the fifteenth century, V is already heavily present but T is still used frequently. Its uses slowly tend to be confined to the polar ends of communication, those that involve high degrees of asymmetry in social parameters, or high levels of markedness as interactional moves in terms of perlocutionary strategy or of affective involvement. This distribution, made more apparent by the retractability of pronoun use, is already clear in Chaucer, is very prominent in our sample, and will still be exploited fully in ensuing times, as made clear by the various analyses of EModE dialogues quoted. The motivations for pronoun choices and for switching remain constant throughout the whole period during which both pronouns were used for singular address, although they appear particularly prominent in constructed dialogue. Here the conventionalisation of such choices is made more visible, since it contributes to characterisation and to the representation of relations and power dynamics in character interaction. This is confirmed by analyses of near-contemporaneous texts of a different type, e.g. the Paston Letters, where T appears already much more peripheral than in drama (Bergs 2005: 130–131). The type of consistency shown by dramatic texts is, to some extent and at this stage at least, more important than the quantitative decline of T pronouns, in that it reveals a deep continuity in the functions of the pronouns in interaction. Nevertheless, the gradual change in the forms themselves cannot be ignored – although T is still very vital, V has gained ground since Chaucer’s time, spreading from the middle of the social scale and from pragmatic neutrality (address between adults with the ‘default’ degree of deference which is subject to change over time) to more and more cases, with a dynamics that reminds of the ‘wave theory’ of language change, increasingly confining T to the extremes of the social and pragmatic scales. The analysis of modal elements confirmed the importance of the conveying of stance in dialogue; modal verbs have, at this stage, nearly completed the process that will make them the exceptional category that they are today, but the values they express are still linked to their respective origins. The structural changes that will lead to the present situation are only partly completed, since the verbs still show some inflections, but the transition towards auxiliarisation appears advanced,



Chapter 7.  Conclusions 195

since only wyllan still functions also as a main verb. Therefore, these verbs do show some of the features that characterise them today, but at the same time have functions that are only recognisable by interpreting the context, and can be placed midway between their original semantic nuclei and their modern pragmatic values. The study of this field showed another quite important fact, i.e. that the expression of modality could be entrusted to various types of words and phrases, indeed many more than one would tend to assume; enlarging our perspective on modality and on the formal means used to express it has allowed us to further appreciate this richness, which will be increased even more in the period immediately following the production of the text, through the spread of many other expressions derived from French, while the number of losses will not be so high. Drawing inventories of forms used to convey modal values, and comparing utterances that may be hypothesised to have similar pragmatic strength, may help us draw more qualified hypotheses about the changes undergone by the forms themselves, besides leading to a better understanding of the situation in the various synchronic stages. We have noticed a remarkably different distribution of the central modals, with shall as the quantitatively predominant verb, conveying both the functions it has today and others that involve a considerable deontic strength; will preserves the volitional overtones of its origins to quite an extent, while can appears to be in a stage of transition between dynamic and epistemic uses. The residual uses of mot, mow, and mon that were found account for the transition between deontic and epistemic readings, especially since must does not seem to show the latter meanings in this text. Among the semi-modals, let seems to be the one that had already developed uses more similar to the modern ones, while dare and need were in a transition phase, and ought to had not really developed yet. The rich array of nouns, adjectives, lexical verbs and adverbs with modal values contribute to the expression of stance and speaker orientation on all of the modal scales, in a way not radically different from similar modern expressions; the fact that there are few comprehensive studies of such forms even for PDE is lamented e.g. by Simon-Vandenbergen and Aijmer (2007: 2). Modality can concur to the expression of politeness, which is however often difficult to assess as such, given the absence of a ‘default politeness’ paradigm. Similar comments can be made as concerns performative verbs and expressions; in Chapter 4, hundreds of such items were sampled, and again it was noticed that the indication of the performing of specific ‘verbal actions’ was entrusted to an astonishingly varied number of forms. Many expressions are still in use today, although their pragmatic strength may have changed, due to the subsequent introduction of many French loanwords that re-set the balance in the respective pragmatic scales. Other expressions fell into disuse shortly after the time when the text was produced, and we can hypothesise that they had already lost some

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of their strength. We have noticed that there are many representatives from all traditional types of speech act, and diachronic research from other text-types has shown that speech-act verbs can undergo bleaching or modify their illocutionary strength as a result of changes in world-views, as in the case of swear and curse, which changed in connection with the spread of more secular attitudes. The areas more abundantly represented in the text were those of directive speech acts, particularly commands and requests, expressed with different degrees of strength, and frequently accompanied by appropriate forms of address and modal markers of different intensity. Many different commissive values are correspondingly conveyed, also through the same means of reinforcement, i.e. through the addition of modal elements or polite forms of address, especially in the expression of obedience or compliance. This is made more apparent by the frequency of expressions conveying a regulatory intention, in connection with the legal and religious registers, which are very prominent in the text. Declarative acts are also linked to this register, in that they concur to the displaying of power structures, which is relevant to the aims of the text; representatives are equally important, in that they illustrate the dichotomy between faith and reason, but expressives were found to be more varied in types, because of the appeal to human feelings that is so relevant in the re-enactment of biblical episodes, especially as concerns the areas of suffering vs. mirth and the expression of the various ‘sins of the tongue’. Not unlike today’s speech act verbs, some of the verbs sampled showed ambiguity between different types – their being classified within one category or the other was very much a matter of inferences drawn on the basis of the immediate context or of previous research on other samples, and therefore much stays open to dispute, revealing how tentative our statements on such classifications still need to be. Particularly interesting was the analysis of the verba dicendi, which again showed the text to be at a transition point, with verbs that are very common today, such as speak and talk, still showing low frequency, and with a predominance of uses of say and tell, very often inserted in constructions and expressions in which only one of them, or another verb altogether, specialises today; specification of verbal action is very important in the plays, as is the aspect of ‘revelation’ and of spreading news through verbal means. In particular, there is an interesting contrast between telling the truth and telling lies (in connection with boasting or with slandering), which emerges quite frequently in the text because it is essential to its didactic aims, also as part of the wider contrast between truth and ‘falseness’, which we saw to have a certain salience in relation to modality, too. After taking a look at the various uses of some crucial items, we turned to the analysis of ‘verbal action’ sequences in Chapter 5. The density of the text stood confirmed by the amount of repetition we found; echoing the previous turn, or



