William Shakespeare as he lived Part 55

The thing they took easily, and with a certain dignity of deportment. It was indeed edifying to see one of these goodly fellows with part in his hand, his plumed hat, "short cloak and slops," and eke his rapier, taking his early walk, either in the fields or on Bank Side, or peradventure hiring a boat at the Blackfriars, and thus gesticulating, with a short and diminutive bowled pipe in his mouth, studying the author's meaning to the letter, and _getting up his lengths_.

Sometimes they went forth in companies, these men, to some favourite rural haunt, some delightfully situated hostel or tavern by the river's bank, or to the bowery woods near Richmond or Greenwich. On such occasions they would take boat, and make the river echo with their jokes, and puns, and witticisms, as they were wafted along on its gla.s.sy surface. At other times a select few would hire horses and beat up the towns of Windsor, Mortlake[25], and other places which the occasional residence of the Court made more gay and populous; for these actors loved to haunt the whereabout of royalty. Their professional knowledge made them exceeding good companions too. Glorious fellows. And then how dearly too did "mine host of the tavern," enter into their joviality, and aid them in those little waggeries they were so p.r.o.ne to engage in.

[Footnote 25: Elizabeth, with her court, frequently moved to these places.]

None but those who have mixed amongst actors of talent, and know them intimately, can have an idea of the charm of their society. The very characters they have to personate, good or ill, and the moralities taught in the pieces they are obliged to study, ought to, and does, render them better men. Their study also is to give peculiar effect to all they say and do. And oft-times with them the most common place sentence is pointed into something witty. They understand the "jest's prosperity," and in an instant they penetrated through the follies, the ignorance and the cunning of the common-place. Their ideas being for the most part free, unfettered, and unshackled by mercantile matters, their sentiments are enn.o.bled by the study of those parts they have to perform.

And oh, what fascination, what delight, what a world of itself, is the scenic hour! The romance of feeling, the inexpressible charm, belonging to that brilliant little period, none know but the actors themselves. It is oft-times their all of life; the rest is flat and stale? they live but for those few brief moments in which they glitter the observed of all observers, the admiration, the delight, nay, almost the envy of the audience. Like the lunatic, the lover, and the poet, they are "of imagination all compact." The actor has thrown himself into the author's conception. The poet's world is also the world of him who enacts the part the poet has written. He lives in his author's period, not only whilst acting, but whilst studying the part. The loves, the hates, the fears, the joys, the doing of all around are pertaining to himself--as if "'twas reality he felt."

Some of these men were very n.o.ble fellows, (if we may so term it), n.o.ble at least in sentiment, if not in blood, and who would have scorned to perform the mean acts perpetrated by men in a cla.s.s far above them. They knew, too, in what the point of honour consisted, and were "sudden and quick in quarrel" where they conceived themselves insulted; and it was this virtue in the better sort of the actors of Elizabeth's day which made them sought for, and a.s.sociated with, by many of the best of the n.o.bility. Nay, it must be remembered that at a somewhat later period of England's history, and when civil war "channelled her fields," the actors were, to a man, found enranked amongst the cavaliers, and fighting "on the party of the King." Their professional education taught them to "hold in hate the canting round-heads," and they fought and bled for the better cause.

How dearly Shakespeare loved the scenic hour his own doings have, we think, proclaimed. The world around him, too, at the period in which he lived and wrote presented much that was grand and exciting. He had but to note what he observed in the vicinity of Elizabeth's Court, in order to pourtray some of his scenes.

From the first moment of his introduction within the walls of the theatre, he had felt the fascination of the "scenic hour," and become captivated with the society of the actors, oven rude as the pieces were which he found them performing. To one of his own natural parts and brilliant wit, there was to be found an endless fund of amus.e.m.e.nt amongst such men. Their way of life also had its charm. How he loved those summer excursions amidst the sweet scenery of Old Windsor--those country revels in which he mingled amongst the rural throng, in all the sports and pastimes "of the old age." He had now been resident in London some time, and besides being noticed by many of the "choice and master spirits of the age," had become acquainted with some of the native burghers of the city, and their connexions in the country around.

