Thomas Middleton and William Rowley: The Changeling (1622)

Helen Mirren as Beatrice-Joanna 

[Image source: https://whatson.bfi.org.uk/Online/default.asp?BOparam::WScontent::loadArticle::permalink=changeling . A still from the BBC TV production broadcast in January 1974.]

The great period of English tragedy was coming to an end. It was 1622, six years since Shakespeare's death and fourteen years since his last tragedy (Coriolanus). But there was still time for the Middleton and Rowley partnership to invent film noir, some three hundred years early. 

From the Moment they met it was Murder!

The ordinary couple who drop into crime would become a common motif of films like Double Indemnity (1944). Shakespeare had his own criminal couple in Macbeth, but they were senior nobility, his play was a study of greatness gone wrong. 

The Changeling was a different kind of play and Beatrice and Deflores were something new: a woman far less confident and happily integrated than her worldly position might suggest; a man fallen on hard times and compelled to bide his time in service to another. Their story wasn't grounded in historical chronicle but in a compilation of tawdry crime stories.

*

CHristian Reader, we cannot sufficiently bewail the iniquity of these last and worst days of the world, in which the crying and scarlet-sin of Murther makes so ample, and so bloody progression . . .

Thus the Exeter merchant John Reynolds, prefacing his collection of thirty histories of God's justice in exposing and punishing murder. The first book came out in 1621, the rest by 1635. The collection was very popular. Contrary to Wikipedia and the DNB (based on Anthony Wood's Athenae Oxonienses), Reynolds was explicit that his stories were not translations. He said that he heard the stories when on his travels, and that he stuck to foreign crimes so as not to disgrace his own country. I'm not sure, but I imagine this basically means "I made them up"; it was quite a striking feat of invention in a realist mode. Reynolds had certainly used his merchant travels to equip himself with local details, e.g. in this case the imposing castle of Alicante and the church of Santa Maria. 

Illustration from a 1679 edition of John Reynolds' The Triumphs of Gods Revenge against the Crying and Execrable Sin of Murther (Book I, History IV). 

This illustrates the story according to Reynolds.

The top row shows Alsemero seeing Beatrice-Joana in the church, then presenting himself to her and her father. The second row shows her with her suitor Alfonso Piracquo (turning her head away in repulsion), then with Deflores; then Deflores murdering Piracquo. So far this is all like the familiar plot-line of The Changeling. This is not to say that there are no differences in detail and emphasis, but from this point the divergence becomes much greater. 

In Reynolds' story Deflores, though "feeding his hopes with the air of her promises" exacts no price for his service. Beatrice-Joana is married to Alsemero and has three months of wedded bliss. But then Alsemero is afflicted by causeless jealousy and takes his wife off to a confined life in Valencia. [So in fact the basic premise of Rowley's comic subplot is also taken from Reynolds; so is the name "Alibius", prominently appearing at the head of the next story (Bk I, History V).] 

When Deflores arrives with a letter from her concerned father, Beatrice contrasts his reliable  loyalty with the way her husband is now behaving towards her, and the two become affectionate. After Deflores has left, Diaphanta tips off Alsemero, who confronts Beatrice with drawn sword; she then excuses herself by telling Alsemero of Deflores' service in killing Piracquo. Alsemero is not happy, but he lets her off for now, strictly ordering her not to see Deflores any more. Nevertheless she secretly becomes Deflores' lover, and Alsemero (kept informed by Diaphanta) surprises them in bed and kills them both (third row, picture 1). Then he gives himself up to the authorities and is pardoned. 

However, Alsemero says nothing about Alfonso's murder (why?). Thomaso is convinced that Alsemero must have been an accessory and challenges him to a duel of rapiers in Alicante. Alsemero accepts the challenge (why?) but takes no chances. When they meet, he throws away his rapier and begs to be heard in his own defence. When Thomaso tosses his own rapier aside, Alsemero pulls out his concealed pistols and murders him (Row 3, picture 2). Alsemero flees but is apprehended by the authorities. He reveals the circumstances of Alfonso's death and is then executed (Row 3, picture 3). 

Reynolds underlines the point that, though Alsemero wasn't in fact active in Alfonso's murder he had been quite willing to kill Alfonso himself.  

(I used Reynolds' slightly different forms of the names in the above paragraphs.)

*

When Rowley and Middleton remodelled Reynolds' story, they ended it in reconciliation. The moral poison is centred in Deflores and Beatrice and is purged by their deaths. Alsemero has no blood on his hands, is reconciled with Tomaso and offers himself as a son to the grieving Vermandero. (To say nothing of the happy ending of the Alibius/Isabella subplot.) Nevertheless Alsemero's questionable part is still there in the play: it was after all he who first suggested getting rid of Alonzo (II.2.22).

These are the other major things that Middleton and Rowley added:

-- The whole of the madhouse subplot. 

-- Deflores' ugliness, and Beatrice-Joanna's initial loathing for him. (Deflores isn't much of a character in Reynolds, who focusses much more on Alsemero.)

-- Deflores insistence on payment in sex, with the consequence of Beatrice losing her virginity before her marriage.

-- All the subsequent transactions around Alsemero's virginity test, the bed-trick, the fire and Diaphanta's death. 

-- Beatrice's growing feeling for the man she used to hate takes on quite different meaning in The Changeling, though some details are obviously suggested by Reynolds' account. 

-- Jasperino is a new character. Diaphanta is much more of a character than in Reynolds, where she's merely a blab. 

-- Middleton and Rowley maintain the location in Alicante throughout, eliminating Reynolds' shifts of location between there and Briamata and Valencia. 

