CHAPTER XXIV.
HOW A NEW INCIDENT WAS ADDED TO AN OLD PLAY.
"If he come not, then the play is marred."--_A Midsummer Night's Dream._
The cause of Marryott's not having seen the person whose voice he nowheard, or the little board platform raised to serve as a stage, was thatthis platform was directly below his window, and hence hidden by thebalconies with which the lower stories, unlike that in which he was,were provided.
The crowding of guards around Marryott, the distraction Barnet owed tohis pain, had deterred the two from noticing, when outside the gate, theplaybills attached to the posts. The play announced was "The Battle ofAlcazar," by Mr. George Peele. There was still a special favor foranti-Spanish plays. Fresh in memory was that English victory over Spainwhence arose the impulse of expansion destined, after three centuries ofglory, to repeat itself in a new Anglo-Saxondom from a victory over thesame race, when the guns of Dewey and Sampson should echo back inmultiplied volume the roar of Drake's and Howard's. History has nowhererepeated itself more picturesquely.
But after the play had been selected and announced, there had arrived atthe inn, with a small regiment of servants, and a good part of hishousehold furniture for his better accommodation, young Lord Tyrringtonand his newly wedded lady. A squire in my lord's service had precededhim and bespoken the entire second story of one of the wings. My lady,on taking up her quarters, had learned with delight that London actorswere to give a play in the yard. She had expressed to her husband, onwhom she still looked with the soft eyes of a bride of a fortnight, thewish that the piece might be a love-play. Her spouse, as yet deeplyenraptured with her and with love, had sent straightways for the masterof the players. The result of the interview was the oral announcementwhich Marryott now heard from lips whose facility was well known to him.
Prefaced by delicately hinted compliments to the noble couple, and bygross open flattery of the worthy, excellent, and good people of Oakham,the announcement was to the effect that, instead of performing "TheBattle of Alcazar," the lord chamberlain's servants would enact MasterWilliam Shakespeare's most admired and lamentable tragedy of the love of"Romeo and Juliet." Whereupon there was loud and prolonged applause,and the musicians, on the inn-balcony above the rear of the stage,struck up a tune for the beguilement of the crowd until the actorsshould be ready to begin.
"'Twas Will Sly," said Marryott, half to himself.
"You know him, I ween," said Roger Barnet, who had listened to theannouncement with close attention, and who seemed to have softened alittle under the stress of some concealed inclination.
"Marry, the days and nights we have tossed the pot together!" repliedHal.
"I ween you have been gossip and comrade to all of them," went on Roger,with guarded interest. "You know Burbage, and Shakespeare, and therest?"
"I may say I know Burbage and the rest, and I have lived under the sameroof with Master Shakespeare. I am acquaint with his outer life, whichis, perforce, much like other men's, and with his talk, which varies sogently between sincerity and subtle irony, that one can never be sure;but to know the man himself were to know a world."
"I like his plays better than all others," said Roger. "And of all hisplays, this 'Romeo and Juliet' best. I have read Arthur Brooke's poem ofthe tale, and William Paynter's story in 'The Palace of Pleasure;' butthey are pale dullness to this tragedy. It hath rare love-making init!"
The steeliness of Barnet's eye had melted to a soft lustre; a warmth hadcome over his face. Marryott looked at him in amazement. That this hardrascal, this complacent spy and implacable man-hunter,--even in that daywhen rough soldiers were greedy for wit and beauty and finethought,--should have read poems and novels, and should possess a tastefor rare love-making, was indeed one of those marvels which prove howmany-sided (not inconsistent) is the individual human.
"If we could hear it better than we're like to do," suggested Marryott,"'twould a little distract us from our ills of mind and body,--for Itake it from your twitchings that you suffer some."
The pursuivant was careful against showing how welcome this suggestionwas; for he had felt that it would better emanate from the prisoner, inwhom a desire to see the play was quite proper, than from an officer whoought to hold in supreme indifference all but duty.
"Why," said he, "I wot of no reason why you may not be allowed to seethis play, under guard. Dawkins, go to the landlady and require for me aroom in one of yonder wings, well toward the front of the yard, that wemay see the stage from it. God forbid I should deprive a doomed man oftwo hours' forgetfulness!"