Chapter 7.  Conclusions 197

several elements within it, was shown to be very frequently employed as a means to signal both agreement and disagreement. Variation in the repetition, by means of emphasis or reversal of polarity or evaluation, was also recorded as a relevant interactive ‘tool’. Evidence from studies on EModE or on contemporary English was introduced to remark on the continuity or discontinuity in realising precise interactive sequences, and to help establishing possible classifications, as in the case of question-types in 5.3; however, the study reveals that it is not really possible, in a sample of such antiquity and of comparatively restricted size, to dispense with a qualitative analysis. The text yielded more examples of conflict talk than of harmonic talk, although the expression of agreement and the complying to imperatives, and generally to requests, were both quite frequent. Question – answer sequences were also found to be of importance, especially when power dynamics of a more formalised type is involved, as for instance in the mimicry of trial procedures. A number of formulaic exchanges were also found which, in spite of the artificial nature of these dialogues, can contribute to the study of conversational routines. A number of the examples quoted involve pair structures, but others support the idea of a three-turn structure as the most established conversational type for some kinds of ‘verbal actions’. It was also interesting to take a look at longer stretches of dialogue, since it allowed us to appreciate the elaboration of some conversational dynamics that are at the root of the dramatization process leading from the biblical narrative to the plays themselves. It is in these longer sequences that the ‘pragmatics of interaction’ was most apparent, and the interrelation between the various elements studied in the previous chapters came out most prominently, as will be recapped below. It was further noted in Chapter 5 that the analysis of constructed dialogue through the aid of CA tools, although it provides interesting results, remains limited; this is because the whole set of conditions, including background knowledge, that makes the performance and the interpretation of language action felicitous, is not only partly obscured by the distance in time, but is also tampered with and modified ab origine to adapt it to the audience’s, and not the interlocutor/character’s, communicative needs. In Chapter 6 we looked at the same dialogic indicators as in the previous chapters, but on a different communication plane, that of the ‘higher’ or superordinate level of communication between the playwright (or, in our case, the heteroglossic bunch of ‘authorial voices’) and the audience. The chapter brought to light the same kinds of strategy as those used between characters in the modulation and ‘steering’ of the interaction, in this case highlighted by the strong deontic and directive nature of the ‘hyper-speech act’ formed by the whole text, and of the illocutions and desired perlocutionary effects involved. Thus, specific forms of address (mostly respectful, if not flattering), appropriate modality markers (above

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all the ubiquitous and still rather strong shall), and carefully chosen verbs of saying, all cooperate to take the congregacyon by hand and lead it on the path of orthodox doctrine and socially acceptable behaviour. A further element was added to the other indicators in this chapter, i.e. the presence of Latin, which was shown to be partly related to the composition history of the ms., but partly also connected with the sociolinguistic value attached to Latin in medieval England; although probably not a direct production of clerical structures, the text shows uses of Latin that not only are more abundant in comparison with those in other cycles, but that also show awareness of the power of a ‘strategic’ sprinkling of technical terms in order to evoke certain register connections and to position certain speakers within the text and with respect to the audience. This was only one more refined ‘tool’ to integrate in the construction of interactive sequences. The extent to which the various elements investigated contribute to the same communicative aims can be further briefly remarked on, starting from the very simple observation that there are crucial stretches of dialogue in the plays that were quoted several times, often in different chapters; those will be the loci of highest ‘interactive density’, in which several strategies supposedly concur to reproduce a certain communicative effect, and that therefore will be briefly recalled here. Of course, it could be remarked that it is circular to claim that some stretches are interactively richer than others only because they were quoted repeatedly, since it is obvious that there are many other places in the collection in which the same phenomena appear too, and that just did not happen to be selected for quotation. At the same time, these specific examples were chosen for their representative quality, and the various markers and phenomena analysed in the book were sampled separately and at quite different moments in time, and therefore the analyst, as reader of the text, must have reacted to the particular salience of these individual stretches of dialogue. The observation that some of them were quoted several times, because they stood out in several respects, is an observation that is offered post hoc, after the completion of the research process, as a possible additional source for further reflections. First of all, reference is made here to those cases in which adjacent stretches are quoted in different parts of the book, a phenomenon that is by itself a further indication of the pragmatic density of the collection; such density was already mentioned because it is an apparent quality both impressionistically, i.e. immediately, visible, and also traceable in the sheer mass of data yielded by the analysis of the various aspects. This fact now stands confirmed by the further remark on the number of cases in which the elements investigated are not only scattered throughout the text, but tend to cluster in particularly high numbers in certain plays and in certain scenes. More prominently, there are about forty lines or sequences of lines that were quoted two or three times in the book. It is very



