A Trifling Instrument of Wit: The Twelfth Night Masque, by Author E M Swift-Hook #HistoryWritersAdvent24

Bring all the pleasures of the stage,

And relishes of rime:

Add all the softnesses of Courts,

The lookes, the laughters, and the sports.

- Ben Jonson, The Fortunate Isles and Their Union

When King James VI/I came to the throne of England, nurtured by his love of dance and his wife's love of dramatic art, the Twelfth Night Masque became an annual seasonal staple in the Christmas celebrations of the royal court. King Charles I continued the tradition, with Queen Henrietta Maria embracing it enthusiastically and bringing her own refinements to it.

Masques as court entertainment began in Tudor times as dances with some entertainment put in. But they reached their apogee in the first half of the 17th century. A masque was an entertainment performed for the court, by the court, with acting, singing and, above all, dancing. Leading members of the court, of both sexes, would take on acting roles and show off their athletic dancing skills. 

Even members of the royal family might participate. Sometimes nobles might hold their own masques within the 'court' of their friends and family, or major institutions like colleges or the Inns of Court, might present a masque performed by their students and members. But primarily it was an art form that belonged to the royal court, and for all that it had foreign influences, it was quintessentially English.

Ben Jonson by Abraham Blyenberch, c. 1617

It was Ben Jonson who established what would become the classic pattern of the Twelfth Night Masque. He described his role self-mockingly in one:

‘The most unprofitable of his (the king's) servants, I, sir, the Poet. A kind of a Christmas ingine: one that is used at least once a year, for a trifling instrument of wit, or so.’

His masques always showed divine order and wisdom, as represented by the king and his court, overcoming chaos and folly. But Ben Jonson's masques were more than just a dozen pages of stand up comedy, moralising dialogue, poetry, and songs with dances thrown in. No, these were huge extravaganzas, breathtaking visual feasts. 

The performers wore gloriously beautiful or grotesquely hideous costumes, and the most stunning theatrical effects and stage tricks that the science, skill and ingenuity of the age could allow were provided by the genius of Inigo Jones. Each was what we today would call a festive spectacular.

A typical Twelfth Night Masque would have a comedic opening scene, picking up on some contemporary theme. For example in The Fortunate Isles and Their Union, the masque mentioned in my book The Fugitive's Sword and performed in the, then new, Banqueting House in Whitehall to end the 1624 Christmas season, Jonson mocks those who were convinced of the existence of the Rosicrucians. 

The opening scene depicts a mischievous spirit making fun of a scholar for trying to find the Brotherhood of the Rosy Cross. The spirit offers to bring back ghosts of the dead for the scholar to talk to, but instead of the wisemen the scholar hoped for, provides two poets renowned for their comic verse.

Following the opening playlet came the anti-masque—a dance performed by professionals, usually clad in outlandish costumes and representing elements related to the previous scene. In The Fortunate Isles the anti-masque was danced by men dressed up as well-known figures from Tudor popular culture, called up by the two poets. 

These included the trickster Howleglass, Tom Thumb, Long Meg of Westminster—said to be able to wrestle a man, Mary Ambree—reputedly a woman captain in the English army, the four knaves from a deck of cards, and ‘Fitz-Ale and Vapor’, representing drinking and smoking.

When the antimasque dance ended, everything changed. In a single moment disorder was banished. In The Fortunate Isles this point is marked by a leap through the fourth wall. The spirit who had been arranging things, calls out the scholar as being just an actor and sends him to stand with the professional players of the anti-masque:

‘The company o' the Rosy-cross, you widgeon!

The company of players. 

Go, you are, And will be still your self…’

Then the spirit turns and apologises to the king. The masquers appear and the disorder of the anti-masquers is swept away. 

Thanks to Inigo Jones the staging for the masquers would always be spectacular. The Fortunate Isles had a floating island and waves that seemed to move. But then those performing the masque were no longer actors and professional dancers; instead, the stage would be taken by members of the court, noblemen (and sometimes noblewomen) adopting roles of classical gods and heroes, allegorical figures, or historical individuals of great renown. 