When, some minutes later, the change of rooms had been effected,Marryott found himself looking down from a gabled window, which, beingover one side of the yard, gave a complete oblique view of the stage atthe yard's rear. He sat on a low stool, his hands pinioned behind him,Roger Barnet at his side. Four armed men stood close around, leaningforward for all possible view over the heads of the two.
The musicians, now visible in the gallery over the back of the stage,were still playing. The second story balcony across the yard from Hal'swindow was occupied by the lord and lady and their numerous attendants,a group whose rich attire presented all hues, and every kind, of silk,velvet, and costly cloth. My lady, close to the railing, and leaningexpectantly over it, wore on her head a caul of golden thread; and oneof her maids held a peaked Minever cap ready to be donned in case ofcold. My lord, sitting at her side, bent so near that the silk rose atthe end of his love-lock often brushed the cheek of her in whose honorit was still worn, despite their being now married. His lordship mighthave taken a seat upon the stage, but he preferred to remain where hecould mark the significant love speeches to his lady's attention bygentle pressure of his hand on hers.
Three or four rustic gallants sat on the stage, and talkedostentatiously, with a great deal of very knowing laughter, each onekeeping a side glance upon the noble lady in the balcony, to see whatimpression he was making; for each was convinced that her softly eagerlooks toward the stage were cast in admiration of himself.
The stage was of rough boards upon an underwork of upright barrels andtrestles. At its back there hung from the balcony a curtain behind whicha few makeshift steps descended to the door of an inn parlor now used bythe actors as a tiring-room. The balcony thereabove was not devotedexclusively to the musicians; like all the other galleries around theyard, and to which chambers of the inn opened, this one held crowds ofspectators,--inn guests and town's people. But of this one, that partimmediately over the stage had, since the change of play, been clearedof people, and now remained so, with poles placed on either side asbarriers. This part was reserved as Juliet's balcony; an inn chambergave access to it from the rear. The height of the stage was such, thatthe floor of the balcony would be level with Romeo's eyes; but thatmattered nothing to the imagination of an Elizabethan audience.
Even the steps leading to the balconies were crowded; the yard itself,paved with cobble stones, was more densely so, and with rougher andnoisier people. Here were the lowest classes represented, but not thosealone; here was a rawer wit than among the groundlings of the GlobeTheatre; here was a smaller measure of acuteness than there, and herewas a loutishness that was there absent.
The inn gates were now closed, but for a narrow opening, where stood twoof the players' men to receive the money of what spectators might yetarrive.
The hour when the play ought to have begun had passed. But the crowd wasthe more tolerant of a burden upon its patience, for the fact that"Romeo and Juliet" had been substituted for the other play.Shakespeare's love-tragedy, which at first production had made thegreatest success in the brief history of English drama, was the mostpopular play of its time; and to a county town of the insignificance ofOakham, it was still a novelty, bright with the lustre of its Londontriumph.
But at length the pleasure of anticipation lost power to sweeten thedelay of realization. The crowd murmured. The musicians, who had fallento playing "I am the Duke of Norfolk," for there being nothing else lef
tunplayed, became the targets of derisive yells; the unseen players,behind the curtain, were called upon to hasten. My lady had changed herposition several times, and my lord was beginning to wonder why thedevil--
And then the curtain was pushed a little aside, and Master Sly steppedforth again, now dressed for the part he was on this occasion toenact,--that of Mercutio. The crowd gave a shout of welcome, themusicians came to an abrupt but grateful stop. "The prologue," remarkedseveral of the knowing, and then indignantly bade others hush, who weremaking the same remark.
But Master Sly's air was not suggestive of an ordinary prologue. It washesitating, embarrassed, a little dubious of consequences. He began,rather to my lord than to the audience as a whole, a halting, bunglingspeech, of which the purport was that, by reason of the sudden illnessof an actor who played a part necessary to the movement of the tragedy,and as no unoccupied player in the company knew the part, either "Romeoand Juliet" must be for the occasion abandoned, or its performancemarred by the reading of the part, "which marring must needs be thegreater," said Mr. Sly, "for that it is a part of exceeding activity,and hath some furious fighting with the rapier."