Chapter 7.  Conclusions 199

difficult to consider a coincidence the fact that the individual plays that have the highest numbers of these ‘hyper-concentrated’ interactive sequences are the Mary Play (particularly Plays 9 and 10), which is interpolated and probably comes from different sources, as explained in Chapter 1, and Play 41, The Assumption of the Virgin. It nearly looks as if the plays related to the Marian cult, which are so typical of this collection as opposed to the other cycles, showed a further refinement in the development of dialogue, following conventions that would give it a particularly ‘interactive ring’. As to the phenomena that cluster in those sequences, they vary, of course: some examples stood out because they contain interesting material concerning address forms and specific formulae, including greetings and interjections. Others stood out because they combine a switch in address forms with a particular sequencing effect, like complying or refusing; many emerge as examples of the insertion of modal elements within ‘strategic discourse’, and finally some are examples of modal or address forms, and also often verbs of saying, used to relate to the audience. We do not report specific cases here, as they would not really forms a complete list – as mentioned, the interplay between the various elements studied emerged in each case during the discussion, and we prefer to leave it to the reader to trace these recurring trails through the book. It is hoped that other analyses of this kind will follow, which will further contribute to reconstruct the puzzle; there are many markers and indicators that were left out of the present analysis altogether (one obvious instance is the variable presence of do-support, whose position and functions seem at a first glance to deserve further attention), or were only mentioned cursorily (for instance, the massively present marker now, whose use in the collection is the object of a separate contribution, and whose functions also seem to be quite diversified and subtly exploited). Therefore, it is indeed hoped that this first action towards a ‘piecing together’ of an elusive puzzle will be helpful, and will be followed by many others. In Contemplacio’s words: Cryst conserve þis congregacion / fro perellys past present and future / and þe personys here pleand þat þe pronunciacion / of here sentens to be seyd mote be sad and sure / And þat non oblocucyon make þis matere obscure / but it may profite and plese eche persone present / ffrom þe gynnynge to þe endynge so to endure / þat cryst and every creature with þe conceyte be content. [8.1–8] ‘Christ preserve this congregation from past, present and future perils, and the persons here playing, that the pronunciation of their sentences to be said might be wise and sure, and that no bad locution make this matter obscure, but that it may profit and please each person present, from the beginning to the end so to endure, so that Christ and every creature be content with the conceit’.

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Index

A Address  3, 4, 8, 13, 14, 16–17,  19–49, 82–83, 85–86, 97,  102, 111, 119, 121, 131, 136,  146, 150, 156, 160, 163–176,  192, 194, 197, 199, 203, 204,  209, 210, 212, 213, 214, 217,  218. See also Second person pronouns, Switching honorifics  20, 48, 156 terms of address  14, 16, 19, 24–30, 33, 35, 38–41, 43–45, 48, 86, 146, 150, 158, 171–173, 210, 213, 218 Adjacency pairs  89, 123, 124, 138, 160 Ancrene Wisse  172, 211 Answer  15–16, 93, 99, 113, 119, 123, 124, 134, 137–141, 197, 201, 202, 205, 206, 210, 220 Audience  4, 6, 8–10, 12, 14, 15–17, 28, 30, 49, 51, 59, 85, 87, 89, 93, 103, 105, 110, 111, 117–118, 121–122, 133, 137, 140, 142, 149, 152, 154, 158, 160, 162, 163–192, 197–199, 202, 203, 205, 211 B Beowulf  4, 37 Bible  5–7, 17, 26, 38, 58, 110, 120, 140, 169, 182–183, 187–188, 189, 196, 197, 207, 215 Borrowing  95, 103, 188, 189 C Canterbury Tales (CT)  21, 23, 40, 44, 96, 110–115, 117, 150, 169, 206, 210, 212, Characters  4, 5, 10, 12, 14, 15, 17, 21, 23, 24, 26, 28–33, 36, 37–39,

40–42, 48–49, 73, 82, 83, 85–86, 89, 93, 100, 101–103, 105, 108, 109–111, 113, 117–118, 122–123, 125, 142, 150–152, 157, 160, 163–165, 167–171, 173, 174, 176, 179, 181, 185, 187–188, 190, 191–192, 197 Chester plays  166, 183, 185 Code-switching (CS)  6, 183–189, 191, 201, 205, 208, 213, 216, 220 Coherence  10, 15, 118, 127, 131, 137, 193, 210, 218 Cohesion  15, 137, 153, 154 Compliance  15, 32, 41, 44, 45, 46, 104, 123, 129, 131, 133, 137, 156, 158, 160, 169, 196, 202 Conflict talk  15, 23, 25, 27, 28, 39, 124, 126, 135, 137–138, 157–158, 197, 208, 212 Contemplacio  10, 11, 17, 83, 85, 111, 114, 165, 167–170, 173, 174, 177, 179, 180, 187, 189, 190, 199 Corpus Christi  4, 6, 202, 208, 211 Cycles/Cycle plays  4–12, 16, 17, 23, 24, 32, 35, 36, 38, 39, 42, 49, 88, 102, 109, 120, 123, 131, 147, 164, 166–168, 174, 183, 185–187, 189, 191, 198–199, 205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 212, 217, 220 D Deference  20, 29, 31, 128, 168, 194 Dialogue  3–4, 8–9, 12–18, 19, 21, 26, 28, 30, 31, 35, 37, 39, 43, 45–47, 49, 51–52, 58, 87, 89, 93, 107, 110, 118, 119–122, 124, 125, 126, 128, 137, 139–140, 142–143, 153–154, 157, 159–160, 163, 167,