The masque might include singing, recitative eulogies, and speeches about wrongs being righted. It would show an ideal and happy state, implying that the court it was performed within, reflected those virtues. As one masquer says in The Fortunate Isles:

‘There is no hunger here, nor envy of state.

Nor least ambition in the magistrate.

But all are even hearted, open, free…’

However, above all, the masque was meant to be a chance to dance. Showing through the weave of complex steps and patterns, order being brought forth from disorder. The Fortunate Isle has two places for the masquers to dance between the speeches and songs.

When the masque was done, the masquers would invite the audience to dance. There would be a bidding speech which might be a couple of lines or quite long. The one in The Fortunate Isles is of the latter variety and begins:

'Come, noble nymphs, and do not hide

The joys for which you so provide

If not to mingle with the men,

What do you here ? Go home agen.'

This marked the start of the revels. 

In this era ‘revels’ meant formal dancing and that would begin with the masquers choosing partners from the audience. Clearly those who were most easily accessible, sitting in seats near the stage, were those most likely to be asked to dance. To refuse was unthinkable and would cause great offence, especially as it was quite likely that the gentleman asking would be of higher social status than the lady he asked.

Dancing in the revels was not just a light hearted frolic, this was still dancing as a performance art and the best dancers would catch the eye of the king and the whole court. They would begin with carefully choreographed dances—‘measures’—and then dances such as galliards, corantoes and lavoltas that allowed for improvisation and the chance for truly great dancers (like the Duke of Buckingham) to show off their exceptional skill. 

The revels could go on for quite a while so, one might assume, several different dancing partners would be taken and perhaps other dancers might join now and then from the wider court. But there would still be those spectating throughout and admiring the dancers. Of the revels that took place during The Fortunate Isles, the Venetian ambassador, Zuane Pesaro, said: ‘They danced for four hours after midnight. His Majesty was present and enjoyed it greatly.’

The end of the revels would be indicated by the king himself or someone of importance amongst those dancing. Sometimes it might be announced by a speech or a call, in The Fortunate Isles there was anappearance on stage of a fleet of ships and three cornets playing. 

The event would conclude with an eulogising epilogue in honour of the king, and might well mention and praise the prince, the king’s favourite, and the nation as a whole. Sometimes that might be the end of it; but sometimes, as in The Fortunate Isle, there would be a closing dance. I do wonder if it was this dancing, rather than the revels within the performance that the Venetian ambassador spoke of as going on so late.

Either way, that closing dance on 9 January 1624/5 (the Twelfth Night Masque had been delayed that year due to the king being unwell) was indeed the last dance of the Jacobean era. The Fortunate Isles and Their Union was to be the final Jacobean masque and in the reign of Charles I it changed to become more celebratory and inward looking. The new king took part as a performer, where his father had watched, and his French bride adjusted the format of the masque to fit her tastes. 

The great partnership of Jonson and Jones did not long survive King James, and their falling out meant that others had to become ‘a kind of a Christmas ingine’ and write the words for Inigo Jones’ spectacular seasonal stage shows.

The key theme of order overcoming chaos remained a feature of the masque. So it is perhaps both ironic and unsurprising that it was precisely when order broke down in the real world, at the outbreak of civil war, that the glorious theatrical, festive, fantasy of the Twelfth Night Masque ceased as well.

Eleanor Swift-Hook

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About the Author

Eleanor Swift-Hook enjoys the mysteries of history and fell in love with the early Stuart era at university when she re-enacted battles and living history events with the English Civil War Society. Since then, she has had an ongoing fascination with the social, military and political events that unfolded during the Thirty Years' War and the Wars of the Three Kingdoms. She lives in County Durham and loves writing stories woven into the historical backdrop of those dramatic times. You can find out more about the background of Lord's Legacy on her website www.eleanorswifthook.com and find her on Twitter @emswifthook