The amus.e.m.e.nts of the early portion of Elizabeth's reign for the most part consisted in her dearly-loved bull and bear-baiting, with occasionally the more refined masques and pageants. These latter, however, were of rare occurrence, and usually called forth by some exciting occasion, such for instance as the visit of a foreign amba.s.sador, the celebration of a victory, or the return of some joyous festival. The votaries of the "deformed thief, Fashion," did not then herd together as now. Factions, jealousies, and fears together with the dangerous intrigues which the great carried on against each other, and which oft-times brought the heads of such contrivers to the block, kept the grandees apart. Added to which, those mediums of varied amus.e.m.e.nt which a.s.semble the _elite_ with one another in our own day, were not in existence.

At the period in which our story had now arrived, however, an event was about to take place which made some little stir, and drew a large concourse from both Court and city into one focus.

This was neither more nor less than a new play, written as was then said, by "a right pleasant and merry conceited companion," named William Shakespeare. It was to be enacted within the walls of an old monastery called the Blackfriars. The performance was ent.i.tled "The Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet;" and so great was the interest created, that the Queen, with such of her Court as she chose should attend her on the occasion, had signified an intention of being present.

It will doubtless appear somewhat extraordinary to many of our readers to find such a performance taking place within the walls of a religious edifice. But the civic authorities had so often opposed the representation of regular performance in the city that the actors at last sought a place without their jurisdiction, and finally obtained the deserted building within the precincts of the dissolved monastery of the Blackfriars, and fitted some parts up for a theatre.

In the preceding reigns there had been no public buildings exclusively appropriated to dramatic entertainment. The most common places of performance were the yards of the Chaucer-like hostels, in the various towns through which the actors wandered.

Some of these inns are even yet remaining, although altered and modernized, in the city of London, and also along the Old Kent Road. The gateways of such houses formed one side of the quadrangle, whilst the balconies, being accessible from the various chambers, obviated all necessity of descending amongst the vulgar in the yard.

In such galleries kings and n.o.bles, the fierce Norman of the Crusades, the knight, the esquire, and the damsel of high decree, had leant over the rails in the olden time, and witnessed the miracle-plays and mysteries then exhibiting. Such for instance as the miracle-play of the Creation, wherein Adam and Eve appeared "in puris naturalibus," and were, as the play quaintly says, "NOT ASHAMED." The earliest of theatres were churches; the earliest performers, monks and friars; and for the most part their exhibitions being on religious subjects, such as the descent of our Saviour to liberate our first parents, John the Baptist and the prophets from the lower regions. On the accession of Henry the Eighth, acting had become an ordinary profession, and companies of players were attached to each town; but previous to the reign of the bluff monarch, plays on general subjects were unknown, yet long before that period it had been customary for great n.o.blemen to have companies of players attached to their household.

Such, then, is a short summary of theatrical affairs previous to the period in which Shakespeare startled the town by his productions,--making a single vault from the lowest depth of misrule and barbarity to the highest pinnacle of excellence in dramatic art and composition; and, apparently without any ostensible guide whereby to steer his course, at once striking out a path, so exquisitely conceived, so laden with perfumed flowers, so filled with romance and beauty, that all the world of after-times has bowed down in worshipful adoration. Of after-times, however, it is not our hint to speak. The sight and impression of Shakespeare's own play, in the infancy of his career, himself enacting a part, and speaking his own words, is what we have to look upon. To bring before the reader's eye that "poor player, who strutted his hour upon the stage, and then was heard no more." "_Heard no more!_"--his own words! How "rounded in the ear," and yet how strange to reflect upon.

We have already said that the expected performance had on this occasion drawn together a considerable audience both from Court and city.

Such was indeed the case, and taking into consideration in what consisted a considerable audience at that period, and when accommodation was at best but scant, the concourse of persons hieing to witness Master Shakespeare's new play was very great.

The _elite_ of the Court, for the most part, took boat from their own residences, or from Westminster, where they waited within the Abbey walls for the arrival of the Queen. The citizens, on the contrary, came thronging through Paul's and Ludgate, and over Flete Bridge, and along Knight Ryder's Street, filling the open s.p.a.ce before the Abbey, citywards, and cracking their jokes with each other on that side, whilst other n.o.bles and their attendants being congregated about the water-gate or sauntering within the wall, (at that period extending along the Thames from Baynard Castle to Bridewell), presented a gay and brilliant appearance.

