Scene IV.
[Burbage, Marston, Dekker and Fletcher burst in.]
Burbage:
Great news, Will, great news! The Queen’ll hear us in “The Merry Wives of Windsor” to-night in full Court. Now use your wit, my lad, and you’ll be Master of the Revels, and our licence’ll be safe and we’ll all come to honour and riches!
Dekker:
He counts his hens in the shell always.
Fletcher[To Shakespeare, humming.]:
“Why so sad, singer, why so sad?Girls were deceivers ever—One foot in Court and one on Stage,To one love constant never!”
“Why so sad, singer, why so sad?Girls were deceivers ever—One foot in Court and one on Stage,To one love constant never!”
“Why so sad, singer, why so sad?Girls were deceivers ever—One foot in Court and one on Stage,To one love constant never!”
“Why so sad, singer, why so sad?
Girls were deceivers ever—
One foot in Court and one on Stage,
To one love constant never!”
Scene V.
The Throne Room at Court.
[The Queen enters, with train of ladies, lords, and counsellors, and takes the throne; Burghley, small and deformed, dressed in black, is on her right.]
The Queen:
The play was well enough. [Turning to Burghley.] My Lord Burghley, have you heard from our cousin James? Has he punished those raiders yet?
Lord Burghley:
He’ll give us every satisfaction, your Majesty, except what costs him money.
The Queen:
A mean spirit and a long tongue; he had the one from his father, the other from his mother. And Essex? How does he bear his disgrace?
Lord Burghley:
He chafes and talks loud; it’ll all end in talk.But he should not be strengthened, Madame; the time’s unsettled and for that reason I’d pray your Majesty to release Lord Herbert; he’s young and well liked of the common——
The Queen:
Keep to your own business.
Lord Burghley:
[Bows low.] Shall I write to the King of Scots imposing a penalty? He’s responsible for disorder.
The Queen:
I’m tired to-night.
Lord Burghley:
Your complexion’s brilliant; you look your best.
The Queen:
Ah! You think so. What’s this?
[Lord Lacy and Lady Joan come forward and bow low. Lord Lacy advances holding Lady Joan’s hand.]
The Queen:
[To Lacy.] What is it? Speak.
Lacy:
Oh, Dazzling Luminary, Glorious Orb of Britain whose radiant beams diffuse in all our hearts the light of loyalty, the warmth of admiration: most gracious, wisest Mistress, permit your most obedient, loyal servitor to approach your throne with humblest imprecation.
The Queen:
If the prayer, my lord, be worthy of its dress, ’Twill need our realm to content you. But give it words, man, plain words.
Lacy:
Most Mighty Regent, you distress me! I approach your queenly presence robed in vestments of State out of reverence for Britain’s Majesty, and in the same spirit I would use orphrey’d phrases sewn with pearls of speech, and you ask me plain words.
The Queen:
Let’s have ’em jewelled if you will; but what’s your want?
Lacy:
The jewel of this realm, indeed: the prize ofall this nether world, the diamaunt of distinction——
[Bows and waives to Lady Joan.
The Queen:
What! That Chit!
Lacy:
Oh, Arbitress of Fate! I supplicate your Sovereign Power! enrich me with a word; set joy-bells ringing with a gest of grace and fill my heart with heavenly gratitude.
The Queen:
[To the girl.] And you? Shall he wear you? It misdoubts me the gift’s already given!
Lady Joan:
[Curtseying to the ground.] Oh Fairest Vestal, Mirror of Beauty, Pink of Perfectness: I would requite my Lord with dutiful affection——
The Queen:
I was sure you would, and with a dozen brats as well.
Lady Joan:
’Tis only stars and our great Queen can live alone.
The Queen:
[To Burghley.] I hate women’s praises; they’re always feigned and false! [To Lacy.] Do you hold the wedding in our Court, my lord?
Lacy:
Rectress of Action! On bended knees and with a lowly heart I implorate your Majesty, let us withdraw from the blinding light of this world’s Sun and hide our joys in sylvan shade where hours go softly by.
The Queen:
The wedding should be here; afterwards you can go to your estates; does that please you, girl?
Lady Joan:
My beseechings flow to my lord’s desire——
The Queen:
By God’s Body, they are both mad; have it as ye will; [To Lady Joan] but when you come again your beseechings, as you call them, may flow in another direction. [To Burghley.] Did ever Christian hear such phrases?
[Lacy and Lady Joan bow and retire.
Lord Burghley:
The girl’s worse than the man!