176, 186, 193, 194, 197–199, 202, 204, 205, 206, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 215, 216, 217, 218, 219 Discernment  28, 41, 43 Discourse markers  79, 81, 85, 98, 120, 202, 206, 212, 214, 218 Distance  5, 16, 20, 21–27, 39, 48, 119, 120, 217, 218 Dominance, conversational  22, 27, 28, 36, 43, 159, 161, 210 Duelling, verbal  5, 145, 150 F Face  3, 22, 39, 55, 132–133, 136,  137, 138, 157, 163 face-work  4, 16, 21, 28, 55, 137, 155, 213, 219 Formulae  23, 60, 61, 73, 76, 97, 102, 104, 108, 121, 123, 129, 133, 139, 144–153, 160, 165, 176, 177, 184, 188, 189–191, 204, 213.  See also Routines French  12, 20, 22, 24, 73, 84, 95, 121, 183, 184, 188, 191, 193, 194, 195, 207, 211, 220 G Genres  15, 16, 35, 48, 142, 164,  72, 181, 188, 209, 214, 219.  See also Text-types correspondence/letters  14, 19, 37, 38, 41–42, 57, 113, 194, 202, 212, 213, 219 liturgical drama  6–7, 11, 49, 164, 168 morality plays  32, 34, 152, 168 trial/court records 14, 19, 35, 42, 209 German 20, 44, 57, 63, 207, 217

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H Hedging  44, 55, 88, 133, 138, 149, 156, 158, 160, 165, 206 Humour (comic elements)  4, 6, 8, 23, 39, 48, 109, 138, 165–166, 191, 220 Hypothetical  57, 64, 70 I Imperatives  15, 54, 67, 72, 84, 101, 114, 123, 125, 129–137, 138, 143, 157, 159, 160, 161, 176, 182, 197, 205 Indexicality  52 Insults  20, 23, 32, 41–44, 48, 83, 86, 136, 144–145, 150–152, 210 Interjections  12, 54, 70, 81–87, 108, 145, 199, 201, 206, 210, 214, 217, 218, 220 Intimacy  20–27, 43, 48, 119 Italian  20

epistemic  52, 54, 56, 57–58, 61, 63, 64, 65, 66, 71, 72, 73, 74–76, 77, 89, 95–96, 99, 100, 137–138, 178, 195, 206, 207, 214, 218 modality markers  14–16, 51–53, 87, 178, 197 modal expressions  43, 54, 77, 87, 214, 219 modal idioms  68–69 modal verbs  14, 16, 17, 51, 52, 53, 55, 56–69, 70, 88, 95, 194, 207 obligation  53, 58–59, 63, 66, 68, 105, 116, 133 permission  53, 59, 61, 63, 65, 67, 130, 140, 147 possibility  57, 61–63, 65, 66, 130, 178 volition  16, 53–54, 60, 61, 63, 79, 105, 133, 177, 195

J Japanese  20

N Northern Passion 11

L Latin  6, 11, 12, 17, 22, 23, 26, 84, 85, 117, 120, 167, 183–192, 194, 198, 212 Legenda Aurea  10, 182, 188

P Pair structures  15, 28, 119–161, 197. See also Adjacency pairs Passion Plays  11, 35, 185, 213, 216 Paston letters  38, 194, 202, 219 Performatives, performative value  15–17, 51–52, 55,  56, 71, 78, 89, 91–118, 131,  151, 158, 161, 179, 182,  194–195, 207, 209, 210, 211,  215 commissives  44, 73, 94, 95, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 104–107, 111, 131, 176, 179, 181, 196 declaratives/declarations 94, 98–99, 101, 104, 105, 106, 107, 109–110, 111, 112, 129, 196 directives  44, 55, 64, 94, 95, 97, 98, 100, 101–104, 105, 111, 115, 119, 129, 132, 154, 161, 176, 179, 182, 196–197, 211, 212

