**1. Introduction: Lyke a Virgin—and the Armed Knight**

The title of this introduction borrows from the opening line of a widely circulated ballad of mid-sixteenth-century England, which reads, "Lyke as the armed knyght appoynted to the fielde with thys world wyll I fyght and fayth shall be my shielde". Although the song gained wide reception, with its lyrics published widely just the following year, only the select few in attendance at the ballad's one and only public performance would have recalled its tune. This performance would have taken place at Newgate, just outside London, on 16 June 1546, before the singer was carried off for a final performance at Smithfield. Those familiar with London's history will understand this cryptic anecdote: Smithfield was the most popular site for public executions during the period. The "knyght" in question is Anne Askew, one of the most well-known female martyrs of early modern England, and this ballad was allegedly the dramatic swan song she performed before she was burned at the stake for her steadfast commitment to her controversial religious beliefs.<sup>1</sup> Later, in 1624, Askew's ballad, *I am a Woman Poor and Blind*, was entered in the Stationers' Register, a copyright-like practice that presumably occurred not long after. This ballad, as with the one from 1546, also illustrates a soldier-like fortitude embodied by a "poor and blind" female figure: "For such as the Scriptures saith that will gladly repent and follow thy word: Which I will not deny whilst I have breath, for Prison, fire, Faggot, nor fierce sword" (Beilin 1996, p. 197). These Askew martyr ballads draw on a Christian fortitude that recalls Paul's command in Ephesians to take up the "shield of faith" (6:11-18), while at the same time they draw on traditional masculine imagery, illustrating the performance's inherently paradoxical nature: the female

<sup>1</sup> For the original ballad, see: "The Ballade whyche Anne Askewe made and sange whan she was in Newgate", stanzas 1-4, Bale (1547). For a modern version, with additional Askew writings, see Beilin (1996).

martyr encases a characteristically masculine representation, the "armed knyght", within the idealized feminine form of the chaste virgin.<sup>2</sup>

This paper will turn to an early modern Jacobean play, Thomas Dekker and Philip Massinger's *The Virgin Martyr,* to explore how contradictory early modern conceptualizations of gender are played out on the gendered body to spectacular effect. The play, which was revived within a year of the printing of Askew's ballad in 1624, involves a series of characters, both virgin martyrs and male counterparts, challenging early modern scientific concepts. Their gender reversals, the masculinizing of the virgin and effeminizing of the soldier, defy perceived limitations of the male and female body. These theatrical displays, I will argue, perform a type "gender virtuosity", by which wonderous, affectively charged feats of gender defiance are played out, while highlighting the virtuous movement of the divine or the bewitching power of the supernatural.<sup>3</sup>

Dekker and Massinger's *The Virgin Martyr* was first licensed for performance at the Red Bull in October 1620, the play being published in early 1622.<sup>4</sup> The play is the only known collaboration of Massinger, known primary for his Caroline dramas, and the elder, Elizabethan playwright Dekker. Set in Caesarea in the fourth century A.D., its plot is drawn from the tenth and final persecution of the Christians in the reign of Diocletian. The play seems to have been popular during its day and age; the published title claims that it "hath bin divers times publickely acted with great applause", and though this could be a mere marketing tactic, its four quarto publications and its later reintroduction on the Restoration stage testify to the play's acclaim (Dekker and Massinger 1958, p. 365). While the appearance of a saint's play might seem strange within post-Reformation London, the Red Bull audiences of Clerkenwell in north London were known for their affinity for medieval performance styles during the Jacobean period.<sup>5</sup> Anne Lancashire has also detailed how the London Clerkenwell play (or Skinners' Well play) marks a roughly 400-year tradition of multi-day biblical performance in in region of the Red Bull that dated up until the mid to late sixteenth century.<sup>6</sup>

Thomas Moretti presents another cogent account for the play's appearance and resounding popularity. His article explores how the production carefully balances its religious sentiment to appeal—"via media"—to the widest cross-section of Jacobean London, excluding only religious extremists on either end (Moretti 2014). The spectacular effects of gender, which this article will detail, provide a complimentary reason for the play's popularity when considered in light of contemporary theories of affect in performance. Nicholas Ridout's *Stage Frights* describes the commercial theatre as a virtual affect-machine (Ridout 2006). The mechanism of this theatrical machinery, its "tools", are what Erin Hurley calls "feeling-technology", which collectively work to satisfy theatre's central preoccupation: "making, managing, and moving feeling in all its types (affect, emotions, moods, sensations) in a publicly observable display that is sold to an audience for a wage" (Hurley 2010, p. 9). The Red Bull was notoriously known for its "drum and trumpet" repertoire and low-brow appeal. Their audience members were often critiqued by early modern playwrights for their lack of sophisticated taste.<sup>7</sup> The action-packed gender reversals in the play, which I will later describe, frontload wonder, disgust, even violence and humor to help drive its popular appeal. Dekker and Massinger's version of

<sup>2</sup> Thomas Nashe makes reference to "the ballet of Anne Askew" by quoting the first line in *Have With You to Sa*ff*ron Walden* in 1596.

<sup>3</sup> The idea of a gender virtuosity, although a stretch from its usual contexts and associations with musical performance, looks to capture both a theatrical quality and an extraordinary nature.

<sup>4</sup> A new scene was licensed for *The Virgin Martyr* in 1624, indicating a revival of the work, probably by a different, as yet unknown, company.