Here was a damper, whose potent effect became at once manifest in blanklooks on faces noble and faces common. My lord and his lady were as muchdisappointed as the rudest artisan or the pertest grammar-school truant.The assemblage was yet in that chilled silence which precedes murmurs ofdispleasure, and Mr. Sly was drawing breath to submit the alternative ofanother play or the marred performance, when from a gable window highabove all galleries a voice rang out:
"Go to, Will Sly! I'll wager 'tis the part of Tybalt; and that GilCrowe's illness comes of the same old cause!"
Master Sly stared aloft at the distant speaker. So did every auditor towhom the window was visible; and those in the balconies under it leanedover the railings and twisted their necks to look upward.
"Why,--'tis thee, Harry Marryott,--i' the name of God!" cried Sly, aftera moment of blinking,--for Hal's gable was sun-bathed, and blue sky wasabove it. "What dost here, Hal? What surprise is this you give us?"
"No matter!" answered Hal. "I said truly, did I not?"
"Surely thou didst, and a mur--! Why, boy, thou canst play Tybalt! Youstudied it in London!"
"And played it once, when Master Crowe was--ill!"
"Why, here's good fortune! My lord, 'tis one of our actors, who hathbeen a time absent from us. You will enjoy to see him in the fighting.Haste thee down, Master Marryott!"
A clapping of hands behind the entrance-curtain told Hal that the otherplayers had heard, and that they welcomed; some, indeed, were peepingout from the edges of the curtain.
Lord Tyrrington looked across the yard, and up to the gable window, andcalled out, "Well met, sir!" with a kindly face; and his lady, delightedat the turn of affairs, smiled sweetly. Whereat the crowd cheeredlustily, and all eyes were fixed on Hal with approval and pleasure.
"Alas!" cried Hal. "I may not stir from here. I am a prisoner to thisofficer of the queen."
The smiles slowly faded from the countless faces below. Roger Barnet,who had been taken by surprise at Hal's first salutation to Sly, andwhom the swift ensuing colloquy had caught at a loss, frowned, andwished he had interfered earlier.
"Nay," called Sly, "it can be for no grave offence. The--"
"'Tis a charge of aiding treason," replied Hal, to cut matters short.
Sly stood a little appalled. A deeper silence and a new interest tookpossession of the gazing crowd.
"Why, even so," said Sly, at last, "the officer may--"
The officer now thought it time to speak for himself. "My prisoner is myprisoner," he said, in a somewhat surly and defiant tone, "taken in thequeen's name, with proper warrant; and in the queen's name I hold himhere in close guard."
Will Sly, after a perplexed look at the pursuivant by Hal's side,turned his eyes in a tentative, questioning way to the young lord. Thecrowd followed his glance. My lord felt the pressure of the general wishupon him. His lady whispered something to him, in a kind of pouting,appealing way, with a disapproving side glance at Roger Barnet. My ladyherself was only a knight's daughter. To her, a lord was a person ofunlimited influence. When a wife imagines that her husband isall-powerful, he does not like to disabuse her mind. When he is deeplyin love with her, and she asks him for a pleasure which he has himselfoffered, he will go far to obtain it. Moreover, here was a multitudelooking to him, the great Lord Tyrrington, as to its champion against avile, sport-spoiling hound of the government.
"How now, officer?" cried my lord, in a tone of lofty rebuke. "Thequeen's name--God save her gracious Majesty!--comes as loyally,methinks, from lips that do not make it a common byword of their trade.Warrant, say you? Your warrant, sirrah, requires not that you guard herMajesty's prisoner rather in one part of this inn than in another part.Let him be guarded upon yonder stage. 'Tis as safe a place, with properwatching, as the chamber you are in."
"My lord--" doggedly began Barnet, who had noted Sly's form of address.But ere he could proceed, there arose from the yard, and was taken upby the galleries, a clamor so mandatory, so threatening to a possiblethwarter of the general will, that the pursuivant, who in his day hadseen a mob or two at work, became passive. Moreover, he had been as castdown as any one at the prospect of his favorite play's being supplantedor spoiled; and deep within him was a keen curiosity to see his prisoneract on the stage. Standing at the window, therefore, Roger made a curtgesture of yielding to the unanimous will.
