a cavern just as well as
a landscape. The curtain, which we call drop nowadays, was a checked
silk, with squares of contrasted colours.

The public stood without, in the street, in the fair, forming a
semicircle round the stage, exposed to the sun and the showers; an
arrangement which made rain less desirable for theatres in those days
than now. When they could, they acted in an inn yard, on which occasions
the windows of the different stories made rows of boxes for the
spectators. The theatre was thus more enclosed, and the audience a more
paying one. Ursus was in everything--in the piece, in the company, in
the kitchen, in the orchestra. Vinos beat the drum, and handled the
sticks with great dexterity. Fibi played on the _morache_, a kind of
guitar. The wolf had been promoted to be a utility gentleman, and
played, as occasion required, his little parts. Often when they appeared
side by side on the stage--Ursus in his tightly-laced bear's skin, Homo
with his wolf's skin fitting still better--no one could tell which was
the beast. This flattered Ursus.

CHAPTER IX.

ABSURDITIES WHICH FOLKS WITHOUT TASTE CALL POETRY.

The pieces written by Ursus were interludes--a kind of composition out
of fashion nowadays. One of these pieces, which has not come down to us,
was entitled "Ursus Rursus." It is probable that he played the principal
part himself. A pretended exit, followed by a reappearance, was
apparently its praiseworthy and sober subject. The titles of the
interludes of Ursus were sometimes Latin, as we have seen, and the
poetry frequently Spanish. The Spanish verses written by Ursus were
rhymed, as was nearly all the Castilian poetry of that period. This did
not puzzle the people. Spanish was then a familiar language; and the
English sailors spoke Castilian even as the Roman sailors spoke
Carthaginian (see Plautus). Moreover, at a theatrical representation, as
at mass, Latin, or any other language unknown to the audience, is by no
means a subject of care with them. They get out of the dilemma by
adapting to the sounds familiar words. Our old Gallic France was
particularly prone to this manner of being devout. At church, under
cover of an _Immolatus_, the faithful chanted, "I will make merry;" and
under a _Sanctus_, "Kiss me, sweet."

The Council of Trent was required to put an end to these familiarities.

Ursus had composed expressly for Gwynplaine an interlude, with which he
was well pleased. It was his