All along this part and up to the point of entrance, through the various gateways and pa.s.sages, until the theatre itself was reached, the actors had strewn fresh rushes, and to and fro upon these flags walked several whose names were famous in the world; and as they walked they debated of matters appertaining.

And now, as the chimes sounded from Old Paul's proclaiming the hour of 4 p.m., soft music was heard upon the water at some little distance, with the sullen boom of the kettle drum. Soon after which, boats containing the yeomen of the guard touched the Abbey stairs, the men as they landed falling in file by file in extended order beneath the various arches and along the pa.s.sages; and shortly afterwards, as boat after boat discharged its brilliant freightage and shot off again, the Queen, with several of her ladies attendant, and the _elite_ of the Court, stepped on sh.o.r.e. As they took their way amidst the cloisters and gothic arches of that old building so darkly venerable, and besides whose walls flowed the broad Thames, it seemed singular to hear the echo of the gay courtier, to listen to the clash of weapon, and the measured tread of the guard, as they followed the royal Tudor, together with the mincing step and affected voice of the Court fop. On the other side, and in the same precincts was also to be heard the ribald jest of the 'prentice of Chepe, and the ringing laugh of the city madam, as they entered the theatre.

Within, too, what was the sight there? Methinks our readers will be anxious to look within those walls, where their own Shakespeare was living, breathing, nay, at that moment, perhaps, dressing for his part, and about to fret his hour.

The aspect of the interior, as it bursts upon the gazer's eye, is indeed curious.

Here was no vast triumphal specimen of architecture; the whole seemed got up for the nonce. But oh! how exquisite--how characteristic of him who was then striving against so many difficulties.

The part.i.tion-wall between two large apartments of the monastery had been cut through, so as to form the stage, the proscenium, and the circle. Nay, so rude was the whole construction, that, to a modern eye, it would have seemed only suited to some "play of ten words long,"

wherein there was not "one word apt, one player fitted." And yet doth a single glance within this rude theatre present all we can expect to find. The boxes were a sort of gallery, along which stood and leant the gallants and ladies of the Court. The Queen and her own especial party being enthroned in ft sort of canopy in the centre--looking indeed very like the lady in the lobster.

The rude throne on which she sat was merely railed off from the other seats, and standing behind her chair, on either hand, were several of her favourites. On her right stood Leicester, on her left Ess.e.x--both magnificent in look and apparel. Immediately behind her also, on the right of her chair, (stepping down whenever she addressed him), was Sir Philip Sidney. Beside him stood Sir Christopher Hatton, and Bacon was seated near, not being able to remain long on his gouty foot. The rich costume of these magnificent looking men, and their splendid jewels, and weapons, glittered in the reflection of the many torches held by some of the Queen's servants, and even several of the guard held flaming torches in their hands.

In what would now be called the pit, were congregated the citizens. The members of the inns of court, etc., they stood (for there were no seats in that part of the theatre), leaned upon their rapiers, and intently _watched_, as it was then termed, the play.

The stage, which was somewhat elevated above the pit, was on each side furnished with three-legged stools, and strewed with rushes and seated thereon, and even, (one or two of them throwing their careless lengths along), nay even smoking their diminutive pipes, were also several of the privileged of the Court. Raleigh was upon one side, Spenser on the other; my Lord Southampton was also half reclined upon the rushes, whilst others of the privileged sprawled about.

Such was, indeed, a custom of the time (albeit it was exceedingly distasteful to the audience), as these gallants, whilst they swaggered with their rapiers, or combed their long curls, interfered frequently with the business of the hour, mewing like cats, hissing like serpents, tickling each other's ears with the rushes, and, if they had any pique against actor or author, "d.a.m.ning him utterlie." Nay, it was extremely fashionable at this period for a gallant to salute his friend in the boxes, in the midst of the performance, or carry on a loud conversation so as utterly to discontinue and distract the business of the hour, and being thus in the very midst of the actors, perhaps, himself and company would then get up and withdraw, making as much noise as possible. In addition to this was the rudeness of the "all licensed clowns," who laughed in order to set on the barren spectators to _laugh_ too, though, in the mean time, "some necessary question of the play had to be considered."

On the present occasion, however, albeit the conversation was somewhat of the loudest, the company were necessitated to be somewhat restrained within the bounds of propriety out of respect to the Queen.