The Queen:
Saw you any fashion, my lord, which my sex does not exaggerate? The woman has taken the infection from the man, but in the weaker body the fever rages most wildly——
The Queen:
“Her beseechings” forsooth—I’m very weary! [The Players enter and stand grouped by the servants at the end of the Hall.] Ah! there are our players. Well, let that one approach who wrote the piece—I mean—Ach! I forget his name! [Turns to Lord Burghley.] Those common names are so hard to remember.
[The servant goes down the Hall and brings Shakespeare to the Queen. As Shakespeare bows low the Queen looks at him, but doesn’t speak for some time.]
The Queen:
[Breathing heavily, as if tired.] You wrote the piece?
Shakespeare:
To please your Majesty!
The Queen:
[Slowly and with difficulty.] I did say something about it; I’ve forgotten what—I—Yes—Oh, I wanted to see the fat Knight in love, and you wrote this “Wives of Windsor” to show it: ’tis not ill done, but the Knight was better in the earlier piece, much better; the story better too. Still, I wished it, and now—They say you’re witty, and rhyme well, and would make a good Master of the Revels to save my Lord Chamberlain there—some labour——
Shakespeare:
[Bows low.] I thank your gracious Majesty with all my heart, and should be proud to serve in any place; but——
The Queen:
[Starting up.] But!—But! The fools are all mad to-night. But what?
Shakespeare:
I would prefer to private gain what our great Queen herself desires—
The Queen:
[Leaning back again.] And that is? He, he! You’d be more than wizard to divine what I don’t know.
Shakespeare:
I had a friend, your Majesty, most dear——
The Queen:
What’s that to do with me, man? Say what you want and make no speeches; I’ve heard enough speeches to-night to last me a lifetime.
Shakespeare:
[Kneeling.] I beg for freedom, your Majesty, for my Lord Herbert: mercy for his youth——
The Queen:
[Sitting bolt upright.] Did ever one hear the like? My dog will school me next! You forget your place, man.
Shakespeare:
I am nothing, gracious lady, but a voice to thepity in your heart: the meanest born may beg for mercy——
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes; ’Tis mightiest in the mightiest.
The Queen:
[Laughs loud.] Ha! ha! ha! The player’s turned preacher. Ha! ha! Hark you [She beckons him nearer.] Your tongue’s too long; I’ll have it cut if it wag so boldly.
Shakespeare:
He loved you well, ma’am, and often spoke of all your greatness. His faults are youth and madcap daring.
The Queen:
I care not. When we’re hurt, we strike. He was kind to you, you say, and so you speak for him; he cheated me——
Shakespeare:
And me of all I loved and left me desolate.
The Queen:
Ha! And you plead for him. Faugh! Even the cur snarls at those who beat him. Learn spirit from your dog!
Shakespeare:
Ah! madam, we learn sympathy from suffering, pity from pain!
The Queen:
[Wearily leaning back in her throne.] Do we? I don’t. [Pause.] I’m weary! You can go now, man; go, I say! [Shakespeare bows and moves towards the body of the hall; after a pause the Queen rises and takes Lord Burghley’s arm.] I’m weary—weary! [All bow; Queen goes out on Burghley’s arm.] Very weary!
THE EPILOGUE
Scene I.
Shakespeare’s bedchamber in his house at Stratford. The master is seated in a large chair close to the bed. A small table stands near the head of the bed. His daughter Judith is in the room; as the curtain goes up she goes to the door and admits Jonson and Drayton. She will scarcely look at them, and soon after leaves the room.
Jonson:
[Going quietly to bed.] We came to see you, Shakespeare, before we return to town.
Drayton:
We were so sorry to hear you were ill. But what’s the matter?
Shakespeare:
My joy at seeing you both: the cup of wine last night; our great talk—have set the old candle guttering.
Jonson:
It isn’t what you drank; you were most temperate.
Shakespeare:
I have poor unhappy brains for drinking: one cup, you know, was always too much for me.
Drayton:
It must have been the talk, Shakespeare; you drank nothing. But I never dreamt you were so weak; you used to seem strong enough.
Shakespeare:
I was never strong, I think. Even as a youth any excitement robbed me of sleep and made me fanciful, and of late years I have only been well when very quiet—when the thin flame is lanterned from every breath [with a gesture]. But what matters it? If the candle goes out there’s an end.
Jonson:
I blame myself for having overtired you. But you talked wonderfully—as no one ever talked before, I think, and I could not pull you up; now I blame myself.
Shakespeare:
There’s no blame possible. It was a great night; one of the greatest nights of my life. But give me more news: I seem to have heard nothing; are the boy-players still followed?