M Mankind  170, 191 Marked (item, feature)  22, 23, 27–30, 35, 41, 43, 45, 46, 100, 103, 183, 191, 194, 203, 208 Mary Plays  11, 185, 199, 213 Mitigation  55, 73, 126, 135, 137, 158, 204, 207 Modality  14–16, 44, 51–89,  103, 120, 124, 133, 137, 138,  165, 176–178, 195, 196, 204,  208, 209, 212, 214, 217, 218,  219, 220 deontic  51, 53, 54, 57, 58, 62, 63, 64, 66, 67, 70, 71, 72–74, 77, 79, 87–89, 100, 107, 120, 133, 137, 145, 176, 178, 195, 197 dynamic  57, 61, 63, 74–76, 88, 93, 177, 195

expressives  44, 81, 94–95, 98, 99, 100, 106, 107–109, 118, 196 representatives  75, 89, 94–96, 98–101, 119, 196 Piers Plowman  188 Politeness  1, 14, 19–20, 28, 29– 30, 39, 41, 43–44, 46–47, 55, 59–62, 73, 75, 77, 88, 102–105, 123, 128, 132–133, 136, 137–138, 141–142, 144–146, 148, 149, 152, 155, 156–158, 159, 168, 173, 178, 195–196, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 206, 210, 211, 213, 219, 220 Power  3, 20, 21, 22, 25, 27–30, 31, 40, 43, 48, 87, 89, 102, 105, 106, 109–110, 119, 123, 124, 143, 157, 159, 163, 194, 196–198, 203, 205, 207, 208, 211, 217 Proclamation  9–11, 16, 17, 78, 169, 170, 176, 178, 179, 185 Q Questions  15, 16, 30, 56, 59, 64, 93, 99, 119–120, 123, 124–126, 129, 130, 134, 136, 137–144, 157, 160, 161, 197, 201, 202, 205, 206, 207, 208, 210, 215, 217, 220. See also Rhetorical Questions R Ranking  26, 28, 40, 80 Repetition  15–17, 47, 124–129, 131, 133, 138, 148, 153–154, 159, 196–197, 202, 205, 214, 215, 218 Rhetorical questions  12, 61, 64, 120, 139, 142, 151 Routines  20, 28, 121, 123, 139, 145, 153, 197, 201, 204, 206, 219. See also Formulae S Second person pronouns  13, 14, 20, 120, 203, 206, 209, 219. See also Address, Switching Solidarity  16, 20, 21, 27–30, 43, 48, 119, 128, 203 Spanish  20



Speech acts  15–16, 22, 23, 29,  43, 52, 55–56, 87, 89,  91–102, 105, 113, 117–118,  119, 121, 123, 129, 139, 145,  152, 163, 166, 179, 196, 197,  202, 205, 207, 210, 211, 213,  214, 215, 216, 218, 219, 220.  See also Performatives agreement  45, 79, 84, 118, 124–128, 153, 158–159, 197 apologies  74, 85, 136, 145, 148, 152, 203, 212, 214 commands  22, 28–29, 41, 44, 46, 59, 73–74, 103–105, 138, 153, 155, 175, 179, 196 disagreement  28, 84, 126, 128, 136, 153, 157, 197, 207 greetings  15, 28, 83, 86, 108, 123–125, 129, 144–145, 147, 155, 160, 199, 208 requests  22, 31, 44, 46, 55, 59, 83, 93, 101–103, 105, 124, 130, 133, 138, 141, 144, 146, 148, 149, 155–157, 160, 170, 196, 197, 203, 204, 219

Index 223

thanks  84, 85, 107–108, 127, 132, 136, 145–148, 150 offers  60, 104, 105–106, 124, 128, 130, 154 Stage directions  5–7, 11, 28, 40, 59, 92, 114, 131, 154, 165, 174, 185–187, 213 Stance, speaker’s  4, 15, 16, 43, 51–52, 54, 57, 71, 75, 87, 89, 95, 116, 119, 125, 194–195, 202, 206 Subjectification  1, 57, 75, 76, 86, 87, 89, 95, 107, 206, 209, 218, 219 Switching, pronoun  21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 31, 33, 35, 37, 41, 42–47, 171–172, 174, 194, 199, 214. See also Address T Text-types  2, 19, 35, 37, 42, 43, 48, 51, 57, 113, 120, 163, 183, 184, 188, 189, 196 Towneley Plays  166, 168, 185, 207, 215

Translation  2, 5–6, 22, 85, 121, 191–192 U Unmarked (item, feature)  22, 25, 35, 41, 44, 118 V Verba dicendi  15, 91, 102, 110–117, 188, 196. See also Verbs of saying Verbs of saying  64, 68, 78, 79, 88, 94–96, 103, 110–117, 118, 179, 196, 198–199, 212. See also Verba dicendi Y York Plays  118, 166, 168, 185–186

Index of Names

A Abdesslem, Habib  14, 201 Aijmer, Karin  52, 78–80, 82, 85, 121, 123, 148, 195, 201, 217 Akimoto, Minoji  71, 75, 201 Alonso-Almeida, Francisco  59, 201 Ameka, Felix  81–82, 84–85, 145, 201 Anderson, Mary Desiree  7, 201 Andrews, Kenneth R.  57, 63, 201 Archan, Sabine  184, 201 Archer, Dawn  1, 92, 93, 102, 104, 111, 138, 139, 143, 201, 204 Arnovick, Leslie Katherine  1, 61, 64, 78, 93, 96, 105, 107, 121, 145, 201, 202 Asher, Nicholas  119, 202 Aston, Guy  82, 202 Austin, John  91, 94, 96 B Barisone, Ermanno  38, 202, 208 Bates, Katherine L.  12, 202 Bax, Marcel  5, 145, 202 Baxter, Leslie A.  128, 202 Bazzanella, Carla  128, 202 Beetz, Manfred  145, 202 Bell, Allan  15, 202 Bergner, Heinz  2, 4, 16, 17, 202 Bergs, Alexander  2, 194, 202 Bertuccelli Papi, Marcella  92, 98, 202, 214 Biber, Douglas  54, 77, 95, 202 Blake, Norman F.  4, 202, 206 Blakemore, Diane  70, 202 Block, Katherine Salter  13, 202