<sup>5</sup> Examples include: Rowley's *A Shoemaker Gentleman* (1618), Shirley's *The Martyred Soldier* (1619) and *The Two Noble Ladies* (c. 1619–22), see Munro (2006).

<sup>6</sup> While few records exist, for a detailed analysis of these performances, see Lancashire (2006).

<sup>7</sup> Red Bull had a low number of published plays and the ones that were published often failed to credit the name of the theatre, which was common practice during the time. The overall low number of published plays could suggest a more illiterate audience at Red Bull. Not acknowledging the theatre in publication could be a conscientious attempt to avoid association with the illegitimate theatre, but it could also be evidence that the play moved theatres, see Griffith (2013, pp. 255–56). For more on the company's reputation, see Munro (2006).

Dorothea's legend can, following Moretti, appeal to a large base with moderate religious views, yet its popularity could be driven, as well, by its reversals of gender, which offer spectacular effects/affects, while failing to challenge normative ideologies.

Since the plot of the play remains largely unknown to contemporary readers, a summary may serve useful. The governor's son, the soldier Antoninus, has fallen in love with the virgin Dorothea, although he has already been betrothed to another, the Emperor Diocletian's daughter, Artemia. In despair, Antoninus attempts to court Dorothea, professing his love for her, yet the virgin remains steadfast against his advances. During this exchange, however, the couple is spied on by Theophilus, Rome's chief persecutor of heretics, who consequently learns of Dorothea's Christian faith and has her arrested. To convert her to Paganism, Theophilus calls upon his two daughters to persuade her: this attempt backfires as Dorothea converts the daughters to Christianity instead. When Theophilus orders the virgin to be tortured and raped, she remains protected by mystical powers and is unable to be harmed. While this is taking place, Antoninus falls ill from unknown sources, and when Dorothea is ultimately beheaded, he dies as well. The play's fifth act traces the later conversion of Theophilus (Greek = "lover of God") to Christianity influenced by Dorothea and her extravagant reappearance from beyond the grave.

Julia Gasper's scholarship has pinpointed several potential sources that Dekker and Massinger could have used in crafting their plot, including Foxe's *Actes and Monuments*, as well as a few Catholic martyrologies, such as Caxton's translation of *The Golden Legend* and Edward Kinesman's translation of Alfonso Villegas's *Flos Sanctorum*. <sup>8</sup> The legends of two relatively obscure fourth-century martyrs, St Agnes and St Dorothy, were conflated to create the central martyr character, Dorothea.<sup>9</sup> The playwrights hereby allowed themselves freedom of construction, not limiting themselves to maintaining historical accuracy built around a single, more recognizable saint. The aptly named Dorothea (derived from the Greek *doron* or "gift" and *thea* "of God") becomes a clearly idealized character based on but not limited by these historical women. By considering the issue of adaptation in *The Virgin Martyr*, Susannah Monta has illustrated how the play alters its martyrological sources to highlight religious competition, consequently "intensifying the resistance of the female martyr so that her purity may facilitate the separation of true from false religion" (Monta 2005, p. 196). Dorothea's gender reversals demonstrate this "intensifying resistance" and purity, which as this paper will later explain, is also highlighted by several of the male characters and their gender conversions.

Much of the available scholarship on the play addresses the play's hagiographical or martyrological function, while often arguing for the play as either Catholic or Protestant propaganda.<sup>10</sup> Jane Degenhardt and Holly Pickett's scholarship, however, has operated on the assumption that "critical interpretations that stress only [the play's] relationship to England's Catholic-Protestant controversy seem inadequate", stressing instead the contemporary political relevance of the play in the 1620s; Degenhardt relates the play to the contemporary threat of Islam, whereas Pickett illustrates the play's ability to comment on the inherent theatrical nature of conversion during the period.<sup>11</sup> Monta argues the play uses allegory to veil criticism of James I's foreign policy in the early years of the Thirty Years' War, which some Protestants believed accommodated Catholic aggression (Monta 2005, p. 194).

Although *The Virgin Martyr* is in some ways untraditional in its appearance as the "only post-Reformation saint's play in post-Reformation London", it is rather traditional in the way that it plays off of the presumably weaker female sex in order to heighten its power as martyrology (Logan and Smith 1978, p. 99). Monta contextualizes Dorothea among the lineage of early modern female martyrs, observing that the martyrs of lower social status became valuable partly because of

<sup>8</sup> For details on the play's sources, see Gasper (1991).

<sup>9</sup> For more on Saint Agnes and Saint Dorothy, see Winstead (2000).

<sup>10</sup> For Louise George Clubb's argument that the play serves as Catholic propaganda, see Clubb (1964). More recently, Julia Gaspar and Susannah Monta have each argued for the play as Protestant propaganda. See Gasper (1991) and Monta (2005).

<sup>11</sup> For more on the play's contemporary political relevance, see Pickett (2009) and Degenhardt (2006), for specific quote, p. 93.

their violation of expectations, thereby making their testimony even more powerful. Quoting from Foxe and Kinesman, Monta shows how female martyrs, "frayle by nature", are praised for acting "manfully", allowing the female martyrs to evince sanctity, since "only God could inspire such constancy and zeal in otherwise unremarkable people" (Monta 2005, p. 197). This essay adheres to Degenhardt's advice to explore beyond the Catholic/Protestant debates over the play, while building upon Monta's previous investigation. It looks to demonstrate how gender transformation, of both virgin martyrs and their male counterparts, offers virtuosic theatrical events that bear "witness" to spiritual transformation.<sup>12</sup>