"My lord," said he, when the cheers of satisfaction had hushed, "sith itbe your desire, and haply the pleasure of my lady, and the wish of thesegood people, I no more say nay. Your lordship will of a surety grant me,and require of these players, that I may dispose guards to my ownliking, and for the queen's service, during the time of my prisoner'suse in the play."
My lord was quick to approve of this condition. "Your prisoner, mayhap,"he added, "will give his word not to attempt escape."
"Ay, my lord," cried Hal, at once, "if this officer rely on that wordalone, and dispense with guards about me."
Marryott knew, of course, and Barnet promptly affirmed by word, that thelatter would prefer to rely on his guards. Hal showed no offence atthis; had he thought his word would be accepted he would not haveoffered it.
"Then," said he, when Barnet had expressed himself, "I will not give myword."
The pursuivant was content. He attributed Hal's attitude to a mere idlepunctilio which would not accept moral bonds without a reciprocalwithdrawal of physical ones, even though freedom from moral bonds wasuseless. Barnet was accustomed, in his observations of gentlemen, tosuch bootless niceties in matters of honor.
The musicians were put to it for another quarter of an hour, and Barnetconducted the prisoner down-stairs and to the tiring-room. He placed aguard at each entrance to that room, stationed others in the yard sothat one breasted each side of the small stage, set two upon the stepsbetween stage and tiring-room, and established himself on a three-leggedstool on the stage. He seemed to have conveniently forgotten thatTybalt, even during the acts wherein he appears, is less time on thestage than off. He had put the faithful Hudsdon, however, at the doorfrom the tiring-room to the steps behind the stage. Indeed, Hal'sfreedom was little more than it had been in the chamber, save that.Tybalt being a swordsman's part, his hands were now unbound.
Barnet had assured himself that the rapiers used by the actors wereblunted so as not to pierce. He knew, too, that he had won the crowd byhis concession to their wish, and that he should have all thespectators, including the lord's people and the inn-folk, as activebarriers against any dash the prisoner might rashly venture for liberty.
Hal's friends had crowded around him in the tiring-room, which waslighted with candles against the gloom caused by the curtain at the backof the stage. Even Burbage had pressed his hand, and uttered a hope thatthere might be nothing in this treason matter. "Fortune send thee safeout of it, whatever it be!" was Master Shakespeare's wish. "If t
houcamest to grief, Hal," said the Juliet, the same pert stripling that hadplayed Ophelia eleven days before, "I should weep like a real girl!" GilCrowe alone had nothing to say, for he was stretched half clad, in thecorner where he had fallen, in the deepest drunken slumber.
Master Shakespeare wore the white beard and religious cowl of the Friar;a habit that had wakened in Hal's mind a thought to be quenched the nextmoment by Barnet's injunction to the guards of the tiring-room:
"And lose not sight of him an instant while he is here, lest during aneye-wink he slip into some player's disguise of face and body, and passone of you unknown."
His comrades, especially Master Shakespeare and Will Sly, would haveinquired more closely into the circumstances of Hal's detention, but theyoung man was so pleasantly exhilarated by the reunion with his friends,so carried out of himself at the prospect of playing this part, that heput direful matters aside as not to be talked of. With his dulled rapierin hand, and without having to change costume, he stood surrounded bythe players, at the tiring-room door, waiting to go on the stage.
The music ceased again; the speaker of the prologue stepped out, and,while the audience came gradually to a hush, delivered his lines fromthe centre of the platform. A boy fastened to the curtain at the back ascroll reading, "A Street in Verona." The two Capulet serving-men cameon, and their rude double-meanings made the crowd guffaw; then the twoMontague men, then Benvolio, then Tybalt precipitating the brawl, thenthe crowd of adherents of both houses; and the ensuing fray, undulyconfined by the smallness of the platform, came near involving RogerBarnet and the gallants sitting at the sides.
Noting more heedfully how dense was the crowd that pressed from theyard's farthest boundaries to the stage, and recognizing the guardsabout the latter. Hal had a sickening feeling of being mured around witha wall no less impassable for that it was human.
His mind reverted to the last time he had acted on a stage; to the facehe had seen then. Where was she at this moment? Was the horse waiting?Unmanned for an instant, he felt his eyes moisten.
When he made exit, after the Prince had quelled the tumult, he stoodsilent in the dark tiring-room, sad at heart.