On the other hand, here are some things in Reynolds that they stuck particularly close to:

-- Alsemero's total change of plan when he glimpses Beatrice in the church, and forgets all about going to Malta (I.1).  (However Jasperino and the sailors are new creations. Also Middleton and Rowley did not bother with Reynolds' extensive account of the progress of Alsemero's courtship and his uncertainty about whether Beatrice favours him, the letters between them, etc.)

-- The circumstantial details of the murder of Alonzo (=Alfonso): the concealed sword, the removal of sword-belts to get through a narrow space, etc. (But they misunderstood some of Reynolds' detailed castle layout, and the cutting of the finger is their invention.)

-- Beatrice confiding the details of the murder to Alsemero, hoping it will save her skin (V.3). 

*

For more on John Reynolds and the Spanish setting of The Changeling, see this excellent essay:

Randall, Dale B. J. “Some New Perspectives on the Spanish Setting of ‘The Changeling’ and Its Source.” Medieval & Renaissance Drama in England, vol. 3, Rosemont Publishing & Printing Corp DBA Associated University Presses, 1986, pp. 189–216. 

https://www.jstor.org/stable/24322019

*

Pauline Wiggins' important 1897 monograph: 

An Inquiry Into The Authorship of the Middleton-Rowley Plays

https://www.forgottenbooks.com/en/readbook/AnInquiryIntotheAuthorshipoftheMiddletonRowleyPlays_10013110#0

One difference between the authors concerns feminine endings. In Middleton's verse they equal (or even exceed) one in two; in Rowley's they are about one in four. (see page 30). 

Seems straightforward. So let's check out I.1, considered a Rowley scene, using Richard Dutton's text. 

There are 234 lines in total. 31 are in prose, so effectively 203. I counted 59 feminine endings. (It's surprisingly often difficult to decide, but I tried to be as objective as I could.) 

Compare II.2, a Middleton scene. 94 feminine endings in 165 lines. 

So it checks out. Feminine endings in the Rowley scene amount to less than a third, in the Middleton scene over half. 

Wiggins points out other metrical differences. The rhythm of Middleton's lines is relatively smooth, but he's happy to tack on extra syllables at the end: 

Deflores. There's no excuse for't now, I heard it twice, madam;

That sigh would fain have utterance, take pity on't, ... (II.2.103-104)

Rowley's rhythms are more uneven. He tends to stick to ten syllables but wrench the accent.

[Beatrice-Joanna.]

[Aside] I shall change my saint, I fear me, I find

A giddy turning in me. [To Vermandero] Sir, this while

I am beholding to this gentleman,

Who left his own way to keep me company,

And in discourse I find him much desirous

To see your castle: he hath deserved it, sir,

If ye please to grant it.  (I.1.151-157) 

Apart from showing who wrote what, Wiggins' other main contention is that both authors were equally involved in the overall design of the play. Though it's naturally the Middleton scenes we remember, e.g. those incendiary two-handers between Deflores and Beatrice, yet Middleton is writing within an overall conception whose romanticism rather suggests Rowley and is notably lacking in the plays Middleton wrote on his own. 

 

*

The brilliant BBC production of The Changeling with Stanley Baker and Helen Mirren, broadcast in January 1974. I was fifteen, so it had a very formative effect. I was amazed, watching it again last week, how I still seemed to recall every gesture, tone and kiss; and it's still difficult for me to see the action of the play any other way. 

Deflores/Baker was the unquestioned hero in my eyes, finding his way to sexual fulfillment in the face of a woman's implacable disdain (a situation I could well relate to). Which is troubling, since what Deflores does is rape that woman (isn't it so?); and Deflores never regrets what he's done because his joy outweighs all ills, and Beatrice comes to approve his masterly handling and voluntarily seek his comfort, and the play itself approves him because it agrees that she deserved her fate. The Changeling embodies a base anti-feminist male fantasy, from that point of view. But the view is too narrow. Beatrice, seeking to have her will within the highly authoritarian constraints of her society and her father, holds our attention. She remains as resourceful after Deflores' harsh lesson as before, as powerful when dying condemned as when influencing events in the opening scene. Like her "good" double Isabella, and even the bumptious Diaphanta, Beatrice contributes to a sense that the realism of The Changeling actually has a proto-feminist aspect, as in Women Beware Women. (This paradoxical combination of macho abusive males and strikingly powerful women runs through a lot of film noir, too.)

At just over 1hr 40mins, the BBC production was quite a speedy re-handling. The main plot is allowed to flow without interruption up to Deflores arranging Piracquo's after-dinner tour (II.2), before we get our first glimpse of the madhouse (based on I.2). Then follows the murder and, without a break, the scene in which Deflores exacts his reward (III.4). Now comes the second madhouse scene (some of III.3 -- Franciscus is omitted, and this Isabella seems to respond positively to Antonio's kisses). Then the main plot takes over again, with just a brief sight of the madmen's dance (the end of IV.3), inserted before V.3.

Ah, those good-natured madhouse scenes. Most modern performances of The Changeling have found it impossible to include them in full. They seem to operate at a different tempo to the rest of the play, and of course in a very different mode. Lollio, very likely played by Rowley himself (if the jokes about his bulk are any indication), is a kind of master of ceremonies, on stage almost throughout but with no real stake in what's happening. There are some indications that the contemporary popularity of The Changeling may have been due principally to this part of the play. In the study, at least, it works very well, if only to build anticipation by forcibly suspending the hurtling momentum of the main plot, and to underline the latter's darkness by sunny parodies of the same situations (it's as if Shakespeare had intercut Macbeth with scenes from The Merry Wives). Whatever, Rowley's strange ideas about subplots result in a highly intertextual play. The two authors must have worked very closely together.

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