Blumenfeld-Kosinki, Renate  184, 202 Blum-Kulka, Shoshana  92, 203 Bolonyai, Agnes  184, 203 Bousfield, Derek  141, 157, 203, 204 Boyland, Joyce Tang  64, 203 Braeger, Peter  9, 203 Brand, Paul  184, 203 Brennan, Susan E.  119, 216 Brinton, Laurel J.  1, 83, 203 Brown, Penelope  14, 19, 152, 203 Brown, Roger  19, 47, 203 Bruti, Silvia  41, 203 Bubel, Claudia M.  163, 203 Bublitz, Wolfram  122, 125, 128, 137, 155, 203 Burnley, David  21, 23, 41, 43, 48, 203 Burton, Deirdre  121, 203 Busse, Ulrich  30, 48, 132, 138, 156, 203 Butler, Michelle M.  13, 164, 165, 171, 172, 204 Bybee, Joan L.  63, 65, 204 C Cabrera-Abreu, Mercedes  59, 201 Caffi, Claudia  16, 55, 204 Carlson, Lauri  137, 204 Cawley, Arthur C.  6, 7, 9, 204, 212, 213 Chaucer, Geoffrey  30, 37, 40, 48, 49, 75, 183, 194, 204, 206, 207, 209, 210, 215 Chen, Rong  148, 204

Clopper, Laurence M.  6, 7, 8, 10, 11, 204 Coletti, Theresa  11, 204 Coulmas, Florian  145, 204, 206, 219 Cowley, Stephen J.  124, 204 Cox, Catherine S.  37, 204 Cox, John D.  32, 109, 131, 204 Craig, Robert T.  149, 152, 204, 210 Crespo, Begoña  183, 204 Cruz, de la, Juan Manuel  88, 204 Culpeper, Jonathan  3, 19, 87, 92, 93, 102, 104, 157, 204–205 D Dasher, Richard B.  63, 66, 80, 95, 102, 103, 118, 156, 218 Davenport, William A.  32, 167, 168, 205 Davidson, Mary C.  188, 205 Davies, Eirlys  129–130, 205 De Ventura, Paolo  3, 205 Del Lungo (Camiciotti), Gabriella  64, 113, 205 Dersley, Ian  157, 205 Deshaies, Denise  125, 129, 214 Di Martino, Gabriella  16, 139, 205, 206, 209, 210, 212, 214 Diamond, Julie  22, 157, 205 Diani, Giuliana  126, 128, 205 Diller, Hans-Jürgen  4, 5, 8, 17, 49, 117, 122, 164–166, 168, 173, 185, 186, 187, 189, 191, 202, 205 Dillon, Janette  184–185, 190–191, 205 Doherty, Monika  138, 206

226 Interactive Dialogue Sequences in Middle English Drama

Dossena, Marina  53, 64, 88, 206, 208 Douay, Catherine  51, 206 Drew, Paul  57, 206 Dunbar, William  38, 202 E Eccles, Mark  12, 206 Eggins, Suzanne  84, 89, 146, 151, 153, 158, 206 Enders, Jody  8, 42, 108, 140, 143, 158, 206 Escandell-Vidal, Victoria  19, 206 Evans, Nicholas  21, 206 Evans, William W.  81, 206 F Feng, Zongxin  165, 206 Ferguson, Charles A.  145, 206 Fewer, Colin  7, 8, 166, 206 Finkenstaedt, Thomas  22, 206 Fischer, Andreas  123, 206 Fischer, Olga  57, 60, 63, 75, 76, 88, 206 Fitzhenry, William  164,  166–167, 184, 206 Fitzmaurice, Susan  75, 116, 206 Fletcher, Alan J.  10, 12, 185, 188, 207 Fludernik, Monika  120, 207 Forest-Hill, Lynn  150, 164, 165, 166–167, 207 Forrester, James W.  64, 207 Fowler, David  7, 9, 11, 207 Fraser, Bruce  55, 78, 94, 137, 207 Freed, Alice F.  138–139, 207 Freedman, Penelope  28, 207 Freier, Mary P.  38, 207 Fridén, Georg  58, 207 Fries, Maureen  24, 207 Fritz, Gerd  3, 167, 202, 204, 207, 208, 210, 217, 218, 219 G Galasin’ki, Dariusz  22, 210 Gamon, David  57, 63, 207 Gauvin, Claude  165, 168, 207