Meanwhile, Roger Barnet and the audience were enjoying the performance.The pursuivant, nearer to the great Burbage than he had ever before beenduring a play, drank in Romeo's every word. In due time, the stage beingfor a moment vacant, a boy supplanted the first card with one reading,"A Room in Capulet's House." The scene of the Nurse with Juliet and hermother drew some very conscious blushes from my lady in the gallery, thetoo reminiscent Nurse's part losing nothing of mellowness from its beingplayed by a portly man. The street card reappeared, and brought onMercutio to deepen the audience's enhancement. Another substitutionintroduced the masquerade, during which the Tybalt, covered with anorange-tawny cloak and wearing a black mask, was held in particular noteby Barnet. Hudsdon having followed him to the stage and pointed him outin his visored appearance.
During the second act, with its balcony scene, its wisdom soimpressively spoken by Master Shakespeare in the Friar's part, its witcontest between Romeo and Mercutio, Roger Barnet was in the seventhheaven. Throughout this act, Hal, seated listlessly in the tiring-room,was under the eyes of Hudsdon and other guards. The first scene of thethird act, heralded by the useful street scroll, brought his great andlast great occasion.
"It may be my last stage-playing in this world," he thought, andresolved it should be worthy the remembrance of his comrades.
"'By my heel, I care not,'" quoth Sly as Mercutio, and Tybalt, takingthe cue, strode out with his followers, to force the deadly quarrel.
The brief exchange of defiance with Mercutio, the vain attempt ofpeacemaking Benvolio to lead the foes from public gaze, made keen theaudience's expectation. Romeo entered; refused to be drawn by Tybalt'sfierce words into fight; tried to placate the other's hot anger.Mercutio invited the quarrel to himself, drew rapier, and belaboredTybalt with wit. Tybalt, with a ready "I am for you," flashed out hisblade in turn. There was fine clashing of steel, excellent fencing.Romeo rushed in to stop the duel, calling on Benvolio to beat down theweapons. Is it wonder that the audience was a-quiver with interest,under complete illusion? For here was a truly fiery Tybalt; here wasMercutio, the most fascinating character in Shakespeare; here as Romeowas Burbage himself, accounted the greatest actor in the world. Is itwonder that Roger Barnet, sitting not a man's length away, hungbreathlessly, and with wide eyes, upon the scene?
"Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio!" cried Romeo.
But Mercutio had received his thrust, and Tybalt turned to flee with hisfollowers. Barnet heard him cry out something as he ran; got animpression of legs disappearing behind the rear curtain; and, with thegreater part of the audience, kept his eyes on the group whence theyouth had fled.
For Mercutio was panting in Romeo's arms; declaring himself hurt, andcalling feebly a plague on both the houses; replying to Romeo'sencouraging words with: "No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide asa church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, andyou shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world.A plague o' both your houses!" And so till Benvolio led him off gaspingwith his dying breath, "Your houses!"
And now it was Romeo's task to hold the multitude's illusion withdeploring speeches; and to work up anew its breathless sympathy, at thenews of Mercutio's death and that the furious Tybalt was coming backagain.
"'Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain!'" cried Burbage.
"'Away to heaven, respective lenity. And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now.'"
And Romeo, trembling with the emotion of the situation, stood with swordready to receive the slayer of his friend, lips ready to begin, "Now,Tybalt, take the villain back again--"
The audience stood in a suspense not less than Romeo's, every gazeintent upon the place where Tybalt should come forth.
But from that place, no one appeared.
Why did Tybalt delay? What was the matter?
It was an embarrassing moment for Mr. Burbage. He whispered something tothe Benvolio, who thereupon went to the curtain at the rear and pushedit aside. He disclosed a number of those actors known as servitors,waiting to come on as citizens, and behind these the Prince withMontague and Capulet and their ladies.
"Where's Marryott?" called Benvolio to these. "'Tis his cue. The stagewaits for Tybalt."
Those about the doorway looked into the tiring-room. "He is not here,"replied several.
"He is not come from the stage yet," said Hudsdon. "I have kept my eyefor him."
"Why," said Benvolio to the fellows who had played Tybalt's followers,"came he not off with you?"
"I remember not," said one. "'Tis certain he ought to have."
"'Tis certain he did not," said one of the guards on the steps.
