The Shakespeare Notebooks

by Justin Richards

  The Greeks are not quite heroes by this light.

  It shows the playwright is a sharp young chap.

  He saw the vein of the preposterous

  That ran through this old saga and perceived

  That it was starved of true nobility.

  Adultery, a wrangle, jealous gods,

  Two nations welded into leaden siege:

  These were the real components of the tale.

  I took the Prologue’s part, but if you will

  I’ll not down to the tavern just quite yet.

  Forgive me if I loiter in the wings

  And act a kind of Chorus to our play.

  Imagine me on foot across the plains,

  But keeping clear from loftier terrain.

  I’m not a mountain goat and I prefer

  Walking to it any day. (And I hate

  Climbing!) But I fall from my text, I fear.

  Let me revert to what I have writ here:

  “Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits,

  On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,

  Sets all on hazard: and hither am I come

  A prologue arm’d, but not in confidence

  Of author’s pen or actor’s voice, but suited

  In like conditions as our argument,

  To tell you, fair beholders, that our play

  Leaps o’er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,

  Beginning in the middle, starting thence away

  To what may be digested in a play.

  Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are:

  Now good or bad, ’tis but the chance of war.”

  A further fragment from later in the play also appears in the Notebooks:

  ACT II, SCENE II – TROY. A ROOM IN PRIAM’S PALACE

  PROLOGUE appears within an urn.

  PROLOGUE

  I beg you, do not titter, if you please.

  Your Prologue is within the Trojan walls.

  And he is desirous not to be seen

  Particularly by Priam, King of Troy –

  Unmanly creature that I can’t abide! –

  A churl who dines on peacock’s breast and fills

  The luckless air with boring anecdotes.

  Soft, here he comes, in noble company.

  Let me remain cabin’d within this urn.

  Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS

  PRIAM

  After so many hours, lives, speeches spent,

  Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:

  “Deliver Helen, and all damage else –

  As honour, loss of time, travail, expense,

  Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consumed

  In hot digestion of this cormorant war –

  Shall be struck off.” Hector, what say you to’t?

  PROLOGUE (Aside)

  He would do well to heed these generous words

  If not, before this fateful week is out,

  He’ll look some other gift horse in the mouth.

  And now speaks Hector, champion of Troy.

  HECTOR

  Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I

  As far as toucheth my particular,

  Yet, dread Priam,

  There is no lady of more softer bowels,

  More spongy to suck in the sense of fear,

  More ready to cry out “Who knows what follows?”

  Than Hector is.

  PROLOGUE (Aside)

  Soft bowels? Is this good?

  He gallops to his point.

  HECTOR

  Let Helen go:

  Since the first sword was drawn about this question,

  Every tithe soul, ’mongst many thousand dismes,

  Hath been as dear as Helen; I mean, of ours:

  If we have lost so many tenths of ours,

  To guard a thing not ours nor worth to us,

  Had it our name, the value of one ten,

  What merits in that reason which denies

  The yielding of her up?

  PROLOGUE (Aside)

  Nay, and thrice nay!

  Hector has his contention by the reins.

  Yield up Helen of Sparta to the Greeks?

  Perhaps the horse, now stabled in the trees.

  Will never now be loosed upon the plains.

  I must confess a feeling of dismay:

  The blueprint of this equine strategy

  Flowed from my pen within a Grecian tent –

  Once I had been obliged to set aside

  A better strategy founded upon

  Catapulting the Greeks over the wall.

  So now this fellow Troilus speaks.

  TROILUS

  Fie, fie!

  Weigh you the worth and honour of a king

  So great as our dread father in a scale

  Of common ounces? Will you with counters sum

  The past proportion of his infinite?

  And buckle in a waist most fathomless

  With spans and inches so diminutive

  As fears and reasons? Fie, for godly shame!

  HECTOR

  Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost

  The holding.

  CASSANDRA

  [Within] Cry, Trojans, cry!

  PRIAM

  What noise? What shriek is this?

  PROLOGUE (Aside)

  Now this I know, I met her by the walls.

  Cassandra is she called. A lady who

  Can gaze into the future’s murky glass.

  Or so she says. (Or shouts, I ought to say.)

  TROILUS

  ’Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice.

  CASSANDRA

  [Within] Cry, Trojans!

  HECTOR

  It is Cassandra.

  Enter CASSANDRA, raving

  CASSANDRA

  Cry, Trojans, cry! Lend me ten thousand eyes,

  And I will fill them with prophetic tears.

  HECTOR

  Peace, sister, peace!

  CASSANDRA

  I heard a sound like thunder from the gods,

  And from Troy’s walls I gazed upon the plain.

  There I beheld an unexpected sight:

  A wooden tent, surmounted by a lamp.

  And when its light ceased streaming o’er the sand

  A strange old man came tripping from within.

  Last night this man came wandering through my dreams

  With hair like snow from Mount Olympus’ peak,

  And brow as stern as Zeus when angered.