Georgakopoulou, Alexandra  136, 207 Gergel, Remus  60, 207 Gibbs, Raymond W.  142, 152, 207 Gilman, Albert  19, 47, 203 Gisborn, Nikolas  76, 207 Goffman, Erving  148, 208 Goodman, Jennifer R.  12, 208 Goodwin, Charles  124, 208 Goossens, Louis  57, 113–115, 208 Gotti, Maurizio  53, 58, 59–61, 205, 208 Graddol, David  38, 208 Gross, Steven  183, 191, 208 Gruber, Helmut  134, 138, 208 Grzega, Joachim  146–147, 208 H Halliwell [-Phillips], James O. 13, 208 Happé, Peter  8, 208 Hart, David  89, 206, 208, 212, 213, 214, 220 Hayes, Douglas W.  152, 208 Herlyn, Anne  113, 208 Herman, Vimala  15, 23, 120– 122, 127, 137, 167, 168, 209 Herzig, Andreas  94, 209 Hess-Lüttich, Ernst W. B.  121, 209 Hickey, Raymond  20, 209 Higgins, Sidney  6–7, 38, 209 Hillman, Richard  35, 209 Hiltunen, Risto  1, 209, 214, 219 Holmes, Janet  52, 55, 80, 209 Holmes, Jasper  76, 207 Holt, Elizabeth  152, 206 Holtgraves, Thomas  92, 94, 117, 209 Honegger, Thomas  21, 30, 44, 48, 209 Hope, Jonathan  14, 209 Hopper, Paul J.  67, 77, 209 House, Juliane  92, 203 Hoye, Leo  58, 61, 63, 66, 69, 78, 88, 209 Hübler, Axel  97, 209

Hughes, Geoffrey  150, 209 Humphrey, Chris  166, 209 Hunt, Alison M.  152, 209 Hunt, Tony  19, 210 I Itakura, Hiroko  161, 210 J Jack, Ronald  186, 210 Jackson, Sally  123–124, 210 Jacobs, Scott  123–124, 210 Janney, Richard W.  16, 210 Jary, Mark  133, 210 Jaworski, Adam  22, 210 Johansson, Ingvar  158, 210 Joshi, Aravind K.  139, 210 Jucker, Andreas H.  1, 3, 4, 5, 14, 15, 19, 21, 30, 43, 44, 92, 97, 150, 163, 202, 203, 204, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 214, 217, 218, 219 K Kahrl, Stanley J.  4, 13, 23, 167, 210, 213 Karl, Julia  81, 82, 83, 210 Kasher, Asa  95, 207, 210, 215 Kasper, Gabriele  92, 203 Kerbrat-Orecchioni, Catherine  153, 210 Kiefer, Ferenc  138, 206, 210 Koch, Peter  5, 211 Kohnen, Thomas  15, 67, 97, 102, 103, 211 Kolve, V. A.  4, 7, 11, 16, 112, 166, 167, 211 Kopytko, Roman  3, 14, 16, 19, 21, 44, 211 Koskenniemi, Inna  48, 82, 98, 211 Krug, Manfred G.  69, 88, 211 Küppers, Guido  58, 63, 66, 211 Kytö, Merja  3, 19, 87, 204, 205, 209 L Labov, William  2, 15, 211 Ladegaard, Hans J.  163, 211



Lakoff, Robin T.  164, 218 Langenfelt, Gösta  4, 5, 121, 211 Lascarides, Alex  119, 202 Lebsanft, Franz  3, 87, 202, 204, 208, 210, 211, 217, 218, 219 Lenz, Friedrich  96, 211 Leonardi, Paolo  95, 211 Levinson, Stephen  14, 19, 52, 203 Lightfoot, David  56–57, 211 Lima, Maria  68–69, 205, 206, 209, 210, 211, 212, 214 Longin, Dominique  94, 209 López Couso, Maria José 75–76, 211 Lutz, Angelika  20, 211 M Machan, Tim William  183, 184, 211 Maggioni, Maria Luisa  37, 208, 212 Magnusson, Lynne  14, 105, 212 Mannyng, Robert  169, 218 Mao, LuMing R.  121–122, 212 Marková, Ivana  15, 212 Mazzon, Gabriella  14, 15, 21, 23, 30, 32, 35, 43, 47, 52, 53, 60, 69, 70, 71, 96–97, 102, 111, 114, 115, 136, 183, 212 McDonald, Peter F.  6–7, 212 McIntyre, Dan  15, 163, 212 McMurray Gibson, Gail  39, 212 Meier, Ardith J.  212 Méndez Naya, Belén  80, 212 Meredith, Peter  5, 7, 9–11, 13, 185, 192, 213 Mills, David  5, 8, 9, 12, 191, 194, 213 Moeschler, Jacques  93, 119, 138, 213 Molencki, Rafal  66, 68–69, 213 Moore, Colette  108, 213 Mullini, Roberta  15, 23, 213 Muntigl, Peter  126, 137, 213 Myers-Scotton, Carol  184, 213

Index of Names 227

N Nevala, Minna  37, 42, 213 Normington, Katie  16, 38, 40, 214 Norrick, Neal R.  81, 116, 214 Nurmi, Arja  58, 214 Nuyts, Jan  56, 214 O Oesterreicher, Wulf  5, 211 Ogura, Michicko  88, 214 Owen, Marion  95, 148, 214 P Pakkala-Weckström, Mari  73, 105, 214 Pantaleo, Nicola  173, 205, 212, 214 Papafragou, Anna  52, 55–56, 61, 66, 87–89, 214 Paradis, Carita  125, 129, 214 Parry, David  187, 214 Paulik Sampson, Gloria  21–22, 31, 40, 168–169, 214 Peikola, Matti  107, 214 Pelyvás, Peter  54, 214 Perrin, Laurent  125, 129, 214 Pesola, Patrizia  98, 214 Piazza, Roberta  136, 215 Plank, Frans  57, 215 Poncin, Kristina  154, 215 R Rastall, Richard  186, 215 Recanati, François  92, 215 Rehbein, Jochen  15, 215 Replogle, Carol  146, 215 Rieber, Steven  94–95, 215 Rieser, Hannes  154, 215 Robertson, Renate  184, 202 Rock, Frances  139, 143, 144, 215 Romaine, Suzanne  38, 86, 118, 215 Rose, Martial  9, 215 Ross, Ellen M.  8, 215 Roulet, Eddy  123, 215 Ryan, Denise  38, 215