Hudsdon made his way through the group on the steps, strode upon thestage, and, going to the centre thereof, to Mr. Burbage's utteramazement, said to Roger Barnet:
"There's deviltry afoot! The prisoner came not yonder, yet he is nothere!"
"What say'st thou?" replied Roger, turning dark, and springing to hisfeet. "Thou'st been cozened. Hudsdon! He fled yonder; I saw him!" And hepointed toward the tiring-room.
"Nay," said one of the gallants on the stage, "he fled over the balcony,into the house." The speaker indicated the balcony used by Juliet,which, as has been said, was no higher above the back of the stage thanwere the eyes of a man standing. "That I'll swear. He grasped thebalustrade, and drew himself up, and bent around, and put knee to thebalcony's edge; and then 'twas short work over the balustrade and acrossthe balcony."
"Ay, 'tis so!" cried out many voices from near the stage, and from theoccupied part of the balcony itself.
"Why, then, Hudsdon, take three men, and search the house," cried Roger,for whom Mr. Burbage had indignantly made way by retiring to the backof the stage. Then the pursuivant turned to his informants: "An ye hadeyes for so much, had none of you the wit to call out whither he went?"
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"I thought it was part of the play," lisped the gallant. "I thought heran away lest he be taken for killing the witty gentleman."
"Why, so he did," quoth Barnet, "but he ought not to have run to thebalcony!"
"Marry, look you," said the other, "he cried 'Away!' and started for thecurtain; then he said, 'Nay, I'll to the balcony!' and so to the balconyhe went. I thought 'twas in the play."
"I knew the play," called out a gentleman in the balcony, "but I thoughtthe action had mayhap been changed. We all thought so, who saw him passthis way."
"Devil take prating!" muttered Barnet. "Dawkins, go you with three menand seek in the street hereabout for him, or word of him. You three, tothe stables, and out with the horses! A murrain on plays andplay-acting!--I don't mean that, neither. Master Shakespeare" (for thepoet had hastened to the stage to see what the matter was), "but I'vebeen a blind ass this day, and I would I had your art to tell myfeelings!"
And he limped after Hudsdon, to assist in the search of the house.
This was a large inn, and required long searching. As for the menordered to seek in the adjacent streets, they were a good while hinderedin making their way through the crowd in the yard. Those who went totake out the horses were similarly impeded.
Meanwhile, for a time there was clamor and confusion among thespectators. Some of the dull witted, who had lost interest in the playafter the novelty of the opening scenes, followed the four men to thestreet. The most, thinking the prisoner might be found in the house,chose to remain where they were, deciding not to sacrifice a certainpleasure for the uncertain one of joining a hunt for an escapedprisoner. So there were calls for the play to go on. It was thereforetaken up at the point where Marryott had failed to appear, MasterShakespeare assuming Tybalt's part for the one short speech, and theswift death, that remained to it. Thenceforward there was no stoppage.My lord and his lady listened with rapt attention, and when at last thetwo lovers lay clasped in death many of the audience had forgotten theepisode that had interrupted the third act.
But Roger Barnet had other occupation than to watch the resumed play. Itwas not given him to end as agreeably an afternoon so pleasantly begun;yet matter to distract his thoughts from his lame leg was not lacking.The search of the inn yielding nothing, the scouring of the immediateneighborhood being fruitless, the pursuivant sent his men throughout thetown for a clue. One came back with news that a man of the prisoner'sdescription had been seen taking the Stamford road. Another returnedwith word that the lady who had followed from Foxby Hall had tarried ashort while at another inn; and a third brought information that thislady and her escort of three had later left the town by the road toLondon. She had not, indeed, had Barnet's reason for staying in Oakham,and it was quite natural that she should have continued her homewardjourney. Her departure seemed not connected in any way with theprisoner's flight.
Meanwhile the horses had been waiting ready in the street during thetime necessary for these inquiries.
"To saddle, then," said Barnet to Hudsdon, "every hound of us! I'll onto Fleetwood house, you to the Stamford road. 'Tis the fiend's work thatyour man hath two hours' start. I wonder how far he is."
Just about that time, as the players were sitting down to supper, MasterShakespeare said:
"I pray Fortune the new action Hal put in my tragedy shall prove indeedthe winning of his freedom!"