ABSTRACT
The figure of Richard Tarlton, in book-designer's oval frame, decorates the front cover of the 1979 paperback re-issue of Muriel Bradbrook's The Rise of the Common Player. 1 It is taken from the sepia wash drawing in the Pepysian Library at Magdalene College, Cambridge. We do not know when and how the drawing came into Pepys' s possession. It is a sanitized reworking of John Scottowe's resourceful miniature, set inside a capital 'T' to accompany some indifferent memorial verses. 2 The cast in the eye is less prominent, the squashed nose straightened, the face and body slimmed down. Most significant, though, is the minute adjustment of the mouth. Scottowe's Tarlton, standing on the flimsy whorls at the foot of his circular 'T' and penned in from behind and above by a trelli~ and a triffid, contrives nonetheless to exult in his one-man-band virtuosity. The drumstick is firmly held, the gaze compels the viewer's attention and the lips are slightly pursed around the pipe that he is nonchalantly playing. Fleetingly (the impression varies as I contemplate the comedian imprisoned in his letter), Scottowel has captured the powerful presence of a man who does not so much invite as command laughter. Pepys's copyist has given Tarlton a looser hold on the drumstick and allowed the pipe to hang from smiling lips like the neglected cheroot of a chain-smoker. There is no puff in this mouth. It is as if this alternative Tarlton is watching us rather than demanding that we watch him. The smile is so kindly, the whole demeanour so gentle. The bullneck has gone and the right shoulder sunk, taking the barrel-chest with them. Compared with Scottowe's, this Tarlton is almost a stooge.