S Salmon, Vivian  48, 123, 216 Saxton, Karen  52, 55, 133, 135, 136, 219 Sbisà, Marina  91, 93, 216 Schegloff, Emanuel A.  16, 119, 123, 125, 138, 153, 160, 216 Schendl, Herbert  183, 184, 188, 189, 208, 213, 216 Scherb, Victor I.  7, 17, 34, 170, 216 Schiffrin, Deborah  21, 216 Schipper, Jakob  10, 12, 216 Schlieben-Lange, Brigitte  91, 94, 216 Schober, Michael F.  119, 216 Schrott, Angela  138, 143, 217 Schwenter, Scott A.  80, 217 Searle, John  94, 96 Seaton, Jean Q.  31, 217 Selting, Margret  124, 217 Semino, Elena  93, 111, 114, 205, 217 Shakespeare, Willliam  14, 15, 16, 19, 23, 30, 32, 34, 38, 40, 47, 49, 123, 139, 203, 207, 211, 212, 215, 217, 220 Shen, Dan  165, 206 Shimojima, Atsushi  125, 216 Shinzato, Rumiko  112, 216 Shippey, Tom A.  4, 216 Short, Mick  111, 114, 204, 216 Sikorska, Liliana  82, 217 Simon, Ekkehard  185, 217 Simon, Horst  44, 217 Simon-Vandenbergen, AnneMarie  52, 78–80, 105, 201, 217 Singh, Ishtla  37, 217 Skaffari, Janne  1, 209, 214, 219 Skey, Miriam Anne  41, 109, 217 Slade, Diana  84, 89, 146, 151, 153, 158, 206 Smith, Sara W.  163, 217 Spector, Stephen  9–11, 13, 17, 23, 41, 42, 58, 142, 171, 188, 217 Spencer-Oatey, Helen  20–21, 217 Sperber, Dan  123, 207, 217, 220

228 Interactive Dialogue Sequences in Middle English Drama

Spisak, Frances  149, 152, 204 Spitz, Alice  21, 39, 217 Squires, Lynn  30, 217 Stein, Dieter  35, 43, 202, 212, 217 Stevens, Martin  10, 217 Stucky, Nathan  122, 125, 140, 218 Sugano, Douglas  10, 12, 218 Suhr, Carla  120, 192, 218 Sullens, Idelle  169, 218 Svennevig, Jan  125, 218 Swan, Toril  78, 218 Swann, Joan  38, 208 Sweetser, Eve  56, 218 T Taavitsainen, Irma  4, 5, 14, 19, 44, 81–82, 84–86, 92, 97, 139, 150, 203, 204, 208, 210, 211, 212, 213, 214, 216, 217, 218, 219 Tannen, Deborah  164, 218 Tracy, Karen  149, 152, 204, 210 Traugott, Elizabeth Closs  52, 57, 63, 66, 67, 77, 80, 95, 97, 102, 103, 118, 156, 209, 217, 218 Trotter, David  203, 204, 216, 218, 220

Trussler, Simon  6, 9, 218 Tsui, Amy B. M.  124, 218 Tucker, Gordon  56, 77, 219 Turnbull, William  1, 52, 55, 126, 133, 135, 136, 137, 157, 213, 219 Tydeman, William  12, 219 V Vanderveken, Daniel  91, 94–95, 98, 99, 102, 103, 104, 107, 109, 111, 113, 116, 213, 219, 220 Verschueren, Jef  94, 96–97, 107, 145, 219 Verstraete, Jean-Christophe  87, 219 W Walker, Terry  4, 14, 19–21, 28, 30, 32, 35, 39, 42–43, 139, 219 Walton, Douglas  143–144, 219 Warner, Anthony  57, 95, 115, 219 Warren, Nancy  184, 202 Wårvik, Brita  120, 219 Watt, Diane  38, 219 Watts, Richard J.  14, 28, 41, 43, 48, 139, 145, 159, 219, 220

Weydt, Harald  91, 94, 216 Wharton, Tim  52, 81–82, 220 Whiting, Bowlett J.  12, 220 Wichmann, Anne  157, 204 Wickham, Glynne  4, 6–7, 17, 32, 220 Widdowson, Henry  122, 220 Wierzbicka, Anna  92, 95–97, 220 Wikberg, Kay  139–140, 220 Wilkins, David P.  81, 220 Williams, Arnold  8, 220 Wilson, Deirdre  123–124, 217, 220 Wogan-Browne, Jocelyn  164, 184, 220 Woolf, Rosemary  4, 9, 220 Wootton, Anthony  157, 205 Wright, Laura  184, 220 Y Yamanashi, Nasa-aki  111, 220 Z Ziegeler, Debra  57, 220

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