  Quoth he, “I have been drawn down from the stars,

  – The sphere in which I seek my destiny –

  And all the world about me now displayed

  Is as a scene created for the stage.

  Can this be Ulysses? Agamemnon?

  The heroes of a thousand picture books?

  I marvel at invention’s power to draw

  Such noble art from poor material.”

  And off he went, pocking the plains of Troy

  With the end of his little wooden staff.

  Wherefore do I harp on this old man’s words?

  I sense he brings destruction to us all,

  In concert with the theft that sparked this war.

  Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand;

  Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all.

  Cry, Trojans, cry! A Helen and a woe:

  Cry, cry! Troy burns, or else let Helen go.

  Exit

  PROLOGUE (Aside)

  A narrow squeak! I thought she meant to lift

  The lid of my disguise, exposing me

  Like a stuffed partridge ’neath a silver cloche.

  ’Tis time for me to quit King Priam’s halls,

  Before the siege comes to a fiery end

  And Agamemnon’s flames have the effect

  Of boiling me inside this goodly pot.

  The lady whom her brothers said were mad,

  She speaks the hardest truth; o
ld Troy will burn

  And nobody will ask: what’s a Greek urn?

  PERICLES

  This sequence from the play Pericles again appears with no explanatory notes within the Notebook. The introduction of the character ‘Romana’ has given rise to various theories as to why the sequence was reworked for the final version of the play.

  SCENE V – MYTILENE. A HOUSE OF ILL-REPUTE

  Enter, from the house, two Gentlemen

  FIRST GENTLEMAN

  Did you ever hear the like?

  SECOND GENTLEMAN

  No, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy-houses: shall’s go hear the vestals sing?

  FIRST GENTLEMAN

  Aye. I’ll do any thing now that is virtuous.

  Exeunt

  SCENE VI – THE SAME. A ROOM IN THE HOUSE

  Enter PANDAR and BAWD

  PANDAR

  Well, I had rather than twice the worth of her had she ne’er come here.

  BAWD

  Fie upon her! She would make a puritan of the devil!

  PANDAR

  ’Faith, is there no way to be rid of her?

  BAWD

  Soft. Here comes the Lord Lysimachus disguised.

  Enter LYSIMACHUS

  LYSIMACHUS

  How now! What wholesome iniquity have you that a man may deal withal?

  BAWD

  We have here one, sir, if she would – but there never came her like in Mytilene.

  LYSIMACHUS

  Well, call forth, call forth.

  BAWD

  Never plucked yet, I can assure you.

  Re-enter PANDAR with ROMANA

  PANDAR

  Is she not a fair creature?

  LYSIMACHUS

  ’Faith, she would serve after a long voyage at sea.

  Well, there’s for you: leave us.

  BAWD

  Come, we will leave his honour and her honour together. Go thy ways.

  Exeunt BAWD and PANDAR

  LYSIMACHUS

  Now, pretty one, how long have you been at this trade?

  ROMANA

  What trade, sir?

  LYSIMACHUS

  Why, I cannot name’t.

  ROMANA

  I should think not. I hear say you are of

  Honourable parts. Here’s no part of honour.

  I hear you are this country’s governor.

  How you should rule it that can’st not rule thyself.

  LYSIMACHUS

  How’s this?

  ROMANA

  Your mask is but a masque, trust me.

  A stranger here, most ungentle fortune

  Has placed me in this sty. I’m used to it,

  Not this place, but my sad condition.

  I travel on time’s seas, and often am

  Washed up roughly on ungentle shores and

  Trapped in vile dungeons. But this is a first.

  LYSIMACHUS

  You claim you are a gentlewoman?

  ROMANA

  Lady Romanadvoratrelundar.

  And you rule Mytilene?

  LYSIMACHUS

  I do.

  ROMANA

  Then check thy privilege and rule better.

  Dos’t hold thee in thy prisons a Doctor?

  LYSIMACHUS

  Need you physic?

  ROMANA

  Not so much as he will.

  He is my companion, a wand’ring fool.

  LYSIMACHUS

  Oh, him.

  ROMANA

  I thought as much. Fetch him hither.

  LYSIMACHUS

  Shall I take commands of you?

  ROMANA

  I think so.

  Someone needs to tell thee how to rule.

  We came here by mischance but it can serve

  Its turn. We search for a precious jewel.

  LYSIMACHUS

  I had hoped to take that from you.

  ROMANA

  Stop that.

  Clearly it’s a dead end. Fetch the Doctor,

  Let me out, nail these bawds and mend thy ways.

  Your cloak needs a press and there’s egg upon thy cuff.

  In the market lies a girl, Marina.

  She leads a simple life, but her head’s screwed on.

  And she really is a princess. She’ll do.

  LYSIMACHUS

  A princess? ’Tis said I’m quite the catch.

  ROMANA

  You’d be lucky to have her. She’s got style.

  LYSIMACHUS

  How came she to land on fair Mytilene?