Drayton:
No: the fashion’s changed. There’s some talk of having girl-actresses to play the girls’ parts on the stage, as they do in France.
Jonson:
A mad proposal. It would bring the theatre into worse repute than ever, and give the Puritans a handle for attack.
Shakespeare:
[Smiling.] The pretty children! Now at sixteen they all wish to be nuns or nursing sisters: then they would not know whether to be nuns or actresses, and they would be sure to confuse the duties: if they acted they’d try to do good to their hearers, and if they tended the sick they would want pretty dresses and a crowd of spectators to admire their devotion.
Jonson:
Ha, ha! Excellent.
Drayton:
Come to London soon, Shakespeare. We all miss our gentle peacemaker and his wit.
Shakespeare:
[With deprecating gesture.] Tell me everything. Are there any new poets, new theatres? Do the Puritans disturb you? Here in my house my daughter puts preachers to lodge as soon as I go away for a week or so: to purge the air, I suppose, of my sinful presence.
Jonson:
There’s no great change. Pembroke is in greater favour than ever; he’s Lord Chamberlain now, and sends me money each year to buy books.
Shakespeare:
Alms to escape oblivion.
[Leans back wearily and closes eyes as daughter re-enters room.]
Drayton:
[To the daughter in a whisper.] He’s not dangerously ill, is he?
Judith Shakespeare:
[Tartly.] Doctor Hall says father is very ill.
Jonson:
[Holds out his hand.] Oh, I am sorry, too sorry. Our visit has done you harm.
Shakespeare:
No need for grief. Our life is but a breath— A rack of smoke that at the topmost height Dislimns and fades away.
Jonson:
Not so, dear friend: the work remains. And of all men you should be content, for your work has already put you among the immortals.
Shakespeare:
We are immortal only when we die;It is the dead who steer the living—
We are immortal only when we die;It is the dead who steer the living—
We are immortal only when we die;It is the dead who steer the living—
We are immortal only when we die;
It is the dead who steer the living—
Judith Shakespeare:
[To Jonson.] Oh, please! you must not make him talk; it was the talk last night gave father the fever. Doctor Hall says talk excites him even more than wine.
Jonson:
Then we must go, Shakespeare, but I never thought we’d go so sadly. I can only hope nowthat the illness will be short and that you will soon be yourself again.
[Shakespeare droops and does not answer.
Judith Shakespeare:
I must get your medicine, father. [She goes out.
Shakespeare:
[Half wandering.] So she’s well and married. I’m glad!
Jonson:
Who?
Shakespeare:
Mary—Mary Fitton. A great woman.
Drayton:
And beautiful!
Shakespeare:
When she left me my hopes went down for ever. Strange! At first I didn’t suffer much; it’s the scratches hurt, not the death-wound; but as the years went on I suffered: it was always ill with me here about my heart—
Yet I see now she was a wonderful piece of work—a great woman—she made me sound the depths.
Jonson:
And Pembroke? He didn’t touch you so nearly?
Shakespeare:
No. His was the poison of daily life; the small, hard nature, the low betrayal. It was well to forget him. But she was too great to be forgotten. There was something immortal in her, and I loved her.
Jonson:
I wonder you did not kill them both.
Shakespeare:
No, no, Jonson: that is your nature, your violent nature. We all must suffer through the best in us: the mother through her child; the lover through his love; the wise through his wisdom—these are the growing pains of our humanity.
Judith Shakespeare:
[Enters again with medicine in her hand.] Now, father, you must take this medicine. Sir [to Drayton], the doctor says that father must be kept very quiet.
Jonson:
[Taking Shakespeare’s hand.] Then, Shakespeare, all good wishes and we go. Farewell, old friend, farewell.
Drayton:
[Also taking Shakespeare’s hand.] Good-bye, dear friend, good-bye! I shall have news of you from my brother who passes this way next week, and will tell us in London how you do. Farewell.
Shakespeare:
Farewell. Farewell! I thank you both for coming, and all your offices of friendship and your courtesy. Keep me in loving memory.
Drayton:
We shall, indeed! [Exit.]
Jonson:
Always. Always. [Going out he adds.] So long as this machine lasts.
Scene II.
His will is outspread now on the table by the bed.
Judith Shakespeare:
[To Shakespeare.] My sister’s downstairs and wants to know if you have altered the will.
Shakespeare:
[Wearily lying back.] Yes—yes. Ask her to come up. [Judith goes to door and calls.]
Mistress Hall:
[Comes in. To Judith.] How tired he looks! Run at once for my husband, see if you can bring him: I think he’s very ill. [Judith hurries to the door and goes. Shakespeare lies with his eyes shut. Mistress Hall goes to him.] Do you hear me, father?