The orchestra, we fear, must have _rather_ "split the ears of the groundlings." The performers were, for the most part, situated behind the scenes. It consisted princ.i.p.ally of wind instruments and two kettle-drums, which, ever and anon, sounded out a wild flourish of martial music, whilst a viol-de-gamba and several fiddles occasionally created a sort of relief to the troubled ear.

In our own times, indeed, magnificent as the whole scene must have appeared, it would have been criticised severely. The loud talking of those on the stage, the impertinence of the clowns, the rudeness and small dimensions of the stage, and whole theatre, and which latter indeed was calculated to give the actors a gigantic appearance, bringing them too close to the audience, would have been cavilled at. In addition to all this, was the lack of scenery and decorations; nay, so great was the dearth of painted scenery at this interesting period, that the spot on which the scene was supposed to occur, was indicated by a board or placard, upon which was written the particular locality.

Still, with all those deficiencies, the whole aspect of the interior would have presented an extraordinary effect to a modern spectator.

The Queen, beneath her canopy of state, for so was it be-fashioned; her splendid guard standing immediately beneath, and bearing "staff torches," which threw their glare upon the spectators, and lit up the Gothic architecture of that abbey playhouse. The stage itself being also, on this occasion, lighted by torches held by servitors having the royal arms emblazoned on their doublets. Then those choice spirits of the Court too, sitting or lying on either hand, and several of the gentlemen-pensioners on guard at each wing. Altogether, rude as was the theatre, the entire scene was, as we have already said, one of peculiar splendour. Meanwhile, during the few brief minutes before the curtain rises, a lively conversation was going on amongst the audience.

"Ah, what, Sir Thomas Lucy, art thou, too, come to see the play to-night?" said Lord Burleigh to our old Warwickshire acquaintance, who was elbowing his way into the gallery amongst the _elite_. "By c.o.c.k and pie, but 'tis long since thou and I have met at masque or revel."

"Fie! my lord. 'Tis so indeed," returned the knight, "some twenty winters is it since we foregathered at Arundel Castle."

"Go to, Sir Thomas," said Lord Burleigh, "By 'ur Lady, 'tis thirty years come Martinmas. Rememberest thou the revels there, what time we saw enacted in the great hall the Castle of Perseverance?"

"Truly, I had forgotten that," said Sir Thomas Lucy. "Yet now I do remember me thereof."

"Go to," said Lord Burleigh, "those were princely revels. Dost remember in the performance how rare it was to see the seven deadly sins do their parts?"

"Ah, and how featly the dancers tripped it?" struck in Sir Christopher Hatton.

"I do now remember me," said Sir Thomas, "of those deadly sins. Let me see, there was Pride, Wrath, Envy, Luxury, Sloth, and Gluttony. By the same token they came mounted on their hobbys, and a.s.sailed the castle."

"Aye," said Hatton, "and then Humanum Genus (who defended it) was sore bested; truly it was excellent, and then came Mors, or Dreary Death, and took Humanum Genus and carried him off."

"Aye, but then the fool, Sir Thomas!" said Burleigh, "rememberest thou the scurvy knave of a fool? By my fay, ha was the life o' the night.

Truly, Sir Thomas, the fool was a most worthy fool; not altogether an a.s.s,--eh?"

"Ahem!" said Sir Thomas, who liked not the word a.s.s, "methinks Her Majesty doth glance towards this part, nay, now she peradventure wisheth a word with you."

"Go to," said Burleigh, "I will attend. Oh, that fool! methinks I had as lief go hang as go see a play without a fool in't. Oh! that a.s.s, Sir Thomas; and Sir Thomas, and Lord Burleigh, and Hatton sidled up towards the Queen, and joined in the conversation carried on there upon theatrical subjects.

"Your Majesty will understand," said Lord Revel (who was something of a fop), "that this Shakespeare hath a new style, which is very commendably excellent. A most perfect style, altogether his own. Hast seen anything yet of his producing, my Lord Burleigh?"

My Lord Burleigh shook his head, an old custom with him. "I have not,"

he replied, "but I hear great things of his poetry."

"Go to," said the Queen, in answer to some remark of Sir Philip Sydney's. "Those matters, Sir Philip, were good, but here be better.

Didst thou witness the former play of this man's writing, Sir Thomas Lucy?" she enquired of the Knight of Charlecote.