  ROMANA

  Oh, bad luck. Same as everyone else.

  LYSIMACHUS

  Harsh.

  ROMANA

  But fair.

  LYSIMACHUS

  You’ve a good point there, I fear.

  ROMANA

  Woo the girl, and then we’ll see. Your state

  Is in a state, but it’s not up to me.

  Mytilene needs Marina, as do you.

  So chop chop. Fetch her forth, get the Doctor

  Then come back here. I haven’t got all day.

  LYSIMACHUS

  Will there be anything else?

  ROMANA

  Oh, bring gold.

  They seem to like that here. The food’s not bad.

  I owe them that at least.

  LYSIMACHUS

  I’ll pass that on.

  ROMANA

  Do get a move on, there’s a dear. This dress

  Is thin and there’s a nip in the night air.

  LYSIMACHUS

  You have spoke most well; I never dream’d thou couldst.

  Had I brought hither a corrupted mind,

  Thy speech had alter’d it. Hold, here’s gold for thee:

  Persever in that clear way thou goest,

  And the gods strengthen thee!

  ROMANA

  Please hurry! Spit-spot!

  LYSIMACHUS

  Fare thee well. Thou art a piece of noble virtue

  Hold, here’s more gold for thee.

  A curse upon him, die he like a thief,

  That robs thee of thy goodness! If thou dost

  Hear from me, it shall be for thy good.

  Enter PANDAR

  PANDAR

  I beseech your honour, one piece for me.

  LYSIMACHUS

  Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper! Away!

  Exit

  PANDAR

  How’s this? Another one? Oh, Romana,

  We must take another course with you

  We’ll have no more gentlemen driven away.

  Re-enter Bawd

  BAWD

  How now! what’s the matter?

  PANDAR

  Worse and worse, mistress; she has here spoken holy words to the Lord Lysimachus.

  BAWD

  O abominable! Marry, hang her up for ever!

  PANDAR

  She sent him away as cold as a snowball;

  Saying his prayers too.

  BAWD

  Would she had never come within my doors!

  ROMANA

  I am still here, you know. Hello!

  PANDAR

  What now?

  ROMANA

  Just that rescue will be here in an hour.

  I wonder if I could have some more stew?

  It’s rather good. Why not close up thy stew

  And find something else to do?

  PANDAR

  What, prithee?

  ROMANA

  Have you heard of a good restaurant?

  With linen on the tables, a menu

  Printed, a fire, and lovely cosy chairs.

  It’s easy work and I think you’ll clean up.

  Let me show you how to fold a napkin . . .

  BAWD

  Marry, hang you! She’s born to undo us.

  Marry, come up, my dish of chastity

  I’ll serve thee up with rosemary and bays!

  ROMANA

  The day’s been long. That had better be a ye
s.

  Exeunt

  * * *

  We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and the Mara rounds on us in sleep.

  * * *

  CORIOLANUS

  The extant version of Coriolanus is an account of the Roman military hero, Coriolanus, who is raised, unwillingly, to the highest office – then loses his political power and goes into exile in the country of his former enemies, the Volsces.

  This previously unknown version from the Notebooks is set in another territory entirely, referred to in the text as Tara, a possible allusion to the kingdom of ancient Ireland.

  ACT II, SCENE II

  Enter Thorvald, nobleman of Tara; the Archimandrite, an official; Kurster, captain of the guard; Till, a retainer.

  THORVALD

  Proceed, Archimandrite.

  ARCHIMANDRITE

  I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus

  Should not be utter’d feebly. It is held

  That valour is the chiefest virtue, and

  Most dignifies the haver: if it be,

  The man I speak of cannot in the world

  Be singly counterpoised. At sixteen years,

  When Grendel sought to seize the Taran throne

  By keeping good Prince Reynart in his cell

  And Princess Strella too, endungeon’d there,

  He swam the moat to bring a message through,

  Conveyed from royalist conspirators

  Who plotted at their lodge among the trees.

  He braved the guards of Gracht; he dodged their bolts

  And the amours of Madame Lamia,

  The secret consort of the wicked count.

  He faced the perils of the Taran night

  And slew a knot of Wood Beasts with his blade.

  And when the great alarums fiercely broke

  On hated Grendel’s fateful nuptial night

  He loosed his crackling sword out of its sheath

  And battled bravely on. In that day’s feats,

  When he might act the woman in the scene,

  He proved best man i’ the field, and for his meed

  Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age

  Man-enter’d thus, he waxed like a sea,

  And in the brunt of seventeen battles since

  He lurch’d all swords of the garland.

  In these dark times, now Reynart’s kingdom finds

  It has new enemies beyond the trees,

  He lent our troops a spark of his great fire

  And by his rare example made the coward

  Turn terror into sport: as weeds before

  A vessel under sail, so men obey’d

  And fell below his stem. As if one mass,

  They surged across the bloodied plains

  Of Thorvald and Mortgarde, and thence rode on