Shakespeare:
[With closed eyes.] Yes.
Mistress Hall:
You have altered the will?
Shakespeare:
[He bows his head.] Yes.
Mistress Hall:
I hope you have given something good to mother in it. She’s been so good to us.
Shakespeare:
[Opens his eyes.] Yes.
Mistress Hall:
Years ago she may have been jealous; but she has never left us for an hour. You must forgive, you know, if you hope for forgiveness.
Shakespeare:
[Very low voice.] I know.
Mistress Hall:
And you must think we love her as you loved your mother.
Shakespeare:
[Half wandering.] Ah! My mother! The gentlest, sweetest—the noblest mother in the world! I often call to her as if she were still here, and feel her hands upon my forehead. Ithink I’ll sleep now. The long day’s work is done! [Closes his eyes in death.]
Judith Shakespeare:
[Enters.] The doctor’s coming.
Mistress Hall:
[Looking at Shakespeare.] I am afraid he’s dead, Judith.
Judith Shakespeare:
[Sobbing on her knees.] O! Father, dear, dear, dear— [Rises from her knees at the bedside.] Oh, Susanna, look! he’s happy; look! he’s smiling.
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TheMan Shakespeareand His Tragic Life StoryBY FRANK HARRISAUTHOR OF “MONTES THE MATADOR,” “THE BOMB,” ETC., ETC.Canvas Gilt, 448 pages, 7/6 netOver 6,000 lines of favourable criticism of this book have appearedin the Press of this country since publication.A FEW EXTRACTS
TheMan Shakespeareand His Tragic Life StoryBY FRANK HARRISAUTHOR OF “MONTES THE MATADOR,” “THE BOMB,” ETC., ETC.Canvas Gilt, 448 pages, 7/6 netOver 6,000 lines of favourable criticism of this book have appearedin the Press of this country since publication.A FEW EXTRACTS
The
Man Shakespeare
and His Tragic Life Story
BY FRANK HARRIS
AUTHOR OF “MONTES THE MATADOR,” “THE BOMB,” ETC., ETC.
Canvas Gilt, 448 pages, 7/6 net
Over 6,000 lines of favourable criticism of this book have appeared
in the Press of this country since publication.
A FEW EXTRACTS
“By far the most original, suggestive, and brilliantly conceived writing on Shakespeare that our times have known, or are likely to know.”—The Nation.
“Nobody who cares for fine literature, however indifferent he may be to Mr. Harris’s main thesis, should pass this book by. As a thesis we call it a brilliant and fascinatingtour de force. As a book concerned with the greatest poetry we assign to it critical merit of the first order. In both aspects we predict for it a permanent importance.”—The Saturday Review.
“This work appears to us the most original and, in some ways, the most illuminating criticism of Shakespeare that has ever been written.”—The Westminster Gazette.
“Mr. Harris has written a book with which all students of the Shakespeare mystery will have to deal; he has opened a line of study that was practically unknown.”—The Outlook.
“It must have been Tolstoi who inspired Mr. Frank Harris to write this brilliant, this amazingly ingenious book on Shakespeare.... This is a splendid, even a magnetic book written with a magnetic inspiration.”—The Observer.
“A very remarkable contribution to our knowledge about Shakespeare.”—W. L. Courtneyin theDaily Telegraph.
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Crown 8vo, Cloth Gilt,2s.6d. net.WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS.A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS.By ARNOLD BENNETT.
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A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS.
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“We rejoice to see published in an independent volume Mr. Arnold Bennett’s stirring and mordant play, ‘What the Public Wants,’ which we noticed here on its first production in London. It is far the best—indeed, the only very good—modern English play with a subject drawn from the life of journalism. And, unlike some plays that act well, it is uncommonly good reading.”—The Manchester Guardian.
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Crown 8vo, Gilt,2s.6d. net.CUPID AND COMMON-SENSE.A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS,With a Preface on the Crisis in the Theatre.By ARNOLD BENNETT.
Crown 8vo, Gilt,2s.6d. net.CUPID AND COMMON-SENSE.A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS,With a Preface on the Crisis in the Theatre.By ARNOLD BENNETT.
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CUPID AND COMMON-SENSE.
A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS,
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By ARNOLD BENNETT.
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FRANK PALMER, Red Lion Court, London.
FRANK PALMER, Red Lion Court, London.
FRANK PALMER, Red Lion Court, London.
Transcriber’s Notes:Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.Typographical errors were silently corrected.Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book.